“You doing okay?”

  “Yeah, just…yeah. I’ll be fine. Shitty time at work right now. I have to fly back out to Denver on Tuesday.”

  He said their good-byes and bundled Shay into the passenger seat. Rusty walked back out with them and stood at the swale with a flashlight held trained on the curb and keeping an eye on it. As Tony let the front wheels bump against the curb, he goosed it, and felt the SUV bump over them.

  Rusty looked, nodded, and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Relieved, Tony waved at him and eased through the grass over to the neighboring complex. They didn’t have curbs there, the grass transitioning to cracked and chipped asphalt.

  This worked out better anyway, traffic-wise. Tony wove their way through slightly unfamiliar streets until they were once again pointed toward home.

  In the passenger seat, where Shayla had tilted it back and already dozed off, she let out an adorable snore.

  No, he wouldn’t fuck her ass tonight. That was too much prep and not enough energy. If she wasn’t in the mood to do anything by the time they got home, he’d hold her cuddled next to him and either finish himself off, or go to sleep and wait until morning.

  If his cock would let him.

  But when he pulled into the driveway she’d already tilted her seat forward again and was awake.

  He leaned in to kiss her. “How about a trade, pet?”

  “A trade, Sir?”

  He smiled. “Blow job tonight, ass fucking in the morning?”

  She smiled. “You’re going to make me wear a butt plug tonight, aren’t you?”

  “How about a non-vibrating one?”

  “Deal.”

  * * * *

  If Tony was passing up an opportunity to fuck her ass, she knew he was worn out. So she let him have fun inserting the average-sized butt-plug into her and didn’t mind at all when he fingered her clit as he did, getting her over unexpectedly.

  And when he sat up against the headboard and spread his legs…

  Yeeeeah!

  She was on him like fur on a cat, devouring his cock and loving every soft groan she pulled from him.

  His hands cupped her head, fisting her hair, and she needed no coaxing to deep-throat his cock. Pre-cum already slid over her tongue, and she knew it wouldn’t take him long to fill her throat.

  There was no denying she loved going down on her husband. She’d spent countless hours on her knees or on her stomach, like this, with his cock deep in her throat. She loved knowing she was the only person who got to do this to him, the only person in his life like this, the same way he enjoyed knowing she belonged only to him. No one-way street for her Master—he was perfectly happy to hold himself to the same standard he held her. He didn’t even play with others, although she didn’t mind if he did demos for people as part of classes he taught.

  That wasn’t “play.”

  It damn sure wasn’t this sweet and sexy connection, the delicious feel of his hot cock pressing and throbbing against her tongue.

  She didn’t drag it out tonight, either, knowing he’d been hard the entire time they’d played. Nothing tonight had been his fault, that was for sure, and she loved him even more for trusting himself with her body the way he had.

  To trust she knew him well enough to say yes to beating his anger out of her flesh.

  He finally erupted, ropes of cum filling her mouth as she swallowed, swallowed, licked, sucked, until he finally chuckled and pulled her off him, easing down the bed so he could cuddle her against his side.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, kissing her. “Such a good girl.”

  She let him recover for a couple of minutes before asking him about it. “So what the actual fuck happened tonight? Who was that woman?”

  He sighed and quickly detailed the events.

  “I nearly came off that bench when you didn’t use the vibrator on me the first time.”

  He laughed. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t, too. I’m so proud of you for toughing it out. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get you back into subspace.”

  She nuzzled against him. “You were amazing, Sir.”

  “Not too much?”

  “No, Sir. Never too much.”

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  He tipped her head to face him. “I promised you I’d never play upset.”

  “But you weren’t upset at me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Let me apologize, please?”

  “Apology accepted, even though it’s unnecessary. Tony, seriously, you were fantastic. I love you so much for doing it.”

  He kissed her again. “Love you, too, pet.”

  As they settled in to sleep, his voice broke the darkness. “She reminded me a lot of Christine,” he softly admitted. “I think that’s why I snapped.”

  She pulled his arm more tightly around her. “It’s okay, Sir.”

  “I expect better of myself.”

  “No one’s perfect, but you’re far and beyond better than the average person. Considering I was the lucky beneficiary of your rage, I’m good with it. Angry scening, check.”

  “It’s not funny, pet,” he quietly said.

  She rolled to face him and in the darkness she found his face and laid her palm against his cheek. “Who are you married to?”

  “You.”

  “Who’s your slave?”

  “You are.”

  “Whose ass did you beat tonight?”

  “Yours.”

  “Then shouldn’t my opinion be the one that matters? I wanted predator mode tonight. Had we stayed home, I would have goaded you into a takedown and consensual non-consent scene. Tony, I needed this tonight every bit as badly as you did.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” She kissed him again. “I am perfectly capable of standing up to you and telling you no when I need to. Haven’t I always?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me the way I trust you. I’m your slave, yes, but as you yourself drummed into me, you want a slave, not a doormat. I will never be a doormat for you. Although I damn near threw that ball when the power went out.”

  He snorted in the dark, a sound that lifted her heart. “I thought you were going to.”

  “We good, Sir?”

  He kissed her, long and sweetly, then sighed. “We’re good, pet.”

  Finally, she snuggled against him and sensed him drift to sleep.

  Which left her thinking about the funeral ahead of them in less than twenty-four hours.

  I will be the bigger person. It’s the right thing to do.

  Except knowing it was his ex’s doppelgänger that had triggered her husband, she wondered if maybe neither of them should be attending.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday afternoon, Shayla sat in the church pew and fought the urge to uncomfortably shift to one side, lean against Tony.

  The butt plug he’d put in her before they’d left the house wasn’t exactly something she could ignore. That was after he’d spent the better part of an hour tying her up and slowly plowing her ass as he’d sipped his morning coffee, using a vibrator on her to make her come all over his cock as he did.

  He kept hold of her hand, more for his comfort than her own, she suspected, from the way he kept a tight grip on her. He’d dressed in a suit and tie and wore a somber expression she wasn’t used to seeing on his face.

  They sat midway back in the chapel, behind the bulk of the fifty or so people there for the funeral. Her brother had greeted them when they’d arrived, offering Tony a hug that he’d accepted, and Tony giving her a subtle nod that she could hug him, too, if she wanted.

  The man looked like he was two breaths away from crying again, so of course she offered the poor guy a hug.

  Yeah, this had been the right thing to do.

  Tony had led her down to meet Christine’s parents and sister, where they sat in the front row, murmuring her condolences and accepting hugs from all of them before Tony led her back to where they now sat.

  He seemed to know a few people there, some stopping and saying hi, shaking his hand when they recognized him, but other than that, Tony didn’t speak.

  He did, however, rub his thumb back and forth over her thumb, she noticed. A self-soothing gesture.

  Ethan and his wife, Brita, arrived. Ethan paused when he realized it was Tony and Shayla, and left Brita sitting with them while he walked up front to give his condolences to the family.

  Brita leaned in, looking grim. “I’m really sorry.”

  Tony shrugged. “I’m here for her family. I feel badly for them.”

  Brita offered a sad smile and nodded. “I never enjoyed these, that’s for sure, but always went for the families, when I could. Help with their closure.” Shayla remembered Brita was a former detective, too, Ethan’s partner before her injury in the line of duty forced her retirement.

  She was also Ethan’s slave, and another friend in common.

  Ethan returned to sit with them and, thankfully, didn’t try to strike up useless conversation with them. He wore a suit, too, but she’d spotted his badge clipped to his belt.

  When the service started, an older minister took the pulpit to begin. There was a rather plain black casket—closed, thank goodness—sitting at the front of the church, and a picture of the woman smiling in better days sat on top of it. It looked like it’d been part of a larger image, cropped and enlarged for the smile she gave the camera.

  It was only after Shayla stared at it for a few minutes that she realized she knew that picture.

  Knew it damn well.

  Because in one of the photo albums in their house was a copy of it. And the barely visible brown hair to Christine’s left in the picture belonged to her husband.

  Fuck.

  * * * *

  There wasn’t a single other damn photo they could have picked to use besides that one? Why the fuck didn’t they just use our wedding photo, then?

  It wasn’t bad enough he felt vaguely guilty after reading the note she’d left for him, but they couldn’t have found a better picture of her that wasn’t directly connected to…him?

  Breathe.

  His headache had returned with a vengeance, but he sat there, forcing himself not to react, not to be emotional.

  This day was absolutely not about him.

  The only reason he was here at all was Dennis asked him personally. If it wasn’t for that, he would have mailed the card that was tucked into Shayla’s purse instead of bringing it.

  Tony wondered if any of the other people here were Christine’s other ex-husband, or ex-boyfriends.

  Why didn’t you reach out?

  Why didn’t you talk to someone?

  Why are you putting your family through this?

  They were questions maybe they’d never know the answers to despite the notes she’d left.

  He distracted himself from the service by rubbing his thumb over Shayla’s, anchoring himself here and now, to her.

  At one time, he’d been ready to spend the rest of his life with Christine. When he’d finally come to realize she had changed the rules of the game and had every intention of trying to get pregnant with him despite what they’d discussed and agreed upon, it’d literally flipped a switch inside him, from trust to distrust.

  It wasn’t that he fell out of love with her immediately, but if he didn’t have trust, he couldn’t have that kind of love.

  Despite trying to talk with her, wanting to regain that trust, the gulf had quickly and irrevocably widened, becoming insurmountable.

  Thus he’d left.

  Logically he understood none of this was his fault.

  It still didn’t lessen the impact of hearing her mother sob, or watching her father’s shoulders silently shake.

  Christine hadn’t been religious. This was her parents’ church, and some of the attendees were their friends. They’d also prepared a small wake in the church’s social hall, where they all gathered after the service.

  He didn’t want to be rude and just boogey out of there. So he stood with Shayla, Brita, and Ethan, clutched together in a tight group in one corner and trying to stay both out of the way and yet available if any of the family wanted to talk to them.

  “Did they find her car?” Tony softly asked.

  Ethan nodded. “Had been towed the day before. Reported by a nearby resident, which is why that ball got dropped. The towing company wasn’t on rotation with the county and didn’t get the BOLO alert. They saw the news report about her suicide at the park, realized that’s where they’d towed the car from, matched the registration to her name, and called it in.”

  “Anything? Any…answer?”

  Ethan shook his head. “It just…is. It’s sad, and sucks for the families, but it just…is. She wasn’t terminally ill or anything. She didn’t express suicidal ideations to her therapist. She didn’t tell anyone she was doing it. The only thing there was is that she did get diagnosed as being in menopause a few weeks ago.”

  “Fuck,” Tony whispered, lowering his head, closing his eyes.

  “What?” Ethan asked.

  “That’s it.” He couldn’t look up and face anyone for a moment. “I guarantee you that’s it. She wanted to actually have a baby, and that avenue was…closed.” He finally opened his eyes.

  “Why didn’t she just do IVF?” Brita asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “She wasn’t well off financially. I mean, she wasn’t struggling, but she wasn’t able to afford several grand to do that.” Ethan looked around and leaned in. “You realize the only reason I’m telling you all this is because of how I know you, and that you’re her ex, right?”

  Tony nodded. “Yeah. I appreciate it. I won’t say anything.”

  “I hate to say it,” Ethan said, “but you were right about where we’d find her, and you’re probably right about this. It’s sad to say I think you honestly knew her better than anyone else.”

  That did not fill Tony with good feelings.

  * * * *

  They stayed home that night. Shayla made Tony’s favorites and they snuggled on the couch before going to bed. The next morning, it was again a sweet treat to be able to sleep in and make his coffee for him. Like a few days of perfection, of life being on an even keel.

  Until his personal cell rang with a call from Marcia. Shayla sat there on the couch, next to Tony, and watched as horror, followed immediately by a mask she literally watched him pull into place, filled his features.

  “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

  She didn’t speak, waited him out.

  It took him the better part of five minutes to finally meet her gaze.

  “The power outage Saturday night, at the club.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Car hit a pedestrian, and then the power pole.”

  “Yeah?” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but from the look on his face and how long it took him to say the next line, she knew it couldn’t be good.

  “The woman I threw out Saturday night.”

  “Yeah?”

  A heavy sigh escaped him. “She was the pedestrian who died.”

  Horror washed through her as Tony stood. She scrambled to follow, but he held out a hand without turning. “I need a few minutes, pet. Please.” His voice didn’t sound right. “I’ll be right back.”

  He headed down the hall and she heard their bedroom door shut behind him. Every instinct in her screamed for her to safeword and follow him, comfort him, talk to him.

  But he’d asked for time alone. That was the same thing as her safewording, and she knew it.

  He was not a man to withdraw like this.

  Except these were not normal times for him, not normal events for him to process.

  Nothing right now was normal.

  She knelt there on the couch, naked except for her cuffs and collar, staring down the hall, trying to listen for him.

  Fuck!

  This was supposed to be their goddamned time together!

  She was about ready to put a moratorium on personal cell phones until he flew out on Tuesday.

  He finally returned about fifteen minutes later. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. He climbed onto the couch with her, rested his head in her lap, and closed his eyes.

  Shayla sighed, stroking his head, snuggling with him.

  My poor Sir.

  He was always strong for her.

  Always.

  No way in hell when he needed her to be strong was she going to let him down. This was enough to make anyone drink, much less upset.

  That he was so calm almost worried her.

  She shouldn’t have been, though, because it was Marcia’s next call a few hours later, just as they were getting ready to go out to eat, that fixed that.

  They were standing in the foyer and he rested one hand against the front door as he stared at the floor, his other hand holding the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah,” he quietly said. “Yeah. … Uh-huh. Okay. We’re on our way.”

  Then he hung up and handed her the phone. “Stay, pet. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”

  Without another word, he walked through the kitchen, and she watched him exit through the utility room. A moment later, she heard the door to the garage open, then close.

  Followed shortly after by the sound of a crash, or a thud of some sort, and a long, loud scream that made her cringe.

  But he’d given her a direct order, and considering his current mindset, she didn’t want to safeword and investigate.

  He returned a moment later, shaking and flexing his right hand, and then she realized he must have punched…something.

  He held out his left hand for his phone. “Thank you, pet,” he hoarsely said as she handed it to him. “We need to…delay dinner.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed. “Cali’s in Proctor-Collins in the ICU. Infected cat bite. She had a reaction to the antibiotics. They had to intubate her.”

  “Motherfucker,” she muttered. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She’s stable. Sean and Max are there. Essie’s a wreck.”

  “Essie?”

  “She was there with her when it happened. Sean and Max were at work and Cali was hiding how bad her hand was, so Essie took her.”