Santa, Sir

Feelings

Ronan's POV

I’m feeling something for her. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just professional interest. It wasn't just the thrill of a challenging sub. This was something deeper, something that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed edifice of my emotional detachment.

My life as a ProDom had taught me discipline, control, and the careful compartmentalization of emotion. My rules were absolute: no entanglement, no attachment, no blurring of lines. It was a structured world of command and response, of power given and power taken, but always with a calculated distance. Katie… Katie shattered that distance with a single, whispered word, with a silent, trusting gaze.

I drove aimlessly for a while, the city lights a blur. The image of her, sleeping soundly, utterly trusting, burned behind my eyes. She didn't just meet my intensity; she reflected it, amplified it, and, in a way I hadn't anticipated, softened it.

"This is not part of the plan," I muttered to the empty cab, my voice rough. The plan involved a structured dynamic, a space where my need for dominance could be unleashed, safely, and predictably. Katie was proving to be anything but predictable.

Her healing becomes more important than the contract.

The thought slammed into me. That was the truth of it. Her vulnerability, her journey, had somehow eclipsed my own needs, my own carefully laid out intentions. I wanted to guide her, yes. To challenge her, absolutely. But more than that, I wanted to protect her. To see her flourish. To wipe away every shadow Chad had cast.

This wasn't about the power exchange anymore. Not entirely. It was about her. Her well-being. Her joy. Her quiet, resilient spirit.

I pulled into the deserted Rourke Customs lot, the familiar silhouette of the garage a welcome sight. Sanctuary. But even here, the silence felt different. It was no longer empty; it was filled with the echo of Katie's vulnerability, the phantom scent of her arousal, the ghost of her quiet surrender.

I walked through the workshop, past the custom bikes, their chrome gleaming under the industrial lights. My eyes fell on the heavy, reinforced door to my private space. The place where I sought absolute control.

But what if control isn't enough?

The question was a foreign body, an unwelcome intruder in the meticulously ordered landscape of my mind. Control had always been my anchor. My shield. My way of navigating a chaotic world. But Katie… Katie had found a way to bypass my defenses, not through defiance, but through trust.

I thought of the contract, signed with such deliberate intent. Every clause, every boundary, every protection. It was a framework for a dynamic, yes. But it was also, for me, a means to an end. A way to reclaim some semblance of order in a world that felt increasingly out of my grasp. Marcus's text, the encroaching shadows of my past life, had driven me to seek this kind of control, this kind of anchor.

But Katie had become a different kind of anchor. A living, breathing one. One that demanded more than just adherence to rules. It demanded… heart.

I walked to my office, a utilitarian space tucked away at the back of the workshop. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Marcus.

I answered, my voice clipped. "Rourke."

"Ronan," Marcus's voice was strained, heavy with concern. "I'm here. At the shop. You sound… different. Everything alright?"

I glanced at the clock. Almost 3 AM. He was here. He was worried. And I needed to talk to someone, anyone, who understood the precarious tightrope I walked.

"No," I admitted, the single word a raw confession. "No, everything is not alright."

The line went dead. Marcus appeared in the doorway, his eyes sharp, assessing. He was smaller than me, leaner, but his presence was a steadying force. "What happened? Is it the pickup? Did they push back further?"

"No. It's… not that." I ran a hand through my hair, the gesture one of uncharacteristic frustration. "It's Katie."

Marcus's eyebrows lifted, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He'd seen the subtle shift in me over the past week, the way I'd been watching her. "The elf. I knew it. I told you, Ronan, her vulnerability could break your rules."

"She's not vulnerable," I snapped, then instantly regretted the sharpness. "She's… resilient. Strong. But she's…" I searched for the right word, grasping. "She's changing me, Marcus."

He walked in, pulling up a chair opposite my desk. He sat, silent, waiting. He knew me better than anyone. He knew the walls I'd built, the careful partitions I'd erected around my emotions.

"We signed the contract," I continued, my voice low, filled with a complex blend of awe and alarm. "Tonight was… intense. It was everything I expected, and more."

"And that's the problem," Marcus interjected, his voice quiet. "You found what you were looking for. And now you're realizing what it means to actually have it. To have her."

I slammed my fist lightly on the desk, the dull thud echoing in the quiet room. "I can't afford this, Marcus. I can't afford to get… tangled. Not now. Not with everything else."

"Everything else, meaning our lives under threat from the ghosts of your past?" Marcus's voice was gentle, but firm. "I know, Ronan. But this isn't an either/or situation. Sometimes, the anchor you need isn't a cold, hard structure. Sometimes, it's a person."

"A person? A submissive?" I scoffed, but the sound lacked conviction. "My submissive. My responsibility. That's the point of the contract. Not… this. Not this feeling."

"What feeling, Ronan?" Marcus leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me. Don't tell yourself you can't have it. Just tell me what you feel when you think of her."

I closed my eyes, the image of Katie, peaceful in sleep, instantly filling my mind. The way she'd looked at me tonight, utterly trusting. The way her body had responded, with such raw honesty.

"I feel… protective," I began, the words a slow trickle. "I want to shield her from every damn thing this world has thrown at her. I want to build her up, give her everything she deserves."

"And?" Marcus prompted.

"And I want to push her," I admitted, a raw confession. "To see her break through her own limits. To watch her find power in her surrender. Not for my gratification, not just for the dynamic, but for her own liberation."

"Sounds like care to me, Ronan," Marcus observed, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Sounds like genuine concern. And something more."

"Something more is dangerous," I countered, my voice tight. "Something more gets people hurt. Especially when I'm involved. Especially with my past. You know what I am."

"I know what you were," Marcus corrected softly. "And I know what you're becoming. And Katie, from what you've said, sounds like she's helping you become it. Without even trying."

I stared at him, the weight of his words settling over me. He was right. Her sarcastic wit, her quiet defiance, her profound trust—she challenged me, not with resistance, but with her very presence. She made me question my own carefully constructed walls.

"She deserves more than a Dom following a contract," I conceded, the admission a quiet tremor in the room. "She deserves… real."

"And you're capable of giving her real, Ronan," Marcus said, his voice firm. "But you have to let yourself. You built Rourke Customs from nothing. You protected me when no one else would. You rebuilt your life, piece by piece. You are not the person you were."

"But the shadows are still there," I argued, my gaze falling on a framed photo on my desk—a younger, harsher version of myself, standing beside a bike, a ghost of a smile on my lips. The image was a stark reminder of the world I'd walked away from, the world that still clung to my periphery.

"They are," Marcus agreed. "And they always will be. But you're not alone now. And maybe, just maybe, Katie is the answer to keeping them at bay, not the reason they'll win."

His words resonated, cutting through the fog of my own alarm. An answer. Not a distraction. Not a complication. An anchor. A different kind of control.

I thought of the explicit rules of the contract, the safeword, the aftercare, and the absolute consent. It was all designed to protect her. But now, I realized it was also protecting me. Protecting me from myself, from my own fears, from the ingrained patterns of emotional distance.

"I broke my own rules tonight," I confessed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I stayed until she fell asleep. I just… sat there. Watching her."

Marcus's smile softened. "And did the world end, Ronan?"

I shook my head, a faint, almost imperceptible movement. "No. It felt… right."

"Then maybe the rules were meant to be broken," he said simply. "Or at least, rewritten. Especially when it comes to her healing. If she needs you to stay, you stay. If she needs you to break your own rules, you do it."

The weight in my chest eased, replaced by a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. My carefully constructed world, built on rigid control and emotional detachment, was shifting. Katie was the catalyst. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a tremor of something akin to hope.

I looked at Marcus, a silent acknowledgement passing between us. He understood the stakes. He understood the dangers. And he understood that some things, some people, were worth the risk.

My gaze returned to the dark, silent door of my private space, then back to the office, to the phone, to the ghost of Katie's presence. The contract was signed. The dynamic was established. But the story, the true story, was just beginning. And it was going to be far more complicated, far more beautiful, than I had ever dared to imagine.