Sawyer walked back to his office, still thinking about Serena. He hadn’t thought about the details of her death in almost eight years. He had pushed the horrible memories of her leukemia and treatment to the recesses of his mind, not wanting to dredge up how frail and sick she had gotten in her last days, and how sad and fragile his once strong wife looked as she laid in his arms and took her last breath. He had never loved anyone more. She was his first and last true love; his one and only.
He wondered how Sarah’s husband died. Was it an unkind death, too? For her sake, he hoped not. He didn’t know her well, in fact, he didn’t know her at all, but he could sense she had a caring soul. Like Dylan, he had a keen sense of judgment when it came to people and what he sensed about Sarah, he liked very much.
He smiled thinking about Dylan and Isabel being parents when Emilio suddenly came unbidden to his mind. He immediately logged onto his computer and checked into what was going on with his estate. It turned out not only Emilio’s business partner was interested in his money but several people, though no one else was moving forward legally to contest the disbursement. It was no surprise that Emilio had screwed over so many people and now they were all swarming around like maggots on rotted flesh wanting their share.
Lunch came and went and his thoughts were scattered – Serena, Sarah, Sonya; domination, submission; Isabel and Dylan as parents. His attention was redirected when he received a phone call from an unknown number.
“Mr. Morrison? It’s Sarah. I texted Isabel and she passed your number along to me. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve called you.”
Sawyer was glad to hear her voice. He had been thinking about her all week and looked forward to speaking with her again.
“Not at all. I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted.
Sarah cleared her throat anxiously. “Have you? Good things, I hope. I’ve been thinking about you as well and about your questions. I’ve had plenty of time to write out my answers and I was hoping we could meet again. There’s a munch planned for tonight and I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to meet some of the other members at the club.”
“Munch?” The word elicited all sorts of dirty thoughts.
Laughing, she explained. “It’s a get together; food, friends, conversation - that sort of thing. I would be honored to attend with you, if you’ll have me.”
Adorable, darling, Sarah - her submissiveness was alluring. “I’d be grateful if you’d let me tag along, Snowflake.”
“May I ask you something, Mr. Morrison?” she asked with bemusement in her voice.
Sawyer shook his head. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to a woman asking permission for everything. “Of course.”
“Why do you call me Snowflake?”
He hadn’t even realized he had been calling her that. Glancing toward the window, the Denver day was cloudless, vivid and clear, the burnt oranges, rusty reds and saffron yellow colors of the leaves scattered across the landscape. Fall was nearing its end and Sawyer wondered how long it would be until the first snowfall. He cherished winters in Colorado.
“Because winter is my favorite time of year. I grew up the majority of my childhood in Arizona and I love the change of season,” he answered. “Your face was so bright the first time I saw you, and the added color of your eyes and the way your skin glimmered under the lights… you reminded me of a beautiful snowflake.” As soon as the statement spilled out of him, he regretted it. The whole open communication thing was foreign to him and made him feel weak, and the silence on the other end of the phone only added to his discomfort. “I apologize. If me calling you that makes you uncomfortable, it won’t happen again,” he replied when she didn’t immediately respond.
“Please, Mr. Morrison, there’s no need to apologize,” she said quietly. “I adore the name you’ve chosen for me. I’ll meet you at the club at six. Is that satisfactory?”
He heaved with relief. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”
Sawyer anticipated an interesting night. He wasn’t a people person and dreaded being forced to be social. It was bad enough he had to do it for job, but in private? No thanks. Even though he knew it was good for him, it didn’t make him any less uneasy. He had no idea what the dress-code was to a function with a deceptive name that reminded him of oral sex, but decided to dress casually in dark jeans and an arsenic black suit coat with a white collared shirt underneath.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he ran his fingers through his silver-frosted, coffee-brown hair. It was overgrown and in sore need of a cut so before showering, he took the clippers to it, tapering the sides down and leaving the top longer. Having been out in the field for so many years with The Agency, he had learned the finer points of surviving on his own, and that included cooking and cutting his own hair, and a few other unmentionable and unsavory skills as well.
When he pulled up to the Dark Asylum, Sarah was waiting out front for him. He waited in his car for a moment, watching her interact with some of the others as they made their way in. Her round face and kind smile was kindled with a sort of passionate beauty. What made a woman like her tick? He wanted to probe the depths of her psyche and find out what kinds of things she liked and disliked. She had stated she was neither a sadist nor masochist, so exactly what were her turn-on’s?
Meeting her at the door, her eyes scanned his body and a smile stole onto her eager face. When their eyes met, Sawyer felt a shock run through him.
“You look spectacular, Mr. Morrison” she said with a rasp of excitement in her voice and her eyes sending him a private message. Reaching a hand out, she touched his forearm.
“Likewise, Snowflake. Shall we?” He opened the door and guided her through, but not before noticing a spark in her eyes at his nickname.
Once inside, Sawyer and Sarah were greeted by several people, including the club owner, Kerian, and Derrick, the club manager. There were conversations and introductions, and from the sounds coming from the rear of the club, even a few scenes being played out in the back rooms.
Sawyer made his way around the club, taking it all in. It was such a strange environment to be in and so far out of the ordinary ‘vanilla’ life as they called it. Yet everyone that he came into contact with was well-mannered and engaging.
He noted that Sarah remained respectful towards him at all times, never leaving his side or speaking out of turn. Though she remained acquiescent to all the Doms, she was particularly attentive to him which he found enthralling. She seemed to relish his small touches, but he remained mindful of where he placed his hands, not wanting to cross any lines or make her feel uncomfortable.
Half-way through the night, Dylan and Isabel showed up. Dylan’s mood was noticeably serious and it was hard not to miss Isabel’s red swollen eyes even though they both tried to put on a care-free façade. Sawyer could only guess the reason why.
Hating to see anything but joy on their faces, he pulled them aside to a quiet room and sat them down, wanting to reassure them that everything was going to be okay.
“You two look a mess,” he announced to the pair.
Isa’s bottom lip began to tremble and Dylan wrapped a shielding arm around her shoulders. Sawyer wanted to put Isa at ease and tell her that he had taken care of everything, and there was nothing to worry about, but he and Dylan had decided it was best she didn’t know the gory details of her father’s demise. She simply thought Emilio had killed himself and written the letter of apology to Isabel on his own. It was the closure she needed to move on with her life, and Sawyer was more than happy to provide it.