Free For the Sub by Sierra Cartwright

was out before going inside and tackling the arduous task of loading the dishwasher. Even when it was full, the counters and table top were still messy. The contrast between her kitchen and his pristine one startled him. It made him see how empty and solitary his life had become since he’d lost Eleanor.
    Back then, he and his wife had enjoyed a whirlwind social life. She’d been a prominent attorney, he’d been an investment broker, and they’d been aware of the need to network their way to success.
    When they had entertained, Eleanor had hired caterers. He’d never had to deal with an aftermath like this.
    “Did I scare you off?” she asked, coming back inside. She flipped the switch to turn off the outdoor lights.
    “Despite the gnawing terror, I’m still here,” he said.
    “That’s right. After all, you are a big, bad, brave Dom. You didn’t need to pitch in. But thank you. I’ll handle the rest of the clean-up in the morning.” She propped her hips against a cupboard and looked at him.
    Even though there’d been plenty of noise and mayhem with the pets and the party, he was amazed by how relaxed he felt.
    “I hope you enjoyed it, at least a little. You did great on the burgers.”
    “They were burnt.”
    “Which is better than raw,” she pointed out.
    “Are you always an optimist?”
    “Guilty.”
    “And yeah. I did enjoy myself.” He took the last sip from his beer. “Even though you didn’t need me.”
    “Of course I needed you, Sir.”
    “I think John could have handled it. He owns a restaurant.”
    She had the good grace to flush a bit. “I like to give him the night off if he comes here. The guy who does most of the cooking really is out of town.”
    “Fair enough.” He believed her. She would think about her friends and how they deserved the chance to rest. It endeared her to him even more. “Where’s the soap?”
    “Why?”
    “So we can wash the rest of these dishes.”
    “Really, Sir. Thank you, but you’ve helped enough.”
    Her tone was abrupt, and a scowl was wedged between her eyebrows. Keeping his tone light, he asked, “Do you refuse everyone’s help?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Then it’s me.”
    “It’s not…” She sucked in a breath. “Well, yes, it is you. You’re a Dom.”
    “Doms can’t wash dishes? They need to put up their feet and have a cocktail while you do all the housework and come to bed exhausted? For good measure you could be scolded for not moving faster and rubbing my feet?”
    “Sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”
    “It is ridiculous,” he agreed. “I want to get you naked.”
    “Stop.” Her scowl deepened.
    “I’ve made you uncomfortable. Tell me why.”
    When she remained silent, he added, “I’ve somehow blundered into an emotional limit, and I’d like to understand it.” He wasn’t sure what in the hell had happened in the last few minutes, but God damn if he’d let it go.
    “I think it means something if you help me with chores.”
    “It only has the meaning you give it. Can you accept help from a friend?”
    She sighed. “People in a relationship help each other with dishes.”
    “Ah. So if I help you, I have to move in? Or maybe I drag you to Denver and force you to make my dinner?”
    She laughed, scattering the tension. “You’re being outrageous.”
    “Am I?” He looped his arms around her waist and drew her close. “I hear nervousness in your voice, but it’s okay for us to relax around each other. And to be honest, I’d prefer to deal with this tonight instead of facing it in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.”
    “So that means you’re spending the night?”
    Her words had a hesitation, a brief skip that seemed at odds with the confident persona he’d seen from her so far. He was seeing the real Brandy, rather than the personality she presented in public. He folded his arms across his chest. “I apologise. I shouldn’t be presumptuous. I’d like to, but I’ll leave the choice to