This Sweet Surrender, Ep. 4
Rating: 🔥 | In all her years of dating, countless men had bought her drinks, taken her to dinner, and tried to sweep her off her feet with grand gestures. None of them had ever considered this...
This Sweet Surrender
Copyright © 2025 Linn Rhinehart - All rights reserved
NSFW: Content warnings
Quick Recap: After three years of white lies and partial truths, Gianna finally found the courage to tell Joe the truth about her chronic illness. She was shocked to find that he had a confession of his own, and that he’d been on to her all along but wanted her to tell him when she was ready. He gently introduced the idea of emotional surrender, of Gee allowing him to take care of her and carry some of her burdens. Not too keen on exploring a dynamic that would challenge her fiercely independent nature, she still found herself responding to Joe’s dominance. As he sent her off for a mid-day nap, she thought maybe she didn’t have to choose between safety and intimacy. Maybe she could have both?
Episode Four
Disoriented, Gianna fumbled for her phone when the doorbell rang. Twenty past six? She'd slept for hours!
The bell rang again, only more insistent this time.
"Coming!" she called, her voice rough with sleep. She reached for her walking stick and pushed herself up, wincing as stiff muscles protested the movement.
The doorbell rang a third time as she slowly made her way to the entrance. “Per l'amor di Dio, I said I'm coming!” she muttered, Italian slipping out as it always did when she was annoyed.
When she finally pulled the door open, there was no one there – just a large wicker basket sitting on her welcome mat. A white envelope was tucked into the arrangement of what appeared to be... food?
Gianna looked down the road in both directions, but whoever had delivered it was already gone. With some effort, she managed to drag the heavy basket inside, then leaned against the closed door to catch her breath.
The envelope had her name written in bold, masculine handwriting. She tore it open and pulled the card out.
Baby girl,
Since I can’t be there to take care of you myself, I’m sending provisions. Everything is ready to eat, no preparations needed. The meals are labelled with heating instructions if you want to eat them warm.
Rest. Eat. Take your medication. Text me when you're feeling better.
– J. xx
P.S. This is not optional.
He’d sent her proper food? How was this even real?
Gianna dragged the basket through to the kitchen, grateful for the smooth floors, then she settled into one of her dining chairs to unpack the contents: containers of homemade soup, pre-cut fruits and vegetables, a selection of cheeses, freshly baked bread, and several prepared meals in microwave-safe containers. There were Italian dishes that actually looked and smelled like the real deal alongside British comfort foods and a few things she didn’t recognise.
At the back of the basket, she found a smaller package wrapped in tissue paper. Her hand flew to her mouth as she opened the box to find a soft cashmere throw in a deep purple matching her walking stick, along with a small stuffed animal. A wolf. It had a tiny note attached to its collar.
He’ll watch over you when I can't.
In all her years of dating, countless men had bought her drinks, taken her to dinner, and tried to sweep her off her feet with grand gestures. None of them had ever considered simply making sure she had food she could easily prepare on a bad day.
She wiped a few tears from her eyes and reached for her phone where she had three missed calls and several new texts from Joe.
Package arriving soon.
Let me know when it gets there.
Gianna? Are you still sleeping?
Starting to worry. Text me when you can.
Quickly, she wrote:
I slept for hours. Only woke up when the doorbell rang. I don’t know what to say. Thank you isn’t enough.
His response came immediately:
Good. You needed it. How are you feeling now?
She did a quick mental inventory. The brain fog had lifted somewhat. The pain was still there, but duller, more manageable.
Better. Not great, but better.
Joe:
Good. Now eat something. Try the soup first – it’s restorative.
Gianna smiled at the directive as she typed:
Yes, sir.
Who was this woman? And why was she finding such comfort in his instructions?
She questioned it, but she did heat the soup, a rich minestrone that smelled of home, and brought it to her armchair by the window along with a bread roll, the little wolf, and the purple cashmere throw. As she ate, she scrolled through their earlier conversation, still processing the revelations they’d shared.
Joe owned Ellemess. She should have known, shouldn’t she? Gosh, she felt so stupid. For three years she’d been complaining about the learning management system and listed in exhaustive detail every little thing she hated about it. How had she not known the man she’d been falling in love with was the one who made it? Not to mention, the one who had created a direct line for her to contact tech support. Him.
It should have felt manipulative, shouldn’t it? She thought about if for a while and all she she felt was protected. Like he’d gone out of his way to find a way they could connect on her terms. In her comfort zone.
Her phone buzzed with a new message.
Joe:
Still eating?
Gianna:
I am. The soup’s perfect. Did you make it yourself?
Joe:
I wish I could claim credit, but no. It was Mrs Patel, my housekeeper. She’s been with me for years and is a much better cook than I am.
Gianna:
You have a housekeeper? Of course you do.
Joe:
Does that bother you?
Did it? They lived in different worlds. She’d seen his penthouse office. Of course, he must have staff looking after it. Meanwhile, here she was, carefully budgeting her registrar’s salary to cover both her rent and cost of living expenses.
Gianna:
I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in. I’m still processing that you’re not actually my tech support guy.
Joe:
I AM your tech support guy. Just not in the way you thought. I started the company because I saw a need for better educational technology. I still personally handle select client issues.
Gianna:
Very select, apparently.
Joe:
Only the beautiful Italian professors who make me laugh.
Gianna:
So just me then?
Joe:
Just you. Always you.
She couldn’t help it – his simple declaration sent warmth spreading through her chest.
Gianna finished her soup and moved to the couch, wrapping herself in the purple throw. It was so soft against her skin and the perfect weight. Heavy enough to provide comfort, light enough not to press painfully on her aching body.
I’m on the couch now, wrapped in my new favourite thing.
How did you get all of this together so quickly?
Joe:
Benefits of running a moderately successful tech company. I have excellent contacts and money to throw at problems. In this case, the problem was making sure you weren’t subsisting on tea and toast.
Gianna:
I would have managed, silly.
Joe:
You shouldn’t have to just “manage.” Not when I can help.
And there it was again, that protective instinct that seemed to come so natural to him. Gianna hugged the wolf plushie to her chest, thinking about what Linn had said about love versus lust. This didn’t feel like either, exactly. It felt more like... belonging. Like coming home to a place she hadn’t known she was missing.
Gianna:
Why the wolf?
Joe:
They mate for life and take care of each other. They’re fiercely protective of what’s theirs. They live by their instincts and don’t apologise for their nature.
Gianna:
And that reminds you of me?
Joe:
No, baby girl. That’s me. The wolf is to remind you of who’s watching over you.
The goosebumps his implied possession caused had nothing to do with her illness. Three weeks suddenly felt like an eternity.
Gianna:
I don't know if I can do this. The waiting. It’s too much now that everything’s out in the open. Quite overwhelming to be honest.
Joe:
You can and you will. We both need this time. I need to go on this trip and I’ll have some business to finish before I can give you my full attention. And you need to prepare yourself for what’s coming.
Gianna:
And what is that, exactly?
Joe:
It’s hard to explain in a text, but I think you felt it yesterday. I saw it on your face when I told you what to do. When I called you baby girl. When you called me Sir without even thinking about it.
Her cheeks flushed hot at the memory.
Gianna:
But I’ve never done that before. Not with anyone.
Joe:
I know. That’s what makes it special. It came naturally because it fits who we are together. But there’s a lot we have to discuss before we explore this fully.
Gianna:
Like what?
Joe:
Boundaries. Expectations. What you need versus what you want. What I need versus what I want. It’s a negotiation, baby. One we should have in person.
She nodded even though he couldn’t see it. Despite her limited experience, she knew that whatever this was that was developing between them would require more than just physical attraction or emotional connection. She needed explicit communication. Honesty. And she needed to know she could trust him
Gianna:
So what are we supposed to do these three weeks?
Joe:
Talk. Plan. Get more comfortable with who we really are. And establish some routines that will be good for both of us.
Gianna:
What kind of routines?
Joe:
Well, for starters, I want daily updates from you. Not the sanitised version you give everyone else. Give me the real state of affairs. Good days, bad days, mediocre days. What hurts, what helps, what you need.
That made her squirm uncomfortably. She’d spent years downplaying her symptoms, pushing through the pain, pretending to be fine when she wasn’t.
Gianna swallowed:
Joe… That’s going to be hard for me.
Joe:
I know. And that’s precisely why you need to do it. I can’t take care of you if I don’t understand your needs. You have to give me the full, honest picture.
Gianna:
I don’t think I'm very good at being taken care of.
Joe:
It’s a good thing I excel at taking care of then, isn’t it. Think of it as practice for when we’re together and I can see you.
She did like the idea of having Joe in her space. She could almost picture what it would look like. Him managing her needs and directing her actions. Helping her carry some of the burden. With anyone else it would be suffocating, but with Joe it felt like a relief.
Gianna:
Okay. I’ll try.
Joe:
Good girl.
Sweet baby Jesus, how did he do that? His words seemed to reach inside and soothe something primal and needy in her. It was ridiculous. Just two simple words, and they landed like no compliment ever had.
Gianna:
Anything else?
Joe:
I want you to prepare yourself for me. Both mentally and physically. I’ll send you something I want you to read. Nothing too intense, just enough to help you understand what it is I’m proposing. And I want you to make space for me in your home.
He said what now?
Gianna:
Space?
Joe:
Yes, literal space. Clear out a drawer for my things. Make room in your closet. Change your sheets to the softest ones you have. Stock your kitchen with things we can cook together. Just small acts of preparation to make it feel real for you.
Ah, that wasn’t a bad idea. Practical tasks appealed to her organised nature. She liked having tangible steps she could take, even on bad days.
Gianna:
I can do that. Anything else?
Joe:
I want pictures.
Merda! Her heart skipped a beat. Was this where it would all fall apart?
Gianna:
Ehh… What kind of pictures?
Joe:
Not what you're thinking, babes. At least not for now. I want to see your world. Your flat. Your workspace. The view from your window. The places that matter to you. The food you like to eat. I know so much about you at work and with your friends. Now I want you to show me your private life. What it’s really like.
Well, thank god for that! Feeling like she could breathe again, she wrote:
Oh, right. That makes sense. I can do that.
Joe:
Did you think I was going to ask for something else?
The teasing note in his text made her blush.
Gianna:
Maybe. I don’t know. This is all new to me.
Joe:
We have time, baby girl. Three weeks to explore what you’re comfortable with. Three weeks for you to decide if this is what you really want.
Gianna:
And if it's not?
Joe:
Then we adjust. Find what work for us. But I won't disappear, Gianna. Not now. Not ever. That fear you have of losing me? You have to let it go. Wolves don’t work like that.
She clutched the plushie tighter then, wanting so desperately to believe him.
Gianna:
Joe, please. You can’t promise me that.
Joe:
I just did. Now, tell me how you’re feeling. Give me your first honest health report.
Gianna closed her eyes, gathering her courage. So, this was it? The beginning of the new dynamic between them? The first test to see whether she could let someone in? She wanted to. More than she’d ever wanted anything since the day she ran away from home.
Gianna:
Okay. I’m better than I was this morning. The nap helped. Brain fog is not too thick right now. Pain level… About a 5 out of 10. It’s manageable but constant. My muscles are stiff, especially in my legs and lower back. Energy levels maybe at 30% compared to a good day. I have enough spoons to eat, text you, and maybe listen to a book. Nothing more demanding. This is pretty normal for the day after any kind of overexertion.
She stared at what she’d written, wondering if it was too much. But no, it had to be done. Gianna hit send before she could second-guess herself and, to her surprise, that felt strangely liberating.
Joe:
Thank you for that. Does 30% energy mean you need more rest? Or is it your baseline for the rest of the day?
Gianna:
Honestly? I’m probably at my limit for today, but tomorrow should be better if I don’t push too hard.
Joe:
Then here’s what I want you to do now: Finish eating something substantial from the basket. Take whatever evening medications you need and get ready for bed early. Put your PJs on, brush your teeth, whatever your routine is. Then text me when you’ve settled into bed.
Wow. His detailed instructions surprised her.
Gianna:
Now? It’s barely 9:30.
Joe:
I’m aware of the time. I’m also aware that you need extra rest right now. Trust me, baby. Just do as you’re told.
Really? She hesitated for a moment and thought about it. He was right, dammit.
Gianna:
Yes, Sir.
Strangely, compliance seemed to bring its own kind of peace. No need to calculate if she had enough energy to stay up, to weigh the consequences of pushing herself to get some more work done or clean up the kitchen. Just simple, clear directions to follow.
Gianna got up and selected one of the meals from Joe’s basket. It was a perfect portion of lasagne with proper béchamel sauce, and it smelled lovely when she heated it in the microwave. She scrolled through social media and checked her mail while she ate, catching up on messages from friends she’d been too tired to respond to earlier.
Anna had posted photos from last night, carefully avoiding any that showed Joe’s face. Gianna appreciated the consideration. She had two texts from Linn, checking in, and Foxy had sent a string of suggestive emojis followed by question marks.
To Linn, she wrote:
I did it! Told him everything. He already knew or suspected. Will tell you more tomorrow when I’m awake. Nite nite xxx
To Anna and Foxy’s family group chat:
Still processing. Let’s just say he’s not what I expected. In the best way. Talk soon, ok? xox
When she’d finished eating, Gianna made her way to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, took her night meds, and changed into her softest cotton pyjamas.
Back in bed, she propped herself up on the pillows with the cashmere throw over her shoulders and the little wolf tucked in beside her.
Gianna:
Mission accomplished. I’m in bed now, fed and medicated.
Joe:
Good girl. Are you comfortable?
She adjusted her position slightly.
Gianna:
As comfortable as I can be on days like this.
Joe:
Then close your eyes and picture this: Three weeks from now. Same bed. Same time. But I’m there beside you. My hand’s on your back, easing the ache you won’t admit is bothering you. My voice in your ear. My body next to yours, keeping you safe and warm through the night.
Her breath caught and the longing was so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
Gianna:
I want that, Joe. So much.
Joe:
It’s coming. But until then, I’m here. Every night. Every morning. Every moment you need me. We’re going to use these three weeks to build a foundation strong enough to withstand whatever comes next. Do you understand?
Gianna:
I think so.
Joe:
Good. Now, close your eyes and rest. No more screens tonight. When you wake up in the morning, text me your health report before you do anything else.
Gianna:
What if I wake up in the night?
Joe:
Then you text me. I’m here.
She smiled. His simple promise was more comforting than it had any right to be.
Gianna:
Goodnight, Sir.
Joe:
Goodnight, baby girl. Hold your wolf close and dream of me.
Gianna set her phone on the nightstand and turned the light off. She hugged the wolf plushie to her chest, imagining it was Joe’s hand over her heart.
Three weeks. She could do three weeks.
[Last updated: 10 July, 2025]
Hi, Linn here. This story touches on something deep. If you’ve ever wrestled invisible illnesses and hidden desires, you’re not alone.
Wanna talk about it? Message me or drop an email to linn@aswewrite.com
Gianna and Joe’s story continues next week. Subscribe or upgrade to get the next chapter straight to your inbox. And if you’re already swooning, consider telling your favourite bookish spoonie about it.
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⬅️ This Sweet Surrender, Chapter 3
➡️ This Sweet Surrender, Chapter 5
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Another surprising sweet smut from you. I should have expected something like this. Depth beyond what you usually expect to find in romance. Or me anyway. But as you know, I'm a cynic.