This Sweet Surrender, Ep. 6
Rating: 🔥 | After three years of daily conversations and three weeks of intense preparations, they stood frozen, separated by a few feet of space that simultaneously felt too vast and too intimate...
This Sweet Surrender
Copyright © 2025 Linn Rhinehart - All rights reserved
NSFW: Content warnings
Episode Six
Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, the late spring sunshine streaming through Gianna’s bedroom window. She’d been awake for hours already, unable to sleep past five with anticipation thrumming through her veins. Joe would be here today. In her home. In her life.
Final morning report before D-Day: Energy 6/10. Pain 3/10. Nerves 11/10. Slept poorly but feeling stronger than yesterday.
Joe:
Good morning, beautiful. Try not to worry. I’ll be there by noon. Just rest until then.
Rest was impossible. She had already changed her sheets twice. Rearranged the pillows. Debated which duvet cover looked best. She’d restocked the refrigerator yet again, even though Joe had assured her they could order in if cooking proved too taxing. She’d cleaned every surface in the small flat, stopping frequently to rest as her body dictated, but pushing forward with single-minded determination.
Everything had to be perfect. Or as perfect as she could make it.
At ten, she began the careful process of getting ready. A warm shower with the eucalyptus oil Joe had sent her. Gentle stretches to ease the stiffness in her muscles. Moisturiser applied methodically to her skin.
The question of what to wear had occupied her thoughts for days. She wanted to look beautiful for him, but practical enough for her condition. In the end, she chose a soft, flowing sundress in deep emerald that complemented her olive skin. It looked elegant but was as comfortable as her PJs. Ideal for a day that might include both conversation and rest.
She applied light makeup, twisted her dark curls into a loose updo, and added small gold earrings and the delicate necklace her grandmother had given her before she left Italy. The familiar pendant – a small golden sun – rested in hollow of her throat, a sweet reminder of where she’d come from and how far she’d traveled.
At eleven-thirty, her phone buzzed:
Just leaving the car service. Twenty minutes away. Last chance to change your mind.
She smiled at his message, recognising the hint of uncertainty beneath the teasing tone.
Not a chance. The door will be unlocked. Come right in.
Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard before she added:
I’ve missed you every day for three years. I’m ready to stop missing you now.
Joe:
Almost there now, babe.
The endearment sent a now-familiar warmth through her body. She made one final round of the flat, checking that everything was in its place. The small table was set for lunch with the nicest dishes she owned. Fresh flowers in various shades of purple filled a vase on the coffee table. The cashmere throw was neatly folded on the couch. The wolf plushie sat on her bedside table, keeping watch.
It wasn’t perfect or luxurious like Joe’s place, but it was her home – her safe space – and today she would invite him to share it with her.
Gianna stood in her living room, heart hammering against her ribs, when she heard his footsteps outside her door. There was a pause. The gentle sound of the handle turning.
Joe Lawrence stepped into her home.
God, he was handsome. Tall and broad-shouldered in dark jeans and a simple grey jumper that did nothing to hide the athletic body beneath. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his intense eyes warming with pleasure at the sight of her. But it was what he carried that momentarily stole her breath. A gorgeous arrangement of purple pansies in a hanging basket.
“Great minds,” he said, nodding at the flowers in her vase. They were as perfectly colour matched as if they’d coordinated without speaking. “I thought we could hang them outside the window where you like to sit.”
He set the basket down on the side table, dropped a small duffel bag on the floor, and went to close the door behind him.
For a moment after he returned to the living room, neither of them moved. After three years of daily conversations and three weeks of intense preparations, they stood frozen, separated by a few feet of space that simultaneously felt too vast and too intimate to cross.
“Hi,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Hi.” His lips curved into that now-familiar wolfish smile. He took a step toward her, then another, and stood directly before her. Slowly, as if he wanted to give her every opportunity to back away, he raised one hand to cup her cheek.
“Still okay?”
She nodded, her ability to produce coherent speech temporarily disabled as his touch sent an electric current through her skin.
“Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time to do this properly.”
He leaned down, his eyes holding hers until the last moment, and then his lips were on hers – gentle at first, then with growing intensity as she responded. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, cradling her head as their kiss deepened.
Her arms found their way around his waist, drawing him closer, feeling the solid warmth of him against her.
When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against hers. “Worth every second of waiting,” he murmured.
She laughed softly, the tension broken. “I wish we’d done it at the café.”
“No.” He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “Not with an audience. The first time I kissed you, I wanted you all to myself.”
His possessiveness should have alarmed her, but it didn’t. It sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “Well, you have me now,” she said. “For better or worse.”
“Definitely for better.” Joe straightened, moving his hands to her shoulders. “You look beautiful. That colour really suits you.”
“Thank you.” She gestured to the space around them. “Welcome to my humble abode. Not quite the...”
“It’s perfect,” he said firmly. “It feels like you.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
He looked around, taking in the details of her space. “Warm. Thoughtful. A mix of practical and beautiful. Inviting.” His eyes returned to hers. “Like coming home.”
The simple sincerity in his voice brought unexpected tears to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly. “Are you hungry? I thought we could have lunch first, and then...”
And then what? The question hung between them, filled with possibilities and uncertainties.
He seemed to sense her sudden anxiety. “Lunch sounds perfect. And then we talk. No rush, no pressure.”
“Right. Let me just heat up the food. It’s nothing fancy – I made a simple pasta dish yesterday that just needs warming.”
“How can I help?”
“You can serve the wine if you’d like. It’s breathing on the counter.”
As they moved into her small kitchen, the initial awkwardness began to dissipate. This was familiar territory. They had shared details of countless meals over the past three years. They had discussed cooking techniques and their favourite foods; and they had debated the merits of various pasta shapes with the seriousness only an Italian and a dedicated foodie could muster.
Joe poured the wine while Gianna heated their food and dressed a simple salad. They worked around each other in the confined space with surprising ease, almost as if they’d done it many times before.
When they finally sat at her small table, wine poured and food served, Gianna felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu. “This feels strangely normal,” she admitted. “Like having Sunday lunch together is something we do.”
“Well, it’s true in a way. We have been here many times before.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To finally sharing a meal in person.”
“To no more screens separating us,” she countered, raising her glass.
They ate and talked. Their conversation flowing as easily as it always had in their texts and calls. Joe told her about his flight delays returning from his business trip, the ridiculous demands of his board of directors, the ideas he had for improving the Ellemess system based on her frequent complaints.
Gianna shared stories from her college that week, the latest drama with her department heads, the progress her students were making on their final projects. Normal, everyday topics transformed by the simple fact they were finally sharing them face to face. Nothing got lost in digital translation.
As they finished their meal, Joe’s expression grew more serious. “How are you feeling? Honestly.”
The question, familiar from their daily check-ins, felt more intimate in person. She did a quick mental inventory. “Better than I expected. A little tired from all the preparation, but nothing serious. The adrenaline is probably helping.”
“And when it wears off?”
She appreciated his pragmatism. “I’ll need to rest. Probably this afternoon.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Then let’s clean up and get comfortable. I want to hear about your week properly – all the details you glossed over during your crash.”
They cleared the table together, loading the dishwasher and storing the leftover food. Joe insisted on handling the heavier items, but he treated her as capable rather than fragile which was exactly the balance she’d hoped for.
In the living room, he gestured for her to sit on the couch, then settled beside her, turning to face her with one arm stretched along the back cushions. “Now, tell me about the meeting that pushed you over the edge. You mentioned it was longer than expected?”
Gianna found herself recounting the entire exhausting experience – department politics, endless circular arguments, the complete disregard for the agreed-upon agenda. As she spoke, Joe listened intently, asking occasional questions that showed he was genuinely following the complicated interpersonal dynamics she described.
“They kept us there for three extra hours,” she concluded. “By the end, I knew I was pushing into dangerous territory, but there was no graceful way to leave.”
“What if there had been?” Joe asked. “What if you had simply said, ‘I need to leave now for health reasons,’ and walked out?”
She smiled wryly. “In theory, I could have. In practice...” She shrugged. “It’s complicated. I’ve worked so hard to be seen as reliable, and competent. Not to be defined by my condition.”
“Even when it comes at the expense of your health?”
“Especially then.” She sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “I know it’s not rational, but after years of doctors not believing me and colleagues assuming I was exaggerating... I have this need to prove myself. To never use my condition as what they would see as an excuse to get out of work.”
Joe was quiet for a moment, studying her face. “What if you had someone else to be accountable to? Someone whose opinion mattered more than theirs?”
The question resonated with discussions they’d had over the past weeks about dominance and submission, about the potential freedom in surrender.
“You mean you?”
“Yes.” He reached out to take her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “What if one of our rules was that your health must come first? That you’re accountable to me for maintaining it, even when that means disappointing others?”
The idea was terrifying but deeply appealing. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted. “It goes against years of conditioning.”
“I know. That’s why you need it. And why I want to give it to you.” He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “But we’ll start small. Baby steps.”
She felt herself melting at his touch, at the care in his voice. “But how?”
“Like this. You said you’d probably need to rest this afternoon. I want you to go lie down for an hour right now. No arguments, no pushing through. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
Part of her wanted to protest that she was fine, that they’d only just begun their limited time together, but the larger part recognised the wisdom in his words. And something in her responded to the gentle authority in his tone. There was relief in simply following his guidance instead of fighting her body’s distress signals.
“Okay,” she agreed. “One hour.”
“Good girl.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Do you need help getting settled?”
She shook her head. “I can manage. You make yourself at home. There are books on the shelf, or you can use my laptop if you need to check your emails or something.”
“I’ll be fine, love. Go rest now.”
[Last updated: 03 September, 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
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➡️ This Sweet Surrender, Chapter 7 is coming next week. Probably.
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