He didn't expect her to say it. She could be submissive when she wanted to be, and doubtlessly got off on it, but crossing the line and acknowledging him that way wasn't a step he thought she'd be willing to take.

And the fact she had turned him on immeasurably.

"Good girl." He unzipped the dress with his other hand to avoid having to let go of her hair and then jerked her to her feet, no doubt causing untold damage to her scalp. She didn't seem to care though, not if the distinctly aroused gasp she gave was anything to go by. He gave her a second to collect herself and then playfully swatted her pert little bottom, "Now get over there and and strip."

With a expression on her face that was pure 'challenge accepted' she walked to the other side of the room, standing in front of the fire place and shrugged out of her dress so it fell to her feet. With her thong already in his pocket only her bra and heels remained, and it was look that only added to his ever growing excitement.

"You look fucking sensational." he murmured, wanting to acknowledge to her how good she looked. It wasn't all about being a bastard and he could sense from her that for all her bravado and hair tossing, she was feeling at least slightly awkward about the scarring on her abdomen from the events of the previous summer.

"Thank you." Her soft reply indicated she was grateful and that he'd called things correctly. Which was good. Because it was time to move on.

"Bra. Off."

There was no arguing this time round. She just reached behind hers back and undid the clasp, letting her bra fall off and into her hands before tossing it with a wry smile in his general direction. He deftly caught and smiled at her,

"Nice move."

"Well, I know the kind of clubs you frequent." she said pointedly, "I thought you'd like it."

Her words prompted a memory in him, of a time a few years previously in the States. It was a good memory, and one he was keen to come back to with her, but at that moment he decided the brazen little madam was being a little bit too cocky for her own good. He looked at her, effecting his best stern expression,

"Don't be so lippy, and," he downed what was left of his beer and placed the bottle down on the table, "get me another drink."

He watched with amusement as she seemed to falter and then, with a very definite wiggle to her walk, left the room, returning minutes later with a second drink for him and one for herself.

Even more cocky than he thought.

"I didn't say you could have one."

She handed him his drink, laughing as she did so, clearly finding more humour in the situation than he had intended. She'd obviously forgotten what it meant to be with him. What he expected from her in terms of attitude. And behaviour.

"Seriously, Sam?" she shook her head, putting her bottle to lips and as good as deep throating the contents which didn't exactly escape the notice of either his brain or his crotch. "You really want to go with the whole master and slave thing? You don't think it's a bit cheap?"

He laughed inwardly, but kept his external appearance stern, as he fixed her in a hard stare,

"This isn't about what I want, Constance." he said softly but firmly, "this is about what you need, and" he looked her up and down purposefully, taking in every last inch of her, "if you want to talk about what's cheap, I think it's standing in front of me..."

xxx

Their relationship hadn't always been that way. Granted, the sex had always been intense and passionate but during their hook up in Holby the balance of power had always been, at least in the bedroom, fairly equal. It was only later, much later, on one of his custodial visits with Grace, that things had ignited again and Sam had started to discover that Constance Beauchamp - and she was always Constance in said context - actually, contrary to outward appearances, had an incredibly submissive side to her character.

As ever with them, things had been set off by a row. It was late evening, and he'd finally managed to get Grace settled after a busy and exciting day in the Big Apple and headed back into his living room to find Connie modelling her best lemon sucking face and looking none too happy. He poured himself a drink and then sat opposite her waiting for the diatribe to start.

It wasn't long in coming, her lengthy rant about how much he'd spent on his daughter in FAO Schwartz earlier that day. Apparently he was trying to buy her daughter's love and turning her into a spoiled brat as a result. It was fairly standard. She hated the visits to bring Grace over and made it fairly obvious. It was clearly beyond her to have to bring the child she tricked him into fathering to visit him, and he knew full well she only did it to avoid him taking legal action against her. No matter how well the stays went and how much their four year old adored them, he always managed to do something wrong in her perfect eyes.

He'd had enough of it.

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up?"

It was a long way from the polite restrained way they usually spoke to each other and actually, momentarily, it had the desired effect as she fell silent, clearly shocked by his words.

Only momentarily though. It was Connie he was dealing with.

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

He got to his feet, rounding on her angrily, "Well let me tell you who I'm not. I'm not Sam Strachan, Darwin Ward Registrar anymore. I'm not your lacky or lapdog. I'm a Consultant in my own right and a highly regarded one at that. But beyond that, I am the father of your child and I'll talk to you however the hell I want." A smallest portion of his brain wondered if he was going too far but he was too into his stride to stop, "And may I point out to you that said child arrived at JFK decked from head to toe in Versace Junior, none of which was purchased by me so I'm not the only one who is free and easy with my spending and," he reached his crescendo, "as far as I can see, there's only one brat in this fucked mess we pretend is a family, and that's not Grace. It's you…"

Her hand had made contact with his face before the last word was out of his mouth, and he it hadn't come as much of a surprise to him. He knew from experience that it was her go to reaction where he was concerned. It brought back memories. Pretty good ones as it happened.

He reached out and grabbed her wrists, just in case she had any ideas about slapping him a second time, looked at her shell shocked face and uttered the first words that came into his head,

"You know what you need? A bloody good fuck."

To her credit she'd recovered quickly and snapped back without missing a beat, "Do you know where I'd find one?" But he was done with her shit. As he'd said, she wasn't the boss, not anymore.

"Try my bedroom. Get in there. Get naked and wait."

He wasn't even sure where the words are coming from but he was pretty convinced as to what the reaction would be. Connie Beauchamp wasn't the kind of girl who accepted instructions easily. Or so he thought.

So it was to his surprise that she silently rose from the armchair and disappeared leaving him wondering what the hell was happening. He was half convinced that she'd head to the spare room, pack her things, wake Grace and leave but at the same time there had been a look in her eyes as she'd departed that gave him a slither of hope that actually, the complete opposite would be the case.

He gave it five minutes and then, with some trepidation headed to the bedrooms, first checking in on his sleeping daughter, and then peering into the spare room where he found Connie to be demonstrably absent, and finally into his own room where what he discovered took his breath away.

His ex, laying on his bed, naked as the day she was born. Waiting.

It was the first time she'd ever done as he told her.

But it certainly wasn't the last.

xxx