by Megan Hart
He’d laid out one of her favorite toys.
If she hadn’t already cried herself almost sick Bette would’ve wept again, not in sorrow this time but in that complicated tangle of lust and love and guilt because Damian had managed to figure out exactly what she wanted and was giving it to her, even though she did not, at the moment, deserve the gift of his service.
She took off the towel and finger combed her hair, then twisted it on top of her head to keep it out of the way. She shrugged out of the robe and went naked to the bed to look over what her boy had put out for her. It surprised her, a little, though it was in fact, perfect. The flogger had a hefty but comfortable rubber handle and multicolored rubber strands that could be used to tickle and caress…but that also fiercely stung. Lightweight enough for her to wield almost tirelessly, it was the one implement in her carefully curated collection that was guaranteed to break him into using his safe word. Bette shook the flogger to untangle the rubber strands and let them slide across her palm.
She wanted to hurt him.
She wanted to make her boy whimper and cry and writhe; she wanted to make him beg her to keep going, and she wanted him to beg her, finally, to stop. He’d chosen this for her so she could do just that, because he knew her and wanted to please her. Because he loved her, Bette thought as her fist clutched at the dangling rubber strands, crushing them against her palm.
She watched the muscles in his back tense and release at the sound of the rubber smacking against her fingers. She was teasing him with the anticipation. The desire to hit him rose inside her with an almost physical force, making her shiver. Bette closed her eyes.
She breathed.
Damian would not mind if she beat him to make herself feel better, to forget the things inside her mind that were causing her pain. Once, in the beginning, he’d told her that he’d rather she lose herself in hurting him than dwell on whatever it was that was hurting her. He would not care, Bette thought, but she would.
She put the flogger back on the bed and went to him, kneeling to curl around his back. Her face pressed between his shoulder blades. Her weight against him pushed Damian a little forward, but he was strong enough not to topple over. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she hugged him. Tight. She closed her eyes and took in his scent, grounding herself to his smell, his warmth, the distinctive feeling of his body. She anchored herself to him.
“I need you,” she whispered.
He twisted to settle on the carpet and pulled her into his lap. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d want to.”
Bette buried her face into his neck. Beneath her thigh, the metal of his chastity cage bit into her skin. She shifted, but it was still there. She closed her fist around the key to it, dangling from the thin silver chain between her breasts. With a tug, she snapped the chain and pressed the key into his hand.
“Take it off,” she said.
“It’s only been two days,” he began.
She didn’t slap his face, though the urge was there, same as the desire to beat him had been there. This time also for the wrong reason, and worse, because she was mad. She had never struck him in anger, and the fact she had almost done it now twisted her stomach.
“Take it off,” she repeated. “I need you, Damian.”
He didn’t answer with a Yes, Ma’am, but carefully slid her off his lap so he could use the key on the device. He unlocked it and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. Silent.
Bette looked into his eyes, both of them kneeling on the carpet in front of the bed. “I want your cock inside me. I need you to fuck me, Damian.”
“Yes…” he began and stopped, looking at the curved metal device in his hand. “I just thought…”
“It’s not your place to think,” she snapped, standing. “It’s your place to obey.”
He couldn’t hide the flash of irritation in his gaze. Maybe he didn’t even try. His lips thinned, pressing together, but he nodded stiffly and looked away from her.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She might’ve said those exact words to him in a different tone, or a different time, and they would’ve turned him on. She had hurt him, and not in the way they both liked. She couldn’t bear it, suddenly.
“I cannot be in charge right now,” Bette said slowly. Carefully. She won the battle to keep her voice from breaking, but only barely. “I can’t do this right now, Damian, do you understand me? I just…need…you. I need you.”
Uncertainty warred in his expression with a flurry of other emotions, not all of which she could discern, but he nodded anyway. He got to his feet to meet her eye-to-eye. He kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth, letting her turn toward him instead of away.
“Yes, Bette. Okay. Whatever you need.”
She gasped when he slid a hand up the back of her neck to twist in her hair, tipping her head back. Again, when his hand pushed between her thighs so the heel of his palm pressed her clit. With his mouth locked to hers, he walked them both to the bed. It hit the back of her knees, but his grip on her kept her from tumbling backwards — at least until he let her go. Then she fell with a low cry onto the mattress and the softness of the flannel sheets. Damian was on top of her before she had time to do more than let out that one sound. His hand moved beneath her to lift and pull her at the same time he shifted, moving them both upward on the bed.
She never forgot how strong he was, or that the only reason she was ever able to control him was because he was so willing to submit, but she was rarely reminded so forcefully. Desire ripped through her. Harder when he bent to nip at her throat, moving his mouth lower to suck at her nipples, one at a time. Bette writhed beneath Damian’s touch. His other hand moved back to her cunt, sliding two fingers inside her. Not gently. She cried out again, louder this time, adding a curse.
He cut off her words with his kiss. He took her breath with his own as his fingers moved inside her, then out to circle on her clit before pushing back inside. His cock, thick and heavy, stroked her thigh as he moved, but she didn’t touch him.
“Fuck,” he muttered into her mouth. “You’re so wet. I have to fuck you, Bette.”
It was what she wanted. Needed. “Yes. Now.”
In a smooth motion Damian settled between her legs. His cock nudged her entrance, and just as he’d done moments before with his fingers, he filled her in one thrust that sent another bolt of desire igniting her. He filled her so fully there was a hint of pain, but she embraced it with a tilt of her hips to drive him in even deeper. He pushed up on his hands to look down at her, his lower lip pulled between his teeth and his brow furrowed in concentration.
“That thick, hard cock,” Bette said on a gasp. “Fuck, you’ve got such a nice fucking cock…”
He fucked into her harder. She ran her hands up his forearms, loving the veins there. Up over his biceps and the bulging muscles. Her nails dug into his shoulders, then raked his back. She gripped his ass cheeks, urging him to fuck her harder. Faster. Deeper. She wasn’t going to come this way — not enough stimulation on her clit, despite the way his pelvis pounded hers, but the frenzy of it, oh, shit, yes…that was good. It was good enough.
Not for Damian, apparently. He eased and slowed, holding himself off her with one arm while he slid his other hand between them to press his knuckles to her clit. It felt good, but it wasn’t going to get her off. She didn’t want this. She wanted to be pounded. Fucked. She wanted him crying out her name as he came.
When she tried to push his hand away, though, Damian shook his head, stubborn. Before she could stop him, he’d pulled out of her. He rolled them both, graceful and coordinated the way he always was. He slid down the bed until his mouth could tease her cunt. Wriggling, she tried to get away, but his grip trapped her. At the swipe of his tongue against her clit, Bette shuddered.
She fought him, but he was stronger. He gripped her wrists, pinning them to her sides. With a strangled cry, Bette tried to free herself, but could not.
She did not tell him to let her go.<
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She wasn’t calm, but she stopped struggling. Damian bent to her, using light flicks of his tongue. Maddening. Tantalizing. His breath, hot, gusted over her. At last she could hold back no longer. With a long, muttered groan, Bette ground herself against his mouth. Pleasure overtook her until there was nothing else but this. Nothing but him.
Tightly coiled springs of desire exploded inside her. She bore down on it. Muscles tensing. The whoosh-whoosh of her heartbeat drowned out the sound of her cries. Bette gave herself up to mindless ecstasy that lasted forever and ended too soon.
Breathing hard, blinking, she realized she was crying. He wasn’t holding her down any longer, and she realized she couldn’t remember when Damian had released her. Her fingers had cramped so much that it hurt to loosen them from the fists she’d made. She swiped at her face before moving to pull him upward. She kissed him, tasting herself along with the salt of her tears.
His hands came up to push her hair away from her face. He rolled them again, cupping her against him to keep from crushing her — it was a movement that might’ve been intimidating, but in his arms she felt only cherished. Protected.
Safe.
Damian tucked her back along his front, spooning her. His cock, still hard, slid between her thighs. She was so wet there was no resistance. They shifted; he slid inside her from behind. Slow, slow, he rocked inside her as his hand moved between her legs. At the press of his mouth on her shoulder, Bette arched at the gradual, building rise of another orgasm.
They moved that way for a long time, her pleasure moving more slowly this time. Bette lost track of time. She moved to push her arm over her head, finding his hand with hers. Linking their fingers. When his thrusts became erratic, his moans louder, she pushed against him. She was coming again when Damian cried her name and buried himself inside her with a shudder.
Quietly, Bette pressed their linked fingers to her lips and snuggled closer to him. She wanted to sleep. She did not want to dream.
She woke, though, in a few minutes when Damian slipped from the bed and the chilly air caressed her. With a murmur, she pulled the sheets up over herself and thought about getting up, too, but though she was sticky, she couldn’t manage to make herself move. He was back a moment later with a damp, warm cloth that he used to clean her gently, hardly moving her. Then he was in bed with her again, his warmth enveloping her.
“Bette,” he said right before she eased into sleep again.
She blinked, thinking she should pretend she didn’t hear him. “Yes, love.”
“Don’t you want me to be locked up for you, anymore?”
She didn’t turn to face him. His breath tickled the back of her neck. She wiggled her ass against his softness, enjoying the flesh-on-flesh that wasn’t sexual. The cage would’ve been in the way of that.
“I like controlling your orgasms, Damian. I like being in charge of your pleasure. But sometimes, it’s just…too much. All of this,” she told him with a defeated sigh.
“What is?”
“This,” Bette said, hating herself. “Us.”
She felt his withdrawal, the sudden and aching space between them even though he hadn’t moved. “Is it something I did? Or didn’t do?”
“No, love. It’s not you.”
Damian’s bitter laugh stabbed her in the heart, but she deserved it, didn’t she? Bette let their fingers unlink. She let his hand slip from hers.
“It’s not me, it’s you,” Damian said. “Is that it?”
“Yes.”
He did move, then. The bed dipped as he sat up. She heard the thump of his feet on the floor. She waited for him to leave, and she wouldn’t have blamed him. After a moment, though, Damian sighed. He lay beside her again, pulling her close. He kissed the spot between her shoulders.
“What happened, today, Bette? What went wrong?”
That he knew her well enough to ask also stabbed her. Bette sat. She pulled her knees close to her chest and put her chin on them. The room had fallen into darkness while they fucked, but the glow from the fireplace was more than enough to see by. She let herself look at him, this man who’d been hers for a little over a year.
“He emailed me. He asked to see me.”
Damian sat up, too. “When?”
“This morning.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I mean, when are you going to see him?”
Surprised, she twisted to face him. “I’m not.”
“No?” He asked, this time a question. “Why?”
“Because…because…I don’t want to.” She hadn’t known it before she said so, but once the words were out there was no question they were a lie.
Damian didn’t say anything for a few seconds. When he did speak, it was in the same calm, neutral tone. “Do you remember what you told me the first time we met?”
“I can remember a lot of things I said the first time we were together, love.”
“I’d brought you a glass of wine, and you said, ‘good boy.’ You had one of those smiles. It knocked my feet right out from under me,” Damian said. “I wanted to get on my knees for you right there, I wanted to do anything for you, so long as you would say that to me again.”
“I remember.” Bette’s voice scratched, rough and raw with emotion.
“You saw me right away for who I am. You’d never met me, but you knew me. That’s how it felt. We spent the entire night talking. We ignored the people we’d come with to the party — ”
“We were very rude,” she interrupted mildly, with a teary laugh.
“Yeah. I guess we were.” He smiled at her, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But later that night, when I asked you for your number?”
“I said, if I wanted you to have my number, I’d have given it to you already.”
He nodded. “And what else?”
“I told you I wasn’t in the market for a lover because…” she couldn’t go on, not at first.
Damian finished for her. “You said it was because you’d just ended a relationship with someone who’d broken you.”
“I said it that way?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes. I remember, because I thought it was interesting. Not that he broke your heart. That he broke you.”
She frowned. “I was stupid. He didn’t break…me.”
“Nothing could break you, Bette. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. It’s why I love you.” Damian dragged a fingertip up her arm and along her shoulder, then cupped his hand at the back of her neck. As before, the gesture could’ve been overbearing, but from him felt only like a comfort.
It was not the first time he’d said he loved her. There was no pressure for her to say it in reply. Especially not now.
She did lean to put her head on his shoulder, letting the hand that had been behind her neck shift so he could put his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t want to see him, Damian. Sometimes, even when you love someone, you stop believing in them. And once that happens, there really is nothing to say to each other, is there?”
“You never talk about him. You don’t have pictures. There’s nothing. Everyone has bad breakups, Bette, but you’ve never even said his name to me. The only time you ever spoke of him at all was that first night. It’s like you’re trying so hard to make him disappear…but you still love him. I know you do.”
Bette bit her lower lip hard enough to sting. She wanted to deny it, but there was no point. It would be a lie as much as saying she didn’t want to see that other man. “I don’t know if it’s love anymore, but it still hurts like love.”
They sat in silence, then. The sift of their breathing, in and out, aligned. When the position finally became cramped, Bette moved. Damian’s eyes were closed. In the shifting gold and black shadows from the fireplace, he was more beautiful to her than he had ever been. She kissed his shoulder, watching his eyelids flutter but not open.
She got out of bed without waking him. Turned off the fireplace. Fixed the blankets and pillows, urged Damian to lie down, and
curled up next to him. Sleep seemed too far away from her now, but in the dark with the soft music of his breathing beside her, she could at least be content.
“You should see him.” Damian’s whisper twisted through the darkness.
“How could you want that?”
“Because,” he said, “if you come back, I’ll know you want to be here.”
“And if I don’t?” The words were bitter, tinged with acid edges that burned her tongue.
Damian rolled onto his side, away from her. His voice was muffled when he answered her, but she had no trouble hearing every word. “Then I won’t have to wait anymore for you to leave me.”
Chapter 7
The fourth time he kissed her was in the back seat of his car, when she thought he meant to finally let her leave him, but instead he kept her even closer. When she told him that she loved him, and he said he loved her, too.
Chapter 8
They didn’t meet in a coffee shop.
Bette reserved a room at a hotel off the highway exit ramp an hour or so from her house. Two hours from his, but she thought, if he really wanted to see her, he’d make the drive. The last time she’d asked him to meet her, so they could talk, he couldn’t be bothered. Too far to drive, he’d said. She would’ve have met him anywhere, driven any distance, for the chance to see him one last time, but instead she’d hung up the phone and hadn’t heard a word from him. Nearly two years had passed since then.
She had waited for him many times. Waited for him to call. To text. Waited for him in parking lots and darkened clubs and in rooms like this. She’d waited for him to love her the way she loved him, but he never had.
Bette had left a key at the front desk for him. Though he knocked first, he came through the door without waiting for her to open it. Eager, she thought. Hoped. Too excited to see her that he couldn’t wait.
She’d always thought, every time they met, that she was ready to see him. Yet every time that first sight of his face, his smile, set her heart to thumping. Pulse racing. She was not the timid sort, but he had always made her blush and falter. Time hadn’t changed any of that, because yes now, that first sight of him made everything inside her shake.
