Take Me (The Submission Games Book 2)

by Tamara Mataya

  When I slept, I became a better Tessa in my dreams, focusing on dream things instead of the emotional nightmare I faced when awake. The actual nightmares were more interesting than the ones that tore at my heart when my eyes open. At least when I was sleeping, there were actual monsters and interesting fears instead of memories of Mark that crushed me alive.

  How could I keep breathing with all this pain? It was like sucking air through a tiny straw and receiving only enough to keep struggling for air, but not enough for relief.

  It never ended. One difficult breath led to the next with no end in sight. All I wanted to do was sleep.

  What had consciousness ever done for me? How many pills would it take to sleep forever? But those were idle thoughts—I’d never wanted to actually die because of Mark. I’d just wanted to sleep until it didn’t hurt so fucking much when I was awake.

  For a while, my phone became a portal of hope. The sole means of communication he’d be able to use to talk to me since he’d gone. I hated myself for that hope, for the fragile expectation that he’d call me and explain his absence with words so convincing I’d forgive him immediately. Two times in three months it rang and I answered and received the faint sound of ragged breaths instead of the words of love and apology and the explanation I longed to hear. The calls hadn’t come from his number. Maybe it hadn’t even been him, still I sat, fist jammed to my mouth, listening to those empty exhalations, prickling with the need to say his name, to show I knew who it was, get him to talk to me, but too proud to let him know I still wanted it to be him on the other end of the line. My pride was strangling me as much as my broken heart. If I let my lips part even a little, his name would whimper its way through them, betraying my only weakness. And maybe it hadn’t been him, so I couldn’t let a stranger know I still cared about Mark fucking James. He had the answers I needed, the lips and hands and heart I needed, but that need also gave him all the power.

  So, I did what I could to take it back.

  I tried to move on and meet someone else.

  I met the wrong person.

  I swallow hard and circle the rim of my glass with my fingertip. “I met Suede maybe three months after Mark left.”

  Sloane’s eyebrow rises. “Suede? Oh no.”

  I laugh once, without humor. “That’s what he called himself. It should have been ridiculous, but it somehow suited him. He was smooth but not slick. You wanted to linger around him. He had that X-factor you hear about. Of course, being older and wiser now, I realize he was a classic narcissist. Then, I mistook it for confidence. And he was gorgeous—I was flattered he was interested in me.”

  “You’re gorgeous. And you were gorgeous back then as well. Anyone would have been lucky to have dated you!”

  I smile. “You realize calling your identical twin gorgeous makes you super egotistical.”

  “Shut up, it’s true. And you know what I mean. You’re a beautiful person inside as well.”

  “I’m telling a story, not fishing for compliments.”

  “Sorry.” She gestures at me to continue. “Proceed.”

  “I’d read a little about BDSM, and I was curious, but there wasn’t as much out there back then. Not like there is now. Everything’s pretty much blown out into the mainstream—even if people haven’t tried BDSM, they’ve probably heard of it, at least. It’s more accepted. It was harder to find likeminded people, compatible partners.” I grin at her. “Kinky fucks like ourselves.”

  Sloane’s quiet laugh is more of a little puff. “Funny, even after everything, I wouldn’t consider myself particularly kinky.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “It’s a sliding scale. Besides, there are some really, gloriously kinky members at The Underground. Even I feel tame in comparison.”

  She sips her wine. “I feel like we’re verging into Too Much Information territory. Tell me more about this Suede person and how you found him. You thought you were into kink so you sought someone out?” She gets that look in her eyes that happens when she thinks of the way she and Darko began.

  “They say curiosity killed the cat, right? Well, this little kitty bought a nice set of nipple clamps and wore them as a necklace out in public, just hoping someone would see it and connect the dots. Maybe ask her to play with them.”

  “Tessa!” Her mouth drops open in disbelief.

  Her shock makes me laugh, which is something I need for this story. “I did. I know. Subtle. Really, it just looked like a chunky chain, and blended into my outfit like I was going through a punk phase or something. I was always wearing my sunglasses back then to cover how bad my eyes looked from crying. I was so emo.”

  She grabs my hand. “I wish you’d told me. I knew you were sad about Mark, but I didn’t know what to do or say.”

  “I hid things well.” I shrug. “Even if I had known, you were a kid as well, and definitely not equipped to have helped me.”

  “But I could have gotten you some help. Maybe—”

  I squeeze her hand, hating the shadow creeping across her eyes and distorting her view of the person I am now. “I’m okay. I got through it. Behold, I sit before you, an unbroken woman.”

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “I’m still catching up, it will take a minute. So, your nipple clamp plan worked?”

  “It did. And that story’s a little sad and familiar. Girl meets boy. Girl accepts boy’s invitation for a date. Girl gets swept up in a three month long affair that ended up with her lying on the bathroom floor.”

  Sloane gnaws her bottom lip. “You...you tried to take your life because of him, not Mark?”

  I nod. “Mark leaving devastated me, but it was Suede and his mental manipulation that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I’d sought an experienced kink partner to teach me and take care of me. He was there, he was super into it, acted like he had experience and knowledge to spare. He was all over me like a hyena on a bleeding carcass. But it was abuse masquerading as kink. I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time, but it didn’t take long to fuck me up. I was already unstable when we met. He saw that and took full advantage.” Sloane grips my hand, encouraging me with her silence to continue. “The scenes with him weren’t really scenes—they never ended.”

  “What do you mean? They were really long? Went on and on?”

  Goosebumps crawl over my skin, remembering. “We’d get together, he’d do whatever he wanted to me, and then we’d part until the next time. He’d call and have me do things in between the times we saw each other, as though we were Master/slave instead of Dominant and submissive. I was at his beck and call twenty-four/seven. If I said no, I was punished. There was no definitive end to any of the scenes.”

  “Wow.”

  “There was no aftercare or checking in to see how I was doing physically or emotionally, and I didn’t know that was wrong. I’d thought all I had to do was find a Dominant and they’d know what was best. I thought I had to do everything a Dom wanted even if I wasn’t into it.”

  “Jesus.” Her eyes fill with tears, and I look away.

  “He was into humiliation, to the next degree. I wasn’t, but I went along with it because I thought that was the trade-off for having someone want you like that. That humiliation dynamic was what really left me unsettled and undermined my self-esteem. But with how fragile I was at the time, that harmed me more than I even knew back then. Not that subbing is bad. I understand the appeal of being dominated; of submitting to someone—even though that doesn’t do it for me. I liked the idea of some of what he did, but the execution was terrible and his timing was worse. He exploited me, pure and simple.”

  “But it wasn’t right for you not to have any, like, shit, Tessa, how did you even process the things you did together? The scenes, never mind the lack of aftercare. You were so young—and new to kink. Christ, I was an adult and it took me time to integrate everything I learned.”

  “I sort of didn’t process it. Not at the time. And part of me revelled in it. The part of me that curle
d up in a ball when Mark left was so pleased for this gorgeous and experienced man to deign to pay attention to me. Which is stupid and sad and ugh.” The things Suede did to me, even the way he fucked me, were intense. Too intense. “It wasn’t about a power exchange—he wanted everything from me. He demanded and took it all.”

  She shivers. “He was a sadist.”

  “I mean, maybe. But I know true sadists who aren’t evil people.”

  “Carey Clark?”

  “Yes. It’s possible to be both. But Suede was a truly terrible person inside. That’s why one of our most important rules, is being true to yourself. Risk awareness. Honoring your boundaries.”

  “Darko...” Sloane pauses, cheeks flushing.

  “Darko what?”

  “He had me do this scene one time where I was supposed to safe-out. It was designed that way so I didn’t go too far and risk my safety trying to please him.”

  Once again, I’m grateful that it was Darko my sister found that night she infiltrated the club pretending to be me. She’d have been in good hands no matter who she’d found, but they are truly perfect for each other. Maybe it was fate that brought them together, after all. They are so well-suited in so many ways. “Darko is a great Dominant.”

  Sloane’s eyes sparkle. “I know.”

  How would things have gone differently for me if I’d come across someone who knew what they were doing instead of someone who knew how to exploit my pain and find new ways to make me suffer?

  Sloane’s eyes grow serious. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your Darko.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I learned today with Robyn that I’m not built that way, but I am sorry too. All of it wasn’t terrible. In some ways, Suede taught me by example what not to do as a Domme. And, there were good parts. Aspects from the other side of kink that showed me what some submissives may crave from a real power exchange.”

  Sloane doesn’t ask me to elaborate, and I don’t offer more specifics. There are lines in our own relationship we don’t cross, especially now that we’re both part of the exclusive club that caters to people like us. Even if neither of us knew she belonged there until very recently.

  “After Mark left, there was a void. I felt rejected and alone, completely unwanted. Knowing we weren’t well-suited didn’t make it easier when it ended. I was sure he’d be back. Then he wasn’t. But Suede was. He focused all of his attention on me like a laser beam, and that made me feel like someone saw me again. That kind of attention—unhealthy though it was—was addictive.” It was so aggressive, and alpha male, the way he’d marked me like I belonged to him, like I was someone who needed to be marked because I was so in demand other men need to be reminded that Suede had been there first. It made me dizzy to know he cared about me that way. That someone cared about me the way that Mark didn’t. Because if he had, how could he have left me like I was nothing?

  There are stories I’ll never tell Sloane about that awful time with Suede and things he made me do. For Valentine’s Day, Suede gave me roses. A dozen long-stemmed white roses. He’d called me shortly after they were delivered. Had me cut the petals off and play with the stem and thorns, using the white petals to soak up the blood, staining them red...taking pictures to send to him to prove my devotion.

  Sloane finishes her wine and sets her glass on the table. “I’m even gladder you and Mark found each other again, then.”

  “Me too.”

  “I want you to be as happy as I am with Darko. Whether that’s with Mark or someone else.”

  “I kind of hope it’s with Mark,” I whisper.

  Her eyes light up. “Oh my god, I just realized something! Darko and Mark-o.” I groan and she giggles. “Our #twinning is getting out of control.”

  Maybe, but I wouldn’t change it for a goddamn thing in the world.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mark

  I drop my keys on the counter, wishing I could throw them through a window or something else that would be satisfying to break, but I’ve been around enough destruction this afternoon.

  I’d thought it would do us both good to get together. Happiness with Tessa made me, I don’t know, stupidly optimistic, thinking it would be okay to see my army buddy.

  Robert had seemed into it on the phone and when I got there, he was glad to see me, smiled easily enough. It’s tough seeing guys you’ve gone through the things we’ve gone through together. Sometimes all you want is to forget those days, but at the same time, those bonds are different than regular friendships with civilians for obvious reasons.

  He was there when Benny died in the same explosion that hurt both of us, though I got off way lighter than Robert did. He was in rough shape initially, but not for months. We email a lot, talk sometimes.

  Everything was great, he’s been making real progress since the amputation. But he’s been dealing with phantom limb pain lately, the horror of which is hard to wrap my mind around. He suddenly started writhing and I could tell he was holding in how bad the pain was.

  Shelly rushed in to bring him something for it. The way she acted, that’s a usual occurrence and not a one-off like I wish it was. I knew he was going through some shit, but knowing it and seeing it are two completely different things. This afternoon added a few more things I can’t unsee.

  Bad enough when there’s something to clutch—how the fuck do you make it better when it’s...gone. Your brain literally can’t let it go, and tortures you with pain in a body part that’s no longer there.

  I didn’t know what to say or do. Mostly I felt useless that I couldn’t do anything to help him. Dennis’ pep talk ‘we’re still here’ turned to ash in my mouth and I couldn’t get a word out. It felt too trite and meaningless. Worse, Shelly’s resentment and bitterness at the situation were tangible. Seeing photographs of the things they used to do together compared to the way they are now made me feel even more useless and guilty for having found happiness with Tessa again.

  Tessa’s supposed to meet me here soon, and all I can think of is how unfairly lucky I am. I know it’s stupid to feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to be happy again, but watching your friend writhing in pain and trying to rub a leg that’s not there anymore has a way of changing things.

  I flop onto my couch just as my phone rings.

  I frown and check it.

  The Governor. Well, that’s just dandy. The vomit-flavored cherry on top of this shit sundae of a goddamn day. I answer. “What?”

  “No need for pleasantries, I see.”

  “What do you want?”

  He pauses, and I idly hope my rudeness is making that vein stand out on his forehead. It makes me feel a bit better. He sniffs. “Have you checked your email?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Not too busy for this, Mr. James.”

  I hate this guy. I open my laptop and sign into my email. Another picture of Tessa on the bathroom floor greets me and turns my stomach. I jump to my feet and move away from the laptop, needing distance from that image. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

  “My girls are better off without you.”

  Tessa strolls into my apartment without knocking, like she owns the place, an overnight bag in her hand and a smile on her face.

  “Then why did you call me to bring them out of the club? Why put me back in their lives if I’m so evil?”

  “You care, but we both know there’s no way you could finagle your way back into Tessa’s life. We both know you’re toxic to her. She’s better off without you.”

  She looks so damn happy, though. I turn my back on her and stride down the hallway for some distance. “Shouldn’t she decide that? I can protect her. You know I’d never let anything happen to her no matter what was going on.”

  “How’s your army buddy Robert? Funny how the people who get closest to you somehow end up as collateral damage. Is that intentional?”

  “You bastard. You’re following me?”

  “I call it insurance. And is it?”


  I grind my teeth together. “What?”

  “Do you intentionally fuck over those closest to you? Let them down?”

  “No. You damn well know it’s not intentional.”

  He chuckles. “Well, guess we both know how badly your protection fails. Tessa, your friend... what are your good intentions worth when it’s her safety on the line?”

  Guilt and fear wrestle inside my gut. “No one cares more about her than me. That counts for something.”

  “Does it. Are you willing to gamble with her life again?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to Tessa or Sloane. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Who are you talking to?” Tessa’s hand lands on my shoulder, a distinctly displeased expression in her eyes.

  I hang up. Did she see the pic on my laptop? “I, uh...”

  She narrows her eyes. “What?”

  I casually turn and head into the living room, but she’s not giving me a damn inch—and my laptop’s angled so the picture’s head on.

  “Fucking prick.” She viciously deletes the pic and slams my laptop shut hard enough that I wince at the force.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you he was—”

  “I don’t give a shit. You need to know the truth—that I didn’t do that because of you. At all.”

  Surprise and hope rattle through me. “What?”

  “My dad’s sick and he can go fuck himself. I can’t believe he took a picture of that. What a fucking Kodak moment—just what everyone wants to commemorate with a snapshot!”

  Hope is such a fragile thing, I almost don’t dare to believe it wasn’t me who brought Tessa Winters to her lowest point ever. “Please. Tell me what you were going to say. About it not being me who...”