“You know what I want,” he hissed. “And you’re intentionally not saying it.” He struck again, this time, his hand slicing against the same raw area. He wasn’t giving me a break between each strike. One after the other, blow after blow. All this because I kissed him? Because I didn’t call him Sir?
It felt like I was in the middle of playing a game where I was bound to lose, even if I followed the rules. And yet, despite the pain blistering, cutting across my backside, an excited shiver tumbled down my spine. My breasts were heavy, aching to be given the same misguided, fucked up attention that my ass was getting. My sex spasmed, the emptiness haunting me and I was throbbing for Ash to fill me.
I was on the edge of something profoundly sensational and also intensely frightening. My world was being tipped on its axis, and it was disorienting and also strangely freeing.
“I’m only going to ask you once more, Shorty. What do you call me?” His baritone voice was rich and deep—simply the sound of him had me pulsing, damn him.
A swell of lust overtook my body. I was so turned on for reasons I couldn’t comprehend and maybe didn’t want to try. I was quivering now, my hands gripping the loose edges of the scarves that bound them. My legs were spread, revealing myself to him in the most vulnerable way. I could hear him panting eagerly behind me. A small part of me wondered if he truly wanted me to answer with Sir. Because he seemed to be enjoying administering the punishments.
I had to bite my lip to stop myself from saying it. I wanted to please him—I wanted to hear Ash coo in my ear and kiss me and reward me with his cock and a million orgasms. But I couldn’t do it. The word was too loaded. Tears stung my eyes and my breath was strangled as I suppressed the sobs of pain.
“Have it your way, then,” Ash said, his voice dark and so hollow sounding, he could have been speaking from inside an echo chamber.
I heard, rather than felt his next strike. The sound of his palm connecting to my flesh cracked like a belt slapping against marble. And at first… I felt nothing.
Until that nothing simmered, slowly igniting into a fire. Blistering pain cut across my backside. It wasn’t deliciously sweet this time. It wasn’t receding into arousal.
And there were no tender caresses from Ash between hits. He smacked his palm into me over and over again, one strike after the next, each one relentlessly hard and painful.
“You had to learn the hard way,” he said, and ice overtook my veins.
Guess you’re learning the hard way. It was dad’s voice, not Ash’s that I heard. I squeezed my eyes shut as though this action could seal a wound that was now raw and open. I was exposed in so many ways.
This wasn’t what I thought BDSM would be. This was just… abuse. Me being hit. Where was the nuance? The sexiness? Where was the anticipation of my needs and the way he read my body so acutely last night? This was something entirely different. Ash was feral and primitive and his focus was solely on the punishment—not on anything else.
Blood roared in my head, making me feel foggy and clouded. This wasn’t right. It was so far from right. “Yellow,” I cried out. Just once.
Why didn’t I say red? Why did I choose the code word for slow down?
Because a small part of me wanted this. Asked for it. And if I was being totally honest with myself… I still wanted it. But there was a change in Ash. Some shift. I felt it this morning when he pulled away from me in his bedroom. I felt it here, now, when I kissed him. It could have just as easily been a robot hitting me from behind.
I looked over my shoulder, catching his brutal expression. Sweat poured down his face. His blue eyes were wide and wild. His chest heaved with each labored breath that pushed through his open lips.
And he was touching his ring. He followed my gaze to his hand, then fisting my hair, jerked my eyes forward. “I didn’t say you could look back here,” he scolded.
“I said yellow,” I reiterated.
“I heard you. Do you feel my hand on your ass? That’s me slowing down.”
But despite his harsh words, his talented fingers--twined in my hair—loosened and though I wouldn’t define it as gentle, he tugged my head without nearly the same force as before.
Where was the compassionate man who took care of my needs last night? Where was the Ash who fed me dinner bite after bite to ensure I was eating well? “Are you… are you mad that I used my safeword?”
“I’m not mad,” he said, and I could hear his panting breaths tearing through his lips. “I’m coming down off the adrenaline.”
Right. Adrenaline—that made sense, I guess. Because hadn’t I just thought the same thing? That my adrenaline had spiked, too.
My thoughts were interrupted as his fingers brushed over my clit, circling my opening.
“You’re not wet enough yet,” he stated the obvious.
I wanted to say No shit, but I was pretty sure that would just result in my ass being more red than it already was.
“Suck.” He pushed his fingers into my mouth and it was dirty as fuck. Me getting his fingers good and wet so that my pussy could handle them. I wrapped my lips around his finger, taking him deep in my throat to the knuckle. My tongue circled him and I moaned, wishing it was his cock in my mouth instead.
He withdrew them from my lips, then plunged them inside of me. Hard.
I cried out, gripping the scarves that tied my hands. My body lunged forward with the movement and the initial sharp pain melted into pleasure. There it was.
My initial cry of pain morphed into a moan and I rolled my hips as he pumped his fingers in and out. Within moments, I was wet again. His cheek slid over my neck, stubble scraping my skin and my body lurched as he nipped my shoulder. Adrenaline surged through my body and every single nerve ending was on fire, waiting in anticipation for what Ash would do next.
With one hand busy, fingers plunging inside of me, he released my hair and wrapped the other around my waist, his hand spreading across my belly and clutching me against him. Almost like he was afraid I was going to run. Hell, with how unpredictable he was being, maybe I would.
My heart pounded in my chest, my ass stung as the scrape of his pants hit the sensitive, raw flesh. Heat pooled in my gut as he withdrew his fingers from inside of me and I heard the distinct sound of a zipper, then a wrapper tearing.
His sheathed cock pushed against my opening, thick and hard, and without giving my body time to adjust, he slammed inside of me. Despite the harsh, rhythmic thrusts, pleasure hissed through my body, warming me from the inside out. Ash’s fingers dug into my hips, gripping me, pulling me harder and harder back against him as he stabbed inside of me over and over. Reaching around, he pinched my clit and pleasure built low in my belly, spiraling up my core from my bundle of nerves.
I wrapped the scarves around my wrists tighter—they weren’t knotted painfully or tightly. If I really wanted to, I could slip right out of them, I was sure of it. I cried out—in pleasure, in pain? I wasn’t sure I knew, or if it even mattered anymore. I grunted as his free hand tugged at my hair, pulling my head back to look in his eyes.
I thought I’d find desire looking back at me.
Arousal.
Adoration.
But what I found was sorrow.
Deep in those blue eyes, nothing but pain stared back at me. Though it might be my ass that was bright red and raw, it was clear which one of us would feel the lasting effects of tonight and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me.
“Ash,” I said softly.
His pinched eyes narrowed—that sorrow was replaced with something else. Something hard and angry. “Did I say you could call me by my name?” he growled. He released my hair and instead pushed me back down roughly against the paddling bench.
Stabbing pain sliced into my shoulder. I screamed—literally screamed at the searing pain. “Red! Red! Mother fucking red!” I cried.
Ash was immediately in front of me, untying my hands. “What? What’s wrong?” He searched my face and I clutched my shoulder as he help
ed me stand up—an open safety pin, sticking out of my shoulder.
“Oh, Jesus,” he cried. “Lucy, I’m so sorry.” He helped me over to a chair and I winced.
“It’s okay, just… just pull it out.”
He cupped my jaw briefly, nodding. “Okay, on three. One, two, three.” He yanked it out quickly, then tore off his shirt, pressing it against the bleeding. It was just a puncture wound. A tiny one at that. Sure, it hurt like hell, but nothing a little Neosporin and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix.
My wound would heal.
But Ash’s wound? What I saw in his face? That looked far from healing. Uncle Richard’s words rang in my mind. Ash is broken.
The air was thick with a mixture of his spicy male scent and arousal. His eyes met mine, sad and distant and I had a sudden urge to brush my fingers across the angled lines of his cheekbones. The firm ridge of his brow. And those soft, palatable lips I enjoyed kissing so fiercely. I was aware of every little movement. Every small line and tiny downturn of his eyes and mouth. I followed that urge and raised my fingers, brushing his sweat-damp hair off his forehead. Again, his expression shifted, darkening.
“I didn’t say you could touch me,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold the same resolve it did earlier. Almost like he was saying it more to convince himself it was breaking the rules than me.
I cocked a brow and my nerves prickled at that. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Make me bleed? Oh wait…” I gestured to my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked the apology out, then quickly glanced away, not meeting my eyes. “I really am. You have to know I didn’t want that.”
“The scene is over, Ash. Look at me,” I demanded. He wasn’t the only one who could make demands. Just because I enjoyed being bossed around during sex didn’t mean I was going to stand for it outside of that. Hell no. “Look at me when we’re talking,” I reiterated.
His eyes darted to mine, a fierce, crystal shade of blue.
“I said yellow. And you ignored me.”
His gaze narrowed, but he kept his eyes firmly planted on mine. “I didn’t ignore you. Yellow means slow down. So, I stopped with the punishment and moved onto pleasure.”
“Exactly. You moved on. You barreled through. According to the contract you gave me, yellow means slow down and regroup. Check in with your sub. You didn’t check in. You hit the accelerator. You may have stopped with the punishment, but you didn’t slow down. And you definitely didn’t check in with me. Maybe if you had, this wouldn’t have happened.” I gestured to my puncture which was already almost done bleeding.
The lines framing his eyes tightened and he shook his head, tilting his chin to the ground. “This is exactly why we shouldn’t have started any scenes until we finished hashing out the contract in detail. Miscommunications like this—”
“Miscommunication? Ash, how is this a miscommunication?”
“We had different ideas about what the safeword ‘yellow’ meant. Which is my fault for not making sure you understood—”
“I understood what it meant. I think you’re making excuses because you made an irresponsible choice during a scene. I used my safeword just as you taught me to do. You didn’t check in with me. You didn’t regroup in safe, sane, and consensual way. You’re right about one thing. This was your fault. But not because I didn’t understand. Because you were being irresponsible.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “What did you just say?”
I swallowed, knowing it was painful for him to hear. But it was also true. “I said you were irresponsible.”
I was shaking and tears sprung in my eyes. I never thought I’d be here again. This time, instead of the scared little girl watching helplessly, I was the woman. I was my mom. Only, I would not have the same fractured fairy tale. Oh, hell no. This princess was not going to end up married to the troll under the bridge.
He closed his eyes, his lip trembling, and I wasn’t sure if it was with suppressed sadness or suppressed rage. “You’re right. That was irresponsible of me. I should have regrouped with you. I’m… I’m sorry Lucy. It won’t happen again.”
I stood, handing him back his shirt and he, too, pushed to his feet.
“You’re right,” I said. “It won’t happen again because we won’t be happening again.”
“Lucy, wait—”
“I’m serious, Ash.” I walked over to the bench, shoving my legs back into my jeans and putting my bra and shirt back on. “I’m out. I’m not going to let my personal history repeat itself.”
He rushed ahead of me, blocking my exit with his body. “Personal history? What do you mean?”
A bitter laugh cracked in my throat and those tears which I’d been so successful at suppressing spilled down my cheeks. “My father was a monster.”
“Your father?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “We talked about this. I won’t tell you what to eat like your mom and dad. I trust you will—”
“It wasn’t just that with my father,” I said, the salty tears spilling across my lips as I spoke. “He hurt my mom. Punched her, kicked her, burned her with his cigars. He knew just where to hit her so that no one could see. Her back. Her stomach.” I paused, swallowing a sob. “Her heart.”
Comprehension eased over Ash’s face. “Oh my God, Lucy. I had no idea. When you talked about your parents and your dad leaving, I just assumed he was emotionally abusive—”
“Well, now you know. I guess I was trying to give this a chance because for some fucked up reason, I seem to get off on it,” I could feel my face heating. Feel the way my palms were itchy and I was shifting my weight restlessly. “I was beginning to see the difference between BDSM and abuse… until tonight. But if this is what BDSM is about, then I want nothing to do with it.”
I turned and left the soundstage, not surprised when Ash didn’t follow me.
Chapter Nineteen
Ash
I was miserable. Which said something because I was always unhappy. The way Lucy and I left things had me feeling unhinged. And what was worse? She was still so fucking kind to me at work. There was no scowling across the room. No narrowed eyes as she stomped away or avoided my gaze.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She did avoid my gaze. But that was only because I couldn’t stop fucking staring at her. The point was, she wasn’t holding it against me. Even though she should. Even though I would deserve every scowl, every middle finger she probably wanted to throw my way.
Instead, she gave me small smiles from across the room.
Pitying smiles.
I had apologized. She had accepted. Everything was cordial. Polite. It was fucking worse than if she’d just called me a jackass and slapped me. I would’ve deserved it.
I was a jackass. And broken. For the first time in… in ever, I was a terrible Dom. I knew my place when I was Brie’s Dom. We started as boyfriend and girlfriend and grew our bond as Dom/sub from there. After Brie, I also always knew my place. Being a Dom was the means to an end. A release with nothing more beneath the surface. But with Lucy? I don’t know how to combine those two things again. I don’t know how to give her more than just being her Dom because I don’t know how to be something more than that… anymore.
And on some level, maybe she knew that. Maybe that’s what those pitying smiles were about. I could not for the life of me soothe these warring feelings. On one hand, I wanted her back. For the rest of the week, I did everything I could to make up for what happened. For what a shitty, shitty Dominant I was—flowers, apologies, chocolates. I had no right—no place training anyone in this lifestyle when I, myself, couldn’t fucking do the one thing a Dominant is truly supposed to do. Protect. Protect and care for his submissive.
Maybe Lucy wasn’t meant for this lifestyle. I had no idea how intense her history with abuse was. I always thought BDSM was the salt that went on the wound—it was painful, but healing. But maybe for Lucy, it was like pouring acid on a wound rather than salt. Maybe this life wasn’t how she was meant to heal from her f
ather and mother.
All these years, five years of short term relationships and casual sex—I told myself it was because it would dishonor Brie, but the truth was, I couldn’t. I only committed to a weekend at a time because outside of that, there was no fucking way I could successfully keep a submissive safe. I was a failure. I shouldn’t even be directing this movie.
It was Friday night and this week gave new meaning to the saying: The days are long but the years are short. Or in this instance, the weeks are short.
From our first day of filming, we’d been working long hours… six a.m. until nine p.m. My crew was exhausted. I could see it in their slow movement. Their dark circled eyes. And the way the coffee was brewing nonstop, and yet, always seemed empty. We were all wired. Exhausted. And they needed rest.
Though Silhouette doesn’t usually give the crew an entire weekend off, they needed it. Pierce had arrived on Wednesday—back from Croatia—and we’d spent extra hours rehearsing the scenes we needed to reshoot between our normal shooting schedule. They were beat. Hell, I was beat. Besides, we were switching over the sets tomorrow and Sunday, so unless they were part of the carpentry crew, there was no reason for them to put in the extra hours. Everyone seemed to perk up at the announcement, and all of a sudden my zombie crew was alive and cheering, hustling to get out of the studio faster.
I was closing up my office when Jude, Marly, Pierce, and Neil rounded the corner, all smiles and laughter.
I loved my friends, but watching their happiness only put a spotlight onto my misery.
“Ash!” Neil called from down the hall.
God, I wished I could just duck my head and run the other way.
Jude had his arm tightly around Marly’s waist, his thumb brushing her hip bone in slow, soft strokes absent-mindedly. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
I used to do that. I used to stroke her hand, her back—mindlessly, not noticing. My throat closed at the thought because I missed how silky her skin was beneath my touch.
Role Play (Silhouette Studios) Page 25
