She realized that was their intention. Their minds were so depraved, they only saw filth and smut in everyone around them. If it wasn't there already, they created it.
But slut was just a word. Just like how hers and Patti's bodies interpreted pain differently than some, the importance and meaning of the word slut was subjective, too, depending on who used it.
She turned back to Damián, who seemed to be waiting for her to respond, react. She walked into his personal space and wrapped her arms around him, then looked up.
His eyes opened wider, then he smiled. Had she initiated a hug before? She didn't think so.
Safe.
He placed his hand on her butt and pulled her hips against him.
"Mine."
She wasn't sure how much territory he was claiming—her butt or all of her—but wished she could give him all of herself.
"Yes, Sir. All of me."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Damián squeezed her ass again, surprised she'd come into his arms so willingly. Good timing, because he was about to get a whole lot closer.
"Time for some aftercare."
She looked around the dungeon. "There's no loveseat."
He let her ponder that a moment while he watched Dad steer Karla out of the dungeon with a hand to her back, followed by Marc, then Victor and Patti. They'd been a big help to him in convincing Savannah to see that being a willing slut in a consensual relationship was nothing close to what had happened to her in the past.
"Come, bebé. We're going upstairs to one of the bedrooms for aftercare and intimacy."
Savannah's body stiffened. She tried to pull away and he held her tighter. "No, querida, this kind of intimacy isn't about sex. That's still on your list of hard limits and I respect that, but I need to hold you. All night. That was an intense scene and I'm not letting you out of my sight until I know you're going to be okay. You don't need to be alone tonight. And Marisol doesn't count. No need to upset her if the dragons do come back tonight."
She frowned. "But who's staying with her?"
"Angelina. Karla will call her to confirm you'll be staying here. I'd hoped for a breakthrough like this tonight, so I made all the necessary arrangements."
"But I didn't bring anything to wear." She was going to drum up a lot of excuses to get out of this, he could see.
"You won't need anything to wear."
"Damián…" The fear in her eyes made it clear they still had a long way to go as far as intimacy went, but he was patient. He'd waited almost nine years for her. He'd wait as long as it took.
"Savannah, you know I'm not going to molest you. All I'm going to do tonight is hold you, talk with you, and sleep with you—by sleep, I mean sleep. There's more to intimacy than sex."
Being with her like this would be hard for him, too—hard being the operative word—but after all he'd asked of her, it was time he overcame his aversion of being completely naked in her presence. He'd never let himself be this vulnerable to a woman before, revealing his dismembered body, but it was only fair that he be willing to step out of his comfort zone, too. He also wanted to test Dad's theory on the PTSD nightmares that might come while he was sleeping with Savannah. Dios, he hoped the fucking demons would give him a break tonight. He wanted—no needed—for this night to be perfect.
"I do plan to touch you, Savannah, but your slow-down and safewords remain in effect, if you need them.
She swallowed hard, but didn't run, physically or emotionally. Progress.
He bent down and brushed a kiss against her cheek, then whispered, "So proud of you, Savita."
"Thank you, Sir."
He bent to pick up his toy bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then, with an arm around her waist, he led her out of the dungeon and through the weight-training room. At the base of the stairs, he stopped. "Lose the shoes. I don't want you to trip or fall."
"Not even to cop a feel?"
"Lose. The. Shoes. And the smart mouth, too."
She grinned, which helped him relax, and slipped off her shoes. He took them from her in one hand, then took her hand and they walked up to the second floor.
He'd chosen the room she'd napped in on Christmas Day, the same one he'd taken refuge in when he'd first come to Denver.
He opened the door for her. "After you, bebé."
When she just stared at the bed without moving forward, he placed a hand on the curve above her ass and propelled her forward. Her clothes were still on the bed from when she'd changed into her slut outfit, so he gathered them up and put them on a chair.
"You go do whatever you need to in the bathroom."
"Should I…take my clothes off?"
"Not yet." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "I want to watch. But you can lose the lipstick on your forehead, querida. It's served its purpose."
Her face turned a pretty shade of pink, and she nearly ran into the bathroom. He was going to have fun tonight—not as much fun as he'd like to have maybe, but just being able to hold Savannah in his arms and break down some more of those intimacy barriers would be enough. It had been too long.
Savannah had made a lot of progress so far, despite the kidnapping, that had brought so much crap to the surface. She amazed him that she'd been able to bounce back from that ordeal so quickly, but there would be aftereffects that would arise from time to time. Hell, he still had nightmares and flashbacks from Fallujah.
He sure hoped Dad was right about him not hurting Savannah…
Damián went to the bed and pulled down the sheets. He'd made sure everything was ready for them tonight and knew Dad and Karla would give them the privacy they needed. Dad said they'd be spending the night at the hotel where they'd spent their wedding night. Tomorrow morning, they'd be going down to Aspen Corners to visit with Karla's friend, Cassie. Angelina was heading back, too, but they still had all night.
Damián sat on the bed and removed his boots and socks. When the bathroom door opened, he turned to find his beautiful princess slut standing with the light silhouetting her sexy body. Yeah, definite curves. He didn't hide his being a sadist among the people who frequented his favorite cantina. Otherwise, she'd probably have been hit on by every stud at the place earlier tonight.
She hesitated, and he stood. "Come here."
Savannah took a deep breath and walked across the room. When she stood in front of him, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, feeling the slight tremor in her body. She rested her cheek against his chest and every protective bone in his body reached out to her.
After a moment, Savannah looked up at him. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
She reached up and stroked his cheek. Naturally, his dick interpreted the innocent signal all wrong. Not now, Chico. She's trying to say something important here.
She stiffened against him and must have felt his dick against her. Damián's hand made long, sweeping motions on her arm. "Relax. I'm just going to hold you, touch you tonight. Nothing is going to happen that you don't consent to."
She swallowed hard. "I trust you, Sir."
"Thank you, bebé. Now, tell me about your feelings from tonight's scene."
"I'm not sure."
"Tell me what you are sure about."
"I've had these negative messages replaying in my head forever, saying I'm a whore, a slut. I've never imagined being able to turn them off, even for a short time. I'm still not sure I can completely."
"Sometimes we try to erase, but more often the best we can hope for is to redirect the negatives to something more positive, like we did when I claimed your brand as my own, or tonight with trying to show you being a slut can be a good thing.
She took a deep breath. "But last month, when we worked on erasing 'whore' from my mind, it really seemed to help. The word had so little effect on me when my fa…well, I don't want to think about that anymore either, but it helped keep me from sinking down to what they wanted me to be."
She drew a deep breath. "My entire life, I've associ
ated the word slut with something dirty. I want to please you, Damián, but I'm not sure I can just turn off that tape. What happens if I back slide?"
He continued stroking her arm, allowing himself a moment of pride when the texture of her skin changed as gooseflesh rose. The reaction of her body to his touch empowered him.
"It's a matter of discipline, Savannah. With practice, you can rewind the tapes and replace them with positive messages. Remember how you had Teresa journal when she first started treatment for the rape?" She nodded. "And you have Marisol journal every day still, telling what she's grateful for. Have you thought about starting a journal for yourself?"
"I already do—my own gratitude journal."
"Good. But I'd like you to start a new one. A submissive's journal."
She pulled away and met his gaze. "What's that?"
"Every morning and any other time you feel the need, I'd like for you to record your experience, your feelings, as you journey deeper into submission."
"But I'm not a submissive. I'm a bottom."
"A bottom submits, too. How would you feel about renegotiating our relationship and becoming my submissive?"
"Are you serious?"
"Never more serious about anything in my life. Savannah, I think I can help you overcome some of the things you fear, some of the things that have kept you paralyzed and unable to consider being in a committed relationship with me or anyone else.
"Like our Top/bottom agreement, we will be very clear about what you are willing to try and what is off-limits. Not that I won't test your limits as time goes on, if I think you need it. But you'll be able to stop or slow down at any point by using your safewords."
"You want to dominate me." She tried to pull away, but his strong arms held her tightly against him.
"Bebé, I've already been dominating you. What I want, even if we aren't living together, is to have a relationship where it doesn't stop at the end of a date or a scene's aftercare. I want more. I want to be able to hold you all night long after a scene—like we're going to do tonight."
Tears filled her eyes and Damián pressed her head against his chest. "Shhh. You don't have to decide tonight. I just wanted you to know how I feel. Whether I'm your Top or your Dom, we're going to tackle those messages every time one of them tries to derail your progress."
She pulled away once more and looked up at him. "I need to say this, Damián, almost as much as you need to hear it."
This didn't sound good.
"Thank you for taking the time to plan that scene for us tonight."
Damián felt a lump growing in his throat.
"You and the others have me convinced that I need to work on embracing my inner slut." She gave him a dubious smile. "This word might take a little longer to put behind me. I've always felt like a slut because I responded sexually to what they did to me. You've helped me see that I wasn't a willing slut. I understand now that to them I was nothing more than property. I had no rights. No choice."
"Our scene tonight was a long time in the making. Ever since you mentioned you had trouble with the word slut, I knew we'd have to deal with it head on. Trust me. You're going to hear it a lot in the club. I don't want you to get triggered every time one of the Doms calls his sub a slut, or, worse yet, think it's derogatory. It's used at almost every collaring ceremony I've been to."
"Collaring?"
"When a Dom and a sub are at a point in their relationship where they want to make a deeper commitment to each other or take it to another level, the Dom presents his sub with a collar. Same for triads and polyamorous relationships, not just for couples."
He could see he was overloading her with more jargon. "You know the leather collar Karla wears at the club, the one with the dogtag on it?"
She nodded.
"That's her collar for the club or whenever Dad wants her to wear it. But she also has one she wears in public that's more subtle—looks like a necklace to the vanilla crowd."
Her eyes opened wider. "The one she was wearing when we stopped by to visit after their honeymoon?"
He nodded and smiled. "Dad collared her privately on their honeymoon. At some point, he'll probably have a public collaring ceremony, too."
"He'd do that in public?"
"Well, public to the club members, probably in the great room. It's like a wedding ceremony in a sense, but the commitment they're making is to the relationship as a Dom and his sub."
"I think I understand. I still think I need a cheat sheet to keep up, but now it makes sense why you and Grant congratulated her on getting a necklace as a Christmas gift. Grant even called it a collar, but that just confused me more."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't ready to tell you about this part of my life back then. You might have run from me, not that I'd have let you get away." He brushed his thumb against her cheek.
"I'm glad you shared your club with me. Well, actually, I guess Adam was the one who got me in there first."
He remembered how angry he'd been that night when Dad wouldn't get Savannah out of the club before Patti's cathartic whipping had begun. That night had been a turning point for both Savannah and for Damián. They needed each other. He wondered if Dad had seen that all along, or if it was just dumb luck. Knowing Dad, it was part of a bigger plan.
He cleared his throat that had grown tight all of the sudden. "I never stopped thinking about you, mi sueño. You were always in my dreams."
"I thought about you off and on, but mostly just trying to figure out if you were real or just an Orlando Bloom fantasy come to life."
"Bloom, huh?"
"You look a lot like him."
"Yeah? Great." That's all his ego needed to hear, that she fantasized about some unattainable Hollywood actor.
"Damián, that brief time seemed like a dream from the start. Not reality. Yet, Mari always was my beautiful proof that our time together had been very real."
Without warning, Savannah took a deep breath and reached up to take the lapels of his Harley vest in each hand, sliding the leather back over his shoulders and down his arms. She tossed the vest onto the bed and lowered her gaze to the ink on his bare chest. She stared at the dragon's head so long he flexed his pec to get her to snap back into the moment.
She jumped, then giggled at herself. "Sorry. I don't know how to seduce someone, so just bear with me."
What the fuck did she mean by seduce? Whose aftercare was this, anyway?
"Savannah, tonight isn't about me…"
She placed a finger against his lips and lowered her mouth to his chest. When the tip of her sweet tongue flicked tentatively against his nip, his balls tightened. Mierda. "
Savannah pulled back and looked up at him in wonder. "I didn't know a man's nipples could get hard like that, too."
His nip wasn't the only thing getting hard.
The aftercare/intimacy scene he'd planned included touching and cuddling but no sex. If she kept up this attack on his body, he'd be the one needing aftercare tonight, because sex was out of the question. She was practically a virgin experience-wise. He was sure she'd only known actual lovemaking once, their time in the beach cave. He had no intention of rushing her into anything that might leave her feeling more ashamed later. She'd had enough of that from men who had abused her in the past. His job was to protect and nurture, not take advantage of her.
No la moleste.
Time to get on with the third act of tonight's scene. Damián bent down and kissed her on the forehead. "Let's get into bed, bebé." He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up, but the pained expression on her face surprised him.
"Please don't reject me, Sir. I'm trying…"
Clearly, she needed to do this. As her Service Top and trainer, it was his responsibility to guide her. Madre de Dios, help him.
"Strip for me."
Her eyes opened wide and a smile broke out on her face. He relaxed. This was what she needed. Still, she hesitated, despite the fact she'd stripped for him many times. Maybe he needed to take it to
another level. He remembered coaching her as she'd pleasured herself for the first time.
"This time, as you strip, I want you to touch yourself—your breasts, your pussy. Play it to the hilt. Show off your sexy body to me, your gorgeous curves. Turn me on."
She gazed at the bulge in his pants and back at his face. "I can't have sex, Sir. I'm sor…"
"Savannah, I've been hard for you more times than I can count. Have I forced myself on you before?"
"No, but you haven't shared a bed with me all night before either."
"Once upon a time, I made a bed for you with my leather jacket in a beach cave."
Her pupils dilated and her breathing became shallow, which surprised the hell out of him. She hadn't forgotten how good it was for her that day.
"If I'd intended to force myself on you, bebé, I wouldn’t have needed a bed. You're safe to explore your sensuality with me, to embrace your inner slut, as you put it."
He looked down at her tank top, emblazoned with "PRINCESS." Savannah already had the princess part down pat.
"I want you to tease me mercilessly. Don't hold anything back, slut."
* * *
Savannah had no clue how to behave like a slut. She'd never intentionally teased anyone, but she trusted him not to force her to do anything she wasn't ready for. Something he'd said resonated with her.
"You're safe to explore your sensuality here."
His words reminded her of something her stripper-pole dance instructor had said to the women in her class. When she'd taken the first few classes at her therapist's insistence, she'd known the goal wasn't firmer thighs and more upper-body strength. Savannah had been one of the more self-conscious people in the class as she watched what the other women did.
She didn't have a dancer pole here. She looked around the bedroom. The closest thing she found was the cannonball bedpost. Not even close, but she needed a prop or she wouldn't be able to do this. Wiping her sweaty palms on her hot-pink pants, she took a deep breath and moved to the foot of the bed, turning her back to Damián. Shaking out her hands, she concentrated on the big round knob on the bedpost. Maybe if she kept her focus there, she could get through this. She certainly couldn't make eye contact with him.
Nobody's Perfect Page 45
