The Darker Side of Pleasure

by Eden Bradley

  “Well…”

  But as he stepped closer she caught the masculine scent that was purely him. Her body went liquid and suddenly she couldn’t find the energy to argue.

  “Come here.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close to him.

  His mouth came down hard on hers, his hands sliding down to cup her ass. Lord, the man could kiss! He was inside her mouth, tasting, teasing, his tongue hot and sweet with the flavor of coffee.

  She smoothed her hands over his back, lower, beneath the cotton waistband. His buttocks were taut with muscle. She pulled him in closer until his erection pressed into her belly. Not close enough. She needed him inside. Now.

  As though reading her mind his arms tightened around her and he turned, lifting her onto the counter. The granite was cold beneath her thighs, but the heat growing inside her kept her warm.

  He spread her legs, took one hand off her body long enough to pull the drawstring at his waist and the cotton fabric fell away. He pulled her closer, she wrapped her legs around his back, and he entered her in one long, smooth thrust.

  She gasped at the size of him while pleasure rippled over her skin, moved deeper inside. He fastened his mouth on her neck, his hands held her ass, and he stabbed deeper into her body.

  She held onto his shoulders and let her head fall back while he plunged into her, pulled out, plunged again. Each strong thrust sent a thrilling pleasure into her, singing through her veins. She was panting, he was panting. He moved too fast, too furiously, for there to be any words between them. This was all hot, animal sex, an expression of the intensity of their need for each other. No words were needed.

  Her climax came down on her fast and hard; the sharp, pulsing spasms started deep in her sex, in her clit, then moved outward, until she was nothing more than a being made purely of pleasure.

  Only a moment later she heard his guttural groan, felt his body stiffen all over, then his hot, hard cock was ramming into her, carrying the last surges of her own climax away with his.

  He pulled her off the counter, and she wrapped her legs more tightly around his waist while he held her. He kissed her neck, her lips, her forehead. She shivered at each tiny kiss, her heart pounding with exertion and emotion. And the only thought running through her mind was, I cannot leave him. Ever.

  They had been together for one week—the longest relationship Damien had had with a woman in years. Hell, he never had a woman at his house for more than a night or two. But everything with Maggie was different.

  He leaned into the kitchen counter, a coffee mug in his hand. She was in the shower upstairs. Too tempting, to go up there and slip beneath the hot water with her. To run his hands over that smooth, wet skin, to take her up against the cool tiles, push into her hot, eager body…

  A lovely image. Even better to know he really could do it. The idea was luxurious, somehow.

  Don’t get too used to it.

  He shook his head, took a long sip of the steaming, black coffee. For the first time in his life, he found himself intimidated by another human being. He didn’t care for the feeling. He frankly hated it. But every time he began to think about how damn much he wanted her, how vulnerable he was with this woman, she was right there, and he fell for her all over again.

  He knew that’s what it was. And he spent most of his days denying it. Easy enough to get lost in her, in the things they did together. It was only when he found himself alone like this, when she was showering, when he tore himself away to work at his desk for a few hours, that his mind latched onto these thoughts.

  He did not want to think about it. But sooner or later he’d have to. Their time was coming to an end. He had another week to figure out how to shut himself down again. He would have to do it, no question about it. When the time came, he would find a way. Because the truth was, he couldn’t handle the alternative.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE MOVED LANGUIDLY BENEATH THE WEIGHT of the heavy down comforter, his unique scent the first thing she breathed in. Her eyes opened to another new day, their twelfth day together. During that time he had tied her up, spanked her, flogged her, paddled her, made love to her. They’d talked about art, films, international politics, all of the interests they shared. He’d taken her to the best restaurants the city had to offer. They’d even spent an evening at the theater together. And every day he kissed her like no other man ever had. But they did not once talk about the fact that at the end of the week she was due to return to New York.

  She was afraid if they talked about the situation it would ruin the moments they had left together. She had no idea what his excuse was, but she was grateful for it.

  Her body had never been so sated. She’d never felt so cared for, so treasured. But was this reality? Could a relationship ever be this wonderful, this utterly satisfying and exciting at the same time? Or was this only dream time because they both knew it would soon end? She didn’t know, couldn’t even guess.

  She’d spent most of her life understanding the impermanence of things. Of everything. She’d never believed in forever. Why did she want to now, despite everything she knew? Foolish of her.

  She didn’t want to think about the fact that they had only two days left.

  Maybe it would be better to end things now, to get it over with? But she couldn’t stand to have one less moment with him than was possible. The idea of it made her heart twist in her chest until she could barely breathe. But sometimes, so did the idea of staying. Of giving their connection a chance to strengthen, to pull her in even deeper.

  She sat up and pushed her hair away from her face. The early morning light shone through the sheer curtains. The air was dense with fog outside. She could see the floating wisps of gray and white through the paned glass, the way it mixed with the pale sunlight to cast a shadowy stillness in the room.

  She often woke before he did, and watched him as he slept. In sleep his strong face looked so peaceful, almost innocent. It was only when he opened his eyes that he took command. But she loved these quiet moments when she could simply study him, appreciate the translucent lids of his eyes, the way his dark hair swept back from the smooth skin of his forehead. And it was during these moments she realized she didn’t really know anything about him, nothing beyond the surface. Even though when they were together, in bed, while scening, it felt as though she knew everything she needed to know.

  In the dim light of a new day, she understood that finally, it was time to face reality about who he was, who she was. Who they might be together. But no, what she really needed was to deepen her understanding of why, at the end of these two weeks, she should go back to New York and leave him behind forever.

  His eyes fluttered open and she was greeted with a smile. His strong, white teeth always dazzled her. But this morning she ignored the surge of lust between her thighs.

  “Damien, I want to talk. Need to talk.”

  “Mmm…okay. What about?” He sat up, pulled his pillows up behind him. The sheet fell away from his bare chest and she had to steel herself against the sight of all that beautiful skin.

  “I want to know about you. Who you are, where you come from. Everything.”

  He was quiet a moment. “I don’t talk much about my past. That mention of my mother last week was unusual for me.”

  “Aren’t D/s relationships, however brief, supposed to be based on mutual trust?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “More than I’ve trusted anyone in a very long time.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Is this more of your unfinished interview?”

  She felt a quick stab of guilt at having sacrificed doing her job to her own needs. But she’d have plenty of material to write her article on the plane on the way back to New York.

  Too awful to think about leaving here, leaving him.

  Don’t think about it now.

  “The interview is over. This is about you and me.”

  He nod
ded, his face serious.

  “I want to know why you haven’t trusted anyone in so long, as you said. And there are other things…What are you not telling me?”

  “You are too perceptive for your own good.”

  “Maybe. Are you going to tell me?”

  He ran a hand over his dark hair, closed his eyes, leaned his head back into the pillows. If she hadn’t known they were having a serious discussion, she’d have almost thought he’d fallen asleep. Finally he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

  “I was married once.”

  He paused, as though waiting for her reaction. But she didn’t know yet what to think of that bit of information. She waited for him to continue.

  “I met her in college. Julia. We got very serious very quickly. We married after only three months. I was twenty-one. I’d already experimented with domination and sadomasochism. She knew about it, knew I was into it. She went along with it. Even derived some pleasure from it. But she never quite got it. I was too young to understand how that works.”

  “So you had a marriage that wasn’t entirely built on truth?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t know to what extent until we’d been married for a year, when I found her in bed with a friend of ours.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “It was as traumatic as these things always are. She told me it was because of my ‘perversions,’ as she called it. She said she couldn’t take it, didn’t want to do it. But she hadn’t felt able to tell me that. She was afraid I wouldn’t hear her, that I loved it too much, loved it more than her. Well, she was probably right about that.”

  “But you did love her?” Why did it seem so important that she know that? That he was capable of love?

  He was quiet a long time. She watched his face harden, his mouth tighten into a thin line. “Yes. In the way I was able to at that age. But the thing is, at that moment I came to understand I could not indulge my desires and have a relationship, as well.”

  “But aren’t there people in this lifestyle who have successful, long-term relationships?” A stab of panic made her stomach knot up.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then why should you be any different?”

  “I failed miserably, didn’t I?”

  “You were young. Practically a kid. How could you possibly expect to make intelligent decisions at that age?”

  “I always had before. I’ve always been hyperresponsible, I suppose you’d call it. Nothing less was expected in my family. My father was in the military, a colonel. I’m sure you know the type. And I’ve already mentioned my mother to you.”

  “Yes.” She was quiet, absorbing everything he’d told her. In the end, it sounded like a bunch of excuses to her, frankly. Or was that just because she didn’t want to hear these things from him?

  She looked down at the suede comforter and rolled the edge between her fingers. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  She glanced up again to see him shrug. “I suppose I am.”

  “That you’re not relationship material?”

  He paused. His eyes were absolutely blank, all life gone from them as though an opaque curtain had been drawn down. His voice held a flat tone that made her feel as though she’d been tied to a rock, then thrown in a river. All emotion gone. All warmth. This was a different person sitting here and talking to her.

  “This conversation has reminded me of why I don’t get serious with any woman. Why in two days you will go back to New York and we will both get on with our lives.”

  The knot that had formed earlier in her stomach twisted painfully. “Haven’t things changed for you at all this last week? Because I could swear I saw…I saw something in your eyes. Felt it from you.”

  He didn’t say a word, just sat there and stared at the bed as though he were carved from stone.

  Her eyes stung with tears. “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t felt something for me, Damien. That’s bullshit. That’s just you making excuses.”

  God, she hated that she sounded so weak, so needy. She would not beg this man to love her.

  Love? When had that happened?

  She wiped at her face as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. God, she was pathetic.

  “I do feel something for you. But I shouldn’t. I’m not constructed that way. My apologies if I made you hope for something more—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for this, for what we’ve had!”

  “We both knew you’d be returning to New York at the end of this week. Had you really thought to change those plans? To stay here?”

  “I hadn’t thought anything through. I haven’t had time to think.” She hadn’t wanted to think. But it all amounted to the same thing.

  “Neither have I. Perhaps that’s the problem. I should have thought about this.” He paused, ran one hand through his hair. “I should have been more realistic, more honest with you about what you could expect from me.”

  “You were honest enough in that the subject didn’t need to be discussed initially. And it’s been as much my fault the last few days. I was putting it off. Maybe on some level I knew that when I did bring it up, this is exactly what would happen.”

  He was quiet again. His eyes were so shadowed, so guarded, she couldn’t tell what was going on in his head. But she couldn’t stand that he could sit there and give her nothing. His indifference made her furious, all the more because she knew it was a lie. She’d expected more from him.

  She threw back the covers and stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “If that’s an invitation to stay, it’s not terribly effective. Perhaps you need to work on your technique, Damien.”

  She spent a few moments gathering her clothes, dressed as quickly as she could, picked up her purse, and left. He didn’t bother to follow. She didn’t look back.

  The cab ride back to her hotel was one of the most depressing rides of her life. The city still slept under the early morning blanket of fog, silent as any city ever could be. It was absolutely gray, dull, lifeless.

  She remembered now why she could never bear to return to San Francisco. Beneath the colorful Victorian houses, the view of the bay, the busy life of its inhabitants, there was this almost constant gray. Not a great place in which to be depressed. But then, was there such a place?

  New York was bound to be even worse. As angry and disappointed as she was, she didn’t know how she was going to stand being so far away from him.

  God, this was really happening! This was it. It was over. Her heart twisted, tightened in her chest, and she swore she could feel it crumbling, breaking apart. She bit her lip, hard.

  She would not cry.

  The cab pulled up in front of her hotel. She paid the driver and took the elevator upstairs. Inserting the plastic key card into the lock, she remembered him doing it that first night, remembered his kiss. A shiver ran over her skin. If only she’d known then how complicated this relationship would become, would she have done what she had with him anyway?

  Yes. Impossible to deny it. The attraction between them was too cerebral, too basic, too intense.

  And ultimately, as painful as a stab through the heart.

  How had she fallen for this man in less than two weeks?

  She did her best not to think about her feelings for him, her pain, while she packed her bags, and called the airline to book a flight out that afternoon. When she hung up the phone she had to fight a wave of panic. She was really leaving.

  Tears stung her eyes, held her throat in a choke hold. But she would not cry.

  Finally, she went downstairs to have coffee and make the necessary notes for her column. She would have to fight the constriction in her chest, the constantly threatening tears, and do her job. She found a table in the spare luxury of the hotel lounge, all sleek, modern lines and gray and dark blue suede. She pulled out her laptop and began.

  I have just had the adventure of a lifetime. The sensual world of BDSM is far different from what most of us would
imagine. It is not only about the ropes and chains, the whips and paddles. Of course, these things are often elements. But what it really is about is power. Energy. Trust.

  You must be capable of striking a delicate balance to play this rather serious game. You must be willing to give a piece of yourself. And this piece can sometimes be larger, more crucial, than you imagined.

  I met a man. A most intriguing man. He is elegant, sophisticated. A man of wealth and privilege. A true sensualist, a true sadist. But he is also a man who takes his role as a sensual dominant very seriously. Perhaps too seriously, but then, that’s only my opinion. For him, the responsibility involved in his role is acutely important. I believe it is a large part of why he does this.

  My time with him has been absolutely overwhelming, in every single way. This is not something you can go into without involving every cell of your being. Body, mind, and soul.

  “And heart,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek, her heart aching so hard she had to hold one hand over it, as though to keep it from breaking apart, shattering into her hands.

  Too late.

  A small sob escaped her lips.

  “Maggie.”

  She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath. She bit down on her lip, hard. She would not cry. God, not in front of him.

  Why was he doing this to her? She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, clouded, but she could see the emotion there. No matter how hard he tried to hide it. And he was here, wasn’t he? But she knew better now than to allow herself to melt into him, even though that’s what she wanted to do more than anything at this moment. To drown in his embrace, breathe in the scent of him, feel the safety of his arms around her. But they were still on dangerous ground.

  Don’t even think about it.

  “What do you want?” So damn hard to speak to him, to make her throat open, to make the words come out.

  “So cold. All my fault though, isn’t it? May I sit down?”

  “Only if you intend to talk to me. Really talk to me.”

  He sat in the chair opposite her and was quiet, as though gathering his thoughts. She hated that he looked so good, even with that haunted look in his eyes, his dark hair tousled. Her heart hammered in her chest. With fear, with an almost unbearable longing. Her eyes stung so badly, it was hard to see.