I just wonder if he’ll feel the same way outside the bedroom. Or outside the playroom, I guess I should say.
Logan moves behind me and gently tilts my head back so my hair gets caught in one of the streams of water. He runs his hand across my scalp, working the water deep into my hair. He grabs a bottle from a marble shelf and flicks the cap up with one hand, squeezing some of the gel out and rubbing it into my hair. The shampoo froths in my hair quickly and an amazing scent fills the shower. I lose myself in the way his strong fingers feel threading through my hair, pulling the shampoo through every last strand carefully. When I sneak a look at his face, he looks absolutely absorbed in his task, as if he’s enjoying it as much as I am.
I smile, biting my lip. “Mmmm. That feels so good.”
He chuckles deeply, tilting my head back again to rinse the shampoo from my hair. He grabs conditioner next and works it into my hair. I’m surprised when the conditioner makes my scalp sting slightly, almost as if there was alcohol in it. It’s not a bad feeling though, and the initial burn is quickly replaced by an icy coldness, making me feel like my hair is more clean than it has ever been. When he washes the conditioner free, the intensity of the cold dulls until it’s just a pleasant tingle across my scalp.
He grabs a bar of soap next and works up a lather in his hands, eyeing me purposefully. “You got a little dirty in there, Kitten. I think I should clean you up.”
I grin. “You did make the mess.”
He chuckles. “Fair point.”
He starts at my collarbones, rubbing the soap carefully into my skin, eyes following his movements as if he’s transfixed. His hands rub circles of soap up from my collar bones to my shoulders and then they drift down, leaving trails of suds until he finds my breasts. He pauses long enough to get more soap, and then dives back into soaping my breasts. I blush when he makes it very clear his goal isn’t only to clean me, because he spends way more time than necessary massaging the soap into my chest, fingers dragging tantalizing paths of pleasure across my erect nipples.
His cock is fully hard again, and I can’t stop eating him up with my eyes from head to toe. My ass may still feel used and my body weak, but I still want more, except… I don’t know if he’s planning to have sex with me as my dom right now. The thought settles in my mind like poison, spreading through my body and dampening my arousal until it’s just a small ember. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, but it’s too late for that. I can already feel the old, familiar numbness settling in.
He eventually soaps the rest of my body, tickling me when his thumb plunges in my belly button and then silencing my giggles when he finds my mound and spends an excruciatingly long time cleaning my pussy and ass. Even though the way he’s touching me should have me gasping out of control, I have to force myself to increase my breathing. It feels wrong. Off. He hasn’t stripped control from me.
His hands start to move faster, and he starts to walk me toward the back wall, pressing my back into the slightly cold tiles. My chest heaves as he kisses my neck and mouth, then bends to suck my nipples hard enough to make me gasp. He straightens and lifts me by the thighs, guiding his cock into me. I’m still wet enough from before that his cock slides right in.
But as he starts to thrust into me almost tenderly, kissing my neck and breathing heavily, I feel a sense of panic build. It’s happening again. It’s like with all the men before. He’s trying to fuck me without any of the domination or submission and I don’t know if I’ll be able to cum like this. Yes, he’s the most breathtaking man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Yes, his cock is ridiculously perfect and I can feel it stretching my walls and reaching deeper inside me than I could imagine. But something isn’t right.
I wrap my arms around his neck, eyes open and face a mask as his breathing intensifies. I realize I’m going to have to pretend to cum, so I start making myself breathe heavier, moaning over his shoulder. I can see my blurry reflection in the mirror at the other end of the bathroom and the way my eyes look dead as I moan, the way my legs are wrapped behind his chiseled back, bouncing slightly with every thrust.
He groans, filling my pussy with cum, and I raise the pitch of my moans, doing my best to give the impression that I just came too. Logan slowly eases me down, smiling as he soaps his hands again and sets to cleaning my pussy.
“Is everything okay?” he asks after a few seconds.
“Yes. It’s perfect,” I say, hoping he doesn’t catch the note of strain in my voice.
35
Logan
I wipe sweat from my eyes and sink down on the bench beside Olivia. She’s sweating too, but smiling like an idiot as she drops her racquet and towels off.
“If you’re planning to brag, let’s just get it over with,” I say.
She gives me an innocent look and shrugs. “Beating you at tennis isn’t really worth bragging about anymore.”
I glare at her and toss a tennis ball at her leg, but she manages to swat it away, grinning.
“Sore loser, as always,” she says, tsking at me. “When am I going to meet this girl that has you blowing me off? I want to see her play.”
I purse my lips. “It’s complicated between us. And work has been an absolute nightmare lately. I lost half my investors and we’ve been organizing street teams to round up new small businesses. The tax implications alone are going to…” I trail off when I see Olivia pretending to sleep. Her head is thrown back dramatically and her mouth hangs open. “Boring. I know,” I say.
She pretends to wake up. “What? Were you talking about your company again? I must have dozed off.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should have gone into acting instead of tennis.”
“How complicated can it be between you two? I know you’re into all that weird stuff, but I mean, at the end of the day it’s probably just like any other relationship, except you like her to call you daddy while you guys fuck.”
I cringe. “You know I hate when you talk about it.”
She smirks. “I know. That’s why I still do it. Seriously though, how complicated can it be?”
I lean back, tapping my racquet against my knee. “Apparently it can be pretty complicated. The ‘weird stuff’ is all new to her, and she’s having trouble drawing a line between the fantasy and reality.”
Olivia looks thoughtful. “Oh. That actually does sound a little complicated. You mean she wants you to be her daddy in the bedroom but she’s having trouble staying interested in you outside the sex because you’re not really her daddy?”
I give Olivia a confused look. “What is all this daddy shit? No… Look, I’m not going to detail all this with you. I have no desire to know what kind of weird shit you’re into and I don’t--”
“Pegging,” Olivia deadpans.
I stare openly at her, feeling disgust and amazement.
She barks a laugh. “I’m just kidding. That’s sick. But yeah, you’re never going to learn what weird shit I’m into. I’m the only one in this pair who has to bear that mental poison.”
I sigh. “I can’t figure out if you’re trying to help right now or if you’re trying to irritate me.”
“I can’t do both?” she asks.
I laugh. “Good point. I guess you’re always doing a little bit of both.”
“Well,” she says. “I would think even if the sex is great, the relationship is doomed if you guys aren’t compatible outside of it.”
I run a hand through my hair. “When she lets her guard down, we get along better than I’ve ever gotten along with a woman, but she just puts these walls up sometimes. I don’t get it.”
“Welcome to women, Logan. I’m proud that you’re finally learning to accept you will never understand us.”
Emmaline is bent over at the foot of my bed. Her ass is red from the paddle. She was fifteen minutes late getting to my house, which has become a habit of hers. It has been almost two weeks since I strapped her to the ceiling and ass fucked her for the first time. We’ve been seeing each other regularly
since then, but I’ve started to feel a growing rift between us. I’ve been pushing the thoughts down as much as I can, but I can’t help noticing how much more wild she is getting in her tastes. She seems to be deliberately disobeying me to get as much punishment as she can, and I’ve been relying on her to tell me when she’s reached her limit, but I’m starting to think she has no limit, like she wants to be hurt.
I’ve never gotten off on pain before. I only enjoy using pain as a counterpoint to enhance pleasure. Sadism was never my kink. Wanting pain for the sake of pain is what some people are into, and that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. What bothers me is Emmaline’s sexual needs are looking more like a drug addict who is chasing the first high. I don’t believe she’s really masochistic. I think she’s just trying to escalate the danger every time we’re together to get the same rush she felt the first time. I’m not willing to start bringing the pain to a point where I’m doing real damage, and she has brought us right to the cusp of that.
Our interactions outside the play room have been hard to read, to say the least. I’ve been with her at the club the last two weekends and at my place plenty of times, but our interactions outside the play room or the club are always cut short. I’d almost think she was making excuses to leave, and I have no idea why. I just want to find out what she needs and give it to her. I’ve tried vanilla sex with her a few times, thinking she might be craving some normalcy, but she has been slightly stiff and unresponsive every time I’ve tried.
It all has me frustrated, and when I bring the paddle down on her again I do it with more force than I intended. The blow makes her lurch forward and lose her balance, falling to her face.
I kneel quickly at her side. “Emmaline, are you--”
She pushes me off. “I was late, Sir. I need to be punished.” Her eyes are distant, focused on something beyond the wall ahead.
I stand, looking down at the paddle and the angry red spot on her milky skin. A wave of disgust overcomes me. I throw the paddle down. “We’re done for today.”
“What?” she asks, turning her head toward me, eyes wide.
“I said we’re done.”
“No,” she says. “Please. I haven’t been punished enough.”
“I’m your fucking dom,” I growl. The anger boiling up in me is from the frustration of not understanding. She’s not being open with me, and she’s turning what is supposed to be a mutually pleasurable experience into something darker and twisted because she won’t tell me what’s going on. “You don’t get to decide when the punishment is over.”
She lowers her head, sinking low on her knees almost like she’s bowing to me.
“Get up. I said we’re done.”
She stands, waiting to be told what to do. Her blind obedience grates on me. I want her to be open with me. I want her to be herself. The dominant submissive relationship never bothered me before, but I was with women I didn’t care as much about. And with Lana it was always a game, something we turned on and off at will. Now all I can see is this beautiful, ambitious young woman before me degrading herself. There is supposed to be a healthy line in this kind of relationship. She’s supposed to know what we do here has no bearing on who she is outside. She’s letting this become something more than just a fantasy. She’s using it to hide from something, and I’m done helping her do it. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s only going to exacerbate whatever problems she’s facing like this.
I strip the leather mask off and throw it to the floor. I grip her by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” I ask.
She keeps her eyes on the ground. “Nothing, Sir.”
“Logan,” I say. “Call me Logan.
“Nothing, Logan.”
My hand flashes out and I only barely manage to stop myself from hitting her, not as her dom, and not for the sake of pleasure, but out of frustration. Fuck. I’ve never hit a woman, not outside of the roleplay, at least. I feel dirty and shitty immediately.
I feel worse when she doesn’t react. She just waits, expression blank like she would have deserved it if I hit her.
I clench my fists. “Emmaline...”
She looks up at me a little uncertainly. I see tears welling in her eyes and I reach out to rub them away with my thumb. She flinches slightly at my touch and it rips at my heart. I’m going to fix this. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to make it all better. Somehow.
I sigh, leading her out of the play room and grabbing a robe for her to cover up her nudity. I sit her on the edge of my bed and sit beside her.
Fuck. Where did I go so wrong with her? I pull her close, hugging her as she cries into my arms. I felt like we were on the right path the night we watched the movie. It seemed like she was starting to let herself open up to me and she was going to try making things between us work both sexually and emotionally. After that night, everything between us just went off the rails. Hard.
Emmaline hangs her head, mumbling so quietly I can barely hear. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You could never disappoint me,” I whisper as I run a hand through her hair. “Never.”
I give her all the time she needs, holding her close and waiting until she feels ready. “I can only cum when I’m dominated,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why. I don’t have a good reason. I guess I’m just a dirty slut who--”
“Hey,” I say firmly, pulling back until I can look into her eyes. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not a slut. Every fucking person on this planet is in to something. If they say they aren’t, they’re fucking liars. Everyone has a kink, whether they know it or not.”
She nods and another wave of tears rolls from her eyes. I smooth them away, hating to see her cry. I feel like it’s opening a raw hole in my chest and I need to see her happy again or it’s going to rip me apart from the inside.
I spend a long time just holding her there, mind running through what the next step is. In the past, I would have just cut ties with her. With Emmaline, that’s not an option. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to help her find a way through this.
36
Emmaline
“Thank you,” I say, hanging up and sighing with relief.
Scarlett looks up expectantly. “So it’s done?”
“Yep,” I say. “One credit card completely paid off. Only five to go.”
She laughs, shrugging. “Still. You did that in just over a month. At this rate you’ll be caught up in no time.”
“Yeah, the extra money has really helped. At this rate, the business might do well enough to let me quit at Club Crave.”
“So you’re not liking it?” asks Scarlett.
I sit on a box of vinyl that I haven’t opened yet, studying my fingers. “Why did you leave?” I ask. I haven’t ever asked Scarlett why she left the club. For as long as I’ve known her, she has been a sexually open person. It seemed like an impossibility to offend her sensibilities or catch her by surprise. If anyone could thrive at Club Crave, it is her.
She cringes a little, but hops up on a table and looks thoughtful. “Things got messy.”
I laugh a little. “I can relate to that. What happened?”
“Well, my parents found out, for starters. They always wanted me to be an engineer. When I was in school, teachers kept pushing for me to skip grades because I was a natural at math. All my friends thought I was going to go to college and study some advanced mathematics that would make most people’s heads spin. The truth was it never felt right. Yeah, it came easy to me, but it didn’t excite me. So when I studied graphic art and design instead of math, my parents never really got over it.
“After that, they were a little frosty, but I think they gradually started to accept it. They saw how happy design was making me and learned to live with it. We were never wealthy, and the school I went to didn’t offer scholarships unless they were for the arts. So I was paying it all myself. That was when I got into Club Crave. I met a guy my Sophomore year who was into BDSM and introduced me to it. His p
arents were ultra wealthy, so he could afford the membership.
“I was offered a position after he and I broke up, and I took it. I worked there for a few months. I met some guys. Some were serious, some were just for fun. I still don’t know who it was, but one of the guys I met knew my dad. An old high school friend who went on to run some mega corporation or something, probably. When my parents found out… It was the final straw for them.”
I shake my head. “Their little engineer was working at a BDSM club and studying design. Yeah. I can see how that was a shocker.”
She laughs. “Yeah. Shocker is an understatement. It was like a nuclear explosion. They started making all these crazy posts on Facebook about me. They dragged me through the mud in front of everyone I’ve ever known. I never really forgave them for that. I tried not to let it, but it ruined BDSM for me. I had so many relatives and old friends messaging me online telling me what a slut I was and how wrong what I was doing was that somewhere along the line it poisoned the fun.”
“Wow,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I had no idea.”
She smiles. “That’s one of the things I liked about you.”
I smirk.
“So. I spilled my beans,” she says, sighing and slapping her thighs. “You’re obviously going through something. It’s your turn.”
I suck in a breath through my teeth. I knew the question was coming, and I think I even want to get it all off my chest, but voicing my thoughts makes them feel more real, and I’m afraid of that.
“Um,” I say, fiddling with my fingers and looking down. “You know how when people get addicted to a drug, they keep needing more and more to get the same experience?”
“Yeah…” says Scarlett. “Did one of those assholes get you on something? It’s not heroine, is it?”
Single Dad's Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 27
