Make Me (12 page)

She smiles with her eyes and kills me with her body.

I struggle with the intensity of how much I want Sloane. Every cell of my being roars at me to plunge inside her and fuck her until she screams herself hoarse. Part of me resents her for being so appealing, as if she knowingly turns me on this much, forces me to want her, to want more. That part of me orders me to use her pleasure against her as a punishment for getting underneath my skin.

But the larger part of me needs to savor the taste of her body, the satin texture of her skin. Her sighs and moans are a symphony to be drank in slowly, appreciated for what they are.

She’s letting me in.

A simple fact that relaxes me, makes me want to go deeper with her, makes me slow my pace, slow the thrashing demand inside my veins that’s driving me to go further with her than I should because it is too soon, but I feel like I’ve wanted her forever.

And she wants me too. If it was just about her training, she’d have stopped there. This is personal, and the knowledge she wants more means more to me than it should.

She reaches for my cock again, strokes it hard and fast, daring me with her eyes to make her stop.

I tease her hips with my fingertips and trail down and in, circling the hood of her clit, not quite touching it. Her grip falters and I smile.

“My turn.” I push her hands away and lower myself, finally tasting her the way I’ve wanted with long, slow licks and quick sucks.

Her hips curl her pelvis toward me, and I pause at her clit, focusing all my attention on it until her breaths leave her in shallow pants and tiny squeaks.

Then I plunge two fingers inside, curling them until I find the spot that makes her swear in a long exhalation and reach for my other hand.

I give it to her, and in a short time, her pussy matches the way her hand squeezes mine, and she comes hard.

“Breathe, Sloane.”

She hauls in a shaky breath. “Now fuck me.” The demanding words are softened by the pleading in her eyes, but even if I wanted to reprimand her, my need for her is too great.

I position myself over her again, and her legs wrap tightly around me, guiding me to where she wants me.

With one hand, she reaches for my cock to place it, and I follow through, pushing inside her tight, drenched pussy.

Her mouth is open, but her eyes are shut tight, head turned to the side as she grabs my ass and grinds her hips against mine.

I move in and out until I find the spot and rhythm that makes her gasp and tense up, and then I stay there, focusing on it with each thrust with everything I’ve got.

I tip her face forward and she kisses me back deeply, but her eyes close, and she turns away.

Physically, she’s into it. Emotionally, I could be anyone.

She’s not making love to me. She’s fucking me.

I thought she wanted more, and she did. But she only wanted more of my body. More of a scene. She’s not looking for more than that.

Disappointment tinges the pleasure, and I increase speed and power, driving into her hard and fast, trying to provoke her into opening her eyes and fucking looking at me, seeing me.

But she doesn’t. Her pussy clamps down and she cries out my name when she comes again, but my own release a moment later feels a little empty.

Her fingers wind through her hair. “That was amazing.”

I smile down at her enthusiastic words and pull out.

Craving the feeling of closeness I thought was there before we undressed, I roll to my side and pull her to me, spooning her back. She lies still for a moment, then reaches for her shirt. I dress too, disappointed she’s not into sharing the closeness.

Her smile is warm, but there’s something missing. She had a good time, doesn’t regret fucking me, but I can see the walls she’s bringing back up between us, the shutters closing her eyes to me, making her harder to read. I’m an idiot. She wasn’t ready for this, and I should have seen that. She was high on endorphins after the scene and I let that sweep us both up into something she’s not quite ready for.

Some new submissives mistake attraction to the scene for emotional attachment—or love—for their Dom. If we continue with this, Sloane may think she is in love with me without knowing me at all. Right now she has compartmentalized well, but it is difficult for many people to separate sex from commitment. If we continue to sleep together while training, she may confuse things. I am asking nothing of the sort from her, but her distance is because she’s wary of what this means and how it will change things.

It won’t. I will not make the same mistake with her again.

Curiosity snaps at my heels, quickening my pace back to my apartment. Darko came over, ordered me out for one hour, and I’ve been gone for fifty-nine minutes.

Judging from the look in his eyes when he told me to get out, being late would be a bad idea.

Should I knock? Screw that, it’s my apartment. I open the door and walk inside as usual—only the windows have been covered, making the airy apartment feel smaller, less familiar.

“This way, Sloane.” Darko’s voice cuts through from the bedroom.

Deep breaths calm me, and my unease has shrunk by the time I cross the threshold. The long¸ wooden box laying on my bed does not soothe me.

“Strip.”

What’s the box for? “Naked?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wish it for this scene.”

I swallow hard, panic starting to rise about the fucking box on the bed and why it’s there.

If he’ll make me get inside it.

I think now would be a bad time to tell him I’m claustrophobic.

“Sloane?”

His concerned voice pushes me into action, and I take off my pants and shirt easily enough, hesitating over the bra and panties, but managing them too.

There’s a hinge. The box must close.

Darko steps closer. “Stand, and lie inside the box, please.”

“I can’t.” My arms and legs twitch, screaming at me to run away.

He wraps his arms around me and I sink into his warmth despite being naked. “Do you wish to safe-out?

Yes. “No. I just need a second.”

I match my panicked breaths to his calm, slow ones, and soon my heart slows enough to stand on the bed.

There are chains in the box. Chains are scary. Darko with chains is sexy. I’m with Darko, and he knows what he’s doing.

He moves the chains out of my way and I lie down on the smooth wood.

“Raise your hands above your head and bend your knees.”

I do, though all I want is to curl in a ball to make more room in the box.

He fixes the chains on my wrists, and draws the chains through two boxes at the top, loops them back around, and through two holes at the bottom of the box, and around my ankles.

“Darko.”

“Yes?” He smoothes my hair, and I lean into his touch.

“I don’t know.”

He withdraws his hands and closes the lid, shutting me in, and his footsteps fall away as he leaves the room.

“Darko?” My voice is a strangled whisper. My breaths echo inside, but it’s not solid wood. In addition to the holes for the chains, there are many open parts on the lid. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed.

All the yogic breathing in the world isn’t helping. I feel like I’ve been shut inside a coffin, only a coffin would be more comfortable because my wrists wouldn’t be shackled above my head. And, you know, dead people feel no pain or fear.

I can bend my legs or arms, but not both at once. No matter what, part of me feels exposed because it is exposed.

And we haven’t even begun yet.

I need him to come back, but I want him to stay away. How can I complete this scene?

The door to the room opens.

Then slams shut.

His hands knead and pull at my hamstrings, hurting them in a good way, working the tension out. Despite my efforts to relax, my spine curls with the pressure and how good it feels.

“Lie flat,” Darko gently chastens.

“I’m trying. You’re short-circuiting my central nervous system—my spine has a mind of its own.”

“Thank you. I have studied massage therapy.”

And have amazing hands. “To better take care of your subs?”

“No. I’d wanted to enter a profession that relaxed people and helped them feel better.”

So he’s a massage therapist. That’s fitting. “And the fact it’s a teensy bit sadistic didn’t hurt?”

His thumbs ride the ridge of my spine all the way up, freeing a moan.

“Not at all.” There’s a smile in his voice as he increases the pressure and kneads his way down my left side to my leg.

This round wasn’t especially taxing, but it was the hardest on me. “That round felt like it took forever.”

“And yet, it was the shortest we’ve had.” Darko pushes harder and holds before releasing. My leg quivers and stills before going boneless. So nice. I could get used to this.

“And I wasn’t triggered about my attack again.”

“Nope. Because you’ve finally released the fear surrounding it.”

I think he’s right about that. “Time doesn’t fly when you’re stuck in a box. And claustrophobic.” I add the second part, wanting him to know that this round was especially difficult, and not just for the regular reasons.

“You are claustrophobic? But that wasn’t listed in your forms.” His hands stop. So does my heart at the arctic chill in his voice.

“I know. I wanted to keep it out in case it was used against me.” I go for levity. “It’s like telling people you’re ticklish—whether you are or not, someone’s going to say, ‘Let me try!’ and their hands will be all over you trying to make you laugh.”

“Do not make light of this.” The anger in his voice makes me sit up and hug the sheet to myself.

“Geez, relax, Darko. I’m fine.”

“That was very dangerous for both of us, Sloane. You neglected to mention a major trigger, which could have put you at risk, and put me in an unsafe situation as well. This is not the first time you have violated our agreement.”

“I haven’t violated anything!”

He crosses his arms. “Oh really? What about Pakistan?”

The air leaves my lungs and a chill creeps through me as though I’m slowly being submerged in an icy pool. “You saw.” I clear my throat and try again. “You saw the attack on the video?”

“I did.”

“When?”

His gaze softens. “The night you told me of your attack.”

The invasion hits me like a punch in the gut. “How could you?”

“How could I what?”

“Betray me like that. I opened up and trusted you, I told you about it and you went searching for more, digging into my past for more juicy details.”

“You trusted me? Do you know how hard it is to keep you safe when you repeatedly lie to me about potential triggers, putting not just yourself but me at risk too?” He steps closer, anger darkening his eyes. “I was not looking for juicy details. I have enough of my own to last for a lifetime. Do you think I care so little?”

“Of course you’d think that. I bet my life looked really exciting, jetting around the world, interviewing people, getting stories in dangerous and exotic places.” I close my eyes, seething. “And now everything will change between us because you’ll always see me as different. As broken.”

“You are not broken.”

I clutch the sheet tighter, feeling so exposed it hurts my skin. “Protest all you want, I know this changes things.”

“It changes nothing. Open your eyes, Sloane. Look at me!”

My eyes obey him though I resist. “You don’t know what it’s like to be violated like that. To experience that terror of not knowing whether you’ll live or die.”

“I can never know what that was like for you, you are right about that. But you are wrong about the rest. You’re missing everything if you still see only the man with the crop when you look at me. I am a man who has lived outside the club.” He relaxes his shoulders, slumping a little. “I grew up in war zones. I understand what it’s like to be thrown into a turmoil not your own, be hurt in ways you never asked for. Lose something more precious than yourself.”

I bite my lip as the dots finally connect. Of course he understands. He’s Serbian, and his country hasn’t been exactly free of conflict. But his words feel more personal than a man speaking of his country. “What did you lose?” I fail to keep the provocation from my tone.

His silence stretches out to the point of awkwardness. “My little brother.”

My arrogance shrinks to two inches tall—the same size I feel.

Darko is a man who understands, even deeper than me, the depth of pain I’ve carried around, and he’s become sensitive to seeing that in others. No wonder he saw it in me, knew that my panic was something more than just nerves from the first scene. No wonder he values family like Milena said he does.

Shame replaces self-righteousness. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew about the attack?”

“I did not want to remind you of that time in your life. It was your place to bring that up, not mine. I was trying to honor your choice.”

I thread my fingers through his and squeeze. “You really care.”

The bewildered expression on his face would make me laugh if not for the wonder. “Of course I care.”

I close the inches between us, gently parting his lips with mine in a soft, unplanned kiss. He can relate to the worst thing I’ve been through that made me feel isolated and hurt. Small and fragile. But not once has he brought it up or looked at me differently. If anything it’s admiration in his eyes—beneath the exasperation at my stupidity. He was pissed that I lied and could have gotten hurt.

I break the kiss but we stay close, resting our foreheads together. He cares about my well-being and safety. No more words about that are needed. “You never told me,” I whisper.

He smiles. “It never came up. Like you, I don’t go around broadcasting the awful shit I’ve been through. I want you to know you can tell me anything and I’d never think differently of you.”

Maybe it would have come up if I’d truly opened up instead of assuming he wouldn’t understand. No one else ever does. I keep a hold of his hand but pull back. “It happened while I was on location in Pakistan. Political situation. Tensions were out of control, I should have left the week before, but wanted to get the story. It was important to tell it.”

“Foolish but admirable.”

No arguments from me. “Ironically, it’s the one thing my father refuses to use as leverage in his political career.”

“What was the worst part about it?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “The way it made me look at the country. I’d fucking loved that place, had thought about moving there one day. After the attack, I couldn’t see it without remembering that night, tasting the blood and hate and fear. It took a long time to recover. The bruises were awful.”

“I know.”

I feel worse that he saw but better now that he knows the whole truth. One bad experience screwed me up for years. What awful things has he lived through growing up in turmoil? My gaze falls to the floor to be with my stomach. I feel better after telling him about my past, sharing it with someone who truly understands, but don’t want to turn this into an interrogation about him and his life story.

He sighs when I don’t speak. “Was there anything else you neglected to mention?”

“No.”

“Good.” He pulls me into an embrace. “Don’t ever do anything like that ever again. I am impressed you made it through the last scene, knowing you have that phobia. It can’t have been easy to endure.”

“It wasn’t.” I seize his smooth change of subject with both hands, eager to move on from me and my attack. “It’s stupid, but I was fine with small spaces until I was eleven. Tessa and I were playing hide and seek, and I got stuck in a dumbwaiter for four hours.”

“Why so long? Was Tessa terrible at finding you?”

My body molds against his perfectly. I don’t care that I’m probably getting oil on his shirt. “No. I got stuck while Dad was at work, and Tessa was scared to phone him. He’d yelled at her the week before for phoning him while he was at the office. He felt bad about yelling, but it scared the crap out of her. The day I got stuck, Tessa thought it was better to wait until he got home, especially since he’d told us not to go near the dumbwaiter. We had no idea he’d scheduled a meeting after work that extended his day.”