Make Me (13 page)

He lays me back down on the table and continues his massage. “And no one else could help in the meantime? You were just little girls, surely you weren’t left alone.”

“Well. Our nanny was fooling around with the chef. No one knew and we didn’t want them to get in trouble. Kayti and Sierra were the only staff members who ever gave a shit about us.”

“Are you still in contact with them?”

The face towel embraces my smile. “We went to their wedding last year when the laws changed. About fucking time.”

“Agreed. My youngest brother is gay. I’m the godfather to his and his partner’s son, but even before he came out, I didn’t give a shit about people’s sexual orientation. Who people fuck is no one else’s business. If you have energy to pour hatred out onto people just trying to love each other, then you need a hobby or a life, or to get out and see some real problems to put things into perspective.”

I love this man’s heart. “You have another brother?”

“And a sister.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes.”

“Your other brother died when you were very young?” I don’t say I’m sorry even though I am.

“Yes. But it happened a long time ago. Pain fades away.” He lightly slaps my ass cheek, and I jump. He’s being glib, and I hear it in his voice. Pain does fade, but how much time would it take for something like that to diminish?

I know with my mom it really hasn’t. “Pain fades away, but there are always sharp slivers inside us, waiting to stab our hearts when we least expect it.”

His hands stop moving except for a tremble.

I hate that I’ve put that in them. “I’m really sorry about the forms, Darko. There are no more surprises, I promise.” Except for the article. I force the thought away. “That last scene? Was it just confronting fears of being bound and exposed in some ways, isolated in others? How would that scene ever come up if the sub wasn’t into it or had claustrophobia? Wouldn’t they just safe out?” I ask about the scenes when all I want is to know about him.

He moves to my feet and works them with strong, sure strokes of his thumbs. “The exact situation probably would not arise, and a good Dom knows their sub and would not include that in a scene at all. I did not know you have claustrophobia or I’d never have put you in that situation. The scene was about trust. Knowing that even if you are outside your comfort zone, I’m not going to harm you. If a submissive goes into every scene with the fear of uncertainty in their minds, there’s more danger of someone getting harmed. A self-fulfilling prophecy as it were.”

“Things can happen, even if you’re careful and plan for everything. That’s why they’re called accidents.”

He works on my forearm, which for some strange reason flexes my fingers. “Your arms are very tense. Of course accidents can happen. But if you approached life in the same fear-based way, expecting to be hurt all the time, it would be ridiculous and dangerous too.”

“For example?”

He clears his throat. “Going to the dentist is fine if you’re calm and relaxed and trust that they know what they are doing. But the potential to be hurt is rife. Think about it: there is a stranger with a drill in your mouth. Someone has you on your back, completely vulnerable, unconscious sometimes, and could do anything at all to you. You trust that they will do their job and not use the drill to hurt you inappropriately. It’s the same thing as a BDSM scene. It’s about trust.”

I laugh. “It is so not the same thing.”

He lightly tickles the inside of my elbow. “Why? Because there are less clothes here? The possibility of sex?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

He moves to my legs. “And I would remind you that kink is not just about nudity and sex.”

He’s got me there. “I’m going to look at the dentist a lot differently next time I go for a check-up.”

He adds more oil and works a little deeper in my calves. “Mmm. Mine told me I’ve an unusually high tolerance for anesthetic and an abnormally strong tongue.”

I clamp my lips together, but I’m dying to know how they found that out.

She shifts her head on the towel to look at me. “Tell me more about your country. Serbia.” The fact she got through the last round, overcoming her claustrophobia, beating it into submission, is nothing short of remarkable. Is there nothing this woman can’t do? Her strength is admirable.

“Actually, I only lived in Serbia until I was five. I grew up in Croatia, which was a heartbreakingly beautiful place. The oceans are a shade of blue so vivid they make you want to cry. They weren’t countries of their own then; I’m sure you remember from school.”

“I, uh, didn’t learn as much about it as I’d have liked. I focused mostly on the Middle East, and a bit on North Korea.”

I’m not surprised she doesn’t know of my country and its struggles for independence. It wasn’t even a country until the nineties. “Ah.” I work on her lower back.

“That’s typical though. The places I actually do know about, you’re not from there, which means I look like another ignorant American who doesn’t know anything about anywhere other than the country I live in.”

“I do not think you are ignorant.”

“But you grew up in Croatia?”

“Yes.” I don’t often talk about the countries I grew up in, but Sloane makes me relax and want to open up. I bet these qualities make her a fantastic reporter and have her interview subjects spilling all their secrets. “I loved the sea, the way the light hit the waves, the scent of the air. I haven’t found anything like it since we left.”

Sloane pushes up and looks at me. “We have beaches not far from here. Do you ever go, just to be by the ocean?”

“It is not the same.”

She flops back down. “I know, but still. It would still be a beach and a piece of your memories.”

I drag my thumbs up the arches of her feet. “All oceans smell different. It isn’t the sea of my youth.”

“Have you ever gone back to Croatia?”

My jaw clenches. “No.”

“Serbia?”

“No.”

“Would you ever go back?” She doesn’t ask why not. I suppose she knows, or suspects, and can relate.

Perhaps I am not as over my own history as I thought I was. “Maybe one day when it’s easier.”

“You saw too much then to see the beauty that’s there now.”

Her words rock me to the core. With that one sentence, she’s given me a deeper level of understanding than any other woman has. But I’ve given her more than I’ve given anyone else too. What made me tell her about my brother? She was the one who needed to open up, not me. “Precisely.” I grab a towel and wipe off the excess oil from my hands. “Would you ever go back to Pakistan?”

Holding the sheet to her body, she sits up with a contemplative expression. “Will I? I don’t think so. But if you’d asked me this before we started training, I wouldn’t have been able to even entertain the idea of returning to that beautiful, terrifying country. Now I
could
even though I probably
won’t
. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” Through surrender she has found a direct pulse to her strength, learned her capabilities and discovered her power. I smile at her. “Maybe one day I will find the same level of strength and return.”

With the grace of a ballerina, she slips from the table, the sheet wrapped around her like a Greek goddess, and takes my hand. “I would go with you. If you needed support, I mean.” She releases my hand as though she’s said too much and needs a retreat. “I’m all oily. I should go shower.”

“Wait. I appreciate the impulsive offer, but more so, I am glad you are starting to find your strength. It was bound to happen eventually. The fears fall away until there are only nerves of steel and a will just as strong. You are a great submissive, only growing better by the day.”

“I guess.”

I take her shoulders and stroke my thumbs against her skin. “I know you are an amazing submissive. Look at all you’ve overcome to be here. This isn’t something you do, it’s something you are. It makes you better; a moment ago you spoke of being able to return to a place that holds the worst memories of your life.”

“Yes.” She takes a deep breath. “The reason letting go of control is hard for me is because of what happened. Thank you for helping me with that. I wish I was doing better.”

“Don’t think of anyone else. It is not a competition, you are simply learning to earn a membership to the club where you can explore this side of yourself further. Dig deeper inside yourself, for it is only your own limitations you have to beat. Do not let your insecurities get the better of you.”

She nods and heads to the bathroom to shower. I hope she takes my words to heart, for I mean every one.

If I was to enter Sloane into The Submission Games, how would she fare? She isn’t ready for anything like that, but I think she could be a serious contender in a few months, maybe a year. I can’t wait to see her... Assuming I am still in her life a year from now.

I set the table for our meal, discomfort snapping at my heels.

Reiley is an interesting man, though not always the most patient when it comes to The Games, not that I blame him. The Games aren’t for us; they are for him.

A few years ago, a submissive won The Games and turned down the membership. It had happened before, not in Seattle, but in one of the other branches. They weren’t ready. But this one was different. She was different.

Reiley was different.

During the rounds, he’d been agitated, short with everyone. When she won, he came to meet her at the victory ceremony to welcome her into our midst. I realized then it was more—like meeting his bride for the first time. She’d taken one look at him, fallen at his feet, and apologized. Five minutes later, she left the club and I haven’t seen her again.

Reiley hasn’t been the same since she left and now I understand why. She was never just another sub to him. She was
his
sub—or going to be. He saw something in her; her jagged edges fit into the holes in his soul and in her eyes he found completion.

It’s the same feeling waiting to happen when Sloane smiles up at me, when her eyes flash with anger, showering the sparks of her personality over me. When her training is complete, I do not know what will happen to me. If she will want to continue our relationship or move on. But I do not wish to part. Something changed between us today—walls came down, and I need her in my life.

Reiley never said a word to that submissive, not when she cried and begged him for forgiveness for something none of us understood at the time. As far as I know, he never tried to get her back. He never fought for her, for himself, for their future. Was that being selfless because he truly loved her, stupid because he never let her know she should stay, or masochistic because he wanted the pain?

Could I do that with Sloane, let her go without a fight if it’s the best thing for her?

I don’t just want to fuck her, to have her in my bed for a night, or week, or month. She makes me want to invest in ways I’d written off many years ago. Is it better for me to let her go, find another Dom to be with and see how she feels? Something twists inside my gut at the thought of her with someone else, and I shouldn’t care this much this soon.

But I do want her to see me as more than a Dominant and see some more people in the lifestyle to humanize us in her eyes. I walk to the bathroom. The shower isn’t running anymore, and I call to her through the door. “Come with me to the club.”

“What? Now?” Even muffled behind the door, the surprise in her voice is evident.

“Tomorrow night. There’s a mixer, we’re allowed to bring someone.”

“Like a date?” She’s not as closed off about the idea as she would have been even yesterday. But I want to show her what we’re like now that she realizes we’re all just people.

“Like a way to see the lifestyle for what it is. To see us all as people, not kinky fucks.”

“Aren’t you both?” She opens the door and a cloud of steam escapes. “How am I supposed to dress for something like that?”

I bite my lip. “I’ll be back tomorrow night at ten with something for you to wear.”

Memories of Darko’s hands on my body crest over me, knocking my thoughts sideways. I didn’t think of him this much after we slept together. But knowing his history is fascinating and intriguing. Enticing. That soft kiss; the way he tenderly stroked my shoulders? I can still feel his lips and hands.

All day I’ve done nothing but think about him, finally turning to a scandalously smutty novel for distraction, but that backfired—every time something sexy happens I picture myself as the heroine and Darko as the hero.

The rational voice of reason has been crushed beneath the physical pleasure this man is capable of giving me, and the strange effect submission has had: I feel more powerful, and yet denial’s dying throes give good arguments. I let attraction for Darko make me cross a line, and I don’t want him to think it means I want more.

Even though I do.

To him I’m probably just another submissive. One of many. A man like Darko doesn’t have a girlfriend, and even if he did, he’d be with someone like Milena. Still, I can’t rationalize away the effects the scenes have had on me. The memories of my attack have lost their grip now that I’ve faced them. But more than that, there’s this new sensuousness covering me like dew on grass.

I walked to the store today for some milk, wearing old jeans and a cardigan, no makeup, but still felt like a seductive woman. People stared with interest and approval in their eyes, but the strange thing was it wasn’t validating or embarrassing. I simply didn’t care about what they thought.

The checkout girl blushed when I smiled at her.

I find myself moving slower, spending less time caring about what I wear but more confident that I’ll look amazing in it. I’ve suddenly grown more comfortable in my own skin and the only thing in my life that’s changed is trying kink. This feeling has been swelling for days, but after last night, it’s crested and become undeniable.

A knock at the door startles me out of the final pages of the novel I’m reading. I greet Darko at the door, and he walks in carrying a few shopping bags. “Good evening.”

“Hi.” I’m genuinely happy to see him. All I want is to smile and sink into this feeling, but I pull it together and focus on his hands. “What’s in the bags?”

“You’re curious as a cat, aren’t you?”

“It’s worked out for me pretty well so far.”

“And let’s hope that holds true going forward.” He walks to my couch and sets the bags down. “Go ahead.”

Darko’s wearing dark grey suit pants and a dark blue dress shirt today. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing the muscles of his taut forearms. His hair’s different now, a little shorter on the back and sides in an undercut, and the top is neatly combed back. It makes me want to scruff it up, but I keep my hands to myself, content to grab the bag instead.

“What is it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “The bag is literally in your hands and you are asking me what’s inside of it? Clothes. Your feet are size eight, correct?”

“How did you know?”

“I noticed. Anyway, everyone will be there tonight for an informal getting-to-know-you pre-Submission Games party in the main club.”

“Will Tessa be there?” I lead him to the kitchen.

He shakes his head. “No. She’s away on club business.”

“Good ol’ Reiley, sending her away?” I pour half a glass of wine, offering him some but he declines.

“You joke, but he is one of the best people I have ever known.”

The seriousness in his voice makes me hesitate to ask every question that floods my brain. Instead, I settle for, “How did you two meet?”

“I sold him a piece.”

A piece? Of ass, a gun, of cake? I have no idea what Darko does for a living, a fact that would never happen in the real world. Daddy’s security checks aside, I’ve always needed to make sure there were no surprises with the guys I was dating, both to avoid scandals and to be safe from triggers. I’ve let this man hold me, touch me, fuck me. I’ve gotten off thinking of him, I like him way more than I should, and I don’t know his profession. Why is he the exception to the rules I’ve always been so careful to live by? “A piece of what?”

He looks way too good on my stool. “I am not a lawyer or rich kid, Sloane. I am an antiques dealer and have my own shop here in town. I sold him a small statue.”

“I thought you were a masseuse.”

“Why?”

“You said you’d studied it to make subs feel better.”

“I have, but it is not my profession. More a hobby.”

Darko, spending his time in an old shop crammed full of dusty treasures. His hands brushing over the dust of an old lamp or a vase, revealing a glimmering surface, seeing the value beneath the layers of grit. Sort of like he’s been doing with me. It fits better than a massage therapist, but is still unexpected. “Really? I did picture you doing something different. Something with power.”

“When you grow up surrounded by rubble, you yearn to know the history of things. Know their stories so they aren’t forgotten.”

That’s beautiful. “Aren’t control and power the same thing?”

“They are similar, but no.”

I take a sip and mull this over. “And he sensed a kindred soul in you and invited you to be a part of his club?”

“No. He knew what I was before I did. I’d dated one of his exes who told him I’d be a valuable addition to The Underground.”

“Weird.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You’re all just so, I don’t know.” I wave my hand. “You dated his ex, and instead of being confrontational or jealous, she told him about you, and he welcomed you with open arms. You’re all so open with your sexuality and your kinkiness. The real world isn’t like that.”

He arches a brow. “And this isn’t the real world we’re in now?”

“No.” But there’s been a lot of truth found here, discoveries about who I am and what I like that I can’t imagine turning off when he stops teaching me and my article comes out and we part ways forever.

A funny twinge flutters through my stomach at the thought of not seeing him again. I’ve been so focused on the process, I hadn’t thought about what comes after. Who I’ll be after this is over. What I’ll want. “Maybe.”

“The lifestyle isn’t one you can shed like a corset at the end of the night. You can hide who you really are beneath street clothes, seek release in vanilla sex, but at the heart of you, we both know there’s more.”

I swallow hard, trying not to cough over the realization that I don’t feel the need to argue with him. Is he right? Will I be unable to go back to the life I lived before and be just as satisfied having tasted the rush of this life? Uncertainty swirls through me, dizzying in its intensity, and I put those thoughts away for later when I’m alone. “So Reiley introduced you to kink?”

He connects the flecks of my counter with invisible lines traced with his fingertip. “I’d innately been doing it on my own without realizing what I was.”

“What were you?”

His gaze goes a little unfocused, seeing things not in this room but in the past. “I used people’s pleasure against them. I tried to obliterate my past, the things I’d done and seen, by filling others with pleasure. Sort of a pleasure sadist?” He pauses, raising one eyebrow. “What?”

It takes a second to realize I’ve been staring. “Uh.” He made me come ridiculously hard yesterday, and that was Darko on
good
behavior? “Is that a bad thing?”

He bites his lip. “It was empty. The act in itself wasn’t harming anyone but myself. It was an addiction and although my partners were never anything but happy, it wasn’t healthy behavior. Sex, making love, wasn’t an act of love or bonding. It was a challenge about relentless pleasure: How hard can I make her come? Can I make her scream until she loses her voice? Can I make her pass out?”

Wow. He certainly blew the lid off my expectations a few days ago, and that was just a spontaneous thing on the floor. What would he be like with a bed and some time? “And did you?”

“Many times. And it left me empty. Reiley saw what I was doing. He redirected me slightly and it was a revelation.”

“So you don’t...do that anymore?” I can’t even say it.

“Oh, the act is similar, but the motivation is very different. It’s a world apart from before. Instead of being left empty, a part of me is...”

“Healed?”

His shy smile shatters something inside me. “Yes. I’d known I was walking around wounded, but not that my past was bleeding into my present. Reiley Gunn showed me how to move on, how to embrace the future without sinking further into the pain that I denied existed. Male pride, what can I say? I was balls-deep in denial, not realizing I was drowning until he threw me a lifeline.”

Is that what Reiley did for Tessa? Redirected her to find release in a healthy way instead of hurting herself? Did he show her how to use her pain to heal instead of as a spiral that fed itself and made her sicker? What is this relationship going to do to me? I should take a giant step back emotionally before I’m sucked in further.

But I have to ask. “You’re saying BDSM saved you?”

“Yes.”

He makes it sound so straightforward and normal, and everything about him screams well-adjusted and content. But he’s one man. Maybe he’s the exception to the rule, and I lucked out by finding the one good member in the club. I’ll reserve judgment until I see the club again, this time paying closer attention to the members and how they act and if they’re happy or hurting because of this lifestyle. Something occurs to me. “They’re going to know I’m Tessa’s sister. Isn’t that an issue?”

He props his foot on a higher rung on the stool. “No. You don’t have to pretend to be her. And you’ll be there as my guest.”

I cross my arms, distracted by the way the fabric of his pants now hugs his leg. “If they’re so strict about new members and quality control, why is there a party tonight?”

He smiles. “Because it’s an informal test to see who fits in with the rest of the members. Sometimes a member will vouch for a friend. This is a way to see if we’d even like them or want them among us. It is not an open house, free-for-all. Everyone must be accompanied by a member. Some of the members will be bringing their contestants for The Submission Games, using it as a chance to mingle and impress members, showcasing how well they’d fit in if they win.”

“That matters?”

“Of course. While everyone doesn’t get along as well as others, we’re a community. Basically, a family. Get dressed. We’ve got one hour.”

I take the bag into my room, thankful for the time to gather myself. I want Darko.

But I can’t shake the feeling that even if this lifestyle isn’t actually harmful for most people, that Tessa is the exception to that. Self-harmers who enter a world where others hurt them can’t be healthy. It’s like those who go and get tattoos and piercings instead of cutting. Sure, it might work for a while, but it’s addressing the symptoms, not the cause. If they aren’t trying to work on the cause, soon they’ll run out of skin to decorate and then what?

I don’t think tattoos are bad because some people use them in place of self-harming. I can’t claim BDSM is bad either, but it’s still probably not good for my sister.

I want Darko. But I need Tessa to be safe.

How can I have both?

I need to focus on the club itself, see if there’s anything potentially dangerous there tonight.

After a shower and makeup, I finally see what’s in the bag.

He’s chosen a sleeveless black dress with a short tulle skirt and tall black suede boots that reach halfway up my thighs, and by some miracle of fashion, manage to look edgy instead of trashy.

I stride from the bedroom and give a twirl. “How do I look?”

His head-to-toe sweep of my body heats my blood. He gives me a slow smile. “Too good.”

“Fantastic. I’m nervous, and if I have to be insecure, I want to look good while doing it.”

“If it helps at all, you will not be the only nervous submissive there tonight.”

I pick at my fingernails. “That does help a little. If only the others hadn’t been involved in the lifestyle for years and years. I know nothing compared to them. They’ve been living it every day.”

“Sloane. Come here.” That tone has me walk to him like an automaton. “See? You’re a natural. You will be fine.”