Make Me (18 page)

Having spent last night tossing and turning, feverish with anger, and fine, desire, I’m more than a little pissed that I still can’t hate Darko for rejecting me.

What reason does he have for not going further with me? We had sex before, so if that was the issue, it’s like closing the barn door when the horses have already stampeded out.

There’s no doubt in my mind that he was into it—his dick was like a metal rod. He made me come harder than I thought possible, but more than that, he made me forget any inhibitions, any insecurities. He could have asked me for anything in that moment and I’d have gladly given it.

Maybe that’s why he stopped.

He knew how swept up in the moment I was, drunk on arousal for him, so he stopped in case I regretted it. I’m ready to scene with him or have sex. I want to do both. But both at the same time is too much trust, too much surrender of control. Even through the desire last night there was a tinge of fear.

He was right. I wasn’t ready.

But I still want to experience things on a deeper level with Darko, and that’s what makes his rejection sting—even though he was right to stop.

I pull the pillow over my face, but that doesn’t help block the guilt. And why am I even guilty? I left because I wanted to, and the look in his eyes, regretful and hurt, doesn’t matter. It
shouldn’t
matter.

It matters.

He actually cares about my well-being. Maybe it’s more than that. The whole thing is fucked up. Why should I care about him caring about me? I need to get him out of my head, focus on the article and what submission means in terms of Tessa. This isn’t about me.

It can’t be about me.

How do I move on, pretend like I can forget about everything? Act like I don’t know how it feels when commanded to do things that override shyness and turn me on. Pretend I don’t remember the way my body lit up when ordered to do things to please Darko? Or could I have that outside of The Underground with somebody else? Do I even want that?

What turned me on more; Darko or the submission?

How do I separate the two?

Hauling my ass out of bed, I make a cup of coffee and check my emails. One more from Shawna.

Was thinking about the article and can’t justify the scope without some human interest in there. See, we need a face, need a person, a villain maybe to hate and root against. Someone to take down. The club on its own is okay and the angle of taking out BDSM is okay but not compelling enough. It’s too impersonal.

Make it more personal and you can write it. If not, I’m cancelling the article completely.

Warm Regards,

Shawna

Ugh. Warm Regards always reminds me of walking through a warm spot in a swimming pool. It’s unpleasant and somehow impersonal while involving bodily fluids. And I need this article. If Tessa refuses to listen, it’s my last line of defense. How the hell do I make it more personal? I’m already giving it all I’ve got.

Writing by hand is the best for me; I’m able to just let the words flow, so I grab a pen and a pad of paper. When I type things up, I tend to self-edit and fuss with things, unable to move on until every word is perfect. For brainstorming, putting a pen to paper is best.

Darko Aralica.

I pull up the search engine and type in his name, adding ‘antiques’ and finding the name of his antiques store. It’s really not that far away from here.

Here’s my personal angle. I print the pic of us I took with my phone last night, and cut myself out of it, taping him to the pad of paper. How’s that for personal? I even have the portrait of our villain, a profile of a gorgeous face.

I grab the pen again.

Everything is built on fantasies here.

There’s a surreal feeling in my bones like I’m a second away from waking up from the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.

I’m not sure if I want to wake up and escape, or sleep forever and live here.

And that is why everyone needs to know about him.

Darko Aralica. Sexy, intelligent antiques dealer, yes. But he’s also one of the most dangerous tools in The Underground’s arsenal.

This man makes the lifestyle seem sexy, alluring. He gets inside your head and switches off your inhibitions, cuts off all common sense. With him, I found myself doing things I’d never dreamed of doing—of even wanting to try. Darko found his way inside my fantasies and exploited them one by one, rendering me helpless,
nothing more than his sexual slave.

Too extreme.

remodeling me into what he wanted me to be. It was heady, and terrifying, how easily he changed me. I’m a strong woman; I’ve overcome a lot in my life. And this man tore my resistance and identity apart like it was tissue paper. I shudder to think of the depravities he’d be capable of teasing out of an at-risk woman, someone who was already vulnerable.

Kneeling before him, worshipping him as her new idol, how badly would he damage her will, her psyche before discarding her, passing her off to another member of the club?

He appears cultured. Refined. A gentleman even. But that’s how he gets close enough to strike. And when you’re in his arms, it’s too late.

Because you no longer care if damage is done. You’ll beg him not to stop taking you apart.

Except he did stop. I wanted something and he knew I wasn’t ready and stopped. Ugh. This feels too moustache-twirly. I toss the pen down. I can’t use any of this.

Darko’s not a diabolical super villain, but he’s the best angle for putting a face to the club. Yet, wanting him to be an asshole doesn’t make him one—he’s done nothing but nurture and protect me on this journey so far. I can’t get him out of my head.

I need to see him.

The little brass bell above the door tinkles in a pleasing tone, unlike the discordant electronic versions most stores have nowadays.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” Darko’s voice drifts to me from somewhere deep in the store where I can’t see him.

The store smells of old paper and mint, pine and something spicy and sweet. It smells like Darko and I breathe it deeply, the scent smacking me first between my legs, then in my chest when I remember his rejection.

“Sloane?” The dark circles under his eyes please me. At least he didn’t skip merrily away from our encounter and come back annoyingly refreshed.

“Hi.”

Concern for me is written all over his face. “Is everything okay?”

No. Even now, surreptitiously checking him out, I could happily grab him by that dark blue tie, rip open his grey vest, tear his shirt off, pull his pants down, press him against the counter...I swallow hard. Would it have been the most amazing sex of my life? Probably. Would I have regretted it? Probably. His self-control makes me grateful even while resenting him for it. It was easier to think of him as nothing more than a sexy bastard, a villain in an article. Now respect has crept in, making the clear waters of conviction murky.

He’s not just a Dom anymore. He’s Darko. I know too much about him to go back to seeing him how I did before. “It’s fine.” I try my best to smile. “Just thought I’d try more of that whole ‘seeing you as a person’ thing.”

The boyish smile that lights his face is so unlike the brooding Dom I’m used to, I’m completely disarmed and enchanted. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Yes please. Cream, no sugar.”

“Please, have a seat.” He motions to a corner where a red velvet couch with wood details and fringe is settled behind a low coffee table. It reminds me of Turkey.

The whole store isn’t huge, but the coziness is probably more due to the fact that it’s filled with things. Nothing looks cheap or tacky, but it’s very full. The more I see, the more I want to explore. Before my eyes have had a chance to bore me by looking at something twice, he’s returned with our drinks.

Yeah, the skin around his eyes is tight; he didn’t sleep well either. The steaming mug of coffee he holds out for me to take also helps, not that I’m going to make things easy on him. He’s waiting for me to speak so he can assess where I’m at before proceeding. It’s something I do during difficult interviews.

The coffee is perfect too, just enough cream to temper the bitterness without masking the natural flavor.

I heave a mildly resentful sigh. “Are you bad at anything, Darko?”

“Certainly.”

“Elaborate.”

He smiles. “I cannot ‘carry a tune in a bucket’ as they say.”

“And?”

“I can bake, but I can’t cook.”

Images of Darko in the kitchen surrounded by freshly baked cookies and cupcakes don’t make him any less appealing. “One more. Something that isn’t meaningless.”

He hesitates, takes a seat and a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “I never learned how to swim.”

“Afraid of the water?”

“I had a bad experience once.” The frank admission makes me feel bad about my snark.

“What happened?”

He shakes his head. “The river I grew up by was pretty toxic. Children didn’t paddle around in it.”

“Why was it so bad?”

“Pollution from mining. The wheels of industry don’t give a shit about the fish or the people who need to eat the fish.”

I move to sit across from him in the other chair. I focused more on the conflicts in the Middle East in journalism, and now I wish I had branched out more so I’d have a better idea of the man in front of me and the hardships his country faced. I want to know what
he’s
seen. Not in a morbid way, but because I want to know him.

I dealt with what happened to me, took self-defense classes and counselling until the nightmares stopped, but until he helped me actually face the pungent terror of my memory, it was something I was still lugging around and hadn’t realized until it eased. But carrying the weight of an experience most people can’t relate to is a terrible burden. One that’s living in Darko’s eyes.

I want to return the favor.

He leans forward. “How are you feeling?”

Like finally opening up. “Okay. I think you were right about last night.”

Sleep didn’t claim me for hours. When it did, I dreamed about rivers that tasted of ash and blood, of darkness punctuated by screams and the flashes of gunshots. Of little boys torn from their mother’s grasp and trampled beneath the feet of a panicked crowd.

Sloane’s appearance in my store is unsettlingly pleasant. Like a cat, she’s curled up on the couch and made it seem like she’s been here for years, like it’s her place. I want her to stay. I want her to keep asking those pointed questions I’m unable to dodge; to lay me bare and see who I am.

Though it was for her own good, I regret the pain I caused Sloane last night. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I ended things where I did for your wellbeing.”

“I get that now.” She fiddles with her coffee cup.

Time for a gamble. “If you wanted more in general in our scenes, you only had to say. The way you tried to provoke me into taking things further wasn’t healthy or safe.”

Her brows pinch into a frown. “Provoke you?”

“By making me jealous. Trying to make me lose control.”

The blush on her skin is her admission as much as the nod she gives. “You’re right. Again. But Carey was the one chasing me around. I didn’t go looking for him, and I certainly didn’t encourage his cocky ass.”

“I believe you.” I set my cup down. “Are you ready to take things further between us?”

She swallows hard. “I can’t believe you just talk about things like this. I’m not used to it.”

“It is always better to be direct. Especially when it comes to defining the parameters of a D/s relationship.”

She sets her cup next to mine. “I like it. It keeps things open and clear. I’m happy with the way that’s progressing. The scenes, I mean. But outside of them...”

Sadness rises that she still hesitates with me. “But what?”

“God, I’m going to have to say it, aren’t I?”

I don’t touch her for fear of being swept away by my feelings and treating a customer to the sight of me ravishing Sloane on this couch. “What exactly are you saying?” Unable to stop my hands, I run my fingers through her hair, not daring to do more until I hear her say it. “You wish for more? More intense scenes? More often?”

“No! It’s more than that, worse than that. Better than that.” Her voice softens, but a desperate fierceness has taken over her eyes. “Last night, with Carey, he said you have a thing for me. I didn’t think it was possible so soon for you to care about me. I didn’t know how I felt about you even. Then I saw how much him touching me got to you. And I saw you smiling and hugging Milena and it made me jealous.” She presses my hand harder to her face. “And then you denied the thing I thought I wanted most, denied yourself when I know you wanted me back.”

I close my eyes tightly against the intensity of the feelings inside. “So much.”

“You did it because you knew I wasn’t ready, wasn’t coming from a proper place. Submission is hot, and gives me something I need, but that’s not the reason I like what you do to me. It’s you, Darko. Your hands, your crop, your words. You.”

The longer I sit, unable to speak, the more doubt claims her face.

She clears her throat and wrings her hands. “Say something.”

Terrifying relief quakes through every cell of my body, but I will not rush this. She wants me, did everything to get to me because my feelings are reciprocated. Sloane Winters wants me too and not just as a Dom. Possessiveness and happiness battle within my chest. Happiness wins. “You wish for more from me on a personal level?”

“Yes,” she affirms to my great delight.

“What exactly do you want?”

“I don’t know yet.” Frustration lingers in her tone.

I redirect. “Start smaller, then. What do you want tonight?”

“I want dinner. Text me your address. I’ll be there at six.” She stands and quickly exits the store.

My phone rings just after she leaves. If it was anyone other than Reiley Gunn calling, I’d ignore it. As it is, I answer, still in a daze.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

He chuckles. “No shit. I’ve had a call from Tessa.”

“Oh?”

“Playing dumb is not your style. What have you been up to?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sloane has something to prove to Tessa. I have something to prove to Sloane.”

“You must admit, it was incredibly underhanded of you, Darko.”

“I prefer ‘opportunistic.’ She wanted me to sponsor her for The Games. I said no, but I am teaching her submission.”

“Wise choice. But you’ve brought Sloane to the club, and you’ve clearly been spending time together. Word’s gotten back to Tessa, who called me and brought up a very valid point. Tessa is our family. Sloane is her sister. As family, I need to know your intentions in this situation.”

I massage my temples as tension creeps in. “If Tessa is so concerned about Sloane, why has she not phoned to inquire about her twin’s well-being herself?”

“I asked her to let me talk to you first. Are we going to play the game of verbal jousting, or could you just spare us both the time and energy and tell me why you wanted to teach Sloane about the lifestyle? I’ve a sassy little whiskey baying for my attention.”

I regret answering the phone. “Sloane’s blood is as saturated with kink as any of ours.”

“Altruism is not your style. Not with something as significant as this.”

Damn Tessa. I did not want to have this conversation with myself, let alone Reiley Gunn. “There’s something different about her. It draws me in.”

“And you want her to come to you knowing who she is.” His voice is heavy with the weight of someone who knows exactly what I’m going through.

“Perhaps she’d have come to the realization eventually on her own, but it could have taken years for her to discover the lifestyle. Here was the perfect opportunity.”

“Throwing her into the deep end to see if she will sink or swim. Dangerous game, my friend.”

I bite my lip. “She’s done beautifully so far.”

“Even if you are right about her, and you appear to be, there’s no guarantee that at the end of all this, you will be the one she chooses.” Reiley’s tone is gentle, his words are not.

He’s just put words to the thing I fear the most. “I know. And I would never force her into anything, whether directly or by misinforming her. I do not want someone with me only because they don’t know any better.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” He sighs. “Are you in love with Tessa’s sister, Darko?”

I close my eyes and find myself unable to speak.

“That’s what I thought. Why not just tell Tessa that, ease her mind?”

“Because it has nothing to do with Tessa and everything to do with Sloane.”

Reiley clears his throat. “Tessa is very protective of her sister.”

“Sloane is the one who needs to let go of control. Especially over her sister. Of the two of them, I’d be more worried to tangle with Sloane.”

His soft laughter sounds almost smug. “You never did take the easy path.” He hangs up without another word.

I suppose I already am tangling with Sloane and find a small smile at the irony.