Make Me (21 page)

I bite my lip and sink a little lower in the tub, the slightly too-hot water stinging my skin.

Bending my knees, I slowly open and close them, closing my eyes against the pleasure of the heated waves lapping against me there. I ache from the strenuousness in which I gave myself to Darko and took what he offered of himself.

Submission is a great way to get out of yourself and overcome inhibitions. The same as how some people are braver at masquerades—cloaking their identities frees them to do things they normally wouldn’t for fear of judgment. When the scene is in Darko’s hands it takes away the
should I or shouldn’t I?
My body takes control of my mind and screams
yes, I want it all!

I’ve worn a mask my entire life because of my father’s profession. We were schooled to be perfect, to not say or do anything that someone could use against him. Being perfect never got us anything. Perfect is safe. Perfect is boring. I got caught underage drinking once at a party with some friends. Someone took pictures, which my father’s people had to take care of.

This life is the realest thing I’ve ever tasted, and it’s an empire built on fantasies. All the people I met at the club are strong people, true to themselves, honest with each other, sometimes to the point of bluntness, but it’s refreshing. They parade their flaws in front of you, celebrate them to find others whose flaws are compatible with their own. Before, it was about showing the world how harmful kink is because I was certain that was the truth. Now, a part of me wants to blow the lid off this place with a story telling all about the lifestyle and why I think everyone should try it with an open mind.

But when I leave, that mask of perfection is going to slide back over my life, hiding my flaws until people no longer see me.

That’s the worst realization: how few people actually know me. Kink aside, I’ve been trained to distrust people because they probably have an agenda; to hold them at a distance in case they get too close and use my flaws against me. I don’t have many true friends.

In BDSM, in The Underground, truth is a necessary beauty—a vulnerability, but not a weakness.

It’s not just truth that’s appealing. It’s the surrender—to my desires, of control. Perfection requires control, nearly constant vigilance to not make a mistake and fuck everything up. I hadn’t realized how rigid my life has become. How rigidly I view life. With Darko, I’ve been forced to give that up. No, not forced to give it up, I’m given the opportunity and safe place to let it go for a while and trust that it’s not the end of the world.

Exhilaration spiked with fear punches through me at the idea of staying in the fantasy, basking in this lifestyle for a while. Tessa’s in the club, and Darko clearly thinks I have potential. They could probably pull some strings, call in a few favors, and I’d have a membership of my own. Assuming Tessa will still be talking to me, and Darko reciprocates my feelings.

But I don’t want to get to stay. I want to
earn
a place there. And after last night, I want that. Every scene has proved I’m stronger than I thought.

People always thought Tessa and I had everything handed to us on a silver platter because of Daddy’s connections, which wasn’t the case at all. He was tough on us, not because he wanted us to learn self-sufficiency but because he was worried the opposition would accuse him of being too much of a soft-touch liberal. We learned to be independent because of him, to spite him.

He claimed our accomplishments as if he’d been there all along and distanced himself from our failures, even perceived ones. In college, I’d narrowly missed qualifying for the Olympics in two swimming events. The two months before I failed were amazing. He was attentive, supportive, and as close to proud as I’d ever seen him.

After, he’d withdrawn from my life, seemingly without regrets. Having an Olympian daughter looked better on his biography than one who was just a great swimmer and another who self-mutilated. Great isn’t good enough.

He’d lose his mind if he knew what I was up to, if he knew how much further I want to go.

In a few days, weeks at most, I’m supposed to turn in an article that will kill anything between Darko and me. He’s shown me how to be stronger than I ever have been before. How to dig deep and stay true to myself, to be honest with myself about what I want, what I need.

He radiates with power, with a still, collected energy I want to be around all the time. I guess when you grow up in a war zone, other things wouldn’t affect you like they do the rest of us.

I want to suck in the tranquility he radiates and live with it inside me. His breathing is slow and steady and quiet like he is. Even in sleep he is still, calm and calming. What would it be like to sleep next to him every night, wake up with him every day? To live the aftercare portion with him after he’s the one who tied me up in knots?

Would I even want that kind of a life?

Yes.

Her long burgundy skirt and black tank top are perfect for our destination. This simple outfit is sexier than any corset/garter fantasy ensemble I could have chosen for her.

I’m stricken with the need to see her in the sunlight, heat kissing her skin and hair.

It’s difficult to take my eyes from her, but I manage to keep my gaze on the road.

She shifts toward me. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nice and private and relaxing.”

“Where?”

I keep my focus on traffic and my tone playful. “Journalists are so nosy.” It makes me smile.

“We prefer ‘inquisitive’.”

We pull into a parking garage, and I lead us down the stairs where we follow a gently downward sloping corridor and go up the other side. “We’re walking under a street right now. The Underground actually occupies the neighboring buildings on all sides.” We get into an elevator and I press the R.

“Rooftop?”

“Yes. Reiley is fond of plants and green space.”

“A rooftop garden?”

The elevator doors ping open, and Sloane boldly strides out, stops and gasps. Through her reaction I remember my first time here and see it with new eyes. It is a rooftop garden but enclosed with glass to keep poor weather out while letting the sun in. To give the room a grand, expansive feel, the ceiling is twenty feet high. The air’s thicker with moisture, yet tastes fresh rather than stifling, like being in a forest. Because we are.

Tropical plants and shrubs occupy every inch of the garden, which occupies the whole roof of the building—half a city block. A small stream gurgles around us, trickling through the foliage. Sloane follows the glazed terracotta-tiled path. I follow her.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It is. There’s also a small deck that way”—I point—“if you want to actually sit outside to eat our lunch?”

She shakes her head, still drinking in the gardens instead of looking at me. “No way, we’re eating in here. That’s allowed, right?”

“Yes.” I tap her arm and lead her down a path that veers off to the left. The twists and turns make it impossible to see what’s ahead. We soon reach a small opening where the plants are set back from a wrought-iron table and chairs, creating an intimate setting for our lunch, which is already waiting for us.

“This is gorgeous.”

I hold out a chair for her. “You said that already.”

She sinks into it. “It bears repeating.”

“It is a wonderful place.” I sit and remove the cloches from our meals. “I took the liberty of ordering something a little heartier today. Turkey sandwiches with tomato, arugula, and crispy pancetta.”

She’s already taken a bite and has a smear of mayonnaise on her cheek.

I haven’t smiled so much in my life as I have since she appeared in my world. I gently remove the mayo from her face with my napkin.

Sloane eats half her sandwich before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my entire life, and I haven’t even been working out. If people knew how many calories BDSM burned, the gym would be a way busier, happier place.”

“They have those workout classes with pole dancing. I do not know if that has increased gym memberships at all.”

She swallows her bite. “Yeah, at first I thought that was something for desperate rich women to do in a bid to keep their bored husbands, but it’s a surprisingly good workout.”

“You’ve done it?”

She raises her eyebrow. “Since I met you, there’s very little I haven’t done.”

An unexpected guest walks up to the table. “That is music to my ears, but I’m sure we could find something new and exciting to try together.”

My appetite walks away. “Carey.”

“Darko. Mind if we crash this party?”

“We?”

Carey’s sub follows a few seconds later, carrying a tray with four cups and a couple carafes on it.

Sloane tenses a little but gives them a warm smile.

I sigh. She did mention once that she liked English, though I was enjoying the alone time. “Sure, pull up a chair.”

Before sitting, Carey’s sub pours us each a cup of either coffee or tea, as per our inclination. I take my coffee and smile at him. “English, correct?”

He ducks his head. “Yes, Sir.”

“I am pleased to see you’re still hanging in there with this guy.” I jerk my thumb at Carey.

“He’s doing more than hanging in there, Aralica. He will win the next Submission Games.”

Carey’s bravado brings a smile to my lips. “Only because my Sloane isn’t entering.”

“Your Sloane?” Carey’s dark eyes narrow and his lips curl smugly. “English, Sloane, why don’t you kids run along and let the Doms talk for a moment.”

Sloane looks to me and I dismiss her with a nod. She and the auburn-haired sub walk farther down the path and out of sight.

“Your Sloane,” Carey repeats. “You warned me off rather harshly at the mixer and now you’re openly calling her yours? Are there collars in your future?”

“You know very well that is not what I meant.” I decide to put some truth into the mix. “However, I cannot deny there’s something about this one, Clark.”

“How so?”

I shrug.

“Don’t hold out on me now. You came at me pretty hard the other night. Inquiring minds want to know.” He takes a sip of coffee and makes me regret I said anything.

And yet, I want to talk to someone about this. As a Dom, he’ll know how it feels for us to have feelings enter a relationship. We’re not close, but I trust him as I’d trust any member of The Underground. “Feelings have entered the equation.”

“Are they reciprocated?”

“I believe so.”

He squints. “But you aren’t sure.”

I roll that around my mind while rolling the coffee over my tongue. Even if Sloane felt the possibility of a future with me as I do her, would such a thing be possible for us? I’ve grown accustomed to solitude, and even more difficult to overcome is the fact that she is so new to submission. I know she wants more, but perhaps I am not the one to give that to her. “It’s not as simple as that. I do not wish to influence her decision.”

“Do you know what I like about you, Aralica?”

“No.” And I wasn’t curious about it until now.

He hesitates for a moment, toying with the edges of his coffee cup. The delicate china looks fragile in his large hands. “You have every reason in the world to be a bastard, but you aren’t.”

That’s it? “We all have justification to be bastards. Who hasn’t been through a world of shit?”

He points at me over the rim of his cup before taking a sip. “And it’s that attitude that makes you a truly good guy. I like that about you.”

I arch a brow. “Because it’s a quality that renders me easy to exploit?”

“In most people? A little.” He grins. “But it also gives me something to aspire to.”

“Are you saying I am the wind beneath your wings?” I joke.

He snorts. “A little bit. I fight every day to not give in to that little voice that tries to justify bad things.”

Interesting. “So it’s not a persona with you, then? The sadism.”

Carey’s gaze drops to the tiles. “I wish it were.”

His truths inspire confidence. “Sloane was not a submissive before she met me.”

“When did you meet?”

“Just under two weeks ago.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

I nod.

“I naturally assumed she was more experienced. I’m impressed. Either she’s good or you are.”

“What is the story between English and Marielle?”

Admiration enters his eyes. “I knew you’d pick up on that.”

“He glows when he looks at her.”

“He does.” Carey scratches the stubble at his jaw. “I don’t know what it’s about exactly, just that he has a thing for her.”

“More than a thing.”

“Infatuation at the very least. You think it’s love?” He sounds surprised. “Maybe it is. Tell me. Are you in love with Sloane?”

“Christ, Clark, are we really going to sit around and chat about our feelings?”

“It’s more than just not wanting to share your toys, like with Milena? By the way, thanks to you for sending her my way the other night. I was dehydrated for three days afterward.”

I set my cup down. “You’re too much.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Well spotted.” I cross one arm over my stomach and prop the other on top, tracing my cheek with my knuckles. “Even if things were headed in that direction with Sloane, she needs more time.”

“For what? Fuck her and get on with it.”

“Sex is not the problem.”

He shrugs. “Then maybe you need to be a little more of a bastard about things.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “And yet two negatives make a positive.”

A reluctant smile claims my mouth. “You really are great at being a bastard.”

“I know. I also know that if you feel like she gets you, like she’s the one you want to collar, then you need to fight for her. I let someone go once.” His dark gaze sears into mine. “I wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone.”

“She may not even feel the same. It could be that she’s simply swept up in the unfamiliar, taken in by the submission itself.” My greatest fear.

“That’s bullshit.” He stands and calls for English. “Because the way English looks at Marielle? Give Sloane another week or two and she’ll look at you that way. It’s already in her eyes.”

English and Sloane walk into view at the far end of the path.

I drain the last of the coffee from my cup. English and Sloane embrace each other warmly before Carey and English depart, which is surprising, but it may be perfect for Sloane.

She sits back at the table. “I like English.”

“You should hang out with him. It would be good for you to have another submissive to talk to about your journey.”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s best if we take a week off before meeting for our next scene.”

Her head whips up in alarm. “No. That’s too far away.”

“What I have in mind is very intense.” And I want to give her time to process things on her own, away from me. Maybe she’ll see if it’s truly me she wants.

“Please.” Her hand curls into a fist on the table, betraying her tension. “Please, don’t make me wait that long.”

I sigh. “Sloane, you’ve been through so much in a short amount of time. You need time to assimilate these things.”

She moves from her chair and kneels at my side. “Please, Darko. Don’t make me wait that long.”

It means that much to her? Or will she miss me this intensely? “Five days.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Four days.”

“Two.”

I trail my thumb over her lips. Why am I arguing to keep us apart? “Three.” Because I want to do the right thing for her. “Three or ten.”

“Okay, three.” Her shoulders relax, and I pull her onto my lap, breathing her in, never wanting to let go.