Make Me (23 page)

Everything. Hurts.

And I’m alone. My whole body throbs, every inch of skin is as tender as one giant bruise. Does it look like that too? Purple’s my color, but I hope I don’t look as bad as I feel. I fell asleep on my stomach and stayed that way all night. If I don’t move, things are fine, but I’ve really got to pee.

My shoulder cracks when I ease my left arm out from under the pillow, and I groan and drop my head back down face-first.

“Sloane?”

I lift my head, whimpering at the strain on my muscles. “Go away. I’m dead.”

“Squawk at me all you like, but I have painkillers.”

Be still my heart.
“Hi, honey.” I don’t even have to try to inject sweetness into my voice. “Is there caffeine, too?”

“Of course.”

Light fills the room and my eyes pinch shut. “I like my men how I like my coffee.”

“European roast?”

“Made with Darko Ara
bica
beans?” I snort. “I was going to say ‘strong and hot.’”

“I like to think that statement still applies.”

Hell yeah it does. “And fresh?” Not that I’ll be getting fresh today with how sore I am. I press my face in the pillow to hide my blush, shift my hips and groan at the twinge of discomfort that threads through them.

He lets the joke go. The bed dips under his weight. “Freshly ground. How are you feeling today?”

Keeping my face hidden, I flap my hand at him and lift my mouth from the pillow enough to enunciate. “Painkillers, please.”

“In a moment.”

“How about now?” I turn my head but keep my eyes on his legs, sexily clad in a pair of dark-washed jeans.

“What kind of pain are you experiencing?”

“Well, right now there’s a huge pain in my ass, who isn’t giving me the painkillers he promised.”

“Sloane.”

Christ, that authoritative tone of voice melts me to the bed. “I ache all over.” And now in one more place deep inside.

He reaches for the blanket. “May I?”

I’m only wearing the soft nightgown he gave me. “Yes.”

The blanket slides down my back, and I barely cringe when he lifts the gown and my ass is uncovered. My ass isn’t the only thing that’s taken a beating under training with Darko—my self-consciousness has taken a few hits too.

His face is passive, clinically studying my flesh. Disappointment flashes through me and disappears. I’m in no condition for anything strenuous. And yet, when I safed out yesterday, the thought of not being with him like this anymore was surprisingly painful. Being with another Dom proved to me that I like submission, at least before it got too intense, but it’s Darko who gets me to the next level. Darko makes me love it.

A small white cylinder appears from his pocket, and he smoothes on something that takes the heat out of the sore spots. “The marks he put on you aren’t that bad, though I will be putting something on them again later to ensure they heal quickly. There is no broken skin except for the small scratches on your leg. Your aching is from tension. Your body was rigid during the whole experience and that has carried over to today. In future scenes, try to stay relaxed as much as possible.” He covers me and finally hands over the pills and a bottle of water.

I slowly sit up and greedily swallow the capsules while glaring at him. “Stay calm? There was a
blowtorch
.”

“You had a
safeword
.” His logic is infuriating, mostly because it’s right.

“I tried to stay calm.” The words hit his back on his way to the bathroom.

“I know.” He returns a moment later with a fluffy white robe. “I’m drawing you a hot bath with Epsom salts. The heat will help relieve the muscles and the Epsom salts should draw some of that stiffness out.”

“I can have a bath?”

“Except for the scratches on your leg, there’s no broken skin.”

I shrug the robe on. “Can I have my coffee first?”

“Yes. It would be good to give the anti-inflammatories a minute to kick in first.”

We sit in companionable silence at the small table in the corner of his room while sipping coffee. After a moment, he returns to the bathroom and the water shuts off.

“It’s ready when you are.” The slim line of his waist in that blue t-shirt draws my gaze like a magnet. His arms are muscular without being bulky. Just last night I was in those arms. The way he held me made me feel safe, protected. I want more of that.

If he didn’t truly care about me, why would it matter to him that I trust myself as well as him? My stomach lightens with butterflies. Maybe he wants more than submission with me. “What are we doing today? More studying? Another scene?”

He shakes his head. “I think you need a mental break. Yesterday was intense to say the least.”

“No arguments here.” I stand. “So, what are we doing today?”

“It is a surprise.” He grins a lop-sided smile. “Bath first. But I promise you’ll like it.”

Being naked in Darko’s tub, in the place where he’s naked every day, puts a twinkle in my thighs. I lather up with his body wash, the scent overwhelming my senses with visions of him being in the water with me, rubbing bubbles all over my body, pressing me against the wall.

My hands skim lower, and I allow myself three very non-utilitarian movements before reining things in. It’s frustrating as hell to deny myself, but jilling off in his tub is definitely going a step too far. Probably.

The delicious heat of the water was seductive; I could have lived there for a few hours or maybe days, but curiosity of today’s plans saw me draining the bath sooner than I wanted, though not before a damned good soak in the amazing tub. After washing my hair, I exit the bathroom forty minutes later in a puff of steam, tying the belt of the robe around me.

Darko’s not in the bedroom, so I wander downstairs. After a short search, I find him in the sunroom standing in front of a footbath. The scent of cucumber permeates the air and I know exactly what’s up. “Spa day?”

“Yes. I thought you could do with a little pampering.”

He is so right, but a large part of me feels like I should be doing something active.

He reads my face like a book. “This is practical as well, Sloane. Your tension will only work against us. We have a few days of respite to relax you fully, work all of that stress out of your muscles and joints. Think of it as medicinal.”

I raise my eyebrows. “A medicinal spa day?”

His eyes twinkle. “Yes. So a strategic pedicure is also on the docket.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then!” And still incredibly considerate of him.

“But first, breakfast.”

My body’s at least sixty percent better than it was when I woke up, and now that I can feel something other than pain, I realize I’m starving. “What’s for breakfast?”

He uncovers my plate. Crisp bacon, fried eggs with triangles of toast perfect for dunking into the yolk, hash browns, and slices of orange. My mouth waters.

“So you can cook after all.”

He pulls out my chair. “Breakfast doesn’t count as cooking.”

“Breakfast counts the most.” I clear my plate in an embarrassingly short time and pat my full belly.

Thoughts weigh Sloane down until she’s retreated into that place where it’s harder for me to read her expressions. Contextually, a lot of things must be falling into place for her. Some truths cannot be told, they must be shown, but even learning for herself doesn’t make the truth easier to assimilate. It may take a while for her to accept things. It’s easier to go with a scene while you’re in it; it’s after that, when you come down, that doubt creeps in.

It’s no surprise that I’ve come to admire this woman. The depth of respect resonating through me, however, is unsettling. I am more accustomed to being disappointed by people. Most are after greatness, fame, or fortune, selfish pursuits that will raise them up even if they must tear others down to get there. It’s one of the best things about the lifestyle in general and The Underground specifically: this lack of ruthlessness. Perhaps because we’ve got less to prove—at least with one another. External things are stripped away because we must bare the truth of ourselves with our members. No one cares what you do for a living. What’s important is what you can do for the people around you.

It’s the realest, safest place I’ve ever known and yet, before Sloane, I hadn’t thought to want more. Now it’s not enough to be safe and surrounded by acceptance. I want this woman with me in my sanctuary, filling my life with nothing more than who she is.

“What?”

At Sloane’s question I realize I’ve been openly staring at her. We’ve been reading for a while in my living room, Sloane curled up on the window seat and me in a comfortable recliner. I don’t think I’ve read one full page. “Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“Yes. I’m surprisingly hungry for having done nothing today but laze about.”

“Being pampered takes work.”

She admires her toenails. “While I like the results, it’s not a lifestyle I care enough about to endure every day.”

“Those poor ladies of leisure.”

“Yeah right.” She yawns and stretches, and the arch of her back forces her breasts to strain against the robe.

“Come here.”

She drops her book and walks to me, slowly but steadily, obeying the order but making it last. At last, she stands in front of me.

“Untie your robe.”

She complies, and I trace her hipbones with my thumbs, keeping the contact light. Her body went through a lot yesterday, and she’s got a lot of marks on her back. She’ll have to stand.

I sit up and place my knees between hers, spread my legs, which opens hers, pulling until her knees touch the chair. She gasps when I suck one of her nipples into my mouth, palming her other breast, working the nub with my fingertips. Her belly tenses beneath my fingers on the way down.

Her hips rock in counterpoint to the finger I slide down her wet slit. One last hard suck and I lower myself, languidly working her clit with my tongue. A high-pitched whine leaves her when I gently press my teeth around her swollen nub, careful not to touch it, letting her soak in the heightened arousal through the tiny frisson of fear at the thought of teeth there.

I fuck her with my mouth and fingers, hard, fast, steadily, until she shakes and comes with one long moan. She bends and undoes my jeans, pulls my rigid cock out. She slinks onto my lap, strokes my hard length, angling it toward her, positioning herself over it without looking away from my eyes.

I scoop my hands under her ass and hold her there with the head of my cock against her, without penetration. She squirms to get closer, but I shake my head. “We need to take it easy on you.”

“I don’t want you to. I feel fine now. You said yourself it was mostly muscle stiffness from being so tense.” She wiggles her hips. “Right now I’m feeling very relaxed.”

“Sloane, it will hurt.”

“Maybe I like the way you make me hurt.” Her voice is deep enough to disappear into. “Everything you do to my body is so goddamned perfect, I want you. Now. Please, Sir. Please, Darko.”

The way she says my name, hungrily, softly, undoes me. Inch by inch, I lower her onto my cock, unable to breathe until I’m fully inside. She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “Thank God.”

She gasps when my hands touch her back but presses against my hands, wanting more.

Her pussy clenches. She’s fine.

“Grab hold of my shoulders.”

She cries out when I squeeze her and stand. She wraps her legs around my hips, impaled, but works her hips while I walk, nearly taking my legs out from under me. I need to fuck her against something, hold her in place and drive into her hard.

It’s a long trip to my bedroom like that. I ease her back onto the bed, but from the first two thrusts, her face pinches and I know it’s too much. Her back’s still too sensitive and I pull out.

She reaches after me. “No, please, come back. I’m fine.”

I stay standing. “Hands and knees. Ass to me.”

She scrambles into place, spreading her legs wide, presenting her tight ass and wet pussy. I grab her hips and tug her to the edge of the bed, rubbing the top of my cock between her legs, stimulating her clit a few times before pulling back and entering her with one long, slow, hard thrust. Her moan lasts the same amount of time, and she braces against the mattress, pushing back as hard as she can.

I stop moving and let her use me however she wants, letting her set the pace for a few minutes. She pushes back harder when I lightly trace the marks on her back, and moans at the way the stimulation heightens her pleasure. “Harder.” Her voice is nearly a squeal. When her hips stall, I grab them.

“Brace yourself.”

Widening my stance, I carve a pattern between us with my hips, hammering into her to hear that moan, that cry right there again and again. I reach around and rub her clit while I pump into her, and the quivering of her pussy around me sets off my orgasm at the same time as hers. Careful of her back, I thrust in and out a few more times to stretch out her pleasure before lowering us both to the mattress. Keeping my thighs pressed into hers, I give space between my chest and her back, but want to stay as close as I can.

I’ll stay inside her until I grow hard again.