Make Me (6 page)

“Sure you have, sweetie.”

Unable to think of a response, I walk with my head high, and firmly shut the bathroom door behind me. Now to pee into a plastic cup.

At least I still have my dignity.

“It’s called The Underground because of the tunnels, right?” I lean against the cool mirror in the elevator.

“Yes.”

After the physical, Darko followed me to my apartment in his SUV. I was a little surprised it wasn’t a fancy sports car, but it was new and shiny and still looked expensive.

“Are there secret passages?”

He smiles. “Yes.”

“Can I see them?”

He crosses his arms. “No.”

“Were the secret passages used to Shanghai people?”

His eyes narrow. “You ask a lot of questions. You’re not planning on doing a story, are you? Only, I remember Tessa saying you’re a journalist.”

Fuck. “I told you, I’m doing this for my sister. I’d never do anything to hurt her. I’m just curious—it’s personal, not business.”

After a minute of studying my face, he nods. “You believe in that? The Shanghaiing?”

My stomach unclenches now that we’ve moved on in the conversation. “People being taken? Yes. Taken like in the stories? Maybe. All’s fair in love and war.”

“War is hell.” His voice is flat.

Don’t I know it. “Everyone says that.” I lead him down the grey-tiled hallway to my apartment and open the door.

“Some of us know it.”

I definitely do, but I don’t know much about him. “What do you do for a living?”

He raises an eyebrow and closes the door behind us.

My shoes make small thuds against the tile floor as I kick them off. “Feel free to leave yours on. You answered my question with a non-verbal question. I bet you’re someone with power. A lawyer? Maybe you don’t work at all. You’re obviously cultured, refined. Nice suits, clean nails. A trust fund baby?”

He says nothing.

I continue my speculation. “But if you’re into dominating, you’re into power, so you’re probably something in the financial sector, or legal. Maybe a trust fund baby as well, since the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Am I close?”

He almost smiles. “Would you like to see a round from a past game?”

“Yes!” We’re alone. I should give him a tour of the place, like you do. I show him to the small, dark, granite-topped island I use as a table and perch on a stool. He sits across from me and sets a tablet flat on the surface in front of my tightly clasped hands. Am I about to see someone get tied up, spanked, and fucked? My bed is a very short walk away. Is he going to try to seduce me? Nervousness hums beneath my skin, but I trample it down. I’m here to learn. It’s so strange seeing this while in my apartment.

He clears his throat. “Hit play when you’re ready.”

“Will it help me to know what I’m watching before I hit play?”

He tilts his head and looks at me through his lashes. “I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

Better to go into it blind. I’m reluctant to start; watching this is a threshold. Once I cross it, I’m saying I’m in and want to train. I shouldn’t want this, but I can’t tear myself away from the tablet. With anticipation trembling through my fingers, I tap the screen to hit play.

Flashes of flesh and silver, out of context movements rendering them indecipherable. Then the camera pans back a couple feet.

A man holds a taut length of chain and pushes it into the woman’s lower back before drawing it slowly up her spine. She squirms and gasps and he reaches between them where he straddles her thighs, and pulls another chain, this one smaller, from between her legs.

A long, low, moan leaves her mouth like a strand of pearls. The sound of her pleasure hits me between the legs, heating me from within. She’s lying on that chain, and as he pulls, the links must be purring against her; cold, hard pleasure. What would that feel like? I want to know very, very badly, but I’m all too aware of Darko sitting across from me. Is this why he sat there instead of next to me? The screen’s upside-down from where he sits, but he’s got an up close and personal view of my face.

He’s reading my expressions, gauging my reactions as usual. Well, I can do stoic like he’s never seen; I’ll give nothing away.

Chains shouldn’t be sexy, I know that. But the man in the video knows what he’s doing. I’d be happy to let him play with my body the way he’s doing to hers. If Darko wasn’t here, I’d already be touching myself, getting off to the sight of this guy’s hands, and the woman’s moans.

The man in the video speaks while the sub shivers with pleasure. “Very good, Bethany. Now, this time, I want you to be completely silent. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Holy shit! I jab at the screen four times before finding the pause button. “That’s
your
voice, Darko. This is
you
in the video?”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.”

I want to throw the tablet at his chest and tell him to get out for tricking me into being attracted to him more than I already am. I want to tell him to get out so I can watch this scene without him watching me, turning my face to flames with the heat of my embarrassed interest.

I want him to do to me what he did to Bethany in the video. “This is one of the years you were a participating Dom?”

“Yes.”

“The rounds are all different, right?”

“Yes.” He smiles.

“Did you decide to bring the chains?”

“They are a favorite.” His inhale is deep but relaxed.

“Why?”

He taps his lower lip with a fingertip. “Chains provide much in terms of tools. They can fix someone in place, keep legs together—or apart. You can lay someone on top to provide discomfort or, as you just witnessed with the submissive, pleasure.”

She certainly seemed to enjoy the way he pulled the chain out from under her. It looked hot as hell.

Darko continues. “And I like the idea of something so strong, an object not equated with pleasure being used to give it.”

Unable to think of a thing to say, I press play again. In the video, Darko stands and removes a length of chain from some kind of container.

“What is that?” I keep my eyes on the scene.

“Similar in concept to a hot stone massage. The chains have been heated in hot water.”

Sure enough, he sets it on a towel for a moment before heading back to Bethany, still lying on her stomach. She flinches at the first contact of the chain as he lays it up her spine, then arches her back and relaxes.

I pause the tablet, needing a minute. “How hot is it?”

“Hot enough to redden her skin, not hot enough to harm her.”

“But hot.” Focusing on the clinical details helps remove my throbbing interest from the equation.

“Yes.” He moves around the counter and stands behind me. My gaze is fixed on the screen, but I’m riveted by the heat of his closeness, by his cool, clean scent. They could sell his used bathwater as cologne or air freshener. Scented candles. Maybe a new flavor of gum. “Why don’t you just watch the whole video and I’ll narrate it for you?”

Because frequent pauses are helping to slow down my galloping heart and the pulsing between my legs? “Sure.”

He leans and reaches over my shoulder to press play. If I turned my head just a little his lips could be on mine. I’d wrap my arms around him, he’d kick the stool away, clothes would be torn off–

“Sloane?”

“Yeah?”

He taps my tightly clenched fist, resting beside the tablet.

Way to play it cool, Winters.
“Press play.”

“I already did.”

Smooth. Sure enough, in the vid, Darko’s already laid another chain beside the first, vertically up her spine. The chain links faintly clink against each other, a soft sound that makes it easy to picture them easing up my spine. No other sounds come from the video except Bethany’s heavy breathing.

“That chain and the next have been chilled.” Darko’s words are warm and close to my ear. “I lay the icy ones on either side of the hot one, confusing her senses, tricking her skin. Her pleasure will be feverish, hot and cold, uncomfortable yet soothing in the effect.”

My body shivers sympathetically as he grabs another heated chain and slowly lowers the end, coiling it into a pile at her crotch.

“That chain? That chain’s heat is stimulating blood flow to her most intimate places.”

I know how she feels.

“Nearly painful, but in the best possible way.” Darko’s fingertips trace a lazy infinity shape beside my hand on the island, and I’ve never wanted to be a slab of granite before now. “That chain feels like the world’s hottest mouth locked against her pussy.”

My breathing matches the sub’s, and I want him to stop the video and do to me what he’s doing to her. Would he, if I asked?

He sighs. “So pleasurable but torturous all the same.”

“Why?” My voice is as dry as my mouth.

“Do not make a sound. Close your eyes. I want you to picture being the woman in the video. There are braids of chains up the length of your spine, one so hot you want to crawl inside it like a sauna and take a lovely nap. The others are cold to the point of discomfort but you love them because they sharpen the pleasure, keeping you alert and aware of the heat. Right in the center of it.” He walks two fingers up the ridge of my back where the chains would be and I bite my lip hard. “This is, of course, after I’d warmed you up before the chains came into play.”

How? Did he use his hands or a flogger? A cane or a crop?

“And then that long, hot, hard chain settles between your legs. Link by link the heat nudges against you, spreading into the already stimulated flesh of your clit.” He switches to my other ear and continues. “And it almost hurts but feels so very good and all you want to do is grind against it, press it closer, tight to you while you gain momentum and fuck it with your hips.”

A spaced-out dizziness moves into my head while I picture doing exactly that.

Darko strokes a hand down my forearm and encircles my wrist with his fingers. “You cannot use your hands because your Dom has not given you permission.
I
have not given you permission. It feels great but it’s torture because having the hottest mouth in the world locked against you and
not
moving is the worst pleasure of all. Unbearable because there is no release.”

The submissive in the video and I make the same sound in unison, a high-pitched moan of protest and need, and my eyes fly open. Darko lets out a throaty chuckle, his hand still hovering over the tablet. “You see?”

“See what?” My breasts ache, swollen with need.

“The submissive was just eliminated—much like you would have been.”

“Why?”

“Forgotten already?” He reclaims his chair across from me. “I told both of you not to make a sound before I began.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“Submission is about more than getting spanked. It’s about obedience, about remembering what you are told even when your mind has been obliterated by sensations. It’s about following rules. It’s to keep you safe as well.”

Crossing my arms gives no real protection, but it makes me feel better. He got inside my mind and made me lose control without even really touching me. I’ve had boyfriends who didn’t make me this wet when they had their tongue on my body and free rein with their hands.

How is it that this man knows my body better than anyone—possibly even myself—after such a short amount of time together?

Fear shivers its way up my body and introduces itself to my chest, cradling my heart with icy hands. This is a man who could make me give up control, who makes me want to. Who’s made me give up control already.

And I like it.

Which means he’s probably right about me being submissive, and I can’t even think about that too closely right now.

I lick my dry lips. “Safe. That’s a word you use a lot.”

He nods. “Safe, sane, consensual. Three of the most important words in our world. Risk awareness. Are there any questions about the video?”

Afraid to give voice to any one question for fear of unleashing a flood, I shake my head. His smile makes me want to curl up in his lap and have him tell me who I am, who he sees when he looks in my eyes because I don’t know that woman.

And I want to. “No questions.”

“We will need to prepare you for some of the things you can expect. I’m guessing you aren’t familiar with a lot of things we consider commonplace.”

I squeeze my thighs together to soothe the sudden ache between my legs. “I’ve done some reading. Last night.”

“I figured you would.” He reaches into one of the leather messenger bags he brought in. “I want you to read the first three chapters of this book.” A thick, red leather volume is plucked from the bag and set on the table. “And familiarize yourself with appendix two of this one.” A slim black book joins the other.

Oh. More reading about it, not showing.

Of course.

She flips through the books, and I surreptitiously study her. She’ll never guess that I’m an antiques dealer, but her assumption pleases me, so I don’t correct it. Contrary to her belief, I do not come from an affluent family; I had to make something of my life with no help from anyone. I was in war zones before she knew what a journalist was, let alone decided to be one.

Seeing things destroyed around me instilled a deep reverence for their stories. They couldn’t truly be obliterated if I learned their history. People, places, objects. But history is filled with the ugly acts we do to each other; I doubt that there’s a square mile free of someone’s blood in the entire world. I’ve seen enough slaughter, rape, and hatred—sometimes all at once—to fill a history textbook with pain.

So I prefer to focus on objects. Things of beauty.

Sloane’s beautiful, but it’s her spirit that draws me in, the way she passionately cares about family as I do. If it was only her looks that appealed to me, Tessa would hold the same attraction.

“Darko?”

Did she ask me a question? Again, the urge to wrap my arms around this woman nearly overtakes me. “Yes,
ljubav
?” She needs the freedom knowledge will bring her. If she realizes this and opens herself to it, the possibilities of freedom are endless.

“Do you really think I’m a natural?”

I lose the fight against my body’s demand to squeeze her tightly, to blur the lines between us, and I wrap her up in a hug. “I know it.”

Her hands snake around my waist. I’m not her lover, I am her coach, and I need to act as such. But my arms are tight from gripping her as closely as I’m trying to avoid, and hers dig into my lower back, clinging to me too. The fierce embrace ends too soon, and Sloane turns away and walks around the counter.

She’s careful not to look at me. “Why was The Underground started? Who’s the man behind the curtain, the one who started it all?”

“Reiley Gunn.”

“Does he have a God complex?”

Her whip-fast retort brings a smile to my face. “He has no God complex.”

“And yet he’s created The Games for a reason.”

I like how her mind works. “He’s searching for someone.”

“Kid with an ant farm. He’s a Dom as well?”

“He is a Dominant but doesn’t join in much.”

She leans over the counter, propping herself on her elbows. “If he’s looking for a personal submissive, and I won a membership into the club, would I be required to be with him?”

“Of course not. Members are free to be with whomever they please—and refuse anyone they’re not interested in. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything, or think that after all this, you, or any other member, would be expected to do things they don’t agree with. We want members who understand what we are about, who are open to the lifestyle, but honor their limits.”

“Right.”

I hand her a stack of papers. “But no one expects the members to do things they’re not comfortable with. I need you to fill these papers out.”

“And they are?”

“Standard forms. A non-disclosure agreement. An intake form so I may learn about you before we begin training. Things you’ve done, things you want to do, soft and hard limits. Be very specific. The last place either of us want a surprise is mid-scene.”

Her face reddens as she scans the page, reading questions about her sexual history, fantasies, and limits.

I bring it back to The Games as they seem to interest her. “And the winner doesn’t have to stay once they win and see the reality behind the velvet rope, so to speak. One year, we had a submissive who turned the membership down and left. Someone who won The Submission Games.” I’ve never seen Reiley so disappointed. “You don’t have to join, and if you do, the level of participation is up to you.”

Sloane sets the papers down. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Join in much.”

“Do you truly wish to know the answer to that question?”

She twirls a section of hair around her finger. “Wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t.”

“Journalists often ask questions they don’t want to hear the answers to all in the name of getting to the truth, working the angles. But yes, I join in.” I can’t pin down the look on her face. Disappointed? Intrigued? “I wouldn’t be a part of The Underground if it didn’t appeal to me.”

“Why does it?” She moves next to me. Every muscle in my body tightens at her closeness. I want to make her scream my name and pass out from pleasure overload. Dimly, I remember she asked a question.

“Why does what?”

She grabs a pen from a drawer near my hip. “BDSM. You don’t seem the type to get off on beating people.”

“I’m not.” Her presumption that I am into inflicting pain offends and angers me. But what gets me off is exactly none of her business. Her training is about her, not me. Already, the thought of someone else topping her is...unpleasant.

Reclaiming my personal space, I move to the side and focus on her apartment while her pen scratches answers on the paper.

Delicate rose and mandarin permeate the room, leaving a fresh, clean scent reminding one of a sunny meadow, the same way Sloane smells. Deep blue walls, light tile floors, all the furniture and accents are a blond wood. Bookshelves take up two of the walls of the living room, the third taken up by doors to a balcony. A black leather couch faces a small flat screen television. In the corner, an overstuffed leather chair, a small table, and a lamp. Perfect for curling up and reading in.

Through a door off to the side, her bedroom. A four poster queen-sized bed made up like a hotel with too many pillows, which I hate, but with a sumptuous down duvet done up in dark blue, light blue, white, and a sandy color that matches the rest of the suite’s furniture. Images of Sloane sinking into that fluffy duvet with me on top of her flash through my mind—an inappropriate fantasy slideshow I’ll allow myself to indulge in later. For now, I move back to her side.

She sniffs and signs the non-disclosure with a flourish. “There’s a lot about toys here. Do you have a dungeon? Whips and chains? Lubes.”

I set the second bag I brought with me on the counter. Her nostrils flare a little when I open it, revealing nearly any toy one could wish for—still in their packaging—and lubes.

“Flavored, scented, some heat up, some feel cold. Which do you prefer?”

Her cheeks color and she crosses her arms. “I don’t use lube.”

Maybe she prefers natural lubricants. “You don’t, or you haven’t?”

“Same thing.”

“No. They are different.” I smooth the lashes of a purple suede flogger.

“They’re the same thing.” Her voice is husky.

“No.” So is mine. “If you haven’t tried something, you don’t know if you like it; you’re judging the idea of it. If you have done it and didn’t enjoy it, that’s completely different. It’s a choice borne of experience, of preference, not an aversion based on ignorance.”

“Some things you just know.”

“You are wrong. I will be back tonight to answer any questions you may have and go over your paperwork.” I need some time alone.

The coffee’s warmth soothes me but is unsatisfying. Slamming back a double whiskey would take the edge off the need rampaging through my system, but I will require every ounce of control at my disposal to be around Sloane. Seven hours later and I still can’t think of anything but the look in her eyes when I touched the flogger, the flush of her skin when I left her the bag full of toys and told her to use them.

The sound she made when I went through the video.

I want to make her make that sound for an hour or two...but no. Even if it means denying myself the pleasure before she’s ready, Sloane Winters will always be safe with me.

But will I be safe with her?

This isn’t about me, it’s about her and removing the blindfold she wears when looking at herself. I force myself to pay attention to the present and focus on her paperwork. I am teaching her submission, not training her to be my submissive. A small but important distinction.

Members mill about the bar, the volume a little higher than normal for an afternoon. The buzz of The Games has taken over, setting every Dom’s crop humming in anticipation of a new sub to dominate. “Darko Aralica.”

For a fabulous Dominant, Carey Clark is an insufferable asshole. He can also be personable, so I manage to scrounge up a small smile for the tall, black-haired New Yorker. “Clark. How’s The Big Apple?”

“Boring, or I wouldn’t be on the wrong coast looking for excitement.”

“You always loved slumming it.”

“You know me too well. How is that darling little sub of yours? Melanie?”

He remembers her name but feigns disinterest like a cat toying with a mouse. “You mean Milena? She is well, though not mine.”

“Really?” His brown eyes twinkle. “Be a shame if someone was to lead her away from you in a dainty little collar and leash.”

That earns a real smile. “Daintiness is not her style. She would require something with spikes.”

“Duly noted.”

He’s wanted Milena for ages—he was a judge the year she won The Games and never quite got over her.

He waves at Claudia the bartender, who brings his drink to him from across the bar, dismisses her, and takes a leisurely sip.

“I assume you know I’m a coach this year? Again.”

I nod.

“I was waiting patiently, hoping you’d bring someone as delectable as Milena to the table for me to sample. And Valerie dropped out last minute, freeing a spot. Her contestant was without sponsor. Shame you’re not participating this year.”

“I’m working on another project. Valerie left because of Tiny?”

“Yes. It seems her sub is wearing the chaps in that relationship. Valerie shouldn’t let her get away with so much.”

I wave my hand and take a sip of coffee. “She’s happy and it’s none of our concern. She finally found someone she wanted to collar.”

“You sound jealous.” His eyes widen and he sets his drink down with a scandalized laugh. “Mister Untouchable has been touched and he liked it. Who is it? Milena?” I don’t answer or look away. “No, this is a new development.” He looks away and picks up his drink, pausing with the glass just below his mouth. “The paperwork have anything to do with it?”

I set my cup down a fraction too hard and lay my forearm across Sloane’s name on the page to block his prying eyes.

Carey smiles and savors his drink. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

The edges of my vision go black as the thought of Carey Clark touching, or fucking, Sloane slams through my mind. Over my dead body.

“Anyway, nice talking to you again. I think I see Milena over there.” He slaps my shoulder. “God, you Europeans are stiff.”

He walks away and it’s a good twenty seconds before I remember how to breathe. This is a problem. As a Dom, he will have every right to touch Sloane, to test her for her membership.

Sex is not a part of the test—some submissives wish to be dominated but not fucked, and including intercourse in the process would be unfair to them if sex is a hard limit.

But the fact that this makes me angry is an issue. Sloane is not mine, and I need to calm down.

I need to see her again.