Make Me (7 page)

I sag in the chair. It’s easier to think about Darko when he’s not in the same room. I’ve never met anyone like him before: dangerous and safe all at once, wrapped up in a neatly muscled package that is all kinds of yes. It’s not just power or looks; with Daddy’s job, I’ve met many kinds of men. Royalty, musicians, actors, businessmen whose empires rival kings, and none of them held a fraction of Darko’s appeal. I’m still ridiculously turned on.

I jot notes onto my pad of paper, things to look up later, or ask Darko.

-How many people live on the property? Do they live there, or are they just staying for The Games?

-The Games are where submissives compete for memberships, but why don’t they just go the regular route? What’s the incentive to compete in The Games? Is it the best of the best kind of thing? Prestige? Are there amazing prizes?

-Are there punishments for losing?

-How often do they happen?

-Does Darko live there? Does anyone?

I can’t picture him outside, but obviously he has a life. What’s the best angle? There’s no way to tell until I’ve had a few experiences with Darko and seen what subs go through. At least I’ll have a little time to ease into that before getting more hardcore—if we go there at all.

My phone rings. “Hello?”

“How’s my creative genius doing?”

Yes!
“Hi, Shawna. I’m fine. You got my email, I take it?”

“Sure did. I loved the idea for the article. ‘Sex, Lies, And Ziptape. The Dangerous World Of Kink.’”

Thank God, otherwise I’d have to come up with another way to take down the club and prove to Tessa it’s a bad place. But I didn’t make up that title when I pitched the idea for the article. Shawna must be really into the idea if she’s coming up with titles. “Great. I’m going big with this one, Shawna.”

“When can you have this to me?”

Damn. “I’m going deep, so it’s going to take some time.”

“You’ve got two weeks.”

I drop the pen. “That’s not enough time. There was also a matter of a non-disclosure agreement. I have to be very careful here.”

“You know we have ways of getting around them. Look, I know you. You’re thorough and methodical and you’re going to overthink this. You’ll do just as well in two weeks as you would if you had six months.”

Panic presses against my chest. “No, that’s just not possible. I’ve got an in, but the angle hinges on trust. I can’t possibly earn their trust and get everything I need in two weeks.”

“There’s another feature going in, ‘Feminazis: Is Empowerment Hurting Women?’ It’s a perfect contrast to yours, and I can’t delay that one. I expect the article on my desk three weeks from today.”

She hangs up.

Three weeks is better than two, but there’s no way I can ease into this to get used to the idea. It’s make or break, and I’ve got to get started.

I’d love to take a hot bath and soak all my tension away, but arming myself with knowledge is what will relax me more, so I head back to the kitchen and hit the books.

Three hours later, I’m wiser in the ways of BDSM and also hornier and more confused than ever. I’ve been reading for hours that felt like minutes. My legs are stiff and my stomach rumbles, surprising me. I’d been so absorbed in the reading that I hadn’t noticed how hungry I am until now. I grab an apple and some cheese and return to my chair.

Am I really going to be able to do this training? As turned on as I was watching the video of Darko with the submissive, I’ve never even heard of a lot of the things in these books before—and some of them scare me.

Several of the practices I read about are pretty much mainstream: rough sex, bondage, role playing, spanking. I’ve never really role-played, but I never had a partner who expressed interest in it, and I didn’t think to initiate it myself. Rough sex was more my thing—urging my boyfriends with body language, or screaming at them to go harder worked. Although, really, I always felt weird about telling them to go harder or faster, like they should just know how I wanted it. It was embarrassing to ask, though I’m not sure why.

More hardcore practices? I had no idea these were things that people do. Some of them made my stomach squirm like a snake orgy. Discomfort at reading about knives being brought into the scenes made me want to put the book down. Some other practices left me wary. I don’t think I’d ever be able to submit to someone 24/7 as a slave, no matter how much I loved them. I will always be my own person; I couldn’t live my life waiting for someone to tell me what to do, to seek permission for every move I made. That sounds exhausting and boring.

I couldn’t give up control to someone like that, utterly, completely. My life has been more rigid since...a few years ago. How could I trust someone to make every decision for me? What if they made the wrong choice for me? That level of trust seems impossible. But who am I to judge? Maybe that would make someone else feel alive and safe. Feel wanted knowing that someone needs them to be at their beck and call every minute of every day.

Inside the bedroom would be an entirely different story.

Some of the bondage pictures took my breath away. The delicate intricacies of Shibari are like art work, but more than admiration, I long to feel the pressure of those knots against my skin. It’s disconcerting to be turned on by something completely outside the mainstream, like opening the door to what you thought was a boring old closet and finding an entire wing to explore instead. More than once I had to put the book down and think unsexy thoughts to avoid heading straight for the bag Darko left and helping myself to a battery-assisted orgasm.

Or picking up the phone and tracking down Darko.

What would giving up control with him feel like? Doesn’t that just make you someone’s puppet? It’s not healthy, right? I’ve been attacked before. Anything remotely rough should be off-limits and unappealing.

So why does my body scream at me to trust him, to try to let go with him? Is it just sexual attraction?

What would sex with him be like? What would it be like with anyone who knew what I wanted, but more importantly, knew exactly how to give it to me? Would he obliterate my mind like he did earlier, making me forget myself, forget everything in the world except for his body and mine? How intense could it get if I gave all my control to him, trusted him to do the things I’ve always wanted someone to do but never dared ask?

Sloane spins toward the bag full of toys with wide eyes then back to me. Gesturing to the open bag in front of her, a couple toys laid out on the table, though still in their packaging, her gaze darts nervously around. “I was just, you know. Familiarizing myself with the equipment.”

That blush I want to taste appears again, seeping up the skin of her chest and neck, and rests on her cheeks.

I’d give my left arm to have shown up ten minutes later with a key of my own. Would she have backed out and decided her hands were safer? Would she have been naked on the bed, fingers lightly dancing across her clit? Or would she have impulsively taken one of the vibrators and put it to good use? Would I have walked in to the sight of her naked from the waist down, legs spread as far as they’d go while she wildly plunged it deep inside again and again?

She points at my hand. “You brought food?”

I could eat something for a couple hours. My cock stiffens, and I’m glad of the bags in front of me. “Yes. I’ve brought supper.”

“Great. I just have to wash my hands.” She rushes to the bathroom and closes the door. I waste no time with supper, finding dinnerware, transferring the food from the bags to plates, and pouring us both a glass of wine from the bottle I brought. By the time she returns, her cheeks are a more normal shade and my pants fit better.

I stand and pull her stool out. “Did you learn a lot today?”

She sits and takes a sip of wine. “Yes, but I was surprised at how much I already know. A lot more of the lifestyle has invaded the mainstream than I’d have guessed.”

I slide onto the seat next to her. “True, though it’s taken a very long time. Violence is more acceptable than sex on mainstream media. Showing people getting shot and blown up in great detail is fine, normal, expected for entertainment in the big movies. But showing people making love outside pornography? Forget about it. And heaven forbid someone see a woman’s nipple—even a mother breastfeeding her child.”

“I know. Still, I was glad to see things that were fairly familiar.”

“And those that weren’t? Any thoughts?”

She takes a large sip of her wine. “I don’t understand how people can be into Edgeplay. At all.”

Edgeplay are the things we consider to be pushing the boundaries—autoerotic asphyxiation, cutting and blood play, knife play, scat. “Which offended you the most?”

“Anything with pain.”

“There is pain involved in spanking, Sloane. You need to be more specific. You have a low pain threshold?”

Her lips press into a thin line of tension. “No. I can tolerate a lot.”

Her tone makes me wait for her to speak again. We finish half of our meals before she says another word. “I just don’t want to. It took a long time to get to where I’m okay with certain things.”

I nod and do not pry. It is not uncommon for women to grow up suppressing their sexuality—she may need a little time to continue her journey to self-acceptance. Fortunately, I can help her with that. “Fair enough. Have you any questions about anything you read?”

“Too many.”

I swallow my bite. “Specifically? Now is not the time to play coy.”

“Redirection. What does that mean?”

“In a normal scene, if something was happening that you didn’t like, but you wanted the scene to continue, you would redirect. Most use traffic light metaphors—green for go, red for stop, yellow to redirect. Doms redirect too.”

“Ah. I get it. Why would you need to redirect me?” She takes a sip of wine.

“If you took the scene in a direction I did not want, that’s when you would be redirected. A redirection could be non-verbal. I may tell you to change position or give a slight physical correction.”

“A punishment.”

I bite my lip wishing it was hers. “Yes. The important thing is to expect it. Dominants have limits too. Speaking of which, we should go over yours. I noticed in your paperwork you have very few hard ones.”

“Like you said earlier, if I haven’t tried them, I won’t be making an educated decision.”

Pleasure radiates through my limbs. “I don’t want you to enter this lightly. If something were to trigger you, cause you harm, that will be extremely dangerous for both of us.”

“For you as well?”

Seriousness steals through the moment. “Yes. Your safety is my responsibility. I would never want to cause you harm. Were anything to happen to you, it would lie on my conscience. Limits can change. You might decide something is back on the table. You might try something once and hate it. I need to be kept informed of any and all changes to your proclivities as and when they happen.”

“Okay.” She hesitates, toying with the stem of her glass in a way that makes me want to nibble her fingertips. “What is your favorite?”

“My favorite scene?”

“Your favorite tools. What do you like?” Her eyes are sweeter than the wine and burn me with their need.

“Those are two separate questions.”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “I thought you said I’d get the answers to any questions I had.”

Truth and desire surge from me, and I pour them over her. “My favorite scene is whatever will get my sub screaming the loudest, coming the hardest, soaring the highest. My favorite thing is to hear ‘I can’t’ and then to watch them come undone losing their minds with the intensity of the pleasure they thought they couldn’t bear. I show them how to bear it. I teach them to want more, to demand more, to take more. My favorite thing is to take them places they never even knew they wanted to go, but belong.”

Her chest heaves, the fork bobs slightly in her hand.

“And my favorite tools are my hands, tongue, chains, and imagination.” I spear some steamed asparagus. “Any other queries?”

The raw interest in her eyes reminds me of why we’re here—and it’s not for me to tie her to my bed and fuck her until the rest of the world moves on without us. I need to remind us both of why we’re here, so I wipe my mouth and toss the napkin to the table. “Let us get one thing straight, Sloane Winters. I am not your master for I do not wish to have a slave. I am not your Dom for you have not earned that privilege. I am not your lover, your boyfriend, or your ersatz Daddy to work out any issues with. I am more important than all of those things; I am your coach. I will train you, prepare you, teach you. A lover would expect nothing from you. Your boyfriend would be your equal. Your daddy would indulge you to make you happy. I, on the other hand, expect many things from you. You are not my equal in this world. I will not indulge you. In fact, I will push you in ways you never dreamed, but understand this: I
will
make you an amazing submissive.”

A muscle twitches in her forehead, but her lips stay firmly pressed together.

I punctuate my speech with a sip of wine. “Trust is what will get you what you want.”

“And if I don’t trust you?”

“You don’t have to trust me. You have to trust my knowledge and experience and believe I know what I am talking about. To unlock who you truly are, you must trust yourself.”

She sits back in her seat. “Trust myself. Like it’s just that easy.”

“It can be.” It will be if she trusts me.

“For the most part, I trust my instincts and it’s worked out fairly well.”

I nod. “Journalists, cops, people like us have honed our instincts over time and use them to get the story, get the bad guy, get out of a dangerous situation alive.” Her sad smile stops my response, and I wait for her to continue.

She sighs. “For the majority of the time it works. But there are the rare instances when no matter what choice you make, your life isn’t in your hands and you can’t affect the outcome. Because maybe the guy you’re up against trusted
his
gut too, and he was the one who came out on top. At the end of the day there’s only ever one winner. Second and third place are just the two best losers.”

My heart creaks beneath the pressure under which she lives her life.

She takes a large sip of wine and sets her glass down. “It’s easier to trust other people. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just easier to forgive them when they betray your trust. Maybe when you expect everyone to let you down, it makes it incredibly unsurprising when they screw up.”

“You think it’s easy to forgive those who betray your trust?”

She bites her lip. “For some. Maybe not forgiving it, but expecting it. It’s almost relaxing, if sad, but it’s how I’ve survived.”

I take her hand and squeeze until she looks into my eyes. I need her to hear me. “Surviving isn’t living, Sloane. If you live your life waiting for people to betray your trust, you will only ever let shitty people into your life. It’s time to expect more from others, and yourself.”

“Sh-show me.” Her voice is strangled by confusion and hope. “I can read all the books in the world and still not get it the way I can with you. Show me.”

“Your training begins tomorrow.”