Chapter 24 Madison #2
I heave a breath and start making observations—another Dr. Cora trick.
I’ve never been in a bathtub this big before.
I settle at one end and wrap my arms under my knees to hug them as close as I can to my chest. I marvel at how much more room there is than in the tub in my apartment.
It’s big enough for two—maybe even three.
I wonder if people have sex in it when they stay here.
I get so lost in thought, I don’t hear Wesley open the door. “Madison?”
I turn as he crosses the threshold, his socks barely making a sound against the white marble tile floor. “You’re still shaking, my love.”
Not sure what to say to that, I just nod. “I feel cold.”
The look on his face is full of so much concern, I have to look away or I might start crying. “Will you… Madison, will you let me take care of you?” he asks, holding up the half-empty bottle of shampoo.
“Why?” I hear myself ask woodenly. He said it with a certain emphasis, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m in a kind of shock, but I don’t think I fully understand the question. Why would he want to do that?
“I… well, I’d say I want to, but it’s a bit deeper than that, I’m afraid. I need to.”
As long as he’s touching me, I’m fine with it. I just need his hands on me or I’m afraid I might float away. “Okay.”
As he settles onto his knees on the tile just on the other side of the bathtub, that missing piece snaps into place. Oh, that’s what he meant. Wait, he’s going to… bathe me? Like I’m a kid? I don’t like that.
I must make a face, because he hesitates in the act of rolling up his sleeves. “Is this all right?” he asks, brows tilting up in the middle in concern.
I shrug one shoulder, but don’t unwind from my tight ball. If I let go, I’ll just be sitting here, wet and naked, while he’s out there. I don’t like that. “Um…”
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
Oddly, the softly spoken order gives me permission, making me feel free to say what I want without fear of how he’ll react.
He asked. I’m just doing what he wants. “Will you… get in here with me? You can wash my hair if you want, but I want you to hold me,” I say, feeling so ridiculously small and childish that I want to suck the words back in.
Only a child asks to be held for comfort; I’m a grown-ass woman.
So I clear my throat and explain, “When you hold me, I feel a lot safer.” I need to be so surrounded and consumed by him that there’s no room for the bad thoughts.
His smile is kind, almost indulgent. “I can do that.”
He’s meticulous and deliberate as he unbuttons his shirt and hangs it on the hook on the back of the door. His pants get folded and placed on the counter. And then he’s naked.
I feel my face flush as I look my fill. He’s a work of art.
When he starts moving closer to the tub, I release my legs and scoot forward to give him room to climb in behind me. The white flash of his tight ass as he climbs in makes me bite my lip. Suddenly, I can’t wait to have my hands all over his lean muscles and hard body again.
How appropriate that lust is what breaks me through this cold shell of shock.
Water sloshes around as he maneuvers into place, stretching his long legs on either side of mine. I feel one of his hands against my waist, and a flash of fear sends a shiver down my spine.
Suddenly, I’m being grabbed from behind in the alley…
But then I look down and I see the tattoo on Wesley’s hand. I smell his delicious, strange scent all around me. I feel his warm, solid body holding me with such gentleness.
And then there’s his cock digging into my back.
I’m here. I’m safe. He’s got me.
The fear melts away as we sit silently, and eventually I realize I’ve matched his deep, measured breathing without meaning to.
There’s something odd about the eroticism of this—being naked together, being in the bath—that only occurs to me when I realize that he doesn’t intend to do anything about his hard-on.
Even though we’re both willing and turned on.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been naked with a man with no expectation of sex.
“Turn on the faucet and hand me the wand, please,” he instructs, tone firm but gentle.
My stomach flips at the demand, blood immediately rushing between my legs and an urgent kind of tingling sweeping across the tips of my breasts. Oh, the fun I’ve had with showerhead wands.
Okay, it turns out there is some expectation of sex. It’s just coming from me.
Dutifully, I reach forward, pluck it out of its holder, turn it on and hand it to him.
He smooths a hand down my hair, encouraging me to lean back, and runs the water along my hairline like they do at salons.
Once he gets my massive, thick mane nice and wet, he starts gently working the shampoo into my scalp.
I close my eyes and surrender to the tingly feeling of someone else’s fingers in my hair. As he washes, I can feel my erratic pulse evening out and my nervous system slowly releasing the last of the anxiety and fear. He’s calming me. Grounding me. Making sure I feel safe.
He rinses, then conditions without me even having to tell him to.
“Someone knows the rules of feminine haircare,” I tease, eyes still closed.
He chuckles. “It says right on the bottle: wash, rinse, repeat.”
“You don’t have to repeat,” I tell him with a small smile, knowing he knows.
“Noted.”
He finishes working the conditioner through, rinses that out too, then encourages me to lean back against him.
I sigh, settling against his chest with my fresh, clean hair.
He’s warm and solid, and I just want to melt into him.
I tend to float, but Wesley wraps his arms around my middle and keeps me anchored to him.
He uses the wand to rinse the soapy water off my arms and chest. My back bows, offering him my breasts to touch, but he holds back.
“I feel like a prat for using you like that earlier,” he says softly.
“What? Don’t,” I reply immediately, hating the hints of self-condemnation in his voice. “No, that was me. I’m the one who jumped all over you. Besides… I liked it. I wanted it.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds—enough to make me a bit self-conscious—then the arm around my waist moves and his hand strokes lower, down my belly.
“I know you didn’t come.” His breath is hot on my ear when he leans close and whispers, “Would you like to come for me now?”
I shift my hips up, opening for him as his fingers trail down my tummy.
He’s so close to where I want him to touch me.
But just like it wasn’t going to happen for me against his motorcycle, it’s not going to happen like this, either.
I know my body, and the manual approach just usually isn’t enough.
“Maybe, um…” I start, then chicken out.
“Tell me,” he urges.
“Use the showerhead,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to watch how the words land.
But there’s no condemnation or reproach on his face—only a dark kind of heat, desire and excitement.
I realize with a jolt that he’s not put off by the request. He’s not irritated because I need something more powerful than fingers or tongues, and he’s not doing it to humor me or hurry to get me off so he can stick his dick in me. He wants to do this. A lot.
Suddenly I realize what I want.
“He… in the alley, he… grabbed me from behind,” I confess softly.
Wesley goes rigid. “Do you want me to—”
I shake my head. “No, actually…” I inhale. Do I dare ask for this? It feels so… wrong. So exposing. Who goes through something horrific and then asks their partner to recreate it?
“You can tell me anything, Madison,” he says.
“Normally, I like being restrained… I like when you hold me like this—and I don’t want to think about him when you do it ever again.
I want you to erase him. I want you to replace the awful memories with better ones.
I want you to take that violence and turn it into something I want, where I have control and I can stop it. ”
He nods and, if possible, that dark look in his eye shifts to something even darker. “What’s your safe word, Madison?”
“Red,” I recite dutifully, the word a kind of security blanket.
“Good girl. Lie back.”
When I settle back against him, his free hand slides up my ribcage, up between my breasts and circles around my throat. I gasp against his palm, letting my head fall back. My pulse roars in response, arousal tingling between my legs, making me squirm.
He uses his grip to shift my head to the side and drops a line of kisses along the line of my stretched neck, from shoulder to just under my ear.
The sensation goes right to my swollen, thrumming, throbbing core.
That ache deep inside me is like an itch I started scratching and stopped too soon, leaving it itchier than when I started.
“Like that?” he croons into my ear, making the fine hairs on my arms stand. “Do you like the feel of my hand on your throat, my love?”
My eyes drift shut. It’s like he’s talking to me so I can remember it’s him back there. “Yes Sir.”
He drops his legs and maneuvers mine over his knees, then widens them until my calves are pressed into the sides of the tub. I’m spread open, wide, and the warm, silky water caresses my aching pussy so softly that I have to clutch his forearm as my body spasms in need.
“I’ve got you, Madison.”
I nod. He tightens his hand, angling my head back so he can cover my mouth with his.
Just as I open to receive the kiss, I feel the spray of the wand between my legs, against my upper thigh.
My leg tenses, but I’m trapped—not just by his demanding lips, or his legs pressing mine into the cool sides of the tub, or his fingers against my pulse.
I’m trapped by his desire. I’m helpless to do anything but give in and obey.
And it’s such a turn-on that my skin feels like it’s on fire.
With a flick of his thumb, he changes the spray setting to the targeted pulse from the middle.
And when the focused stream of water finds my clit, I moan, jerking in the erotic prison of his body.
The spray is intense, but diffused enough that it hits a wide area, massaging not just the nerve endings but also the area around them.
My whole body is alive with the sensation.
“Too much?” he asks, lips brushing against mine with the shape of the words.
Eyes squeezed shut, I shake my head.
“Eyes on me. Look at me, Madison. Stay right here with me,” he demands, rolling his hips forward so I can feel his cock pressing into my lower back.
It makes me whimper, reminding me of the ache deep inside me, desperate to be filled.
My eyes fly open, and suddenly I’m falling into the swirling gray depths of him.
“You’re mine, you understand that? Mine. ”
With as deeply as we’re locked in, the words land in a way that causes chills to erupt all over my skin. I squirm under the weight of it, and tug uselessly against his hold, sucking in a sob when the fact that I can’t move just ratchets my arousal up another notch.
“Wesley—”
“And I’m yours.”
Wesley’s fingers are hot and firm on my neck, holding me in place.
He makes a deep noise, low in his chest, and slams his lips down on mine.
I totally lose myself. With the nozzle perfectly aimed at the exact right spot, I’m spinning, weightless and formless, ascending towards a building pressure that sits almost painfully out of reach.
I fly higher, reaching closer, and the water pounds relentlessly against the most sensitive part of me.
With a final push, I tip over the edge, and the spinning sensation gets faster and more disorienting as I careen downwards into the open arms of the pleasure that’s been waiting to consume me.
It takes over my body, tightening and releasing, making me shake with the force of how good it feels.
The orgasm wanes, but the echoes of the pleasure still pound against me from the inside out.
I start fighting against him, the water sloshing around us as I twist around, but his hold on me is like steel. My pulse races for a different reason now. Because while I’m ready for the pleasure to end, I thrill in this show of dominance—that we’ll stop when he decides we’re done.
I asked to be restrained. I asked to be at his mercy. I want this.
And now I want it to be over. So, when he pulls back, I gasp, “No more! Red!”
He reacts to the word as soon as it leaves my mouth. Instantly, the strong pulse of water against my overly sensitive nerve endings disappears, and my body relaxes in relief. Slowly, he lowers our legs and slides his palm down to rest over my heart instead of around my neck.
He holds me like that as my breath evens out, and my body stops shaking with aftershocks. I feel myself slump back against him. He’s still hard, but I’m way too languid and content to worry about doing anything about it. And for his part, he seems perfectly happy just to take care of me.
Imagine that.
I’m shaking like a newborn deer, knees knocking together when he helps me to my feet.
He climbs out of the tub and then holds out a fluffy towel for me to wrap myself in.
He knots his own towel around his hips and pulls me against him, kissing me so gently and thoroughly that I can’t remember why I was so scared of the sensation of floating away…