Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Red
The room is still heavy with last night, thick with the kind of quiet that only comes after something intense has burned itself out. For a moment, I stay exactly where I am, not touching Blue, just listening to the sound of her breathing and letting the reality of the morning settle into my bones.
She curls toward me, one knee tucked up, her cheek pressed into the pillow like she fell asleep mid-thought. Her hair is a mess of colorful strands across her face and shoulder, and there's a faint crease between her brows that wasn't there before last night.
She looks claimed.
She is.
My chest tightens slowly with possession.
I drag my gaze over her, taking inventory of all the ways I marked her.
The bite at her throat has already darkened, blooming into a deep bruise that I know she'll feel every time she swallows today.
My fingerprints linger on her hips in soft, unmistakable crescents.
Her ass has a faint flush and will surely ache when she sits.
A thought sends a sharp, unwanted pull through me.
She asked for that ache.
She needed it.
I gave it to her without holding anything back.
I reach out and trace one finger lightly along her hip, barely touching, and she shifts, pressing closer like her body already knows who it belongs to. Her hand slides over my chest, her palm warm and trusting in a way that settles and unsettles me at the same time.
I love her.
Love isn't something I give lightly. So the word sits heavy in my mind now that the heat of the moment is gone. It's leverage and exposure. It's the one thing that can be used against you if you let it. Yet there's no way I can give her up. And there's no regret in the thought, but there is weight.
Things shifted last night that won't unshift just because the sun came up.
Am I a Dom now?
I stare at her marks, trying to grasp how I've gotten in this spot. In my practice, I've worked with several submissives, and twice with a dominant. I'm aware of the BDSM community, but I never saw an attraction to it.
She needed me to do it.
I enjoyed it.
I run my finger over the bite mark on her collarbone. Another surge of my ego rises, and my cock aches.
The harsh ring of my cell cuts through the room, too sharp and loud in the stillness.
Blue makes a small sound of protest, her body tensing before relaxing again. I carefully reach for the phone, click the button to send the call to voicemail, and glance at the screen.
The hairs on my arms rise.
Mikhail.
What does he want?
I wait for a voicemail, but nothing comes.
Blue stirs, and her lashes flutter as she drags herself up from sleep. Her eyes find mine almost immediately, soft and unfocused, and she gives me a lazy smile that makes my chest tighten in a way I don't have a name for yet.
"Morning," she rasps.
"Morning, Bluebird," I reply, brushing my thumb over her cheek.
She shifts, winces just slightly, and then smiles wider, like the ache is something she's proud of. She lowers her voice, as if she's bragging while telling a secret. "I'm sore."
"You asked for it," I remind her.
Her eyes flicker with amusement. "And you delivered, Dr. Mercer." She slides her hand over the mark on her hip and closes her eyes, sighing as if in relief.
I lean down and kiss her forehead instead of letting it turn into something else. I don't trust myself not to pull her back under me if I don't.
She traces her fingers in idle patterns over my chest and asks, "Do you have a busy schedule today?"
"Yes."
She pouts, just a little. "That's unfair."
I huff a quiet laugh. "I'm a deeply unfair man."
She studies my face for a second longer than usual, her gaze sharpening even through the sleepiness. Then she softly adds, "You feel far away."
The words land closer to home than I like. I swallow hard. "I do?"
"Yes."
My eyes drift to the pale morning light slipping through the curtains, and I get the faint, uncomfortable sense that something outside this room is already in motion.
She asks, "Are you mad at me?"
I turn my head toward her. "No. Why would I be upset with you?"
She slowly shrugs, and shame fills her expression. "I put a lot on your plate yesterday."
I tug her over me and slide my hand in her hair. "Listen to me, Bluebird."
"Okay." She bites her lip and settles into the straddle position, sinking closer to me.
I stroke her jawline. In a firm tone, I assert, "I love you. I'm here to help you. You don't ever have to feel bad about needing me. Do you feel better today?"
A tiny curve appears on her mouth. She blinks a few times and nods. "Yes. I feel..." She stares at me a moment, then reveals, "I feel centered again."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"What about the ache from the bruises and bite marks?" I inquire.
Her smile grows. "I know this sounds strange, but they make me feel alive and normal."
The man inside me, who has only just begun to show his face, appears. I exhale deeply, then lower my hand to her breast. I graze the purple around her nipple. "What about this?"
"Don't stop," she murmurs. She drops her head backward, closes her eyes, and breathes ten times, as I taught her.
I grow harder, coaxing, "Tell me how it feels."
She meets my gaze and licks her lips, answering, "Like you're feeding my soul."
"Fuck, Bluebird," I mutter.
The phone rings again, tearing us out of the moment.
She glances at it. "Why is Mikhail calling?"
I reach for it and send him to voicemail again. "Don't know. But I have to get ready for work. Will you be okay today?"
She nods, scoots closer so her nipples rub my chest. She whimpers while kissing me, grinding against my body.
I groan, retreating. "I'm never getting to work if we start this."
She grins. "Okay. I'll play fair. I need to go to work too. But can I come back tonight?"
"You'd better," I warn.
She beams, kisses me one more time, then settles back into the pillows and states, "I'm going to sleep for another hour."
"Good idea. I'll call you and wake you up," I offer.
"Thanks."
I kiss her on the forehead, tuck her into the bedding, and get ready. She's asleep when I step out of the closet fully dressed, the sheets twisted around her bare leg.
I step closer, staring at my fingermarks on her hips, letting the proof of last night, her trust in me, and something that might become a problem if I'm not careful, all sink deeper.
Mikhail calls again, irritating me again. I send him to voicemail and quietly leave the condo.
Outside, the air is cool and sharp, carrying the faint smells of morning dew, asphalt, and city garbage. I walk several feet when, "Red," stops me in my tracks.
Fuck.
My gut tightens. I spin to the curb. "Mikhail."
The blacked-out SUV window is halfway down. He sits in the back seat, questioning, "Why aren't you taking my calls?"
His driver, a burly man wearing an expensive suit and an expression that screams he's not to be messed with, opens the passenger door.
Mikhail orders, "Get in."
"I've got to go to work," I argue.
"I'll drive you. Get in," he orders again and scoots over.
My pulse creeps up. I glance down the street but don't see a way out.
"Now," Mikhail demands in a threatening tone.
His driver scowls.
I obey, and the door shuts as soon as I slide inside the cab. I offer, "You're up early."
"Why didn't you take my calls?"
"I was busy."
His gaze flicks briefly toward the building.
The SUV veers into traffic.
"What's going on?" I question.
"It's time for a conversation."
My heart beats harder. "With who?"
His expression doesn't change. "You'll see." He sits back and looks forward.
"That's not an answer," I point out.
He turns and has a half grin. "I don't have to answer you. Sit back and enjoy the ride. It's going to take a bit to get there."
"I have work," I remind him, panicking.
"Shut up and enjoy the ride," he warns.
I decide it's best if I do what he says. So I turn toward the window, watching the city pass until the car turns onto a road I don't recognize. I start counting seconds between turns, mapping out the drive in my head.
"This is where the scenery ends," Mikhail states.
I turn toward him, and before I can react, black fabric slides over my head. Something cold presses to the back of my neck. There's a loud pop, and shock hits like my body has been hijacked. Every muscle seizes at once as if a switch has been flipped, and I'm no longer in control of my own nerves.
Pain spreads everywhere, deep and blinding, ripping through me from the inside out while my jaw locks and my breath tears out of my chest in a sound I don't recognize as my own.
I don't pass out, but I wish I would. Consciousness becomes a cruel thing when all I can do is feel my limbs go rigid and useless, my spine bowing as if it's being crushed from both ends.
My thoughts fracture into static, time stutters, and for a few endless seconds, there's nothing but violent electricity and the humiliating knowledge that my body has betrayed me completely.
It leaves me aware but utterly powerless until the current finally cuts and I'm left shaking in its aftermath, seeing nothing but black.
Russian is spoken, only further confusing my senses. I fall limp in the seat, unable to hold my own body in a sitting position. I try to speak, but words only come out mumbled.
Mikhail's voice nears my ear. He states, "What you're feeling is temporary. For now."
My muscles tremble uncontrollably, each one misfiring like a faulty wire that hasn't realized the current has stopped. I try to straighten, to reclaim even a fraction of dignity, but my body refuses to obey. My jaw aches from clenching. My lungs burn from the breath that was ripped out of me.
"I told you not to play with the forbidden pussy," Mikhail deadpans.
The calm in his voice unsettles me more than the shock. I stay limp, weak, and confused. When the SUV stops, I don't even register it.