Chapter 13
thirteen
cam
Road trip.
Only one bed.
Saúl was a Daddy.
A mean one, but a Daddy nonetheless.
Those were the lines running havoc through my head as I stared at the very unpacked suitcases while the shower ran.
I was so dead.
Funnily enough, just like my phone. In the midst of my panic, I went to unlock it because why wouldn’t I add some salt to the wound, right?
If Kara had replied, that would’ve been the cherry on top.
Except I came to find out that my phone was dead, so now not only I couldn’t check if all my fears would be proven true—that she hated me and wanted nothing to do with me and she told me I deserved every bit of karma I got for the next decade—I could come up with a hundred scenarios and I wouldn’t know if I’d hit the jackpot with any of them until my phone was back to working.
A smarter person would wonder why on Earth I wasn’t opening the suitcases then, where the chargers were, and therefore the answer to all my problems. The issue with that logic?
A smarter person wouldn’t have agreed to come here in the first place, because they’d know how to say no and resist puppy eyes given by a Dom.
Seriously. Everyone talked about subs trying to get out of shit with puppy eyes with varying levels of success, but no one talked about Doms doing it.
The hypocrisy.
And, hey, eventually, I did it. Was I propelled by the sound of the water turning off, and sheer anxiety that meant I rushed through it without barely breathing?
Well, yeah. I’d just finished shoving my things inside the drawer when he came out of the bathroom, and by the reflection in the mirror, I only looked mildly winded.
Now that I thought about it, I didn’t know why we were even unpacking. Well, toiletries and chargers and that, I understood, but we were just spending the night.
Unless he’d meant to unpack just those essentials, and he was going to hate me come morning when he realized I’d taken the order too literally.
Oh, well.
“Gonna shower!”
Did I need to announce it like that?
No.
Did I still do it?
Obviously.
I squirmed past him before he could say a word about it—and before either of us could focus on the fact that he was only wearing a towel tied around his waist and there were droplets of water down his chest, and I obviously knew people who worked in a giant sanctuary and were basically ranch hands were shredded, but for fuck’s sake, did that have to be literal, too?
I hated life.
Saúl had more muscles than sense.
Because I was on a rampage, I was also the one who couldn’t stay quiet when we finally got into bed and pretended that it was totally normal to be sharing and no weird at all how we stuck to one corner of the bed each without really talking about it.
“What did you mean when you said you’re a Sadist when you trust someone?”
No one talked about how anxiety also meant there were a thousand thoughts in your head ready to come out at any given time, and the majority ended up coming out at the most inopportune of them.
Saúl snorted. It was a soft sound, but it gave me goosebumps nonetheless.
I blamed the bed and the fact that I was the dumbass who was only wearing briefs because I hadn’t wanted him to see that I had unpacked our entire suitcases just yet.
He’d have time to be disappointed with me in the morning, when I’d be too busy stuffing food in my cheeks and pretending to be my cheery self.
I needed more sleep before I could do that.
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“If you don’t answer now, I’ll just ask you in the truck,” I reasoned, “and then you’ll swerve from the shock and send us to an ER, so if you think about it, I’m doing the responsible thing.”
It was also responsible because we’d shut off the blinds in the windows, which meant there was no light whatsoever, and I couldn’t read his expressions and obsess over them.
“How about you don’t put that out there?”
I almost laughed. Almost. “Are you superstitious?”
Saúl didn’t answer. I could picture him rolling his eyes, though.
“If I answer, will you go to sleep?”
“Probably not, but I’ll definitely pester you more if you don’t.”
I was honest. It would just be nice if I was acknowledged for it from time to time.
Saúl sighed, and for some reason I was not going to look too closely into, the sound made me giddy. Playful, too, kind of how I felt right before I fully slipped into a particular headspace I should not be manifesting right now of all times.
“You know how most people into impact, in whichever capacity, when they play, their scenes incorporate some spanking or light flogging from the get-go?”
“Yeah?” If I closed my eyes, I could feel the caress of leather strands up my body, but I was not doing that in front of polite company.
“I don’t.” Some shuffling meant he was moving, but I didn’t know if he was turning on his side or just readjusting himself.
Surprising absolutely no one, he was the kind of man who slept on his back as if that was something people did in real life.
“I don’t get anything out of it when I don’t have a really solid base with someone. ”
“Huh.” I mulled it over as he shuffled some more.
Part of me wanted to tease him for making him uncomfortable, but another part of me reasoned it might be too close to the idea of playing with fire, and I wasn’t supposed to do that.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had that with anyone. A solid base, I mean.”
Understatement of the fucking year.
Why did my eyes prickle when I said the words?
Ugh.
“You let strangers whip you?”
There was stiffness in his voice. I hadn’t imagined that, had I?
I certainly didn’t imagine the yelp that slipped out of my own mouth. “Why did you go straight to whips? Decorum not a thing for cowboys?”
Saúl chuckled. “First, I don’t know that I count as a cowboy. Second, it’s in your handle. Waffles and whips or something, right?”
“Right.” I swallowed. I’d been doing a good job of forgetting he had read through my most humiliating moment to date, but here he was, having to remind me of it.
There really was no rest for the wicked.
“I’ve never been whipped, for the record.
It was just the only thing that started with the same letter. ”
I didn’t have half the experience people assumed I did. I got a reward for not going on a tangent about it when Saúl had no reason to fall into that category. Or, maybe he did, but I still managed restraint. Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t have any experience.
“You’re a masochist, though.”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
Of course I was, but what was I supposed to say? Yes, I am, please Daddy, go grab the box with your leather implements and have your way with me?
No way.
I didn’t have much sense left, but I had some.
“You’re not as hard to read as you think.” More shuffling. Was it me, or did he feel closer? Warmth radiated from him, so it was impossible not to notice when that warmth raised the hairs in my arms with awareness. “Are you done with your questions now?”
Huh.
Talk about giving someone whiplash.
“Probs not.”
“Turn on the bedside lamp, then.”
“Um. Why?”
Utter darkness suited me just fine. I’d been thinking about it before, hadn’t I?
“Because I’m not a fucking vampire and you have the shittiest poker face I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, that’s not a nice thing to say.”
Saúl reached over me then. Utter darkness didn’t stop me from feeling his body hovering over me, the weight of it blanketing me.
On instinct, I closed my eyes when I heard the switch on the ancient lamp that didn’t at all match the neon vibe of the rest of the motel.
I didn’t know what it was about roadside motels with all the neon and bright colors, if the inside of their rooms were going to be stacked with relics and rugs that hadn’t been updated since serial killers from the 70s rampaged around.
“You can open your eyes, you know?”
I shook my head right away. Saúl’s voice helped my brain stop thinking of random facts about said serial killers, but it also made me more aware of the problem at hand.
Also known as my lack of clothes, and his lack of clothes, and why I’d thought it would be a good idea to spend the night talking about his Daddy ways, just because it was the first thing that came to mind to break the silence.
“Why can’t you open your eyes, Cam?”
Shit.
The way he said my name?
How did he keep his voice so steady all the time?
It took everything in me not to whimper, but I couldn’t do much about the stiffness taking hold. I bunched up my fingers before I fisted the blankets and looked like an even messier version of some weird porno from the nineties.
At least, I reminded myself, we were beneath the covers, so he wouldn’t be able to see all my body reactions. Right?
Everyone said Daddies had a sixth sense for this shit, but it wasn’t like they had X-ray vision.
The problem was that none of my attempts to reassure myself helped slow down my heart rate, or the stupid need to get out of bed and maybe open a window because oh fuck, I needed to breathe.
I was going to throw up.
I hated anxiety attacks.
And now I did whimper. I turned my face away, too.
Maybe that would conflate the meaning that this wasn’t about him.
It really wasn’t. He wasn’t bad, and I didn’t hate it when he was near.
Certainly didn’t hate it when he talked with that voice and worried and acted like I mattered and like it was important that I felt safe and comfortable because, of course, I saw that’s what he did.
I didn’t deserve it, but I found myself rolling on the feeling it left behind for hours at a time each time it happened.
No, this was just me and my stupid body thinking every single thought was a threat that would lead to imminent death until it knocked me out first. Or something. My therapist would hit me if she heard that was how I explained anxiety attacks.
Whatever.