Chapter 12
Gideon
I ’ve got my hand around her throat, her pulse beating frantically against my palm, her pussy clenching around my cock as she screams into my mouth. She’s coming again, as I made sure she would— never mind my orders— shaking and shaking against me, which only adds to burn of hunger in my blood.
Subs give me their trust all the time, so her surrendering to me the way she just did shouldn’t make me even hotter for her.
But it did and I am. I felt her fear the moment I put my hand around her throat and she tensed up.
And I knew it wasn’t the delicious fear of a sub anticipating what she’d get from Dom, but something far colder and more real.
I’d been annoyed that she’d noticed my tension during the aftercare, but in that moment I’d shoved aside my temper, because her fear was a serious issue and it needed to be addressed.
I knew it could only be about the attack and that I had to get the truth from her before we went any further, so I commanded her to tell me. Which she did, without hesitation.
Hearing about it did not help my temper, but as with anything that happens during a scene, I pushed my own emotions aside. She needed reassurance from me, that was clear, as was the fact that she still didn’t trust me, not fully.
I’m the Dom, I’m in charge, so when a sub needs reassurance, that’s what I give.
But she needed more than empty words — I could hear the notes of anger and self-loathing in her voice — so I told her what was true.
That her strength and courage were still there, that he hadn’t taken them away from her.
That she’d always had them otherwise she wouldn’t be here.
As soon as I’d told her that, I realized that not only did the Master mean it, the man did too.
I should have pulled away then, put some distance between us because the man and the Master are two different people to me, except I didn’t.
I couldn’t. It would hurt her and she didn’t need to be hurt any more than she already had been.
Instead, I leaned into it, getting that last shred of trust from her, and when she finally surrendered to me— surrendered completely— I felt the pleasure and triumph of it in my chest, in my head, in my blood, in my cock.
Every-fucking-where. And I was desperate in a way I’ve never been before.
So desperate to be inside her, I couldn’t wait.
And I can always wait. Always. Desire has never gotten the better of me before so why a sub finally giving me the ultimate gift of her trust got the better of me tonight, I have no fucking idea.
Perhaps it was giving her that orgasm with the clamps, after she was so goddamn brave with it.
Or maybe it was that kiss I gave her as she came, tasting so fucking delicious, her mouth hot and sweet and her scream of release when she came an added bite.
Perhaps it was picking up her shuddering body and taking her to the couch, wrapping her in a blanket, and holding her until she quietened.
It couldn’t have been the aftercare, because I dislike it intensely.
That’s not because of the subs, it’s because of how it reminds me of caring for Gabrielle in those last few weeks and the emotional agony of not being able to make her better.
You know why you couldn’t wait.
I shove that thought away, back into the darkness it came from, concentrating instead on the feel of her pussy hot and wet around my cock. I haven’t fucked a sub in a while, that’s probably why she’s brought me to a knife-edge, nothing more.
Her mouth is hot beneath mine and she tastes of apples, tart and sweet.
I’m going to have to punish her for coming twice in a row against my express permission, and knowing that adds more spice to the heat already climbing inside me.
She’s still convulsing in my grip, but I don’t let up, thrusting deep and hard inside her tight little cunt until my own orgasm explodes in my head like fucking firework.
It makes me growl into her mouth, nipping and biting at her bottom lip as I come.
It takes me far longer than it should to recover, and for at least a couple of minutes all I’m aware of is the tremble of her body against mine and her frantic breathing. Then my Master’s instinct kicks in and I pull out of her, turning her so I can check she’s okay, that I haven’t hurt her.
Her cheeks are flushed and wet with tears, her mascara has run, and she looks utterly ravaged.
She’s beautiful, especially with the red marks of my fingers on the pale skin of her throat.
She’s breathing easily, though. I run my hand gently over her, conducting a visual check on her nipples and clit to make sure she’s not still hurting, but apart from another convulsive shiver, everything looks good and she doesn’t seem to be in any pain.
She’s gone lax against me, her lashes fluttering closed. She looks young and vulnerable, and the fact that she’s lying against me so trustingly makes something in my chest tighten. She’s new and untried, and perhaps I should have been more mindful of her.
You didn’t use a fucking condom either.
Ah, Christ. I didn’t.
I wrap her in the blanket again and settle her on the couch, then leave the room, heading for the bathroom on this level.
The lights flick on automatically as I enter and go over to the vanity.
I run some water into the basin and splash it on my face, trying to clear my fucking head, then I grip the sides of the basin and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I didn’t use a condom and I always use a condom.
It’s not that pregnancy or an STD is an issue — everyone who uses The Club app has regular doctor’s checkups and birth control is mandatory.
It’s mainly so that anyone who wants to go bareback can without fuss, but that’s not a kink of mine.
There’s an element of control and distance with a condom, and I prefer that.
I’ve never, ever forgotten one. Until now.
The man in the mirror stares back, his jaw tight, his gaze hard. This sub is getting under his skin and he doesn’t like it.
Send her home.
I should. But then that would admit that she’s getting to me and that’s a loss of control I can’t tolerate.
A sub always has the ultimate control, because the whole point of a scene is their pleasure, and I’ve never had an issue with that.
It’s how it should be. But this is different.
This feel as if she’s stolen some power from me, some power I didn’t intend to give her, and now I’m not sure I can get it back.
She only has power if you let her take it.
True. In which case I need to get a fucking grip and make sure the Master is fully in command. I do not second-guess myself and I’m not about to start now.
Pushing myself away from the basin, I gather a few soft cloths and run them under the warm water before squeezing them out. Then I go back into the living area and over to the couch.
Odette is curled up beneath the blanket, her eyes closed.
She’s breathing deeply and evenly, but I know she’s not asleep, only recovering.
I’m not a gentle man, yet I attempt to be gentle as I unwrap her.
She makes a sleepy-sounding protest but doesn’t resist as I spread her legs and run the warm cloth between them.
A breath goes out of her, her slight, pale body still lax as I clean her up.
She watches me but says nothing and I can tell from her dilated pupils that she’s probably had her first encounter with subspace and is still flying.
I don’t look into her eyes this time, directing my attention to her body, doing another visual check. She’s far too thin and I wonder if she’s been eating properly, and yet?—
You’re starting to think like you did when Gabrielle was sick.
A cold wave of realization passes over me.
This is why I don’t do aftercare, because of that same fucking reason, and I know this.
I did everything I could for her, even the difficult physical things that left her with precious little pride or dignity.
I made sure I gave both of those back to her in her last weeks, and I’m doing something similar now.
Except Odette isn’t sick, nor is she my wife.
“What is it?”
Her voice is soft and husky and it jolts me into meeting her gaze. Deep in the tarnished silver of her eyes I see something soft and concerned, and there’s a slight crease in her smooth forehead, her pale brows drawn together.
The cold seeps through me. She must have seen my expression— no one has been able read me, not since Gabrielle —and I don’t like that she has.
“Did I ask you to speak sub?” I ask flatly, putting her back in her place.
She flushes and her lashes lower in submission. “No, Master.”
It should please me that she obeyed me and with my proper title, but I don’t feel pleased. I feel as if I’ve done something wrong, though I know I haven’t.
I’ve given this woman more orgasms in the space of an hour than I’ve ever given any sub over the course of entire evening, so why I feel chastened I have no fucking idea. What I do know is that I’m turning her into more of a big deal than she needs to be.
I continue to run the cloth over her, and she sighs, giving a sensual little stretch.
It’s entirely unselfconscious, and I find myself wanting to keep stroking her soft skin, keep touching her until I make her sigh just like that again and again.
But she needs a break and something to eat, so I open my mouth to tell her what I’m going to do, except that’s not what comes out.
“I don’t do much aftercare,” I hear myself say instead, still stroking her.
“Because I cared for my wife when she was sick and I don’t like the reminder. ”
Odette doesn’t move or speak, but her lashes flutter, the only sign of her reaction.
There is a moment of silence and unexpectedly I feel the weight of it this time, because it’s not a silence I initiated with the purpose of reading a sub. Oddly, it’s as if she’s giving what I told her some time, acknowledging the weight of the subject.
Then, just when I’m on the verge of taking command again, because I don’t fucking like what I’m feeling right now, her lashes lift and she reaches up, brushing my cheekbone with the tips of her fingers. She doesn’t speak but I see what’s in her eyes. Sympathy. Concern. And strangely, understanding.
Her touch is gentle, yet electric. It’s been a long time since a sub has touched me, a long time since anyone has touched me.
Sometimes I’ll fuck a sub or let her suck me off, but I use that as a reward for good behavior.
It’s not something I generally allow and I certainly never seek out a sub’s touch for comfort’s sake, yet I sense that comfort is exactly what Odette is giving me now.
I should punish her for touching me without asking, but strangely, I don’t have the appetite for it.
Instead, I close my fingers around her wrist and hold it gently, and I don’t pull it away.
It’s my gaze that subs can’t meet. I never have a problem with theirs, and yet I’m having a problem holding hers now.
I can’t bear the understanding her eyes, yet a part of me is hungry for it, a need that burns in my chest.
But this little sub, this inexperienced young woman, this pale waif of a girl, looks away first, allowing me to keep the dignity of the Master.
Christ, I’m lying to myself in thinking she’s the same as all the others. She’s not. She’s not like them. She’s not like anyone.
“Allow me to serve you, Master,” she says quietly, her lashes demurely lowered.
Again, she’s offering what I already have and again, that should earn her a punishment.
But for the first time in years, neither the Master nor the man want to give that to her.
She’s not being manipulative and she doesn’t deserve the flicker of anger I feel that she’s somehow managed to get under my guard.
She’s being genuine and honest, so how can I not give her honesty in return? Because I do want her to serve me.
“A scotch,” I tell her. “No ice.”
“Your will, Master,” she replies.