12. Verona
12
VERONA
H ollywood’s smile blinded me as I hauled him to his feet and led him across the hall to the bathroom inside my room. It had a bigger tub and, after the carnage I’d created on his back, I thought warm water would help.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his eyes still hazy from the comedown. I sat him on the toilet while I adjusted the water, making sure it wasn’t scalding.
“You’re adorable, Hollywood.” I walked back over to him and stood in between his legs, raking my nails through his hair to massage his scalp while he preened for me. “Let me see your back.”
Grinning, he turned around so I could assess the damage. I’d broken the skin in a few places, but nothing serious and nothing that hadn’t been done to him before. Once he got out of the bath, I planned to rub antiseptic on them to make sure they didn’t get infected. I ghosted my fingers over the V I’d carved into his skin with my teeth, making him hiss in a breath and arch his away from me.
“I liked when you bit me the most,” he murmured.
I took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, ignoring the flutter in my heart when he said it. I had liked everything, including the bites, and after all the scenes I’d done and all the people I’d been with, Hollywood had been my favorite. He responded to each touch, each brush of the whip, as if it would be the last thing he ever felt. After this, I couldn’t deny how well we matched, how much I wanted to keep doing these things to him.
Careful, a part of me warned. Thoughts like that would lead down a very dangerous road, one neither of us wanted to walk. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t even supposed to be about sex. This was about control and release, end of story. All these feelings rattling around in my brain were nothing more than a hormone release. It would pass. It had to pass.
When he moved on, when he decided he wanted someone else, I couldn’t be attached. He had to stay at arm’s length.
“Was it too hard?” I asked. “Do you want me to go harder next time?”
“Hmm.” He gave me a dreamy smile and nodded. “Harder.”
“All right.” Once the water was high enough, I helped him stand and guided him to the tub, holding his body while he stepped in and sat down. He hissed in a breath when the water touched his back and his ass hit the ground, but then he relaxed against the porcelain and let out a deep sigh.
“Thank you, V,” he said. “For all this.”
“Yeah, Hudson. What are friends for?”
He laughed deep in his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
“Barely. With really good benefits.” I kneeled by the tub and ran my hand through the water, letting it flow through my fingertips.
He grabbed it and intertwined his fingers in mine. “Get in with me.”
Despite all we’d just done together, that seemed too personal, as if sharing a bath after I’d come in his mouth made this more intimate than it should be. Suddenly, I was too self-conscious to take my corset off. I had a big nasty scar going down the center of my chest, one that distorted the tattoo under my breasts. I didn’t like the way I looked, at least not right there.
“Next time,” I said, smiling. “This one is for you.”
“C’mon, V.” He tilted his head to the side and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. “I just wanna cuddle.”
“I don’t like getting wet.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s not true. You enjoyed being wet just a few minutes ago.”
I splashed his face and scoffed. “Don’t be crude.”
“Dommes need aftercare, too. Get in with me, V. Please.”
Well, since he begged ...
“Okay.” I stood and pulled at the laces on my top, loosening them enough to yank the suffocating thing off. Thankfully, I’d taken off the jar containing the bullet fragment before I changed so he wouldn’t see it and start asking questions. Then, I tugged off my boots and slid my fishnets down to the ground so I could step out of them. He sat up so I could squeeze in behind him, my legs going to either side of his hips, his head planted between my breasts. I relaxed against the back of the tub and he let out a breath as he laid back on me.
“This is the best,” he said, grabbing my calves. He slid his hands up and down in a soothing, massaging motion that had me nodding and agreeing with him. “When can we do it again?”
“Whenever you want,” I said, tunneling my fingers through his hair. “I’ve got clients in the morning, but you could come over after that.”
“Clients,” he said, the word sounding sad in his mouth. “You do this to others.”
“You knew that before we started.” My heart pounded under his head, the postcoital high now almost gone as reality sank back in.
“You said you didn’t share.” His hands froze on the outsides of my thighs, holding me in place while he tried to coax out my response, and he looked up at me with his brows furrowed. His lips pulled into a thin line, like it hurt him for me to say it.
“I don’t touch anyone else,” I explained. “Most of it is talking them through their orgasm. You and Candy are the only people I’ve seen in person since I got home.”
“Okay.” He hummed appreciatively and relaxed again. “I’m okay with that.”
“Good,” I said. “And when the Beacon opens up again, I’m planning on resuming the general manager spot. I’ll only put on shows with an eager pretty boy, if he’s up to it ... assuming this is still going on.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He narrowed his eyes up at me, but even that was likely a side effect of his comedown.
Because you’re you, and I’m me, I wanted to say. Hollywood had a reputation for a reason, and even if he’d spent the last eight months soul searching, a tiger didn’t change its stripes. I had a hard time trusting people, and if I let him in, he had the potential to hurt me more than anyone ever had.
“It’s just a hypothetical,” I said instead.
Hollywood grinned and arched up to kiss me, his lips warm and soft despite how rough around the edges he was. The sensation shot down the back of my legs and curled my toes, and I smiled into the connection, knowing he’d gone so long without doing this to anyone. Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, either, and hell, how I had missed it.
We talked a little more but eventually fell into comfortable silence. He grabbed the washcloth and lathered soap up my legs and feet. I took it from him and washed his torso and his back, taking my time to memorize the bumpy pattern of his scars, especially the one we’d gotten together. Then, he turned around and pushed up on his knees so he could do the same to me.
He paused when he dragged the cloth over my chest, over the permanent purple memory of that night, his gaze focused on the angry mark. Yes, it marked the fact that I had survived that night, but who wanted a scar right in the middle of what they once loved about themselves? Suddenly more self-conscious than I needed to be, I grabbed the rag from him and squeezed out the excess water.
“We’re starting to prune,” I said. “It’s time for bed.”
“Can I stay?” he asked, his expression too hopeful to refuse.
“Of course, Hollywood,” I said. “You’re welcome here anytime you want.”
His answering grin twisted down my chest and squeezed my heart even harder. Fuck, I shouldn’t be feeling this giddy around him, and I definitely shouldn’t look forward to him sleeping in my bed. But I knew, as we let the water go down the drain and made our way into my bedroom, this was my favorite part. Yeah, it was nice to carve my name into his flesh and shove him to his knees to eat me out, but my deepest, darkest secret was I liked aftercare. I liked holding my partner until they fell asleep in my arms. I liked knowing the intimacy of our connection didn’t end in the dungeon.
I hadn’t trusted anyone with this side of me in a long time.
Did I trust Hollywood?
No. This was just my own hormone comedown, the domme version of subspace.
Naked and wrapped in a big fluffy towel, Hollywood crawled into my bed and shoved his long legs under the covers, his feet hanging off the edge because of how tall he was. I grabbed the antiseptic and a few cotton swabs before getting on the mattress with my knees and crawling over to him so I could straddle his ass.
He groaned and looked over his shoulder. “I don’t need that shit, V.”
“Hush,” I said, dabbing some cream on the deepest gash. I hadn’t meant to make him bleed, but now that I had, I needed to clean it up. “No one else takes care of you. So let me.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t argue anymore, and by the time I’d finished, his breathing had evened out to a slow, steady pace. I climbed off him to throw the used swabs away and wash my hands. When I returned, I crawled under the covers next to him and turned off the lamp, letting my eyes adjust to the moonlight trickling in through the window.
Completely at peace like this, Hollywood looked even more beautiful. The fake face he put on for everyone else had dropped, making him nearly unrecognizable. He wasn’t the cocky playboy I knew from high school, nor was he the lovable goofball that had patched into the SRMC. Like this, he’d been stripped of those personas, pulled apart at the seams, and put back together as his authentic self. He seemed so innocent, so endearingly fragile.
I ran a finger down the center of his forehead, over his nose, to his lips, memorizing the feel of his skin under mine and the way his features curved. I told myself not to get used to it. I didn’t trust these emotions rumbling around in my chest or the thoughts drifting through my head.
But as I lay in that bed with nothing but the moon and the stars to confess to, I let myself admit maybe ... just maybe ... I could let him in ... one day.