Chapter Thirty-Eight
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CLAIRE
The front door clicks shut behind us, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. Dinner was delicious and filled with laughter and the occasional heated glance, but after my session with Dr. Lawrence earlier, the stress of needing to tell Mark how I feel has been a constant undercurrent in my mind. I try to ignore it as I kick off my shoes and follow Mark into the living room.
"How about a drink to celebrate your success?" Mark asks, already heading towards the kitchen. "I have a nice bottle of red I've been saving for a special occasion."
"That sounds perfect." My voice is steady despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. I need to talk to him, to tell him how I feel, but the words are stuck in my throat. I’m held back by the fear of rejection, knowing that the pain of losing him would hurt so much worse than hiding the intensity of my feelings .
He returns a moment later with a glass of wine in either hand, the dark red liquid sloshing against the sides of the glasses. I gratefully accept mine and take a sip, then another. Settling onto the couch, Mark wraps an arm around me, and I close my eyes for a few seconds.
You know what? I think. Today is about celebrating. I can wait until tomorrow to have this talk. Tonight, I’m going to take every ounce of enjoyment I can from my time with Mark.
"Is there anything particular you’d like to do tonight?" he asks me.
"Just enjoy your company. Though maybe we could go to Club Caliber again next weekend as a late celebration..."
"That can be arranged." His voice is low and husky. He clearly likes that idea just as much as I do.
Then, a question occurs to me that I had forgotten to ask him the last time we were at the club. "I was wondering," I start, " when we were at the club, I saw some of the submissives kneeling for their Doms. Is that something you like?" While he’s explained a lot of details to me, I’m still not entirely sure what the difference is between some of these dynamics.
"I don't require it like some Doms do," he answers, tracing circles on the bare skin of my arm. "But I certainly don't mind it. It can be a very intimate gesture of submission."
His words send a thrill through me that goes straight to my core. I don’t know why the idea of kneeling for him seems so enticing, but ever since I saw it happen at the club, it keeps popping into my mind.
"Is that something you’re interested in?" He asks after it’s clear I don’t have anything else to say.
"Maybe… I like the idea, at least."
Mark's lips quirk up at the edges. "Then kneel for me, Claire." My stomach swoops at his commanding tone.
I take a deep breath before I set my wine glass down on the coffee table then slide off the couch and lower myself to my knees in front of him. I’m not sure why my heart is beating so fast, but when I look up at him and see the approval in his eyes, everything else melts away.
Looking at it from the outside, I had wondered if kneeling for someone would feel demeaning or embarrassing, but now I see it from an entirely different perspective. In this moment, it’s a display of trust, of my willingness to give myself to him in so many ways.
Mark leans over and reaches toward my face, brushing his fingers over my cheek, then my lips. My breath catches in my throat as that one simple touch brings my entire body to life.
"You look beautiful like this."
I smile and drop my gaze. "Thank you."
"Eyes on me," he says, lifting my chin up with his finger. He takes my wine glass from the table, his eyes never leaving mine as he lifts it to my lips in a silent encouragement to drink. I tilt my head back slightly, and the wine spills past my lips. I swallow the rich liquid before Mark tips the glass against my lips again, allowing me to take another sip. His eyes are on mine the entire time, and I don’t dare look away. We’re suspended in time, existing in another world for this brief moment. It’s a soft moment, intimate and incredibly erotic.
A droplet of wine lingers on my lower lip, threatening to fall. Mark leans forward and swipes his tongue across my slightly parted lips, capturing the droplet before it can escape.
After pulling back only an inch or two, he leans in to kiss me again with the taste of the wine lingering between us. He deepens the kiss, gripping my waist and becoming more possessive and demanding by the second, and I melt into him as my body responds to his touch.
His hands move from my waist over my body, tracing my back and shoulder blades before curving around to the front and caressing the curve of my breasts. Right now, I hate the fabric separating my skin from his touch, and he seems to think the same thing as he reaches down and lifts the hem of my shirt. I raise my arms above my head so he can pull it off, and he unhooks my bra afterward, leaving me bare and exposed before him. I’m still in a pair of jean shorts, though I doubt that will last long.
Mark’s eyes are hooded with desire as he takes in my kneeling form. "You're so beautiful, Claire," he praises. "I want to worship every inch of you."
He stands up, offering me his hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet and lead me into his bedroom. As soon as we’re inside, Mark turns to me and pushes me up against the wall, kissing me again like he needs me more than air. I kiss him back just as hard, desperate for more of him. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this man.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he trails his lips down my neck while unbuttoning my shorts then sliding them down my legs along with my underwear. His fingers brush against my skin as he pulls the last pieces of my clothing off, and I brace myself on his shoulders to step out of the fabric.
To my surprise, he doesn’t stand back up or take me to the bed. He stays on his knees before me, looks up at me with a devilish smile, then says, "I need to taste that sweet pussy. Hold on tight, baby." In an instant, he’s hooking an arm under my leg and lifting it over his shoulder, causing me to grab his shoulder with one hand and the door frame with the other to steady myself.
I gasp when his mouth makes contact. He doesn’t start slowly this time; he dives right in, licking and sucking me like a starving man. My body reacts, my legs wanting to close of their own accord, but I’m spread wide open for him and am unable to move with my leg draped over his shoulder.
Instead, I grind my hips against him.
He pulls his mouth away for only a second to say, "That's it, baby. Show me what feels good. Take what you need from me."
My fingers thread through his hair as the tension inside me builds when he goes back to eating my pussy like his life depends on it, and I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
His words spur me on, pushing me closer to the edge. He slides a finger inside me while his tongue still flicks at my clit. The pressure inside me grows heavier, the need for release consuming me.
I come moments later, crying out as he draws out every bit of pleasure. My leg shakes as I struggle to stay upright, and I grip Mark’s shoulders tightly as I come against his lips.
By the time I’m breathless and shaking, he stands, holding me so I remain upright after the orgasm that just rocked through me.
But I know he isn't done with me yet. He leads me to the bed, and I lie back as he removes his clothing and grabs a condom from the bedside table. It only takes a few seconds for him to roll it on and climb on top of me, positioning himself at my entrance.
He slides into me slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely. It feels as incredible as ever, but there’s an added layer to our intimacy tonight. It feels more sensual, more significant, like we’re on the precipice of something massive. There is no hesitation between us, and the way he’s looking at me makes it feel like my heart is cracking open.
I’m his, and he’s mine.
He begins to move, thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm, and his body presses against mine as he kisses me again. He allows more of his weight to press down on me than usual, but I love the way it makes me feel so connected to him.
I lose track of time as I get lost in him. His touch, his scent, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his skin feels against my own. Everything else has lost meaning in this moment besides him. Us .
I don’t know if it’s minutes or hours later that the familiar heat floods through my veins, and my muscles tense as I get closer to the edge.
Mark, now familiar with every one of my subtle reactions, says, "Come for me. Let me see you fall apart."
His words spur me on, and my mind is empty aside from the influx of pleasure and emotion flooding through me. Seconds later, I come. The pleasure is overwhelming, the sensations so intense it's almost unbearable. But Mark is there, gripping my body and whispering words of praise as I come undone.
As soon as I’m coming down from the high, he picks up speed, slamming into me in short, quick thrusts before he groans and pulses inside me. He drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard, and plants another chaste kiss on my lips before rolling over and taking off the condom.
His heart pounds against my ear as he wraps me in his arms.
My mind is empty, the entire world gone except for the two of us. In the heavy sensuality of the moment, an incredible sense of calm washes over me as we catch our breath. My eyes fall closed, my body suddenly exhausted. I’m floating in an almost meditative state, not quite falling asleep but close.
Mark’s warm body envelops mine, and when he gently kisses my forehead, the words leave my lips in a whisper before I can consider the weight of them.
"I love you."
Mark stiffens, and only then do I realize what I said. Shit. I had planned on telling him, but not like this. Not tonight.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that," I backtrack. Panic creeps in with every second of silence that passes. Did I just ruin everything?
I turn to Mark, and he gives me a smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, nor does it hide the disappointment in them.
"Don’t worry about it," he says cooly, which breaks my heart just a little bit more. I didn’t expect him to return the words, but I hoped he’d at least be receptive to them, or that he would reciprocate some sort of feeling.
But no. He gave me the most emotionless, dismissive answer he possibly could have. Like it was a silly mistake rather than a heartfelt confession. I shouldn’t have apologized, but I panicked.
I turn over so Mark doesn’t see my expression, and so I don’t have to see his.
He doesn’t love me. The thought fills my mind, drowning out everything else. If he did, what reason would he have for not saying it back? It’s not like I haven’t shown him how much I care about him; tonight was just the first time I’ve actually vocalized it.
He’s still holding me, but his touch has changed, if only slightly. Our bodies aren’t melded together like they were a few moments ago, and Mark is unnaturally tense. My face is hot as I try desperately to hold back the tears brimming in my eyes. They fall anyway, and I cry silently facing away from him.
We don’t speak, don’t kiss, don’t do anything except lie there. Twenty minutes pass of me trying to hold in my tears, but it feels like hours, until I finally sit up and stand.
"I’m going to bed," I say, not making eye contact and trying to force my voice to sound normal. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," is all Mark says in return.
My heart splinters as I close his bedroom door behind me. Dr. Lawrence’s words echo in my head: he does have the right to end the arrangement if you’re not on the same page anymore .
In my moment of pure vulnerability and honesty, I’ve fucked everything up between us by breaking the one rule he set, and the thought of losing him makes the ache in my chest grow until it consumes every part of my body and mind.
He doesn’t love me, but I thought maybe he cared for me enough that he’d say something other than an apathetic dismissal.
Joke’s on me, I guess. I’ve fooled myself and messed up the first relationship I’ve had where I actually felt valued for who I am. I don’t even want to hold out hope that he’ll explain things tomorrow or confess that he does have feelings, because it’ll only hurt more when he doesn’t.
If I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s that hoping people will change is the best way to get your heart broken over and over again.
I’ll just have to do what I’ve always done: carry the pain, as heavy as it may be, but keep moving forward. Now, it’s the only thing I can do.