Chapter 8 #5
The pain transformed into a heavy liquid heat low in her pelvis. In her pussy. Everything down there throbbed. Her mind had emptied out, leaving only the pain, only the need to come. She panted, her knees trembling.
“Ah, you are quite fun.” He knelt beside her, lightly kissed her.
I pleased him. The knowledge of his approval warmed her through and through.
His gaze ran over her body, and awareness of her arousal showed in his pitch-black eyes. Tenderly, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, kissed her, and rose. “Number six.”
It was the one with holes. The firm swat landed, and she let out a half-yelp, half-scream. The sting was bitey, like she’d sat on a pile of yellow jackets. “Ow, ow!”
“You are doing very well, but do you need a break, bébé?” His voice and his hand stroking her spine pulled her back. The panic receded.
He was concerned about her. Would stop if she needed it. Knowing made all the difference. “N-no. Keep going.”
“Breathe, Ray.” Still, she was sucking air like a bellows, and then his hand was between her legs. His finger slid around and around her clit and up inside her.
“Ooooh.” In and out, and as everything transformed again, a wave of pleasure shook her. The pain…wasn’t pain.
She couldn’t think.
It went on. Pain and pleasure and pain. Only those, no thoughts, no worries.
His dark, resonant voice pulled her upward, asked her questions, even as pleasure swirled around her like a warm fog.
“All right, you’ve been a very, very good girl. You deserve a reward.” He knelt beside her, one hand in front, sliding his fingers over her clit.
Reaching around from behind, his other hand impaled her on his fingers. More than one finger. Penetrated. Filled. In and out, deeper, driving her upward even as his other hand teased her clit.
This time he…didn’t stop.
Every muscle in her body tightened. Tightened more. And like the inevitable ocean tides, the waves of an orgasm crashed over her. Tossed her head over heels as her entire body filled with pleasure, and she bucked against his hands with the mercilessly heart-stopping sensations.
Sucking air, the blood pounding in her head, she lay limp on the barrel, as flat as if an eighteen-wheeler had driven over her.
An eighteen-wheeler named Drake.
Eyes closed, she felt him remove the cuffs from her wrists. He gently massaged the ache in her shoulders.
“Up you come now.” With firm hands, he lifted her to her feet, holding her until the swirling in her head eased, and she found her balance.
Kind of. Her feet felt awfully far away.
He kept an iron-hard arm around her waist as his free hand tilted her chin up. “I didn’t expect you to slide away so easily. Are you back with me now?”
Was he talking about subspace? She’d heard of it. But her? She swallowed, unable to look away from the dark concerned eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
The involuntary respect slipped out, and she saw the sunlines crinkle with his smile. “Very nice.”
Whoa, what am I saying. “No. I mean, I’m not…” She tried to push away.
His eyes darkened. “You will accept assistance until your mind and body are functioning again. I want you to sit quietly, right here, until we go upstairs to the aftercare room.”
Every tiny bit of resistance fled under the steel in his voice. The safety it promised.
A minute later, wrapped in a soft blanket, she sat on her burning, throbbing butt. And somehow, kind of drifted.
By the time her thoughts were in a semblance of order, he’d cleaned everything and packed away the paddles.
“Up you go.” With the duffel bag over his shoulder, he lifted her to her feet and guided her to the end of the long room.
The elevator opened onto the ground floor, and he escorted her through a door into a quiet room decorated in calming blues and greens. It was filled with comfortable furniture, the music was soft, the air faintly scented with orange and lavender
To the right, a man sobbed against his Domme’s shoulder. Farther to the left, a brunette lay curled up on a couch, her head on her partner’s lap, as he stroked her hair.
Drake guided Ray to a soft, overstuffed couch near the wide windows overlooking the dance floor. No one in the public space tried to see into the aftercare room. Actually, when she’d been in the main room, this area had looked like a mirror. Was this one-way glass?
He helped her sit—ouch, ouch, ouch!—then fetched a couple of Gatorades from a fridge. Sitting down next to her, he opened the bottles, handed one to her, and pulled her against his side. Settling in.
Dammit, why was it so comforting to be tucked under his arm, nestled against his hard, lean body. She wanted to burrow against him like a puppy against its mother. “I’m okay. You don’t have to—“
He chuckled. “Ray, you are here for fifteen minutes or so, then I will decide if you’re ready to leave.”
“But you have things to do.”
“None that are more important than you right now.”
That… That made warmth blossom in her heart.
He put his feet up on a convenient ottoman and drank some Gatorade before setting the bottle on an end table.
She rested her head on his shoulder, plastered like stucco against his side. So fucking happy to be right here, right now.
“Everyone has different needs for aftercare. Some submissives don’t want to be touched at all. A few want to be alone or with only their friends.” He gave her a squeeze. “You like being cuddled and cared for, non?”
She opened her mouth and closed it. He was right.
“You only worry you might be a bother. I assure you—you aren’t.”
Nothing like being read like an open book. And she’d never been so content. Felt so safe and happy.
No, no, no. She couldn’t possibly be falling for this man she barely knew. This person who owned a BDSM club. A terrifying Dominant.
Talk about being an idiot. Didn’t you learn anything from last time? She’d been so obsessed with Crypto, the Dom on campus, and he knew it. Had done everything he could to pull her in.
How’d that work out for me last time? Drugged, bound, assaulted.
Even if Drake wasn’t a Dom—and face it, he was one to his bones—there was probably no future with him. She’d dated enough to know guys disappeared around the third date.
At first, men were attracted by her “high spirits.” That was what one date had called her hyperactivity. A few dates in, they tired of her energy, of what they named incessant chattering, her distractibility, her need to work until she reached the right stopping point even if she missed meals.
Drake probably wasn’t that interested in her anyway. He was simply being kind. Although it sure felt as if there was some chemistry between them. “Um, Sir. Thank you for this evening. I appreciate the time you’ve taken with me.”
He stiffened slightly. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze as he looked down at the top of her head. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“But…it can’t go further than this. Although I really enjoyed”—enjoyed was far too tame of a word—“tonight, I’m not interested in anything more than…fun.”
He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “Fun, hmm?”
“Um, yes?” Had she hurt his feelings? Surely not. He had women falling all over themselves to talk to him. She’d seen it.
Would more explanation help? “I don’t do well in relationships.” Oh, now that made her sound pitiful. “I mean, I’m not interested in relationships. With anyone.”
“I see. Thank you for letting me know.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you wish to stay a member of the club?”
The thought of never returning here was distressing. “Yes. Please.” All the same, when she thought of having a scene with anyone else besides Drake, it felt wrong. Jagged. Like a project where she was sawing concrete rather than wood.
But the connection to him was probably just the aftereffects of a fantastic orgasm. I’ll get over this attraction soon enough.
I will.
Drake studied Ray. It seemed the little submissive’s emotions and mind were stable again if she was fretting about the future.
But wasn’t she delightful, worrying about taking up too much of his time?
He helped her dress, and as he buttoned her shirt, she looked up, so trusting, so wide-eyed at being cared for.
He treated himself to another kiss…because Aralia Lanigan put all her singular attention into kissing. He could happily continue this for the rest of the night.
Nonetheless, she’d made her boundaries clear, so he pulled back. “What would you like to do now?”
“Oh, it’s time for me to leave. Really.” Her voice was beautifully husky.
“As you wish.” As he escorted her into the main clubroom, a quick glance told him everything was running as it should. About half the tables were filled.
On the stage, a married couple demonstrated how to tag-team a caning, working over an attractive woman in a pillory.
The dance floor had a newly transitioned transman teaching the crowd a suggestive line dance.
“Hey, Ray.” At a table with Mac and Alex, Hope rose to her feet and waved.
When Ray immediately veered toward her friend, Drake smiled and followed. He was beginning to see that, no matter how shaken emotionally, this woman would never deny the people she loved.
“Did you have fun?” Hope asked as they approached. “We saw you, but you didn’t see us at all.”
MacKensie laughed and echoed, “At all.”
Flushing, Ray glanced at Drake…and turned even redder.
He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing—and saw Alex doing the same.
“Just so you know, I’m ignoring you all.” With a huff, Ray dropped onto a chair, squeaked adorably, and rose even faster.
That did it. He laughed—as did the rest.
Ray gave him a squint-eyed frown before sitting…very carefully. “All of you”—she made a circling gesture—“I will get revenge.”
“Sure you will, Ms. Sweetie Woodcrafter,” Hope said with a giggle.
“I,” Ray stated firmly, “will replace your hardwood floors with bright orange shag carpet.”
Alex choked on his drink.
“Sweetie, my ass,” Mac sputtered. “You’ve got a real mean streak.”
Drake grinned and kissed Ray’s cheek, murmuring, “Excellent threat.”