Chapter Twenty-Four
Max
Any good Dominant knows that the most important part of a scene isn’t the scene itself, but what comes afterwards. For some, aftercare is a chore.
For me, it’s the very best part.
But this time…
This time is like nothing I’ve experienced prior to this night.
Aftercare, the act of tending to a submissive and providing whatever they need—be it ointments and salves for abused flesh or ensuring the submissive hydrates and replenishes their strength before they leave the club—can be an exercise in not just care but deeper bonding.
Tonight, as Sutton allows me to hold her in my arms, it’s so much fucking more. It’s relief because she finally feels like mine, even if only at the club. It’s joy, because she’s even better than all of my wildest dreams put together.
It’s guilt, because she doesn’t know whose arms she finds refuge in.
She doesn’t know whose heart beats rhythmically against her ear.
And it’s pain, because I want so badly to tell her the truth, while knowing I never, ever can.
She wouldn’t forgive me for this betrayal.
Continuing this lie makes me an asshole. A selfish, masochistic fucking bastard. But I can’t let go of her now. I finally have the woman in my arms who has pushed me away at every opportunity. Only a fool would throw this away.
She’s so warm in my arms, her skin soft beneath my palm as I run my hand up and down the length of her upper arm.
She’s spent, snoozing between bites of apple and sips of water.
I’ve learned she detests bananas, so I’ll have to make a note of that in her file and be sure I have plenty of other options for snacks in my mini fridge.
She’s drifted off again, so I allow myself the indulgence of listening to her steady breathing. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back to rest on the couch, matching each intake of breath to hers.
The idea of bringing this evening to an end twists like a knife into my gut, but I have an early flight to catch.
The kid I’m looking at in Chicago tomorrow has one of the best throwing arms I’ve seen in years.
As far as athletes go, he’s possibly going to rival Emerson Bratt in sponsorship deals and benefits.
Securing both of these kids to the roster at Apex Athletics would mean maintaining our top spot on the Forbes list—without having to push beyond talent representation.
The pressure is there, a constant demand to keep up with other agencies as they pivot into other endeavors, like acquiring consulting firms, or forming media conglomerates beneath the Apex umbrella.
I don’t want that. I built Apex Athletics to be the top name in sports talent representation. What business do I have running a consulting firm or creating a media outlet?
None, that’s what.
But the way my partner sees it, if we can’t reach over a billion in commissions by end of year, we’re failing, and, with support of the board at Apex, he plans to move us into other ventures.
Gray may be my best friend in the world, but he’s also a shrewd businessman with a head for numbers the likes of which I’ve never seen before.
He knows what’s best for the agency, financially speaking, but I don’t want to lose sight of the heart of my business, why I started Apex in the first place.
Sutton stirs in my arms, pulling me out of my thoughts.
In a perfect world, I could share my concerns with her, bounce ideas off of that brilliant brain of hers.
We could share our fears and our dreams, seek out talent together, traveling from city to city in search of the next big name in sports…
a little friendly competition to keep the romance alive…
She’d understand my feelings because we share the same passion for the players we represent. The same things motivate us. She would understand better than anyone why I don’t want Apex to branch out beyond agenting if I can help it.
She lifts her head, eyes groggy as she looks up at me. “I passed out.”
I smirk, though she can’t see the motion beneath the mask. “That’s normal.”
She cocks one eyebrow. “I thought we didn’t say that word.”
I pinch her hip playfully, and when she’s done squirming, she grows serious again.
“Will that happen to me every time?”
I shrug, running a hand down her spine. “Perhaps. It just depends on how your body reacts to what we do together. Some things will begin to feel familiar…” I grip the back of her neck firmly, watching the way that simple movement makes her eyes widen, suddenly more alert.
“Some things will be new, which could result in higher adrenaline—”
“Which would mean a harder come down.”
“Possibly.” It’s late and I know she needs to sleep this off, but I still hate what I’m about to say. “You should probably get going. It’s after midnight.”
She gasps softly. “It is? How long did I sleep?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “About an hour. Before that, you snacked and dozed for forty-five minutes or so.” I massage the muscles across her shoulders. “Did you drive here?”
She nods, leaning into my prodding fingers.
“Are you okay to drive home?”
Another nod. “Can I see you again?”
Fucking hell, anytime you’d like. I nod.
“Can we…” She presses her lips together, fighting back a smile.
“Out with it,” I say, my fingers flexing at the base of her skull.
“Can we do this part again?”
I groan, then pull her back against my chest, placing my lips onto the crown of her head and hating this fucking mask for the first time in my life. “This will always be part of what we do here together. Aftercare is just as important as consent and safety.”
She nods, then, after another moment of silence, she pushes off of me, and my body instantly aches from the absence of her.