Chapter 5
five
brENNA
Sleeping with my Dom should be great, right? The bed’s comfortable. Mac gave me another knee-trembling orgasm before we called it a night. He’s warm and cuddly at my back as he spoons me. I should have the best sleep of my life.
Instead, I wake up every hour and spend long minutes staring at the ceiling.
It’s not my bed, not my bedroom, not even my part of the city.
The sounds, sights, and smells are all wrong.
I’m used to sleeping alone. Mac doesn’t steal covers, doesn’t snore, and doesn’t talk in his sleep, at least not while I’m listening, but he does move around, rolling onto his back, and then cuddling back up and throwing his sweaty, heavy leg over mine. How am I supposed to sleep like this?
The umpteenth time I wake, with his arm across my waist, I realize the two beers I drank after the scene have gone straight to my bladder.
I wait, finding little cracks in the ceiling to stare at.
Mac jokes about his age, but older guys having to pee all night is a thing, right?
Surely, he’ll wake soon, and we can do a relay race to the bathroom?
I should have asked if the scene was over before we went to sleep.
He took the butt plug out before he tucked me under the covers, but he didn’t say the scene was over.
Now I’m not sure if I need permission to go to the bathroom or what.
Finally, I have to squirm free, because Logan really wouldn’t like me if I wet his guest bed.
When I get back from the bathroom, Mac’s rolled over.
He doesn’t say anything when I slip back in behind him.
I take that as a win and cuddle to his back, which is a better position for me since I’m off my bad hip and I can kick off the covers to keep myself cool.
This time when I close my eyes, they stay closed.
Before the sun’s even up, Mac’s stirring.
His movement wakes me, but I pretend to be asleep.
I don’t have to be anywhere for hours and a pre-dawn reveille is not in my damn agenda for the day.
If Mac gets up and does whatever crazy sailors do before dawn, maybe I can catch up on some lost sleep.
Exhaustion and needles are not a good mix.
Mac climbs out of bed quietly, kisses me on the cheek, and tucks the covers around me, which is so sweet that I can’t help smiling in my “sleep.”
When Mac returns, he’s freshly showered and shaved and the sun’s up.
I must have fallen back to sleep, but I don’t feel like it.
That pinched feeling around my eyes is back and my muscles are full of lead.
Mac’s annoyingly cheerful, snapping a wet towel at my ass where I’m hiding under the covers.
I offer him a hand job, and feel a moment’s gratitude that my mouth and pussy are off-limits until Monday, because I’d have trouble mustering any enthusiasm for a blow job or sex right now, as lethargic as I am.
Mac tips his head to the side and looks closely at me. I flush with shame. He gave one of the better scenes I can remember, not to mention orgasm after orgasm, and the best I can do this morning is a half-hearted offer of a hand job because I’m overtired?
“Sorry, sir—”
Mac smiles and shakes his head. “How ‘bout we surprise Logan and Emily by making breakfast, as a thank you for using their playroom last night?”
“That’s a great idea. Really nice of you, sir.”
Mac’s smile twists, probably berating himself for passing up the hand job, but he snaps my ass again with the towel. “Up you come, girl. I want some more of the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.”
That gets me moving. He deserves Bebe J’s pancakes after last night. Mac offers me the T-shirt I turned down last night, which I shrug over my head. The fabric is soft against my still-sore skin and smells very faintly like Mac.
“Not a Black Sabbath shirt,” I observe, holding out the hem with my fingertips. It’s a grey shirt with a Navy crest over the breast pocket.
“My concert shirts are sacred, girl. You have to earn the right to wear them. Much harder than earning sex.”
That draws a laugh out of me. “If I make maple bacon to go with the pancakes does that earn me concert shirt privileges?”
“The best maple bacon I’ve ever tasted?” Mac waggles his eyebrows at me.
“You know it, sir.”
“I’ll hold you to that. You need a moment in the bathroom?”
“Please, sir.” I swallow a lump that tastes like guilt, remembering last night. “I should have asked before we went to sleep if I need permission for that.”
Mac rubs his hand over his mouth, then holds out his hand and when I take it, guides me to the edge of the bed and sits next to me. “Real talk for a minute.”
Fuck, that seems ominous.
“I would very, very, very much like to control you like that,” he says. “When we’re together, can you give me that much control? It’s not practical when we’re apart, I realize—”
“There are these things called phones, sir. They even do video.”
“Your mouth, girl,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Real talk?” I ask. When he nods, I grab my lady balls and push on.
“It’s going to be a serious challenge for me to give you that much control.
I don’t do this twenty-four-seven, Mac. I’m not a slave.
I have my own life and I like my independence.
I don’t ask for permission to pee or sit on the furniture.
I go to the club, I do scenes, I get fucked, and I go home.
I don’t usually sleep with my Doms.” I take a deep breath.
“But I’ll try. If you want that kind of control, I’ll try.
Because I loved having lunch with you, and I love that you want to take me riding on your motorcycle, and the scene last night gave me hope again—”
I break off when I feel a hot prickle in my eyes. Am I crying? I don’t cry. Not over something as stupid as this. I tug my hand out of his and wipe my face quickly.
Mac waits until I lower my hands before pulling me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, tucks my face into his neck, and hugs me tight.
“Thank you for agreeing to try. I know it seems like it’s all or nothing with me. I promise you I’m more flexible than that. If something’s not working for you, we’ll figure something else out. You still get the lunches, and the motorcycle rides, and the scenes. I won’t take those away, Bren.”
“But you’d like to try this full-time?”
“Yeah, I would. Let’s limit it for now to when we’re together. After the weekend, we can talk about it and see where we are. You can even show me how to use these new-fangled phone things.”
I laugh into the warm hollow of his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, sir. Old dog, new tricks, you know.”
“There’s my bold girl. Now, you have permission to go to the bathroom, clean yourself up, and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. You need to be anywhere this morning?”
“No, sir. I don’t start until one today.”
“Good. Bring me your plug and some lube when you come downstairs. When you’re with me today, you’re plugged. I’ll take it out before you leave, and we’ll discuss when you wear it between now and Friday.”
I can’t control the hot shiver that runs through me. “Yes, sir.”
He shifts to kiss me on the forehead. “This is a little scary, huh?”
“More than a little,” I admit.
“For me, too, Bren. I haven’t done anything like this in a decade.
Last person I topped full time tore my damn heart into pieces.
But it’s what I’ve wanted since you agreed to scene with me.
We don’t need to put any labels on it. I’m not going to call you my slave and I don’t want you to call me Master.
Let’s just take it a day at a time and see how we go.
If it’s feeling good after the weekend, we could try putting it in writing. ”
He’s offering me a contract? I swallow hard against the prickle in my throat, and there go my eyes again.
“I’d really like that, sir. I’ve had short contracts before.”
“How’d you feel about them?”
“Good.” Until they weren’t renewed. Then really shitty. But that’s TMI. “I still have a couple of them on my phone if you’d like me to forward them to you to look at.”
“Please do.” He strokes the nape of my neck and smiles into my eyes. “Let’s get breakfast going before Logan beats us to it. You doing okay now?”
So, he noticed I wasn’t okay when I got up. And he caught me when I lied to him last night. Mac doesn’t miss much.
“Yes, sir.”
When I join him in the kitchen after cleaning up, he’s set out pancake ingredients on the counter for me and is peeling oranges and putting the sections in a bowl. Fresh oranges—juice or fruit—are kind of a breakfast tradition at Logan’s and I see Mac’s well-versed in that tradition.
I offer Mac the plug and bottle of lube I’ve brought down with me.
I’m not exactly looking forward to being plugged.
My ass is a little tender from wearing the big plug yesterday, especially during the scene when I was squeezing down on it.
But I’m not exactly unhappy about it, either.
It’s a weird mix of anticipation and dismay that makes me edgy.
Instead of plugging me right away, Mac lays the plug and lube down on the counter and tips his head at the flour, sugar, eggs, and milk he’s laid out for me. Is he picking up on my ambivalence? Or does he just want to get the oranges peeled before he does anything unhygienic?
Grabbing what might be a short reprieve, I begin mixing the pancake ingredients, slipping over to the cupboards for Bebe J’s secret ingredients of nutmeg and cinnamon.
Since Mac seems relaxed and focused on his oranges, I take the opportunity to ask about something that’s been dancing from foot to foot at the edge of my consciousness since last night.
“Sir, I’m just wondering what the consequences are, for not being truthful with you last night?”
Mac gives me a bright blue side-eye. “What do you think the consequences should be?”
“The Delrin, I’m guessing.”
“Will the Delrin teach you your lesson?”