Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  She could still hear his voice, ragged with pain and emotion as he tended to her cuts after the dangerous knife play. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. As odd as it was, even to her own ears, she’d fallen in love with him in that moment and she had no idea what to do about it.

  It was that man she needed to reach, to tell. Even if she couldn’t have him, Rae felt she owed Sam at least something of the truth. Girding her courage, she tried again.

  From: Rae.Johansen@RykerSolutions.net

  To: Samuel.Ryker@RykerSolutions.net

  Subject: Sir

  I don’t really know how to begin, so I guess I’ll do my usual and just dive right in, leaping before I look. When this whole thing started, I mean, when you busted me and offered your terms, I figured this was just your perverted way of getting into my pants again. You had backed me against the wall. I felt I had little choice.

  Before I say anything else, I want to say how sorry I am that I stole from you, that I didn’t trust you enough to seek another solution. I can’t undo that, but I still plan to pay you back, no matter what else happens (or doesn’t) between us.

  Back to these past weeks. I hated you at first, Sam. I guess you knew that, as I didn’t try to hide it. I was shocked and terrified to be held in your dungeon, chained and at your mercy. My god, who wouldn’t be? I’ve had a lot of time to think things over, both when you left me alone in the dungeon, and these past two days since I’ve been back at my place.

  One thing I’ve realized is I have spent my whole life running as fast as I can to get away from myself. I know that sounds odd, but it’s true. I think somehow I figured if I kept moving, accomplishing things, making my way in the big bad world on my own, I wouldn’t have to slow down and realize how lonely I was, or that I really had no idea what I wanted or needed in my life.

  I’ve never been in a committed relationship, not one where I really gave of myself, where I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I went to a shrink for a while in my early twenties—trying to figure out why I was unable to really click with anyone. Why I never felt that rush, that thrill that my girlfriends all seemed to feel when in the throes of a new relationship. The therapy didn’t go too far—I felt like I was being lectured and I just bagged it. I told myself I was too strong a woman to fall in love. Love was for weaklings, for women who needed to lean on a man to feel complete.

  I never told the therapist I felt broken inside. Is that the right word? Like there was a connection missing, something that caused a short circuit every time I got close to a real feeling, to being vulnerable.

  When we went out that time last year, the one time, the circuit was completed, maybe for the first time in my life. You told me I was hiding from my own feelings when I rejected the bondage and dominance you offered, and my reactions to it. I told you that you were just egocentric and used to getting whatever you wanted with a woman, and that we’d be better off being just friends and business associates.

  But the truth was, I was terrified. Which is ironic, given that I’d always been seeking that kind of intensity of connection. But when you appeared, offering it, I ran for the hills! My therapist would have said it was me denying my real feelings so I could continue to stay safe from getting hurt. I was like this person encased in an impenetrable plastic bubble. Nobody was going to get in, period.

  These past few weeks—I don’t know how to say this, but you managed to find a way in. I’m honestly not sure anyone could have reached me, not the way you have. Yes, your measures were drastic, even extreme. And yes, I know I’m supposed to be outraged and horrified at what you did to me—keeping me chained and enslaved, using me like an object, your personal property, your sex slave…

  I was outraged and horrified. That wasn’t an act. But beneath it. OMG, Sam, beneath it, you were finally, for the first time, piercing the bubble I spent a lifetime building around my heart and soul. You reached me, that secret, vulnerable little girl place inside where I hide my true feelings and needs. You pulled away the curtains and tore down the walls.

  You brought out feelings and desires I never knew I possessed. You showed me, whether you meant to or not, that at my core I am submissive. That I need what you gave me. I long for it. I miss it.

  I want it back.

  Remember when I said there was no us? I was lying. For the first time, I find I am part of an “us”, or at least I was, for those few weeks we spent together.

  And now it’s gone.

  And here I sit. Alone again, not sure how to find my way back to what I used to be. Knowing in my heart I don’t really want to.

  Rae stared at what she’d written, not ready to send it, but not quite willing to delete it either. Without hitting the send button, she logged out of her email and closed the laptop lid.

  Once over lunch when they were first working together, Sam had made the observation that the world moved so fast now, no one had time to just sit down and write a letter by hand. Everything was instant, composed in a flash and sent with a press of the finger on a keyboard. Rae had said, wasn’t that a good thing? Sam had nodded that yes, he supposed it was, but didn’t she think that sometimes, something handwritten on real paper made more of an impact? Forced us to slow down, at least a little? At the time she’d shrugged this off, but now she understood.

  She glanced out the window—it was still light out, still time for what she wanted to do. She dressed in jeans and a blouse, not even bothering with makeup, which would have been inconceivable before her time with Sam. Grabbing her keys, wallet and cell phone in case he called, she left her apartment, a woman on a mission. Down her block was a small stationery store, sandwiched between a dry cleaners and a deli. It was an old-fashioned mom-and-pop kind of place that had somehow managed to survive, despite the incursion of superstores.

  She breathed in the dry, musty scent of paper and ink as she moved along the narrow aisles cluttered with office supplies. She stopped at the stationery section, looking over the selection. Underneath boxes of thank you and get well soon cards, she found what she was looking for—a box of pale ecru bond paper with a dark blue edge. It came with matching envelopes, the inside of each envelope the same blue as the stationery’s borders.

  She searched the pen section for a long time before finally spying what she wanted in a dusty box on a top shelf. It was a fountain pen, black with a silver nib, and came with a few ink cartridges. It cost quite a bit more than she’d expected to pay, but she decided it was worth it. She made her purchase and returned to her apartment.

  Sitting at her desk, she took the pen from the bag and spent a few minutes placing the ink cartridge inside it and testing it out on a cheap piece of printer paper. She practiced writing her name until the ink flowed smoothly. It was a rich, royal blue. She realized it had been some time since she’d used a pen, any pen, for much more than grocery lists or the occasional check. She liked the feel of this fine pen, its solid weight and smooth nib lending a kind of loftiness, an importance, to her words.

  Rae opened the box of stationery and drew out a single sheet. She lay it flat on the desk and began to write.

  *

  Sam lifted his head at the sound of the mail chute opening in his front door and the soft thud of the day’s mail hitting the floor. He still hadn’t returned to his Manhattan office. He knew he needed to get back there, to at least pretend to a return to his old life, but he hadn’t yet found the will.

  He glanced at his watch. It was nearly five o’clock on Monday evening, time to call it a day, he supposed, though he hadn’t accomplished much.

  Sam recognized he was a man given to obsession. He would become fixated on a project, working sometimes twenty hours out of twenty-four to bring an idea to fruition. In the past, however, this fixation had always been confined to his work. No woman had ever occupied so much space and time in his head before. Or his heart.

  That was the damned thing of it. If he could extract and untangle his heart from the whole messy situation, he was sure he could move on and forget
Rae. When he’d first made the bizarre deal with her, he hadn’t bargained on his emotions getting in the way of his cock or his whip arm. He’d thought he could keep them neatly locked away while he exacted his revenge.

  But somehow Rae had managed to get under his skin in a way no one had managed to before. What was it about her that had changed in the short time they’d been together? Or maybe he was asking the wrong question. What was it about himself that had changed?

  He knew of course. He’d known it for some time, maybe even from the beginning. He’d been in love with Rae for a long time. But it had been too hard to admit, too much to deal with. So instead he’d focused on his baser emotions, pushing her too far, denying his true feelings in order to keep the pain of her inevitable rejection at bay.

  He’d known sending her away would hurt at first, but he hadn’t expected the unrelenting enormity of it.

  He thought he knew all the different kinds of heartbreak but this was a new one, a crushing sadness, an appalling knowledge of lost chances. The pain was atomic, quite a surprise really.

  It had been five days since he’d hustled her into that cab and sent her away. Five days since he’d tasted her lips, felt the warmth of her cunt enveloping his cock, seen the spark of fire and passion in those cobalt blue eyes.

  A small bell sounded on his laptop, signaling that an email had arrived. Sam opened his email without any real expectation—probably just another spam.

  It was from Rae! His hand shook as he opened the email and began to read…

  I don’t really know how to begin, so I guess I’ll do my usual and just dive right in, leaping before I look…

  He read the email a dozen times or more, pondering it, interpreting it, revising his interpretation, letting hope bloom and then wilt, crafting responses, only to delete them a moment later.

  Deciding he’d return to it when his emotions had calmed down some, he pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the front door, where a pile of junk mail lay waiting for him. He grabbed it, glancing unenthusiastically through the catalogs and bills, when his eye was caught by an envelope addressed by hand in a pretty, neat cursive, decidedly feminine.

  Carrying the whole pile to the living room, he sat down on the sofa and, discarding the rest beside him, turned the envelope over in his hands, studying it. There was no return address. It could just be a ploy to get him to open it—probably just another appeal for money for this charity or that, with the hopes that something handwritten would get his attention.

  Well, if that was the case, it had worked. He slipped his thumb beneath the seal on the back of the envelope and opened it. He drew out the single page inside and unfolded it.

  Sir,

  I want to come back.

  The time we spent these past weeks is the first time I have ever felt truly alive. I know that wasn’t what you planned, and certainly not what I expected. I have spent my life running so fast so I wouldn’t have to stop and take stock of who and what I was. I’m ready to stop running.

  If I learned one thing from you, it’s to slow down, take a deep breath, let it flow, and really feel what I feel.

  I understand you may not want me back. It’s a chance I have no choice but to take.

  I will be at your doorstep on Monday evening at 6:00. If you are willing to take me back, just open the door. If you are not, do nothing. I will accept your decision and you won’t hear from me again.

  Your slave girl, Rae

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‡

  Rae knelt on the stoop, the collar in her hands. The flagstones were hard beneath her bare knees. Her hair fell into her face but she didn’t move. There were two minutes to go until six. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and began to count.

  One…two…three…breathe…

  She resisted the urge to look up when she heard the lock sliding open and the sound of the door pulling open. Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven…

  Her heart skipped a beat and then settled into a rapid anticipatory patter but she managed to hold her position, eyes downcast, arms raised in offering.

  She heard him step out onto the stoop. She saw his boots appear in her line of vision. If she bent just a little farther, she could have kissed them. Before she could think further on this, to her vast surprise Sam knelt in front of her.

  “Rae.”

  She looked up into his face, half afraid of what she would see there. There was a question in his eyes, as his lips formed a hesitant smile. When she smiled back, he reached for her, placing his hands on her shoulders. They knelt there like statues for several long moments. Rae had never felt so aware of him—his strength, his vulnerability. There was a tension between them, vibrating in the stillness.

  Sam looked down at the collar she still clutched. Letting go of her, he reached for it and she let him take it. She held her breath expectantly, silently urging him, nodding her head ever so slightly in encouragement.

  When he nodded back, Rae lifted her hair from the back of her neck, closing her eyes. When she felt the smooth, stiff leather being placed against her throat, something she’d been clenching tight inside eased a little. When the collar was buckled around her throat, she let the tears she’d been holding back roll down her cheeks.

  *

  Sam held out his hand and Rae took it, allowing him to help her rise. He led Rae into the house, feeling almost as if they were in some kind of dream. A dream that would melt away if he reached too suddenly for it. He held out his arms and she stepped into them, resting her head against his chest. He lifted her chin, his mouth seeking hers. He kissed her, hesitantly at first, though soon with a rising passion. She kissed him back, her ardor equaling his.

  Finally they stepped apart, both breathing hard. “How I missed you, Rae,” he said. She looked so beautiful, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders, her skin soft and dewy, her eyes shining, her nipples tenting the silky white fabric of her blouse.

  She smiled shyly. “Please say you won’t send me away again.”

  The words cut him to the bone. He took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Listen, Rae. I sent you away, not because of anything you did, but because of what I was doing. What I was becoming. I took something that should be beautiful and I perverted it to get back at you, to exact revenge.

  “I’m not going to lie and say it was all about the money either—it wasn’t. It was about that one night we spent, and the way you sent me away, rejecting what I knew was in both our hearts. Instead of being a man, instead of trying to understand and to reach you, I just let it, and you, go. When I had the chance to get you back with blackmail, I seized on it. What I did was no better than stealing, Rae. You stole money—I stole your trust and freedom.”

  Rae nodded and even though it hurt, Sam found himself grateful for the acknowledgment. She wasn’t going to try and gloss over what he’d done. But she was here. She’d returned to him when she could just as easily have turned her back forever.

  Sam took Rae’s hand and led her into the living room. “I have to admit, until I got your email and the beautiful letter, I didn’t think you’d ever want to come back here. I promise you this time will be different. The basis of this kind of relationship—of Dom and sub, of Master and slave—is trust. I tried to demand it of you, without giving it to you in return. I’m sorry, Rae. You seem to be ready to trust me now, and I’m grateful for that, though frankly I’m not sure I deserve it. Not yet, anyway.” He offered a wan smile.

  Rae smiled back, though her eyes were suddenly sad. “I appreciate that, Sam. I really do. And by the same token, I hope I can earn your trust again as well.”

  Sam reached for her once more. He could feel the soft yield of her breasts against his chest as he pulled her close. He moved his hands over her back and lower, finding and cupping her ass. He pulled at the skirt, lifting it so he could feel her skin. “Spread your legs,” he ordered softly, pleased when she immediately obeyed. He found the cleft of her sex, already wet and
swollen for him, as it should be. He ran his fingers over her labia, satiny smooth to the touch.

  “I want you,” he murmured, letting her go. “I’ve thought of little else since you left.”

  “Me too,” she whispered shyly.

  “Are you ready to start where we left off?”

  Rae glanced toward the basement door and back at Sam. “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.”

  “We’re not going down into the dungeon. We’re going upstairs.” Her saw her initial confusion and then the slight nod of understanding and the whisper of a smile.

  Taking her hand, he walked with her up the stairs to the bedroom. The room was shimmery in the light of candles he’d lit just before going outside to see if she was really waiting there for him, as the letter had promised. He had pulled back the bedding and attached leather straps to the four posters of the bed, cuffs at the ready to secure his slave girl.

  “Are you ready to show me you’re really mine?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed, arms over your head, legs spread. I want to inspect my property.”

  He felt the tremor run through her body at his words. She had offered herself to him. She had signed that beautiful handwritten letter with the words: your slave girl. Was it more than just pretty words? He ached to find out.

  He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse, recalling that first day when he’d brought her home for her punishment. Then her face had been flushed with embarrassment, her reluctance evident with every move. Now, though he could see she was nervous, she seemed determined.

  Pushing the blouse from her shoulders, she revealed her round, perfect breasts and jutting nipples. She unzipped and stepped out of her skirt and lay across his bed, assuming the position he’d dictated.