by Livia Grant
She had crushed strawberries and pineapple in her hair and bits of broken peanut in her belly button. Making only the most cursory attempt to scrub herself down, she dislodged sprinkles from out of her ears and the crack of her ass, and even from all the nooks and crannies between her toes. Halfway through her first soap-up, her eyes began to sting, then burn, and then tear up until everything blurred together and she couldn’t even see the grouted cracks between the tiles. It didn’t matter. Even blurred out, the water sluicing off her was still a nasty brown, punctuated with bits of fruit and what nut chunks got caught in the drain screen. Black Light was nothing if not prepared.
Dropping to her knees, Hadlee made a token attempt to clean the crap off the screen, then just slumped there. She covered her eyes, then her mouth, because her lips were peeling back from her teeth and no matter how tightly she gritted them, she knew it wouldn’t be enough to bite back the high-pitched keening already rising up in the back of her throat. Someday, she’d be able to walk away from a run-in with Ethen without falling into the bottom of the shower afterwards. Someday, she wasn’t going to be this much of a rocking, crying, pathetic mess.
She sucked a shaky breath, choking back the sobs she refused to give in to until she noticed a pair of feet standing on the other side of her partial door. They were black shoes, shiny and splattered in chocolate, and they led to black jeans, as opposed to the leather pants most doms liked to wear on party nights.
Sniffling, she reached out far enough to crack the stall door. She saw the towel first and the drops of drying chocolate and honey that splattered down the arm and hand that held it. Pushing the door open further, she let her gaze travel up the dirty black shirt that made up the standard party uniform of a Black Light dungeon monitor, and finally settled on Garreth’s face. His expression was closed, he didn’t smile.
“Déjà vu’s a bitch, isn’t it?” She tried to make a joke out of it, but it came out bitter and neither of them laughed. “I’d invite you in, but one of us is still wearing clothes.”
“I could take them off,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. More, it sounded like a threat. “But if I come in there, holding you isn’t all I’m going to do. Tonight’s been nice.” His mouth tightened, reluctantly he admitted, “More than nice, for me anyway.”
Her stomach did the same thing his mouth was doing. It tightened. “You think it wasn’t nice for me?”
“Every time I try to get close to you, Hadlee…” He hesitated, but he didn’t have to finish. She knew she shied away.
“You don’t want me, Garreth.” Now she did laugh. It still came out bitter. “Nobody wants me. Not when I’m like this.”
Garreth growled. His hands tightened in the terrycloth before he slapped it down in a rough drape over the partial wall. “Don’t say that to me.”
“Well, you don’t!” she snapped, but the admission deflated her. “How can you? How can anybody?”
Except, she knew she was worth better than Ethen and deserved better than what he’d done to her. If she could just get it out of her head and stop wallowing in the same damn mire she had limped out of all those months ago, maybe she could get past this. She ran her hands through all the peanut butter still smashed against her scalp.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pushing to her feet. “I-I’m just tired. I…” The need to go home where she could lick her wounds in private was as potent as it was futile. She still had chocolate, fruit and honey in all her nooks and crannies, and her hair was an oily mess. She sighed. “I need to get clean.”
Garreth frowned at her, the weight of each passing second punctuated by the steady fall of water raining down into the bottom of the shower. He looked at the built-in dispensers, with their array of soaps, shampoos and conditioners.
“Wait right there.” He turned and walked away.
All the way away. She heard the soft bump of the locker room door falling gently closed as he abandoned her.
She was either really easy to leave or just really, really good at driving people away.
And just that fast the tears overwhelmed her, again. She collapsed in a heap on the tiles, hugged her legs to her chest and ugly cried.
She had no idea exactly when Garreth returned. He took off his shoes and then his shirt. It wasn’t until she heard the unmistakable zzzzt of a zipper skimming down metal teeth that she noticed his feet had reappeared in the gap beneath the stall door. Hesitantly, though she absolutely knew what he was doing when she saw his pants come down, Hadlee reached for the door. By now he was naked, and opened it himself before her fingers more than skimmed the wood.
Handsome as he was with all his clothes on, he was downright devastating without them. His shoulders seemed broader, his chest and waist so well-defined. He didn’t have a mythical male-model six-pack, but he was slim and trim, with the muscular lines of a man who worked out and regularly. She tried not to be a creeper. She tried not to look down any farther, but her eyes were drawn and once seen, she couldn’t make herself look away. Her mouth ran dry. He was well-defined there, as well. Not shaven, but man-scaped with a trimmed patch of dark hair at the base of his cock and a thin happy trail that led the way from his navel on down.
She was staring, and he knew exactly what she was staring at. She saw it in the twitch of his cock as it began to grow. It was that slight heartbeat of a movement that finally managed to snap her out of it. Her gaze shot back up to his. He still wasn’t smiling, but when he stepped into the shower with her, he brought with him a blue cloth-net shower bag full of soap, shampoo, conditioner and deodorant. It was all for men, with a lovely Old Spice scent that she wouldn’t have minded drowning in. Probably because it was his scent—his shampoo, his soap and aftershave, and all those faint odors that had tantalized her nose all night. It overwhelmed her every bit as much as his physical presence as he took her hand, helping her back to her feet just as the door bumped shut behind him.
Should she say red? Did she even want to? Still on her knees, all Hadlee did know was that she was at the perfect height here, and the confines of the stall made for that perfect closeness, so that all she had to do was reach out. Letting her hands slide up his hard thighs as she rose onto her knees, she was at just the right height to open her mouth. Water drummed the top of her head and down her back. Would the darkness of his expression ease into ecstasy if she took him all the way into her mouth? Would he weave his fingers into her wet hair, holding onto her as she pleased him? Molten ribbons twined in her belly, fluid and warmth trickling down to mix with the water that dampened her thighs with the thought of those first salty drops finding the back of her tongue. Her fingers twitched, but that was as high as her hands rose before the gruffness of his next command stopped her.
“Turn around,” he told her.
Her legs still shaky, but now for reasons very different from what she had felt at the entrance confronting Ethen, Hadlee faced the wall. Her stomach churned and the ribbons tightened. It was both delicious and scary. How many nights had she lain awake, remembering the way Garreth’s strong hands had gripped the steering wheel that night he’d come to get her, or how oddly gentle they had felt when he’d gripped her, comforting her in the shower while she’d cried.
And here they were, back in the shower once more, and she was still crying over Ethen, only something was different this time. Something about Garreth felt different. Stronger. Less tolerant, somehow.
“Put your hands on your head,” he said.
She obeyed that too, lacing her fingers in the oily aftermath the peanut butter had left in her wet hair.
His foot nudged the inside of her ankles, not forcing but directing without words for her to spread her legs.
Deep spasmodic quivers seized from her clit to her womb. Awareness of his size, his strength, tickled at her back as she shifted her feet apart. As wide as her shoulders at first, but then wider still when his hand closed on the back of her neck and he nudged her ankles again. Water from the showerhead beat down on one
half of her body, cascading over her shoulder, running in rivulets down both her back and her chest, warm and tickling and feeling so very much like the wandering caress of fingertips.
“Close your eyes,” Garreth ordered, and that shook her. The eroticism of the moment faltered beneath a hitch of rising uncertainty. She wanted to sneak a peek at him, make sure the hand not locked on her nape was… what, she suddenly chided herself. Empty? Non-threatening? She was standing naked in a shower with him, his hand had a commander’s grip on her neck, her legs were spread, and she was about as vulnerable as any woman could be with a man already sporting half a hard-on. Her breath caught, but she forced her eyes to close anyway. It felt like anything but trepidation or dread, the way her nerves were firing out through her skin in eager anticipation of his next touch.
With gentle, steady pressure, he tipped her forward, closing the handful of inches that separated her from the wall. Her forehead touched the tiles first, followed by the tip of her nose. He held her, an unspoken directive to keep this pose before he let her go.
She heard the rustle of the shower bag and the soft clatter of plastic bottles knocking together as he hung the strap over the faucet handle.
“There are soap dispensers,” she pointed out, because someone had to say something. The silence was growing deafening.
“I prefer my own.”
The musk of masculine perfume rose on the steam she breathed as he lathered his hands in soap. Twice, she caught herself on the verge of opening her eyes. She kept wanting to steal peeks at him, and watch him while he did it.
“This,” Garreth said, a moment before the flat of both his hands came to rest on her shoulders, “is the touch of a man who respects you.”
Her throat choked on all the fresh watery sobs she’d thought she’d already exhausted as he washed her back. Even closed, her eyes still teared. She had to open her mouth to keep her breathing silent, but it was a struggle to slow each painfully normal in-and-exhaling breath. She couldn’t afford to let her shoulders hitch, not one time. Otherwise, he’d know she was crying.
And it seemed to be working. Garreth soaped her shoulders, her back, and each of her arms in turn. One at a time, he took her hands off her head, soaping each of her fingers and thumbs and even passed a fingernail under each of hers before rinsing her under the spray. When he was done, he pressed her hands to the white tiles just above her head. That she was expected to keep them there went without saying. Hadlee obeyed that order too.
The plastic cap of a shampoo bottle popped open, and the steam grew heavily spicy all over again. It was so masculine and comforting, and in no small part arousing. She’d smelled this scent on Garreth for months, but she’d never known what it was. Never thought to ask. And now the intimacy of it was so bittersweet.
“This is the touch of a man who wants you.” Garreth’s fingers combed into her hair, and Hadlee leaned into the hard tiles, fighting hard not to collapse bawling to the floor all over again. She hadn’t wanted this. She didn’t want it still. She was such a mess—emotionally, mentally—and nobody deserved that. This was supposed to be the night she shed all of that and once more laid claim to her old self, the one that had been so excited the night she’d joined Black Light that she couldn’t wait to jump into the lifestyle. She’d flirted that night with anyone who’d smiled at her. She’d flirted with Garreth. Even back then, her heart had skipped a beat when he’d looked at her, but as an employee, he’d felt both safe and hands-off. How could she have let herself go from that girl to this shivering, weepy shadow of one?
He washed her hair, rinsing and re-lathering until the last hint of peanut butter vanished and all that remained was the smell of him, wafting on the shower steam. Garreth soaped his hands again.
“This is the touch of a man who wants to love you.” Soapy and wet, his hands slid around her waist, the heat of his chest bumped up against her back. He washed her front, touching everywhere from her cheeks to her jaw, to her collar, breasts, belly and thighs. His hands roved her hips. They caressed her legs to her feet. His strong arm wrapped her waist, hugging her tightly to him while his other hand followed the curve of her mons to part the folds of her pussy and stroke her. She came up onto her toes, teeth gritted against a cry of pure longing. His finger had her clit, but it was more than that. He had her by the heart and the soul and the gut, and every circling caress from him pulled at all three. Like a wire on a spool that he just kept winding, tighter and tighter. Any minute now she was going to snap, and she didn’t know what would happen when she did. Surely, it would break her.
Her hands slid on the wet tile. She wanted to grab his wrist and force his hand back out from between her legs. Not because the touch was unwanted, but because the intimacy was too much. She couldn’t bear it. Every stroke, every breath against her shoulder and neck, made her raw.
“Hands on the wall,” he ordered, hard and unyielding. Not just in his tone, either. She could feel how hard he was behind her, the length and press of his cock was buried in the crease of her buttocks. That part of him felt every bit as hot as the water raining down on them both. “Don’t let go again.”
Releasing her, he unwound his arms and stepped back. God help her, all she wanted to do was reach after him, to grab and hold onto him, and be held in return. It had been such a long time since anyone had held her and meant it. Oddly enough, that someone had been him then, too.
Garreth’s hand found the back of her neck. At first, Hadlee thought the hold a comforting one, except that he wasn’t just holding her. He was pressing her toward the wall, a reminder not to move.
“Head up,” he told her. She lifted her forehead off the tiles. Only the palms of her hands and the tips of her aching breasts touched the wall. She would have looked at him, but he said, “Face forward. You were told to keep your eyes closed.”
Shutting them again, Hadlee faced the tiles. Her trembling knees buckled in and out as he said, “This is the touch of a man who, whether you love him back or not, is probably going to love you for the rest of his damned life. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that, Hadlee, but I do know this: You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
Loud as gunshot, his hand clapped hard across her ass. She gasped, jolting onto her toes. She hadn’t been braced for it, she hadn’t expected it; the impact almost knocked her into the wall. Just as hard as before, the second clap stole the gasp she’d just taken.
“If you don’t love me back, that’s one thing, but ‘how can anybody’? That’s fucking insulting. I’ll be damned if I let anyone insult the woman I love. Not Ethen, and sure as hell not you.”
Yelping, Hadlee twisted her hips to escape the stinging smart of the hand that just kept swatting at her. Harder, with each resounding crack. Faster now too, with Garreth building up to a mighty rhythm that had her dancing against the wall, too startled and too hurt to hold still, with too much of a submissive’s soul to truly want to break free of the punishment he was administering.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She broke down, both wailing and weeping, “I’m s-so sorry, Garreth, please…”
He spanked her as if he hadn’t heard her. As if he had no intention of stopping, ever. She bounced, slapping the tiles with both hands in her need to thrust them back behind her and protect her bottom, no matter the consequences, because no way could she take more of this. Or so she thought, right up until he shifted, turning his side to hers and wrapping his arm around her waist as he lowered the target of his correction from her hot, throbbing bottom to the tops of her thighs.
She couldn’t fight him. Way down deep inside her, under the pain and the fiery hurt of each thunderclap of his bare hand meeting her bare skin, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be disappointed if she did manage some magical escape from this. It was soothing, in a weirdly painful way. It was release, and she deserved it. Even as she sagged against him, crying and pleading for Garreth to stop now, please just stop now, she knew deep in her heart she deserved it all. S
he deserved a man who thought she was worth something, including his respect. One who would never think of making her kneel in a mud wallow, but who would without hesitation or pity, paddle her bare ass with the flat of his hand until she was ready to climb a shower wall, it hurt so much. She deserved a man who wouldn’t stop when she begged him to, but only when he decided she’d had enough and was done.
She deserved a man who, at her lowest and most fragile of moments, would sit with her fully clothed in the bottom of her shower, with his arm around her shoulder, so she wouldn’t be alone.
She deserved a man who loved her, even when she didn’t in that moment love herself.
As if that had been the conclusion he’d been waiting for her to come to all along, Garreth abruptly ceased spanking her. He caught her fiery hot ass in his hand, cupping and squeezing to drive the burning lesson in under all the tight, hot, and swollen epidermal layers.
“Never again,” he told her. “Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes.” Sniffling, hiccupping, Hadlee nodded.
Straightening slowly, Garreth let her go. She’d lost the fight to keep her eyes closed a long time ago, but she held onto the wall until he told her, “Look at me.”
Turning in tiny, shaky steps, Hadlee faced him. Her hands kept trying to duck back, to catch and hold her bottom, but she refused to let them. She didn’t want the punishing burn to disappear. It was too soon.
Holding her gaze, Garreth asked, “Do you have anything you want to add before I close this matter?”
He couldn’t have been further from Ethen.
“No.” It sounded so… anticlimactic. Hadlee tried again, without being asked. “No, sir.”
He wanted to do more. She could see it in his eyes, right before the dom in him was overruled by the man who knew better. Consent was the law in Black Light, and in this case consent hadn’t exactly been offered, asked for or negotiated.