“I can’t do both?” she asks.
I laugh. “Good point. I guess you’re always doing a little bit of both.”
“Well,” she says. “I would think even if the sex is great, the relationship is doomed if you guys aren’t compatible outside of it.”
I run a hand through my hair. “When she lets her guard down, we get along better than I’ve ever gotten along with a woman, but she just puts these walls up sometimes. I don’t get it.”
“Welcome to women, Logan. I’m proud that you’re finally learning to accept you will never understand us.”
Emmaline is bent over at the foot of my bed. Her ass is red from the paddle. She was fifteen minutes late getting to my house, which has become a habit of hers. It has been almost two weeks since I strapped her to the ceiling and ass fucked her for the first time. We’ve been seeing each other regularly since then, but I’ve started to feel a growing rift between us. I’ve been pushing the thoughts down as much as I can, but I can’t help noticing how much more wild she is getting in her tastes. She seems to be deliberately disobeying me to get as much punishment as she can, and I’ve been relying on her to tell me when she’s reached her limit, but I’m starting to think she has no limit, like she wants to be hurt.
I’ve never gotten off on pain before. I only enjoy using pain as a counterpoint to enhance pleasure. Sadism was never my kink. Wanting pain for the sake of pain is what some people are into, and that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. What bothers me is Emmaline’s sexual needs are looking more like a drug addict who is chasing the first high. I don’t believe she’s really masochistic. I think she’s just trying to escalate the danger every time we’re together to get the same rush she felt the first time. I’m not willing to start bringing the pain to a point where I’m doing real damage, and she has brought us right to the cusp of that.
Our interactions outside the play room have been hard to read, to say the least. I’ve been with her at the club the last two weekends and at my place plenty of times, but our interactions outside the play room or the club are always cut short. I’d almost think she was making excuses to leave, and I have no idea why. I just want to find out what she needs and give it to her. I’ve tried vanilla sex with her a few times, thinking she might be craving some normalcy, but she has been slightly stiff and unresponsive every time I’ve tried.
It all has me frustrated, and when I bring the paddle down on her again I do it with more force than I intended. The blow makes her lurch forward and lose her balance, falling to her face.
I kneel quickly at her side. “Emmaline, are you--”
She pushes me off. “I was late, Sir. I need to be punished.” Her eyes are distant, focused on something beyond the wall ahead.
I stand, looking down at the paddle and the angry red spot on her milky skin. A wave of disgust overcomes me. I throw the paddle down. “We’re done for today.”
“What?” she asks, turning her head toward me, eyes wide.
“I said we’re done.”
“No,” she says. “Please. I haven’t been punished enough.”
“I’m your fucking dom,” I growl. The anger boiling up in me is from the frustration of not understanding. She’s not being open with me, and she’s turning what is supposed to be a mutually pleasurable experience into something darker and twisted because she won’t tell me what’s going on. “You don’t get to decide when the punishment is over.”
She lowers her head, sinking low on her knees almost like she’s bowing to me.
“Get up. I said we’re done.”
She stands, waiting to be told what to do. Her blind obedience grates on me. I want her to be open with me. I want her to be herself. The dominant submissive relationship never bothered me before, but I was with women I didn’t care as much about. And with Lana it was always a game, something we turned on and off at will. Now all I can see is this beautiful, ambitious young woman before me degrading herself. There is supposed to be a healthy line in this kind of relationship. She’s supposed to know what we do here has no bearing on who she is outside. She’s letting this become something more than just a fantasy. She’s using it to hide from something, and I’m done helping her do it. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s only going to exacerbate whatever problems she’s facing like this.
I strip the leather mask off and throw it to the floor. I grip her by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” I ask.
She keeps her eyes on the ground. “Nothing, Sir.”
“Logan,” I say. “Call me Logan.
“Nothing, Logan.”
My hand flashes out and I only barely manage to stop myself from hitting her, not as her dom, and not for the sake of pleasure, but out of frustration. Fuck. I’ve never hit a woman, not outside of the roleplay, at least. I feel dirty and shitty immediately.
I feel worse when she doesn’t react. She just waits, expression blank like she would have deserved it if I hit her.
I clench my fists. “Emmaline...”
She looks up at me a little uncertainly. I see tears welling in her eyes and I reach out to rub them away with my thumb. She flinches slightly at my touch and it rips at my heart. I’m going to fix this. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to make it all better. Somehow.
I sigh, leading her out of the play room and grabbing a robe for her to cover up her nudity. I sit her on the edge of my bed and sit beside her.
Fuck. Where did I go so wrong with her? I pull her close, hugging her as she cries into my arms. I felt like we were on the right path the night we watched the movie. It seemed like she was starting to let herself open up to me and she was going to try making things between us work both sexually and emotionally. After that night, everything between us just went off the rails. Hard.
Emmaline hangs her head, mumbling so quietly I can barely hear. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You could never disappoint me,” I whisper as I run a hand through her hair. “Never.”
I give her all the time she needs, holding her close and waiting until she feels ready. “I can only cum when I’m dominated,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why. I don’t have a good reason. I guess I’m just a dirty slut who--”
“Hey,” I say firmly, pulling back until I can look into her eyes. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not a slut. Every fucking person on this planet is in to something. If they say they aren’t, they’re fucking liars. Everyone has a kink, whether they know it or not.”
She nods and another wave of tears rolls from her eyes. I smooth them away, hating to see her cry. I feel like it’s opening a raw hole in my chest and I need to see her happy again or it’s going to rip me apart from the inside.
I spend a long time just holding her there, mind running through what the next step is. In the past, I would have just cut ties with her. With Emmaline, that’s not an option. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to help her find a way through this.
61
Emmaline
“Thank you,” I say, hanging up and sighing with relief.
Scarlett looks up expectantly. “So it’s done?”
“Yep,” I say. “One credit card completely paid off. Only five to go.”
She laughs, shrugging. “Still. You did that in just over a month. At this rate you’ll be caught up in no time.”
“Yeah, the extra money has really helped. At this rate, the business might do well enough to let me quit at Club Crave.”
“So you’re not liking it?” asks Scarlett.
I sit on a box of vinyl that I haven’t opened yet, studying my fingers. “Why did you leave?” I ask. I haven’t ever asked Scarlett why she left the club. For as long as I’ve known her, she has been a sexually open person. It seemed like an impossibility to offend her sensibilities or catch her by surprise. If anyone could thrive at Club Crave, it is her.
She cringes a little, but hops up on a table and looks thoughtful. “Things got messy.”
I laugh a little. “I can rel
ate to that. What happened?”
“Well, my parents found out, for starters. They always wanted me to be an engineer. When I was in school, teachers kept pushing for me to skip grades because I was a natural at math. All my friends thought I was going to go to college and study some advanced mathematics that would make most people’s heads spin. The truth was it never felt right. Yeah, it came easy to me, but it didn’t excite me. So when I studied graphic art and design instead of math, my parents never really got over it.
“After that, they were a little frosty, but I think they gradually started to accept it. They saw how happy design was making me and learned to live with it. We were never wealthy, and the school I went to didn’t offer scholarships unless they were for the arts. So I was paying it all myself. That was when I got into Club Crave. I met a guy my Sophomore year who was into BDSM and introduced me to it. His parents were ultra wealthy, so he could afford the membership.
“I was offered a position after he and I broke up, and I took it. I worked there for a few months. I met some guys. Some were serious, some were just for fun. I still don’t know who it was, but one of the guys I met knew my dad. An old high school friend who went on to run some mega corporation or something, probably. When my parents found out… It was the final straw for them.”
I shake my head. “Their little engineer was working at a BDSM club and studying design. Yeah. I can see how that was a shocker.”
She laughs. “Yeah. Shocker is an understatement. It was like a nuclear explosion. They started making all these crazy posts on Facebook about me. They dragged me through the mud in front of everyone I’ve ever known. I never really forgave them for that. I tried not to let it, but it ruined BDSM for me. I had so many relatives and old friends messaging me online telling me what a slut I was and how wrong what I was doing was that somewhere along the line it poisoned the fun.”
“Wow,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I had no idea.”
She smiles. “That’s one of the things I liked about you.”
I smirk.
“So. I spilled my beans,” she says, sighing and slapping her thighs. “You’re obviously going through something. It’s your turn.”
I suck in a breath through my teeth. I knew the question was coming, and I think I even want to get it all off my chest, but voicing my thoughts makes them feel more real, and I’m afraid of that.
“Um,” I say, fiddling with my fingers and looking down. “You know how when people get addicted to a drug, they keep needing more and more to get the same experience?”
“Yeah…” says Scarlett. “Did one of those assholes get you on something? It’s not heroine, is it?”
The look on her face momentarily breaks me out of my nervousness. I laugh. “God. No. I’m just using it as an example.” The smile fades quickly from my face. “I think I’m having that problem with the sex. It felt so good and so incredible the first time. I didn’t--still don’t--understand why I liked it so much, but I did. It felt dangerous and wrong, but that just turned me on even more, you know?”
Scarlett smiles a little nostalgically. “Trust me, I know.”
“At first just the threat of punishment was almost enough to… er,” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Well, now it’s like I can’t enjoy it unless I’m controlled. And I need him to take it farther every time to still feel dominated. Like I need to be afraid he’s going to actually do permanent damage or something. Anything less just feels like a game.”
Scarlett frowns. “Maybe you need to pull back some. I mean, when I first started college, I could drink one cup of coffee and stay up all night. By Sophomore year, I needed more like eight cups. So I quit for a few weeks and then when I started again it was like it used to be. Maybe you need to just, you know, drink less coffee.”
I purse my lips thoughtfully. “You might be right. Yeah.” I feel a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah… That’s a really good idea.” I stand quickly, crossing the distance between us and hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”
It’s already dark when I’m leaving the office. Scarlett is still inside finishing up a design she’s working on.
The city is relatively calm at this time of the evening, somewhere between when most people go home from work and come back out for the night life. I’m looking down in my purse to fish out my phone something catches my eye. A figure on the other side of the road was motionless, face turned toward me, but as soon as I looked up, he turned away and walked the other direction. I can almost believe I imagined it, but I’m not so sure.
I frown, walking toward my house, but feeling the temptation to call Logan. I don’t want to sound silly. Logan! Please help, I think I saw a guy looking at me! I shove my phone back in my purse and try not to look over my shoulder like I’m paranoid. I last about five seconds before glancing sideways.
My heart starts thumping heavily when I see the same man is now walking my direction. He’s still on the other side of the road, but he’s a lot closer than when I last saw him. Something about him is familiar. He’s wearing a heavy jacket and a hat, but I feel like the way he walks reminds me of someone I know. I just can’t put my finger on who. He’s not quite tall or broad enough to be Logan, though.
I do my best to push it from my mind, which is easier than it should be. I’ve been so fucking confused lately, and I’m not used to the uncertainty. My thoughts go straight to Logan. I think of his hard, gorgeous eyes and the way I feel when they are on me, like there’s nothing in the world more important than to be at the center of his gaze. I think of how good it feels to have his big, strong hands on my body, about how small and fragile he makes me feel.
I know I want to be with him. The truth of that knowledge glows in my chest so powerfully I can almost feel it burning. I just don’t know that I can be what he needs me to be.
I think I know what I need to do to make things work between us, but I’m afraid Logan won’t be okay with it. I’m meeting him for dinner in an hour, which is a rarity. I usually go straight to his playroom and find an excuse to leave shortly after. The fear that he might try to have regular sex outside the room always scares me off.
I turn when I hear a foot scuff on the pavement just behind me. The man in the jacket is reaching for me, arm extended and fingers splayed. My heart explodes in my chest. The moment slows down, his fingers extending toward me with a slow inevitability. I see his face then.
Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.
I scream and swat his arm away, turning to run. Three college age guys emerge from a coffee shop just in front of me at the same time. If not for them, we would have been entirely alone on the street. They stop short, taking in the scene quickly and turning angry looks toward Ronnie, who tightens his hood and hurries off in the other direction.
“You okay?” asks one of the guys. He reaches for me and I flinch back.
“Y-yes. Thank you. I need to get home,”
“You sure? We could walk you back if--”
“I’m sure. Thank you. Really. I have to go.”
I adjust the strap of my purse and walk as fast as I comfortably can down the sidewalk, away from the men and from Ronnie. I’m still gasping for breath like I just got done sprinting. What the hell was he doing? My fingers itch to reach for the phone and call Logan. I want to tell him everything. I know he would follow through on the promise he made weeks ago to keep Ronnie in line, but I can’t make myself call. On one hand, Ronnie might have just been drunk and wandering the streets when he saw me. Maybe he just wanted to say hello and I screamed in his face. I wouldn’t blame him for running after that.
On the other hand… The way he turned away when I first saw him and the way he waited until my back was to him to sneak up on me doesn’t sit right. What motivation could he possibly have to want to hurt me? He knows I’m basically broke. He knows my mom would never forgive him if something happened to me. Unless he’s thinking he might be able to get something out of Logan if he used me as leverage.
The ha
irs on the back of my neck stand up. Ronnie is a scumbag, but I don’t think he would resort to that. I get a sick feeling in my stomach though, and against my better judgment, call my mom.
“Emmaline,” she says through the phone. There’s a faint note of surprise in her voice.
“Hey, mom… I just wanted to make sure things are still okay at home. You know, I mean, between you and, uh…” I trail off, feeling stupid. “Is Ronnie treating you okay? After Logan came, I was worried-”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Her voice sounds strange. Strained and soft. “Are you okay, mom?”
I hear her sniff. There’s a pause as the sounds of her crying come over the phone. Despite everything she’s put me through, I hate hearing her upset. “What did he do to you?” I ask, voice hard.
“It’s not that, honey. It’s just... Look, I did some thinking about everything. I think I’ve asked too much outta you. I was wanting to tell you that, but I didn’t know how to say it. Okay? I haven’t done right by you, Emmaline.”
I stop in my tracks, staring down at the sidewalk while my vision blurs from tears. I want to just take her apology and savor it. I want to accept this at face value, selfishly storing the words away to repeat in my head over and over until some of the pain of betrayal starts to melt away. But I can’t. I see Ronnie’s face and his hand reaching for me and I know something more is going on.
“Mom, what happened?” I ask.
There’s a long pause and I hear a chair creak. “Ronnie and I have always fought, you know that. Sometimes he does take it too far and he gets physical, but it’s only when he has been drinking. I know when to keep my distance and when I can stand my ground. I’ve adapted and learned. It’s just, um,” she says, voice shaking.
It breaks my heart to hear her like this. She has tried to take advantage of me so many times I’ve lost count, but she has always been a survivor and she has always been a fighter. She does what she has to to get by, even if it means trying to get money out of her only daughter. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her sound vulnerable before, and I don’t like it. It has a protectiveness I haven’t felt in a long time welling up inside me.
The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance Page 44