by Julia Sykes
“How long can you stay?” I asked quietly.
“A few hours. I want to be with you, while I can.”
“I want that, too,” I admitted, ignoring the knife slicing through my chest. I was only causing myself pain by indulging in spending more time with him. I was becoming dangerously attached, and he would disappear again soon.
He caressed my cheek. “Go back to sleep,” he urged. “I’m going to get groceries. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”
I closed my eyes obediently, but the ache in my heart tormented me as keenly as the pounding in my head.
Time passed, and I drifted in and out of fitful sleep. I was dimly aware of the sounds of Scott’s return, and after a while, tempting scents wafted into the bedroom from the direction of the kitchen.
I dragged my dead ass out of bed and went to the bathroom to take care of my morning routine. When I was finished, I slipped on a silky black robe, which I kept handy so the neighbors wouldn’t see me walking around naked through the window.
The scent of bacon was enough to draw me out of the relatively dim hallway and into the sunlit kitchen.
“Is that American bacon?” I asked, hopeful.
Scott turned to me, and his wide grin took my breath away. I still wasn’t accustomed to how stunning he was when he smiled.
“She’s alive,” he joked, chuckling. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I want bacon,” I responded, gesturing toward the frying pan. “Is that streaky bacon?”
“Of course. There’s nothing like crispy American bacon.”
“It is one of the things I miss when I’m over in England,” I admitted. “Their bacon is good, but it’s not the same.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He winked at me.
“You’re in an awfully good mood this morning,” I remarked.
“And you’re just a ray of sunshine, yourself,” he teased.
“I guess I deserve that,” I conceded. “I think food will help. I’m ready to eat now.” I no longer felt unbearably nauseous. “Thanks for cooking me breakfast.”
“It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“I usually skip it.”
“That’s not healthy. Good thing I’m here to feed you.”
I didn’t say that I skipped breakfast because I usually woke up just in time for lunch. Scott probably woke up at the crack of dawn and ran five miles or some other form of outrageous exercise. He didn’t need to know just how unhealthy I truly was. The extra pounds around my hips should have been some indication of my sedentary lifestyle and carefree approach to calories. At least Scott seemed to appreciate those curves.
“Good thing,” I agreed, inhaling the rich scents of a cooked breakfast. “Did you make sausage, too?”
“Yep. And eggs. I hope you like a protein-heavy meal.”
“Oh yeah,” I agreed fervently. “I love meat. I’m a total carnivore.”
He shot me a wry smile. “Savage. I like it.”
“Is it ready?” My stomach rumbled.
He laughed. “Impatient, too. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
I blushed. “I’m just hungry all of a sudden. I didn’t mean to be impatient.”
“Let’s get some food in you, then. You’ll feel much better after.”
He fixed me a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausage, finishing it off with a typical serving of English baked beans.
I eyed the plethora dubiously. “That’s a lot of food.”
“And you’ll eat every bite. You need it. Then, you can take your ibuprofen.”
I huffed out an indignant breath. “You’re being a little high-handed, don’t you think?”
A single blond brow rose. “Somehow, I don’t think you really mind. Do you?”
Despite my headache, my body still reacted to his domineering, self-assured attitude. My clit pulsed, and my nipples hardened so they peaked against the silky fabric of my robe.
His gaze fell to my chest, and his lips tilted in a satisfied smirk.
“I guess that’s my answer, then.”
I tried to compose myself, tossing my hair over my shoulder in a show of nonchalance. “I guess so,” I allowed, keeping my voice flippant rather than husky with desire.
He handed the plate to me and prepared one for himself before following me into the open-plan living room, which had a small dining table tucked into the corner. As soon as I sat down, I took my first bite of bacon. The salty flavor exploded across my tongue.
I let out a low, satisfied moan and licked at the lingering juice on my fingers.
Scott cleared his throat. The sound caught my attention, and I looked up just in time to see him adjusting his cock. He wore jeans, but the ridge of his growing erection was clear against the thick material.
“Eat,” he prompted me. “But try not to enjoy yourself so much.”
My lips curved up in a sly smile. “But I do love meat.”
His jaw ticked, but his eyes sparked with hunger. “Just eat your breakfast, Addison.”
“Yes, Sir,” I purred before taking a huge bite of my sausage.
He drew in a shuddering breath, and the bulge against his jeans grew more pronounced.
“Don’t tease me,” he reprimanded.
“What are you going to do about it?” I challenged, feeling saucy. I remembered the sting of his hand against my ass. I craved more.
“Right now? Nothing. After you finish eating and take some meds? We’ll see.”
“Fine,” I grumbled with an exaggerated pout. “I’ll eat.” My headache still lingered, so it really was the best choice.
“Good girl.”
Suddenly, he captured my full attention. The rumbling words of praise acted like a trigger, and lust instantly lit up my system. My breath caught in my throat, and I stared at him.
Now, he was the one smirking. “It’s not nice being teased, is it?”
“I guess not,” I said, contrite. “Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven. Just stop licking your fingers like that.”
I nodded my agreement and used my fork and knife instead. Scott had fully taken control, and a pleasurable shiver raced through my body as I relaxed. His control felt nice. Comforting. He wasn’t manipulating me or ordering me around for his own satisfaction. He was taking charge and seeing to my needs, shutting down my sass in the process.
It only made me that much more enamored with him. I tried not to stare at him as I obediently ate the delicious food he’d prepared for me.
“So, tell me more about how you got into BDSM,” he said, a hint of an order in the casual request. “When did you decide you wanted to be submissive?”
“I didn’t decide,” I clarified. “I just am. I’ve always been this way. I’m a people pleaser. I like making people happy and seeing to their needs.”
“But you said you want someone to take care of you.”
“It’s reciprocal. Symbiotic. At least, it is in an ideal relationship.”
“Okay, so you like making people happy, but you also like being taken care of. How does that lead to kinky sex? Can’t you be that way without whips and chains?”
I rolled my eyes at his description of kink. “It’s not all whips and chains. I mean, those are nice, but it’s about the power exchange. At least, the facets of BDSM I’m drawn to are about that. You can be a submissive but not a masochist, or you can be a masochist but not identify as a submissive. Same goes for Dominants and sadists. They’re not necessarily interchangeable.”
He frowned slightly. “Explain that more, please.”
“Well, not to launch into a lecture, but BDSM had a threefold meaning: Bondage and Discipline, Domination and Submission, Sadism and Masochism. You can identify with any or all of the above and be part of the community. There’s no one true way to practice BDSM, and anyone who tells you otherwise is an asshat.”
He chuckled. “An asshat?”
“Yes.” I nodded decisively. “For instance, I identify as submissive, a
nd I enjoy the bondage and discipline aspects. I also like a little pain, but I wouldn’t consider myself a masochist. It’s more about the power exchange for me and less about how much pain I can take. I mean, the endorphin rush from a good hard flogging session is amazing, don’t get me wrong.”
He cocked his head at me, curious. “Why do you like it so much?”
“Well…” I shifted, uncertain how much I was comfortable divulging. I decided I owed him the truth. “I’m not saying everyone in the lifestyle has damage or struggles with their mental health, but I’m Bipolar. And I have pretty severe social anxiety. It’s not a great combination.”
“You’re Bipolar?”
“Yeah. Not a lot of people really know what that means, and people who are diagnosed experience it differently. For me, it means months-long depressive periods followed by a couple of manic weeks. I get a lot of writing done during my manic phases, but I struggle during depressive phases. My meds help keep me regulated and functional. They help me be myself: the person I can be when I’m not hampered by a chemical imbalance.
“At least, they get me as close as possible. I still feel the swings and pulls. BDSM helps with that. It’s a release and a relief from my busy brain. I can find peace and calm in a power exchange. I don’t have to worry, because my partner is in control. Does that make sense?” I asked, hopeful and a touch apprehensive. I’d just unloaded a lot.
I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding when he finally nodded. “It does. It helps me understand better. I don’t like the idea of hurting you.”
“It’s not hurting me. It’s helping me, even if I do experience a little pain.”
I set down my fork, my plate clean. I popped the ibuprofen in my mouth and swallowed it with a gulp of water.
When I’d drained my glass, he was still watching me intently.
“I’d like to help you,” he said quietly.
My heart leapt into my throat. “You mean… What do you mean?”
He stood and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
I grasped his long fingers without hesitation, placing my trust and my hope in him.
Chapter 9
“Sit with me,” he requested, patting the mattress at his side. I immediately settled down, lacing my fingers through his.
He took a deep breath. He seemed to do that a lot; he considered his words carefully before he spoke. I appreciated that. He didn’t speak in anger, and he’d taken a while to gather his thoughts every time he’d shared one of the deepest secrets of his soul.
I sensed this was one of those times. He was about to reveal another facet of himself to me, even if he wouldn’t tell me a fact about his life. This was far more important than telling me his hometown or even his last name—something I desperately wanted to know, but I understood why he hadn’t volunteered the information.
I waited in silence, allowing him time to prepare whatever he needed to say.
“I want to help you,” he said. “If you just liked kinky sex, I don’t think I could do this. But the way you talk about it… It’s something you need. And I like it. I’m so fucking turned on by what I’ve shared with you, what we’ve done together. I like giving you pleasure, taking care of you. You say being submissive is just who you are, and you’ve always been this way. Well, I’m built this way: to protect those who need it most. I might not be protecting you from an outside threat, but this is its own kind of protection. I can see that now. I just don’t know…”
He trailed off, his eyes darkening with some thought he didn’t voice.
“What is it?” I urged softly. “You can talk to me.”
“I don’t know if I can separate this from violence. The things I’ve seen.”
“Like you said: you’re helping me. I do need this. And it’s okay that you’ve enjoyed it. Do you know how wet I get when you take control? How much it meant to me that you put my own wellbeing above your desire to fuck me last night? That turns me on, and I’m not ashamed. You shouldn’t be, either.”
Acting on bold intuition, I spread my legs and directed his hand between my thighs. “Feel how much I want you.”
His fingers brushed my soaked folds, and I shuddered as pleasure rolled through me. He pressed inside, stretching me and testing my arousal. My breaths quickened, my pulse ticking up. I spread my legs wider, inviting him deeper. He leaned into me, until his lips teased across mine as he spoke.
“Tell me what you want.” The command was roughened by lust.
“Spank me,” I panted. “I want to feel my ass burning under your hand. Then, I want you to fuck me hard.”
“Fuck, you’re creaming all over my hand.”
My inner muscles contracted around his fingers as lust surged. “Please. I want you, Scott.” I brushed my cheek against his so I could whisper in his ear. “I want you, Sir.”
His fingers curled inside me, pressing hard against my g-spot. “You really shouldn’t call me that,” he warned over my ecstatic shout.
My lashes fluttered, but I forced myself to stay in the moment with him. I couldn’t float off into bliss. Not yet.
“Why not?” I managed to whimper.
“Because I like it too fucking much.”
I traced the shell of his ear with my tongue. “Spank me, Sir. I want you to mark me.”
He cursed again, and suddenly his touch left my sex. His strong hands gripped my hips. The world spun around me, and I found myself draped face-down over his lap.
A delighted giggle burst from my lips.
His fingers curved into my ass, squeezing hard through the silky material of my robe. “Is this funny to you?”
“No, Sir,” I gasped out at the little bite of pain inflicted by his harsh hold. “I’m just happy. I tend to get giddy and laugh.”
He eased his grip, stroking the area he’d grabbed. “I like when you laugh. It’s a beautiful sound.”
I nuzzled his calf, rubbing against him like a content kitten as I settled into my submissive headspace. “Thank you.”
“So, you can take a compliment,” he remarked. “I should bend you over my knee more often.”
I wiggled my ass at him. “You definitely should.”
His hand skimmed under my robe, slowly sliding the silky material to my waist so my bottom was exposed. He touched my wet slit, stroking my sensitive folds. I shuddered and pushed back against him with a wanton moan.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low and serious.
I craned my neck back so I could look up at him. “Yes,” I vowed. “And I need you to trust me, too. I need you to trust that I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
He rubbed his palm over my ass, lighting up my nerve endings so I became fully aware of his sensual touch. I practically vibrated in his hold, desperate and hot for him.
“I trust you, too.”
I beamed at him. “Good.”
I felt more connected to him than ever. The bond we were establishing was far more significant than being punished by a skilled Top. We were learning to trust one another, but he was also learning to trust himself, even if he didn’t realize it.
When I’d first met him in Nashville, he hadn’t been able to trust himself to get aggressive with me. He hadn’t been able to separate his life of violence from kinky games.
Now, he appeared more at peace than I’d ever seen him. The tormented light was absent from his eyes, and his touch on my body was assured. The idea of hurting me no longer caused him anguish. He understood that this was what I needed, but I wasn’t certain if he understood yet that this was what he needed, too.
Just as he did when he gathered his thoughts, he took a deep breath and let it out on a long exhale. Calm settled over him, and he continued to stroke my ass, learning the curve of my body. I felt precious, revered.
Longing layered over my lust. This was what I’d always fantasized about. I craved this connection, and I never wanted it to break.
I continued to stare up at him, needing to read his
expression. His pale eyes were focused on my ass, completely absorbed in what he was about to do.
The first slap was gentle, but there was intent behind it: a deliberate calculation of force. He delivered another on my opposite cheek, spreading out the warmth. He hit lower, catching the sensitive seam where my ass met my upper thighs.
I gasped and shifted away. The movement made my clit rub against his leg. I shivered and sighed, immediately arching my back and presenting myself for more.
His warm palm rested on my enflamed skin, sending heat permeating through my flesh to lick at my core.
“More. Harder.”
He delivered a sharp, stinging hit. “Are you supposed to be this demanding?”
“No, Sir,” I groaned, my head dropping forward as I fell deeper into my submissive headspace. “Harder, please.”
“That’s better.” His voice was rough, but not with anger. His cock pressed against my belly. I wasn’t the only one who got turned on when he took control.
He delivered another stinging slap, obviously affected by my begging. This hit was harder. It thudded deep into my flesh, and he held his palm against me so the heat sank through my skin. My inner muscles fluttered in response, and I squirmed on his lap as primal urges took over.
“I need you to fuck me. Please.” I released my plea on a strangled cry when he spanked me again.
“I’m not finished. Nowhere close.” His voice was hoarse with lust, and his cock strained against my hips.
I whined in need, but I didn’t beg him again. He’d fuck me when he was ready. Now, all I could do was submit to his will. The release I found in surrendering to him was intoxicating. Even as he continued to inflict stinging pain, I let out a long, blissful sigh as my entire body softened in submission.
He paused. “Are you okay?”
“Mmm,” I hummed, past the point of verbal articulation. I wiggled my ass, welcoming more.
When his palm struck me again, it landed on my swollen pussy lips. My shocked squeal melted to a moan when he stroked away the sting. Liquid heat dripped down my thighs, coating his fingers with my desire.
“Is my good girl horny?” he rumbled.
All I could manage was a strained whimper as I writhed on his lap, wordlessly begging him to penetrate me.