by Litte, Jane
He didn’t move and Diana did nothing to stop him from following through on his threat. She shifted closer to him, dropping to her knees, close but not touching.
“You think it’s wrong to get aroused when you feel pain?”
Lee snapped his head up to stare at her. “Isn’t it? What the hell does that make me, some kind of masochist?”
“Not at all. It makes you a man who has lived on the edge for so long it’s dulled your senses. When the rush from the perfect deal has become the norm and the pressure from your job is so intense you think your head will explode and your heart will pound its way through your chest, things get mixed up inside you.”
Without warning, Diana pressed her fingers to his stomach and the vibrant purple mark that distorted the skin, while leaning in and licking a path up his neck. Lee’s cock pulsed in his underwear, straining to poke through.
Diana eased up on his stomach. Her fingers drew concentric circles over the patch as she nipped at his earlobe. “When did you first realize about the pleasure you got from this?”
Lee could almost smell the stale locker room air as the memory of that night came to mind. “She was a groupie. I’d seen her around after the fights plenty of times, but she never approached me. I was pretty beat up after that particular match and it seemed to get her fired up.”
Diana moved her hand up his chest to pinch his left nipple. “Bet the little slut was waiting for you when you got back to the locker room.”
With his eyes closed, Lee tipped his head back and let the feelings of pleasure and pain mix together. For once he didn’t try and fight his reactions, a sense of relief at Diana’s unspoken permission to simply enjoy allowing him to relax.
“Lee, answer me.”
“Yes, she was.” He licked his lips. “She had on a short skirt and didn’t bother with the panties. Any other night I would have fucked her and gotten us both off in ten minutes, but it had been a crap day. I lost the match, I hurt, and I’d been dealing with shit at work.”
Without warning, Diana moved her hand down his body and thrust her fingers into his underwear. She squeezed his cock and used her other hand to press against one of the smaller bruises on his back. “So you weren’t interested in sex?”
His chuckle morphed into another low groan. “I’m always interested in sex, but I just couldn’t get off.”
“I want you to pull your pants down,” she said against the side of his neck. “I want to see your cock.”
Thankfully, she helped work the fabric over his hip, pushing them halfway down his thighs. The air was cool on his overheated shaft and balls, but the relief of being free from the cloth prison was worth the chill.
“Look at you,” Diana whispered as she ran a nail up from his balls to the tip of his cock. “What did the girl do when you couldn’t get off? Bet she was pissed.”
The curses still rang in his ears. “She punched me. I think she might have kicked me, too. I didn’t even try to stop her. When she pushed me into the lockers and stormed out I just stood there and watched her go.”
His cock twitched and Lee heard Diana’s breath catch. “That’s not everything.”
“I didn’t follow her because when she’d pushed me, I landed with my bruised back against one of the locker handles. I just about came when the pain raced through me.”
Diana pulled away from him. Lee opened his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden disappointment at the loss of her touch, but was shocked at what he saw. Her breath came in uneven heaves, lifting her taut nipples, teasing him from beneath her shirt.
When she realized what he was looking at, she smirked. Very little color remained as her hazel irises were blown wide with lust. A light flush covered the pale skin neck and crept up toward her cheeks. At least she wasn’t completely unaffected by him.
Diana licked her lip and nodded her head toward the floor. “Lie down on your back. Now.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t about sex?” Still, he moved quickly to follow her command.
“I thought you said you weren’t submissive?”
Lee smiled as she adjusted her jeans, popping the button open and sliding the zipper down. “I’m open to negotiations.”
“Good, so am I.” Diana toed off the fuzzy blue socks. She dropped down and straddled his hips, trapping his cock between her T-shirt and his stomach. “Your back was against the locker and the bitch had left. What did you do next?”
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she pressed her full weight against him, driving his upper body into the cold floor. Pain flooded him as the bruises on his back were simultaneously compressed. Lee cried out, bucked his hips and wished he was slamming into her body.
“Lee!”
“I grabbed my dick. Fuck. I grabbed it and I jerked off. I almost fucking blacked out when I came.”
He thrust up, relishing the friction of cotton and her body against him. When he reached for her jeans, trying to pull them off her, Diana slid back. “No.”
“Dammit.”
“Not about sex,” she reminded him.
“Like hell it isn’t.”
Lifting her hips from his body, Diana leaned forward and nipped once more at his earlobe. “It isn’t. This is about needing to feel alive. You’re drowning in shit on a daily basis. Your brain isn’t listening to what your body has been trying to tell you, so it’s making you pay attention.”
“I’m broken.”
“You’re not. But things have gotten rewired on you and you don’t like the new rules. You need to listen and accept it.”
Lee grabbed Diana by the shoulders and yanked her close so he could see her face. Physically he was stronger than she was, but emotionally he saw that the woman was a rock. “How do you know all this?”
“My business is to understand pleasure. In all its forms. You think you’re the only person to ever feel these things? Have you never watched a porn movie? Heard of a BDSM club? The only barriers are the ones that exist in your own head.”
Lee swallowed, ignoring the way his pulse increased. “I don’t want to be controlled like that.”
“So it’s not about control for you. It isn’t for everyone. But you need to accept these changes in yourself before your world implodes.” She reached out and cupped his cheek.
Lee leaned into her touch. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Let me show you how good it can be. If you just go with this, I promise you won’t regret it.”
God, he didn’t want this. Yet, even as the denial crossed his mind, Lee knew he wouldn’t say no. “Do it.”
Diana lowered her hips once more so that the soft seam of her jeans was pressed low against his cock. The pressure was exquisite, but not enough to push him over the edge. Either because of her vast experience, or the look on his face, Diana seemed to know exactly what he needed.
Lowering her mouth to one of the smaller bruises on his chest, she sucked the skin hard, lathing it with her tongue at the same time as she ground her hips down. Lee pressed his palms flat on the floor and arched his back up, trying to increase the pressure. Pain spidered from that single point to fill Lee’s chest with heat. His balls tightened. His cock strained to be free of the vice-like pressure, even as Lee realized he wouldn’t last much longer.
Reaching up, he grabbed her hips and squeezed her small body. Diana didn’t let up on his chest, even as he forced her hips down hard once more. Together they used her denim-clad pussy to grind against his shaft, both moaning at the increased pressure exactly where they both needed it to be.
He wanted more. Though awkward, he shifted her forward so her clit would bump against the head of his shaft. Lee knew he hit the right spot when she moaned low in her throat.
Diana pulled her mouth away, to replace it with her thumb. “Fuck, yeah. You’re so close now, aren’t you? You’re so hard against my cunt. I bet you feel the pressure building in your balls, like you’re going to fly out of your skin.”
Tears escaped Lee�
��s eyes and rolled down the side of his face to pool behind his ears. “So close.”
“I’m here to hold you down. Let it go, Lee.”
He cried out once more as she leaned her weight against his shoulder and snapped her hips forward. Pain blossomed, grew, and changed into a blinding pleasure that set fire to ever cell in his body.
The damn broke and his orgasm exploded out of him. Grabbing her shoulders, he squeezed her hard as pulse after pulse of come coated the skin between their bodies and clung to the cotton of her shirt. Lee leaned up and bit down on her shoulder, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure his body could barely process.
Diana continued to grind down, her moans increasing as he tightened his grip on her body. Lee had enough presence of mind left to realize what was happening. He curled his fingers making sure to dig his fingernails hard into the fleshy part of her biceps. Increasing the pressure of his bite, he continued to thrust up so she could rub off against him.
“Fuck, yes.” She squeezed her eyes, threw back her head, and moaned loud and low. When she went limp in his hands, he eased her down and she lay across his chest.
They didn’t speak for several minutes. For the first time in days, Lee’s mind felt calm and his body relaxed. Even the aches and pains from the fight had receded into the background and he was more firmly settled in the here and now.
Reaching up, he caught a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. “So. Not about sex?”
Her body shook as she chuckled. “Not normally.”
“You seemed to enjoy that. At the end.”
Diana lifted up and placed her chin on his chest. “Let’s say I understand your dilemma.”
“You get off on pain? I thought doms were more about dishing it out than taking it.”
She shrugged. “I’m off duty.”
Lee gave her hair a gentle tug. “Now what? Do I pay you?”
Diana bit just above his nipple. “I think it might be for the best if I don’t see you as a client.”
“Why the hell not?” He lifted up, bracing his weight on his forearms. “I thought you said you could help me?”
Diana waited a heartbeat before sliding off him to lay by his side. “I can.”
“Then why not take me on as a client?”
She kept her gaze focused on a point somewhere on the ceiling. “How about we try going for coffee instead.”
“Coffee?” What the hell?
“You said it yourself, you’re not a sub. But I think you might be an interesting person to get to know.”
“So what? Like a date? I just met you.”
“Coffee.” She smiled softly. “It’s just coffee.”
Lee took a deep breath and when he let it go he realized the sense of peace that had settled on him seemed rooted. Somehow in less than an hour this woman had ripped him apart, fortified the bits, and pieced him back together.
“I’m not a freak.” The words were both confirming and reassuring.
“Nope.”
Reaching over, he cupped her cheek and turned her head to look at him. His thumb found her plump bottom lip and he gently tugged. “Coffee sounds good.”
ON MY SKIN
DL GALACE
Marnie had always wanted a tattoo.
An orchid on her shoulder blade, maybe an orobus on the small of her back. She saw it on a brown-skinned girl at the beach last week while she was having lunch with her sister. Suzie had said it looked slutty, but Marnie thought it was beautiful. When she was in high school, she used to doodle designs on her notebook and show them to her friends, bragging that she was just saving up the money then she was so going to do it. But she never did. Not in college, not while she was married to Eric . . .
And now, here she was, standing in front of a tattoo parlor on a night as cold as a meat locker, wearing a pair of sweats she hadn’t taken off in three days and a bottle of Wild Turkey wrapped up in a brown paper bag in her hand. The lamppost above her head fizzled. A homeless man wearing a Mitt Romney for President T-shirt under three to four layers of coats nodded at her and pushed his shopping cart across the street. She looked at the bottle of Wild Turkey, then switched her attention to the neon lights on the storefront window that said DRAGON TATTOO.
There was a tall dark-haired man inside mopping the floors, seemingly concentrated on this one task as though some deity had ordered him to do it. She couldn’t see his face very well because a lock of his black hair had fallen over one eye. He was wearing a black tank top, which showed off his lean, corded arms, and a black pair of pants. Soon enough she found herself raptly watching his movements, surefooted and precise, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pushed the mop around. He paused as though he could sense her gaze on him and slowly looked up.
Marnie gasped and ducked behind the lamppost. Behind her, a car carrying a bunch of drunken revelers whizzed by. One of them threw an almost empty can of beer at her and its contents spilled down her sweatshirt. She yelled at them as they sped away and was called a slut for her trouble. Even in the fading yellowish light of the lamp she could see that she had a splotch the shape of Canada on her abdomen.
What was she doing here anyway? She could be at home now, getting piss-drunk and watching Seinfeld reruns on TV. She hugged her paper bag of Wild Turkey to her chest and turned to leave. She froze as she heard soft tinkling bells letting her know that the door of the tattoo shop had been opened.
“Hello,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”
She stashed the paper bag in the front pouch of her hoodie, brushed her hair out of her face with her hands, scrubbed the area around her mouth with her sleeve to make sure there was no drool, and turned to look at him.
He was gorgeous. His skin was the color of honey and his eyes—almond-shaped and deep-seated in a solemn face—were the color of night. His mouth, second only to his eyes, was his most striking feature. The lower lip was full, almost pouty, but the upper lip was thinner, had a curve to it that she could imagine tracing with the tip of her finger.
And here she was, in her old faded hoodie from college and dirty, unwashed sweats, staring at him like a starstruck fool, her mouth flapping open and close like she was a trout out of water.
His brows knotted together, forming a crease on his forehead, and the corner of his lips tilted up slightly. “Listen, it’s cold out there. Do you want to come in for tea? If you have nowhere to spend the night tonight, there’s a shelter five blocks from here. I can drive you there after I close up here. I know the night manager.”
Her initial outrage lasted only a moment and made way for shame. When was the last time she had truly taken care of herself? Ever since the divorce was finalized, she had been wallowing in her studio apartment, drinking herself till she passed out, and stuffing herself with Chinese takeout. She hadn’t shampooed her hair in days and there was a pimple the size of Manhattan on her chin. On top of that, she now smelled like cheap beer. Why wouldn’t he think she was homeless?
“Oh, I’m not . . .” she started to say. “I mean, I have an apartment.”
“I apologize.” He bowed his head briefly. When he lifted his gaze again, a small smile curved his lips. “Would you like to come in, anyway? It’s cold out there.”
He couldn’t be possibly hitting on her . . . could he? No way. But there was something in his eyes that she liked—something warm and good. It would be nice to chat and hang out with someone other than the liquor store clerk or the Chinese restaurant order-taker for a while. “I should get going,” she heard herself say. “I have food waiting for me at home.”
“You can warm it up later.” He pointed to the storefront window, which displayed a dizzying array of tattoos, both large and small. “You like tattoos?”
“Oh, yes.” She tried for a smile, but it had been so long since she had done it that she didn’t quite succeed. “I’ve always wanted one, but I’m not very good with needles.”
“A little pain can be good for you,” he said. “There is beautif
ul sincerity in it. Something pure and honest. You can’t mistake it for anything else. It doesn’t lie.”
“Umm . . .” How the hell do you respond to that? She saw a documentary on HBO one night about people who got off on pain— masochists who derived pleasure-pain specifically from tattoo needles. She shivered. “I’m not really a big fan of pain. I’ve had enough of it to last a lifetime. I’m . . . I’m gonna go.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. “Just look through our designs. Something might catch your eye.”
She stared pointedly at his tightly muscled, ink-free arms. Most tattoo artists she had seen in real life or on TV were usually covered in tattoos. “I’m gonna go home,” she said firmly. “Enjoy your evening.”
“You need change,” he said just as she was about to turn away. “A shock to your system, to get the blood flowing again.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”
“Embrace the pain of the needle. It’s real . . . tangible. You can take it in, breathe through it, turn it into something exquisite. It’s a good pain . . . you can ride the adrenaline buzz and handle more pain than you can ever imagine.”
She gawked.
He smiled. “Don’t you want to feel something new? Something other than the emotional pain you seem to be carrying on your shoulders?”
And then the spell was broken. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even blink. She opened her mouth to respond, only to close it again because she couldn’t even formulate a coherent response. Finally, she was able to take a deep, steadying breath. “How dare you. You don’t know a damn thing about me. You’ve never even seen me before today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t I?”
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying I’ve seen you around. You walk past my shop all the time.”
And he had noticed her? She did have to walk past the parlor each time she went to the liquor store. She wondered what he thought whenever he saw her carrying a brown paper bag that was obviously hiding a liquor bottle. “Whatever, dude. I’m going home.”