by HELEN HARDT
And I come once more, this time not in my clit but inside. My G-spot. The climax surges through my body, lighting every cell on fire.
“Braden!” I cry out. “Braden, I love you! I love you so much!”
…
Braden and I share a shower so I can wash the sticky crème brûlée off my body. He didn’t take me after my ultimate orgasm, so he lifts me in his arms and fucks me hard against the shower wall, and another orgasm shoots out of me.
He thrusts harder, my back slapping against the wet tile in the shower. “Fuck, Skye. Fuck, you feel so good.”
I’m still in the clouds of my climax when he erupts, his words buzzing in my head.
I love you. I fucking love you, Skye.
And I’m not sure those words have ever sounded so sweet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Since Braden came straight from New York, he has his luggage with him. He puts a pair of lounge pants on while I cover myself in a satin robe. He holds my hand as we walk to the couch where we fucked only a little over an hour earlier.
I don’t say anything. I promised I wouldn’t push him, and I’ll stick to my guns if it kills me. He has to make the first move.
He takes my hand and rubs circles in my palm with his thumb. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“I know. It’s okay. Take your time. Or don’t say anything. It doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. Oh, I’m still curious. Nosy as all get-out. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Braden. About what he’s comfortable with.
“I loved my mother,” he says. “So did Ben.”
“I’m sure she loved both of you, too.”
“She did. We were all that kept her going sometimes. I’m not sure she’d have had the strength to go to the food pantry if she didn’t have our two mouths to feed.”
“It couldn’t have been easy for her.”
He pauses. Inhales. For a moment I fear he may clam up, but then he continues.
“After the fire, she spent several weeks in the hospital. She was in constant pain. Ben and I weren’t allowed to see her because she had to be kept in a sterile environment until her skin grafts took.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not looking for sympathy, Skye. I never am.”
“I understand. Can’t I still be sorry that your poor mother had to go through all that?”
“I suppose.” He sighs. “Anyway, before the fire, we always had enough to eat. It wasn’t gourmet food, by any means, but we didn’t go to a food pantry, and we weren’t on government assistance.”
“Beef stew,” I say quietly.
“Beef stew?”
“That evening when you showed up here unannounced and I served you leftover beef stew. You said your mother used to make it.”
“She did. Tough stew meat was a staple at our house. She’d cook it forever, and it was delicious. That was before the fire, though. After the fire, we couldn’t afford even the toughest beef.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Still not looking for sympathy. Anyway, like I told you before, insurance wouldn’t pay even though the fire was an accident. My mother eventually came home, and I think she would have been okay if…”
“If what?”
Braden buries his head in his hands.
I wait. And I wait.
He needs time, and I aim to give it to him.
Finally, he looks up and meets my gaze. “Ben and I weren’t able to visit her at the hospital. So when she finally came home…”
I gulp. Instinctively, I already know what’s coming.
“I cried when I saw her. Screamed even. The scarring was so…so… The word that comes to my mind is ugly. Scary. I was seeing it through the eyes of a six-year-old. I expected to see my beautiful mother, but…”
“Didn’t your father prepare you?”
“He tried to. But have you ever seen a burn victim, Skye?”
I nod. “Yes. Not in person, but I once went to a photo exhibit where the artist’s subjects were all burn victims. It was beautiful work. Their humanity shone through.”
“You were an adult, then.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t know any of the victims personally.” He threads his fingers through his hair still wet from the shower. “You can’t prepare a young brain for that. This was my mother.”
Braden’s face contorts as he squeezes his eyes shut. In a way, he’s that little boy again, tortured by the visual of his mother.
I give him a few minutes. Then, “How did Ben react?”
He opens his eyes, seeming calmer. “He didn’t scream. That’s all on me.”
“But he was younger.”
“Younger, yes. But he didn’t react the way I did. I can’t explain it.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t talk to anyone about it. Except my therapist on occasion. And now you.”
I’m honored that he’s sharing this part of himself with me. I put my hand over his. “Braden, you aren’t responsible for what your mother went through.”
“I know that. But she was never the same person after that, and if I hadn’t screamed when I saw her—”
“Stop,” I say. “Just stop. You were a child, first of all. Second, she’d already been traumatized by the fire and the burns and the pain. Her time in the hospital. The small part you played had little bearing.”
“I know. I’ve been through enough therapy to know that.”
“Good.”
“The problem is, I’ll never forget. I’ll never forget how seeing her made me feel.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“It made me feel… God I can’t even say this.”
“You can.” I squeeze his hand.
“I was repulsed, Skye. The sight of my mother repulsed me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
He squeezes his eyes closed once more.
You have no idea what I’ve had to take back in my life.
Braden is a six-year-old boy again, seeing his beautiful mother with ugly burn scars.
And I understand him more than he knows.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay. What kind of child thinks his mother is repulsive?”
“A six-year-old who’s expecting to see his beautiful mother after being without her for weeks.”
“I’ve heard it all, Skye. I’ve heard all the reasons why this feeling was valid at the time.”
“Did you still love your mother?”
His eyes glow with blue fire. “Of course I did!”
“And did you grow used to her scarring?”
“Yes, within days. She was still Mom.”
“Then what are you blaming yourself for?”
He rubs his chin. “She was never the same.”
“Wasn’t she? You were six, Braden. Are you sure you’re remembering right?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not sure. I’ve been around and around on this with my therapist.”
“Have you considered that you weren’t the problem? Maybe your father was. The fire was his fault, after all.”
He nods slightly.
He knows. He and his therapist have been through this. He knows. But it still haunts him, how he feels he rejected his mother when she came home.
“She and my dad were never the same after that, either,” he continues. “She had to stay with him. She had nowhere else to go, plus she had Ben and me.”
“Did she love your dad?”
“In her way, yeah, I think she did. But…things were never the same.”
“How so?”
He chuckles. “In some ways, things were better. Dad stopped drinking, but he had trouble finding work for a while. We l
ived in a mobile home rental, and we could barely afford that. So we went on government assistance, which my mom and dad both hated.”
I listen intently. No surprise where Braden got his need for control over his own life and others’.
He had it worse than I ever did. So much worse. Yet look where he ended up.
“What eventually happened to your mom?” I ask hesitantly.
“She died.”
“I know that much.”
“I don’t like to think about it,” he says. “I still feel somewhat responsible.”
“You’re not.”
“There are things you don’t know. Things no one knows. You can say the words. I can even believe them. But none of it changes anything.”
I snuggle against his chest and give him a hug. I’m here. I’m here for you.
I want to take away this pain, and the only way I can do that is by letting him off the hook.
“Stop, Braden. Don’t go any further. I don’t want you to hurt.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You’re sweet. So sweet and amazing. You’re giving me an out that I never gave you.”
“You did. You said you’d give me the time I needed. I just didn’t need as much time.”
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he says. “But if I figure it out, I’ll do it again a million different times.”
“You don’t have to.” I kiss the top of his hand. “You already have me.”
“And you have me,” he says, “though sometimes I wonder why anyone would want me.”
I pull back slightly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You know I never kid, Skye.”
“You’re the catch of the century!”
“Only on paper.”
“Green paper,” I add.
He wrinkles his brow. Again, I’ve succumbed to something that sounded funnier in my head.
“Wait,” I say. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Sure it did. I’m loaded. You’re not the only one attracted to my money.”
“The money’s a nice fringe benefit. I won’t lie. But that’s not what I meant, and you know it. It was a joke, Braden.”
“I know. I never thought you were after my money. I pursued you, remember?”
I smile. “You did. And I resisted, even though you were the most attractive man I’d ever met.”
“It’s your nature to resist. It’s what drew me to you.”
“I was a challenge,” I say.
“You still are.”
“Am I? You’re not going to dump me now that you have me?”
“Why would I do that?”
Betsy’s story pops into my mind. How Braden allegedly dumped Addie because she wouldn’t engage in BDSM play with him again.
It’s not true. It can’t be true.
Can it?
I’d know for sure if I’d listened to Apple. If Braden never levels with me about Addie, I’ll never know the truth.
“What if you want something I can’t give you?” I ask.
“Did you dump me when you wanted something I couldn’t give you?”
“No. You dumped me.”
“Only because you needed to figure things out before I could take you further into the lifestyle. I don’t want you in the lifestyle for the wrong reason, Skye. You could get hurt.”
I nod. “I know. I understand that now.”
“This lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart. I know that, and so do you. It has to be something we both enjoy for the right reasons. In the beginning, I saw your controlling nature, but I sensed part of it was a façade. Part of you seemed submissive to me, and I wanted to wake up that dormant part of you. But then things went a little awry.”
“Meaning?”
“I fell in love.”
I warm all over. “So did I.”
“If I didn’t love you, maybe I’d be okay with taking you through all the steps of the lifestyle for the wrong reasons, but you mean more to me than that. I couldn’t do it. If it’s any consolation, ending things with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
I can’t help a soft scoff. “You didn’t even do a very good job.”
“You’re right about that. I couldn’t let you go, Skye. I went running to your parents, hoping I could find some clue as to why you wanted the breath control so much. Then, once you arrived, you know the results. I couldn’t stay away.”
“Neither could I, obviously.”
“But I promised myself I wouldn’t take you back to the lifestyle until you could answer the question I posed. You see, Skye, the lifestyle isn’t about punishment, even though I will punish you from time to time. But it’s my choice to punish you. Not yours.”
“I understand all that, Braden.”
“I believe you’re beginning to.”
“Beginning to?”
“That’s not an insult. It’s just an accurate statement. You said yourself that this is a journey.”
“It is. I also think your lifestyle is a journey.”
“I don’t disagree. But it’s a journey I must have control over. I choose what we do, and you can then choose whether to consent to me or say no.”
“I understand. Truly. Perhaps I said those words before and didn’t actually understand, but now I do.”
He nods. “Then perhaps we’re ready to go back to the club.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Shuddering chills rack my body. The club. Black Rose Underground. The thought still excites me.
My pussy tingles, and…
Damn.
My asshole is throbbing. Seriously throbbing. Is that even physiologically possible?
Braden hasn’t taken me there yet.
He was going to, that fateful night that led to our breakup.
But he didn’t. I’m still a virgin in that sense.
“What else is there at the club?” I ask, my voice coming out nearly breathless.
“Oh, Skye, there’s so much more. You’ve only been to the bondage room.”
I gulp. “What other rooms are there?”
“Some rooms are for light play only.”
“Light play?”
“Yes. Basic spanking, light bondage. For example, how I bound your wrists with my necktie at my office.”
“What’s bondage, then? Is it light play?”
“Bondage, other than light bondage, is heavy play. What you saw at the club is considered heavy play.”
“Especially the neck binding, right?”
“In my opinion, anything involving the neck is edge play.”
“What’s edge play?”
“Anything that involves a risk of physical or mental harm.”
“Mental harm?”
“Yeah. I steer clear of edge play, for the most part. It doesn’t interest me much. Most of it isn’t allowed at Black Rose Underground.”
“But I saw the breath control.”
“Not everyone considers breath control edge play, so I allow it, but all practitioners have to sign a special consent form before they can do it at my club.”
“I see. And I didn’t sign that form.”
“You didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to do it anyway.”
“Your hard limit.”
“Yes,” he says, but of course, he offers no further explanation.
“What else is considered edge play?”
“Anything that draws blood.”
I gasp. “People actually do that?”
He nods. “Knife play, gun play, fire play. I don’t allow any of that.”
“Gun play? Fire play? People do that?”
He nods.
“Is that another hard limit for you?”
“I’ve alread
y told you that I only have one hard limit, Skye.”
I nod. I can’t deny that breath play still intrigues me, but it no longer feels necessary.
So that’s good.
“What other kind of heavy play is there at the club?”
“There’s suspension play. Flogging and caning. Animal fetishes.”
My stomach drops. “You mean sex with animals?”
He laughs then, and I feel ridiculous.
“Of course not. Some people like to be led around like they’re animals. Horse play. Dog play. Things like that.”
I widen my eyes. “People do that? To each his own, I guess.”
“I take it you don’t want to try that.”
“Hard pass on that one.”
“Not a problem. It’s all up to you, Skye.”
“Do you…like that kind of play?”
“It’s not one of my favorites, but I’m not averse to it if it interests you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Fair enough. There’s sensory deprivation. I’ve introduced you to that already on a minor scale. There’s also larping.”
“What’s larping?”
“Live Action Role Playing. It’s huge in the gaming community. The club takes it to a sexual level.”
“Meaning…”
“Like Superman having sex with Wonder Woman. Stuff like that. Sci-fi is big. Sex with aliens. That kind of thing.”
“So you have a room where…”
“Where you can watch people engaging in alien sex? Yeah. Except they’re not real aliens, of course. Some of the costuming is pretty elaborate, though.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw is on the floor somewhere. “Oh. My. God.”
“I told you before that clothing is a fetish for some. So is costuming.”
“But not for you.”
“No. I prefer to be myself when I play. I’m Braden Black and no one else.”
“Good, because Braden Black is who I want to have sex with.”
“Anything sound intriguing to you?”
“What kind of things do you see in the larping room?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure. The next time we go to the club. What else interests you?”