Shit, what was wrong with him? He’d admitted he wanted her before he managed to correct himself. He hoped. Her surrender had nearly been his undoing. Holding her in his arms again felt so right.
And so wrong.
How had Angelina gotten under his skin so quickly? He’d only wanted to help her overcome her aversion to BDSM, not to declare he wanted her. The admission somehow made him feel weak. He wouldn’t give Angelina or any woman that kind of power ever again.
He remembered the scene that September morning in 2001 when he’d found Gino and Melissa in bed together. He’d come off the slopes early, planning to ask Melissa to marry him. His best thinking happened out in nature, but as soon as he’d made up his mind, he couldn’t wait to ask her. To find her naked, straddling his older brother, had so enraged him. After telling her to get dressed and leave, he’d torn into his brother with a rage he’d never known before or since.
He’d said some vicious things. Words that probably had been festering inside him since he was a kid. Gino had always been the one to shine brightest. The one who did everything so fucking right. Graduated top of his class at one of the best MBA schools. Groomed by their mother to take over running the family’s ski resort. Marc had never been able to measure up.
Gino swore he had no idea Marc and Melissa were in a relationship. Melissa had told him she was just a friend from college. In retrospect, he realized Melissa was the one who had pursued Gino. Rejected again, as he had been his whole life, except for the cougars he provided with Dom scenes in his “Master Marco” persona at the resort. He’d decided then that one-night stands and superficial relationships were safer. No messy emotions to deal with.
Marc had left home that weekend. Then came Nine-Eleven. His brother had enlisted in the Marines. Five months later, he was dead.
Marc could never forgive himself for that. Even though Adam, who’d also been his brother’s master sergeant, had sworn Gino had been a good Marine and loved his service to his adopted country, Marc couldn’t help think he’d still be alive today if Marc hadn’t make remaining at home so uncomfortable for his brother.
Angelina stirred in his lap and moaned as the pain in her ass registered again. He needed to put distance between them. Push her just a bit more to open up to him while her defenses were down.
“Who called you a pain slut?”
Every muscle in her body tensed and she shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, I do. Tell me who called you that name.”
* * *
Angelina’s heart pounded in her ears. His tone told her he wasn’t going to let her remain silent this time. She really didn’t want to talk to him about Allen, too embarrassed that she’d trusted him and even thought he was a Dom.
He wasn’t anything like Marc, and Marc had been able to get responses from her body…
She’d give him a vague answer, just to get him to drop the subject. “Someone I used to date.”
He waited and she knew he was expecting her to say more, but she turned her attention to his firm, but gentle hand stroking rhythmically against her hair again. His touch could be gentle one moment, stinging the next. And she loved both kinds of touches. But she especially loved what his hands did to her body when she was spread open for him on this bed. Maybe Angelina wanted her mind-blowing reward tonight after all.
“Tell me how your being a pain slut become a topic of conversation with A…with this person.”
Oh, God, just let it go already! He was like a dog with a new rawhide bone, not content to let it go until he’d torn it to shreds and devoured it. She shuddered. She didn’t want to be devoured by him or anyone else.
Well, maybe she did want Marc to devour her just a little, right here on Nonna’s bed. Somehow, she knew Nonna would approve of Marc. Her grandmother had never been shy about her appreciation of good-looking Italian men, even in her later years.
“Give that busy mind a rest, pet.”
She pulled away to look up at Marc expecting him to be smiling, but he wore a solemn expression. She reached up to stroke his cheek and smiled, hoping he would, as well. He stayed her hand before she could touch him. She missed his smile. Sometimes it was like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar—she wondered what he was like as a boy. Probably full of mischief. Other times, he smiled like a man who knew how to enjoy life to the fullest.
But he remained so serious now.
“This conversation took place where?”
She sighed and pulled her hand out of his grip, tucking it back inside the comforter, suddenly cold. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let go of this bone until she told him. He already knew about the club. How much worse could it be?
Nervous, she stared at his chest hairs and her hand ventured out of the comforter again to run her fingers through the springy black hairs.
“That kink club I told you about…”
Her heart thudded against her chest as images of the private room came back to her. She tried to remind herself the horrific scene was in the past. It had no power over her now. Oh, why did he want her to talk about it?
“Breathe, cara. Take slow, deep breaths.” His hand pulled the comforter away from her shoulders to pull in her lap. He stroked her bare back in sweeping strokes from her neck to her hips, over and over, in a circular motion. Firm enough not to tickle.
She focused on the moment of his hand and drew a ragged breath. “Please. I can’t talk about it.” She couldn’t make eye contact, afraid he’d read her mind or something.
“You need to talk about it. Start at the beginning?”
When she closed her eyes, she felt her breasts pressing against the wood of the St. Andrews cross. “Tight. The restraints were too tight. My fingers were so numb. Cold.” He continued to stroke her back, rhythmically. “Stretched out. St. Andrew’s Cross. Oh, God, I had a leg cramp.” She’d forgotten about that.
“Did you tell him?”
She nodded.
“And what did he do?”
“Nothing. He told me to stop…complaining.”
“A good Dom would have adjusted the straps, made sure you had enough to drink, given you chocolate.”
She didn’t know any of those things might have helped. Allen just wanted to begin flogging her.
She flinched as she remembered the first few blows.
“What did he use?”
“Leather flogger. Oh, Dio, the pain. So intense, right from the beginning.” She felt moisture dropping onto her breasts and realized she was crying. “The blows fell against my…butt. I tried not to scream at first. I didn’t want to look like a wimp.” She gasped on a sob.
“Shhh. I have you now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He reached up and brushed the tears from her cheek. “Then what happened?”
“I began screaming, crying. I begged him to stop. I screamed ‘Red!’” She looked into Marc’s eyes. “You have to believe me. I said my safe word.”
“I know you did, pet. He ignored you.”
She nodded and drew a deep breath, relieved he believed her.
“He should have been whipped for abusing your body and your trust like that.”
The image of Allen strapped to the cross with the Dom in the Harley jack wielding his whip against Allen’s already red-striped back brought a smile to her face. “Yes, that’s something I’d like to see.”
“Then what?”
The smile faded as he brought her back to the scene where she was the one strapped to the cross. “It went on and on. I don’t know how long, but it became such a nightmare. Screams. Pain. So much pain. He said I should stop crying. Enjoy it. I’m a…pain slut.” Meeting his gaze again, she said with some vehemence, “I did not enjoy it. At all.”
“I know, pet.” He stroked her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. His expression told he believed her.”
“There was no payoff. Just pain and more pain and then…suddenly, all the pain left me.” Her voice shook and more tears spilled down her cheeks. Realization dawned on her. “Oh, my God!” She needed to run. She needed to get away. She moved to get up, but Marc put his arms around her waist and held her in place.
“What’s going on in your head? Talk to me, pet.”
“Let me go. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I do. You haven’t gotten to the core of what’s bothering you. What happened when the pain left.”
“Please, Sir. Don’t make me say it.”
Marc pulled her against his chest, even though she tried to keep her distance. “Shhh. I have you.” He began stroking her back again.
His words brought her back into the club scene even more intensely. She wanted to forget what happened next. Her fingers idly stroked the black hairs on his forearm. So like the angel in her dream. But the dream lover seemed more real now. He hadn’t just been in her dream, had he?
“He stopped beating me and took me off the cross.”
Marc tensed. “Who took you off the cross?”
“I don’t know! Allen?” She tried to remember, but that didn’t sound right. Marc’s hand had stopped stroking her back and she missed the contact. “I don’t think that’s right. I was floating. Euphoric. It was like…heaven.”
“That’s called subspace.”
“No, because if I was in subspace, that means I enj…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Not necessarily. There are levels. Some subs can be abused to a point where they go too deep into subspace. That’s not a good thing, especially for someone so new to scening like you.”
“It felt so good at first. I was floating. Looking down on my body. Someone held me.” Her fingers stopped pulling gently on his forearm hairs. “But it wasn’t Allen. He had dark hair. He held me like you’re doing.”
“That’s called aftercare. Subs and bottoms give so much of themselves when they relinquish control that their Doms need to slowly ease them back into reality after a scene.”
“Pain returned with a vengeance. Oh, God! It hurt so badly and he wouldn’t let me escape him or the pain. He forced me to feel it.”
“I’m sure he wanted to keep you from hurting yourself, cara. What then?”
“I can’t say.”
“Angelina.”
“Please don’t make me admit it. It’s too humiliating.”
“What happened, pet?”
She knew from experience he wouldn’t stop until she admitted everything. Suddenly angry—at Allen, at Marc, at her angel dream lover even—she pushed away from his chest and met his gaze.
“I came! He didn’t even touch me…not at first, anyway. And I came.” Her face burned as hot as did her butt. “Oh, God, Marc. I am a pain slut.” She pressed her face against his bare chest, no longer wanting him to look at her. Deep wracking sobs tore through her.
“What did the man who was holding you do?”
His words broke through her sobs and she pulled away. “I don’t remember.” And then she saw the image she’d seen from the vantage point of the ceiling again. He pushed the blankets aside. His hand had gone between the folds of the blanket and… “He touched me.”
“Where did he touch you?”
“My clit. My… Oh, my! He’s the reason I came. Not the pain. He stroked me until I came.”
“Yes, he did.”
Thrilled that he believed her, she pulled back and he wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose very indelicately. Then she smiled. “Yes. He did.” She giggled.
Maybe she wasn’t a pain slut, after all.
“I’m convinced you aren’t a masochist. You wouldn’t enjoy intense pain. If you negotiate a scene in the future, make sure your Dom knows that. There are lots of Doms, myself included, who don’t like to administer pain either. While I don’t think the Dom who abused you would have stopped without the intervention of…whoever stopped the scene, clubs have dungeon monitors to keep an eye on things so they don’t get out of hand. The DM should have gotten to you sooner.”
He looked away for a moment, then returned his gaze to hers. His look of sadness, no more like regret, really touched her. He took the responsibility of being a Dom very seriously and almost seemed to be apologizing for the actions of others who didn’t.
“Promise me you won’t put yourself in a position like again, Angelina, unless the Dom has won your trust—one hundred percent. No exceptions.”
“I promise, Sir.” Oh, why couldn’t he be her Dom? “But there won’t be any more Doms for me.”
He smiled. “Never say never, pet. You’re a sexual submissive. You’re going to crave giving up control—again and again. It’s not something you can just turn off like a faucet.” He paused and looked down at her breasts. “Now, your Dom for the night isn’t finished. There’s the matter of completing your punishment.”
The word “punishment” had a visceral effect on her. Her heart thudded once against her chest and then stopped. She forgot to breathe. Marc stood, lifting her in his arms, then lay her down lengthwise in the middle of the bed. She winced as pain radiated from her sore bottom, reminding her of the first part of her punishment. She lifted her hips off the bed to avoid direct contact. Without a word, he rolled her over onto her stomach and pulled the comforter away to expose her burning backside to the cool air.
“Don’t move.”
She heard him walk into the bathroom, run water, and soon he was climbing onto the bed beside her. The cold washcloth lay against her burning flesh, causing her to jump.
“Lie still.” Her insides clenched at the command, then she forced herself to relax. He removed the wet cloth and dried her off with a soft towel. His fingers applied a cold substance to the places that stung most. Oh, God, don’t let it be whatever he had used on her clit earlier because she didn’t think she could stand to have her butt burning any more than it already did. But his tender ministrations actually removed some of the sting from her bottom.
“If I had my toy bag, I could have used lido to remove the burn, but aloe vera should work, too.”
He blew cool air over her damp skin, causing chill bumps to rise, which, unfortunately, only made her buttocks hurt again, like gooseflesh on sunburned skin. Tears flowed again, not from the pain this time. Rather, the gentle way in which he took care of her. She kept her face averted, too mortified to have him see her emotional response.
She heard him pop the lid of the lotion shut, then his firm hands glided over her back, raising more gooseflesh. When he touched her sides, she jumped.
“You and your damned ticklish spots.”
She grinned and relaxed again. His hands became even more firm and he focused solely on her upper back. When he massaged her bruised shoulders, she groaned in pain.
“I’m sorry, bella. I forgot.” He bent down and brushed his lips over the bruises, slightly abrading the tender skin, and her hips bucked upward in response.
He placed his warm hands under her and rolled her over. She blinked as she looked up at him, searching her eyes before his gaze moved to her lips then rested on her breasts.
She grinned. Definitely a tits-and-ass man. He lowered his mouth and took one peak into his mouth, sucking. His teeth gripped her nipple and bit gently.
“Ahhhh.” Her hips flexed again. He held the tip of the bud inside his teeth as he raised his head, pulling on her until she arched her chest to keep the pain from going beyond what she could endure with comfort.
But did she want comfort, or did she want it rougher? She reached up to keep him from pulling any harder and he let go. Her breast bounced back in place, her nipple exquisitely engorged and getting harder in the cool air.
“Hands on the headboard. Now.”
Her pussy tightened at his firm order, but her hands moved without pause to the headboard where she entwined them in the intricate iron design, cool against her fingers.
His mouth descended on her other nipple and repeated the same torture. “Oh, Mar…Sir, I mean. Yes, Sir!” She stiffened, waiting to be chastised for using his name. And for speaking out loud. Were the old rules still in place?
He lifted his head and stared at her, very solemn. Oh, God. Don’t let him stop again for another punishment—well, not a painful one, anyway. She wanted to come so badly. He’d promised. She waited to find out what he intended to do.
“Pet, I give you permission to be as vocal as you wish, because I am going to blow your mind in a few minutes and I want to hear how much you enjoy the ride.” He smiled in a very wicked way.
“Yes, Sir.” She said in an awed whispered. She relaxed, returning his smile. At last. The time had come—to come. She giggled. Something about his announcing what he intended to do made it much more thrilling. He had no doubt he would succeed, and neither did she, which also blew her mind.
He leaned up to kiss her, his hand reaching behind her head to pull her hair as he’d done earlier. The roughness of the kiss was exactly what she wanted. What she needed. His mouth blazed down to her breasts again, nipping her neck, tugging her nipples, but not lingering this time as he moved down to her belly. She cringed as the ticklish triggers went off.
I will not react. I will not react. First you sift the flour, then add six eggs… She refused to give him any reason to restrain her legs again.
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. He wasn’t pleased. “Was there a thought you neglected to share, pet?”
He wanted her to give a blow by blow of her thoughts? Embarrassed, she said, “I’m trying not to react to being tickled, Sir. Mind over matter.”
“Well, you’re so damned tense, pet, you aren’t going to be able to feel anything. If I promise not to restrain your legs, will you let yourself relax enough to enjoy it?”
“How did you… Um, yes, Sir!”
His smile warmed her entire body. “Good girl.” He grabbed two pillows and told her to raise her hips, which she did. With her hips floating on a cloud of feathers, her pussy high in the air, he spread her legs wide as he lowered her head. He pressed his tongue against her wet vagina and, with his tongue flattened, he slid it up and over her hooded clit. She bucked toward his face. He pulled away making her afraid he would stop, but instead the tip of his tongue traced delicious circles around her clit, careful not to touch the tiny erection. Teasing her.
“Oh, God, yes! Touch my clit!” She froze. Had she just said those words aloud? Dear Lord, she’d never talked during sex before.
He pulled away and waited for her to make eye contact. “That’s right, bella. Don’t hold anything back.” Every muscle in her pelvis melted like chocolate in a double boiler. But she wanted to get on with her “punishment”—her big O moment. She tilted her pelvis against his hand, urging him to get back to work; inviting him inside. He smiled and lowered his head again.
He pressed his fingertip against her opening, coating his finger with her pussy juices, then slid the wetness along a path to her waiting clit. Her mind screamed “Mio Dio!” when he touched her. “Please, lick me there again. Oh, on my clit!”
He ignored her pleas and she groaned in frustration. Two fingers spread her outer lips open. Exposed. She felt the cool air of the room and his warm breath touching her clit again. She throbbed with the need for direct stimulation. Open to him completely, his fingers glided between the open folds to her wet pussy and pressed against the opening of her vagina. Her very slick vagina. His finger pressed inside her vagina, then two fingers, thrusting deep inside.
Yes! Finally! Please!
She remembered she could speak. “Please, Sir, I need you to touch me there.”
As if she’d said some magic word, he lowered his tongue directly to her clit and flicked it rapidly. “Oh, Gesu, yes!” She gripped the headboard to keep from flying off the mattress, but her hips weren’t restrained and did levitate, over and over.
His fingers slid in and out of her vagina like a piston as his tongue flicked over her clit. “Oh, God. I’m going to come.”
He stopped moving his fingers and looked up at her. “No, you’re not. Not until I give you permission to come.”
What? Had he just said what she thought he’d said? She had to wait? “But you promised!” She knew her voice sounded whiny, needy, but she’d waited too long.
“Oh, I always keep my promises, pet. But in my time, not yours.”
She groaned, even though she wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. With a whimper, she tried to release the coiled tension in her body. He smiled and his fingers began to move in and out again, but he didn’t take his gaze away from hers.
“You are so fucking wet and responsive, bella.”
Heat flooded her face, whether from the compliment or the dirty talk, she wasn’t sure. Instinctively, she tried to clench her legs together out of embarrassment. But his head and shoulders restricted her movement. She didn’t realize until now that he’d, in effect, restrained her again anyway.
“Has any man ever discovered your G-spot?”
What? Her G-spot? Why did he have to talk about such things? Just do it, Marc! Did such a thing as a G-spot even exist? Her friends had joked about it, but none had indicated she or a partner had ever found the holy Grail-spot in their holy of holies, as they jokingly called it. Allen certainly hadn’t. So, she had no idea what the fuss was. But, if it did exist, she had no doubt Marc would know exactly where to find hers.
She hoped so, at least, because now she absolutely needed to find out if she had one.
“Answer the question—yes or no. Has anyone ever given you a G-spot orgasm?”
When she realized closing herself off from him, whether physically or mentally, would be impossible, she shook her head. “No, Sir.”
He pulled his fingers out, turned his hand palm up, and drove two fingers to the hilt inside her quivering core, taking her breath away. Her hips bolt upward as if attached to an invisible pulley in the ceiling. His fingers curled toward her pelvic bone and began massaging as his thumb rocked against her clit.
Waves of heat and sensation washed over her. “Oh!” She felt the pressure build and spread all the way to her lower jaw. He’d certainly touched a nerve. A delicious nerve. When he stroked her again, her pelvis bucked off the pillows. “Oh, God, yes!”
“You are not to come yet.”