“Please,” I whispered. “Sam.” Then I cringed, expecting a blow, still broken.
He took the plugs out of my ears, and oddly, everything grew quiet, expectant. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re doing great.”
“I don’t know… how to be. I want to please you.”
“You please me, Melody. Just by accepting me, that I want to restrain you, to give you pain. By trusting me, after all you’ve been through. That pleases me more than I can say.”
He pushed inside me, slowly, steadily, inexorably to the hilt. My mouth opened in a silent gasp. There wasn’t pain now, not even pleasure, only fullness and feeling and a reckless kind of devotion that can only come from intimacy.
Pulling back out, he paused. “I don’t think I can hold back.”
I made fists in my restraints, then went slack, allowing his hard use of me—no, wanting it. Needing it, because I wasn’t a fragile woman nor was I a slave. For me consent would always be like fire, warm and necessary and untouchable. This was all I had: wanting a man and having him want me back, yes.
“Then don’t,” I said. “Take me.”
Even so, the force of his next thrust took me by surprise, turned me inside out. He didn’t use me like an object, because a thing didn’t need to be mastered. He didn’t use me like a slave, because a slave didn’t need to feel wanted. He used me like a woman, hungry and desperate. I was tossed on the sea of his lust, torn apart by the onslaught of my orgasm, and gently floated back to shore by his low, rumbling groan of release.
With an air of regret, he pulled out of me and undid the restraints, massaging each limb and kissing the faint red marks left behind. I didn’t feel like a slave but like royalty, constrained by my position but pampered, cherished. Loved.
“Thank you,” I said, luxuriating in the soft-worn sheets and post-orgasmic rush.
He only smiled, his hair still askew and skin damp. The intensity from earlier hadn’t abated entirely, instead it was carefully banked within the care he gave me. Even the glass of water he handed me was a symbol of his possession of me—and a stark reminder of the first time I had seen him.
I had knelt before him, and he had hated it then. I hadn’t understood it, but now I knew it was because it had been meaningless. That blind subservience had been a mockery of the submission he wanted from me. My lazy, sated smile was more potent devotion than I had ever given those other men.
He sat down beside me and put my hand between his. “What’s next?”
The words were spoken lightly, but I swallowed hard. “Don’t ask me that.”
His smile was a little sad. “Giving orders already, subby? I should spank you for that.”
“Please. Make me stay here. I won’t disobey you.”
“I should keep you chained to my bed, is that it? Sure, it’s tempting, but I don’t want to be just like those other guys, keeping you here because you’re too afraid to fight for something better.”
“It’s different.”
“I see that.” His expression turned rueful. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t.”
“I want to be with you.” I begged him with my eyes. Just this once, give into me. Just once, let me be in control. Make me yours, and I’ll obey you forever.
But it didn’t work that way—I knew it didn’t.
“You won’t make me stay?” I said, knowing the answer, fearing it.
His expression was opaque as he said, “I won’t make you leave.”
He would let me stay here, but he wouldn’t stop me from leaving. I almost hated him for a sick, unhappy moment. A cage
d bird always tries to get out, but a good owner keeps it safe. Why wouldn’t he help me? If an animal lives too long in captivity, it won’t be able to survive on its own. Humans were supposed to be more advanced than animals, more humane, but this just seemed cruel.
But I wasn’t Sam’s pet. He hadn’t collared me.
It was time for me to go home.
Chapter Nine
The air was thick with smog and dense with noise, brimming with the refuse of people crammed too close. Breathing on the crowded city sidewalk was only marginally better than the small aircraft, where the sketchy climate control had left me alternately shivering and sweating my way across the ocean.