Alexis writhes against the desk, her cry searing against my own skin. I may be a monster, but I’m not an evil one. The sound is worse than the bite; it’s what she needs—to hear the punishment. It would’ve been more painful to use my hand and make her skin raw.
I come down again, with less intensity now that her flesh is sensitized, and follow up the whap with a long thrust. Her throaty cry curls around me as I groan, my cock pulsing inside her clenched cunt.
She comes so hard, her swollen pussy nearly pushes me out. I drop the belt and latch on to her hips, pumping my cock deeper, until my own control is spent. I release inside her, a string of expletives filling the air as I collapse. My hands slam against the desk, my arms barely holding me above her.
I hover there as she comes down, her muscles contracting and milking the last of me. Then with strength I don’t feel, I scoop her into my arms and rest her against my chest. Her cheek is wet as she nuzzles into me, her limbs dangling weakly.
I take her to the couch and cradle her on my lap where I hold her until she wants to be released. I stroke her hair and kiss her forehead, all the while loathing myself for seeking her out. But I did—I sought her, needed her, and now I’ll always give her what she asks of me. Always.
I’ll rip out my beating heart and hand it to her if she says the word.
15
Fade Into You
Alexis
I’m teetering on the edge of serenity and oblivion. Adrift. Not lost, but not fully aware. Sleep pulls at my consciousness, but I fight against the drowsiness, content to stay in this moment for as long as I can.
As the adrenaline leaves my body, a calm relief encases me, distancing me from the tormenting emotions that are always right on the edge. It’s liberating in that it may not be redeeming, but it’s accepting. I’m accepting of myself for the first time in years.
I didn’t even realize how obvious the fissures were—how they threatened to crack clean through and spill my misery—before Chase revealed what it’s like to be in control, satisfied. Really alive.
I may appear weak to some, but right now…right in this moment…I understand what true strength is. What it means to accept the past, the pain, the unchangeable, and embrace the future.
How long has it been since I thought of the future for only my needs? I’m ashamed that I don’t know.
Chase’s hands soothe away the rest of my thoughts as he applies more of the cooling balm to my backside. His tender caresses are in such stark contrast to the fierce power I know he possesses, I shiver just from his touch.
“Cold?” he asks, his husky tone revealing his own cycling thoughts.
I shake my head against his balled up shirt, comforted even more by his scent that still clings to it. “No. I’m fine.”
He finishes rubbing in the cream, then crawls over me, careful of where his body grazes mine. He kisses along my shoulder as he settles beside me. “You’re not,” he says as he runs the pads of his fingers across my back. “Alexis, what you asked of me tonight…had I been any other man—” he breaks off, emotion rising in his voice. “In order to be a good Dom to you, I need to know things. I can’t be caught unawares.”
I lick my lips, stalling. The weight of his words crushes the hope I had of avoiding this between us. It’s what’s expected, though, isn’t it? No matter what kind of rules and boundaries you set for any relationship, a baring of the soul is required. Or else, how can there ever be trust? Trust that the person you’ve chosen will not hurt or damage you further.
And Chase—this relationship between us, no matter how unconventional—requires trust. It’s what he first told me, and it’s what first made me question if I could be what he needed—because I fear trusting him.
But I fear losing him more.
So I tear down the dam. I let the cracks crumble the wall and release the flood. I tell him about how my mother discovered her cancer too late. By the time she was diagnosed, she was given a life expectancy of six months. The storm struck so suddenly and so acutely, the true wreckage wasn’t felt until she died.
My father, suffering his whole life from bipolar depression, ended his own within hours of her death. There would be no weathering the storm together as a family. Just me and my brother, who was only seventeen. Who also shared my father’s depression.
I don’t stop there, however. If I’m to show him exactly who I am, I have to divulge the ugly truth—the regret, the shame, the unforgivable.
I was twenty. In college and my life turned upside-down by the death of my parents and my new responsibility as my brother’s guardian. Even still, I thought the storm was coming to an end. It had torn through our family and left jagged debris in its wake, but we would manage.
The day of my parents funeral, a man approached me. I’d never met him before, but he claimed to be my father’s friend—someone from his past that heard the news. There were so many people like that. The ones who came around after the tragedy.
He had been drinking too much. He wanted to take care of my brother and me. He wanted to help. He wouldn’t leave. After the wake, he found me alone, crying, desperately trying to breathe—and he made an advance. And when I rejected him, he threw me down on the floor of my parent’s bedroom and took what he wanted.
John. He said his name was John. John called me baby—his baby—as he decimated the last of me.
Chase’s arms surround me, but I sit forward, away from his comfort. “Please don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want pity, and I don’t deserve sympathy. That’s not why I’m telling you this.” I pull in an aching breath. “I’m giving you the foundation, so I can explain why I did what I did…although I know there’s no excuse.”
I