Deep Control (Dark Dominance 2)

“You’re in no condition to wash your fucking hair,” he said, taking in my slumping body.

“Just go away. Leave me alone.”

I couldn’t say why I had to repel him every time he gave me pleasure. Or maybe that was why I had to repel him—because he gave me pleasure. I didn’t want to fall for him, because my life didn’t have room for a man, especially one of his…size.

When I reached for the shampoo, he pushed my fingers away and took the bottle himself. We jockeyed for space as he clicked open the cap. It reminded me of the conditioner, and anal, not to mention the forceful blowjob, and oh my God, what was that about?

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He grinned. “Washing your hair, you dirty slut.”

“My hair’s thick,” I said, feeling lost. “It takes a lot of shampoo.”

“I know how to wash hair.”

His fingers slid into my blonde locks, rough but careful, massaging my scalp. Lots of shampoo, lots of lather, the steam and his body looming behind me, fleeting touches of spent cock, solid limbs, maleness… I expected him to push my face under the water again for his amusement, but he didn’t. No, he was gentle, taking his time, being careful to rinse all the lather when he was done. He opened the conditioner next, with a fitting smirk. I felt hornified and anxious, while he seemed utterly under control.

When he finished with my hair, he washed the rest of my body, including my tender asshole, then chased me from the shower, presumably to wash himself. I stood in front of the mirror, trying to make sense of what he did to me, why I felt disappointed that he wouldn’t let me wash him. I understood that large forces acted on one another, generally in the farthest reaches of space, but these intimate, personal cravings seemed suffocatingly close. One shower curtain away.

He turned off the water and his force was next to me again, helping me towel off, fondling my damp hair. I put on my glasses, which had finally unfogged.

“Once you’re dressed, we should get something to eat,” he said. “Our flight leaves at six.”

“What flight?”

“The flight to New York,” he said, giving my ass a tap. “Or were you planning to stay on this island forever?”

He turned away, like that was settled. It definitely wasn’t. “Devin?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can get back on a plane.”

He stopped in the middle of his own drying duties, meeting my gaze. “You have to get back on a plane. What about the science project, New York, your new job?”

I moved past him. I had to get out of the bathroom, had to gulp some fresh air. I went to the balcony and flung open the door. Low buildings, trees, and water, so much water.

He came to stand behind me, a presence I could feel. “You’re a math person, aren’t you? You were in one near-crash. What are the chances you’ll be in another one a day later?”

“Chance is bullshit,” I said, turning on him. “Astrophysicists deal in infinite possibilities.”

“I’m as nervous as you.” He put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to hold his gaze. “But you have to understand, what happened yesterday was a fluke, an accident. In all my years of flying—”

“Please, don’t. Don’t tell me these things never happen, because they obviously happen.”

He glowered at me, stark naked, his towel slung over his shoulder. I still had my towel wrapped around my body, and I clutched it close, feeling scared. He actually thought he’d be able to get me on a plane? What was wrong with him? Was he crazy?

He shook his head and walked away, going for his clothes, dressing for a flight he’d take later, a flight I wouldn’t be on. He must understand that. I could never get on another plane, or a boat, or anything that would take me over the vast, unforgiving ocean that lapped this island’s shore.

Tears welled in my eyes as I stepped into my panties and then pulled a pair of jeans over my sore butt. I rummaged for a fresh t-shirt, and came up with one that said Astrophysicists Do It With Large Objects, a going-away gift from my Via Sofferenza friends. I shoved that back under the pile and chose a plain, faded blue one.

“Do you mind going to your own room now?” I said. “I need to do some work.”

“Yes, I fucking mind.”

His sharp reply took me aback. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry? No. Confused. A little annoyed with the way you run hot and cold.” He glanced down at his shirt, also a faded blue tee. We looked like twins. He snorted and poked the air between us. “We’ve had sex twice now. I’ve fucked every one of your holes, twice without protection. I saved your life, and you don’t trust me?”

“I trust you. I don’t trust airplanes!”

“I’m telling you, they’re safe. Air travel is the safest form of transportation, safer even than walking. What happened yesterday was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” I raised my voice, cutting him off. “If you want to get on a plane and fly to New York, then do it. That’s fine, I won’t stop you, but I’m not going. I’m staying here.”

Even as I said it, I knew I sounded ridiculous. I couldn’t stay in the Azores forever, only because I was afraid to fly.

“You’re going with me,” he said, yelling across the gap between us. After all we’d done together, all the ways he’d groped me, we couldn’t seem to touch each other in our matching shirts. “I said I’d get you to New York, and I’m going to get you to New York.”

“You don’t need to get me

to New York,” I said. “I’m thirty years old. I have a doctorate in astrophysics and cosmology. I’m a grown-up person and I’ll be fine.”

“Grown-up people fly on airplanes,” he snapped.

I took a step back, trying to understand why he made me feel so harried, so scattered. It wasn’t only my fear of flying, and that he was a pilot. It was fear of him, fear of his skill at taking over my body. As we stood there, glaring at each other, I imagined gravitational waves crashing between us, red and angry and jagged. I could lose myself in him, in this man whose career was based on my deepest phobia.

“Don’t come closer,” I said, when he moved to take me in his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll hurt you? You liked it well enough before.”

He embraced me, holding me tighter when I struggled.

“You’re making my dick hard,” he said against my ear. “Keep fighting me, and you won’t like how things turn out. Or maybe you will, you little maso.”

I stopped squirming and let him hold me against his chest. I felt weak and tired. Scared. If I were the crying type, I would have cried.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “We need to get off this island, if for no other reason than I want to take you to this kink club in New York. I need to take you there. Jesus, you would love it, but you can’t get there from here.”

“What kind of kink club?”

“A private BDSM club in Manhattan. It’s beautiful, three floors in a clock tower at the top of a skyscraper. It’s like Via Sofferenza, only even more intense. Every man in there is a Dominant, every female a submissive, and no one uses safe words.”

“What?” I looked up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s the kind of place it is. It’s about stretching your boundaries, about basking in pleasure and pain. Want to go?”

Private. Intense. No safe words. I’d heard of such places, but never believed they really existed. “What’s this club called?” I asked.

“I’m not telling you if you won’t fly out of here. You can’t get in without a sponsor anyway, and I’m not sponsoring you unless you get on the plane.” His kneading hands moved down my back, a stimulating touch. “Trust me, this place was made for a kinky masochist like you. We’ll exchange numbers, and I’ll take you there some weekend, when you have time off from your gravitational experiments and scientific brainstorms, or whatever the fuck you do.”