Deep Control (Dark Dominance 2)

“Or a thousand years in the future?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I scratched my temple, finding it difficult to talk about my work when I really wanted to pass out from fear and exhaustion. “If time moves both ways, some people believe we can go back in time. That if we can solve the mysteries of the universe…” I rubbed my lips. “My dad wants to go back in time, to tell my mom…” I held up a finger. “Tell her not to drink… Not to drink…or not to drive home… You know, I never drink. I never drink.”

“Shh.” He cut me off with sibilant noise, but I’d already forgotten what I was saying. “Would you like some water?” he asked.

I looked over to discover a smiling flight attendant offering some bottled water. I pointed to the air again, and managed to take it. Devin had to open it for me.

“Why don’t you tell me more about that club?” I said as he screwed off the cap. “You know…the one…”

“This might not be the place to talk about it.” He grimaced. “Especially when you’re speaking so loudly.”

Fine. I’d think about it instead. I’d been thinking about it a lot, ever since he revealed its name. The Gallery. It sounded so sexy, so cosmopolitan. Devin told me it was in a converted clock tower, on top of one of the highest residential buildings in Manhattan. He’d described the dark, multi-level dungeon until the imagery was fixed in my mind. There were rules at The Gallery, rules I couldn’t remember right now, except for one that excited me: subs in The Gallery didn’t get safe words.

Edgy. A dangerous way to play, unless you trusted your partner.

Horrible, if you wanted something painful to end, but you couldn’t make it end…

Delicious, if you were a masochist.

My eyelids drooped, my body too tired now to get turned on, although I’d been horny as anything when he told me about that.

“What would you do to me without safe words?” I mumbled through the gathering haze.

He was silent a moment, then he said, “We haven’t played with a safe word all this time.”

The sleepy edges of my consciousness widened with a jolt. He was right. With all we’d done together, all the boundaries we’d crossed, we hadn’t once discussed a word to make things stop. “You’re not supposed to play like that,” I slurred. “It’s bad. Irresponsible.”

“It raises the stakes, that’s for sure.”

“What stakes?” I asked, blinking.

He studied me a moment, then said, “Don’t worry about it. I think you’re getting tired.”

The plane moved forward, the motion so muted from the sedative that it felt like being rocked. I gripped his hand. “Don’t leave me,” I said. “You promised.”

“I won’t.”

I stifled a yawn, letting my head drop against his shoulder. “Wake me when we’re there. Or if, you know, we’re going to die. I don’t want to spend my last moments in a sedative coma.”

He chuckled and squeezed my hand. “Close your eyes, Shorty. Relax.”

“Will you hold my glasses?”

“Of course.”

He took them and folded the arms in. Without my glasses, everything was a lot less crisp. The passengers seated in the rows in front of us were blurs. The cabin was full of hissing, white-noise sounds and low murmurs.

Devin started to kiss me then, hard and rough. As the kiss deepened, I realized it was a dream. We were in The Gallery, or at least The Gallery I saw in my mind. It was dark and hazy, with a giant, mist-blue clock face in the background, the color of Devin’s eyes.

In this dream version of The Gallery, as in my research theories, there was no real time. Devin cuffed me to a rack, my wrists and ankles held tight, spread to the four corners. He stood before me, his cock huge and hard, poking out at me. He held a large rattan cane in his fist. “You’re mine forever,” he said. “I have so many more things to hurt you with.” He flicked the cane across each of my thighs, making me shiver at the sting.

I braced for the caning to begin in earnest, but then we were somewhere else, somewhere with low murmurs in Italian, and I couldn’t see. Via Sofferenza. I was in the same bondage, except that I was in the dark because of the blindfold. I felt a touch at my back, and a warm cheek pressed against mine. I knew it was Devin. He whispered in my ear but I couldn’t hear him. “Hurt me,” I begged. “Please hurt me.”

He put his hands on me, warm and firm, squeezing, tracing, spanking. I heard him take off his belt, then we were in our hotel room in the Azores. I was bent over his luggage, but instead of looking ahead at the sliding door to the balcony, there was a pale blue clock face before me. I squinted, trying to read the time, but my glasses were over on the table. “You said you would hold them,” I cried as he lit into me with the belt. “You promised.”

His belt hurt, and I sobbed, rubbing my face against the sheets. This whipping was way harder than any he’d given me thus far, but I didn’t have a safe word to make it stop, so I sank down into the pain, trembling, shaking. He stroked my back, giving me a break to collect myself. “There, there,” he said. “It won’t last forever.”

“Forever means nothing.” I raised my head to plead with him, but all I could see was the huge blue clock. “I’ve known you for six days, but it might as well be a hundred years.”

Next thing I knew, he was nudging my shoulder. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up.” His blurry face was the first thing I saw when I peeled open my lids. I squeezed his hand, which was somehow still wrapped around mine, and blinked at him. He handed me my glasses and pointed out the window, at a jet way and baggage carts. I put on my glasses, taking in the brightness, and all the people standing up in the cabin.

“You made it,” he said. “We just touched down in New York.”

Chapter Twelve: Devin

We’d made it to the mainland, fuel intact, no need for an emergency landing. We were finally here, and I thought Dr. Ella would be happier about it, but she wheeled her carry-on bag up the jet way with an air of impending doom.

“Welcome to New York,” I said. “When’s the last time you were here?”

“Never.” She looked up at the terminal’s soaring windows as passengers crowded past us. “The east coast isn’t the best place to pick up gravitational motion. I did most of my research at Caltech and Washington State.”

She was so snotty and science-y at moments like these, when she talked about her gravitational motion and research. It made me want to fuck her, even though we were both exhausted and ready to go home.

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

“Some place over by NYU.”

“There are a lot of places by NYU.”

She stopped in the middle of a stream of people and pulled out her phone, giving me a look. I wanted to spank her so badly that my palms ached. Naughty, sassy archgenius. As soon as she unlocked her phone, I took it and put in my number, and handed it back to her. “Text me the address, so I’ll have your contact information.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to have a lot of time to hang out.”

“The Gallery’s only open one night a week, so that’s fine. Text me your address and I’ll drop you off on my way home.”

“You don’t have to.”

I took her elbow and squeezed it as people flowed around us. “I know, but I want to, in case the sedative hasn’t worn off.”

“It’s worn off,” she said.

“Stop acting like I’m trying to stalk you.” I pulled her closer. “I’m a pilot, Ella. I don’t have time for this relationship you fear so much. All I want from you are your three luscious holes and your hunger for pain.”

She pulled away, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. “Fine,” she said.

“Fine,” I echoed. “Let’s go.”

Her rent-free lodgings turned out to be an older two-bedroom apartment on Mercer Street that probably went for five or six grand a month. Not much of a view, but it was decently furnished, and there was a full-time doorman and a garden on the building’s roof. “Nice digs,” I said. “How long are you staying for this ACE Consortium?”

She shrugged, staring at the Scandinavian-style furniture and white walls. “It depends on how long the project’s funded.”

I could work with that. I’d only need to play with her at The Gallery a few times to get her out of my system. A handful of hard scenes, and the fascination would start to wear off. She turned to me while I was still thinking about hard scenes, and she could see it in my eyes.

“I can’t, not now.” She stepped over toward the sofa, putting distance between us. “I’m really tired. Not that I didn’t enjoy…” She stopped, trying again. “Not that I’m not grateful for everything…” She made a face. “It’s weird to say goodbye to you after everything that went on.”

“It’s not goodbye.” I got out my phone, checked my calendar. “Want to have dinner sometime next week?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet what my schedule will be.”

Evasive. So evasive. Even my smallest overtures were met with resistance. I wasn’t used to this. I was used to women throwing themselves at me, not shying away.

“Are you seeing someone already?” I asked. “Someone who lives here?”

She looked insulted, then shocked. Hmm. The lady doth protest too much. “God, you’re not married, are you?” I asked.

“No!”

“But there’s someone. You’re thinking about them right now.”

“If there was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.” She shook her head, tossing back her hair. I was seized by jealousy for this other person, who might or might not exist, who might have rights to the body I’d come to think of as my body. I remembered every hidden bruise beneath her clothing. I’d traced my tongue along every welt. None of my business? She’d been all of my business ever since I’d seen her across the room at Via Sofferenza.

But I’d never tell her anything like that, because she didn’t want a relationship, and I had rights to tons of other sexy bodies, not just hers.