My throat feels raw, the safe word hovering, threatening to be spoken. I feel full, tight, ready to split. A shiver rides up my shoulders just as I feel him press the tip of his thumb in and I can’t take it.
I can’t take any more. I’m so close once again. Too close. Too full.
“It’s too much,” I try to speak, but the words are incoherent. “Pink. Pink,” I say and struggle, my head pressed firmly to the pillow, my body still shaking. All at once, I’m empty and cold.
“I’ve got you.” Zander’s voice is steadying as I roll onto my side. My legs collapse together and the blanket is pulled around my shoulders, the warmth nothing compared to what Z had just done to me. My shoulders shake with a shiver that’s only subdued when my Dominant lies behind me, his chest to my back, his arms around me, holding me tightly.
I didn’t even feel the tears that had leaked out of the corner of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks until my heart stopped hammering.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his lips at the shell of my ear. He shushes me, he tells me it’s all right.
I’m barely cognizant of what just happened. When my breathing calms, I realize I safe worded. “I didn’t mean to.”
My denial is met with a kiss on the curve of my neck. Not too short, an openmouthed version that lingers. “You did,” he says. With his lips in my hair, he kisses me again. His arm tightens, pulling me to him as he tells me it’s all right.
I recall only safe wording once with James. Only when he cracked the whip and it broke my skin. Only once because of the sudden pain and fear. I was terrified. That was an entirely different experience. He apologized. He held me, but I was crying. The pain lasted and I shoved him away. It was awful.
This … this doesn’t feel like that at all. Not in the least.
“You’re crying.” Zander’s voice is full of concern. I wish I could say anything, but I can’t utter a word.
“Where do you hurt?”
I can’t answer his question because it’s not like he could do a damn thing to fix it. Damon said I may be displacing my feelings and I think he might be right. I still love James. I love him and I think I love Zander too, but I don’t know how that’s possible.
“It’s okay, you can cry.” I know he’s looking down at me but I keep my eyes shut tight. “If you want me to stop—”
“Don’t stop.” I beg him with quickly ushered words. “Don’t stop. Please, Z, hold me.”
Zander
Scrolling through the photos on Ella’s various social media accounts leaves a longing to know who this beautiful woman used to be. She hasn’t posted regularly in nearly two years now but I scroll past flirtatious grins and obvious laughter, past a woman celebrating life and exuding strength with a no-fucks-given attitude. There are pictures of him as well. Her sneaking up on him and laying with him on sunny tropical beaches. Pictures of him kissing her and where she’s kissing him. There’s an obvious point where her public persona was tamed. Just prior to their wedding photos, she appears wild and free. And then it changes, to bright smiles and “love and light” captions.
There are wholesome posts about her charity work, but it doesn’t take much to be certain that prior to marrying James, Ella was known for her partying.
The fireplace in Ella’s sitting room is off, adding to the quiet. The blue of the paint is suffused with gray light from the early morning. She’s still sleeping upstairs, leaving me alone in the chill of this room.
I came here out of habit. I didn’t know what to do with myself when I woke up in her bed. I found a spare toothbrush in the bathroom, still wrapped in plastic among other travel-sized toiletries. She was sleeping so deeply when I finally let go of her that I couldn’t bear to wake her. I tugged her blanket up to her shoulders and quietly slipped out to the room that’s most familiar to me. We’ve spent the most time here, in the blue sitting room. And in its silence, I’ve let my mind wander, I’ve let the questions repeat themself over and over. Am I doing the right thing? Is this really what’s best for her?
I’m only her Dom, so there’s no reason for me to be here. Not technically. It’s storming outside and I watch the raindrops fall against the window. When the wind blows, it’s vicious, battering the small droplets against the panes. Unless we’re going to have a true 24/7 relationship, then I can’t be here all the time.
Even if a part of me wanted to be here, simply because she’s most comfortable here, a much larger part of me doesn’t want to develop this relationship anywhere other than my own home.