Derision (15 page)

“You deserve a punishment for being such a cock tease.” My voice is thick with restraint. “Is that what you want? Is that why you fucking toyed with me all day?”

“Yes, Master.”

Hell, but she’s dripping wet. “Then demand your punishment.”

She swallows hard, and I slow my thrusts. “Punish me, Master. I deserve it.”

I pull out and grab her waist, hauling her forward. Her feet only touch the floor for the second it takes me to turn her around, shove her chest against the desk. I grip her bound wrists and push them away from her ass.

“What’s the safe word?” I ask, admiring the clear jewel as I smooth my palm over the soft skin of her behind.

“Red,” she says, not a hint of fear in her voice. She’s beginning to trust me. I rein in my lust, getting control over the pounding need to deliver a harsher than necessary punishment. The moment between us at The Firm rushes back, and I grit my teeth.

I seat my cock at her pussy. “Spread your legs.” She does, as much as possible, and I flick my wrist, giving her a firm swat.

Alexis flinches, more from the sound than the sting, before she settles against me again. “Harder,” she demands.

Leaning over her, I say, “You don’t want to push me, temptress.” But the damage is done; I raise up and smack her ass with more force, earning a satisfying cry from her.

“Harder,” she says, kicking her ass out.

A deep groan rumbles through my throat. I curl my hand into a fist, my eyes shutting as I reel in the dark thoughts. “Alexis, I’m warning you—”

“Please…” Her plea aches through me, and I’m unable to deny her.

I rub her ass before I spank. Harder. Each time, she cries out, her body recoiling but absorbing the blows. I issue three in a row before yanking my hand back, my breathing labored.

The red prints on her ass are too seductive, and I shove inside her hot cunt as I bring down another slap to the same spot. She looses a high scream, her pussy soaking me. I bite out a curse.

“Again,” she says, but the tremble in her voice douses the roaring in my ears, the fire simmering beneath my skin.

“Alexis, this doesn’t fit your punishment—you didn’t earn this.” I try to reason with her, regardless of the fact that I’m damn near clawing out of my skin to finish her off. She has no idea the restraint it’s taking to leash myself—and I have to nip her shoulder to offset some of the desire.

“I’ve earned it,” she says, too breathy. “I’ve caused so much pain…I’ve ruined things. I deserve your worst.”

“Fuck.” My jaw clenches as I reach down and snatch my belt free of my pants. She’s no longer here with me; she’s in some haunted subspace of her own making, and I’m going to end it quickly. For both our sakes.

I coax her to push the anal plug out as I remove it. Then I untie her wrists and toss the shirt aside. “Grab the edge of the desk.”

As her fingers cling to the desk, I push inside her, deep. I stay there, and once she’s braced, I fold the belt into a loop. There’s a moment of doubt—a few seconds where I question my intent—before I bring the leather down.

The belt whips the air before it
cracks
loud against her ass.

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.

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 slip Chase’s shirt on and pad to my office before I lose momentum. I’ve come this far, all that’s left is the truth. After I grab my purse and return, I sit next to Chase on the couch and show him the picture I keep with me.

“This is me and my brother, Jake.”

He doesn’t say anything as he stares at the picture of Jake and me standing before the Air Force Memorial, his arm slung around my shoulder. It was taken during one of my visits home from college, right before our mother got sick.

“I didn’t realize at the time that he was already off his meds,” I say, running my thumb along the edge of the photo. “And when everything hit, no one was really paying attention to how bad off he was getting.”

“Alexis.” His deep voice can’t help but stir the quiet of the room. It sends a shiver over my skin. “We need to go back to what happened after the funeral—”

“No.” I tuck the image away in my purse and roll my shoulders. “There’s no going back in time.” I almost laugh, just hearing myself say it aloud. “I was weak. Instead of taking responsibility, I panicked. I walked away from my brother and went back to college. I let him go off to live with our aunt, who knew nothing about his mental condition. He had no insurance, no way to get his medication, and he started self medicating.”

“He’s an addict,” Chase says so boldly, I balk.

“He’s sick,” I clarify. “With everything that happened…everything he went through—”

“That you both went through,” Chase cuts in.

“—do you blame him?”

“Yes.”

The air is charged, the snap of quiet buzzing in my ears as I hold his unwavering gaze. “He needed me, his sister, to take care of him. And I ran away from all of it. I ran away from him.”

He takes my hand in a move so intimate, my breath halts in my chest. “I’m pretty damn sure you were suffering shock, Alexis. You can blame yourself all you want, but none of your brother’s actions, his choices, are your fault.”

Pulling free, I run my hands down my face, over my hair, clearing away the remaining debris from my mind. “I know. I do know that. Now,” I say, and I hate the way it sounds. Magnified in the stillness of the room. “When I recovered, if you can even call it that, I went to him. I apologized, tried to explain, but he was so angry. At me, our parents, the world. And for the past two and a half years, I’ve been trying to make it up to him. I’ve been trying to fix all the wrong. But I can’t. I made a mistake, but how long am I going to be punished for it?”

Chase moves to the floor. He kneels before me, his hands cupping my face. “You’re mine, Alexis. That means I’m responsible for you. You’re not merely my possession; you’re my much longed for priority. Do you understand that?”

Do I? Not completely, but I say, “Yes.”

“I’ve taken charge of your life and your best interests, and I’m telling you now to trust me. You do not deserve the punishment you’ve already suffered, and you’re not going to keep punishing yourself.”

Stupid tears prick my eyes, and I fight to keep my lids from closing. I don’t want them to fall. “That feels…like a copout. Like I’m just passing along accountability for my actions to you.” I release a stuttering breath. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my issues…or try to fix them or me. I’m not fixable. I just am.”

He lowers his hands to my neck, his thumbs stroking my jaw as he moves closer, his breath touching me as he says, “No one understands that more than me.”

“And I’m not here to fix you,” I say, some rare courage peeking through. “You’re perfect – perfect for me and what I need. You opened a vein and my pain bled out, freeing me. I just want us to…belong to each other.”

His lips find mine then. And I again fall. I give up the guilt, and the pain, to Chase—to my dominant, strong half that will help me carry the burden. I’m not entirely free, but I’m accepting that one day I will be.

Jake and I—our relationship is broken. At some point in my life, I have to embrace that I am only partially responsible. Then accept that he’s to blame for the rest of our estrangement.

I was selfish. During the time when he needed me the most, I was consumed with my own pain. Spiraling down into a self-involved emotional vacuum. A void of selfish, venal loathing. I didn’t want to acknowledge his suffering. I couldn’t. I only had enough hatred for myself and the man who hurt me.

For that, I know I have a price to pay. And I’ve been paying it tenfold. But the veil has been lifted. When the guilt has eaten away all the shameful walls you once hid behind, and you’re able to peek above the darkness, there’s a clarity you can only find on the other side of pain.

It’s a sort of brutal, honest enlightenment that dispels all the lies.

My brother is a drug addict.

And no matter how hard I try to hold onto my guilt, accepting the full blame, he made a choice. He chose, willingly, to turn to drugs. Which was his own selfish escape.

I can, and have to, love him at a distance.

My confession aches as it pours from me. The pain is dull and deep-rooted. Chase’s arms are like bands of strength shielding me against the daylight that will make this night a memory.

I’m fearful that I won’t be the same person in the morning, but I’m even more afraid that I will. For now, I revel in his touch as he strokes my back, the seconds of silence stretching out and fortifying my attachment to him.

“You’re beautiful,” Chase says.

I am—I’m beautiful to this man who has devoured my self-inflicted derision without choking on the thorns. He’s taken it within himself so I no longer have to feel it alone.

“You’re strong and you’re powerful,” he continues.

I smile as I lace our fingers together. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” He rolls me over, conscious of my tender skin, and pulls me into the nook of his body. “Haven’t you figured out how true power works yet?”

At my silence, he says, “A submissive holds all the power. You’re the queen on my board, Alexis. You set the pace, you tell me what you like and don’t. You tell me what you need, and I do everything within my power to give it to you.”

“But,” he says, running his finger along my bottom lip. “You have to be careful not to abuse that power.”

Hearing Chase—the most powerful man I know—say that I hold sway over him is impossible to believe. Besides: “I would never abuse our relationship.”

His smile is genuine but knowing. “I trust you. And I’ll never take advantage of your pain. I’ll guard it as if it’s my own, because you’re mine to protect.”

Professions whispered in the night are easy. It’s carrying them out in the light that’s the test.

“But I’m not capable of change, either,” he continues. “When you need comfort, I’ll hold you. When you require tenderness in my love, I’ll be gentle. I’ll give you everything you ask of me, but I will always demand your submission. There will always be a balance of pleasure and pain—it’s just who I am.”

I feather my fingers through his dark hair, still so in awe that this beautiful man is mine.

Chase is not broken. He’s not damaged. He’s the unyielding to my yield, the steadfast to my chaotic flow. “Your love has to be felt to the depth of both; equally benevolent and brutal.” I stroke his cheek. “I need all of you.”

* * *

I
t’s late
by the time Chase pulls up to my apartment building. “I won’t demand that you stay with me…although I should,” he says, putting his car into Park. “But I’ll offer it again.”

He’s worried about my mental state, which is understandable. I just bared the darkest part of myself in an emotional outpour that’s left me drained and exhausted. I need sleep, but that’s something I won’t find with him. “Can I stay with you tomorrow? When I’m not on the brink of passing out.”

He crooks that sexy smile, and I’m more than tempted to close the car door and let him take me wherever he wants, just so I can stare at that dimple. “All you ever have to do is ask.”

The air between us feels tenuous and fragile. As if a sudden gust of wind could blow us off course. I’m sure that’s only my frazzled emotions, though. Chase saw the whole of me and he didn’t turn away, even though I knew it was a possibility. I’ve been avoiding it, waiting for the bottom to fall out. Because it has before.

Learning to trust is like trying to breathe under water, conditioning yourself with patience till you can take that first, unobstructed breath.

I go to step out of the car when I feel his hand on mine. “If you knew where your brother was,” he says as I turn toward him, “what would you do?”

His question catches me off-guard, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. I mean…” Would I try to talk to him again, knowing that he’s the one who shut me out? Or do I just want to be able to hear my phone ring or a knock at my door without the fear…? “I wanted the promotion because I believed I could help him.”