Pleasure's Edge (20 page)

That you give yourself over so completely. It wouldn’t be so powerful if you were always the pliant little subbie girl. But you’re not. You’re strong. Strong enough that when you go down into subspace, when you hand yourself over, it almost brings me to my knees. No woman has done this to me before. You make me crazy, Dylan.”

What was he saying? Her mind was numb. Desire was too keen in her body for her to real y concentrate.

“Alec, please. Just touch me.”

A smal chuckle from him, but he sounded pleased; there was nothing mocking in it. And she was burning up with desire.

“Like this, baby?”

He stroked her swol en clitoris, a gentle touch. Too gentle. She moaned softly.

“Ah, you need more? Is that it?”

“Yes ...”

He pushed two fingers inside her, and she surged back against him.

He pul ed his fingers out and she groaned in disappointment.

“No, Dylan. I want you to hold perfectly stil . I wil do it al .

Understood?”

“Yes, Alec.”

“Say it.”

“I understand. I won’t move.”

“Good girl.”

Another long shiver at his words.

She held her breath, and waited.

His fingers brushed along the seam between her buttocks, stil wet with her juices. Sliding down, down, until he was caressing the lips of her sex. She bit her lip, trying not to open for him, to push back until she impaled herself on his fingers, which was what she wanted to do. But he had told her to hold stil , and she would. And he kept stroking, stroking. She could hardly bear it.

The snap of the metal spatula across one buttock took her by surprise; she’d forgotten al about it. But it made her tremble with desire, every bit as much as his stroking hand.

“Oh, Alec . . . ”

“Yes, it’s good, isn’t it?”

He smacked her ass again, harder this time, and she jumped.

“Stil , Dylan.”

He pushed his fingers into her sex, and she panted, bit her lip.

Held stil .

“Excel ent.”

He spanked her once more, and she breathed into it, the pain searing, sharp. Lovely.

He began a hard rhythm, then, smacking her over and over: one cheek, then the other, down across the tops of her thighs. And his clever, probing fingers in her sex, moving in and out, pausing to stroke at her hard, needy clit, then back inside. She was soaking wet, her knees shaking. Her breasts were pressed into the hard countertop, the granite cold, her nipples aching.

His fingers thrust deeper, and he spanked her harder, until she could feel the welts rising on her skin. But it felt unbelievably good.

Alec’s breathing grew harsh, and the spatula came down with a few loud cracks, making her cry out.

“Yes, you can take it, my beautiful girl.”

“Alec, please . . . ”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

The spanking stopped. Al she could hear was the rasping pant of her own breath and his. In moments she felt his strong, naked thighs pressed up against hers, his hand wrapped up in her hair, pul ing tight. Then his sheathed cock was pressing at the entrance to her sex.

“Come on, baby. Open for me now.”

She spread her legs, raised her ass higher, and he slid in.

Pleasure surged in her body, warm and rippling and
right
, somehow.

“You feel so good, Dylan. Like heaven.”

He moved deeper, thrusting hard and fast.

“Oh!”

“Yes, you can take it al . And you’re so damn wet.” He leaned down, his muscular chest right up against her bowed back, one arm slipping around her waist, holding her firmly.

His face was next to her ear. “I am going to fuck you now, Dylan.

I’m going to fuck you hard. I need to.”

“Yes ...”

She was out of her head. She was nothing more than this incredible, aching need. For him.

Alec.

He began to pump, his cock plunging into her over and over, so hard and fast she could barely breathe. Just as he’d promised.

“God, Alec,” she gasped. “Harder . . . please.” He pounded into her, his hip bones crashing against her, hard, ramming thrusts of his hips. And desire was like a hammer in her veins: that solid and pummeling.

When she came, it thundered in her ears, like the roar of the ocean. And she was drowning in it: pure pleasure. Pain. Pain turned into pleasure.

He tensed behind her, his cock throbbing, and even through the condom she felt the hot pulse as he came.

“Dylan!”

A few more thrusts, and he slipped out of her. There was one brief moment when she felt the loss of his body, his heat. Then he was pul ing her into him, setting her on the counter again. He moved between her thighs, and she wrapped them around him, needing nothing this time but his nearness.

He held her, his arms tight around her, his head resting on her shoulder. Her mind was a half-numb whirl.

How could she feel so connected to this man? A man she real y hardly knew. Except that her body knew him, in a way it had never known another man. It was something about the pain play, the power play. The absolute trust she felt for him to take care of her.

Dangerous.

Yes. It was dangerous to rely on anyone to care for her. She’d always been the caretaker. That didn’t have to change now.

But it was too lovely simply to be held by him. To hear his ragged breath in her ear. To feel the taut, muscled mass of his big body.

She let herself drift in that sense of safety, let her muscles go loose, relax al over.

What could it hurt, for now? As long as she kept her perspective, didn’t come to expect too much. She could be reasonable when they weren’t having sex, when they weren’t engaged in power play.

But he was right: She had to let it go when they were together or she wasn’t going to truly experience this. And she wanted to. Not only for her research, but for
her
.

She felt as though she was about to discover something about herself. She was on the verge. It was frightening. And maybe wonderful.

Maybe.

Just don’t get too caught up in it. Compartmentalize.

Yes, she could do that. She’d been doing it her whole life.

Alec had a lot to teach her. About sex. About how the human mind worked. Maybe about learning to trust another person, to some extent, at least. It didn’t need to be anything more than that.

She ignored the smal part of her brain whispering to her that it was more than that already.

eleven

Alec had carried her to bed. Too romantic, but she’d let him do it, too weak with orgasm and endorphins from the spanking to protest. He’d pul ed back the bedspread, laid her down on the pristine white sheets, stretched out beside her.

She wanted to pil ow her head on the high, hard curve of his shoulder, press her cheek to his chest to listen to the beat of his heart. But she didn’t dare do it.

Ridiculous.

She’d never craved that post-sex closeness most women seemed to need. This must be that “bottoming out” they’d talked about, that crash after the flood of endorphins and other chemicals to the brain that came with the pain play. She felt open. Raw.

Needy.

He turned to her then, as though he could read her mind. And he kissed her cheek softly, pul ed her up against his side, his arm slipping beneath her shoulder.

Ah, so nice.

Don’t get too used to it.

No, but for now, it was wonderful, to lie there with him. Cozy, with the sound of the rain hitting the windows, the soft light coming from the kitchen, like some pale and distant sun.

“Hey.” His tone was a low, husky whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

She laughed. “Better than fine, if you must know.”

“Good.” He paused, his fingers rubbing absently over her col arbone. “Are you ready to tel me about your mother?” Her stomach went tight, her jaw clenching. “Alec. No. I’m not.”

“Dylan, you have to tel me sometime.”

“Do I?”

“You can’t expect to real y let go until you can be open with me about everything. If there is any part of you that you keep shut down, it’l always be in the way.”

“Is that absolutely necessary? Real y letting go?”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that what we’re doing here?”

“I started out doing research for my book. I’m not sure what we’re doing here anymore.”

He was quiet a moment. “Neither am I.”

It made her feel better, somehow, to hear him admit his uncertainty. As though she wasn’t the only one. It made him seem more human to her. And perhaps less flawed, less weak, herself.

Her shoulders went loose, her jaw relaxing. She inhaled, pul ing in the cool air, the scent of his skin. “Okay,” she said quietly, as if she stil wasn’t quite sure.

“Okay, what?”

“I’l tel you.”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“My mother is bipolar,” she blurted, before she could edit herself. “It made for a . . . difficult childhood. Nearly impossible, real y. I’m sure that’s why my father left, although why he’d leave two smal children behind . . . wel , that’s another story, I suppose.” Alec’s hand slipped around hers, held on. “Tel me this one.” She paused, drew in a breath, then another. She wasn’t accustomed to discussing her family with anyone other than Mischa, and even that was new for her, not something she was real y used to, yet. But she
wanted
to tel him now.

“We were living in Portland. We had no other family there. So I had to take over from a pretty early age. We moved around a lot because Darcy forgot to pay the rent and the bil s. By the time I was ten or so I’d figured it al out. I wrote the checks, signed her name. When there was money in the account, anyway, which didn’t always happen.”

“You cal ed your mother Darcy?”

“She wasn’t ever real y a mother to us. Cal ing her ‘Mom’ never seemed like an option.”

“Your brother was younger than you?”

“Yes, by three years. I took care of Quinn. Or I tried to, anyway.”

“That’s a lot for a kid to handle.”

“Yes. But it was just . . . my life.”

“Where is she now, your mother?”

“My aunt Deirdre took her in, final y. She moved Darcy to her place in Ashland, Oregon, not long after I left for col ege. Wel , a few weeks after we lost Quinn.” She stopped, breathed through that familiar sensation of being kicked in the chest. “Darcy was a mess after Quinn died. I was a mess. But I wasn’t about to quit school and move back home. I didn’t feel I had anything to move home for. And it was Deirdre’s turn, frankly.

“I don’t care for Deirdre much. She knew there was something wrong with my mother al those years, but never wanted to do anything about it until there were no other options. I
had
to get out of there, get back to school. I didn’t go to col ege until I was almost twenty. I’d stayed to help my mother, to take care of my brother. I didn’t do such a good job of that, apparently.”

“I’m sure you were great. And you were
there
. That counts for something.”

“Maybe. I was there until . . . until I left. And that’s when Quinn died.”

“How was that your fault?”

A hard knot pul ed in her stomach. She’d asked herself that question a mil ion times, and had never come up with any reasonable answer. The image of Quinn’s bloody and mangled body, his pale, stil face, always blanked out everything else. The very fact that he was gone was always the first and most powerful thought in her head.

“I don’t know. But I’ve always felt it was, somehow. I can’t seem to shake that idea.”

“Dylan, it’s not possible that it was your fault. It was an accident, from what little you’ve told me. It’s not logical.”

“Logic doesn’t always play a part in this sort of situation, does it?”

“No. I guess not.”

They were both quiet, thinking. Maybe he was absorbing what she’d told him. She didn’t want to real y know what he thought about it. She didn’t want him to pity her.

“But there’s more?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. A lot more. Someone who’s bipolar has . . .

episodes. Rages. She’d wander off sometimes and we’d be alone for days at a time. She managed to escape being hospitalized until I’d left and she was in Deirdre’s care. I couldn’t have done it, put her in the hospital, but my aunt has done it several times. If I had, we would have been put in foster care, probably, Quinn and I.

And likely separated. I couldn’t do that. I was al he had. And he was . . . al I had.”

That old grief twisted in her stomach. But she’d gotten used to swal owing it down.

“You had no other family?”

“My grandmother Delilah. But she lived in West Virginia in those years. My grandfather had Parkinson’s, so she already had her hands ful . He was sick for as long as I can remember. After he died, she moved out to Ashland to be near my mother and help Deirdre. But it was too late for Quinn and me by then.