Until I Break
Page 25
I’m breathless when he releases me. His eyes are steady on me as he reaches out to unwind the scarves from my wrists and bring my hands together in front of me. With three quick turns, he binds them together with his tie.
“Lie back,” he orders.
I pull my legs from beneath me and relax onto my back. I’m surprised when Alec walks around the bed and unties one of the black scarves. He kneels on the bed and drapes it over my eyes.
“Lift.” Obediently, I lift my head so he can make a knot in the material. My mouth is bone dry and my pulse is flying like a runaway train. I can see shadows and shapes through the thin scarf, but nothing clearly enough to make me feel comfortable.
For the space of one breath, I feel I’ve made a mistake. Now, I’m bound and blindfolded, basically at Alec’s mercy. In a way that I’ve feared more than anything for half of my life. And I did it willingly.
Because I trust him, I remind myself. And I love him.
I jump when I feel Alec’s fingers at my stomach. It’s the lightest brush, like butterfly wings, as he grips the zipper tongue and pulls it upward. There’s a soft click when it reaches the end of its track. With a tug, Alec frees the two halves of my top part, peeling them back to expose my br**sts to him.
I hear the soft rustle of clothes as he moves. I don’t know if he’s undressing or walking around the room. Or both. The anticipation of what he might do, where he might touch is sweet torture.
A few seconds later, I feel his hand cup my right breast, kneading it, rolling and pinching the nipple. I feel the heat of his mouth closing over it at the same time that I feel the burn of hot wax hitting my navel.
I cry out and Alec bites down. Pleasure shoots through me, landing between my legs like a wet clap of thunder. I arch my back, straining for more of Alec’s mouth, but he doesn’t give it. He pulls away.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing. No sound, no touch, nothing but the tingle of my skin under the wax and the cool air tickling my face. Until Alec’s lips close over my other nipple. His mouth is cold and I gasp.
He teases me for a moment and then he’s gone again. I feel nothing until I hear Alec’s hiss followed by the blazing touch of his fingers. They’re covered in something scorching hot and sticky as they tease and rub my nipple.
I cry out again, writhing on the bed, never more in need of his touch at my core, never more in need of his penetration.
More rustling sounds just before Alec scoots me up the bed, toward the headboard. I hear the sound of a chain moving before he takes my bound hands and hooks them onto something that anchors them above my head.
I feel vulnerable. Exposed. I fight the urge to draw my legs up, to cover myself, to protect myself.
“Very good,” Alec says, as if reading my mind and commending my control.
I hear a buzzing sound and my stomach muscles clench. The first contact of the vibrator is the tip against my lips. Alec drags it over my mouth, back and forth. “Open,” he commands. I part my lips and he slips the rounded head into my mouth about an inch. “Lick it.”
I do, swirling my tongue around the smooth latex. It doesn’t have much of a taste, not nearly as strong as the rubber smell.
He slides it in a little further, gliding it between my lips and over my tongue. Abruptly, he withdraws it and the buzzing sound grows distant.
Every inch of my skin is alive with the anticipation of where he might touch me next. And with what. When I finally feel his palm against the inside of my thigh, warmth gushes through me, pooling a few inches from his hand.
He pushes on my legs, moving them further apart, spreading my body open for him. I gasp when I feel the tip of the vibrator graze my clitoris. Alec circles it before sliding down the crease of my lips then pushing it up into me. He moves the vibrator around, rotating it just inside my entrance, then retreating, teasing me mercilessly.
Then I feel his tongue. He licks lazily at my clitoris, like he’s lapping up fine cream, all the while penetrating me with the vibrator. Short strokes, in and out. He begins moving his hand and his lips faster and faster, pushing me further and further, until I’m grinding my h*ps against him. His tongue becomes more insistent as he moves the vibrator deeper and deeper, in and out.
The tension is building. I know what’s coming. I know what’s on the other side. And I’m helpless, literally helpless, to prevent it. I couldn’t escape if I tried.
I strain against my bonds, my back arching off the bed, my pelvis gyrating in time with Alec. And then his mouth is gone and he’s turning me onto my stomach, the chains moving easily with me as he urges me up onto my knees. I lean on my elbows, panting as Alec continues to thrust the vibrator into me.
I feel the hot sting of wax running over the curve of one butt cheek. One rivulet runs down into the crease. The other gathers into a pool on my lower back. I moan at the assault against my sensitized skin, but it only makes the soft lick of Alec’s tongue more pronounced.
I push back against his hand until it disappears. I hear his zipper and I hold back tears of desperation, never wanting to feel him inside me so badly before.
His hands brush my h*ps then my stomach as he rolls me onto my back. I feel him stretch over me and release my hands and then I feel the whisper of his breath as he hovers near my face, removing the blindfold.
I blink to adjust to the dim light. Above me, I see Alec’s handsome face, contorted in a way that closely mimics pain.
“I want you like this,” he says, his lips closing over mine as he pushes his body deep into mine.
I explode all around him. Wave after wave rolls over me, stealing my breath, my voice and my vision.
I can only hear—Alec whispering softly in my ear, telling me how perfect I am.
And I can feel—his lips on my chin, his teeth at my nipple, his body spewing hot liquid into mine.
My limbs are numb and my skin is tingling as I settle back down to earth. There’s only one thing on my mind as thought returns.
“Why did you let me go?”
Several seconds pass before Alec lifts his head and looks down at me. “You surrendered to me a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it until tonight. Tonight was about you, about you overcoming, about you giving me the most important thing you could give me.”
“But I—”
Alec cuts me off with a finger to my lips. “Shh,” he says softly, tilting his head and looking deeply into my eyes. He watches me for a long time before he brushes my bangs out of my eyes and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, like he’s done so many times before. “All good,” he croaks, his lips twisting into a small smile.
I smile up at him, my heart in my eyes. It’s not a question this time, but a statement. “All good,” I repeat.
And it is. For me anyway.
I’m unchained, both physically and emotionally. But I get the feeling that Alec isn’t. He’s still tethered to the past, to his guilt.
And I don’t know if I’m enough to set him free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Alec
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I turn on my internal clinical lamp and examine the situation.
On the one hand, I’m satisfied. Maybe more satisfied than I can ever remember being. But on the other hand there’s…something. And that is what’s making me restless.
Despite Samantha’s unconditional surrender to me, there’s something that’s still haunting me. As is the problem with most psychiatrists who try to heal themselves, I find that I’m too close to the subject matter to be objective.
Based on past endeavors, I know that at this point in our relationship, I should be feeling satiated, very smug after Samantha’s submission. That is followed closely by a marked decline in interest. It’s the natural order of things after I achieve this…level with a woman. It rarely lasts past their surrender, body and soul. It sounds shallow and cavalier and monstrous, but it’s the truth.
But, largely, I feel neither, especially not the disinterest. If anything, I want to further explore Samantha and all her fascinating facets. Knowing I can make her feel things she’s never felt, knowing that I can make her open to me like she’s never opened up makes me feel gratified. And possessive. And hungry.
She’s so much more than I ever expected. And I feel so much more than I ever expected.
That doesn’t, however, erase this…other thing that niggles at me. This thing that still feels like guilt over Alyssa.
I don’t know how to overcome it. And, after all this time, I’m not sure I ever can.
********
When I take my slacks from the back of the chair and slip them on, Samantha stirs. I stop moving, hoping not to wake her. My mind is troubled and I don’t want to ruin her victory. She’s on cloud nine that she was able to both overcome her fear and satisfy me. I don’t want her to think any different. At least not right yet.
“Can’t you sleep?” comes her hoarse question. I love her voice when she’s been asleep for a while. It’s deep and scratchy and makes me want to do vile things to her. And, while she definitely made some progress tonight, I doubt she’s up for anything and everything.
“No. Go back to sleep,” I whisper, making my way to the door.
I ease out of the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me. I wish I’d taken Samantha back to my place, rather than opting for close proximity. But I wasn’t nearly finished after that first episode. I wanted to get her back and see just how…compliant she was willing to be.
And now here I am, stuck in her house, unable to sleep. I need the comfortable, the familiar. I need to relax my mind. But that will be next to impossible here.
I make myself a drink and recline on the sofa. I lean my head back against the full cushion and take a deep breath, hoping to clear my head. When I hear the soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood, I crack my lids. Samantha is walking slowly toward me, wrapped only in one of the sheets we mangled and tore off the bed.
I raise my arm and she slides onto the couch and settles her head on my chest.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You never actually sleep in the bed with me, do you? Every time I wake up, you’re gone.”
I shrug. “I don’t need much sleep.”
She gets quietly thoughtful for a few minutes before she speaks again. “Can I ask you a question?”
I feel like sighing. She gets introspective and inquisitive when we’re up late at night like this. I’m sure she’ll ask something that I’d really rather not answer.
When I don’t respond, she just asks anyway. That makes me want to smile. I’m sure she has no idea how adorably annoying she is.
“Why were you so fascinated by Laura Drake? I feel sure you don’t visit all your clients on the down-low in their place of business.”
“I didn’t visit you in your place of business.”
She slaps my chest. “You know what I mean. Just answer the question.”
“I told you I’ve become quite obsessed with people like Alyssa. People like me. I thought you were like me. I wanted to know what brought you to where you are. I wanted to know the hows and the whys. I wanted to know if your stories were a result of something broken. Or something fixed.”
“And what did you decide?”
I glance down at her. Her soft eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, but still focused on my words.
“I don’t know that I’ve ‘decided’ anything. You are very much your own puzzle. I think your writing was your way of coming to terms with what happened, with trying to understand it. Maybe even to forgive your mother. But I also think there’s a lot of you in your characters. I think, in many ways, you’re Daire. And I think, in some ways, I’m your Mason.”
Her voice is small when she asks, “Does that bother you?”
“No. I’m not Mason. And you know that. I think you see things in me that you find desirable. You’ve found a dominant person to trust, much like Daire found Mason. I think that’s what you’ve been searching for all along—someone to trust, someone to be strong and let you be you and not crush you in the process.”
“And what is it that you’re searching for?”
The million dollar question.
“I used to think it was control. That I wanted someone to break, someone to bend to my will. But anymore…I’m not so sure.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“No.”
When she rests her cheek back onto my chest, I can’t help feeling like I just lied to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - Samantha
I’d hoped that, in following through with that one night at the club, I could fix everything. I thought that Alec and I could move forward in our relationship and all would be well. But it seems I’m missing something. Something important. Something…crucial.
With every day that passes, and certainly every night, I feel Alec drawing further and further away from me, emotionally. We make love and it’s raw and satisfying, and it seems to get better each time. And yet, something’s missing. I can feel it in Alec’s restlessness. I can see it in his frown, in his distracted green eyes.
I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve submitted to everything he wants to do—whether to me, with me or something he wants me do to him—and it has all been wonderful. Without the fear of the past, I’ve found that Alec and I can enjoy a sexual playground that’s limited only by our imagination. And Alec has one hell of an imagination!
But still, there’s something that’s not clicking, some way in which he’s never quite with me. Not one hundred percent.
I’m almost positive it has something to do with Alyssa. I know guilt can be a powerful motivator. But it can also be very destructive.
“Lie back,” he orders.
I pull my legs from beneath me and relax onto my back. I’m surprised when Alec walks around the bed and unties one of the black scarves. He kneels on the bed and drapes it over my eyes.
“Lift.” Obediently, I lift my head so he can make a knot in the material. My mouth is bone dry and my pulse is flying like a runaway train. I can see shadows and shapes through the thin scarf, but nothing clearly enough to make me feel comfortable.
For the space of one breath, I feel I’ve made a mistake. Now, I’m bound and blindfolded, basically at Alec’s mercy. In a way that I’ve feared more than anything for half of my life. And I did it willingly.
Because I trust him, I remind myself. And I love him.
I jump when I feel Alec’s fingers at my stomach. It’s the lightest brush, like butterfly wings, as he grips the zipper tongue and pulls it upward. There’s a soft click when it reaches the end of its track. With a tug, Alec frees the two halves of my top part, peeling them back to expose my br**sts to him.
I hear the soft rustle of clothes as he moves. I don’t know if he’s undressing or walking around the room. Or both. The anticipation of what he might do, where he might touch is sweet torture.
A few seconds later, I feel his hand cup my right breast, kneading it, rolling and pinching the nipple. I feel the heat of his mouth closing over it at the same time that I feel the burn of hot wax hitting my navel.
I cry out and Alec bites down. Pleasure shoots through me, landing between my legs like a wet clap of thunder. I arch my back, straining for more of Alec’s mouth, but he doesn’t give it. He pulls away.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing. No sound, no touch, nothing but the tingle of my skin under the wax and the cool air tickling my face. Until Alec’s lips close over my other nipple. His mouth is cold and I gasp.
He teases me for a moment and then he’s gone again. I feel nothing until I hear Alec’s hiss followed by the blazing touch of his fingers. They’re covered in something scorching hot and sticky as they tease and rub my nipple.
I cry out again, writhing on the bed, never more in need of his touch at my core, never more in need of his penetration.
More rustling sounds just before Alec scoots me up the bed, toward the headboard. I hear the sound of a chain moving before he takes my bound hands and hooks them onto something that anchors them above my head.
I feel vulnerable. Exposed. I fight the urge to draw my legs up, to cover myself, to protect myself.
“Very good,” Alec says, as if reading my mind and commending my control.
I hear a buzzing sound and my stomach muscles clench. The first contact of the vibrator is the tip against my lips. Alec drags it over my mouth, back and forth. “Open,” he commands. I part my lips and he slips the rounded head into my mouth about an inch. “Lick it.”
I do, swirling my tongue around the smooth latex. It doesn’t have much of a taste, not nearly as strong as the rubber smell.
He slides it in a little further, gliding it between my lips and over my tongue. Abruptly, he withdraws it and the buzzing sound grows distant.
Every inch of my skin is alive with the anticipation of where he might touch me next. And with what. When I finally feel his palm against the inside of my thigh, warmth gushes through me, pooling a few inches from his hand.
He pushes on my legs, moving them further apart, spreading my body open for him. I gasp when I feel the tip of the vibrator graze my clitoris. Alec circles it before sliding down the crease of my lips then pushing it up into me. He moves the vibrator around, rotating it just inside my entrance, then retreating, teasing me mercilessly.
Then I feel his tongue. He licks lazily at my clitoris, like he’s lapping up fine cream, all the while penetrating me with the vibrator. Short strokes, in and out. He begins moving his hand and his lips faster and faster, pushing me further and further, until I’m grinding my h*ps against him. His tongue becomes more insistent as he moves the vibrator deeper and deeper, in and out.
The tension is building. I know what’s coming. I know what’s on the other side. And I’m helpless, literally helpless, to prevent it. I couldn’t escape if I tried.
I strain against my bonds, my back arching off the bed, my pelvis gyrating in time with Alec. And then his mouth is gone and he’s turning me onto my stomach, the chains moving easily with me as he urges me up onto my knees. I lean on my elbows, panting as Alec continues to thrust the vibrator into me.
I feel the hot sting of wax running over the curve of one butt cheek. One rivulet runs down into the crease. The other gathers into a pool on my lower back. I moan at the assault against my sensitized skin, but it only makes the soft lick of Alec’s tongue more pronounced.
I push back against his hand until it disappears. I hear his zipper and I hold back tears of desperation, never wanting to feel him inside me so badly before.
His hands brush my h*ps then my stomach as he rolls me onto my back. I feel him stretch over me and release my hands and then I feel the whisper of his breath as he hovers near my face, removing the blindfold.
I blink to adjust to the dim light. Above me, I see Alec’s handsome face, contorted in a way that closely mimics pain.
“I want you like this,” he says, his lips closing over mine as he pushes his body deep into mine.
I explode all around him. Wave after wave rolls over me, stealing my breath, my voice and my vision.
I can only hear—Alec whispering softly in my ear, telling me how perfect I am.
And I can feel—his lips on my chin, his teeth at my nipple, his body spewing hot liquid into mine.
My limbs are numb and my skin is tingling as I settle back down to earth. There’s only one thing on my mind as thought returns.
“Why did you let me go?”
Several seconds pass before Alec lifts his head and looks down at me. “You surrendered to me a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it until tonight. Tonight was about you, about you overcoming, about you giving me the most important thing you could give me.”
“But I—”
Alec cuts me off with a finger to my lips. “Shh,” he says softly, tilting his head and looking deeply into my eyes. He watches me for a long time before he brushes my bangs out of my eyes and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, like he’s done so many times before. “All good,” he croaks, his lips twisting into a small smile.
I smile up at him, my heart in my eyes. It’s not a question this time, but a statement. “All good,” I repeat.
And it is. For me anyway.
I’m unchained, both physically and emotionally. But I get the feeling that Alec isn’t. He’s still tethered to the past, to his guilt.
And I don’t know if I’m enough to set him free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Alec
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I turn on my internal clinical lamp and examine the situation.
On the one hand, I’m satisfied. Maybe more satisfied than I can ever remember being. But on the other hand there’s…something. And that is what’s making me restless.
Despite Samantha’s unconditional surrender to me, there’s something that’s still haunting me. As is the problem with most psychiatrists who try to heal themselves, I find that I’m too close to the subject matter to be objective.
Based on past endeavors, I know that at this point in our relationship, I should be feeling satiated, very smug after Samantha’s submission. That is followed closely by a marked decline in interest. It’s the natural order of things after I achieve this…level with a woman. It rarely lasts past their surrender, body and soul. It sounds shallow and cavalier and monstrous, but it’s the truth.
But, largely, I feel neither, especially not the disinterest. If anything, I want to further explore Samantha and all her fascinating facets. Knowing I can make her feel things she’s never felt, knowing that I can make her open to me like she’s never opened up makes me feel gratified. And possessive. And hungry.
She’s so much more than I ever expected. And I feel so much more than I ever expected.
That doesn’t, however, erase this…other thing that niggles at me. This thing that still feels like guilt over Alyssa.
I don’t know how to overcome it. And, after all this time, I’m not sure I ever can.
********
When I take my slacks from the back of the chair and slip them on, Samantha stirs. I stop moving, hoping not to wake her. My mind is troubled and I don’t want to ruin her victory. She’s on cloud nine that she was able to both overcome her fear and satisfy me. I don’t want her to think any different. At least not right yet.
“Can’t you sleep?” comes her hoarse question. I love her voice when she’s been asleep for a while. It’s deep and scratchy and makes me want to do vile things to her. And, while she definitely made some progress tonight, I doubt she’s up for anything and everything.
“No. Go back to sleep,” I whisper, making my way to the door.
I ease out of the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me. I wish I’d taken Samantha back to my place, rather than opting for close proximity. But I wasn’t nearly finished after that first episode. I wanted to get her back and see just how…compliant she was willing to be.
And now here I am, stuck in her house, unable to sleep. I need the comfortable, the familiar. I need to relax my mind. But that will be next to impossible here.
I make myself a drink and recline on the sofa. I lean my head back against the full cushion and take a deep breath, hoping to clear my head. When I hear the soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood, I crack my lids. Samantha is walking slowly toward me, wrapped only in one of the sheets we mangled and tore off the bed.
I raise my arm and she slides onto the couch and settles her head on my chest.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You never actually sleep in the bed with me, do you? Every time I wake up, you’re gone.”
I shrug. “I don’t need much sleep.”
She gets quietly thoughtful for a few minutes before she speaks again. “Can I ask you a question?”
I feel like sighing. She gets introspective and inquisitive when we’re up late at night like this. I’m sure she’ll ask something that I’d really rather not answer.
When I don’t respond, she just asks anyway. That makes me want to smile. I’m sure she has no idea how adorably annoying she is.
“Why were you so fascinated by Laura Drake? I feel sure you don’t visit all your clients on the down-low in their place of business.”
“I didn’t visit you in your place of business.”
She slaps my chest. “You know what I mean. Just answer the question.”
“I told you I’ve become quite obsessed with people like Alyssa. People like me. I thought you were like me. I wanted to know what brought you to where you are. I wanted to know the hows and the whys. I wanted to know if your stories were a result of something broken. Or something fixed.”
“And what did you decide?”
I glance down at her. Her soft eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, but still focused on my words.
“I don’t know that I’ve ‘decided’ anything. You are very much your own puzzle. I think your writing was your way of coming to terms with what happened, with trying to understand it. Maybe even to forgive your mother. But I also think there’s a lot of you in your characters. I think, in many ways, you’re Daire. And I think, in some ways, I’m your Mason.”
Her voice is small when she asks, “Does that bother you?”
“No. I’m not Mason. And you know that. I think you see things in me that you find desirable. You’ve found a dominant person to trust, much like Daire found Mason. I think that’s what you’ve been searching for all along—someone to trust, someone to be strong and let you be you and not crush you in the process.”
“And what is it that you’re searching for?”
The million dollar question.
“I used to think it was control. That I wanted someone to break, someone to bend to my will. But anymore…I’m not so sure.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“No.”
When she rests her cheek back onto my chest, I can’t help feeling like I just lied to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - Samantha
I’d hoped that, in following through with that one night at the club, I could fix everything. I thought that Alec and I could move forward in our relationship and all would be well. But it seems I’m missing something. Something important. Something…crucial.
With every day that passes, and certainly every night, I feel Alec drawing further and further away from me, emotionally. We make love and it’s raw and satisfying, and it seems to get better each time. And yet, something’s missing. I can feel it in Alec’s restlessness. I can see it in his frown, in his distracted green eyes.
I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve submitted to everything he wants to do—whether to me, with me or something he wants me do to him—and it has all been wonderful. Without the fear of the past, I’ve found that Alec and I can enjoy a sexual playground that’s limited only by our imagination. And Alec has one hell of an imagination!
But still, there’s something that’s not clicking, some way in which he’s never quite with me. Not one hundred percent.
I’m almost positive it has something to do with Alyssa. I know guilt can be a powerful motivator. But it can also be very destructive.
