her to make those cute little moans and say my name again…well, I could probably die happy.
Before I can get carried away, I remember to do as I’ve been taught. I finish this round and step into her, pressing my front against her back, not worrying if she feels what she’s done to me, how hard I am. She won’t be surprised. I wrap an arm around the front of her shoulders and draw her back so I can feel her breathing. Faster and shallower than it would be if she were totally relaxed, but she’s been laughing her fool head off. It’s not the hyperventilation of someone who’s panicking or had too much. And the way she leans her head back against my shoulder says she’s feeling comfortable with me.
“How are you doing?”
“Good. You’re doing a good job.”
I don’t want to admit how good it feels to have her praise me. But it does. When we were together, I’d thirst for her words of approval. Not that she withheld them, but it wasn’t something she gave away lightly. In a weird way, the scarcity made me believe them more. It wasn’t some empty, ass-kissing praise. “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so glad I’m yours.” “You’re a good man, Slade.”
“I’m not hurting you?”
She shakes her head, the corner of her sweet mouth curling up. “No. Not even a little bit.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe. Are you up for a challenge?”
“When you put it like that…”
I give her a quick kiss behind her ear and then curse my impulse. She’s not going to agree to play with me again if she knows I want her back. Have always wanted her back. Never wanted to let her go in the first place, but shoved her away for her own good. Luckily, aside from a slight stiffening, she doesn’t seem to notice. I pull away quickly before I can do any more damage and take aim again.
Less cautious, I find my rhythm and put more force behind the blows. My vision shrinks down to the plane of her back, how it’s turning a sweet shade of pink under the strokes. The cadence of falls against skin and the sound of giggles interspersed with gasps is relaxing, so much so that I sink into a trance and manage to let go a little.
But I shouldn’t, because on the next strike, my wrist twists in a way I wasn’t intending and the tips bite into her neck. She squeals, this strangled, surprised sound, and it pulls me out of wherever I’d drifted off to.
I drop the flogger and it clatters to the floor as I step over it to get to her. I rest a hand on her neck where it probably stings, and I hope it won’t leave a mark because she has to work tomorrow and, Jesus, what if it bruises and it’s all my fault? I hurt her.
Suddenly, the shaky scaffolding of This is okay that I’ve built with Rey’s help comes crashing down and I’m standing in the midst of rubble. This is not okay. What’s wrong with me? Why do I like this? Why do I want to do this to her? Fuck.
“Hale?”
Her soft voice makes a gap in some of the debris, and I try to follow it out. But it’s too heavy, it’s just too heavy, and her calling me that makes it even less okay. Hale. Sprite. Why do we have to be these people? I want to pull the electric blue extensions from her hair, wipe the gaudy makeup off her face, strip her out of what’s left of her clothes, and carry her home. To where she belongs. With me. Can’t we rewind? I could lock everything in a box, throw away the key, and bury it deep. We could go back to how things were.
I’m so busy freaking out that I only notice she’s turned around when she talks again. “Hey. Slade. Say something, you’re scaring me.”
She’s looking at me with those big blue eyes, and her breasts are pressed against my chest, her hands stroking my biceps through the fabric of my shirt.
“I don’t—I don’t think I can do this.”
“Okay.”
“I—I have to go.”
“Oh.” Her hands still, and the concern on her face has shifted into something like apprehension. “Did
Before I can get carried away, I remember to do as I’ve been taught. I finish this round and step into her, pressing my front against her back, not worrying if she feels what she’s done to me, how hard I am. She won’t be surprised. I wrap an arm around the front of her shoulders and draw her back so I can feel her breathing. Faster and shallower than it would be if she were totally relaxed, but she’s been laughing her fool head off. It’s not the hyperventilation of someone who’s panicking or had too much. And the way she leans her head back against my shoulder says she’s feeling comfortable with me.
“How are you doing?”
“Good. You’re doing a good job.”
I don’t want to admit how good it feels to have her praise me. But it does. When we were together, I’d thirst for her words of approval. Not that she withheld them, but it wasn’t something she gave away lightly. In a weird way, the scarcity made me believe them more. It wasn’t some empty, ass-kissing praise. “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so glad I’m yours.” “You’re a good man, Slade.”
“I’m not hurting you?”
She shakes her head, the corner of her sweet mouth curling up. “No. Not even a little bit.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe. Are you up for a challenge?”
“When you put it like that…”
I give her a quick kiss behind her ear and then curse my impulse. She’s not going to agree to play with me again if she knows I want her back. Have always wanted her back. Never wanted to let her go in the first place, but shoved her away for her own good. Luckily, aside from a slight stiffening, she doesn’t seem to notice. I pull away quickly before I can do any more damage and take aim again.
Less cautious, I find my rhythm and put more force behind the blows. My vision shrinks down to the plane of her back, how it’s turning a sweet shade of pink under the strokes. The cadence of falls against skin and the sound of giggles interspersed with gasps is relaxing, so much so that I sink into a trance and manage to let go a little.
But I shouldn’t, because on the next strike, my wrist twists in a way I wasn’t intending and the tips bite into her neck. She squeals, this strangled, surprised sound, and it pulls me out of wherever I’d drifted off to.
I drop the flogger and it clatters to the floor as I step over it to get to her. I rest a hand on her neck where it probably stings, and I hope it won’t leave a mark because she has to work tomorrow and, Jesus, what if it bruises and it’s all my fault? I hurt her.
Suddenly, the shaky scaffolding of This is okay that I’ve built with Rey’s help comes crashing down and I’m standing in the midst of rubble. This is not okay. What’s wrong with me? Why do I like this? Why do I want to do this to her? Fuck.
“Hale?”
Her soft voice makes a gap in some of the debris, and I try to follow it out. But it’s too heavy, it’s just too heavy, and her calling me that makes it even less okay. Hale. Sprite. Why do we have to be these people? I want to pull the electric blue extensions from her hair, wipe the gaudy makeup off her face, strip her out of what’s left of her clothes, and carry her home. To where she belongs. With me. Can’t we rewind? I could lock everything in a box, throw away the key, and bury it deep. We could go back to how things were.
I’m so busy freaking out that I only notice she’s turned around when she talks again. “Hey. Slade. Say something, you’re scaring me.”
She’s looking at me with those big blue eyes, and her breasts are pressed against my chest, her hands stroking my biceps through the fabric of my shirt.
“I don’t—I don’t think I can do this.”
“Okay.”
“I—I have to go.”
“Oh.” Her hands still, and the concern on her face has shifted into something like apprehension. “Did
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