Pleasure's Edge (11 page)

“You’l be fine in a while.”

“Is this . . . what does this mean? What’s happening to me?”

“It’s cal ed ‘bottoming out.’ Even an experienced submissive can go through this. It’s an overload of endorphins, and sometimes adrenaline. Sometimes it’s simply emotion that’s released as it often is during a deep tissue massage.”

“I don’t like this part.”

“No, I don’t expect you would. It’l pass. I’l stay right here with you.”

But that didn’t comfort her. She felt, suddenly and acutely, that being with Alec was part of the problem. He made her feel so vulnerable. Too wide open.

She squirmed, trying to get out of his lap.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What are you doing?”

“I need to go.”

“Dylan, hold stil now. Listen to me. You’re panicking. It happens.

But you’re fine, I promise. I’l take care of you. Just sit with me.

We’l do some breathing.”

“No.”

“Dylan—”

“I can’t do this! Help me up.”

His arms went around her, a cage of pure muscle. Her heart tripped, hammered. She pushed against his hold, her fingernails biting into his flesh, but he didn’t budge. The tears pooled in her eyes.

What the hel was happening to her? She had to get out.

“Dylan, calm down, it’s okay. But I am not letting you up. You need to stay here with me for now. Come on. Do the breathing.”

“Alec ...”

His grip on her body tightened. “Just do it.” She realized he real y was not going to let her go. And even while a part of her rebel ed at the idea, another part of her was oddly soothed by it. She bit her lip, let her fingers uncurl from around his wrist.

If only she could stop the damn tears.

“Okay. Okay.”

“Good. Just breathe as you did earlier. Take a deep breath through your nose. Yes, that’s it. Hold it in your lungs. Now let it out through your mouth. Like yogic breathing. Have you done yoga before?”

“Yes.”

“It’s exactly like that. Let the air fil your body, relax your limbs.

Very good.”

He sat with her, took her through the breathing. She lost track of how long they were there. It didn’t matter. She concentrated on his voice, her breath, the protective heat of his hold on her. And final y, her body began to relax.

“Alec, I’m so tired.”

“Yes. It does that. This is why I didn’t want you to drive tonight.

It’s difficult to understand what this is like until you’ve been through it.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have gotten it. I didn’t expect to . . . feel like this. I can’t figure it out.”

“Don’t try too hard to dissect it tonight.” She sighed. “No. I can’t. I can hardly think at al .”

“This experience isn’t about thinking, Dylan. It’s about disconnecting that analytical part of your mind and simply feeling.”

“Is that what you do?”

“My role in this is different. I have to be responsible for everything that happens here. For you.”

He paused, stroking her hair from her face, making her pulse flutter. She didn’t want to think about why.

“Dylan, are you better now?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“I’m going to take you home. With me.”

“No, I should go back to my place.”

“We are not going to argue about this.”

She felt too weak to argue. And she didn’t like it, the feeling of weakness. But she real y was not up to it.

She let him help her to her feet and into her clothes, then he led her by the hand through the club. She was only vaguely aware of the things going on around them: the sound of hands and leather on flesh, the cries and sighs, the scent of desire in the air.

In the entry area Alec draped his leather jacket over her shoulders, and despite the rebel ion rising in her, she breathed in the fragrant smel of leather and man.

Don’t get too silly over him.

Hard not to after what they’d just done. And perhaps that was the danger in al of this—that it rendered her helpless in some way.

But Alec was walking her outside and the damp air was like a smal shock to her system. When he pul ed her in closer to his side she didn’t complain.

The doorman hailed a cab and Alec helped her in, then slid in next to her, his arm around her instantly.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him.

“Do what?”

The cab moved through the night. It had stopped raining but the streets were wet, and she heard the soft splash of the tires on the pavement.

“You don’t have to . . . hold me.”

“Of course I do.”

He sounded truly surprised.

“Because it’s part of your job?”

He was silent for a long moment. “No.”

“Then why?”

Another long silence. Then he said, “Because I want to.” She didn’t know what to say to that. She wanted to make some argument. It sounded al wrong, somehow. But her stil -dazzled brain couldn’t come up with anything.

They rode through the city in silence, just the quiet hum of the heater, the low murmur of whatever radio station the driver was listening to. And Alec’s presence, strong and warm beside her.

The cab pul ed up in front of a large, two-story Craftsman-style house, painted a light gray with the classic stone pil ars on either side of the wide front porch. She hadn’t been paying attention, but recognized the Beacon Hil neighborhood. She was surprised to see him living there, rather than in some trendy downtown apartment.

He paid the driver and helped her from the cab, then up the stairs. Unlocking the heavy, glass-paned door, he pul ed her inside and flipped on the light in the entryway.

It was warm. The temperature, the furnishings, al in soothing neutral shades of brown, gray, navy. Comfortable, overstuffed furniture, heavy antique wood. Art on the wal s: wood carvings and paintings and masks from al over the world. And books everywhere, on built-in bookcases, on tables, in neat stacks on the floor. And everything large and masculine, like Alec himself.

“I’m putting you to bed,” he told her, slipping his coat from her shoulders.

“Bed?”

It occurred to her then that they would be sleeping together. She rarely spent the night with a man. With most of her sexual partners, she’d go to their place, have sex, then go home to her own bed.

But she was so damn tired. She couldn’t remember feeling this exhausted in her life.

“Come on.”

He guided her upstairs and through a door, into what she assumed was his bedroom.

Al the furniture was on a large scale there, too. An enormous bed with a high headboard upholstered in chocolate brown suede.

The bed was covered by a white down comforter, like the one on her own bed. A high dresser, dark wooden shutters at the windows. Persian rugs on the old oak floors.

It was too dark, with only the dim light flooding in from the hal way, for her to see more detail. But she was so tired, al she wanted to know was that there was a bed for her to sleep in.

Nothing more seemed to matter, except that Alec was there with her.

She didn’t want that to be important. Didn’t want
him
to be important.

Damn it.

The tears threatened again, but she bit them back.

She must real y be exhausted. That and the bottoming out thing Alec had explained to her at the club.

He was right behind her, stepping in close, his hands on her shoulders.

“The bathroom is through that door. Do you want a shower?” A shower sounded lovely. But she couldn’t muster the energy to do it.

“Not now. I just have to sleep.”

He undressed her, his hands unexpectedly gentle. And she stood there, simply letting him do everything. She could barely lift her arms so he could pul her top over her head. But he was patient with her, undressing her like she was some kind of dol .

Final y she was left in her bra and panties. He drew her toward the bed, let her go long enough to pul the covers back, then helped her in.

The bed was soft and she sank into the layer of down ticking beneath her. Lovely. The white sheets were cool on her skin, and she shivered. Then Alec was beside her, his skin bare, warming her, as he pul ed her in close, laying her head on his shoulder. His skin was soft, smooth, lovely beneath her cheek.

A strange surge in her chest as he held her close, closer than any man had in a long time. Closer than she would have al owed any man to. She would have started to cry once more, but she was so tired. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel any longer. She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.

Alec lay for a long time in the dark, listening to Dylan breathe, wondering what the hel he was doing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought a woman to his home. He preferred to scene at the club, or wherever his play partner lived. After a play session he’d make sure they had come down from their subspace high, then he’d come home alone, have a drink sometimes, or read before he went to sleep. And he always slept soundly after a play session. Even if the play hadn’t gone wel , if there was some issue. He’d make sure to resolve it before the night was over, to make sure everyone was calm, that everyone was okay. It was his job as a dominant.

He didn’t like to do anything—or fail to do anything—that didn’t leave him feeling good. Positive.

In control of the random universe, or at least his smal part of it.

So why was he here, in his own bed, wide awake, with a woman in his arms? A woman he hadn’t even had sex with?

And why didn’t it bother him any more than it did? Just this smal chunk of his brain that was kept awake wondering what was different about this situation. About her. But the rest of him felt a strange sort of peace. Satisfaction.

Was that what he found so disturbing?

He looked down at her and saw her long, dark lashes, tipped in the pale blue moonlight pouring in through the window, through a break in the fog. She had the highest cheekbones he’d ever seen, her lashes resting there. Her mouth was parted the slightest bit, her lips ful , lush. And sleeping like this, she looked peaceful, innocent, in a way she never did while awake.

He didn’t know what to cal the dul ache in his chest.

Ignore it. It’ll go away.

He knew immediately that was a lie. As much a lie as the one he’d been tel ing himself about how Dylan Ivory was just another girl. Another chal enge. He’d been lying to himself since the moment he’d met her.

Fuck.

He could not have this, this getting attached. He was not the kind of man who did this. Ever. He was his father’s son. He didn’t need a woman in his life any more than his dad had. He was fine on his own. This strange pul he felt for Dylan would be a temporary thing. She was just so damn beautiful, so incredibly responsive . . .

She shifted in her sleep, and he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. The glowing red numbers read four-thirty A.M. She moved against him, her leg slipping over his. His cock stirred.

He held perfectly stil , trying to calm his breathing.

He could wake her, touch her, make her hot and needy, as he had earlier. And because of earlier, she would be open to it.

She would let him fuck her.

But he knew if he did, it would be al over for him. He pul ed in a breath, then another, fil ing himself up with the cool night air.

Gently, he moved her leg away. Her skin was satin beneath his hand.

Calm down, buddy.

He kept breathing, focusing on the draw and push of air in and out of his lungs. Over and over, until his eyes final y began to droop, to sting with the need for sleep.

Even as he drifted off, he was aware of the warm body beside him, the delicate weight of her in his arms. The scent of her hair: that dark vanil a. But he was too tired to fight it, final y. Closing his eyes, he slept.

* * *

The sun was just coming up when Dylan woke. The room was hazy with muted golden light filtering through the open slats of the shutters at the windows. Beside her, Alec’s breath was a soft whisper on her cheek.

Her skin was hot where it touched his and she rol ed away, feeling the cool, empty space suddenly like a smal shock. It hit her then that she had real y spent the night with him. Not only
with
him, but tangled in his arms as if they were a pair of lovers.

Scattered images from their evening at the Pleasure Dome fil ed her mind. Lying across his lap. The dim lighting. The erotic, throbbing pulse-beat of the music. His hand coming down on her tender flesh. The stinging. The exquisite pleasure. His hand between her thighs. Her thundering climax, then another.

God.

Her body was thrumming with need once more.

She turned to look at his sleeping profile. His face was al pure masculine lines and planes. And that impossibly lush mouth surrounded by the dark, evil-looking goatee. The blankets were gathered around his torso, his chest and arms bared. His tattoos stood out in stark contrast to his smooth skin, and she wanted to touch them, to trace the intricate, sinuous lines with her fingertips.

To put her mouth there and taste him. But she didn’t dare.

She wanted him. Badly enough that she had submitted to him easy as silk the night before. Wanted to do it again.

How was that possible? She’d been able to admit she’d had the idea of trying some power play, some sensation play, in the back of her mind for a long time. But she had never expected herself to give into it so easily.

She didn’t like to question herself. It was something she hadn’t done since not long after she’d lost Quinn. She’d never stopped blaming herself, but she’d spent her entire life since then trying to be a better person, to hold herself and her life together in such a way that nothing like that could ever happen again. And now, it was as if her perception of her own strength had been diminished, and that scared the hel out of her.