I’m offering you. Release. My only thought is of your pleasure. When you give yourself to me, I take that responsibility seriously, Clara.”
She turns as though my gaze burns her. “What are we talking about? Ropes and safe words?”
An image of Clara bound in red rope flashes through my mind, and it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her into the bedroom.
Yes, I want ropes and safe words. I want to paint her ass red with my hands. I want to watch her slip into a place where all she knows is my touch.
“Small steps, Clara, but yes. A safeword is a necessity. For now, I want you to trust me. I want you to trust that I will give you pleasure.”
“And you’ll punish me too?” she asks. “Threaten to spank me if I misbehave?”
“Only when you don’t trust me.” Which won’t be an issue for long, not once she gives in. I know I can show her. “Without trust, you can’t give me control, Clara, and then we can’t have what we both need.”
“You mean what you want!” Her voice pitches up to the verge of hysterical.
“Need,” I say firmly, “What you need.”
“I… don’t…” She shakes her head like the words are stuck.
“Yes, you do.” How can I make her see this? I feel it in her. It draws me to her. As much as I want this—as much as I crave the submission of her body—I long to see her free more. “Let me show you.”
She pulls away. This time shaking her head with rejection as her eyes grow wet. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
And now I see what’s holding her back. It’s not denial or ignorance. It’s fear—an unnatural fear. She isn’t scared of what I’m suggesting because it’s unknown. She’s scared because someone made her that way.
“Someone tried to break you before,” I say sadly.
She’s crying now, and I want to wipe the tears away. I want to take back what I’ve suggested. If I had known…
“I’m not him, Clara. That’s not what I want to do to you.” But how can you explain that there is a difference between submission and humiliation—a difference between giving control and having it taken from you.
“You warned me,” she accuses me. “You told me you would hurt me!”
“I did.” But that wasn’t what I meant. And in the end, even if I convince her to stay now and build the trust I’ve nearly destroyed, I won’t keep her. She deserves more.
She hesitates for a moment, waiting for me to give her a reason to stay. “I should go.”
“You probably should,” I say, wishing I could let her walk out the door but knowing I can’t, “but I wish you wouldn’t. Go to bed with me one more time. Let me show you. Let me give you pleasure.”
She’s already backing away, and I feel a veil descend between us. She can’t see what I’m offering, and I can’t show her—not until she’s ready. Not until she asks.
“I can’t,” she says.
“You won’t.” I can’t let her go without delivering this final truth. I hate myself for not reaching out for her. I hate myself for not being able to lie and tell her it was all a joke. I hate myself for needing more than she’ll give.
I hate myself for scaring her.
Chapter Ten
Clara Bishop is not a woman who can be drank away. Still, I’ve tried. The subtle thump of music is all that penetrates my hiding spot. Below me, hundreds of people are crammed into Brimstone, enjoying themselves or, at least, forgetting whatever troubles plague them. Lucky bastards.
“Let’s go down there,” Jonathan suggests, eying the crowd. I’ve no doubt he’s spotted some potential conquest. He’s dressed for the evening. A button-down, cuffed to look casual. Expensive shoes of some sort. With his blonde hair and blue eyes, he could take home more than a few conquests. I, on the other hand, need a shave, and I’m in a t-shirt and jeans. I know he expects a wild evening. What I can’t figure out is why I invited him in the first place.
Maybe because only alcoholics drink alone? But I’m not really drinking. I’m not doing anything, a fact my father reminded me of this morning.
“You go.” I grin, trying to sound encouraging. I really would like it if he left.
“Is this about that girl?” Jonathan asks. “You know, the best way to get over her would be to fuck someone else.”
My fake smile flattens,