Making a Scene (8 page)

“I need to be
in you right now.” He kissed me savagely as he guided me to
straddle his lap. His cock pulsed against my hot, needy pussy, and
he groaned, palming his shaft to hold it ready for me. “
Now
,
Eleanor.”

I sank down
immediately and cried out at the sensation of him pressing inside
me, seeming thicker than usual because of the added pressure of the
butt plug filling me.

“Oh, my god…”
It was almost a sob, but I couldn’t help it as I took him in all
the way to the base of his cock. “So full…”

Marc cupped my
face in both hands and kissed me breathlessly, shakily. “You feel
so tight around me. Fuck…”

Tentatively, I
rose up again and sighed at the delicious friction. “Mmmm…”

Marc gripped
my hips and pulled me down again, exhaling hard against my throat.
“More.”

I was in
complete agreement with that, and sped up, rising and falling on
his cock, almost at the edge within a minute as he cupped my
breasts and nipped each hard peak hard enough to hurt. The
frustration of not being able to get off was intense, and I took
him harder, whispering obscenities as each thrust shifted the plug
in my ass and stimulated my G-spot.

Marc pressed
down hard on my clit, and I practically screamed my release,
jerking in his arms as I came harder than I ever had, my ass
clenching around the plug as my pussy squeezed his cock. Marc dug
his fingers into my back as he bucked up into me, taking his own
pleasure with a low growl.

Boneless, we
fell back against the mattress, breathing hard. I quivered with
aftershocks that felt like mini-climaxes in the wake of my orgasm,
bliss suffusing me. With a slightly unsteady hand, Marc pulled the
plug from my ass and I came again in fast, clenching waves of
pleasure.

There was only
one thing I could say.

“Holy
fuck…”

Chapter
Six

A while later,
when we’d both calmed down and roused ourselves from our
post-coital daze, Marc kissed my forehead.

“Time to take
the collar off, Nell.”

To my utter
mortification, a lump grew in my throat. Shifting so that my back
was to him, I closed my eyes against a sudden, inexplicable wave of
emotion, tears pricking my eyelids. Instead of speaking, I held my
hair out of the way so he could reach the collar’s buckle.

Marc
unfastened it swiftly, and the collar fell away in his hands. I let
my hair fall, but couldn’t bring myself to turn back towards
him.

“Nell.” He
shifted closer, up against my back, and slid his arms around my
waist, holding tightly.

I swallowed a
sob, but the undignified squeak
that
made was unmistakeable.
If he hadn’t known before that I was trying not to cry, he did now.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Marc pulled me
into his lap and stroked my hair away from my face. “You’re coming
down from the endorphin rush. Nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you
need to.”

I didn’t know
how else to deal with the lead weight in my chest and the ache in
my head, so I did as he recommended—I clung to him and cried,
feeling ridiculous and pathetic and confused and heartbreakingly
sad all at once. It made absolutely no sense, but his taking away
the collar had led to a total meltdown on my part. All the worries
I’d been suppressing came to the fore and I sobbed, unable to help
it.

When I’d
finally composed myself, I pulled away from him, burying my face in
my hands. “I’m a mess. Can I go freshen up?”

Marc left the
bed only to pull a robe from the closet nearby. He pulled me to my
feet, then wrapped the black, fluffy material around my shoulders
and drew me close again, which was incredibly comforting. I
burrowed deeper into his embrace, and he allowed it for a couple of
minutes before drawing back. “Come on. This way.”

To my
confusion—there was a bathroom just off the dungeon—he led me out
of the room, without bothering to conceal his own nudity first, and
to a door closer to the staircase. When I stepped past it, I
guessed this was Marc’s bedroom from the simple, uncluttered design
of it. Nothing was elaborate, but everything was exquisitely
made.

“The
bathroom’s through that door,” he told me, indicating a doorway on
the other side of the room. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the
cabinet, and if you want to shower, just choose a towel. They’re
all clean.”

I nodded and
stepped out of his one-armed embrace, sighing with relief once I’d
closed the door behind me. I needed to be alone. I needed to
think.

No. I needed
to go back to him. I needed him to hold me.

I didn’t know
what
I needed.

My reflection
in the mirror was panda-eyed and blotchy. I winced, tugging at my
tangled hair, and prayed I hadn’t looked like this during our
scene.

A shower
sounded pretty good, and would give me some time to think. I’d
locked the door, so I knew Marc wouldn’t try to hop in with me. Not
that that would have been a bad thing…

With hot water
rinsing away my tears and makeup, I began to think more clearly.
What Marc had said made sense. I’d been high on endorphins, and now
I was crashing. Come to think of it, I remembered Marie, my college
friend who’d been into BDSM, mentioning she’d had similar reactions
at times. What had she called it…? Sub-drop?

I took a deep
breath and let it go again, turning my face up to the shower spray.
It’ll pass. And Marc doesn’t seem freaked out.

Because
he’s had other submissives before you
, my brain reminded me
helpfully.
Maybe even the blonde. Maybe she’s still his
submissive, and you’re his second lay today.

“Get a grip,”
I mumbled to myself, and reached for the shampoo.

Everything
smelled like Marc, which probably contributed to my calmer mindset.
It was comforting to be surrounded by his scent, because oh, my
god—up until I’d ruined it by falling apart, it had been the most
amazing night ever. Just the thought of him made me ache to be in
his arms or at his feet—not just a sexual ache, but an emotional
one, too.

Speaking of
aches… Once I’d finished my shower I rubbed the steam from the
mirror and turned my back to it, looking over my shoulder to try to
get a better glimpse of the lower curves of my ass and the backs of
my thighs. Despite my turmoil, the sight of the red welts and
purplish stripes on my rear made me grin. They would be a reminder
of the night for a few days to come—physical manifestations of what
Marc and I had shared—and I loved them despite my mental turmoil
about the man.

As I towelled
myself dry, used the comb on the bathroom counter to get rid of the
snags in my hair and brushed my teeth, I wondered how I should act
when I emerged from the bathroom. How would
he
act? Would he
still want me around when I was such a mess? Maybe he’d even drive
me home instead of letting me stay over.

I left the
towel in the bathroom, wrapping the fluffy black robe around me
securely before taking a deep breath and heading for the
bedroom.

Marc had used
another bathroom to freshen up, it seemed—he was wearing a pair of
sweatpants and nothing else, his hair slightly damp. He put aside a
book and got up from the bed, smiling the way he did when he wasn’t
wearing his Dom persona. “How are the bruises looking?”

Relaxing—it
seemed as if nothing was awkward between us—I turned my back and
took off the robe. Marc ran his hand lightly over my skin, and I
shivered with pleasure. God, how could I want more after everything
that had already happened?

“Need more
ointment on these, beautiful?” he asked softly.

I shook my
head, smiling, and tried to reposition the robe. Marc took it from
me and pulled me into his arms instead.

I tried to
gather normality around me. “Is there a dryer anywhere in this
crazy-expensive house, or do I go for a walk to let my hair dry
before I even think about letting my head touch a pillow?”

Marc’s eyes
gleamed with an almost sadistic mischief. “Depends. What were you
planning to wear on this theoretical walk? I’m wondering if we
should just put the collar back on you and take you for a moonlight
stroll like this. Let your bruises get some fresh air. What do you
think?”

“I think
getting arrested doesn’t seem like a fun way to end the night,” I
said, though I couldn’t deny the mental image would make a hot
fantasy. The reality, though… That would be more potential
humiliation than I could stomach.

Marc laughed,
opening the bedroom door. “There’s a dryer in the guest bathroom.
Three doors along to the right.”

After
retrieving the robe again, despite his reassurances that I wouldn’t
run into any of his housemates in the hallway at this hour of the
night, I went to the guest bathroom and blow-dried my hair in
record time, the warm air comforting me even more.

On my return
to Marc’s room, I found him already under the covers, hands behind
his head, gazing up at the ceiling with a slight frown on his face.
I paused in the doorway and watched him, wondering what was on his
mind. I could tell he wasn’t the aloof, borderline-dismissive Dom
he could be at that moment. No, it was the guy who’d relaxed and
confessed his love for cooking and horror movies there right
now.

When he
noticed me standing there, he beckoned. I shut the door behind me
and crossed the room to him, shrugging out of the robe before
slipping into bed beside him.

Marc folded
his arms around me and pulled me closer, and I registered
immediately that he was still wearing his sweatpants, whereas I was
naked. Was he trying to dissuade me from any more sexual activity?
Maybe my crying had been a huge turn-off.

“Stop
thinking,” he said softly, and I realised I’d tensed up in his
arms.

Swallowing
back the urge to cry again, I tried to do as he’d asked, but it
wasn’t happening. Marc sighed and began to stroke my hair. “You’ve
never dropped this badly before, Nell. Did I push you too
hard?”

Unable to
speak without my voice cracking, I just shrugged.

“We need to
talk about this so we can try to avoid it happening again. Please
answer me, Nell.”

When he’d
asked so nicely, with so much concern in his voice, how could I
refuse?

“You didn’t
push me too hard. It was intense, but it didn’t feel bad at the
time.” I sounded forlorn and broken to my own ears, and I didn’t
like it.

His light,
rhythmic stroking of my hair didn’t falter. “Is something else on
your mind?”

The blonde
woman’s face flashed into my mind. I shoved the image away.
“No.”

Marc drew
back, trying to get a good look at me, and childishly I sat up,
hugging my knees to my chest. I knew I was acting like a spoilt
toddler in the face of his concern, but it felt like my only
defence.

He touched my
shoulder, but let his hand fall away when I only tensed up more.
“It’s pretty clear you’re hurting right now. It’s my responsibility
to take care of you when you’re like this. I can’t make you accept
aftercare, but I’m not gonna give up without trying. Not when it’s
obvious that something I’ve said or done is getting to you.”

Tears trickled
down my cheeks, but I locked my sobs within my chest, breathing
shallowly. Why did he have to be so reasonable? So caring? If he’d
just act like a monster, I’d have somewhere to direct my anger and
hurt, but he wouldn’t even lose his temper, damn him.

Marc sighed.
“Nell, if you can’t level with me, I can’t dominate you.”

For a second,
disbelief surged through me. I wanted to get mad, but I knew he was
right. My shoulders slumped as I nodded. “I understand.”

I sensed his
hesitation, but then he moved to sit behind me. While I battled the
maelstrom of confusion, love and distress raging through my body,
he slipped his arms around my waist and rested his forehead on my
shoulder, simply waiting.

Say
something.

Not knowing
where to start, I took a round-about approach. “How come this is
the first time I’ve seen your bedroom?”

Marc didn’t
raise his head, though I sensed he was trying to contextualise the
topic of conversation. “Because we always end up in the dungeon,
and the bed there is closer.”

It made sense.
I could hardly argue with that.

“When I came
over… I saw
her
leaving as I arrived. Has she seen your
bedroom?” Almost as soon as I’d said the words, I regretted them.
Vocalising my jealousy made me realise how insecure I sounded.

Marc pulled
back. Was he surprised, offended, pissed off? I wished I could
tell, but I didn’t dare look at him.

“Nell.” When I
kept my head bowed, he took matters into his own hands. I cried out
with surprise when he dragged my legs around, spinning me so I was
facing him.

He cupped my
face in both hands. “Look at me.”

I reluctantly
raised my gaze to meet his worried, hurt expression, and my heart
skipped. Even before he spoke, I knew I’d jumped to the wrong
conclusion.

“Are you
talking about Serena?” Met with my blank expression, he continued,
“Blonde, tall. Drives a blue Prius.” Seeing the recognition in my
face, he gave a small, humourless smile. “She’s my sister,
Nell.”

“Oh.” It was
all I could think of to say. Relief flooded through me, but then
subsided in an instant as a memory struck. “But your dad called you
his only child. On Monday, when he—”

“He disowned
her.” Marc got up from the bed, and terror struck me. Was he about
to throw my clothes at me and order me to get out of his house? I
wouldn’t blame him.

He drew a
photo album from a shelf and returned to the bed, flipping through
the pages as he sat down. Having found what he was searching for,
he handed the album to me. “There. That’s us, back when we were
teenagers.”