I hang the flogger on the empty hook and carefully replace the chain in the drawer she pulled it out of. I haven’t stopped shaking. My body is finally realizing that there is no orgasm waiting in the wings and the endorphin crash is about to knock me on my ass.
It’s tempting to disobey her order to come to that room. She’s already said I’m not orgasming tonight, so whatever she has planned is more torment. I probably shouldn’t get a thrill from that, but I am who I am.
Even my enemy can make me wet.
I take a deep breath and leave the playroom. The wood floors are cool beneath my bare feet, and it reminds me of her carrying me so I wouldn’t walk in the parking garages. Every other thing she’s done has been almost cruel, but that? It was almost kind. Protective.
It’s just Dominant instincts. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. No Dominant worth their salt would let their submissive potentially walk on something that might hurt them. Dealing out that hurt is the Dominant’s role, and they do nothing without reason. Letting it happen by accident is an insult.
Malone might be a monster in a number of ways, but from the whispers of the other submissives in the Underworld, she’s an excellent Domme. Even my one experience with her, while several years out of date, supports that fact.
I still didn’t anticipate her scooping me up and holding me close for that handful of moments.
I reach the door at the end of the hallway and open it. I’m not sure what I expected, but this must be Malone’s bedroom. The bed is large and covered with a deep-burgundy comforter and more pillows than one person has any right to own. A thick rug spreads almost the breadth of the room, and the pair of doorways on the opposite wall must lead to a closet and bathroom.
Malone has changed. She’s wearing loose, gray silk pajamas that somehow manage to look elegant instead of sloppy. She crosses her arms over her chest and surveys me. “Come along.”
Again, the urge to dig in my heels arises, and again I stomp it down. I have two weeks to pull this off. Rushing now, when I’m shaky and tired, is a mistake.
I follow her into the bathroom and stop short when I realize the large, claw-foot bathtub is filled with steaming water. “So a little drowning to finish the night off?”
Malone arches a perfectly shaped brow. “That is the last time I’ll allow you to speak out of turn, Aurora. Don’t test me.”
Somehow, I’d forgotten that little rule. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but being around her is like being a submissive again for the first time. I feel awkward and bumbling, and it makes me want to strike out. To scream and throw things and maybe set something on fire.
Or maybe it’s just Malone herself. Yes, that makes sense. I only feel like this because I hate her, and I can’t remember ever submitting to someone I didn’t enjoy in at least one way.
The knowledge propels me closer. Malone takes my hand as I step into the tub, guiding me down. She grabs a stool and brings it around to sit behind me. Before I have a chance to figure out how to deal with my hair, she sweeps it off my back and twists it up on top of my head. “All the way.”
I sink into the water. It’s nearly too hot to be comfortable, but I sigh in pleasure all the same as heat works its way into my body. Now that I’ve stopped moving, I finally register how exhausted I am.
The last forty-eight hours have been some of the longest in my life. First in dealing with the decision about my mother, and then agonizing over accepting this assignation. Despite what I told Allecto, I’m still not sure finally pulling the plug was the right thing to do. But it felt like the only thing I could do.
Malone’s fingers drift over my temples. “You change your hair a lot.” When I don’t say anything, she softly chuckles. “This is a conversation, Aurora. You may speak while you’re in the tub.”
I don’t miss the qualifier. She’s far stricter than a lot of people I’ve worked with in the past, and it’s going to take some getting used to…at least until this is over. In the meantime, the bath feels good, and her light stroking feels even better.
How fucked up am I that I’m accepting comfort from the woman I have every intention of killing? I close my eyes and push the question away. Did she ask me something? Oh yeah, my hair “I get bored.”
“I’ve seen you in nearly every color of the rainbow at this point, but you seem to gravitate toward pink the most often.”