“You think too much, little genius. No more thinking. No more talking. Give in. Relax your muscles or I stop. That’s your only instruction.”
A small part of me wants to balk. I want to keep arguing with him. I want to pick a fight and push him away.
“I want to fight the whole world,” I whisper, a tear sliding out my eye. Embarrassed, I try to wipe it away but of course my hands are tied.
“Don’t hide from me. Never hide from me,” Logan says, eyes searching mine and seeing too much. “You want to fight, you fight me. You want to rage, you rage at me.”
He disarms me with those few words.
I go limp on the bed, all my anger diffusing and running out of me like water out of a drying sponge. Wait, what? That’s not how this works. Usually when I’m feeling bad, nothing can take away the anger. Except that it slowly fades into a gray depression.
But Logan’s hands are on my body, massaging up and down. In non-erogenous areas, but then again, everywhere he touches seems to light up my body like a glow stick. And the last thing I’m feeling is depressed.
Finally, I do as my Master commands.
I stop thinking.
And it’s so fucking glorious.
Quiet. The million racing, worried thoughts have finally quieted. There’s a beautiful, crystal-clear silence in my head.
More tears spill out of my eyes, but this time they’re from happiness. It feels good, so I obey his one order. I relax my entire body and struggle to keep it relaxed even as the Master begins his ministrations.
First comes a sharp prickle from the top part of my foot. I’m glad he didn’t blindfold me again, because while most of the time I lie back with my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, I like having the option of opening my eyes. I love to watch the intent look on Logan’s face as he runs the object that looks like a poky pizza cutter up my leg, so slowly and with such intense concentration. Watching him is half the high.
Next he’s back with the feather, but he stops soon when he sees that I can’t help but tense up when it tickles me.
I can barely suppress my smile when he picks up one of the big wax candles. He sets it on the bed, then pulls off his shirt in that sexy way that men do, pulling from the back shoulders and tugging it off over his head. Liquid swoops through my stomach down to my sex at seeing his muscles and the dark trail of hair that leads between his sharply defined V.
He’s usually so buttoned up, any chance seeing his skin feels like a treat. And to think, he’s mine now. I can see this whenever I want. The giddy schoolgirl feeling is swept away by dread. Until you get sicker and die.
Nope. Brain turned off. Brain turned off.
I turn my eyes to the candle and train my eyes on the flame. But I’m greedy and I can only last a second before looking back to Logan. My Master.
He’s watching the flame too. Or rather, he’s watching the small puddle of wax that’s slowly liquefying in the lip of the candle.
He holds out his forearm and drips wax in a line along the inside of his wrist where it’s the most sensitive. I hold my breath, but when he doesn’t react one way or the other, I burst out, “What does it feel like?”
His mouth quirks up on one side. “Curious, kitten?”
I nod, not trusting myself with words. Is he really serious? Are we still allowed to do things like this? Then I shake my head. Who the hell do I think I’m asking? Logan’s a doctor and I’ve got my PhD and have spent my life studying this disease. If we don’t know, who will?
Number one, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to, and number two, I’m not supposed to be thinking.
I trust Logan. For twenty minutes can I not just shut my freaking brain off and trust?
Even as I think it, my entire body relaxes. Logan and I watched the candle burn and liquefy more wax until there’s another little puddle.
Logan’s eyes come to me. The hand not holding the candle massages my thigh, up and down, up and down.
“You’ll have every experience this life has to offer,” he promises. “Together, we’ll explore every sensation, every feeling, every possible nerve ending of your entire body.”
He leans in and breathes in my ear. “We’ll have a lifetime of exploration. In sickness and in health. Together. Now close your eyes, and feel. Feel me and what I do to you.”
I nod but I know I might disobey. He doesn’t know how much I need this. I didn’t know how much I needed this. And I will give myself to him body and soul… But I might peek.
I’ll never give up looking at him now that he’s unmasked himself. I need every line of connection possible between us and he’s not stealing one of my senses. Not tonight anyway.
So I keep my body completely relaxed, but I watch. And he watches me watch, because he’s constantly checking my face to catch my reactions. I know if I exhibit even the slightest expression of discomfort, he’ll stop. But I don’t want that. I want this moment of intimacy between us to continue and continue and continue, forever.
We’ve finally stripped down, and I don’t mean just our clothes.
The first drop of the steaming wax on my right breast is a surprise. It stings for a moment but then just sinks into a lovely warmth that spreads across my entire breast. He avoided the nipple, maybe because it was also recently pierced, but he paints around the areola like a blood-red candle-wax crown.
Wax drips down the mountainsides of my breasts and I’ve never felt more…more fucking alive.
“There,” he says with satisfaction, blowing on the hardening wax as it cools. “I’ve crowned you my Queen.”
I might laugh if he wasn’t simultaneously touching me and driving me absolutely crazy. He gave up on the PG zones of my body a while ago.
The hand not pouring wax is on an exploratory journey of its own.
“Ah ah ah,” he chastises when I clench around his fingers buried in my cunt. “Relax or I stop.”
No stopping. No stopping. But I don’t beg out loud in case it makes him stop. Instead, I open my eyes and focus on Logan’s face. The deep blue of his eyes. The furrow in his eyebrows when he focuses, and gods, how hot it is when his entire being is focused on bringing me to climax—
A warm wave washes outward with one strong, immense pulse. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s unlike any orgasm I’ve had before. Usually it’s intense and I’m clenching and chasing it and fighting and—
Oh shit here comes another one—
I meet Logan’s eyes and see his wonder as he shares the moment with me, the second wash of bliss that has tears pouring out of my eyes.
It’s so— So fucking beautiful—
He bows over me, face an inch from mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.
He just keeps sharing the moment, fostering a crazier, deeper intimacy than I ever knew was even possible between two human beings.
“You,” I finally whisper through choked breath, the tears still coming so thick. “The big life is here. I already have it. Right now. As long as I’m with you.”
Six
Daphne
Two weeks later, it’s a very different scene when Logan comes in the door. I’m already propped up in bed surrounded by pillows, scrolling through the day’s news on my tablet. No longer cut off or disconnected from the world.