Page 77 of At Her Pleasure

She knew how deeply the whip would cut before she threw it. His fingers trembled and fell away from her throat. She released him as he stepped back, bumping into the rail as if he’d forgotten it was even there.

Her brow creased as he turned away. She watched the flex of his shoulders, the loosening. He was pulling it back together again, just like he had on the phone.

How many times did a person get knocked down and get up? It wasn’t a clever riddle. The answer was as many times as was needed, or until they couldn’t do it anymore. Some people were smarter about that limit than others. Others would keep trying, even if their legs were cut off.

Whatever this was, she knew her decision was the right one. She started to move away from him again. She’d let Jillie know the agenda had changed.

“Don’t. Don’t cancel it.” Mick lifted his head, stared at her. "Give me a fight I can win."

"You won't win a fight with me."

"I will if it gives you something that works for you. Something that gives you pleasure."

She moved back to him and touched his face. “No. It feels wrong, Mick.”

“Then let’s figure out how to make it feel right again. Because up until a few moments ago, it did.” He pressed his face into her palm, as if drawing steadiness from her touch. Aligning pulse rates. Heartbeats.

She studied him. “You won’t tell me what that call was about.”

“No. But I’m all right. Just got some unexpected news. Which I’m used to, so I don’t know why I call it unexpected. Unpredictability is how I live my life.” His smile was ghastly. “Though sometimes it’s a good thing. It’s what brought me here, to you.”

“You’re too messed up tonight, Mick.”

“No. I’m no more messed up than usual. You can depend on me. Let me give you this, follow through on it.”

The desire to have him bound, waiting on her will and pleasures, was a strong tide that had been rising ever since she’d agreed to do it. But she wasn’t the girl she’d been. She didn’t give in to her impulses as readily.

Mick lifted his hand and closed it over her wrist. Firm but not painful. She wasn’t fooled now. It could all be an act. It was an act.

“No,” she said.

His mouth tightened, but his phone buzzed with a text. When he glanced at it, the curtain came down, all those emotions vanishing. She was looking at his impassive, hard-to-read expression, coated by genial professionalism. “The screens in the front area are grayed out.”

Her gaze stayed fixed upon him. “Find Skye if the tech person can’t troubleshoot it. There’s nothing computer-related she can’t fix.”

“Thanks. I will.” His frustration was still there, but it was tempered by a rueful smile. “A functioning alcoholic operates better with some alcohol in his system, Cyn. I’m always fucked up, and that’s how I operate best. Don’t let it disqualify me from doing this with you. I’ll be at the station at ten. I hope you will be, but I respect your decision on it.”

He strode away, moving back into the club with his usual assurance, projecting laid-back, easy authority.

Fuck.

Cyn rubbed the top of her nose, a habit when she was mulling an irritating problem. The minor explosion of pain reminded her why she couldn’t do that right now. She bit back another curse.

What she’d done with Matt had been fucked up. But sometimes those kinds of steps had to happen for shit to resolve itself. However, Matt wasn’t a sub dependent on her control and judgment.

On the flip side, she’d had ten years to know who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it. She demanded more from a sub than he thought he had to give. She introduced him to that undiscovered country, while leaving him wanting more. She stayed in control.

For many of them, it was a way to deal with stresses in their own lives. It wasn’t the first time she’d peeled away all defenses during a session. Maybe when Mick found how deep she could go, and how much he could trust her with what she found there, he’d trust her with more of it. Doing a session tonight could help him feel better.

Or fuck him up worse.

She’d told Matt she wasn’t known for thinking things through. If her gut said let’s do this, she’d fling herself into that abyss.

She was standing on the edge of Mick’s darkness, and her heart—that neglected vital organ—was telling her to make the leap. Because there were times BDSM play wasn’t about play at all, but what was needed to save a soul. Save a life.

Overly dramatic? No doubt.

Screw it. She was going to do this.