Page 35 of Filthy Dirty Dom

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Alex beat off to thoughts of Leslie, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Yet, as pleasurable as his own touch was, it wasn't enough. Leslie had been right on the money when she’d taunted him about liking pain. But it wasn’t something he wanted all the time. When his need surged or when guilt or dark thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, however, he craved that edge, the sweet sting of pain that melded with pleasure.

He thought back to the sex club, to how Leslie had looked bathed in the club's soft, sultry lighting. The image of her was etched into his mind—her hand over and in her pink lace panties, her dark hair cascading down her back, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and arousal, but most importantly, trust. When she’d boldly taken off her panties and bared himself not just to him and others… fuck. His mind then moved to the memory of her at his feet in the club, on her knees. The sight had been so erotic, the knowledge of her willing submission making his cock twitch even now. And he couldn’t forget the way she’d looked covered in his release.

The sound of her moans, the look of her dazed eyes. She was a sweet, insatiable addiction that he knew he’d never recover from.

All those memories were electric, sensational, unimaginable. But not perfect. Because there was still guilt on the edges of them. His guilt. That he’d debauched her. That he’d exposed her to things, to an addiction, that would lead her to a life he couldn’t be a part of. Not unless he was willing to endanger her. Not unless he wanted to take the chance that, because of him, someone might take her. Use her. Hurt her.

Just like…

With a mangled curse, Alex let go of his cock and strode to his private cabinet, pulling out a well-used flogger. The tails of the flogger felt familiar and comforting in his hand. The smell of the leather filled his nostrils, grounding him.

Returning to the mirror, he resumed stroking his cock, his grip firm yet careful. At the same time, he brought the flogger down onto his bare chest, hissing at the delicious sting that bloomed across his skin. The pain was an immediate rush, the hot sting transforming into a warm throb that only served to enhance his pleasure.

His eyes flicked to his reflection, watching as the red welts appeared on his skin, the mental image of Leslie causing the same marks entering his mind. He imagined her soft voice, praising him, her hands deftly swinging the flogger.

"Leslie," he growled out, his strokes becoming more desperate, faster. His balls tightened, the familiar pressure building in his lower abdomen. He hit himself again. The mix of pain and pleasure was intoxicating, the reality of his red skin and filthy fantasy overwhelming.

With a final stroke of the flogger across his chest and a tight pull on his cock, Alex came with a loud, guttural groan, his seed spilling over his hand and onto the concrete floor. His legs shook from the intensity of the release, and he leaned heavily against the wall.

Breathing heavily, Alex stared at his reflection, the reality of what he'd just done sinking in. His body ached in all the right ways, the mix of pleasure and pain still pulsating under his skin.

After the powerful release, Alex washed up, dressed and sank onto his plush, oversized couch, the cold leather against his bare skin grounding him. He traced his fingers over his lips, still able to feel the echo of the kiss they’d exchanged at her doorstep. The sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against his, was almost as potent, as exhilarating as everything they'd shared in the club.

And that knowledge, that a simple, passionate kiss could be as heady as their explorations, told Alex all he needed to know.

It wasn't just about the BDSM or the physical attraction or even their friendship.

No, it was much more than that. It was everything about Leslie.

He recalled their rigorous training for the Mud Run. The way she'd looked in her form-fitting fitness outfits, her body sleek and strong as they ran, climbed, and wrestled their way through a challenging workout. And then there were the memories of her with her family, teasing her sisters, laughing with Branden. Those were the moments he cherished the most. Seeing Leslie in her element, surrounded by the people she loved, her joy and vivacity filling the room, was a sight to behold.

He was falling for her, falling hard and fast, with no end in sight.

Feeling thoroughly drained, Alex reclined further into the plush leather of the couch, a shudder of pleasure still coursing through him from the aftermath of his self-induced pleasure. He found himself in that warm, languid state between wakefulness and sleep, the quietness of his loft embracing him like a lover's caress.

In the past, sleep had been his eternal prison, a place where his most haunting memories returned, unbidden and relentless. The memories still plagued him during the day, but at night, the nightmares had faded. Now sleep was his sanctuary, a place where he could retreat from the world and its unending demands.

In the sanctuary of his dreams, Leslie was there. Her laughter echoed through the ethereal landscape of his subconscious, her touch warm against his skin. The comforting memories replayed in his mind: Leslie helping him shop, Leslie challenging him during their Mud Run training, Leslie looking at him with fondness and desire.

Suddenly, like a record scratching to a halt, the pleasant dreamscape warped, and his heart raced as a new, much darker memory took over. His breathing grew shallow and labored as another beautiful face replaced Leslie's.

Mia.

It was a name he had buried deep within him, a name that stirred up a storm of emotions. A name that evoked a past he'd rather forget, a memory he'd rather not relive but couldn’t always fight off in his sleep. As the nightmare took hold, walking him through the events of the last day he saw Mia, a cold sweat drenched his body, his breaths coming out in gasps, and the darkened room closed in on him. He lay there in the silence, a silent scream stuck in his throat, his haunted past and uncertain future merging into a single, torturous present.

The next day, Alex stood in the viewing room at Samuels Investigations, taking stock of where his clients and guards were located. The room had multiple video screens filling the walls, along with a few desks with even more video screens. Some of the screens showed his guards’ body cams—those men, and a few women, were the ones who watched over dignitaries and politicians who wanted their movements and actions tracked and recorded at all moments except private ones. Other screens showed the general location of the bodyguards he had on his private clients—the primary one being Leslie’s family.

He couldn’t tell precisely where the clients were, but he saw the general vicinity. If one of them went from Brooklyn to Yonkers, for example, he saw the movement, but he couldn’t tell if that person went into a grocery store for milk and eggs or…a sex club.

Shit. Last night had done a number on him, as had Leslie’s second offer to be friends with benefits.

As had his nightmare about Mia.

He had plenty of nightmares, but he hadn’t had that nightmare in months. The fact that it had returned the same night he’d lost his control with Leslie and was considering doing it again was significant.

An omen.