Waiting For Me (Beautiful Surrender #2)(11)
Author: Ava Claire

I rose smoothly, walking to the French doors that led to the patio. To oxygen, since all the air seemed to have vacated the room. “I’m not broken.” The breeze was warm and distracting, holding the morning notes of dogs being walked and surfers headed toward Pleasure Point right down the street. The weather, the birds, the light floral scent of roses beside the hot tub—all of it was preferable to telling Melissa the truth. I’d let Delilah seep in like a poison and I was spiraling down a rabbit hole that didn’t lead to my paradise; a place of belts and restraints and safe words. A place that had always been an escape for me, and to my knowledge, my lovers as well. Delilah ripped that all away, dumping me into a hell of my own creation. Hurting women…that makes you just like –

I didn’t say the bastard’s name.

I couldn’t.

So I told the truth.

“I’m broken.”

I almost thought I’d screamed the words, but my lips were clamped together, so ready to revert back to safe haven. The comfort behind the walls I built to keep my emotions at bay. But the words escaped. Low and earnest. Barely above a whisper.

I faced Melissa, wondering if she heard. Difficult to decide whether I wanted her to hear or not.

Her eyes told me she did.

She shrugged her shoulders, but we both knew it was a big deal. The air was charged now. Electric.

“I’m broken too,” she said quietly. “You were right about my dad. About Jason.”

She threw back the rest of her orange juice like there was something else in the glass besides Vitamin C. Something to give her strength. “As far back as I can remember, all I’ve wanted was my dad’s approval. It was just the two of us, so I cooked, I cleaned, I got good grades, I stayed out of trouble.

My dad owns a marketing firm, so it’s all about appearance. On the outside, we were happy. I was happy. He smiled and joked when we were around other people.” Her voice wavered. “Sometimes I’d forget it was all a show. Fake. I’d let myself believe that he cared about me. I mean, of course he cares about me, it’s just—” She let out an abrupt, unnerving chuckle, hopping to her feet. “God. Even now I’m making excuses. I was so desperate for someone to want me, to notice, that I didn’t stand a chance when Jason finally asked me out.”

Just the sound of his name a second time was enough to make my fists clench and my mouth narrow into a scowl.

“How can I blame him?” she said bitterly. “It’s no wonder he—”

“Don’t you dare,” I said tersely, capturing her hand. I interlaced our fingers and drew her in until her body was against mine. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

She nuzzled me. “How about you?”

I planted a kiss on the top of her head and lingered, breathing in the warmth of her. “Apparently, I’m broken,” I joked.

She pushed my chest, nothing joking in the gesture. Her palms were firm and insistent, her eyes blue, unyielding slits. “Talk to me, Logan.”

Being open and vulnerable was so foreign, so f**king terrifying that I reverted to annoyance. “What do you want me to say? That it sucked to hear that something that I take seriously, that means a lot to me, was totally wasted? That she thinks I wanted to hurt her? That pain is somehow part of the package?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

I took a step backward and drew a steadying breath before I answered. “It’s about more than just pain, Melissa. More than control.” She looked genuinely curious, so I kept going. “A lot of people are under the impression that it’s about a man being in complete and utter control of his woman. That my word is law. But for me, it’s not like that. That’s not what gets me off about the kink. For me, there’s nothing sexier than a woman sensing a submissive need inside herself. To completely lose herself in the throes of passion and trust that her lover knows what she needs to help her find her bliss. I don’t force anyone to submit. I don’t do this for a license to hurt my lover or act out some latent sadist desire. I take control, but only when a woman is strong and confident enough in herself and her sexuality to give it.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d spoken those words, explained how I was different than other Doms and what to expect from me, but it was the first time that I found my stomach knotting, needing her to understand. Needing to be right for her.

Her face was guarded and unreadable. “And what is expected of me?”

“More than anything, honest communication,” I replied. She gave me a ‘no duh’ look, but I just stared right back. The run-in with Delilah was proof that these things needed to be said and understood. I circled Melissa slowly, watching her defenses go up, her body alert as I took her in with my eyes, then slowly, touch. My fingers kissed her soft skin. She came alive for me instantly, but she tried to cover her gasp by clearing her throat.

“It’s your job to be open,” I continued, drawing my touch to her spine. “About what turns you on. What turns you off.” I rested my hand on her lower back, drinking in the round curve of her ass. “Your hard limits.” I squeezed the right globe of her bottom—hard. “Your soft limits—places and things, you are wary about, but willing to try to expand your horizons.”

She gave me a pointed look, eyes hot with arousal. “And how am I supposed to—” She bit off a moan as I brought her closer, the lines of her body matching mine perfectly. “How am I supposed to talk to t-think with your hands all over me?”

I traced the curve of her bottom lip with my thumb, already making plans for her hot little mouth. “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you look so goddamn sexy?”

“Sexy?” she frowned in disbelief, using the little space that remained between us to gesture at her body. “In a wrinkled button down shirt?” She fondled her tresses gingerly. “Greasy hair?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled down at her, undoing each button, one by one. “But your sexiness is so much more than how hot you look in one of my shirts, or how your tousled, wild, hair would look fisted as I take you from behind.” I drank in the contrast of her pale pink ni**les against the starch white of my shirt and the way her breath hitched when I gripped it tight. She looked at me from behind hooded eyes, the moan at the back of her throat going straight to my balls. “It’s in your gaze. Curiosity, fear, lust, and fight. I want to be the one that answers those questions for you, calms your fears, give you indescribable pleasure, and shows you that it’s okay to trust again. That you’re safe with me.”