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Benson sat back. “No, it wasn’t.”
Mel transferred her attention to Mikel. “There’s no objection to scening with him on my end. I will accept…” Her voice trailed off and she had to take a breath, calm herself before she finished the sentence. “…I’m willing to accept whatever punishment he sees fit.”
“I won’t be forced into this,” Benson said. “Not by either of you.” He looked at Mikel. “Not by the overseers.” His gaze landed on Mal and it was an almost physical sensation to have the entirety of his attention focused on her. “Or by you.”
“I’m not trying to force you.”
“Right.” His grunt was dismissive and disbelieving.
“No.” The word was a little too loud, almost shouting. Mal closed her eyes and held up her free hand, palm out. “I’m trying to be honest.”
“I don’t doubt your honesty. I’m sure you’re willing to be punished. You would agree to, and ask for, the hardest punishment anyone in the club could think of.”
Mal clenched her teeth so hard her jaw muscle ached.
“You want the big bad wolf to come and eat you up.” One corner of Benson’s mouth pulled up in a sneer. “But you also want to cry wolf.”
Mal caught her breath as pure, furious rage ignited under her breastbone.
“You asked me to be honest. It goes against every fucking instinct I have to be open and not hide my reactions and thoughts. You trained me to be honest.”
She took a few unsteady breaths. Neither man spoke, and she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful that they were giving her space to get the words out, or upset that no one was jumping in to stop her.
“And yet when I did what you asked… when I told you things I’d never admitted to anyone else, when I asked for things I’d never dared speak aloud…” If there’d been a glass on hand she would have thrown it against the wall, she was that desperate for emotional release. But Mikel’s glass was out of reach, so she had only her words and the tightness in her muscles. “I’m sorry that I’m not as self-aware as you. I’m sorry I asked for too much.”
“You didn’t ask for too much. That’s not what this is about. You made me a monster.”
“I made you? No. That is not fair, Benson.”
“Fair? Get a grip, Mal.”
“Oh fuck you, you sanctimonious ass. I know we may talk about how the submissives are technically in control because our limits drive the scene, but you don’t get to put it all on me. You made it my fault, and took no responsibility. That’s bullshit. You were my mast…” Shit shit shit, she needed to watch her words. “You were the top in those scenes.”
Mikel sat forward then. “Perhaps we should—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Benson was practically snarling. “You. Lied. Not to me but to yourself. I asked you where you were, asked if you needed your safe word. Every time you answered ‘no’, you were lying. And those lies turned me into the monster.”
“You aren’t a monster.”
“Really? Because I fucking feel like one.” His words landed hard and heavy, like a rock thudding into the earth. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her.
Shock held her still for a moment. “Still?” Her question was barely a whisper.
Benson looked away, his cheek muscles flexing as he clenched his jaw.
“Benson,” she murmured. “Benson, I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”
“And yet you’re asking me to punish you.”
“Because I miss you.”
The moment the words were out, she both regretted them, and was desperately glad she’d finally admitted it. Caught in the dichotomy of feeling, she dropped her gaze, hand once more twisting her hair.
“Mal?”
She shook her head, unable to look up. Unwilling to face Benson’s questioning use of her name.
“Malvia, my dear, come here. Onto my lap.”
