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And how his willingness to continue to hurt her made her feel unlovable.
She hadn’t told him, because she was hoping she’d get past it. That it was a temporary infatuation. She was fairly certain that the more intense and degrading their play, the faster she’d go back to seeing him as a Dom and nothing more.
She wasn’t sure exactly what he had planned for tonight, but she expected it to be intense. Physically, she was at her limit for impact play, and they both acknowledged that last night.
They had the Cassiopeia room for the weekend, so Mal headed straight for the Constellation Court. The door to their playroom was open, as was the door beside it, with access to one of the narrow observation rooms.
Maybe tonight would be some kind of exhibition. Hopefully something more on the sexy side than the pain and degradation side.
As she hovered in the doorway, Mal realized she was reluctant to go in. Shaking that off, she slid in, closing the door behind her.
The lighting made it clear where she was supposed to go. The silvery blue ambient light gave the room a twilight feel, except for one area, where a single chain hung down from the ceiling. She knew that chain well. Most of their scenes took place with her standing, arms above her head, either wrists bound or arms held apart by a spreader bar attached to the chain.
Tonight, a pair of tension cuffs dangled from the last link. Mal was breathing a little too fast as she slipped her wrists into the cuffs, tightening them as much as she could, though Benson would undoubtedly make them tighter.
Mal steadied her breathing and tried not to think about what was coming.
Something was off. Her mental control wasn’t good. Her thoughts slipped back to previous scenes. To his emotionless expression as he beat her with a cane. The casual way he bound her to a dining table and left her there to be used and toyed with. His utter lack of concern as he drew the tip of a dull blade across her stomach.
If she imagined someone besides Benson—a Dom or Master who was just a scene partner—doing those things to her, it was perverse and sexy.
Damn it, she was going to cry. Mal tipped her head back, eyes closed as she willed the tears away.
Benson’s boots were heavy, his footsteps loud, as he entered the room. She turned to face the door.
She was nauseous from the toxic cocktail of emotion rolling through her. She was aroused despite that.
Terrified of what was about to happen.
Giddy with anticipation, because she was with him again.
Benson stepped into the light. His face was an emotionless mask, his body huge and heavy compared to hers. In his right hand, glinting dully, was the knife he used on her last night.
At that moment, she saw a stranger. A man willing to hurt her because she meant nothing to him.
Months of emotional seesawing came to a head, and Mal lost it.
Adrenaline flooded her system as her fight or fight response kicked in.
Mal screamed, a piercing sound full of terror.
* * *
Benson reared back, eyes wide. He raced toward Mal, gaze darting up and down her body searching for whatever was hurting her. She scrambled away, arms caught by the restraints she’d already slipped into.
Benson stopped, shocked. She was screaming… Because of him?
He looked around, checking to make sure this wasn’t some horror movie situation.
In the next second, the door to the playroom burst open. Mistress Faith had asked him yesterday about his plans for the weekend, and asked if she could watch tonight’s scene. She must have already been in the observation room, and now she was racing towards Mal.
Benson reached for Mal again. She sobbed, twisting away and tucking her head against her arm.
What the fuck was going on? Was she having a heart attack? A kidney stone?
“We need a doctor.” Benson turned to Faith.
“Get away from her, Benson.”
