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The pair she has on is high waisted, which won’t do.
Her lips twitch a little, almost like she’s laughing at me, but I don’t feel offended. I feel something softer. And she does what I’ve told her to without argument, which makes my chest ache again in that way that I’m quickly starting to crave.
I sit on the mattress next to her and guide her down onto her back, my body reacting to the sight of her smooth skin and athletic curves, clad only in a small pair of black underwear that barely cover the slit between her legs.
I have enough practice to make it easy to ignore the way my cock rises in response, but I can’t help the way my eyes are immediately drawn to the marks I’ve left on her.
The thin scar between her breasts.
The neat line of dots from the stitches I placed along her waistline.
The barely there signs of my fingers, still present around her throat.
She’s enchanting, but this isn’t the time to become distracted by how appealing I find her. Despite her apparent pleasure at my presence, all the signs of discomfort I noted earlier are still present in her body language, and this sort of pain clearly isn’t the type she enjoys.
I dim the lamp next to her to create a more soothing environment, then uncap the scented oil and pour some into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it.
“What are you doing?” Her eyebrows lift with surprise when I smooth the oil over her taut stomach, working outward from her navel in the appropriate formation for her anatomy.
“You know that I… enjoy hurting you,” I start, my voice low and my thoughts strangely muddled as I struggle to answer her; to put into words why I need to fix her distress.
She doesn’t flinch or deny what I’ve said, just looks up at me with a steady gaze, open and soft.
It’s still hard to accept how readily she welcomes the pain I inflict on her, though, and I swallow hard, dropping my eyes back to her stomach; focusing on the sight of my fingers, pressing into her warm skin in a steady, outward-circling rhythm. The way her flesh drinks in the oil is almost mesmerizing.
“Logan?”
“I enjoy hurting you,” I repeat, “but I enjoy taking care of you too. I like it.”
That’s not quite the right word. It’s not big enough. But it’s also not the wrong one.
I look up, meeting her eyes, and a soft smile spreads across her face that does something to me. “Thank you. I like both sides of you, you know.”
I didn’t know that. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that she cares about me at all.
Thankfully, she doesn’t press me to discuss things like feelings, nor does she stop me as I continue to rub the oil into her belly.
Touching her like this makes my cock even harder, but I continue to ignore it. I know her body is available to me. She’s made that clear. But this is about her, not me.
“Is it helping with the cramps?” I ask after a while, surprised at how husky my voice sounds. How intimate it feels to be with her like this.
“Yes.” She trails her fingers up my forearm. “How did you know to do this?”
I blink. “I looked it up. Some of the available information couldn’t be verified, but I found several methods with documented efficacy for menstrual pain relief.”
She bites her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling. “Oh?”
“Yes.”
She laughs, a low sound that sends heat spiraling through me. “What else did you find?”
I reluctantly remove my hands from her body, then meticulously wipe the oil off them before reaching for the bottle of whiskey I brought. “Apparently, a drink can ease the pain too.”
She looks from the bottle to me, then reaches for it.
I pull it away, an impulse taking me over that I refuse to question. “No. Open your mouth.”
She lets out a soft sound that I’ve heard from her before. She enjoys being dominated. And she’s so fucking beautiful like this.
