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“Tired in a good way?” Devin asked.
Why did he still look worried? I stroked my fingertips down his cheek. “A very good way. Can I lie here…against you…?”
I didn’t wait for an answer, just took off my glasses and drifted, warm and supported in his arms. After a few moments I heard Milo’s voice, and saw the blur of his dark hair. “She’s pretty cool, Dev. You’re right. Definitely a maso.”
“I told you.”
“Where’s she been all this time?”
Devin paused a moment, then said, “In a science lab, measuring gravitational waves in an attempt to control time and the universe.”
“Not control them.” I shook my head. “My job is to explore the possibilities.”
“Fine. I’ll do the controlling, then,” he said, nudging my head back to give me a kiss.
“What are gravitational waves?” Milo asked.
His tone was so polite and conversational, it was hard to believe a few minutes ago he’d been working hard to bruise my throat. I took a longer look at him. Dark eyes, prominent nose, expressive lips. Not classically handsome, not like Devin, but he was hard to look away from.
“Gravitational waves are ripples in the curvature of space-time caused by galactic interactions,” I said quietly. At Milo’s puzzled look, I elaborated. “The waves provide a method of measuring the universe and quantifying time.”
He gestured toward me, muttering to Devin. “What the hell? You let me throat fuck Stephen Hawking?”
Devin laughed. “Fort calls her the ‘archgenius.’”
“I’m not a genius,” I said. “And I’ll never be as smart as Steve.”
“Steve. She calls him Steve.” Milo threw up his hands, but he was smiling. Devin’s heart beat slow and steady in my ear.
“Are we going to play some more?” I asked. “How long is The Gallery open?”
“No more for you tonight,” said Devin, while Milo muttered, “Hardcore.”
Was I hardcore? I looked around at the other kinky people who’d drifted upstairs into the more comfortable space, and some of the subs looked to be in worse shape than me. Some of them were still crying, their eye makeup smeared down their cheeks—
Oh, my eye makeup. I imagined I looked awful, much more awful than I felt. I saw a submissive cross to a full-length mirror mounted in one of the corners and turn to inspect the lattice of welts covering her legs and ass. I lifted my head and noticed there was another mirror not far from where we sat. I eased out of Devin’s lap…ow, my ass…and went to stand before it, holding the blanket around me.
In the shadow of the giant clock face, I looked at my own face and hardly recognized myself. My eyes were a mess, yes, a mass of mascara smudges and trails behind my glasses, but my mouth seemed changed too. My lips seemed fuller, more supple, and my cheekbones more prominent. I looked…badass. I dropped the blanket to see if my body looked changed, too.
My ass was certainly changed. Looking over my shoulder in the mirror, I could see the history of what had happened, the allover bruising from the straps and paddles, the line-shaped welts from the cane and/or whip, or whatever the hell had been used to mark me while I sucked off my Dom and hurt my own nipples.
But I felt changed in more ways than that.
I took off my glasses so I couldn’t see myself as clearly. I could have been any short, blonde woman staring in the mirror, but inside, I had a new, stronger sense of self. It was okay to wish for hurt and pain. It was okay to be bound and shared, and made to serve others without the option of safe wording, as long as I enjoyed it. As long as I trusted my partner.
I’d trusted Leo once upon a time, but I shouldn’t have. My poor judgment had resulted in coercion and manipulation, and the wrong kind of pain. But Devin…
I replaced my glasses and looked at him, to find him studying me too. His eyes were so deep, so reflective, like a mirror, like the one I’d just used to inspect myself. I realized then, with a start of discovery, what had changed about my body. It had stopped belonging fully to me. Some of me—a terrifying amount of me—was starting to belong to him.
Chapter Eighteen: Devin
Ithought ourfirst trip to The Gallery went well. Ella seemed like a new person on the way home, full of sexual confidence and energy, which was exactly what The Gallery was meant to do. We attended the following weekend too, and the weekend after that, and the more I challenged her pain tolerance, the more she bloomed.
During these sessions, a closeness developed between us, a give-and-take that sometimes involved others, most often Milo, who was willing to be more reckless than me. More reckless, because he cared less.
I cared more and more.
The more she trusted me, the more I wanted to be worthy of that trust. The harder she cried, the more I wanted to make her cry, so I could hold her afterward and feel worthy of the tears dripping against my neck. The harder she came, the harder I came, growling with the satisfaction of possessing her. I’d had plenty of subs, and I cared about all of them, but I’d never felt this level of involvement before.
