Page 23 of Beg Me
I consider the question, memories of that night flooding back. "I was tired of pretending," I admit. "Tired of hiding what I really want."
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "And what do you really want, Tess?"
"This," I say simply. "You. What we just did. What we might do next."
Something shifts in his expression, a softening around the eyes, a slight curve of his lips. "Good," he says quietly. "Because I'm not nearly done with you yet."
He feeds me another piece of chocolate, and I let the sweetness melt on my tongue. The weight of his arm around me, the gentle way he ensures I eat and drink, the careful attention to my needs. It all feels like an extension of the control he exercised earlier, just in a different form.
"Is this part of it?" I ask. "The aftercare?"
He nods. "It's as important as everything else. Maybe more so." His fingers trail through my damp hair. "Dropping you off without this would be irresponsible."
"Dropping?"
"Sub-drop," he explains. "After the high of subspace, some people crash. Feel sad, empty, confused. Proper aftercare helps prevent that."
I lean into his touch, understanding dawning. "So this is still part of the...scene?"
"No," he says firmly. "This is just me taking care of what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends a different kind of warmth through me, not the sharp heat of arousal but something deeper, more fundamental. A sense of belonging I've never felt before.
"Thank you," I whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude. "For all of this."
His arms tighten around me. "Thank you for trusting me with your surrender." His voice is low, sincere. "It's not something I take lightly."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. My body aches pleasantly, marked by his hands, his words, his come. I should feel used, maybe even degraded—and I do, but in the most perfect way possible.
For the first time in my life, I feel completely seen and completely accepted. The parts of me I've always hidden—the desires I've been ashamed of, the needs I've denied—are exactly what Colt wants. What he treasures.
As I drift in his arms, warm and safe and thoroughly claimed, I know with absolute certainty that I made the right choice that night, facing my fears and pressing "submit" on that app.
TEN
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I nearly trip over myself lunging for it. It's been a day since I left Colt's place, and I've been fighting the urge to text him first. The memory of his hands on me, his voice in my ear, has been playing on repeat in my mind.
I grab my phone, heart racing, when I see his name on the screen.
Colt
How are you feeling today?
Simple. Direct. So perfectly Colt. I curl up on my couch, tucking my feet under me as I type back.
Tess
Good. A little sore in interesting places.
His response comes quickly.
Colt
I'm glad. I want you to feel me today.
Heat spreads through me at his words. I'm about to respond when another message appears.
Colt
