Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

My breasts heave, body flushed with the delicious languidity of release. The feel of his tongue on my clit surpasses all of my imaginings. Eyes half-mast, I look at Darien as he slowly rises.

I'm so ready. I want him to slice through my bonds and pin me on the bed.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he picks up a phone and speaks quietly into it. Anger and confusion mix with the echo of my orgasm. Why is he doing this again? I clamp down on my gag, wishing I could bite through it and yell at him.

He turns to me, his pants hiding nothing of his painful need. Removing the satin gag, he shifts to my wrists.

Afraid to shatter the moment, my voice comes out as a whisper, "I want to touch you."

There are shadows in Darien's eyes when he studies me, shifting to a smirk that feels like a mask when he wears it. "In time. "

I drop my head against the back support. "You know I'm never going to be more ready than I am now."

"Are you sure?"

I pause. Being new to this, I have no fucking clue, but I sure as shit feel ready. "Yeah."

He bends down and releases my ankles. My legs feel like jelly, and I take my time standing. His fingers trail up my leg to my hip as he stands, his cock jutting toward my belly. The sight of his erection makes my stomach flip. My hands clench and unclench, wanting to touch him. Sensing it, he grasps my wrists, pinning them at my sides.

"No."

"Why not?" I sound like a petulant child.

Darien laughs softly. "Who is the Master here?"

I pout, irritated that he's playing the card I can't trump.

He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him. "Who is Master?"

"You are."

And fuck me if his growly voice doesn't go straight to my pussy. Now I'll be all hot and bothered the rest of the night. Ugh.

The sound of a soft knock on the door breaks the stilted silence. I sigh as he moves away from me and opens it to Zed. Tossing my hair, I stride past him, putting an extra swing in my hips because I know he's watching. The last thing I hear before the door shuts is his breathy laugh.

"Why doesn't he, you know, fuck me or let me touch him?" I ask Oliver the next day as I get a spa treatment .

"Darien is… complicated." He drizzles oil on his palm and rubs his hands together before starting on my shoulders.

"Who isn't?" I counter, irritated that Darien can be complicated while I can't.

"You do realize you're in a Dom-Sub relationship, right?"

"I'm not stupid." That comes out with way too much snark.

"Then I guess you answered your question."

"Nope. The format of our relationship clearly has nothing to do with that if you're telling me it's because he's complicated."

Oliver remains silent, his hands working wonders on the little knots in my neck and shoulders. I wait him out, rewarded when he says, "There's a reason some people choose the role of dominant."

I mull that over, flipping back to memories of Christian Grey. Not that Fifty Shades has anything to do with reality, but it's all I've got. "So he's got some sort of abuse trauma?" I'm just spitballing, but if it's true, I'm going to feel like the biggest asshole for being so cavalier about it.

Oliver pauses. "Let me guess. Fifty Shades of Grey?"

I turn beat red.

"Oh, Eden, you are a treasure."

His hands work their magic, easing my embarrassment. He asks me to turn over, and I lie facedown, struggling not to groan when he finds a sore spot in my lower back. I didn't sleep well. Thanks, Darien.

"You didn't answer my question, Oliver. "

"This isn't a book, my dear. Darien, like all of us, has his demons. It isn't for me to discuss them."

I lift my head and look at him. "But you know what they are."

He shrugs and continues massaging.

"Fine. Don't tell me. I'll ask Zed."

Oliver snorts. "Good luck with that."

I'm convinced Oliver said something to my squire that afternoon, because Zed is no help. Instead of heading to The Spice Room, Zed leads me to a recreation area.

There's volleyball, tennis, bocce ball, badminton, shuffleboard, and frisbee golf. I stop at the edge of the massive adult playground. "Uh. I'm not Sporty Spice."

Zed laughs. "Novices are required to participate in sporting activities. It's very popular with subscribers. Speaking of which," he pulls out his phone and opens an app, "your numbers are solid, but your popularity has slipped. Too much time away from the cameras."

I make a face. "I'm shy."

"Well, you'll have to get over that. Your fans chose an activity for you."

"Great."

"You'll be joining the badminton game."

Fuck. I haven't participated in badminton since middle school. The last time I played, I ended up with a birdie in my eye and had to wear an eyepatch for six weeks. The name Busty Buccaneer Banks followed me into my freshman year of high school.

"Can I cite childhood trauma and get out of it? I've never played, but shuffleboard looks pretty fun. "

"Sadly, shuffleboard only received two hundred votes. Badminton is the clear winner with over a thousand."

Oh, joy. The world gets to watch the potential revival of Busty Buccaneer Banks. Zed motions to the badminton court, which is located on a grassy field. Plucking a racket from a stand, he hands it to me and calls out to an attendant monitoring the game. Masters and Mavens are seated in chairs and in stands under shade trees, watching the Acolytes and Novices play. I don't see Darien, but Lorenzo is there blowing me a kiss.

I blow one back, and he catches it, slapping it against his chest.

"You shouldn't do that." Zed stares at Lorenzo.

"Do what?" I ignore his sigh and pretend I'm interested in the game.

The attendant holds up three fingers. I've got three minutes to convince Zed I'm completely unfit to play. "You know, I'm a terrible candidate for this game. I don't remember the rules. Or how to hit the thingy."

"It's a shuttlecock."

I giggle. "You could've called it a birdie but chose to use a term that has a cock in it. That's telling, Zed."

He grins.

"I'm still not playing."

Zed puts his arm around my shoulder. "Do you see the squires milling around watching their charges?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you think they're there?"

"Because they enjoy sports."

"Some do, but they are here, as am I, to ensure Novices partake in the activities with effort and enthusiasm. Would you like assistance joining the game, or can you manage it?"

I grab the racket. "If a shuttlecock ends up in your face, I apologize."

The attendant motions for me to join a team, and I trudge onto the court, greeting my teammates and mentally apologizing for what's sure to be a humiliating performance. Zed finds a spot along the sidelines, saying hello to another squire, then folding his arms and giving me a look. I stick my tongue out.

I'm placed in the back of the court, a wise decision, and spend the first few minutes letting everyone else handle the birdie. But it eventually comes to me. I jump, boobs and belly leaping with me, and swing at the birdie. Before I can perform a little jig at having hit the shuttlecock, I watch it nail a teammate in the back of the head. A slew of apologies ensues.

Great. Five minutes in, and I'm already a menace.

Zed wanted me to focus, so I focus—focus on dodging birdies or performing swings and misses so I don't piss anyone else off. A shout from the frisbee golf course catches my attention, and I see Marcus lob a disc at another player, hitting them in the groin. A pair of squires races over, grabs Marcus by the arms, and twists his body so he's ass up. And it's a damn fine ass with a clear view of his cock and balls swinging between his legs. Another squire arrives holding a large paddle and thwacks the Novice on the buttocks with a series of sharp slaps that leave his backside bright red. The squires holding him let go, and Marcus turns, finding me watching him, and he smiles.

I smile back, so absorbed in the moment I don't hear my teammates yelling or see the birdie coming straight for my head. It smashes against my temple, and I go down.

"Eden!" Darien's voice booms.

Zed is at my side, cradling my head, when Darien all but pushes him away, pulling me onto his lap.

"Eden, are you all right?"

I rub my temple, grimacing. "At least I didn't bring back Busty Buccaneer Banks."

"Hm. I may need to meet her someday." Darien sweeps me into his arms with a grunt.

"You're going to take out your back." Frankly, I'm impressed he can even stand with me in his arms. Admiration turns to fear when he takes a step. "You're going to drop me!"

He scoffs. "Not likely."

I wrap my arms around his neck, pleased as punch that he's letting me, and drop my head so it's tucked under his chin. As we make our way to a shady spot, I consider my options, deciding feigning injury and headache is just the thing. To my surprise, Darien allows it, though I'm sure he's aware I'm totally milking it.

As I look up at him, our eyes clash, and there's something there. Something beyond possession. Something dark and wounded.

It's gone with a slow blink of his eyes. But I saw it.

Now, I need to find a way to dig it out.