FLAME (Spark Series) (17 page)

About five minutes pass before I hear him again. I can’t imagine what the hell he went looking for, but I’m anxious to know what he’s got planned next.

“Good girl. You didn’t move,” he says. I can tell he’s leaning over the bed and looking at me. “You look fucking beautiful like this.”

I feel him straddle me. His bare legs brush my waist as he moves around.

“Doll, I need you to trust me. What I’m about to do might be painful, but you cannot move. Do you understand?”

My breath hitches. “Yes.”

I tense up slightly, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to do.

“If at anytime it’s too much for you, I want you to have a safe word.”

I gasp loudly. I’m ready to push him off me and ask what the hell he’s thinking. But I don’t. I even my breathing once more and relax.

“Tell me your safe word,” he demands.

“Flame,” is the first word that comes to mind.

“Perfect.”

I feel pinches on my skin suddenly, making me gasp.

“These are just clothespins, Doll. They won’t hurt you.”

He pins them to my sides, arms, and stomach. The pain isn’t all that bad, actually. It just feels like a pinch, an uncomfortable continuous pinch. He then pins one on each of my nipples.

“Oh my god,” I screech. 

“Relax, Carissa,” he orders. “You’re doing great.”

The bed dips as his body gets closer to mine. I feel his lips against my flushed skin. He places kisses up and down my stomach, careful to not touch the pins.

“The pins give you pain, but will bring you pleasure when they are released—when the blood flow returns to the numbed area. Every time you confess something or obey, I’ll remove one,” he states. “Every time you move or disobey, I’ll add one.”

I lay there, unable to move, unable to fathom what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to help me, but I don’t understand how this will help me past my issues.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly.

“Yes, I trust you.” Because I actually do, even if I don’t understand this.

“Good.” I feel his body over mine, his breath tickles my face. “Now tell me why you hate your father.”

Great…start with a deep one.

“Because he’s a fucking drunk,” I respond bluntly.

“You need to be more specific,” he remarks quickly.

I clear my throat, hating that I have to even think about my father. I gather my thoughts and respond. “Because he didn’t love me.”

I feel him remove one pin. The feeling of it being removed is something I hadn’t anticipated. The sensation of the circulation returning to the numbed area is overwhelming.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the area and leans in and gives it a quick kiss.

“Now, tell me why you hate your mother?”

So many reasons
.

“Because she’s a junkie who never paid any attention to me,” I respond.

Another pin releases and he does the same—rubs over the spot and lays a tender kiss over it.

He gives me a few moments to adjust before speaking again. “What did they do to you?”

I clear my throat, hating the fact that talking about them is making me tear up. “They ignored me. They let me down on a daily basis. They disappointed me my entire life,” I confess, surprised how fast it rolls off my tongue.

Two more pins release. My body is tingling. The pins are numbing my flesh until he releases them, and the feeling of the blood returning is the pleasure he was telling me about. It’s intense and makes my entire body feel like it’s on fire.

“What do you want from them now?”

“Nothing. I don’t want a damn thing from them.”

A pin pinches the inside of my arm.

“Tell me what you want from them,” he says in a
try again
tone.

“
I want them to admit they fucked up,” I say louder this time. It feels great to get that off my chest after all this time.  “I want them to know how much I hate them.” It’s the truth. I want to shove it in their fucking faces how much I hate them, how much they screwed up, and how much better off I am without them in my life.

I feel my body heat as I think about them. My heart races with anger and resentment.

“Can you forgive them, Carissa?” He pauses briefly. “Can you forgive their mistakes? Let go, so you can move forward?”

“No,” I reply sternly. I shouldn’t have to forgive them. They’re the ones who screwed up. They screwed me up.

Another pin clamps on to my breast.

“Can you forgive yourself?” His voice is deep, edgy almost.

“No,” I say honestly. “I’ve done some horrible things in my life,” I admit. “And although my parents were awful, I can’t blame them entirely for my mishaps.”

Another pin stings my skin.

“Tell me why. Why can’t you forgive them or yourself?”

“They don’t deserve my forgiveness.”

His hands rub over my legs, leaving goose bumps in his wake. His fingers massage my head, making my head automatically arch back as I divulge in the pleasure he brings me.

“I want you to breathe in and out slowly. With each breath you are letting go of the past. Letting go of the things you cannot change. Letting go of your mistakes.”

I do as he says with much doubt that it’ll work. I continue until he tells me otherwise. I breath in and out, slowly, for several minutes before he finally speaks again.

“I want you to picture your dad. Picture him at a time in your life when you hated him the most.”

That’s actually hard considering I hated him my entire childhood. But I think of one…

It was Christmas morning. I was eight. All my friends at school talked about what they were getting for Christmas for weeks prior. I only wanted one thing. A particular doll—Baby Ginger. Her eyes opened and close
d, you could change her outfit, and even brush her hair. All my other friends wanted more “grown up” things, but I’d never had a doll before. I told my dad weeks earlier when he was sober. He had actually asked me what I wanted from Santa. My eyes lit up as I told him exactly which one, and the smile on his face actually gave me hope.

I woke up Christmas morning to a
hungover father who didn’t even bother putting up a tree. There were no decorations. No music. And no presents.

Not even one.

“Now I want you to imagine yourself telling him you forgive him.” I almost choke, gagging at the thought. “Let go of the anger.”

“I can’t,” I gasp out. “I can’t forgive him.”

Another pin goes on my forearm. The pain isn’t there. It’s more of a sting. But the fact is, it makes me feel. Even if it’s not pleasure, it reminds me I’m alive, and that I
can
feel.

“Let go, Carissa,” he repeats. “Let the hate you feel for him go.”

I feel my anxiety approaching, but I breathe through it. What good is it hating him? I’ll never love him, but can I let go of what he’s done to me? Of what he’s made my life?

“Let go of the hurt, Doll. Don’t give him that power over you. He doesn’t deserve it.”

And it’s true. My father doesn’t deserve the right to hold that power over me. I’m surprised at how right Drew is.
Why should I give my father any part of me?

“Okay…” I say slowly. I feel him release another pin, his hands rubbing smoothly over the sore spot. This time, it feels even more amazing than before when the pin releases, the blood circulating back. The sensation brings intense pleasure, almost orgasmic.

“Forgiveness will help you let go. Don’t do it for them, Doll. Do it for yourself because you deserve so much better. You deserve love. You deserve so much more than you have ever received.”

“I want to forgive,” I admit, finally agreeing with him. “I don’t want to live like this.” It’s true. I shouldn’t have to feed off control anymore.

Walking around with hate and anger is destroying me. I haven’t realized it before, but knowing how my body responds to Drew, and how much I’ve been able to let my guard down around him, shows me how I can be living instead.

“Good girl.” Another pin releases, bringing the gratification back.

Soon, the only pins left are the two on my nipples. It feels like my nipples are being twisted and pinched at the same time, but they’ve been on me the longest, and my nipples are practically numb. It’s taking a lot of willpower to stop myself from grabbing him, forcing him inside me. The whole experience is making me drip with need for him.

This is my first time ever letting a guy take this much control. Although it was uncomfortable and new, I’m glad I let him. It’s exactly what I needed.

He hovers over my body, his hard cock pressing into my skin. He’s turned on as much as I am. I moan with desire hoping he gives in soon.

He releases one clothespin from my nipple and immediately sucks it into his mouth. The feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. My entire body tingles as the blood rushes back. My body arches as I push myself further into him, needing the release.

He moves over to the other one and releases the clothespin. He aggressively forces it into his mouth, his lips sucking and biting it. The pain that was once there is gone and replaced with pleasure—sweet, intense pleasure. His hand grabs the unoccupied nipple and pinches it between his fingers, sending shivers down my body. I can feel how wet and ready I am for him, feeling so good about myself.

His hand massages my breast as his mouth finds mine. He pulls the blindfold up and off my eyes, letting me see him for the first time since this all started. His eyes are filled with lust and desire. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face. He’s just so…breathtaking.

I feel his cock press into me as our eyes remain locked. I spread my legs wider and bend my knees, giving him all the room he needs to fill me completely. After all the anticipation, he grinds into me deep, giving me just what I need.

His hand finds my hair, pulling back lightly as he brings my mouth up to greet his. The kiss is deep and passionate. Experiencing this with Drew has somehow made me feel closer to him, vulnerable and exposed, but surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me.

His eyes remain locked on mine as he tells me to come now. I’ve held back as long as I could.

“Let me hear you,” he pants.

“Oh. My. God!” I scream out as an uncontrollable eruption overtakes me, and I’m finally relieved. It’s intimate but insanely pleasurable since he controlled the rhythm.

“Oh, holy shit…” I moan as he collapses on top of me.

“Bloody hell, that was…”

“Earth-shattering,” I finish for him.

He smirks as he rubs a hand over my flushed cheek. “It was.”

He lays next to me, rubbing over my sore nipples. He covers us up and snuggles me right into him, rubbing a hand slowly up and down my arm.

“I want you here,” I begin.

“I am here. I’m not going anywhere, Doll,” he promises.

“I mean, I want you here with me for the rest of your stay. I want you to stay here until you have to leave.” The words are painful, but I want as much of him as I can get. “I want you to move in,” I finally blurt out.

His hand freezes on my arm and he stills.

“Too much?” I cringe.

He chuckles and continues rubbing me. “Not at all. Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“I know, I tend to do that around you a lot.” I wiggle closer against him, needing to feel his body around me.

He kisses the top of my shoulder gently before responding, “Yes, you do.”

We talk for hours. I ask where he learned his techniques, if he’s ever done that before—just out of curiosity—and he promises he hasn’t. This is the first time a guy and I have ever shared a
first
together.

He explains he learned about trust exercises in human sexuality courses. Apparently, he’s had several classes like that both in the classroom and online, making him do a lot of research in that area. It’s interesting hearing him talk about school, since he hasn’t really done so before now.

“I plan to go to gradate school at some point. I hope to become a counselor,” he informs. I smile wide like a proud girlfriend would.

“What kind of counselor?”

“Truthfully?” He asks and I nod. “Okay, no laughing.”

“Promise.”

“I want to be a family and marriage counselor and maybe evolve into being a sex therapist.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Well, you definitely have
my
vote,” I tease. “Er…blessing, I mean.”

He laughs. “I thought you’d say that. It’s not the sex, though, that interests me. I did this paper once, and I had to do a lot of background research. That’s when I came across all these trust exercises. They were really interesting and new. The more I dug deeper into it, the more I thought I really could see myself helping others using these techniques in relationships.”

“Don’t you have any trust issues? I mean, like with your dad?”

“You know, I never really thought about it like that. Rather, I knew we were better without him. He didn’t want to be a part of our lives, so he was the one missing out.”