“Hi,” I croaked. The word came out wrong, still half-lost in whatever dark I’d drifted through.
But Damien’s mouth broke into the gentlest smile I’d ever seen on him—an expression so tender it almost hurt to look at.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning forward just enough to brush a thumb along my cheek. “Can you drink for me?” he asked softly, lifting the water. “Slow sips.”
I nodded—or tried to. It was more of a floaty tilt of my head.
Damien slid an arm under my shoulders, bringing the cup to my lips.
I took sip after sip. Luxuriating in the relief each offered.
“How do you feel?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
I blinked again, taking stock of myself.
A pulse.
A throb.
A slow-building heat along the curve of my ass—not warmth at all, but ache. Deep and low and blooming outward like fire moving just under the skin.
“It hurts.”
Damien winced. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching for the nightstand. “Here—take these.” He opened his palm: two aspirin. “I’ll put more lotion on. This one has a small dose of lidocaine—it’ll take the edge off.”
I took the pills with the water he offered. The cold slid down my throat as he popped open the bottle of lotion, warming some between his palms before touching me.
“You’re so strong.” His hands returned to my skin. “You should be proud. Very, very proud.”
“You didn’t tell me it would hurt,” I managed, trying to joke—but the hiss that escaped me when his fingers brushed a tender spot ruined the attempt.
A small chuckle slipped out of him anyway.
“How bad is it?” I asked, hesitant, bracing myself.
His hands stilled. He considered his words. “The stinging—that sharpness you feel right now—that’s from a few small welts,” he said truthfully. “Nothing serious. They’ll fade in a day or two.” He continued, fingers drawing slow, soothing circles. “The deeper ache you’re feeling? That’s the bruising. It’s probably starting to feel…” His brow furrowed as he searched for the right word. “Thick.”
I snorted into the pillow. “Thick?”
“Yes,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Like the muscle itself is swollen. Like the pain sinks down instead of staying on the surface.”
“It’s like you speak from experience.”
“I do,” he said simply. “I’ve felt it myself.”
I froze, shock rippling through me. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said it like it was obvious. “Everything I’ve ever done to someone, I’ve experienced myself. I need to know how it feels to gauge intensity correctly from my end.”
“But you’re the dominant.” I laughed, incredulous.
“Yeah,” he huffed, amused, “but I’ve bottomed a few times.”
My brows shot up. “Oh.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Not like that. It just means I’ve been on the receiving end of various techniques. Sensation, impact, restraint—enough to understand the body’s limits.”
I waved him off tiredly. “I know. I was messing with you.”
