Page 42 of Puck Me Back to Life

“Yeah, that's it,” Ash soothes. He runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp as I claw him to me.

“Jesus,” Another wave of pleasure rolls down my back.

Ash's voice is soft as he says, “Fuck, you're pretty when you come.”

I feel slightly dizzy as I breathe hard against him. Ash pets my head until I come back to my senses enough to look up at him.

He bends down, helping me stand. His hands are firm on my waist as he looks down at me. “You okay?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out raspy and dry.

Ash pulls up his sweats and puts me in the armchair. He kisses my cheeks, wiping the tears away. “I'll be right back. Don't get up yet.”

He disappears into the bathroom, where I hear the shower start running.

I catch a glimpse of the large wet spot on the leg of his pants before he goes into the bathroom. Jesus fucking christ. What the fuck did I just do? Embarrassment rushes through me.

I stand up sharply, grab my pants, and pull them on quickly. I leave my shirt completely as I rush out of Ash's room and into mine, thanking God quietly that everyone is either asleep or still at the bar. I close the door, leaning my forehead against the cold wood.

What the actual fuck?

6

Ash

The next morning finds me sitting in the hotel lobby with a coffee and a steadily worsening mood.

I keep telling myself I'm irritated because Hayes disappeared.

That's technically true, but it isn't the whole truth, and the part that bothers me most is the fact that I was looking forward to seeing him again. The realization is embarrassing enough that I take a long drink of coffee and pretend the bitterness is the reason my mouth twists.

After I came out of the bathroom last night, the room had been empty. One minute, Hayes had been sitting on the edge of the armchair, looking nervous and flushed and entirely too pretty for my peace of mind. The next, he'd vanished without so much as a text.

Most people don't understand how important aftercare is. They hear words like kink and immediately focus on the exciting parts. They imagine power dynamics, control, restraint, and everything that happens during a scene, but they rarely realize that what happens afterward matters just as much. Sometimes, aftercare is food. Sometimes it's a shower. Sometimes it's talking through emotions, or simply sitting quietly together until the world feels normal again.

It's making sure everybody is okay. Making sure nobody leaves feeling abandoned.

Despite what most people think, it isn't just for the submissive. I need it too. I like checking in. I like knowing the other person is alright. I like the quiet intimacy that comes after everything settles and the performance drops away, when there is nothing left except breathing, warmth, and honesty.

Instead, I got an empty hotel room.

The more I think about it, the more annoyed I become.

“Jesus.”

Dante drops into the chair across from me with the graceless confidence of a man who has never once wondered whether he is wanted somewhere. He has a coffee in one hand, sunglasses pushed onto his head, and the smug expression of someone already preparing to become a problem.

“You look like somebody kicked your dog.”

“I don't have a dog.”

“You look like somebody kicked your imaginary dog.”

I glare at him.

Dante grins, then his eyes narrow with sudden and deeply unfortunate interest. “Oh, is this about the guy in your room last night?”

“What?”