'Because it turns me on,' I choke. And that's an understatement. I'm already wet down below. My vagina's pulsing, my clitoris throbbing, and I need him inside me.
'Why does it turn you on?'
Shit. Why? I hesitate. He tugs again. Spinning my way through the cycle of pain, I moan loudly. Come up with something, my brain cries out. And do it now!
'Because I'm at your mercy,' I pant. 'Because I'm totally under your control.'
'You don't need pain for that,' he whispers, drawing his lips down my neck. 'The pain's nothing more than an add-on. What do you get out of it? Tell me, Maya. I want the truth.'
Another tug.
'I don't know,' I groan.
He slaps my thigh. My body jolts again.
'Not good enough, and you know it. I want an honest answer.'
I shiver inside, delving through a tangle of thoughts for something that's going to satisfy him. I have no idea why I'm being interrogated, but there's only one way out of it. There must be an answer somewhere. I just can't put my finger on it.
'I don't know,' I hear my voice quiver. 'I really don't know.'
'Think.'
'I can't.'
He readjusts the clamps, loosening them slightly before he reapplies the pressure. As if a sluice-gate has been opened, a wave of torment floods right through me.
'Oh God,' I cry out.
Another slap on the thigh. Grimacing, I resist the urge to shout, to tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off.
'I told you to be careful what you wish for.'
'I know, I know, I know.'
Within seconds, his mouth is on my neck, biting and sucking hard, working its way down my throat while the grip on my hair tightens. Forcing my head back, he presses his chest against mine, pushing upwards, moving against the clamps and sending further spasms of pain ricocheting through my nerves. Suddenly, a finger is thrust into me, probing roughly with no intention of causing pleasure. He's simply preparing me for the onslaught to come. Evidently satisfied that I'm ready, he withdraws the finger and pinches at my clit, sending me into a frenzy. I let out a long, low moan as his cock enters me and he begins to thrust.
There's no build-up. Immediately, he begins to slam into me, smashing out a relentless rhythm and causing shockwaves of delicious heat to erupt in the depths of my vagina. And all the time, while the pressure rises inside, he nips at my flesh or grasps at my hair or tugs on the chains between the clamps, inundating me with spasms of agony. It's a full-blown attack, totally ruthless and gaining in frenzy.
'Tell me now,' he growls. 'What do you get out of this?'
'I … told you,' I manage to cry out between breaths. 'I don't know.'
'Where does this take you?'
I shake my head.
'Think, Maya.'
'I can't,' I shout. And maybe that's it. 'Nowhere.' And suddenly, a sob escapes my throat. 'It takes me nowhere. It blots everything out. Oblivion. It takes me into oblivion.'
'And why do you need oblivion?'
'Because,' I gasp, reeling as he delivers another slap against my thigh.
'I want an answer.'
And I just can't give one. Because another sob has followed on from the first … and another … and another. I'm crying now, and it's not because I'm in pain. It's because I want it and crave it. And I don't have the slightest clue why.
'I don't know,' I cry. 'I don't know, I don't know, I don't fucking know.'
Suddenly, he comes to a halt.
'This ends now.' He removes the blindfold.
Head back, I blink at him through half-focussed vision. Still buried deep inside me, his eyes have softened. Completely fixed on mine, they suddenly seem to be filled with concern.
'Dan, what's the matter?'
'This isn't right.' He struggles to catch his breath. 'It's just not right.'
He skims a finger down my cheek, turns his attention from my face to my breasts. Still breathing deeply, he releases the clamps, one at a time, sending fresh waves of agony through my body. Dropping the clamps to the floor, he brushes his thumbs across my nipples.
'Whoever I used to be, he's gone. I don't want to hide and I don't want to blot things out. From now on, we find other ways … other ways to deal with the shit.' Slipping a hand around the base of my back, he withdraws to the hilt, raising his eyes to mine. 'Never ask me to hurt you, Maya.' And now he presses inwards, sending a shimmer of want right through me. 'Never ask me to be somebody I'm not.' He pulls out again, to the tip.
'I thought it was what you needed.'
'I know,' he whispers, touching his lips against mine, while he drives back in. 'I thought I needed it too, but I don't. Now that I've got you, I don't.'
He picks up the pace, notch by notch, until he's thrusting into me, over and over again. Lips parted, he watches me constantly, one hand on my buttocks, the other at the back of my neck. And while my insides begin to glow, I lose myself in those blue eyes and everything that they're offering me: an ocean of love and reverence and care. Overwhelmed by sensations and emotions, I just can't control myself. I come quickly, convulsing in his arms.
'I'm the man who loves you,' he rasps, ramming into me once, twice, before he comes too. 'That's who I am. Never forget that.'
I listen to his ragged breath as he stays inside me, kissing me slowly, gradually working himself down. With a final peck, he withdraws, releasing my feet before he straightens up and unfastens the straps around my wrists, guiding my arms back down, one at a time. My legs buckle beneath me, and I'm caught. Steadying my body for a moment, he picks a throw out of the wardrobe and wraps me in it, immediately sweeping me up in his arms and carrying me out of the room.
I'm expecting to be taken to the bedroom, but we enter the studio instead. Still holding me in his arms, he lowers himself onto the couch, cradling me gently, and begins to stroke my hair.
'What are we doing in here?'
He nods towards the triptych.
'Pleasure and pain.'
'I didn't think you'd noticed.'
'Of course I've noticed. Pleasure on the left, pain on the right, and I'm assuming that's a space for me right in the middle … because I give you both.'
I'm suddenly embarrassed. I had no idea he'd even come in here.
'It's just an experiment,' I half-apologise.
'It's more than that. You've been working through it, trying to understand what you get out of the pain, why you crave it.'
I look up at him.
'I should never have introduced you to it.'
'I don't see the problem.'
He smiles wryly.
'I'm no expert, Maya, but I've seen enough over the years. I've met plenty of people who can't get enough of it … for all sorts of reasons.' He glances out of the window, clearly thinking about how to phrase his explanation. 'There are people who just do it for the rush. It's as simple as that. It turns them on, gets them high.' He looks back at me, eyes glimmering. 'But then there are people who do it because they want to be punished, because they think they deserve to be punished, because their self-esteem is in tatters.'
'And you think that's me?'
'I don't know.' Gazing right into the heart of me, he traces a finger down the side of my cheek. 'But I don't want to take any chances. I don't want to hurt you any more.'
A minute or two pass by in silence before he urges me to my feet. Manoeuvring me over to the window, he pulls the throw away, leaving us faced with our naked reflections, perfectly clear in the darkened glass.
'Look at yourself,' he breathes.
I just want to shrink, but he doesn't let me. Instead, he holds me firmly against his chest, encouraging my chin up so that I'm looking at my own body.
'You're a beautiful woman, Maya Scotton. You need to see that. You need to understand it. You've bewitched me with your intelligence, your humour, your spirit, your talent. Take this all in because it's true. And I know you don't believe it.'
I sense the beginnings of tears.
'Don't cry,' he warns me. 'Don't you dare cry. If you want to know how to finish off that picture, then put me in the middle, but face me away from the pain. I don't want to hurt you any more because you don't deserve to be hurt. Nobody does.' I catch sight of a smile. 'You deserve to be loved.'
Chapter Twenty-Four
I've taken the time to watch him sleeping, happy to see him peaceful, and now I want to send him a message in exactly the way he understands. Organised in strict alphabetical order, my paltry collection of CDs has been added to his, and I know exactly which song I'm looking for. Locating the album, I load it and press random buttons until the display tells me I'm heading in the right direction. I take it to the beginning of the song, ratchet up the volume, open the windows and take my place on the terrace, waiting.
And as I wait, I listen. And as I listen, the song seems to bury itself inside me, the words tugging at every particle of my being. It's Eva Cassidy, singing her version of 'True Colors', and the lyric says everything I want to say. I can see into the heart of him now. I know him, accept him and love him for exactly who he is.
When the song comes to an end, I know he's behind me. I turn slowly and find him standing close by, dressed in a pair of joggers and black T-shirt, his hair still ruffled, his features uncertain. Without hesitation, I step into his arms and feel them close around me. He nuzzles his head into my neck, and says nothing.