deeper than skin
920 Words
The bruises faded faster than she expected.
The marks from the straps on her wrists were gone in two days.
The aching between her thighs dulled by morning.
But the other things-the things he couldn't see, the things she hadn't agreed to give-those still hurt.
The silence between sessions.
The feeling of being left on read.
The knowledge that when Damien touched her, he wasn't making love-he was making a statement.
And Ava kept answering with her body.
Yes, please.
More.
Take.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the faint shadows beneath her eyes, her makeup half done, her chest tight.
Her phone buzzed on the pillow beside her.
Tonight. Black. No panties. Speak only when spoken to.
No greeting. No heart emoji. No question if she was okay.
Just an order.
And like every time before, her fingers moved before her brain caught up.
Yes, Sir.
The words made her stomach twist.
Because somewhere along the way, she'd started needing that word.
Sir.
Not for fun.
Not for kink.
But because it made her feel chosen.
Made her feel like he saw her, even if it was through a cracked, smudged lens.
And that scared the hell out of her.
She walked into the hotel at 10:59 p.m., just as instructed.
He liked precision.
She wore the black dress he loved-the one that clung to her skin like sin. Her lips were painted wine red. Her hair slicked back, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.
The concierge greeted her like he knew her name, even though she'd never spoken to him before.
Room 3107.
Penthouse suite.
Of course.
The elevator ride felt longer than usual.
Her heart pounded, not from nerves-but from need.
Damien had that effect.
He carved out a space inside her, and now nothing else fit.
Not love.
Not logic.
Not fear.
She knocked once.
The door opened instantly.
Damien stood there in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie loose, eyes darker than usual.
He didn't speak.
Didn't smile.
Just stepped aside.
She walked in.
The room was dimly lit-candles, low music, the scent of leather and something floral she couldn't place.
She felt her knees weaken.
He always knew how to set a scene.
How to manipulate an atmosphere the way he manipulated her: without ever raising his voice.
She turned toward him.
"Speak," he said quietly.
She obeyed. "You look tired."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't get to observe me."
Her throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
"You're here to be seen. Not to see."
That should've stung.
Instead, it made her wetter.
That was the problem.
The more he erased her, the more she craved the outline he left behind.
He made her kneel.
Tie her own wrists.
Put on the collar.
She followed every command like it was gospel.
Like it was love.
But deep down, Ava was starting to ask questions she didn't want answers to.
He bent down, brushing hair from her face.
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
"Even though I don't love you?"
She hesitated.
He gripped her chin. "Even though?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Then prove it."
He stood, turned, walked toward the bathroom.
Came back with a box.
New.
Untouched.
She didn't ask what was inside.
She didn't want to know.
But when he opened it, she saw the steel.
Cold. Shiny.
A toy she hadn't used before.
A spreader bar.
Heavy cuffs.
And a silk blindfold.
He looked down at her.
"This will hurt. But not your body."
Her breath caught.
"Say yes."
"Yes."
She didn't know how long it lasted.
Time melted.
She was naked, bound at the ankles and wrists, bent in ways that forced her to feel everything.
He used his mouth. His hands. The toy.
But he didn't let her come.
Not once.
He stopped every time she reached the edge, whispering, "Not yet," like a punishment wrapped in mercy.
She cried.
Not from pain.
From emptiness.
From being so full of need she thought she might break.
He finally pulled her into his arms after she collapsed.
And held her like she was something fragile for the first time in weeks.
They lay there, silent.
She spoke first.
"I can't do this much longer."
He didn't answer.
"I'm forgetting who I was."
Still nothing.
"I don't know if I'm chasing love or just scared to be alone."
Damien sat up.
Looked at her like she was a puzzle missing too many pieces.
"I never promised safety," he said. "Only honesty."
Ava blinked back the burn behind her eyes. "Then be honest. What are we doing?"
He stood. Walked to the window.
"Filling voids."
She laughed once. Bitter. "That's not enough."
"It's what I have."
"I want more."
He turned. "Then you're in the wrong place."
That night, he left before dawn.
She lay awake in his sheets.
Alone.
Cold.
Shaken.
She reached for her phone and started to type:
I think I need space.
She stared at the words.
Then deleted them.
Typed again.
This is too much.
Deleted.
Typed again.
I love you.
Her thumb hovered.
Then she closed the app.
And cried.
In the morning, she dressed slowly.
The bruises were gone.
But her reflection didn't feel like her anymore.
She was a woman carved by someone else's hands.
And maybe that's what she'd wanted all along.
To stop feeling like herself.
To become someone new.
But now-she wasn't sure she liked who she was becoming.
She wasn't sure he did either.
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