Page 31 of Imperfect Skin

“You got to promise me something.” I sat up and held Cal’s gaze.

“What’s that?”

“If I tell you everything—even what’s going on in my fucked-up head—that you won’t hate me.” I dropped my eyes to the counter, not sure if I could look back up at Cal. I jumped when I felt Cal’s hand in my hair, turning me gently to look at him.

“What is it going to take to get through to you? I’ll never hate you, Mouse.” Cal took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he opened them. The open fondness in his grey eyes nearly took my breath away.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie promise.” Cal held out a large, calloused hand, extending his little finger. Living with Alice, pinkie promises were taken very seriously, so I linked mine with his.

“Okay. I’ll go get changed.” I slid forwards on the stool, only to be stopped by Cal. He brought his hands up slowly, as if telegraphing his intentions, and cupped my cheeks, gently stroking my scruffy beard.

“You are a beautiful, frustrating man who drives me to distraction, and whose arse is begging for a spanking. But I promise you, boy, I will never hate you.”

Before I could argue, Cal’s lips softly brushed mine. The kiss was barely there, but enough to light a warm blaze in my heart. I followed his lips with mine when he pulled away, wanting more.

“Not yet, lamb. Go get changed for me. I pulled out one of my old band T-shirts this morning, thought it might feel softer on your back. Go put that on, and those cute Miss Piggy PJ pants I saw hiding in your drawer, and meet me in the sitting room.” Callum stood back.

“Okay.” No, it was not okay! I wanted more kisses, not that barely-there touch. I wanted to climb that man like a horny squirrel. But the arched brow and firm set to his lips told me that wasn’t going to happen until we’d talked.

I hurried to Cal’s room first and found the T-shirt and Oscar sitting on Cal’s bed. I didn’t stop long, grabbing what I needed and then heading back to my room to change. My dresser drawer was pulled open and my sleep pants stuck out, no doubt from when Cal came in here last night to find my pyjamas. My Miss Piggy PJs were sitting to one side of the drawer. I had my normal PJs, but I also had a few special pairs, covered with my favourite Muppets and SpongeBob. They had always been a secret obsession for me, and I loved to be able to slip into them after a bad day and curl up and play on my Game Boy or read comics until it didn’t feel like the world hated me.

A quick check in the mirror had me wincing. My left cheek had a nasty bruise that was already purpling, and my nose, while not broken, didn’t look great. I’d not looked at myself in the mirror this morning when I got dressed, and seeing myself now, I could understand why Doc and Cal had been fussing. I didn’t want to look at my back yet. I’d seen Cal’s face when he’d seen it, and I didn’t think I could take seeing it for myself. I was going to wear the scars of my stupidity for life.

“Boy, you better not be wanking up there.” Callum’s voice carried up the staircase and brought a smile to my face. I couldn’t let myself wallow in what had happened—not now, not while Cal was waiting downstairs for me. More kisses had been promised, and I wanted those badly. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, not just a gentle peck.

I grabbed Oscar and my favourite pillow and headed downstairs, hugging Oscar to my chest and praying that this conversation wasn’t the beginning of the end.

When I stepped into the sitting room, Cal was already sitting on the sofa. The large, deep sofa was probably one of the most comfortable places in the world. Its fluffy cushions were so soft you could snuggle right into them. The sitting room was my favourite place. With its low ceilings and dark beams, the whole room felt like it should be in a hobbit house. The fire was going, and Cal patted the cushioned seat alongside him.

Cal took my pillow from me and laid it over his lap. I sat down, not sure what to do.

“Lay down, little Mouse. Rest your head in my lap.”

Well, okay, I could do that. Being close while I talked about all the shit in my head and everything else would either help or I’d freeze up, but being able to curl up with Cal was just too big a temptation.

I wiggled around a bit until I got comfortable, holding Oscar to my chest. I let out a deep breath. “Okay, so what did you want to talk about?”

Cal didn’t answer at first. His hand went to my hair and unclipped the banana clip, letting my hair loose. He threw the clip onto the coffee table alongside the hot cocoas, and then placed his hand back in my hair, his fingers starting to rub soothingly. I was starting to think he had a thing for it. I wasn’t going to complain. I loved when partners played with my hair, and the way Callum kept scratching at my scalp, ever so gently, had me close to purring.

“Let’s start simple. When did you get into kink?”

I closed my eyes, thinking about the first time I’d gone to Club Crimson. “Was just after my eighteenth, while I was still studying in Leeds. I’d gone to a couple of the open nights with friends. You know the ones—Beginner’s Bondage and Kinks 101. Master Roman at the Crimson knew I was Simon’s little brother, but he promised not to say anything as long as I played safe. And I did, at first.” Cal’s fingers were working magic on my head. The pain behind my temples was slowly receding and I was starting to relax. “I started to learn things from the Doms there, but I also realised I was into stuff that was a bit more hardcore.”

“Like what?” Cal started to massage the back of my neck and I found myself groaning softly, until he stopped. “I asked you a question, Mouse.”

“Um, sorry. But your fingers are fucking magic.”

Cal let out a soft snort. “So I’ve been told. Now keep talking and I’ll keep rubbing.”

“Promises, promises,” I muttered, before I felt a stinging slap to my arse.

Fucking man had spider monkey arms, I swore. The pain from the slap felt like a warm blanket, arousing and comforting at the same time. I wasn’t ashamed of the soft moan that slipped out. I was a slut for pain given in the right way.

“Little Mouse, talk to me.” Callum’s voice was pitched low in warning.

“We could skip the talking and you could spank me again,” I answered hopefully, wiggling my arse back and forth in what I hoped was an easy-to-read invitation.

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