The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-three

Ash

I’ve gone too far this time. But I gave her the choice. She took it. I warned her. Why didn’t she use her safe word? Is she that brave? Or, that greedy to get her kicks. I’m so angry at her. Why does she push me? I don’t have limits—except for one.

She’s passed out in my arms. I lay my head on her chest and listen to her heart. It’s rapidly beating. So, she’s still alive. Right before she passed out, her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Cinder,” I yell at her. “Wake the fuck up!” My voice sounds terrified. What is happening to me? I don’t like how she is controlling the situation. Her submission is somehow topping me.

“Cinder, answer me.” I place my lips on her cheek and feel the moistness of her flesh. She’s warm to the touch and her face is flushed. Not white or ashen color. I’ve never had someone pass out from an orgasm. She was to call out her safe word, and I would have stopped. Would I? I was just as out of control as she was. But I can never let myself lose focus. To be her dom, I must always execute control. This is fucked up.

“Ash,” she faintly breathes out.

“Cinder. Open your eyes,” I say, my voice still in a panic. Her closed eyes flutter, and I tap lightly on her cheek, hoping to wake her. “Cinder, can you hear me?”

“Ash?”

“Yes, it’s me. I need you to slow your breathing. Cinder, listen to the sound of my voice. I’m going to bring you back.”

“Ash, I…”

“Shh,” I tell her, trying to slow her breathing. I lay my head again on her chest, listening to the constant pounding of her heart. It’s still fast but is slowing. “Shh, just breathe, Cinder. I have you. You’re in my arms. You’re going to be okay. But I need you to breathe through your nose, and then open your eyes.”

I rub her cheeks with the back of my fingers. Her eyes flutter open and she’s looking at me. Something comes over me and I grab her close and begin to cry. I have no idea what’s happening to me. But she has taken over.

Her hand comes to the back of my head, and she begins to calm me. “Ash, it’s okay. I’m alright,” she whispers, like a child in need. “I trust you,” she says, and it’s so incredulous. Why? Why would she trust me? She knows nothing about me, and yet she has put her life in my hands.

I stiffen, forcing control into my stupid self. “Don’t. Don’t pity me,” I growl out. “Don’t touch me.”

Her hand stops petting my head, and I…miss it. I have to get away from her. She will destroy me. I push her off me, standing abruptly. I walk over to the cabinet full of my devices and brace myself, placing my hands on top. It’s never been this bad. I’ve always been able to control my emotions. Until she found that picture.

“Ash…”

“Stop calling me by my name. You address me as sir.”

“Sorry, sir. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Leave. Wait for me upstairs.” I turn around and glare at her. “Before I punish you more.”

She doesn’t get up in a hurry. Instead, she takes her time, reassuring me that I’m okay. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. That look of pity and despair. A poor helpless animal.

“Stop looking at me like that. Can’t you take orders?” I bark out at her. She then quickly scrambles off the bed, fixes her skirt, and runs up the stairs. I turn around and look at myself in the mirror on the wall. There’s a wild look in my eyes, and then…I see her behind me—laughing in that way she does.

“What’s the matter, Ash? Looks to me like you’ve grown weak.” She laughs again. “You’re nothing but a pathetic piece of waste.”

“Shut up!” My fist balls at my side, and I slam the mirror. It shatters into a thousand pieces. I drop to my knees and slow my breathing before I hyperventilate.

“Ash…sir? Are you okay?” She’s by my side in an instant. Her white, flowing skirt covers the glass on the floor. “What happened? Oh my, God. You’re bleeding.” She takes my hand and slowly opens my palm. “I need to get this cleaned up. You might need stitches,” she says with so much concern in her voice.

“I’m fine, Cinder. Leave me be.”

“No.” There’s order in her tone. How dare she.

“You are not listening to me. I said…”

“Red!”

I jerk my head and stare her down. “What are you doing?”

“Red, sir. I’m using my safe word, so I can tend to your wound.”

She’s…she’s throwing red for…me? I don’t understand. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“There’s nothing in the rules—the contract that states when I can’t use my safe word. If it’s mine to use, I’m using it now…Ash,” she says, looking sincerely into my eyes.

This girl shocks me. I have punished her three times in one day, and she reds out for me? I don’t know how to respond. All my life, I was able to get my emotions subdued. I have always been able to tightly control everything I think and feel, and it has shown. Until now. She’s already seen the picture of Christopher. It’s only a matter of time before she starts asking more questions.

“Please, sir. Let me help you.” Her eyes plead with me. There’s so much kindness in them. Kindness, I don’t deserve. I can’t let her get inside me, inside the monster that fuels me. Only I control the monster—not her.

“Cinder…”

“I said, red. You must obey the word,” she says. She’s right. It is the rule. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up, and then we’ll go from there.”

We’ll?

She leads me by my bloody hand, and we walk up the stairs. She then takes me upstairs to her room and into the bathroom. She turns on the faucet, testing the temperature of the water with her hand. “Let me rinse it,” she says, gently taking my hand and placing it under the cool, running water. I watch the blood swirl in the sink, disappearing down the drain. She examines it closely, looking for any shards of glass.

“I don’t see any glass. Do you feel something sharp when I smooth my fingers over your cut?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Good. It doesn’t look to be too deep. I don’t think you’ll need stitches. But let me dry it and apply some antibiotic cream, and some bandages.” She pats my hand dry and then wraps it in a towel. I watch her search through the cupboard, and she finds the first-aid kit I knew was there. “Okay, let me see it.” I extend my hand to her, and she carefully applies the cream and then dresses my cuts with a few band-aids.

I watch her clean the sink and then return the first-aid kit to its rightful spot. And then I’m taken aback by what she does next.

She drops to her knees; her head facing the floor. “Thank you for letting me care for you, sir.”

***

The Colors of Ash © 2024 Gina A. Jones rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.