Page 36 of The Freeuse Proposal
Gray winter light filters through the curtains. Leo is already awake beside me, propped on one elbow, watching me with soft concern. His hair is mussed from sleep, and the lines aroundhis mouth deepen as he studies my face. The familiar scent of oranges wraps around me, usually so comforting, but right now even that seems muted and strange.
“Morning, lass.” His voice is gentle. “How are you feeling?”
My mouth opens to say fine, to tell him I’m wonderful, to thank him for yesterday—
And I burst into tears.
The sobs come from nowhere, wrenching up from some deep place I didn’t know existed. I don’t understand why I’m crying. Nothing is wrong. Everything was perfect. So why does my ribcage feel like it’s caving in?
“I don’t—“ I gasp between sobs. “I don’t know why I’m—”
Leo doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me against him immediately, wrapping his arms around me and tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes down my spine in long, soothing passes.
“Shh, sweet girl. It’s all right.” His voice is calm. “This is normal. I’m here.”
Normal? How is sobbing uncontrollably for no reason the morning after the best sexual experience of my life considered normal? That’s the opposite of normal. I’m ridiculous, embarrassed, and I can’t seem to stop the tears from coming.
“It’s called subdrop, lass.” He keeps stroking my back as the tears continue to fall. “After intense scenes, especially extended ones like yesterday, your system goes through a kind of crash.”
I hiccup against him, trying to focus on his words through the fog of emotion. His chest is getting wet from my tears, and I should probably care about that, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
“All those endorphins and adrenaline you produced, it’s like a massive high. And what goes up must come down.” He kisses the top of my head, reassuring. “You went very deep yesterday. Your system’s working through it now.”
Another wave of tears spills over, and shame burns hot behind my sternum. I want to be stronger than this, to handle my own desires without falling apart afterward. The thought makes me cry harder, which only makes me feel more pathetic.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out waterlogged and small.
Leo pulls back just enough to tip my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. There’s no frustration, just understanding. And something that looks almost like pride.
“Nothing is wrong with you.” His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek, so gentle it makes my throat tight. “This isn’t weakness. This is you working through something intense. It means you trusted me completely. It means you let go in ways you’ve never let go before.”
I want to argue, to insist I’m fine, but another sob breaks free and all I can do is cling to him. His arms tighten around me, holding me together when I can’t hold myself.
“Let me take care of you.” The words are soft but absolute, no room for argument. “That’s my job, lass. Not just during scenes, but after them, too. Especially after them.”
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice. He holds me for a long time, letting me cry without making me feel like a burden. The tears eventually slow, leaving me exhausted and empty, but his arms stay firm around me the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”
When the storm finally passes, Leo eases me up from the bed. My legs are shaky like they might buckle at any moment, and he keeps a steadying arm around my waist as he guides me toward the bathroom. I lean into him, grateful for his solid presence.
“Bath first.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “The heat will help.”
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he runs the water, testing the temperature with his fingers before adding a lavender bath bomb. Steam curls up from the surface, and when he helps me step in, the warmth envelops me like a cocoon.
Sinking down until the water laps at my collarbone, I let out a shaky breath. The heat seeps into my muscles, loosening something that’s been clenched tight since I woke up. It doesn’t fix the vacant sensation, but it softens the edges of it.
Leo kneels beside the tub in a pair of boxer shorts and begins to wash me. His touch is gentle but thorough, tending to me like I’m something precious.
“Let me see your backside, lass.”
I shift in the water, letting him examine the marks from yesterday’s spanking. His fingers trace over the sensitive spots, and I wince slightly at the pressure.
“They’re fading well.” Relief colors his voice. “Pink, not bruised. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
He reaches for a bottle of water on the edge of the tub—when did he put that there?—and holds it to my lips. “Drink. You cried a lot. You need to replace what you lost.”
I obey without thinking, the cool water soothing my raw throat. He waits until I’ve finished half the bottle before setting it aside. He planned this. The water, the bath bomb, all of it. Something squeezes in my chest that has nothing to do with subdrop.
