East_1085's JumboTweets
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His raw honesty made my heart ache, just a little.
"I don't care if you say the wrong thing, as long as you say something."
He chuckled a little. "You say that now," he said. "But I know better."
"Did anybody ever tell you that you're too smart for your own good?"
"Every day of my life," he said, dryly, settling back down next to me. "You know, if I
could change any of this, if I could make it simpler - I would. If I could build a machine to go
back in time and have us meet some other way, I'd reprogram my brain so the right words
always come to mind without having to hesitate. But that's still beyond me. There are these
problems I can't solve with schematics and ones and zeroes. Or money. And I don't know. I
don't have the answers, and it drives me insane."
"But you try," I said, gently, hearing the frustration in his voice, and understanding it
completely. "Hell, it's not like I always say the right thing. Most of the time I don't. But we
try, you know, and that's what counts. As long as we're trying, that's all that matters." I
paused, hesitating over the words I was about to say, for some reason. But then I saw my
drawing out of the corner of my eye, and I remembered. I remembered the way he made me
feel, and I swallowed my hesitation. "I love you."
"I love you, too." His voice always had this soft, surprised tone to it, whenever he
replied to that. He looked up at me, and the tension melted. "What do you think about a picnic
tomorrow?" he asked, a smile tugging at his mouth. "It's supposed to be beautiful."
"That sounds nice." I stroked his hair. "A shower sounds nice, too."
"Doesn't it?" He stood up and extended his hand down to me, and I realized I could
actually use a little help. I still felt weak in the knees.
And when it came to him, I supposed I always would. -
"Can you not talk to me without being on your knees?" He was grinning, but it faded
when I didn't return with a smile.
"Sometimes it feels..." I cleared my throat, my head racing to find the right words.
"Like I just, I don't know how you'll react. I don't know if you'll be honest. I don't know. I
just don't know what to expect from you, the normal you, so I thought maybe if I talked to
the...you know, the dominant, it would be easier." I let out a small, bewildered laugh at my
own strange impulses. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but that was my thought process. I
just felt so awkward. It's my fault."
"Maddy, stop." He twisted around so he could look at me, full-on. "Listen, I very much
want to continue this conversation, but I'm going to..." He made a vague gesture at his lap
area.
"Put your dick away first?" I suggested, intensely grateful for the break in tension.
"You have such a way with words," he said, zipping up. "But listen. Please. I know
sometimes it feels like we're more strangers than anything. And I know we don't want to talk
about it. We're afraid to. At least, I am. I'm afraid of what it means, and I'm afraid everything
we have when we're..." Another vague gesture, which I also understood. "...isn't enough to
sustain things. I understand why you did what you did. I wish you didn't feel like you had to,
but it's not your fault."
He took a deep breath, then said, "I know I'm not always the easiest to talk to. But I
do...I do try."
"I know," I said, smiling. "I know."
"Sometimes I just don't open my mouth," he said. "Because I know whatever I say, it'll
be the wrong thing." -
"You'll ruin it," I whispered, though it was clearly too late for that.
"So?" He finished cleaning my chest, and tossed the tie like an old dishrag. "I've got
hundreds."
We'd come full circle. I couldn't stop a giddy laugh from rising up and escaping, and
he smiled, folding himself down on the floor beside me, until his head rested against my knee.
I let my fingers drift through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, the way he liked.
"I have to confess something, too," he said, softly. He looked up at me, half-smiling in
that boyish way I'd missed so much.
"Well?" I stilled my hand. "Keep in mind, I know a way to kill a man and leave no
trace."
"I didn't know what to get you, either," he said. It took me a moment to follow, then my
eyes widened. "I've legitimately been working late, that wasn't a lie, but I also spent a lot of
time hunting something down. I just didn't know what to do. Everything seemed useless or
impractical or clichéd."
When it sank in, I let out a shriek of laughter and smacked at the back of his head,
playfully. He dodged with a noise of protest.
"You asshole!" I yelled. "Making such a big deal out of it - God, you are the worst."
"Come on," he said, laughing. "I really was serious about most of it. I never want you
to..." He grew serious, frowning a little. "...feel like you owe me this."
"I don't," I assured him. "I didn't. It just seemed like a way I could, you know, talk to
you." -
"When I tell you to come, you'll want to close your eyes," he said, his voice wrecked.
And I realized he was holding himself back, too. Seeing his handiwork, he wouldn't be able to
hold back anymore - he'd spill onto my face, my chest...
"Sir," I said breathlessly, "Sir, I think...I think I can. I think I can do it, whenever you
say."
"Good," he said, his hand stilling, gripping himself so hard it must have hurt. His
nostrils flared. "Hold on to that feeling. Wait for my word."
I did, timing my pulses carefully so they didn't spiral out of my control. I still wasn't
sure, and I feared letting him down. I feared what he would do, or wouldn't do, if I did.
But at the core of it all, the whole reason why I was here in the first place, giving up
everything - giving up my control over my own body - was because I knew he'd never really
let me suffer.
His compassion, his love for me - that was my freedom. That was that allowed for this.
"Close your eyes," he whispered. "Close your eyes, love - and come."
My body arced, reacting instantly to his command, inner muscles no longer obeying
me; they quivered and trembled, suspending me on a razor's edge between frustration and
ecstasy, and that moment of terror that I'd fall off on the wrong direction -
Then it happened -
The rush of pure oh God yes, the rejoicing of every muscle in my body, and I cried out,
somehow still feeling the warm wet splash on my chest, as my body's incredible obedience to
him made Daniel lose control. He made a noise that wasn't quite human, and the wild part of
me was lost in rapture with him.
I sagged in my chair when it was over, and didn't move until I felt soft fabric brushing against my face. He was wiping me clean with something. I opened my eyes, a moment later,
and saw him holding his tie, retrieved from where he'd dropped it, crumpled, on the floor. -
I remembered. How could I forget, when I was sitting helpless like this in front of
him?
"Start now," he said. "Squeeze. Pulse the inner muscles you use when you grip me so
tight." He smiled, his voice husky, as he unzipped and pulled himself out again, once again just
as hard as he'd been before. That was the power I had over him, and I thrilled.
It took me a moment, but I found the movement that controlled them, that innocent
little twitch that did so much. I was shocked at the shiver of pleasure that went through me. It
wasn't the same as being touched, not even close, but I began to understand how this might be
possible.
He stroked himself, watching me, as I bit my lip and started to instinctively rock
against the hard wood of the chair.
"Stop," he murmured. "No. Stay still."
You don't understand! I wanted to scream at him, but I knew. I knew he was doing this,
not just to get drunk off of the power he held over me, but to pleasure me. To bring me
another level of ecstasy I'd never known possible, brought on only by his command.
He did understand. And this was exactly what he wanted for me.
I pulsed, just like he'd told me, and the fire rose. I could feel my body begin to stiffen,
ready for the inevitable.
"Tell me," he demanded in a whisper, his hand quickening. "What do you feel?"
"It feels..." I had to stop, gather my thoughts, clear my throat. "Good," I said, finally. "It
feels good. It's...building."
"Good," he said. He was inches from my face, and my mouth watered to taste him
again, but I was too focused on other things to give him the attention he deserved. -
"Remember," he said. "Stop me. Stop me before it gets to be too much."
He knelt down in front of me, and it was all I could do not to shout at him. No. I can't. I
won't be able to take it.
Looking up, he saw it in my eyes.
"You can do it," he whispered. "I know you can."
Surrendering, I let my knees fall apart. The first thing he did was press a hot kiss on
the inside of my thigh, before digging his teeth in a little. I squirmed. He repeated this on the
other side, then looked up at me again.
"If I taste you, will you come?"
I wanted, so badly, to tell him I wouldn't.
I wanted to lie.
"Yes," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
"You know what to do," he murmured.
I did. Breathing. Five counts in, ten counts out.
"I'm ready," I said, after a few moments. The tension had calmed to a dull roar.
His tongue was soft and slow. Savoring me. I groaned and shuddered, my hips
bucking towards him, but it wasn't enough to push me over the edge. Not yet.
He didn't hesitate. He trusted me. My head was spinning, and I started to clench -
"Stop," I almost sobbed out, "please, Sir, please stop."
Pulling back, he frowned up at me.
"Do I have to leave you alone for a while?" he asked.
"Please don't," I whispered, gripping the edges of my chair. "Please, Sir, I'm begging..."
"For what?" he asked, softly, sitting back on his heels.
"Just let me..." I swallowed hard, a lump rising in my throat. "I'm weak. The way I get
when you're around, I can't control myself at all. It's not going to matter if you leave me alone
for a few minutes, or an hour, or a day. As soon as you touch me, hell, as soon as you look at
me..." My voice was shaking, and I hated myself for it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I never want to
disappoint you. But I just can't."
For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. Every one of my heartbeats seemed to take
minutes.
"If I told you come now," he said, "would you?"
"I..." I swallowed thickly. "I don't understand."
"I mean, without being touched," he said, his voice quiet and almost...awed-sounding,
like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "I mean without touching yourself. Do you
think you could?"
"I don't..." This was something I'd heard of in whispered legends, but I suppose I'd
never really tried. "I don't know," I confessed.
"Try," he urged, touching my leg lightly. "Squeeze your thighs together. Use the
muscles inside that you think are so far out of your control. And when I tell you to do it...just
imagine the sweet relief."
I was. God, was I.
"Can't I just..." I started to ask, almost certain I already knew the answer.
He shook his head. "You come like this, on my terms, or you don't come at all tonight.
Remember: I control your pleasure." -
I was able to suppress a smirk, just barely.
"I've been very good," I said, softly. At this point, I could hardly move my fingers at all.
Every muscle was clenched in anticipation, waiting, ready for the tension to explode. I pulled
my hand away, breathing hard. The temptation was too great. "I've been practicing just like
you asked, and I..."
The room was warm, but the air felt cool on my dampened, overheated flesh. I hissed
and closed my legs. With my thighs pressed together, I could feel exactly how slick and
swollen I'd become.
"What's wrong?" he asked, softly.
"It's too much," I whimpered. "I don't...I don't think I can calm down."
"You would eventually," he said, his tone cool again. "If I left you long enough, tied up,
so that you couldn't do anything to stoke the fire."
I whimpered again, wordlessly, but I'd run out of ideas. I didn't know what I could do
or say to make him understand my desperation. I wanted to be better, but my body betrayed
me at every turn.
"Breathe," he said. "Remember. Deep breaths. Every exhale should be twice as long as
every inhale. Count it out in your head. Breathe in for five seconds, out for ten."
This felt impossible, torturous, but I did. I closed my eyes. One, two, three breaths like
this, each one like an eternity. But he was right. By the end, I no longer felt like my body was
a live wire.
"Are you ready for more?" he asked, when I opened my eyes.
I nodded, lifting my hand, but he shook his head and stood up, raising his arm in a stop
gesture. "Take off your shirt." I obeyed, my heart instantly throwing itself against my ribcage at the thought of him touching me. I wanted it more than anything, but I was terrified I wouldn't be able to stop myself. -
Now, I was sharing something with him that I'd never shared with anyone. No matter
26
how intimate we'd become, this was different.
I took a deep breath, and hooked my thumbs in my waistband.
While I stepped out of my pants, tossing them aside, I couldn't look at him. I did my
best to try and forget he was even there, but it was impossible. He was a palpable presence in
the little room. I sat down in my drawing chair, spreading my legs for him and...
...touching myself. I was doing it. I was really doing it, and even through my anxiety
and distraction, the pleasure was starting to spiral out of control. He'd wound me up so tight
already. Screwing my face with concentration, I forced myself to slow down, and allowed a
glance in his direction. Maybe that would cool my ardor.
But the cold detachment I'd been expecting wasn't there. His lips were slightly parted
as he watched me, eyes even darker than before. While one of his hands kept up the act,
hanging languidly off the arm of the chair, the other was balled in a tight fist.
"Go on," he murmured. "Are you close?"
I nodded, a hot flush spreading across my face and neck.
"Why?"
I bit down on my lower lip. Hard. "Because of you," I managed, slowing to an almostglacial
pace in a desperate attempt to control myself. "It's because of you."
"Do you want to come?" he almost purred.
A desperate stab of hope went through my chest. But somehow, I knew he was just
toying with me. "Yes, Sir," I said.
"Tell me why you deserve it." His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he swallowed,
fist still clenched, and between his sprawled legs I could see him beginning to stiffen again. So
much for being able to focus on me. I'll have you yet, Mr. Thorne. -
"Good," he almost snarled, coming back to himself, roughly tucking away and zipping
back up. "Now I can focus on you."
The way he said it, a shudder went through me, goose bumps prickling again.
"Stand up," he said. I did, more smoothly than I expected without use of my arms. My
yoga practice certainly had some side benefits. "Have you been practicing, like I told you?"
I knew exactly what he meant. After the last time we played this game, he told me I
had to learn my body better. I had to be able to warn him before I was too close to the edge.
In order to get there, I was supposed to practice something he called "edging" - bringing
myself to the brink and then back again, as many times as it took to learn my own limitations.
I had been practicing, as a matter of fact. But it was always going to be more difficult
when he was involved. I hoped he understood, but I didn't think now was the time to remind
him.
"Yes, Sir," I said. "I have."
"And are you prepared to tell me stop, whenever it's necessary? Even if it's the hardest
thing you've ever had to do?"
If my hands were free, I would have clenched them into fists.
"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."
He cocked an expectant eyebrow.
Shit.
"Sir," I corrected myself. "Yes, Sir."
"I'll forgive that," he said, circling me, his hands linked behind his back in an absurd
parody of mine. "You're probably a bit distracted."
Diabolical. I bit back a sarcastic retort, because this wasn't the time. He was right -
this version of myself, this submission, was a gift given freely. It could be revoked at any time,
but if I was going to play, I was going to play.
"I control your pleasure," he said, in a voice that he reserved just for these moments. It
washed over me like a warm ocean current, one that I wanted to drown in. He held my face in
his hand, my chin tucked in the space between his thumb and the side of his palm. His fingers
dug in, some into the soft flesh, others pressing against my jaw. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
He seemed satisfied with this, letting go and reaching behind me to untie my hands.
My fingers were just starting to tingle from the awkwardness of the position, and I shook the
feeling back into them.
"Show me," he said, returning to the armchair and relaxing into it. His tone was on the
casual side, now, but - what was it? Clinical, almost. "Show me how you've been practicing."
My throat was suddenly tight. "Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said." Now, he seemed annoyed. "What's so difficult to
understand?"
"I..." This was a new one, and I instantly felt embarrassed by the idea. Which was
absurd, wasn't it? But maybe not. It felt, not too intimate, but too personal. Until he'd ordered
me to practice, we had never discussed the topic of my own...leisure activities. I did it often
enough, and I assumed he did too, especially during those times when we saw each other
infrequently. Usually, when I did, I thought of him. Sometimes, just as he was - other times,
harder and crueler. -
Last time. He'd pushed me too far, that was his fault. He should have known I couldn't stop my body's reaction to the teasing motions of his tongue. I still thought he did it on
purpose, knowing exactly what would happen, just so he could deal out my "punishment" - a
spanking that I enjoyed as much as he did, before he bent me over the table and took me so
hard I climaxed twice more, sobbing his name.
I licked my lips. Okay, this might not be so bad.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, loosening his hand on my neck. I hadn't meant to,
but I realized my lips were curving up with the memory.
I swallowed, feeling my pulse quicken even more - and knowing that he could feeling it
quickening too. "I don't know."
"Does it please you to follow my orders?"
"Yes," I said.
And it was true.
He rested two fingers against my lips, and I understood. I opened my mouth, accepting
them in, sucking, tasting myself. His eyes were heavy-lidded.
"Kneel," he said, stepping back and letting me go. I hurried back onto my knees again,
unsteady with my hands still tied behind my back, and tilted my face up to him.
"Please, Sir," I said. I wasn't sure if I needed to or not, this time, but it couldn't hurt.
He smiled fiercely, coming close and guiding himself into my mouth again. I swirled
my tongue eagerly, hoping if I did a good enough job, he'd decide to abandon that whole
"waiting" thing and just return the favor. Before I exploded.
Already, his breath was coming in short, growling pants, and I knew it wouldn't be
long. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the heat and the taste of his skin. When he groaned
and flooded my mouth, pitching forward and grabbing my shoulder, I felt a thrill run through my core, renewing the frustrated throb between my legs. -
There was some part of him, I thought, that existed in stark contrast to the thoughtful
and careful dominant. Whatever fantasies it was that drove him - they ran much deeper than
he'd ever let me see. Was it true? Was it wishful thinking on my part? Did I want there to be
some darker part of him beneath the surface?
What was wrong with me?
The answer came unexpectedly: Nothing. Nothing. This is the way it was meant to be. This is
right.
Very suddenly, with a low growl, he pulled away from me, let go of my hair, and
grabbed my arm to lift me up again. My world spun again for moment.
I took a deep, cleansing breath, just the way he'd taught me. Banished all thought from
my mind. He smiled.
"Good girl," he whispered. "Stay with me."
With that, he turned me around again, frog-marching me over to the wall and pressing
me up against it. His body was all hard edges and tense muscles, pushing me so close that I
had to turn my head sideways, letting my cheek flatten against the wall. I felt like I could
hardly breathe. My chest had no room to expand between his body and the wall. Again, I
made a conscious effort to slow my breathing, even as Daniel's breaths came hot and harsh in
my ear. He seldom followed his own advice.
Throbbing insistently, his hardness seared my skin through the yoga pants I hadn't
bothered to change out of. He was tall enough that I usually felt it against my lower back, but
he'd pushed it down, nestling it between the cheeks of my ass, one of which he was now
palming roughly.
He made a little appreciative growl, and slipped his hand around to the front of my
body. Trapped between my pelvis and the wall, he somehow still managed to maneuver down,
working his way under my waistband, his fingers finding heated flesh like it was a homing
beacon. I let out a breathy moan, my knees buckling slightly as the pleasure spiked. He made
a low sound - pleased, feral, a vocalization of his body's reaction to mine. I felt him twitch
against my ass. His lips brushed against my neck, then his teeth. Scraping lightly. Closing
down, ever so gently, on my ear.
Deeper, deeper, his fingers dipped and curled. Finding the spot that made me jerk and
let out a helpless sob.
"Shhh," he whispered, stilling his fingers. "You're not to come until I say."
I bit my lip. This was a game we'd played before, but it wasn't one of my favorites.
During, that was. After, when it finally ended, in the most explosive pleasure I could imagine -
on an intellectual level I understood you couldn't have one without the other, but in moments
like this, my body did not know logic.
With a movement so sudden it made me gasp, he slipped his fingers out of me and
flipped me around so I was facing him. His hand came to my throat, a little tighter than usual.
His eyes stormed dark.
"Do you understand?" he demanded, and only then, I realized I hadn't answered him. I
gulped.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Yes, Sir. I understand."
"Good," he said, with a dark smile. "I hope you've learned to control yourself better
than last time." -
"Please." My voice barely made a sound.
I watched the cords of his neck tense and release as he swallowed, with an effort.
"Again," he didn't order so much as rasp, gripping himself with one hand that trembled.
"Louder." His manhood was flushed and heavy, beading at the tip. I licked my lips.
"Please," I said, this time finding my voice a little more. "Please let me..."
He was waiting. Every muscle in his body straining with the effort of not thrusting
forward, into my mouth.
"Please let me taste you." My own voice echoed, too loud, in my ears. And then, he did.
I choked a little at the suddenness of it, but a moment later my body automatically
relaxed, accepting him. It was a welcome intrusion - making me feel strangely powerful,
watching the way he reacted, even as his fingers curled tightly around the roots of my hair
and held me in place.
He could lose himself in this, but never completely. Always there was something. I
could see it, even when my world was consumed with pleasing him, timing my harsh breaths
through my nostrils, matching his rhythm. I could see how he held back.
Because this wasn't the sort of thing nice men did. Because it was wrong. Because part
of him expected me to shrink away at his desires, and some part of him almost wanted it,
because it made sense. Because it absolved him of responsibility. Because he both needed and
feared to have me completely at his mercy.
I had always suspected there was something inside him that he never showed me.
Something beyond the elegant bondage and the gentle commands, even the lashes of his belt -
always with a restrained hand, through clothes, nothing more than a sting that would fade by
the next day. It glimmered in his eyes sometimes. When he first lashed my hands behind my back, or when he'd put a hand on my throat. Never enough to restrict my breathing, but... -
He undid his tie, with quick, practiced fingers.
"Kneel," he said, a little breathless. I did, facing him, but he shook his head. With his
finger, made the gesture to turn.
I shuffled around, turning my back to him. Crouched down on the floor behind me, he
wound the tie around my wrists, binding it just tight enough to be sure I couldn't slip out. As
if I would. Then, he walked around so we were facing each other.
Already I ached, the air tense and thick with need, and my thighs were pressed together
hard enough to make me hotter, but not hard enough to bring any relief. I needed. Urgently.
What, it didn't matter. His fingers, his tongue, his thick length buried inside me, whatever it
took to douse this fire before it drove me insane.
He unzipped, inches from my face. My mouth watered at the sight of him, and if I'd
been capable of being embarrassed in that moment, I would have been. But we were far past
that now. I tilted forward, my neck curving back a little, exposing my throat. Trying to reach
him.
He made a soft noise. A scold, I thought. I froze, staring up at him. His eyes glittered
dark.
"Beg," he whispered.
His whole body was one long taut need. I knew the feeling. But he was holding back,
just to gratify something in him that needed, even more, to see me humbled before him. To
know that I was choosing this. To thrill at my coy submission, though at any moment I could
choose to stand up and demand to be treated as an equal. -
"But," he went on. I lifted my head. "That doesn't address the problem. You tried to use
your submission to manipulate me. You shouldn't feel bad about not getting me a gift. You
don't owe me anything like that. But you do owe me honesty, and I don't feel like you were
honest with me. Do you?"
Swallowing hard, I shook my head.
Suddenly he was no longer lurking behind me, but kneeling down on the floor in front
of me. But his posture was completely different from mine, when I'd been at his feet. He
wasn't supplicating. Even as he looked up at me, I never doubted who was in control of this
situation.
"You give yourself to me freely," he said. "As a gift. Not to manipulate me, or to
apologize for something you think you did wrong. I don't want it any other way. Do you
understand?"
I nodded, my heart throbbing in my chest.
He stood, extending his hand to me, and I took it. He pulled me to my feet, and into
him, our bodies crashing together so fast it made my head spin. Before I had a moment to
recover, he was kissing me.
It hit me in a rush: how long it had been since we'd really seen each other, spent any
time together, touched like this. Like nothing else mattered. Like there were no schedules or
deadlines or meetings or anything else but me and him. A man and a woman who wanted to
touch each other. Needed to touch each other.
That crazy old fuck in the bookstore was right.
Daniel kissed me until I was dizzy, until the only thing I knew was the feel of his tongue, the taste of his mouth. When he finally let go of me, I still clung to him, feeling weak
and unsteady. -
"I...I don't know," I said, stammering over the words. "Did...have I?"
"Have you what?" He was lounging back in the chair again, but at the same time, he
seemed on the verge of springing up and grabbing me. Goosebumps were rising all over my
skin.
"Disappointed you?"
"Yes," he said, standing up suddenly. I jumped a little. He came over to me, then
walked around so he was standing behind my back - so close I could feel the heat of his body,
but not touching me. "But not the way you think."
I felt his voice against my ear, and shuddered.
"You want an easy way out," he murmured. "Don't you? Absolution. You want me to
do something to you that will make the guilt melt away. You're submitting to me for all the
wrong reasons."
Clenching my fists at my sides, I felt the tears spring to my eyes again. His fingers
brushed against mine, and I realized I was holding my hands behind my back. A moment
later, those same fingers clamped down around my wrist. I let out a small noise.
"That's not how this works," he whispered.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know how to tell you as...myself."
This was absurd. I was just as much "myself" when I submitted to him as when I didn't, but
there was simply no other way to put it.
A derisive snort of laughter. He'd slipped so far into the role now that I hardly
recognized what was real and what was just a show, and that both thrilled and unnerved me. With another sudden movement, he pushed me towards my drawing table. I went
forward, confused.
"Sit," he said, letting go of my arm. I did.
"Draw me a picture," he said. "Draw me a picture of how I make you feel."
This time, the burning started all the way down the back of my neck. Somehow, with
everything we'd done, this seemed like the most intimate request he'd ever made of me.
I started to draw. Without knowing what I planned to do, or how I planned to do it, I
put pencil to paper. He stayed behind me the whole time, just inches away, and I kept
expecting him to lay his hands on my shoulders or - something.
Shapes and shadows began to form. I thought of pain and pleasure and rising, always
rising up, higher - I thought of wings. I thought about the feeling of sunlight on my face after
a long winter. I wasn't doing a very good job of drawing any of this, but at least it was
something. At least I was following his order.
At least I was doing something for him.
When I was finished, I set my pencil down and stared at what I'd created. Somehow,
the collection of abstract light and shadows and shapes had evoked....something. It didn't come
close to capturing what he'd asked for, but it was a start.
"Are you finished?" he asked, softly. I nodded.
He reached down over my shoulder and picked up the paper, lifting it up so it was
behind my head.
"Thank you," he said. "Now you've given me something for Valentine's day. Nothing to
feel guilty about anymore."
My stomach sank a little. Was that really it? Was he going to leave me hanging, after that little mind-game? -
On the floor, my fingers sinking into the thick carpet, I kept my head down. It was
part of the role I was playing, but it was also because I couldn't look him in the eyes.
"I have a confession to make," I whispered, staring at his shoes.
"Tell me," he urged, his voice a soft rumble.
Tears were stinging in my eyes, but thankfully, he couldn't know. This was supposed to
be a lighthearted way to explain my inability to find him a decent present, but it was turning
into so much more than that.
"I couldn't...I haven't been able to..." I took a deep breath. "I don't know what to get
you for Valentine's day."
There was a moment of heart-stopping silence.
"Is that so." I thought I heard the edge of a chuckle in his words, but he was holding it
back. "Sneak up on you, did it? Tricky holiday. Same day every year."
My ears burned.
"No," I said. "I've been looking and looking. But nothing seems..." I let out a long
breath. "...right."
"Get up," he said, with a dismissive twitch of his finger that I barely saw, in the corner
of my vision. I stood, slowly. My legs felt unsteady.
"Look at me."
This one was harder. I swallowed reflexively, lifting my eyes up to his face. He was
affecting a stern look, but it wavered when he noticed the hint of wetness in my eyes.
Only for a moment, though.
"Do you think you need to be punished for disappointing me?" he asked, almost languidly. Like it didn't matter to him, one way or the other. My ears burned hotter. I didn't
want to have to choose anything, or ask for anything. That was why I'd started this game. -
"Really putting us through the ringer," he said, "and I think they're enjoying it."
I had no idea who "they" were, and it didn't really matter. There was always someone
new in Daniel's world, making some new demands of him.
"Sorry I haven't been around much lately," he said. "Things should be calming down
now."
I shrugged, still staring at the blank side of my paper. "That's just how it is," I said. "I
knew what I was getting into."
"Did you?" He leaned forward, looking at me earnestly for the first time since he
walked in. I swallowed hard.
"Yes," I said. "More than most. I got that practice run, remember."
He chuckled, and some of the tension in his face dissipated. "That's one way to look at
it, I suppose."
I wanted to crawl into his lap and just melt there, breathing in the scent that only
belonged to him, soaking up the warmth of his body on his godforsaken winter day. Instead, I
just sat there, still, looking at the blank paper with a blank mind.
He's probably got something amazing planned. And here you are, with nothing...
A flash of inspiration came across me, jolting me upright in my chair. He glanced at me
curiously.
I knelt down on the floor, with what I hoped was a fluid, graceful movement.
Instantly, his demeanor changed. He drew his shoulders back, his eyes glittering with something dark and secret. A smile twitched at his mouth. -
This was bullshit. This whole holiday was bullshit. My feelings were bullshit, my
inability to express them was bullshit...
Angrily, I scratched the pencil across the paper, shading dark corners and cruel lines.
When I glanced up, the clock on the wall caught my eye.
Midnight, on the dot.
Happy Valentine's day to me.
Out in the hallway, I heard the front door open. I hastily ripped the sheet from my
sketch pad and turned it over, ashamed by my own fury and frustration over something as
simple as a Valentine's day gift.
There was a light tap at the door, then he came in, without waiting for answer.
He looked so tired. Tie loosened and collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up and shirt
beginning to untuck, he let out a full body sigh before leaning down to kiss me.
But he didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't realize what time it was.
"Tough day?" I asked, as if there could be any doubt.
He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Hell,
maybe he'd forgotten all about the holiday. I would have honestly been relieved, though I felt
a slight twinge of disappointment. But this was his life. It was always going to be his life, for
as long as he was one of the most successful businessmen in the world. There was no escaping
the late nights, the piles of paperwork in the living room, the prototypes scattered on the
bedside table.
This was the life I had fallen into. This was the life I never wanted to leave.
When he was like this, the boyish softness of his face disappeared into the sharply handsome angles of a man you don't want to cross. The shadows under his eyes spoke
volumes. I marveled, for the millionth time, that a man could look so different from day to day,
while still somehow looking exactly the same. -
Nodding, I reached for it. "Yeah. It's pretty much the only lead I've got."
He let out a bark of laughter, which startled the dog. "Lead? You sound like a god
damn secret agent."
"Yeah, well," I said, tucking the card into my pocket. I realized after I'd started to
respond that I didn't really have an answer, so I just let it hang.
"People put way too much effort into these damn holidays," the man grunted, sitting
back on the stool behind the counter. "In the wrong way, too."
I was on the verge of walking away, but for some reason, I didn't.
"What do you mean?"
He crossed his arms. "When's the last time you just talked to him, spent time with him?
Instead of wandering all over creation looking for some book that probably doesn't exist."
"I can't," I said, immediately feeling defensive. "He's been working late. He's very
busy."
"Hmph," he replied, his brow furrowing. "I'll stand by what I said."
"Well, thanks for your time." I left quickly, trying to shake off the uncomfortable
feeling that his words left me with.
Just talking to him, spending time with him, that wasn't enough. He got plenty of that
from me already. He was my entire life. Didn't he know that?
You know he doesn't. On some level, you know he doesn't understand. How completely you belong to
him. You want to tell him, but you're afraid to confront it yourself.
Coward.
***
I sat in front of my sketchpad, morose, clutching the pencil so hard I was surprised it didn't snap. -
He was already gone when I woke up. I'd never been able to figure out how he stole
around the place so silently, in the wee hours, but I seldom woke up when he left for work
early. Really, there was almost nothing to signify he'd been here at all. It wouldn't be the first
time he had slept in the office, but an extra plate and glass in the dishwasher indicated that
he'd been home.
After a quick shower, I dressed quickly, took a deep breath, and cracked my knuckles.
It was time to figure this thing out.
***
I was back at square one.
Three days until Valentine's, and the Victoria's Secret was a madhouse. I don't know
why I expected anything different. Jostled between hordes of grim-faced women, shuffling
through rapidly-dwindling piles of lace panties and tossing their rejects aside, I felt a sour
taste developing in my mouth.
I finally left, empty-handed, when I realized the line was snaking around the entire
store twice.
Back to square zero.
***
"Sorry, never heard of it."
This bookstore was a carbon copy of the other one, except it was a very small, dirtywhite
dog with an underbite who glared at me from the corner.
I bit my lip and sighed. The owner, a stringy fifty-something man with an impressive
grey mustache and tattoos snaking all up and down his arms, stared down at the card.
"This for Valentine's day?" -
Buying bondage rope for Daniel Thorne was like buying a tie for any other
businessman. It was a useful enough gift, in theory, but almost guaranteed to end up in the
back of his closet with a thousand other neglected siblings
"Sorry, never heard of it."
I was in a bookstore by a neglected alley, one that didn't seem to have a phone. Unless
it was buried somewhere under one of the many piles of books, or the large, angry-faced cat
who was draped over the counter.
I thanked the owner and left, dodging a glare from the cat.
This was ridiculous. I felt drained and defeated, and it was mostly because I wasn't
even sure what I was doing in the first place. No matter how meaningful this gift might be for
Daniel, it wasn't right for this occasion.
It wasn't us.
Problem was, I didn't know what qualified as us.
There was nothing for me to draw on. We never had "our song." His "proposal" was
put on for show, at a restaurant that still made me feel a twist of anxiety when I remembered
it. There were no special landmarks for our relationship, no fond memories of gently falling in
love. Even our honeymoon was fraught with the knowledge that we were playing with fire.
There was so much doubt and insecurity in our early days together. How could I create
something positive from that?
Miserable, I made my way back to midtown and sat down on a park bench, watching the couples walk by. Smiling, holding hands, happy. Or at least, putting on a good show of it.
Bet they didn't get together for a green card. I mean, who even does that in real life?
My feelings for Daniel intimidated me. Sounded silly, even in my own head, but it was
true. They loomed so large in my mind, out of my control - they couldn't be expressed by
holding his hand in a park. Or a rare first-edition book from one of his long-lost relatives. Or
a baby-doll nightie from Victoria's Secret. Hell, not even Agent Provocateur.
Such small gestures were for ordinary people, and we were not ordinary.
But was there a gift that could somehow capture the way he made me feel, when I was
blindfolded in our bedroom and his finger would run down my cheek, the side of my neck,
burning me like a brand? Could I somehow express the way my heart tried to escape my
ribcage when his hand closed around my wrist, lifting my arms above my head and pinning
them there?
It was so hard to even wrap my head around my own feelings. How could I possibly
hope to share them without making a fool out of myself?
***
Daniel was working late. This wasn't unusual, and typically I disliked the oppressive
silence of being alone in his roomy apartment. Even with the TV turned up, it was obvious
that I was alone.
This time, I ought to have been grateful for the opportunity to think about my
conundrum. I did try, but I was so drained that my mind just kept running around in circles.
I finally shut myself in my little art studio, opening my box of pencils and sketching
mindlessly. The graphite smears didn't take any particular shape. I went on until I'd filled a
whole page, until I was sleepy enough to crawl into the cold, empty bed upstairs. -
Freed from the responsibility of my own actions, compelled by his orders, I felt myself
blossom beyond fear and hesitation and shame. I allowed myself to let go, to lose myself in the
strange dichotomy between pleasure and pain.
When he was holding me down, I felt free.
Maybe that was the inspiration I'd been searching for. Some kind of gift symbolizing
that part of our relationship, the thing that no one else knew - the secret game that was just
for us. But I was pretty sure he owned at least one of everything he could possibly want. Still,
maybe it was worth looking around.
I opened my computer, and within half an hour, I was wishing I hadn't.
Massage oils? Furry handcuffs? I moved on from those sites pretty quickly, stumbling
into a realm of contraptions that looked like steampunk costume accessories or Medieval
torture devices. Everything was so complicated. With Daniel, it was always so simple.
But at the same time, it wasn't.
There was nothing simple about the way my body and mind reacted when he left me
kneeling on the bed, my arms bound behind my back, blindfolded, in silence. But it didn't
require any deluxe harnesses or modified gas masks.
All I needed was him. Beyond that, any old tie or scarf or scrap of fabric would do.
He preferred to use a special rope that be bought handmade from an artisan near
Seattle, shipped in nondescript flat rate boxes that didn't even begin to hint at the contents
within. Then it would snake out - richly dyed in bright colors that stood out against my skin,
the hemp fibers digging in just hard enough to leave an indentation. He told me I looked
beautiful like that, and I believed him, without reservations, for the first time in my life.
But he already had more rope than he could possibly need. And anyway, I didn't know the company's name. -
And for little old me, swimming in student loan debt, a two million dollar fee for two
years of my life sounded like a very reasonable offer.
I was a fool to ignore the chemistry that existed between us, taut like a rubber band
about to snap. At first I thought it was my imagination. I must be too plain and ordinary for a
man like him. He dated models. Supermodels.
Victoria's Secret models.
Ugh. I pressed my fingers into my temples. Maybe I should just go back to the lingerie
thing, after all.
Then again, he'd been tempted by me in grungy moving clothes. Even before our sham
wedding, it was hard for him to resist me.
And during the honeymoon, it became impossible.
I fell in love with him that night. I didn't realize it at the time, but people never do.
I didn't think I would ever understand the invisible thread that pulled us together.
There were times when I was afraid it would break. I'd wake up early one morning and I
wouldn't feel that little lurch in my heart, watching the way his lips parted in his sleep,
breathing slowly, shallow, unguarded and peaceful for perhaps the only time in his life.
But it hadn't happened yet.
As for his side of things - well, I didn't know. But it helped that I seemed able to gratify
something in him. A desire that prowled, demanding satisfaction, demanding to claim and own
and possess. No matter how many times he twisted the rope around my wrists, there was still a
flash of panic in my chest, and I was sure it reflected in my eyes. And no matter how many
times he saw it, he wanted more.
And I had grown to love that thrill, the edge of danger that wasn't really dangerous. -
When I got home, I called Lindsay.
She should have been my first stop. I knew that now, but I'd been hesitant to admit to
her that I was so stumped. And it seemed an oddly personal question to ask of a man's sister.
"By the way, what do you think your brother would like for Valentine's day?" But I had such
misgivings about the book. Not the least of which was the fact that I couldn't prove it existed.
Internet searches turned up nothing. I started to wonder if Alice was sending me on a
wild goose chase, just to be cruel. But no, that didn't seem like her.
Did it?
I had to leave a voicemail with Lindsay; I should have known she'd be stuck in
meetings, too. She was nearly as successful as Daniel in her own right, and often seemed twice
as busy. I tossed my phone down on the sofa, and sighed.
Leaning my head back, I let my thoughts drift. Daniel Thorne, my husband. Half the
time, when I used that phrase - my husband - I expected people to just laugh at me. It felt so
strange and unnatural, still. Me? Married?
And to a man like Daniel, no less. I remembered how nervous I'd been, when I first
started working for his company. It was an outside shot for me, the application where I only
gathered the courage to press "send" when I'd had a few glasses of wine one evening. And
back then, he wasn't even famous yet.
When they called me for an interview, I thought for sure they must have mixed my
portfolio up with someone else.
For a long time, I knew Daniel mostly as a shape that moved quickly, almost silently
through the halls, leaving only a hint of body heat and expensive cologne. There were rumors
of his romantic entanglements, but I never saw any evidence of them. He seemed much more
in love with his business than with anything else, and that impression was solidified the day he
called me into his office.
For him, marriage was nothing more than a tool. A means to an end. His immigration
paperwork from Canada had been botched and he needed help. He knew I was single, and he
knew I didn't really believe in marriage. It was a match made in heaven. -
I felt a small rush of triumph at having rendered Alice speechless, if only for a moment.
"I need an idea," I said. "A gift."
A slow smile crept across Alice's face. I couldn't tell if there was a sinister
undercurrent, or if that was just my overactive imagination.
"What do you get the man who has everything?" she said, quietly.
"Exactly." I nodded, watching her. The expression on her face was unreadable, but she
was obviously considering something. Weighing her options.
"If you don't know, it's fine," I said. I hadn't intended this to be a challenge, but that
was how she took it - I saw the glint in her eyes.
Oh well, whatever worked.
She leaned across the desk, glancing over her shoulder as if someone might materialize
out of the wood paneling and eavesdrop on her.
"There's something," she said, very quietly. "He spent a long time looking for it, a few
years back - but he finally gave up."
Opening one of her desk drawers, slowly, she looked behind her again, before picking
up a fountain pen and quickly scrawling something on an index card. She handed it to me,
and I was briefly distracted by the heft of the thing. It was thick and lush - only the best for
Mr. Thorne, even when it came to index cards.
It said:
On Business by Lawrence Langley
"Uh," I started, looking at her.
"It's a book," she said, cutting me off. "There was only one printing. That's a distant
cousin of Mr. Thorne's, he immigrated from Czechoslovakia as a factory worker, and ended up with a real estate empire five years later." She told me all this in hushed tones, like it was
some shameful family secret. "Once Mr. Thorne found out about it, he got obsessed with
learning about the man. But he ran into roadblocks at every turn, and the biggest one was this
book."
I looked down at the card in my hand again, trying to reconcile this with my
stereotypical ideas of what a Valentine's day gift should be.
"It's not very...romantic, is it?" I finally said, hesitantly.
Alice's demeanor instantly went cold again. She sat up straight, picking up a sheaf of
papers from her desk and tapping them rhythmically. "That's what I've got," she said. "Take it
or leave it."
"No, no, I really...I really appreciate it," I assured her. "Any, uh...tips?"
She shrugged, melting a little. "He had me calling every used bookstore in the country,
as far as I know. But that was years ago. A copy might have turned up. People are cleaning
out their attics and basements and invisible corners all the time. You never know."
"Thanks," I said. "I mean it, Alice. This is a big deal, and I don't take it lightly."
She shrugged, but there was still a hint of a smile on her face. -
What do you get the man who has everything?
I'm seriously asking. Because I have no idea, and it's driving me nuts.
When you agree to marry your billionaire boss so he can stay in the country, these are
not the kinds of thoughts that cross your mind. "Am I going to end up in federal prison?" is
way higher up on the list. In all fairness to me, I never suspected I'd actually fall for the guy. I
mean, he's arrogant, standoffish, maddeningly successful, irritatingly handsome, and wildly
skilled in bed -
Okay, maybe I should have seen it coming.
But the point is, I didn't. The point is, now it was our first "real" Valentine's Day and I
had no idea what I was going to do.
Gift giving was never really my strong suit. I'm much more apt to settle for a tie or a gift card, or something else relatively meaningless, but nice enough to pass for "thoughtful." I
can spend all year thinking about the perfect gift for someone I've known my whole life, and
I'll still end up buying them a coffee table book.
So what do you get your billionaire husband, who has everything? The man who
sleeps beside you in bed, but you barely know?
I couldn't get him a tie. That was ridiculous. And I'd always secretly rolled my eyes at
those women who went out and bought themselves lingerie as a "gift." It was just so obvious.
So twee. Of course he'd appreciate it, but that wasn't the point.
It wasn't good enough. Nothing was good enough.
Why can't I just be normal, and go to the Victoria's Secret like everyone else?
Because we weren't normal. And we never would be. I might as well get used to that.
My first plan of attack was his assistant, Alice.
This was risky. Alice had never liked me, and I wasn't sure if it was jealousy, mistrust,
or something more sinister. It was also quite likely that she didn't know him any better than I
did. But I felt, somehow, that being privy to all the mundane details of his day-to-day life
would give her an insight that I'd never had. It was worth a shot, anyway.
I came by the office when I knew Daniel was in a meeting. Alice was glued to the
phone when I walked up to her desk, and she gave me the "wait" finger with a look that used
to make me wilt. But now, I was Daniel's wife. I had every right to be here.
"He's in a meeting," she said, coolly, as soon as she hung up. "Until lunch, at least."
"I know," I said. "I'm actually here to talk to you."
Alice blinked.
"Well," she said. "Here I am."