“I can’t talk to you right now.” His voice cracked on the last two words. “I just…can’t.”
He left my apartment, slamming the door. I swallowed hard and started counting to distract myself so I wouldn’t cry. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I counted to one hundred and still felt shitty. I tried to think about science, about Fort’s pendulums swinging, about potential and kinetic energy. Relationships had that kind of energy. They were always changing.
But I’d worked for Goodluck for so long. I loved him. He loved me in his kooky way. Managing his art empire was the only job I’d ever known, and it made me feel like I was part of something special. Goodluck had been my world for years now, the only relationship in my life that ever worked. If we parted ways…
Ugh, I wanted to go back to Fort’s penthouse and beg him to hold me. No, I couldn’t do that. I went into my bathroom and picked up Goodluck’s unevenly melted candle. I’d have to buy him a holder, maybe a nice glass candlestick as a goodwill gift. Maybe we could talk about things, negotiate some boundaries for our working relationship. I carried my phone around all day waiting for more messages from him, but none came.
*
I went out for groceries later in the afternoon, determined to cook dinner, but when I got home, I went straight to the couch and curled up under a blanket. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I flipped on the TV, looking for a distraction. News? God, no. Home improvement shows? A little better. I watched them tear down the walls of an old Victorian, letting my mind drift. I had feelings to process, but watching TV felt easier. Later, when I felt stronger…
My phone rang, displaying Fort’s name on the screen. A surge of excitement was followed by ambivalence. Was I angry with him? Yes, a little. My life wasn’t spiraling out of control on its own.
I picked up the phone and greeted him in a reasonably steady voice. He cut right to the chase.
“Come over. Let’s have dinner.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “I’m sorry, I’d rather not. I’ve had a long day.”
A pause. “Would you like me to come over there?”
“I won’t be good company.”
“You can be any kind of company you want.” His kind, deep voice was melting my resolve to spend the night sulking. “We didn’t have time to talk about The Gallery this morning,” he said. “And I think we should.”
I hugged myself, pushing my head into the sofa cushion. “Then let’s talk.”
“I’d prefer to do it face to face.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I got off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I needed some tea to relax me. “When you’re near me, I can’t express myself the right way.”
Another pause. “Are you grouchy because you had to talk to your boss all day about candles?”
“No. He was too angry to talk to me, because…” I rammed the tea pod into my machine with a little more force than necessary. “Because I wasn’t there for him when he needed me.”
“Did you get in trouble?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Did Goodluck Weirdface yell at you?”
“Yes, he yelled at me. We had a big argument, which was really shitty.”
When he spoke, it wasn’t mocking anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was my fault you weren’t at home. I just thought…after last night…I wanted to keep you close to me, in case you felt post-traumatic stress, or some kind of drop from everything that went on.”
I watched my tea spit into my cup, feeling my resolve melt a little more. He might be dead-set against love, but he cared about me. “The Gallery wasn’t that traumatic, not really. It just…” It just made me feel even closer to you. Every time you hurt me, I feel closer to you and I don’t know what to do about that.
“How’s your ass looking today?” he asked.
“The same. Awful. I mean, I think it looks sexy, but Goodluck barged into my apartment while I was changing, and he saw the marks, and…”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. He wasn’t happy about it, and he guessed it was you that made them.” I took my tea and phone and headed back to the couch, climbing under the blanket again. “It doesn’t matter,” I said when Fort didn’t speak. “It’s my personal life, my personal business. He won’t come after you or anything. I told him it was consensual, that I liked it.”
“What did he say to that?”
I sighed. “He said my soul was crying, and my body was sick.”
“Surely he knows about kinky sex, about sado-masochism? There are enough elements of it in those photos he creates.”
“Kinky elements?” I bit my lip, thinking. “In Goodluck’s photos?”
“Hell, yes, in Goodluck’s photos. Have you ever really looked at them? There’s a reason they’re so popular.”
“I guess we all see what we want to see,” I said, pulling my knees up. “You know what? You can come over if you want. Maybe it would be good for us to talk.”
As if on cue, I heard a knock. “I’m in your stairwell. Let me in.”
I put down my tea and went to the door. So much for slapping on a little makeup before he arrived. When I opened the door, his gaze was trained on me, taking me in with unsettling intensity.
“Evening, Sparkles,” he said, brushing past me. I felt bedraggled in my yoga pants and t-shirt, while he smelled and looked wonderfully crisp. His light tan sweater showed off his body without hugging it, and his jeans clung to his crotch and thighs with the usual perfect fit.
“How did you get here so fast?” I asked.
“I was on my way to your place when I called.”
He opened his arms and I accepted his hug, the one I’d desperately needed earlier, after my fight with my boss. Our hug turned into a grope, and then he lifted me so my legs were around his waist. His leonine eyes locked on mine. His cock hardened between my spread thighs, or maybe it had already been hard. I was definitely getting wet. He walked me over to the couch and dumped me onto it, crawling over me.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” I said.
“I do want to talk. I also want to do this.”
His hands wandered over my body, insinuating themselves under my t-shirt, pushing up my bralette and squeezing a nipple. “Are your tits still sore?”
“They’ve been sore all day.” And I thought of you, and now you’re on top of me and…
“Poor baby.” He nuzzled me, his fingers tracing down to pull at my waistband. “I was hard on you last night. What did you hate the most?”
That was easy. “I hated when your friends talked to me. When they participated in our scenes.”
“They knew you wouldn’t like it. That’s why they did it. They’re sadists, like me.” He tsked when I pushed against his chest, and held me down harder. “And you liked that you didn’t like it. You liked how awful and scared they made you feel.”
My hackles rose, even as my pussy throbbed. “That’s not true.”
“It is true. I was there, I saw the whole thing. I saw how you suffered to make me happy. God, you turn me on.”
By now, my yoga pants were around my hips. A finger shoved inside my pussy, then his fly was open, his hard cock jutting against my bare skin. I closed my eyes and thou
ght of The Gallery, of the men strutting around in their formal clothes with their hard cocks flagrantly displayed.
“Take these off,” he growled, and I contorted my body to shed the stretchy pants while he finger fucked me some more. I spread my legs, my eyes still closed.
“Look at me,” he said. He yanked his jeans down to his thighs and pushed inside me right there on my couch. I groaned as my bruised ass slid across the cushion, my body invaded by the power of his thrusts. I didn’t want to like it, but I did. I opened my eyes and tried to stop myself from falling under his spell again, but it was hopeless. I was hooked on his force and intensity. I knew I’d go back to The Gallery and expose myself to more sadism because he drove me wild. His friends could touch and hurt me, but I’d still be wet for his cock.
“Come here. Come closer.” He squeezed me against him, until we couldn’t be any closer than we were right then. He was so big, so warm. I felt his teeth on my neck as he rode me, and his body was all the bondage I needed to climb toward orgasm. I was tired, my muscles strained from stress, but I loved the aches and pains as I moved for him.
“Yes, yes,” I sighed.
“Did you need this all day, baby? Did you think about my cock fucking you all day?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say it. I thought about your cock all day.”
He fucked me harder, making my voice shake as I cried out, “I thought about your cock all day.”
But I’d thought about more than that. I’d thought about chains and cuffs, and a clock tower in the sky. I’d thought about the way he wouldn’t let me leave his apartment afterward, and now…
Now he was deep inside me, holding me tight. We were so close we might have been the same body. Our hearts were mashed together, and my nipples slid against his chest hair, one more discomfort to thrill me.
“I’m going to come,” I gasped. “I need to come. Please let me…”
“Come for me. Now.” He tightened his fingers around my wrists as he spoke, stretching my arms high over my head. I fought to close my legs, to grip him harder, but he wouldn’t let me. He denied me at every turn, but all it did was make me hotter. His legs spread mine wide as he rode me, one knee on the ground for leverage. His pelvis ground against my clit, his arms held me down, and I started to come.