In the present, his solid arms are wrapped tight around me, as though I’m the life raft he’s clinging to instead of the other way around. But no—there’s a quality to his embrace that there isn’t in mine. Mine is desperate, wild, clutching. His is confident, strong, comforting.
Especially when he begins to croon in my ear.
The very sound of it makes me pause. Pause is maybe too strong of a word because I’m still sobbing uncontrollably. But control seems like a possibility now. Perhaps out of my reach at the moment, but a thing I have a chance in hell of attaining.
“Starla, love. Shh. You’re going to be okay.”
“It hurt.”
“Oh, I know. You’re a marvel, being able to take that. Really, flat-out incredible. I couldn’t believe it. Still can’t. You’re so strong.”
The wonder in his voice can’t be faked, and even as I relive that panicked moment between the penultimate and ultimate strikes, pride laps at me, soothing the sting of the pain and the panic.
“Still?”
Has seeing me like this changed his mind? Does he think now that he’s overestimated my capabilities? Was he impressed before and now that I’m bawling in his lap like a child who’s skinned their knee, will he reevaluate and determine I’ve actually been exaggerating every damn thing I’ve come crying to him about?
“More than ever. You’re my Star. You light the place up. You’re so brave and I could never… Can you breathe for me, darling? Please? Nice and slow. You’re not going to fall if you pass out because I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go for anything, but I know you can do it. If you can take a beating like that, a few inhales and exhales ought to be cake.”
It’s not the same, but I try to do as he’s asked and it’s made easier by homing in on his own respiration. Which he’s maybe exaggerating for me to follow as his hand circles my back, but I don’t care if he’s pandering to me. That’s what I do this for: to earn the spoiling and the coddling. I’ll take it as I concentrate on the way the air moves in and out of my lungs. Slower, slower until we’re nearly synched.
And because I can, I lick at the skin of his neck above his collar, lick and nibble and suck because it’s a comfort and I like the taste of him on my tongue. He might have a bruise where I’m working my mouth over his flesh, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t try to stop me. Just lets me comfort myself by soaking in the shelter of his body.
* * *
Lowry
Starla’s mouth is still open on my neck, her tongue occasionally stroking the light stubble there in a way that’s making my pants incredibly uncomfortable. She makes these small noises as she nuzzles at me and her fingers are tangled in the cotton of my shirt. Sweet little Starla, who can take a beating that would make men twice her size cry.
I’ve been talking to her, telling her how incredible she is, how impressed with her I am, but she doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. If anything, she seems as though she’s on the verge of consciousness, slipping down to sleep.
Jade gets up from the chaise and brings over a fluffy blanket, a pastel pink and purple thing that looks starkly out of place amongst the dark elegance of our surroundings. She shrugs at my questioning look. “It’s her favorite.”
I’m glad Starla is sharing this with me, and I try to tamp down the envy I have for Jade—that she has been able to gather up these pieces of Starla, learn her innermost secret cravings, desires, and preferences. I want to know those things. I want to be able to hand them to Starla without her having to ask. I’d love it if she would and I wouldn’t refuse her, but it’s also hard to ask.
“You might want to scoot back,” Jade offers with a lift of her chin. “She gets heavy.”
Yes, that’s a good idea since Starla is already weighing on me, and I don’t think she’s hit that deadweight stage of sleep yet. Her noises have drifted off into nothingness and her head has slipped down to be cradled in my shoulder instead of having her mouth at my neck. Probably a good thing because I might’ve died of one of those three-hour erections those ED ads are always on about.
Trying not to wake her, I shift so my back’s against the high side of the chaise and my arm that’s behind her is supported. I don’t mind a bit of strain but I also don’t want to have to wake her up because my arm’s gone dead. When I’m settled, Jade drapes the blanket over Starla and tucks it in around her. She’s obviously very fond of Starla, and I can’t blame her at all.
“How long are you going to hold her for?” Jade asks as she sits at the opposite end of the chaise and slips off her shoes, revealing perfectly polished burgundy toenails.
I shrug as well as I can with the shoulder that’s not occupied by a snoozing Starla. “As long as it takes, I suppose, unless you have plans and need us out.”
Jade studies me and I try to maintain my composure under her scrutiny but it’s not easy because I feel as though her gaze is penetrating me, reaching into my brain to extract information.
“She’s not as tough as she seems, you know. I mean, the woman can take a hell of a spanking and other kinds of torments besides, but she’s…” Jade purses her lips and her gaze flickers to Starla, loyalty and fondness there. “But I suppose you think you know that already.”
I have been on my best behavior here. I’m not on my own turf, Jade and Starla have a history and relationship of their own that I’ve been respectful of. But for this woman to tell me I don’t understand the ways in which Starla is delicate? That’s a load of rubbish and she ought to know it.
“Ah.” Jade holds up a hand like she knows I was about to unleash a torrent of “I’ve known Starla Elizabeth Patrick since she was fourteen years old” and is not here for it. “She’s told me about you. I know you were the savior doctor who she credits with being alive. Which, fine. My understanding is that she has her depression really well under control and a bunch of the best doctors in the world to help her keep it there. That’s not your job anymore.
“What I’m talking about is that there’s a very delicate balance you have to strike in the way you treat her. She’s smarter than I am, tougher than I am, and god knows she could buy my entire life a million times over with all the money she has. I’ve never had to worry about all of that because it is literally my job to make her feel small, vulnerable, a little embarrassed. You know why she lets me do that?”
Yes, I would like to be let in on any secrets Jade can share with me. “Why?”
“Because I’ve never given her a reason not to. I have always stuck to our arrangements, I have always played our game. She can be like this here, with me, because I’ve never asked her to be anything else and at the end of a few hours, she takes out her pigtails and leaves. I don’t ask her about the rest of her life, I don’t inquire about her health aside from asking about new injuries that I need to know about. She thinks you could be everything to her, which I think is a risky proposition for anyone, but this isn’t about me. My point is that if you tease her about this or make her feel bad about it in anyway, it will hurt her deeply. And then I will be forced to hurt you deeply.”
“Are you…”
“Yes, I’m threatening you, and don’t you think for a second that it’s only a threat. I hurt people like Starla for pleasure, but I also hurt people for money, and if you make Starla feel bad or sick or wrong in any way for wanting this, for needing it, it will be my pleasure to hurt you for free.”
I’d like to think I’ve led a fairly interesting life during my fifty-one years on the planet, but never have I ever been threatened by a dominatrix. I didn’t know that she also does this professionally, Starla hadn’t mentioned that. Only that Jade was a partner of hers.
“Understood, but I have no intention of hurting her. Ever. I have spent a great deal of time and energy protecting Starla Patrick and I will keep doing so until the day I die.”
“Says the man who abandoned her fifteen years ago.”
“You can’t honestly tell me you’d have had me stay here and—”
“Don’t you fucking even, doc. She was a child. You were an adult. You had a responsibility to her that you abdicated because you couldn’t control your dick.”
It’s a shock to the system to hear it put so baldly though I’ve berated myself for the same reason for years upon years. I open my mouth but Jade shakes her head.
“Yes, Starla told me about your conversation but honestly it wasn’t news to me. Just a confirmation of my suspicions of why you left. So you want to know what I would’ve had you do if it had been up to me? I would’ve had you do anything you needed to remain professional and care for her like you were obligated to. She literally could’ve died. Did you think about that? Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, you self-centered, oversexed, woe-is-me asshole with a fucking Lolita complex. Fuck you.”
Starla stirs in my arms and the feel of her anchors me. I’d like Jade’s approval because Starla clearly respects the woman a great deal. But I don’t know that there’s anything I could say to convince her I’m not a terrible person. She’s right, and I need to live with that.
“I worried about her every day. I thought about her all the time. And you’re right. If I were a better man, a stronger man, then I would have been able to shut down every inappropriate feeling I had for her. I like to think that if I’d stayed, nothing would’ve happened. But the only way I felt certain I could guarantee that was to leave. It’s not an excuse. It’s entirely my fault. If there were some way I could make it up to her, I would. The best I can do now is to love her and try to figure out how we can make this work now that we’re both adults and we still have these feelings for each other. It won’t be easy, but I’m not going anywhere. Not unless she tells me to. I swear on my life.”
Jade stares at me, looking as though she wants to cut off my bollocks, stuff them in my mouth, and then cut off my head. She doesn’t trust me and, if our positions were reversed, I can’t say I’d trust her either. But the only way to earn those stripes is to do your time. Put in the work. Show up every day and prove that you’re not a leaf in the wind, but a tree with roots grown deep. That I will shelter Starla as well as I can while trying not to stifle or suffocate her.
In response to my promise, Jade shrugs.
“Look, Starla’s a big girl and she makes her own choices. She’s choosing you. And I hope for her sake that she’s choosing well. And if she hasn’t, I’ll be here to clean up the mess you doubtless will have made on your way out. Again.”
Chapter 25
Starla
Last weekend with Jade went well. Like, really well. And when we went back to Lowry’s apartment, we had some of the best sex I’ve ever had, oh yes, we did. Tonight, Lowry’s coming to pick me up and take me out for a late dinner. Late not because either of us had a late meeting or anything, but because we’re going to play before we go out.
Yes, sometimes it’s fun to squirm with anticipation through a meal, but sometimes it’s equally as fun to have to sit on your freshly spanked ass at a really nice restaurant and have your daddy offer you bites of food from his plate. To anyone else, it would probably look like a well-off couple—with, yeah, a bit of an age gap—having a romantic dinner, but nothing scandalous. Nothing kinky. Certainly not anything that’s making you wet under the freshly pressed table cloth because you’re wearing frilly panties that not only make you feel little but also create added friction against the tender flesh of your bottom where your daddy left bruises and welts. Yeah, we’ll probably fuck when we get home too.
Home.
I love my tiny apartment. Have always loved it. And Lowry has never said a word against it—I think after we talked about it he understands why I live here in addition to respecting that decision. It’s not his to make, it’s mine, so that’s how it should be.
But I can’t help but feel when he’s been here for a while that perhaps I should move. Maybe to a bigger unit in the same building, even? My studio feels small when he’s here. And not because he’s one of those dickhead manspreaders who take up three seats on the T. It’s felt more that way recently than when he first used to come. Perhaps because he stays for longer these days. Perhaps because in the back of my head, I can picture him staying for longer still. Like maybe even forever?
That’s a dangerous thought and it’s not as though we’ve talked about it, but I also have a hard time imagining what my future would be like without him. That path is cloudy now, fogged with uncertainty and improbability, whereas when I think of being with Lowry, that version of the future is clear. Sharp, even. So sharp it threatens to cut the vulnerable and paranoid part of me that is still so very certain he is going to abandon me again because although the reason for him leaving in the first place is no longer relevant, my brain can be a total asshole.
But if—if—he were to be a permanent fixture…I don’t think we could live here. Part of me wonders if I’d finally be able to face living at my father’s house, but that wouldn’t be fair to Lowry. If I can’t manage that, why should he? He has a busy and important job he won’t want to give up, and I don’t know that he’d want to spend his leftover energy dealing with an estate. God knows I choose not to allocate my spoons that way.
No use dwelling on that at the moment—or ever, but let’s be real, it’s going to happen. But it doesn’t have to happen right when I’m expecting Lowry to show up at any moment. I had a full day and maybe pushed myself a bit further than normal dealing with business shit, winding myself up into a coil of tension knowing I would have Lowry to unwind me…or flat-out shatter me because he’s good at both of those things. He’ll be here soon—oh, so soon—and I am freshly ready for him.
I’m wearing one of the dresses I ordered recently, finally brave enough to do it. My heart is racing some, though not a full-out sprint of panic. The picked-up cadence is a jog of anxiety plus a skip of embarrassment. I hope Lowry thinks I look darling with my long sleeves and short skirt that puffs out and makes a really nice twirl when I spin around. Will he be enchanted when I show him or will he think he’s made a mistake? That he wasn’t expecting this to be a thing. Not for-realsies, as a pillar of what makes us us, and not simply a once-in-a-while element to spice things up. I don’t know, and I have to sit on the couch and reach down to fiddle with the buckles on my black patent leather Mary Janes, make sure the lace tops of my socks are folded down just so.
This dress is perfectly sized, but it feels too small. It’s purposefully short, but I don’t mean like that. More like it feels tight around my chest and forces my breath to be shallow. My whole body is already alive with arousal and Lowry’s not even here yet. Can’t imagine what I’ll feel like when he stands on the threshold and gets that worshipful look in his eye like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like he can’t wait to get his hands on me.
Finally, there’s a knock at the door and I’m on my feet before it’s even finished. This is it. I suppose I could tear all this off, run my hands through my hair to mess up the perfect spirals I spent an hour taming it into. Unlock the door and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom and tell him I’ve changed my mind.
I don’t want to, but it’s still difficult to force my feet one in front of the other to move to the door.
Please, Lowry, please. Please like playing this game with me. Please still think it’s fun instead of icky. Please let it turn you on as much as it does me and not make you feel like a pervy old man—not in a bad way, anyhow.
A big breath in and then I open the door, trying to put a sweet smile on my face even as tension is making me feel anything but sweet—prickly and stressed, more like. But he can help relieve me, and for that I can be sweet for him.
* * *
Lowry
I shouldn’t have come. That’s my first thought when Starla opens the door and she’s standing there, hair in darling ringlets, mouth in a sugar-sweet smile, and her dress… God in heaven is going to smite me because of how I feel about her dress. Not to mention those shoes and socks sent from the devil himself to tem
pt a man like me. The combination of these things pricks my interest and desire like a short, sharp jab of a needle, but then it fades. Gets swallowed up in the other feelings that have been swamping me since this afternoon.
And my Star, love that she is, is trying so hard to be calm and lovely when she is, in fact, about to vibrate out of that smooth skin of hers. I can feel it, the waves of emotion coming off her. To some people—perhaps most—she can appear to be a sphinx, mysterious and inscrutable, but I know better, am tuned to her wavelength.
I should’ve called her, no, texted, and said I couldn’t make it. She would’ve understood, or said she did, and I would’ve felt guilty but would’ve done my best to make it up to her. I didn’t, though, because I have Jade firmly in my head, threatening me with a good chance of death should I abandon Starla again, and so here I am, regretting my life choices.
It’s not fair to Starla for me to have shown up here like this, but it’s not as though I can walk away at the moment either. No, I have made my choices and now I’m responsible for getting the both of us through them.
Starla’s smile falters because her senses are like mine—she feels me. Though I’ve learned to mask my responses as a professional responsibility, she’s never had to and she startles like a deer in the forest who’s heard a shot. I’m sorry.
“Lowry, what’s wrong?”
I look away from her, and the effort of coming up with how I’m going to tell her crunches my brows together. “I…”
Before I can finish, she’s taking my hand in both of hers and tugging me over the threshold of her apartment, and yes, that would be better. Not doing this standing in the damn hallway.
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
She tows me over to the couch and I let her, feeling dazed. I got here on autopilot for sure, couldn’t tell you anything about anything I saw. Good thing I wasn’t going through South Station today, I’d hate to miss an opportunity to see Keytar Bear. Not that the busker’s usually charming antics would have broken through this haze.
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