Domination Games

by Francesca Baez

  “Oh, you’re dripping wet, kitten,” he says, pushing me harder into the bed. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  “Your cock is so big,” I moan in return. When it’s my turn, I like him quiet, but he prefers it when I talk back. “Fuck me with your big cock, Verit.”

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asks, pulling out and flipping me over. I wrap my legs around his waist, working my hardest to pull him closer, closer, deeper, deeper. “You like it rough, you like it dirty, filthy. You love it when I give you what no human man has given you before. Your pussy starts dripping every time I walk into the room, I don’t even have to touch you. Isn’t that right, Ariana?”

  I nod vigorously, holding on desperately to his muscled arms as he drives me dangerously close to the edge again. I turn and bury my face into the pillow, but he grips my chin with one hand, forcing me to hold his gaze.

  “Don’t fight it, baby girl,” he says softly, his amber eyes blazing. “Come for me, one more time.”

  And so I do, over, and over, and over again, until I can’t remember a moment before this, and I can’t imagine a life after him.

  That weekend, we go to the club. Not the x-club, but a human nightclub in Brooklyn that Noelle and I frequent when we’re both single, or when we just feel like having a night out. I haven’t been clubbing since I met Verit in the x-club, and I excitedly put on my favorite sparkly silver dress and scary-tall stilettos. At the last minute, I pull on the new coat Verit gave me. I haven’t worn it out yet, terrified of losing the most expensive item I’ve ever owned in my life, but tonight it feels right.

  Verit’s car shows up five minutes before we agreed to meet, as usual. I apply one last coat of lip gloss, wink at my reflection, and head out.

  “You look delectable,” Verit says as soon as I slide into the town car, taking my hand to help me in and gingerly kissing my knuckles like a true gentleman.

  I make a who me? face while striking a pose, and we both laugh.

  “Beautiful coat,” he adds, bushing a hair off one of its shoulders.

  “Are you gonna be mad if I lose this one?” I ask, teasing.

  “I’ll just get you another,” he says with a shrug, and I can’t help it, I lean over and kiss him.

  When we get there, the club is crowded, with a long line out front. Verit steers us to the door without hesitation, and the bouncers let us in immediately, nodding politely at Verit. I can’t tell if they know him personally, or if they just know that he’s a K, and that’s enough.

  “Let’s get drinks first,” I say once we enter. I shout to be heard over the loud electronic music, although it occurs to me he probably has some sort of enhanced alien hearing that would allow him to hear me just fine even in this environment.

  “Here,” Verit says, steering us to an empty table.

  “Is this for us?” I ask as I sit.

  “Of course,” he says, helping me out of my coat.

  “You got us a table?” I ask, still a little in awe. I’ve never exactly run with a VIP crowd.

  “No,” Verit says with that damn smirk. “I got us a club.”

  I don’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, completely unable to process what he’s just told me.

  “What are you talking about,” I finally breathe, although it doesn’t come out fully like a question.

  “When you said you wanted to come here, I bought the club.” I still just stare at him, so he goes on. “It’s what I do, Ari. I invest—usually in restaurants, this is my first club. Actually, ’invest’ might be understating it a bit. You ask why we’re always so welcomed in the restaurants we visit, it’s because I own those, and several more.”

  A waitress in a sequined minidress sets down an expensive looking bottle of tequila on the table, smiling nervously. Verit shoos her away, and I pour myself a shot.

  “Own?” I say, when Verit pauses. “Like, fully?”

  “Yes,” he says, as I suck down the shot and pour another. “Like I said, it’s sort of what I do. On Krina, I never really… excelled in a field like my peers did, at least not naturally. But when I arrived on Earth, I had money, enormous wealth, and I quickly realized that was enough to succeed on this planet. So I began investing, slowly at first, but now I’ve come to own quite a few establishments in the city. It’s not exactly skillful, but I’ve found I quite enjoy it.”

  Verit inhales, and I’m somehow more floored by the hesitant expression on his face than his revelations. His K confidence, even arrogance, have never been less present. He doesn’t look human, not even close, but he looks real. Attainable. Comprehensible. In this moment, he looks like someone I could genuinely get to know, truly befriend, maybe even—

  I cut myself off. Verit is still watching me, waiting for a response.

  “Wow,” I say slowly, reaching out and taking his hand. “That’s really cool, Verit, to say the least. I don’t know why you waited so long to tell me, it’s not a big deal. I mean, I guess it’s a very big deal, but not in any kind of bad way.”

  “I know it’s not,” he says after a thoughtful pause. “I know it’s just business, but it’s come to feel personal to me. Sex is easy, but I don’t like to share much of anything else.”

  Outside of our little bubble, the music blares and bodies writhe. Inside, we sit in the moment, me and my K and the secrets he’s shared. His apartment, his livelihood, the apparent inadequacy he felt among his peers on his home planet. Have I shared anything? He knows so much about me, but those are things he’s taken for himself. I can’t remember if I’ve offered anything, at least not after the first night we met.

  I let go of his hand and pour another shot.

  “I thought you weren’t much of a tequila guy,” I say, after knocking my shot back, hoping to escape the intimate moment we’ve created.

  “This didn’t seem like the right setting for whiskey,” Verit says, gesturing vaguely around us.

  The flashing lights play across his face, but they’re different than the ones in the x-club the first night we truly met. Those were measured, intimate, purposeful. They embraced us and pulled us together, bound us into one. These are just giving me a headache, and I suddenly don’t want to be here anymore. But we are here, and I asked to come here and then Verit bought the whole damn club for the occasion, so I’m not about to ask if we can leave.

  “I’m going to dance,” I say, knocking back another shot and sliding out of the booth. Verit moves to join me, but I shake my head. I lean across the table, nibble on his ear until I hear him inhale sharply, then whisper a breathy instruction. “Just watch.”

  I dance for him under the lethargic neon lights. I twist my hips along to the writhing beat, relishing the way I can feel his hungry gaze on me even with my eyes closed. Even in the crowd, I know all he sees is me, because all I feel is him. After a few songs, I feel a body press against me from behind, hips swaying along to my rhythm. For a split second I think Verit’s joined me, but I can tell easily that this body is shorter, smaller, lesser. I open my eyes and see Verit still watching me from across the club, a new edge in his eyes. It’s something dangerous, and it should scare me, but something deep in my core twists with unprecedented need. Instead of moving away from the stranger grinding against me, I push closer, watching as unfamiliar hands come to rest on my hips.

  When I glance back up and see Verit’s smoldering eyes, his massive frame slowly rising from the booth, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m not playing games anymore; I’m playing with fire.

  “Go,” I say, pushing the man away as hard as I can. “Get out of here. Run.”

  Noticing the rapidly approaching K as well, the stranger does as he’s told, melting into the crowd.

  Verit lets him disappear, instead grabbing my arm hard, and pulling me off the dance floor. I stumble after him down a dim hallway, my heart pounding. I know I’m supposed to fe
el at least a twinge of fear, but instead the adrenaline rush only excites me. Verit shoves us out the back door. Without my coat, the outside chill is biting.

  In the back alley behind the club, Verit spins me around and shoves me against the gritty brick wall. I gasp, all those shots rushing through my veins in overtime. His hands are greedy on my tits, my waist, my ass. I bite back a moan and arch my back, blood running so hot I feel sweaty in the winter air.

  “If you were trying to get a reaction out of me,” Verit hisses behind me, and I hear him unzip his pants as he pulls my skirt up and pushes my panties to the side. “You got one.”

  He pushes into me hard. I’m wet in anticipation, but I still gasp in surprise. I feel him deep inside me, and his big body on top of me presses me closer against the icy brick wall.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he growls into my ear.

  “No,” I say, and I feel him tense. I flip my hair over my shoulder, so that there is nothing between his face and mine. “I wanted it harder.”

  He growls at that, pulls out, and shoves in again, harder this time. I moan, pressing my ass back towards him. My inner walls clench around him, my body both protesting and relishing the intrusion as he slams against my cervix.

  “Is that what you wanted?” he repeats, as I grind back against him.

  “No,” I say again, “I wanted it faster.”

  He starts pumping faster, just as deeply, and I grab at the wall desperately, toes curling in my shoes.

  “Is that what you wanted, you filthy girl?”

  “Touch me,” I whisper hoarsely, unable to play along any longer, sliding toward the edge. He complies, one hand grabbing harshly at my breast, the other tenderly moving against my clit.

  It’s the roughest sex we’ve ever had, which is really saying something, and I can feel tomorrow’s bruises even as I cry out in tonight’s ecstasy. I can’t get enough of this creature, be it between silk sheets, or in a trashy back alley. We finish together in loud, violent orgasms that echo down the street.

  Before we go back inside, Verit grabs me by the arms and kisses me again, harshly, possessively.

  “I will play your games, but I won’t share you.”

  We spend the rest of the night dancing only with each other. Long past midnight, we stumble into Verit’s car. In the backseat, I curl up tipsily against my K, leaning my legs across his lap, burying my head into his shoulder. He’s so warm and solid beneath me, my man, my K, my Verit. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him close, close, closer. He smells like cinnamon and smoke and subtle, sweet sweat. I can’t get close enough. I want to be part of him, I want us to inhabit the same body. I just want to be… closer.

  Verit brushes the hair off my sweaty forehead, and kisses me there softly. And that’s when I fall asleep, buried against my dangerous K in the backseat, the safest I’ve ever been.

  I spend Sunday evening at the gym, trying to work through the weekend’s soreness before Monday’s classes. I haven’t seen or heard from Verit since he poured me into bed last night, blessedly using some of that K tech to save me from the worst hangover ever. As I watch my reflection stretch in the studio’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a thought flits across my treacherous mind: I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to my K. I shake the idea away and try to focus.

  I’m hanging upside-down in downward dog when I hear the studio door click open, then shut. I sweep into upward dog, expecting to greet a fellow trainer here for a late night workout. Instead, I see Verit filling the doorframe, with his arms crossed and that damn twitched lip.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, swinging my legs forward into a seated position. I don’t bother asking how he found me or entered the locked gym—I know better by now.

  “I wanted to see you in your element,” he says, trailing his hand along the barre as he walks toward me. He has all the grace of a ballerina, paired with the raw masculinity of… well, a K.

  “Well, this is it,” I say, hopping to my feet and gesturing at our surroundings. “This isn’t the studio I usually teach in, but you get the idea.”

  “And you usually teach self defense?” he asks, still slowly circling me.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, twisting to keep him in my eyeline. “Mainly. That’s my most popular—”

  Verit lunges at me then, arms outstretched as if to grab me, and I reflexively drop and somersault away from him, popping back up with fists raised defensively. He immediately strikes at me with his own fists, which I block once, twice, three times, before he falls back.

  He nods approvingly, and a rush of adrenaline floods over me. I know he’s majorly pulling his punches—I’m in no real danger, and if I were, no amount of training could protect me—but it’s certainly fun to pretend. I blow a loose strand of hair out of my face, and spring at Verit. He lets me tackle him to the ground, where we roll around for a while, play-fighting. I manage to pin him down and straddle his chest, but he growls and easily somersaults us so he’s in the dominant position. I wriggle my way out of his hold and jump onto his back, so on and so forth. Soon enough we’re laughing so hard all we can do is lie on our backs, side by side on the hardwood.

  “How’d I do?” I ask, still panting, propping myself up on one elbow to look at Verit.

  “Quite impressive,” he says, turning to face me, then adds, “for a human.”

  I swat at him playfully, rolling my eyes. As I do, he catches my wrist and pulls me toward him. With one swift movement, he has me straddling him again, pulling me down into a deep kiss. His hands remain chastely on my hips, but his lips are greedy.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” I say after a few minutes, jumping back into a standing position and reaching down to help him up, an unnecessary gesture he generously plays along with.

  “That’s enough?” he asks dubiously, eyebrows raised.

  “That’s enough foreplay,” I smirk, climbing out of my yoga pants, and he eagerly meets me halfway.

  As I watch at us fuck in the mirror, watch his massive body pound mine into the wall, I see the clear reflection in my face of the same cocktail of emotions that floods me every time we have sex these days. The intense, undeniable, endless pleasure that our game provides without fail, mixed with the ever-intensifying feeling that even when I’m in control, I’m not.

  I worry that the distance growing between me and Noelle has ventured into dangerous territory. It’s not a tangible, aggressive tension, but the effect feels the same. I miss her, and as much as I enjoy my time with Verit, he can’t provide the kind of intimate camaraderie I crave from my best friend.

  Girls’ night? I finally text, in a fit of guilt after cancelling on our plans to hook up with Verit for the millionth time in a row. Girls’ day, actually. Saturday? Brunch, spa, happy hour? My treat :)

  It’s the magic itinerary that we normally only treat ourselves to a couple times a year, usually on a birthday or Valentine’s Day, if we’re single and sometimes even if we’re not. If done right, these days usually culminate in drunken rewatches of our favorite old-timey romcoms, and us passed out slumped against each other on the couch, with half-empty popcorn bowls precariously balanced on our laps and red wine stains on the carpet.

  Of course!!!!!!! Noelle texts back almost immediately, accompanied by a wild array of excited emojis. Don’t you fucking dare bail on me, Ariana.

  I text her our emoji code for cross my heart, and I mean it.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in today?” Verit asks faux-innocently, wrapping himself around me as I brush my hair, his hand slipping sneakily into my jeans. “Stay in bed, I mean?”

  “I’m sure,” I say, pulling his hand out of my pants with more self control than I knew I possessed. “I owe her this. But we can stay in bed all day tomorrow, if you promise to cure my inevitable hangover.”

  “Of course,” he says, settling for a consolation ki
ss before I grab my purse and head out.

  I had Verit come over for a quickie before I met Noelle this morning. It’s pathetic, but just the thought of not feeling his touch for over 24 hours seemed unbearable. And considering the eagerness with which he responded to my request, it’s possible he may have felt similarly. With Verit, sex isn’t just a want, it’s a need. Oh god, just thinking about him…

  “Wow, you’re really far gone, aren’t you?” Noelle teases, knocking me out of my bubbly-induced daydream.

  “Hmm?” I ask, drawing my attention back to our brunch and mimosas. Bottomless, of course. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean maybe you should slow down just a touch,” she says, gesturing at my glass. “We’ve got a long day of drinking ahead of us, and you’re already totally spacing out.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling as if I just got away with something. “Right, of course.”

  We get through the day like varsity players: bottomless mimosas, champagne at the spa, a long stroll through Central Park with spiked coffees to re-energize before the main event, and then happy hour, keeping a running score of who can get the most drinks bought for them.

  “I think I’m going to break up with Robbie,” Noelle spits out that night, as Meg Ryan falls in love on screen and I nearly choke on a handful of potato chips in real time.

  “What?” I ask, struggling to sit up straight and face my friend. “What are you even talking about?”

  “We fight too much,” Noelle says, eyes still fixated to the television as if it’s her lifeline. “We fight all the time, about the smallest shit, and it’s been this way for months now.”

  “You’re supposed to fight,” I say, the words coming out of me automatically. I’m way too far gone for this moment. “That’s how you know the passion is still—“

  “No, don’t give me that shit,” she says, rolling her rapidly moistening eyes. “That’s something people say in movies, to make us all feel better about our dead-end relationships. Constant arguments might be a kind of passion, but it’s not a sustainable one, and it’s not what I want.”