Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  A Bishop who’s still catching his breath.

  “How do you like it?” I try not to sound too eager and yet … I want to impress him.

  Elisha looks out over the city. A breeze ruffles his hair. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Better than the Valley Inn?”

  “So much better.” He looks at the water, unable to face me while he speaks. “Especially since you’re here.”

  I take his hand and squeeze. I want him to know I’ll always be here for him even when his own family isn’t. It’s my job to care for him—and I do. Care for him.

  With a gentle tug, I lead Elisha deeper, until the water reaches his shoulders and my back hits the wall. I pull his naked body against mine. It’s hot and smooth and I can feel his heart beating against my chest. I wonder if mine feels the same against his.

  “Kiss me.” I don’t know where the words come from—not even sure I should be saying them—but there they are and I can’t take them back.

  “Kiss you?” Elisha hesitates. “I don’t know how. I’ve never kissed you before.”

  It sounds silly, but it’s true. Our mouths have met a million times, but it’s always me who kisses him. “You never played piano before,” I say, “never baked crème brûlée; du hast nie Deutsch gesprochen.”

  He laughs, nudging our noses together. With a look of determination, Elisha presses his lips against mine. The kiss is slow and unsure, like it’s our first, like two teenagers experimenting behind the bleachers.

  I feel his fingers tentatively glide over my cheek, brush the stubble of a day’s neglect. When we part, we are both breathing hard. Then, Elisha smiles—loses his breath and catches it, again. He laughs a nervous laugh, a contagious one. Soon, we’re both laughing. I splash him and tell him he can do the same and we’re horsing around underwater, surfacing only so I can kiss him and he can kiss me back.

  * * *

  Across from me, Elisha lies splayed on the California king bed, still naked but dry after hours of fooling around like kids in the pool. He’s better. Better off without his asshole father and neighbors who make him feel like shit simply for being who he is. I made him that way and I should reward him.

  Without waking him, I slink out of bed and slip on boat shoes, shorts, and a button-down. I make my way downstairs to the concierge, who directs me to the closest bakery. It’s a block away and smells like their ovens have been on for hours. I glance at my watch: 11:00 a.m. We never sleep this late, but clearly both needed it.

  When I return to the hotel, the manager nods hello. “Late start, sir?” She smiles coyly, then corrects herself. “Alex?”

  I cradle my cardboard coffee cup holder. A white handled bag rests in the crease of my fingers. “I figure we can afford to sleep in, every now and then.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve found someone,” she says. “I’m sorry, the tabloids, I shouldn’t, but … the two of you seem genuinely happy.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Found someone. The two of you. Genuinely happy.

  I haven’t found anyone. But that’s none of her business, so I brush the comment off as quickly as possible. She can think whatever she wants. Her opinion doesn’t matter.

  The suite is still quiet when I enter. I set the coffee and pastries on the counter, sticking my nose in the bag for a preview. Dark chocolate coconut scones. Elisha loves baking with chocolate. I hope it will continue to distract him from his family.

  I pause in the bedroom doorway. Elisha stretches his hands over his head. His back arches up off the sheets. He moans for no reason besides comfort, like a lazy cat, and settles back onto the bed. The bed we shared last night. Why wouldn’t we? We share mine more and more often, at home.

  The door hinges creak slightly when I push my way in. Elisha sits up, instantly, shielding his eyes from a beam of sunlight that managed to find its way past the curtains. Even the morning after, unwashed, hair tousled, smelling of chlorine and sex, he is perfect.

  How dare his father say I ruined him. His talent and intelligence and beauty were always there, buried under the burden of debt. I dug him out. I brushed the dust away. I didn’t ruin him.

  I kick my shoes off and sit on the bed beside him. “How do you feel, this morning?”

  “Good.” He looks at my lips like he wants to kiss them.

  Last night, though … last night was a special occasion. Last night, Elisha was hurting and it was my job to make him feel better. Now he knows he’s safe and cared for, that my home is his real home and that I’m the only one who matters.

  I touch my lips, remembering the pressure of Elisha’s against mine. The hesitancy, the curve of his smile, the flutter of my heart in my chest.

  He can’t, anymore. Can he? Who will know? He wouldn’t in public. Elisha knows his place.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “That I’d like to kiss you.”

  I’m correct, per usual. “Why don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I’m allowed, this morning.”

  “Good inference,” I say. “And how did you come to that?”

  “You’re always very clear with me. When you told me to kiss you, last night, it seemed limited to…” He shrugs. “Last night. I don’t want to presume.”

  “Because?”

  Elisha’s eyes flick back and forth, for a moment. He’s suspicious of my line of questioning.

  “You’re not in trouble,” I say.

  He leans back, relaxing. “I always do my best to be what you want. I don’t presume because it’s not my place to.”

  “No, it’s not.” I notice the edge in my own voice but can’t stop it. I have no reason to be mad, so why am I clutching the sheets in my fists? “You’ll do anything I say?”

  “Yes?” Elisha’s tone is uneasy, not unsure. “I always do.”

  “Because your obedience makes me happy.”

  “Yes.” He bends his knees up to his chest, still naked. Even rumpled, he looks innocent. Even after this weekend, he behaves himself.

  I shouldn’t be angry—am I? Not half an hour ago I was overwhelmed with pride, and now I almost can’t stand him. “What if I told you to fight me?”

  “F-fight you?” He falters with his words. “I’ve never fought anyone before.”

  I stand. “Not a fistfight. I want you to resist me. Fight back.”

  “Why would I resist you?” Elisha asks, but he’s doing it already, curling into a ball, tugging the covers up around him.

  “Because I’m telling you to. It will make me happy.”

  “Alex—”

  I grab his chin. “Do it. Now.” I force my mouth against his, push my tongue past his lips. Kiss him through my sudden rage. It feels good.

  It feels real.

  Elisha pulls back, already panting.

  “That’s right.” I lunge for him.

  He scoots back on his elbows until he hits the headboard.

  I reach for his head, again, but he ducks under my arm and rolls onto the other side of the bed. “Good boy,” I say.

  Elisha feels for the edge of the mattress, but not quick enough. I grab his calves and pull them out from under him. He flattens, unable to stop me from dragging him toward me.

  When he kicks and pulls, it only heightens my arousal. Elisha pulls a sheet over his body and I release him. Slowly, I unfasten my belt and pants. He wraps himself up in a makeshift toga, unable to break eye contact.

  With my free hand, I grab the sheet and pull. Elisha unwinds like a ball of yarn. Another swipe clears the mattress of pillows and blankets. It’s just him and me.

  Elisha twists from where he lies prone on the sheet. “Alex, please.”

  “Please, what? Isn’t this what you want—what I want?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?” I straddle his ass, using my weight to hold down his struggling form. “Don’t argue. Do what I say.”

  A cry escapes Elisha when I wrench his arms behind his back. He fights in ear
nest. I loop my belt around his wrists, pull it tight, then fasten it. That doesn’t stop him trying.

  “That’s it,” I say beside his ear, licking the lobe before biting down.

  I pull his hips up and slap his ass. Elisha cries out again, but it’s part moan, and the sound of him stokes the fire brewing in my chest.

  “I guess you really do get off on obeying me.” I leave him with a few hard swats, then pick up the bottle of lube from the nightstand, where we left it, last night.

  Elisha doesn’t give up, taking advantage of my distraction. He sits up on his knees, but I push him down. The heel of my hand presses against his spine. My fingers dig into the soft flesh of his back.

  I squirt the lube right onto my cock, not bothering with fingers. We just fucked. His ass hasn’t locked up like some virginal nun.

  I position myself between his legs and grip his thighs.

  “Alex!” His arms twist into sharp, angular shapes against his back. The belt holds strong. “Alex.” He’s quieter, this time.

  With a single thrust, I push all the way inside him.

  This time, his response is more moan than cry. Still, he pulls at the belt. Every groan and strain sends splinters of pleasure under my skin. I plunge into him over and over, grinding into the feeling, sinking as deep as I can.

  Elisha clenches around me while he fights. The tight heat ignites my orgasm. I anchor my nails in his hips and ride it out until the delight of afterglow sets in.

  In my haze, I reach around and take Elisha’s cock, still hard. He doesn’t struggle while I finish him off. The mattress muffles the sounds of his orgasm. His come shoots up between his stomach and the bed. Hands bound, he rests in the mess when I release him.

  I pull out and stand up. Elisha lies limp on the mattress.

  I unfasten the belt and leave it loose. “Pack our things.”

  He fumbles out of the restraint and sits up, unable to look at me.

  “Then, clean yourself up.”

  I close myself in the bathroom, fall beside the tub, and turn the hot on full blast. The glass basin fills in one minute. Soft neon lights illuminate the water. I drag my fingertips through the bath, stirring it.

  I plunge one foot straight in, ignoring the burn that surges up my leg, then the next. I sink down, letting the water cover my hair and face. What am I doing? Pushing Elisha so he’ll push me back? Testing him? I’m hurting him when all he’s done is what I’ve asked.

  I’m awful.

  Bare feet pad over the tile as I wipe the water from my eyes. Elisha stops, looking between the tub and the shower. Thick lines circle his wrists, like bracelets.

  He chooses the shower. Firing up a hard stream of water, he rinses away any evidence of sex. I watch through the glass partition as he finishes, shutting the shower down. But Elisha doesn’t take a towel. He drips onto the mat, beside me.

  “May I join you?” he asks.

  I don’t know why he’d want to. I can barely be this close to myself.

  “Sure.” I scoot back, making room between my legs.

  Elisha kneels, facing me. He rests his hands on my thighs. “May I kiss you?”

  “Why?”

  “You look upset.”

  “For some reason, you don’t.” I slide my hands up his arms.

  “Should I be?”

  “You can’t tell me you enjoyed that, whatever we just did.”

  “I did and I didn’t. But you must have needed it, and I do lots of things I don’t like, for you.”

  “Do you like kissing me?”

  “Yes.”

  I press my lips against his before he can beat me to it. Elisha gives in. We part. My forehead rests against his, trapping beads of water between us. Then, before I can object, he kisses me with soft, gentle lips.

  I pull back. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

  “Not out loud,” he says.

  Elisha’s right. But I shouldn’t let him intuit my needs. I should stick to verbal and physical commands. I should establish clear boundaries with him. I should.

  * * *

  When we arrive home, I sit down at my desk. Elisha unpacks our bags. I watch him, through the thin crack of the door. This day may still be salvageable if I lock myself in my office and work from home.

  A wave of my hand brings my desktop to life. I close old documents and swipe to bring up the ODR folder. My finger skips over a small white card, discarded on top of my work. I pick it up and turn the thick card stock between my fingers.

  Didn’t realize how much I missed you. If you ever want to reconnect, please don’t hesitate to call. Yours, Javier.

  My chest twinges with longing. I don’t think for Javier, but perhaps. Perhaps for a relationship? I don’t know. Mariah must’ve thought similar, since she invited Javier to join us at Preakness. She really does want me to find someone worthy of the Bishop name, whose company I’ll enjoy, whom I’ll be able to trust, and whom the Board will approve of.

  Maybe I should call Javier. Just because it didn’t break my heart to leave him doesn’t mean he isn’t worthy of partnership. And unlike some men on the Board’s list, he works hard—in technology, at that. Isn’t bad to look at, either. We’re a good match. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to be seen out with him every now and then, especially after the hotel manager mistook Elisha for a boyfriend.

  Especially after the way he kissed me.

  I need to revise my boundaries with him. Our relationship has matured. Now that Elisha is well trained, I no longer need to work so hard with him. We can both relax—well, he can, and I can get back to the lab more. Move Formula 3.0 closer to market.

  “Call Javier,” I say.

  A soft ring fills the room. The connection clicks.

  “Alex Bishop.” I can hear his smile. “Wasn’t sure you’d call.”

  I peek through the doorway as Elisha falls down on the bed, the literature tablet in his hands. He taps at the screen, scrolling to his bookmark.

  “I wasn’t either,” I say.

  “Well, I’m glad you did.” Javier chuckles.

  “Me too.”

  25

  ELISHA

  A tone interrupts the song I’m practicing for tomorrow’s lesson, Mozart’s “Alla Turca.” I lift my hands from the keys.

  “Answer call,” Alex says from upstairs.

  He’s been bustling around the house all afternoon, despite my attempts to help tidy up. It’s already clean, anyway. I decided it was best to stay out of his way.

  I flinch when Tom’s voice comes over the speakers. “Someone’s here to see you, Dr. Bishop, a Mr. Madera. Would you like me to send him up?”

  “Please do, Tom. Thank you.” Alex stops atop the stairs and attaches a gold clip to a green tie that matches his eyes. He pulls on a dark gray blazer and smooths back his already-styled hair.

  Both our attentions turn to the elevator when it dings. Alex hasn’t told me he’s expecting anyone. I can’t decide who he’d want to clean and dress up for, but only in jeans. Nice jeans, of course. Alex doesn’t own not-nice jeans. Even though he could make hand-me-downs look like they were designed just for him.

  I smile at my own thoughts and stare at the piano keys.

  “Hey there, stranger.”

  I look up at the familiar voice. It’s Javier, the man from Preakness who was talking to Mariah and Alex after the race. His eyes wander up and down Alex’s body.

  “Hey,” Alex says, a light smile on his lips. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.” Javier walks through the foyer, looking around at furniture and appliances like he’s considering buying them. “Been a while since I’ve seen these walls.” He touches one, lays his palm flat on the paint.

  “Well, I hope it lives up to the memories. I’m sure you’ve encountered more luxurious homes, but I don’t see the point,” Alex says. “It’s usually only me, here, anyway.”

  Only me?

  I press down on the chord my fingers have been neglecting.


  They both look at me.

  “That’s your Docile, right?” Javier asks. “The one who beat the on-meds, at Preakness.”

  I don’t introduce myself.

  “Yes, you’ll have to forgive his manners. He’s usually very well behaved.” Alex glares at me.

  I hang my head and rest my hands in my lap. He’s right. I’ve embarrassed him in front of his guest. What came over me?

  “Five hundred lines,” Alex says. “‘I will not be rude to guests.’ After that, clean the upstairs. Finish before I return.” He doesn’t tell me how long he’ll be out.

  “Yes, Alex,” I say, still unable to look at him.

  “I’ve heard you have remarkable control over him, especially for an off-med.” Javier straightens Alex’s gold tie bar. The color matches his hair.

  I wonder if Javier notices. I can still feel the strands between my fingers.

  “I’d love to discuss my techniques, but—”

  Javier smiles and offers his arm. “But this is pleasure, not business. I’m guilty, I know. Shall we?”

  Alex summons the elevator, the doors part, and they disappear inside. I have no reason not to trust Javier. He seems like one of the kinder trillionaires. It’s the way he touches Alex, like he has a right to.

  I’ve seen others touch Alex—intimately, at that. I’m practiced at ignoring other Dociles while they ride his cock and suck him off. I’ve always had the impression he doesn’t like that. That he puts up with it about as much as I do.

  But Javier is not a Docile, and they’re each other’s only company. And I have lines to write.

  I retrieve the notebook from one of my drawers built into the side of Alex’s bed, and sit at the writing desk. Five hundred lines. If I focus, I’ll be finished in under two hours.

  What could they be doing for two hours, this late on a weeknight?

  I suppress the thought, quickly. It’s not my business, and I don’t have time to wonder if I also plan to clean the upstairs, before he returns.

  * * *

  The elevator dings. I look up from my folding. Alex is home. Finally. I fit the rest of his clothes in his drawers and gather the sponge and buckets from the confinement space. Although the freshly washed suits in Alex’s closet disguise it, I don’t dare let it go uncleaned.