by JA Huss
He squints at me, brows furrowed in confusion. But he doesn’t know the right question to ask to get the answer he needs about that statement.
“Are we going to play or not?” I ask. “Because I’m tired.”
“Maybe you need a day to rest?” he asks. “To play your best game.”
“I’m good,” I say. “If you think you’re up to it.”
“Get back in position.”
I turn to the wall, go into second, and up en pointe. I’m not at my best. I’m very tired. My muscles are quaking seconds into round two. But… Jordan promised me something if I did what he asked. And I’m interested in that promise. I think it has potential.
Besides, Bric really is at a disadvantage here. I know so much more about him than he knows about me. I have all his weaknesses piled up at my feet. If he wants to fuck with my head… Well, he’s gonna get fucked right back.
That’s the only way to earn his respect.
“Do you have headphones?” Bric asks.
Headphones? What the fuck? “Yes,” I say. Hesitantly. “In the living room. Under the TV.”
“Stay in position,” he says, walking out of the studio.
I look over my shoulder. Listening as he shuffles around in the other room. When he returns he’s holding the headphones that came with the apartment. They’re good ones. The kind that cancel out noise and everything. And he’s pulling his tie from his shirt collar. It’s a red tie, I notice. My heart beats a little fast because I know what he’s gonna do next.
“Hold still,” he says, covering my eyes with the makeshift blindfold and securing it tightly at the back of my head. “I’m gonna put the headphones on.”
He does. And it’s silent. But there’s no music or anything. The cord just hangs limply at my side. And then it doesn’t. Because he’s taking my hands off the wall and tying them together with it.
My legs are shaking at this point. My toes are burning. I lose my balance and have to lean on him. His body is warm and hard. But he’s cold tonight. And for the first time I wonder if I’m making a mistake.
He pulls one headphone away from my ear and says, “I’ll be nice and let you lean on the wall, Nadia. Because that’s the kind of guy I am. But you will submit. I know how much you can take. I’m in control of you. So you need to trust me and obey. If you come off pointe the game is over and I win.”
He’s such a dick. He’s so not worth it.
But then I hear Jordan’s words in my head. All the things he told me last night. And I force myself to do as I’m told. Everyone has a breaking point. Everyone. Even Elias Bricman has a breaking point. And tonight, I’ll get him past that point.
I will break him.
“Do you understand?” he asks, whispering the words in my ear.
“Yes,” I say. “You’re in control. I must submit.” I want to add something snide at the end of that answer, but I hold it in. He’ll walk out. I know he will. He’s not in the mood. And I’ve already come this far. I’m practically there. So I hold it in.
“Good girl,” he says. “The purpose of submission is to enjoy it, Nadia. So just… let it all go and enjoy it. OK?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I. Just. Told you.” Angry Bric is back.
I sigh, because he did. I just didn’t hear him. “OK. Just enjoy it. I can do that.”
“Good,” he says, letting the headphone cover my ear again. This time he flips a switch on the side. It’s not silence I hear when he does that. It’s that weird non-noise of canceling. Almost a thrum, but not. A vacuum sucking the sound from my head. I don’t like it.
But then his hands are on my body. They are warm, even though he’s so cold tonight. He slides them up and down my legs. Gripping my burning calves. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow. But his touch… it’s almost worth it. Because it feels so good. He’s gentle, but rough. Hot and cold. Every dichotomy at once.
I lean my head against the brick wall, the ragged stone pushing into the skin of my forehead until it’s uncomfortable. But then he’s got his mouth pressed into my neck. Kissing me. Pulling my hair aside to reach places that never get reached.
I think he’s talking to me. I can feel vibrations. But the headphones do their thing, so I hear nothing. I tell myself his words are consoling. My body is trembling now. All over. My legs burn and my toes… God, my poor toes. So I tell myself those words are soft. And nice. Something he’s usually… not.
A hand slides over the curve of my ass and fingertips slip right between my legs. For a few moments, I forget the pain. I forget everything but the feel of his words and his fingers.
But my shoulders are aching. He’s got them pulled tight around my back. Is it too tight? Is he hurting me and I don’t know it? My heartbeat kicks up a notch. I begin to pant, unable to control my breathing.
But the vibrations on my neck are back. His imaginary soft words soothe me back down as I realize he’s got his cock out. He’s pressing it against my hip and he’s hard.
And then he’s gone.
I panic for a moment when the heat of his body disappears. I’m out of control. My breathing, the pain in my legs, my heartbeat. Everything is out of control. “Bric?” I say. But I only hear the voice in my head and nothing else. “Bric?” I am thinking about all the things he might be doing. I am conjuring up scenarios. He left me. He walked out. I will stand here for hours, only to realize he’s been gone the whole time.
I panic and start hyperventilating. Short, staccato breaths take over my body. My legs are shaking so bad I want to—
His touch again. He’s back.
His hands are colder than before, but he’s back. I relax and let him have his way with me. His hard cock probing between my legs as his hands grip my shoulders. I lean back into his chest as he makes the skin on my neck vibrate again. God, I wish I could take these fucking headphones off.
He enters me, but at the same time his hand slides around my hip and begins to probe my clit.
It feels so good I almost forget how much pain I’m in.
His other hand grips my breast. Squeezes it hard, like he knows he needs to remind me what’s actually happening here.
I’m submitting.
Moans escape my mouth as he begins to fuck me. Soft and slow at first. But then harder. His fingers still playing with my clit. His stomach hits my bound hands each time he moves forward. I want to be free. I want to touch him back. I want to make him feel good too. But I can’t. I’m submitting.
And it feels so fucking good.
My legs begin to shake badly. I cannot stay up en pointe much longer. But if I fall out of it, he will stop. He will end this game and he will win and I will never forgive myself for not just putting in a little more effort to please him.
He’s everything I want right now. He’s everything I need.
So I refuse. I lock my knees, and stiffen.
He stops. Pulls out. And for a moment I think he’s disappointed. My body language is all wrong. I have failed to submit properly and he’s going to walk out.
Instead he unties my wrists. My shoulders burn when they are released, and fall, limp, at my sides.
He places both hands on my shoulders and turns me, still en pointe, so my toes do a little painful dance as I spin, and pushes me back against the brick wall. I see nothing but the crimson red of his tie, tightly wrapped around my eyes.
Then he reaches under my knees and lifts me up, pressing his body against mine, then pressing my back into the sharp brick wall until it’s painful. His cock slips back inside me. I moan for so many reasons. My legs, freed from agony. My toes—surely blistered by this point—screaming with relief.
I grab him. I hold him. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his hair and make him fuck me. He goes slow. And he’s soft. Even though I know he’s neither of those things.
When I submit, he is, I realize. He’s soft just for me in this moment.
And maybe I could love this man. Maybe I could.<
br />
By the time my orgasm begins to build, I’m crying. I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just am. Tears flood my eyes. Fall down my cheeks. But it feels so good to be sad.
I’m so confused.
Until I realize this is what submission is. Relief. Freedom from decisions. Trusting him to do it right. To know. And I am convinced in this moment that no one on Earth knows me as well as Elias Bricman.
I come, shaking and sobbing. And I don’t even know if he comes too, because I hear nothing but the vacuum of cancelled noise in my head.
But he slows. And I can feel his chest through his shirt. In and out. Hard, short breaths just like mine.
He sets me down and I don’t even pretend like I can remain en pointe. “I did my best. I swear,” I say, the words echoing in my ears. “I can’t give you any more.”
He places his fingertips on my lips. Shushing me. And then he walks away again.
I don’t panic this time. Just lean against the wall, the sharp brick poking into my back. And I wait.
He comes back. I knew he would. And drapes something around my shoulders. My robe, I realize. From the bathroom. I slip my arms into it, and never has terrycloth felt so luxurious. He ties the belt tight around my waist and leaves, one more time.
I wait.
And wait. And then I feel the vibrations of footsteps on the hardwood floor as he approaches.
He pulls one of the headphones away from my ear and says, “Nadia?”
But it’s not Bric’s voice.
I grab for the tie that’s making me see red, and tug it down my face.
“Logan?” I say, bewildered. “What the fuck—”
But that’s when I see Bric. Leaning against the doorjamb. Holding out a piece of paper. “Look familiar?” he asks, shaking the paper. “Your boy here called me the other day. Said he needed to see you.”
“What the—”
“Nadia?” Logan says. “I’m sorry.”
I look at Logan as I try to process what just happened. His shirt is untucked from his pants. His belt unbuckled. His hair rumpled.
And then I look at Bric. He looks like a million dollars. His suit is not rumpled. His hair is not mussed.
He was not the one who just fucked me.
Chapter Thirty-One - Bric
“You dick,” she screams. “You motherfucking dick!”
She flies across the room at me, her toe shoes clumping on the hard wood. Her fist hits me hard in the jaw. And I will admit, it fucking hurts.
But I only let her get one punch in. I grab her wrists and say, “Calm the fuck down.”
“Calm the—fuck you! Fuck you!” she screams as she fights my grip on her wrists. Flailing and out of control.
“Nadia!” Logan says. “I didn’t. It’s not what you think. I don’t know what the fuck you two are doing, but I didn’t do anything!”
Nadia looks at me. Confused. I almost laugh. But I figure that would not be in the spirit of things. I’m all about winning graciously. “He didn’t fuck you, Nadia. That was all me, honey. Come on. Give me a little credit.”
“What the hell is going on?” she yells.
I shrug. “You wanted to play, right? I warned you. I fucking warned you. And you practically begged me to do this.”
“To fuck with my head?”
“You’re the one who said it, remember? I like to mind-fuck people. Did you really think you could play this game with me and not get the full Bric treatment?”
She spins, looking at Logan. “What are you doing here?”
Logan looks… scared shitless. And you don’t need a degree in psychiatry to see it. So I figure I better save the guy. It’s the least I can do since his role in this whole charade just helped me win.
The paper I was holding fell to the floor during our scuffle, so I pick it up and hold it out to her. She snatches it from my hand, crumples it up, and tosses it over her shoulder. She knows what that paper says.
“I should’ve done a background check on you, Nadia. Would’ve explained so many things.”
She looks at Logan. Glares at him. “You told him?”
Logan just shakes his head and holds up his hands in surrender. “You need to know something, Nadia. That’s why I’m here. I just need to tell you something.”
“I don’t need to know shit,” she says, almost spitting out the words. “Get the fuck out of my house.” She screams it. “Both of you! Get the fuck out!”
“Well, I believe that’s my cue,” I say, brushing a piece of lint off my suit. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Wolfe. Good game.”
I turn my back on them. I don’t know what the fuck they have going on, but I do not care. I read the police report Logan showed up with that day at the Club, and it does explain a lot. But I’m just not curious enough to figure the rest out.
She learned her lesson today.
I might’ve lost with Chella and Rochelle.
But I most certainly did not lose with Nadia.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Nadia
Logan just looks at me after Bric is gone. “Leave,” I say, walking out of the studio and searching for my coat in the living room. I grab my phone from the pocket, but Logan is right behind me.
“No,” he says, gripping my shoulder to make me turn. “I need to talk to you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. And now that I’m here, I’m gonna have my—what are you doing?”
“You’re violating the restraining order. So I’m calling 911. You have two seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or I will press that last number.” I hold it up so he can see my screen, the big ol’ nine and one staring him in the face.
“Nadia,” he says, pleading.
“Get out.”
“I just want you to know—”
“Go. Away.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. Frowning. Watching me. Seeing me.
“Stop looking at me,” I say. “Stop it.”
He lowers his eyes and turns. But just as he’s about to twist the handle on the front door, he stops. “It wasn’t your fault, Nadia. It was my fault.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you do.”
And then he opens the door and walks out.
I let out a long breath of relief. I can’t do this again. I can’t. I won’t.
I want to run away. I want to get the fuck out of this apartment. This city. This life. But my legs—my whole body—is one big mess of exhaustion. What the hell just happened? I feel… wrecked.
The couch is calling me. I sink into the cushions and curl up into a little ball. The memories of what happened in New York—memories I had put behind me—all come flooding back.
Tears are running down my face and sobs are coming out my mouth in weird gasps.
Just close your eyes, Nadia. Close your eyes and sleep it off.
I will never sleep again. So I go to the bathroom, grab the bottle of sleeping pills, and gulp them down without water.
I surrender to the nothingness of sleep.
Pounding on my door wakes me. It’s morning, but early. Just a hint of dawn peeking though my living room curtains.
“Nadia!” Jordan is yelling in the hallway. “Open the door and let me in right now or I swear, I will call the police.”
I drag my aching body off the couch. My legs are so weak from last night’s… game… I stumble over a rug and fall to my knees.
“Nadia!” Jordan yells again, his fist pounding on my door. I scramble on my knees for a few feet, then get up and stumble across the room. “Open the fucking—”
I open the door before he finishes. “What the hell, Jordan?” I look down the hallway and see two neighbors peeking their heads out.
He pushes past me, huffing out air, slamming the door behind him. “I’ve been calling you all night. Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”
“I was sleeping,” I say, unable to think about last night. “I didn’t hear it. I don’t even know wher
e my phone is.” I sort through the couch cushions and find it wedged between the seat and the back. Yup. He’s called me nine times.
“Sorry,” I say.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t fucking play with me, Nadia. Bric called me last night and told me the game was over. He won, you lost. His words exactly. Now tell me what the fuck happened?”
I shrug and slink down onto the couch, curling my legs up underneath me. “He won,” I say.
“I’m gonna need more details. Tell me exactly what happened. You brought him up here…” He waits for me to finish that sentence. But I don’t. “And then…” He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Nadia—” He stops. “Why are you shaking?”
I don’t know. So I can’t tell him. But I am shaking. It could be from Bric making me stand en pointe at the wall last night. Or the mind fuck. Or both. I don’t know.
“Nadia, talk to me.” Jordan sits down on the couch next to me. “Tell me what happened.”
My eyes fill up with tears. They spill down my face before I can wipe them away.
“Nadia,” Jordan says. All his anger is gone now. There’s nothing left but concern. “Just tell me what happened.”
“He won.”
“How? How did he win? What did he do?”
But I can’t tell that story. Not even to myself, let alone Jordan. So I just shake my head.
He reaches for me, trying to put his arm around me, but I push him off and stand up. I try to cross the room without wincing. My legs… God, my legs. They are weak and rubbery, so I sit down in a chair before I fall.
“Go away,” I say. “I don’t want you here.”
“No,” Jordan says. “I need to know why you’re acting like this.”
I shake my head. “No. You don’t.” And then, because I really need him to leave, I look him in the eyes and say, “Get out of my apartment and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to see either of you again.”
“Nadia—”
“Out!” I yell it as loud as I can.