by Raven Scott
Being tied up. . . the next logical step after that would be to get violent, right? To get rough. To be violated and physically degraded. Maybe, I just freaked out with Brandon because it was so sudden and expected. What if I do deserve it because of my deviancy? You can’t like fire and not get burned at least a few times. I can’t like being bound and expect men to be gentle.
Closing my eyes, my cheek twisted with the phantom prickling of Brandon’s palm— of his hands wrapping around my neck and squeezing. The way he pinned me to the floor and twisted my arm back. Calling me a nasty whore— maybe, he was right.
My phone gave a shrill ping, and the ringing in my ears suddenly quieted as Reece’s text popped up on the screen.
‘Reece: I’m just going to inspect it to make sure nothings broken. If you’re free after, we can meet up?’
Pursing my lips thinly, I licked my lips heavily as heaviness lowered my lids.
‘Riley: I’m not free no’
7
Reece
I glanced at my watch impatiently, shuffling from foot to foot as my narrowed gaze shifted to my phone. Riley was supposed to be at Black Cat 45 minutes ago, and she hadn’t returned any of my texts all day. Unlocking my phone to tap the call button under her contact, I clenched and released my free hand into a fist as worry turned my blood to sludge.
“Hello?” Her voice was rough, hoarse, like she’d been crying, and my brows knit in concern.
“Where are you, Riley?” My mouth dried when she choked a little into the receiver, and I reached to rake my hand through my hair in agitation. “Tell me where you are, sweetheart.”
“Just. . . stop.” She hung up on me, and disbelief rose my brows to my hairline as I stared, wide eyed, at my phone. Tapping around my contacts, I shot Jerry a quick text to find Riley— his ass was probably part of his computer chair by now. The perks of working for one of the most powerful men in the world meant accessing the best resources, and Jerry was the best computer nerd in the world.
Obviously, Riley wasn’t at Black Cat, and I glanced up at the sign briefly before turning on my heel and heading down the street. I knew she was having a rough time of it lately, but why would she pull away from me? Did she talk to her mother? I’d never met the bitch, but she was clearly not someone that approved of her kid’s lifestyle and proved it. Did her old dom see her out and threaten or intimidate her?
What if she just had a really crap day or lost a contract or something? What did ‘I’m a writer’ even mean? Did Riley write fiction books, or was she a blogger, or did she make slogans?
Turning the corner, I rubbed my jaw and around my neck as the hairs against my nape bristled at all the questions racing through my head. My phone pinged, the screen lighting up, and my eyes narrowed under tightly knit brows.
That’s around where I dropped her off, which means she’s home. Honestly, I couldn’t say if that was a bad thing or not. Jogging the rest of the way to the small parking lot, I fished my keys out of my jeans’ pocket. My heart beat hard and fast, pumping adrenaline through my system as her tone echoed against my skull.
The drive to Riley’s apartment complex was a blur of lights and angry honks of taxis, and I squeezed up in front to turn my car off. Blood drummed in my ears, and I paused climbing out of my car to grab the gun in my glove compartment. If Riley did see Brandon, he could’ve followed her home, and she could’ve answered the phone under duress.
“She’s got me wild.” Muttering to myself as I left my car, I glanced at my phone to make sure this was the right address. Jerry was quick, and his info led me to the third floor. The elevator didn’t work, forcing me to take two stairs at a time, but it helped ease some of the tension in me.
Knocking gently on Riley’s apartment door, I leaned heavily on the door frame to close my eyes and listen. Not a peep struggled through the thin barrier, and I reached up to knock again. My chest tightened as the seconds ticked by until a soft snitch of a lock sliding out of place slammed into me.
Red-rimmed, teary eyes met mine over the chain lock on her door, and I smiled small as I rested my head on the door frame. Riley’s face was pale but for her eyes, rough from wiping away her tears without tissues. My fingers itched to grab her, my arms aching to hold her to my chest and peel her messy, frizzy hair from her gaunt cheeks.
“Hey, Riley. I was worried for you, baby.” Huge, heavy tears dripped off her eyelashes at my coo, and some red tinged around her mouth and ears when she gulped. Ice lodged in my chest as I had to physically stop myself from reaching between the door. “Can I come in?”
“How’d you know where I live?” Her croak assaulted my ears and made my teeth chatter, and I licked my lips heavily. Crap. I haven’t thought this far ahead yet.
“I’m into some really illegal stuff and tracked your phone. This is about you, Riley. Don’t change the subject.” The distress on her face just got more intense at my insistence before she slowly shut the door. For a second, I debated forcing my way in until she released the chain lock. I was so stiff with worry, and my elbow cracked when I reached to cover my frown.
“You can come in.” Clearing my throat, I pushed myself off the frame to step through the threshold as Riley hugged herself. When I shut the door, she shivered under her pajama shorts and half-shirt, her eyes cast downward. “I’m sorry. I’m just. . . not feeling it. . . right now.”
“That’s totally okay, baby. You sounded like shit, and I’m not gonna lie— I panicked.” Truth rang in my tone, and I could tell it helped Riley as she heaved a shuddering sigh. “What happened?”
“I answered my mom’s call.” A fucked up sense of relief washed over me like a bucket of cold water, dropping my shoulders from my ears. Exhaling a heavy breath, I reached for Riley’s wrists, prying them from her body to hold her hands. Closing the small distance between us, my heart thundered harder when she squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her heart-shaped face.
“Riley. . . there’s no shame in being upset that your mom doesn’t accept you. She’s your mom, and no matter what anyone says— people’s opinions of you matter. Strangers opinions matter less, and friends— a little bit more. Your parents’ matter a lot. Every one thing someone says to you will impact you, whether it makes you angry or sad or happy.” I rubbed the backs of her smooth hands with my thumbs, and her shivering started to get violently noticeable. Riley trembled as if she was holding an earthquake at bay, her face getting so hot that I felt it through my jacket and shirt. My chest tightened, and my heart ached for her, but. . .
What could I say? Fuck your mom, don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch.
That wouldn’t do anything.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? To be a person you can be comfortable with and also be someone your parents are proud of when your perceptions are so, so different.” I reached to cup her quivering chin, but Riley refused to open her eyes for me. Which was fine. She didn’t resist as I lifted her red, raw face up. She was open to me even if her eyes weren’t. “Who do you want to be, Riley. . . and why? Having a clear picture of yourself is more important than what anyone says.”
Somehow, by the grace of God, Riley managed not to burst into tears even as she sniffled viciously. Her stiff fingers flexed in mine, and I cupped her cheek with my free hand to wipe away the tears leaking down her face. Shuffling closer to me, her breasts pressed against my chest as she tucked her face in my chest.
“I. . . I don’t even enjoy writing anymore. . . I don’t know. . .” Her lips were hot and chapped against my skin, and I wrapped my arm around her to squeeze. Riley hiccupped faintly, her curvaceous body trying so hard to melt into mine. “It’s so stressful— and money is awful— and— and I never had a passion for it, but now. . . I’m starting to hate it.”
“That’s a great place to start, baby.” I remembered what it was like not to have support from my mom. She was just too worn down by the pressure of her family to add my future to her long list of stressful shit to think about. While she never active
ly discouraged me, she never really took interest in me, either. “Acknowledging your troubles is the first step to fixing them.”
“How do I do that? Where do I even start?” My lips thinned at the lost, little tone that swept under my collar. Riley’s shuddering exhale scorched a path down my chest and threatened to set my shirt on fire.
“Let’s start at Black Cat.” I’d reserved a slightly more expensive room, with a shower and a few other expensive, little amenities. Pulling back slightly to finally meet my eyes, Riley’s glistened even as she reached to wipe her nose with the shoulder of her shirt. Nodding a little, her face drawn and red and rough for all the wrong reasons, she stepped out of my hold to rub her face.
8
Riley
“You’re much more relaxed than you were when we got here.” Reece’s smooth, deep timbre seeped into my skin like a really expensive lotion, but all I could do was gasp. Goosebumps blanketed my body, and he reached to smoothen out the black blindfold covering my eyes. “Are you relaxed, Riley?”
“Y— yeah—” The coarse hairs on his knuckles tickled my jaw when he grabbed my face gingerly, and the strain of ropes creaked loudly above the blood drumming in my ears. “I am. . . yes.”
“Good. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable, Riley?”
“N— no. I’m not, no.” I panted faintly as Reece dragged his finger down my jaw before releasing me. My brain was drowning in massive doses of rosy chemicals— all those good emotions that usually only swamped me after sex. When I was exhausted and sweaty and spent, that fuzziness that made it hard to open my eyes and move my limbs.
Only this time, it was entirely manufactured. I hadn’t had sex. I couldn’t see anything because of the mask. I was bound, unable to even clench my fists beyond a slight curl of my fingers.
When Reece wasn’t touching me, all I could feel was rope. Hanging from a mast off the ceiling of Black Cat, I could picture myself in the deep darkness behind the blindfold. Reece had taken his time binding my left ankle up under my ass— the rope knotting beautiful and straight to hide the crease between my thigh and calf. The blindfold itself was tied to the rope, craning my neck and forcing my head back.
Rope even bound my hair, tugging the strands until they nearly reached my foot curling sharply against my back. If I could wiggle my toes, I’d feel them brushing between my shoulder blades.
The physical act of Reece so gingerly and precisely tying me up sent me skyward harder and faster than I’d ever experienced. Our previous two times together couldn’t even compare. He tightened the ropes so gently, so carefully, making his way from my hair down every inch of me. Slowly, I lost the use of my arms, and then one leg at time. He’d looped my fingers so I could barely curl them around my elbows behind my back.
I wasn’t even sure what direction I was hanging, but I could feel the pull on my left leg. Just there, horizontal in the air, still and quiet.
“I’m going to take your picture, Riley. I want you to see what I see right now.” Reece’s words droned unintelligibly in my ears, and I gulped harshly as my abdomen clenched. He walked around me with deliberate, loud steps, and my heart beat harder in the silence. The cold air slithered between my parted folds, rolling up my spine between expert knots and ties. Delicious shivers danced between my spine and the knots, playful and free.
“Tying you up— being tied up. . . it’s so liberating, isn’t it? The simple act of tying a rope around you binds your body, but it frees your mind. You don’t have to worry about anything— breathing— standing— holding your head up or trying not to make a face. All you can do it look inward as your soul blossoms, unrestricted of the restraints of expectation.” Speaking softly, monotone, Reece’s voice beckoned me deeper into the mist, and the fine hairs on my cheek stood up when he brushed my mouth and chin. “Tell me exactly what you’re thinking, Riley.”
“Th— there’s nothing. . . nothing there.” My own murmur rang overly loud in the otherwise quiet room, and Reece caressed down my neck. A tremor raked down my spine, shuddering my sternum and curling my toes as I sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers slipped under the loops hoarsening my pants, and blood drummed in my ears.
“Think harder, baby. What’s hiding in that brain of yours? Deep, deep down, where you buried it because no one wanted to hear about it— when you gave up because no one cared when you talked about it. What dream did you dream until it was beaten into insignificance? What slightly outlandish passion did you shield from being extinguished completely by all those people that threw sand on the flames?” His tone never wavered, soft and sure, and I blinked hard against the blindfold. Not even the slightest hint of light breached the fabric, the tug of my hair against my scalp threatening to pop my head open like I was a cartoon character.
When I was a kid, all I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a professional princess at one of those RenFaires. The dresses and the speech and the romanticized beauty of it all was so wonderful to a six-year-old. Every six-year-old wants to be a princess, though. I grew out of it, but that kind of stuff is still really cool.
When I was thirteen, I discovered singing when I was forced to join the choir at school. I wanted to take extra lessons, and my choir teacher had taught me how to play the piano. She’d said once that I picked up the piano very quickly, even though I ‘wasn’t some prodigy’— that I had talent. After two years and changing schools, I had enough confidence to sign up for the school talent show at age fifteen.
And then, my mom heard about it. It’ll take more effort than it’s worth. So many average people think they can make it, so what makes you special? If you ask me, it’s only going to be a struggle, and you won’t ever make money on it. Weeks before the show, my mom sat me down and told me. . . I wasn’t special. I shouldn’t go on that stage because it wouldn’t help me. I had to start thinking about college, and maybe finding a part time job. Fantasizing about being the one that got lucky and ended up on American Idol wasn’t practical and wouldn’t pay the bills.
Have you ever heard any of those sob stories where they’re not struggling, Riley? Some of those people are legitimately homeless! Do you really want to deal with that?
But the truth was. . . my mom was the one that didn’t want to be embarrassed by having a ‘loser’ kid chasing her dream. I wasn’t Beyoncé, for sure, but—
When did my mom ever support me in anything? When did my mom even pretend to acknowledge anything I wanted to try? Nothing was good enough. Everything was too hard. No one was going to listen to me, anyway. I shouldn’t even bother because I’d put in all that effort, and it’d end in failure.
Deciding not to go to college was wrong, but my choices of college were also wrong. Redding, Connecticut was the best place to live even though it was New England’s version of a redneck shit hole. My sexual ‘deviancy’ was an open invitation to get beat up, raped, and dumped in a dirty alley, and it was my fault, so my mom wouldn’t have to feel bad.
My mom never wanted to feel bad. She never wanted to look bad. It was like she wanted a dog she could dress up the way she wanted, not a daughter with aspirations and dreams and desires.
That’s right. . . my mom sees me as an accessory. When things were going well, she’d brag about me to all her stupid Redding friends over their gross, extra-specially made coffees. When things weren’t going well, my mom hid me and ignored me, like I was a bracelet being repaired at the cleaners. Her friends would ask me about, maybe, and she’d laugh and wave her hand and say. . . Riley? She’s fine. Anyway. . .
‘Every one thing someone says will affect you.’ That was Reece trying to politely explain that I had to stop letting my mom’s negativity fuck with me. If my mom was a friend, I would’ve cut her off without warning. Just because she was my mom didn’t mean I was obligated to let myself get dragged down by her shit.
And it’s not even like it’s ever been any different! Scoffing lightly at my own, shrill, inner voice, I clenched my teeth hard to grind them toge
ther. I should’ve moved to New York City and ignored my mom. I thought about it. I considered what might happen. My mom didn’t know where I fucking lived because she didn’t care! The only reason she would care is if I was super rich and lived in a penthouse and bought 600$ bottles of wine every single night, tipping male strippers with gold bars!
“Because she’d get something out of it. . . if she can’t use me to prop herself up, I don’t exist.” The only reason my mom ever talked to me was to belittle my choices and try to convince me to go back to Redding. She wanted me close, where she could monitor me and twist everything to suit her image. If I went back to Redding, I’d be miserable, but that didn’t matter as long as I smiled pretty. Maybe, I’d find a rich man with six houses that only came to Connecticut every 7th winter on a full moon. My mom could gush about how perfect we were, even though he was a wimp in bed and we never said more than five words to each other in any given conversation.
But— hey, at least my mom could crow about it.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Riley.” Blood rushed to my face as my heart thundered, my faint euphoria long since morphing into rage and bitterness. My jaw popped in protest when I opened my mouth, and Reece’s eyes bored holes into my face. Expectancy settled heavily on me, hanging there, completely immobile but for my mind racing. The ropes creaked slightly as my huge inhale made me swing ever so slightly, and my tightly folded knee threatened to pop its socket when I tensed.
And I screamed.
9
Reece
A soft knock sounded on the door, and I glanced through the peep hole to find Brighton’s ugly ass mug on the other side. I appreciated his concern, but we’d known each other for almost eight years. Granted, if someone screamed like this for 10 minutes straight, I’d be concerned about my business across the walls, too.