by Rebel Farris
Shocked, I don’t even fight back. I gasp for the breath that was knocked out of me. I don’t even know what I want. I’ve been running since the day I met him, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to fight him anymore. Because this fight is all in my head and my heart—that shriveled-up black thing that somehow still beats in my chest.
“Did you mean it?” he asks.
My eyes find him, and he’s looking through me again. I don’t like it. No one is supposed to be in here but me. Fight.
I growl, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That my past, who I am, it doesn’t bother you,” he explains.
The crowd starts booing. We’ve been motionless too long. He’s not even holding me. That’s all it takes for my mind to flip. I become aware of his body pressing me into the mat with his weight. That’s all it takes for that lust to come roaring to the surface. The warmth of his flesh seeps into me. His woodsy smell invades my senses. He’s watching me so intensely that he sees the change. The left corner of his mouth twitches. I wonder if he knows that he always leads a smile with the left. Why do I even know that? I bite my lip, and my brows draw together. His left dimple flickers as the twitch becomes a smirk.
He leans on one elbow, running the other hand down my side, hooking it behind my thigh and pulling it to wrap around his hip. A trail of fire is what it feels like. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath. The crowd rumbles in approval, and it slams me back into reality.
“No,” I grind out as I use the imbalance of his position and the advantage he just gave me to take back control of the situation.
I’m on top of him now, and as I look down to him, he’s grinning. “Liar,” he accuses.
Darkness crowds my vision. Challenge. No. No one can see me here. No one can join me here. Pain. It radiates from the core of me. I want to hurt him. I want to scare him away. He can’t be here. The dark is for me alone. This is my penance—my just desserts.
My fist snaps through the air toward him. He’s faster. He grabs my wrist, stopping me just inches away from his cheek. That left corner of his mouth twitches again. Asshole. I roll off him, away, breaking his hold on my wrist. I rise to my feet at the same time he does. My body remains crouched, on alert, as I circle him, looking for my opening. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. He stands, back straight, tracking me as I circle him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.
He shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I was here before we ever met. I’m not scared to go there with you.”
I tilt my head.
His head shakes again. “I don’t mean this cage, Maddie. You know what I’m talking about, just as I know what you’re talking about.”
The dark. Fuck you. I move in and strike, landing my fist in his gut before he spins me around, holding me. My back presses to his chest. My arms are trapped beneath his bulky arms. His breath puffs out next to my ear.
“Holy shit, you have some fire in that arm,” he wheezes out, his voice drawing closer to me. His tongue trails the side of my neck to the space just below my ear. I shudder in his hold. “I don’t understand all of this, but fuck if I’m not curious.” His forearm, covered in the small tattoos, moves until his hand cups my breast. “All I know is that I want you. But it’s more than that. I want to own you. Possess you. I want this to be mine.” He trails his thumb over my nipple, and my body jerks in his hold. A tiny moan escapes me. “I’ve never met someone filled with so much darkness that still managed to shine so bright. Like a moth to a flame, Firebird. I’m yours.”
I turn my head to look at him, to respond in some way, but his lips are on mine before I can blink. All thoughts flee from my mind. My lips part on a sigh, and his tongue strokes against mine. The fight leaves me. I go limp in his arms. His hold loosens, and I turn into his embrace. He leans into me just enough to lift me, and then I’m wrapped around him as I pull his bottom lip into my teeth. My back slams into the cage. The cool metal links press into me. The crowd is louder now, but it’s not boos or cheers; it’s a cacophony of moans and screams. Pleasure. A thrill runs through me.
Dex breaks away, wedging his thigh underneath me to support my weight. I search his face for something as he grabs my wrists and pushes my arms up against the cage.
“Hold,” he grunts.
All I see in his eyes is hunger. The ravenous look of a starving man, staring at the last piece of food. My fingers lace into the chain links. His eyes return to mine. His hands move to the collar of my tank top, the straps digging into my shoulders as he pulls. The tearing fabric echoes in my ears as I suck in a breath. As the shirt tatters fall to my sides, his fingers find the zipper at the front of my sports bra. He yanks and I’m exposed, in more ways than the obvious. His hands grasp my ribs, his fingers pressing into my skin.
“You’re not stopping me,” he growls.
“No, I’m not,” I respond, as my eyes roll back in my head and my back arches.
His mouth is on me again, biting and sucking his way from my neck to my breasts. I moan. Opening my eyes, I find Nic in the front row, watching. Despite the woman writhing on his lap, sucking his neck, his focus on me never wavers. A small smirk plays at the corner of his lips. His eyes hold his triumph in plain view. He nods.
Touch her, I mouth to him.
Nic pushes her legs open, his hand exposing her core to me. He pushes his fingers into her, and her head drops back on his shoulder. I squirm and pull Dex in tighter with my legs. His mouth detaches from my nipple with an audible pop, and he looks at me and tracks my gaze behind him. His hand wraps around my ponytail, and he yanks my head back, swallowing my cry with his kiss.
“Mine,” he gasps.
“Yes, yours.” I hum with pleasure as I release the cage wall to grip his shoulders. My nails dig into his skin. A rumble of pleasure reverberates in his chest. I smile at that.
“Why do I feel like the fly that just landed on a spider’s web,” he pants, pulling back to search my face.
“Perhaps because you are.” I shrug.
“I’m a selfish man, Maddie.” His grip tightens in my hair. “I don’t want to share you.”
“All right. Then don’t,” I say with another shrug. “You’re in charge.”
His eyes dilate, and my heart flips. What is happening? I don’t have time to ponder it because he pulls me close and turns. With a few quick strides, we are out the cage door. He walks like a man on a mission as he carries me up the stairs and out of the arena to the bank of elevators we came from the first time I brought him here. I wiggle in his hold to get down, but he only grips me tighter. He’s not asking as he puts my hand on the biometric scanner and operates the elevators on his own. I stop shifting and hold on, waiting for his attention.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t set me down, just keeps his hold on me. When we get to the penthouse, he speaks. “You went this way earlier. Where did you go?”
“My room. It’s over there, down that hall.” I point off to the right, and he moves in that direction. “Second door on the left.”
He opens the door, and his hand reaches out, feeling the wall for a light switch. I chuckle to myself.
“Penny, lights at fifty percent, windows open,” I say.
The lights come on, and the panels that cover the full wall of windows opposite us retreat into the walls, revealing the city lights below. Dex sets me on the ground and takes in the room. Directly in front of us, with its headboard against the wall to the left, is a king-sized canopy bed. It’s flanked by two full-size chests of drawers, and on either side of those are two doors, one leading to the closet and one to the en suite bathroom. To the right is a large open space with only two pieces of furniture, a chaise and an armchair. In the center of the room, chains hang from the ceiling off a metal grid. His eyes linger on it.
“Welcome home, Mistress,” the female computer voice intones. “I trust your fights went well tonight? Would you like me to start the shower
at your preferred settings or run a bath?”
Dex’s head whips in my direction.
“It’s Maddie, Penny. And no, we’d just like some privacy,” I answer.
“Very well,” Penny replies.
“Your friend has a pretty fancy smart home setup,” Dex states.
“I am not a mere smart home, sir. I am an intelligent digital construct. Penthouse. Penny is my given name,” Penny drones. Though there was definitely a pout in there, if computer voices could sound pouty.
“Penny, I said privacy,” I interrupt. “You’re not supposed to address guests anyway.”
“Who are you people?” Dex asks. “What the fuck is an intelligent digital construct?”
“Penny is just Dawn’s brainchild.” I wave it off. “Artificial intelligence. She’s kept on a private server and given full run of the penthouse, but she’s harmless. Though, it’s a little creepy at times.”
I shut the door behind us. Dropping the tattered remains of my shirt on the floor, I move toward the bed. Glancing back over my shoulder, I find Dex watching me.
“What do you know about Dominant-submissive relationships, Dex?” I lie on my side on the bed.
He shrugs. “Not much, to be honest. Just the chatter that happened after those movies came out.”
I rolled my eyes. “How about power dynamics?” I pat the bed next to me in invitation, but he doesn’t move. “Ever given any thought to who holds power, in any situation where control is given to an individual?”
“No, I haven’t given it much thought.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stands there, watching me, but it’s clear that he’s not getting any closer at the moment.
I sit up, zipping my sports bra closed. “Okay, let’s take the president. He gets elected, people vote for him. Who holds the power?”
“I don’t understand what this—”
“Just answer the question,” I sigh.
“The president does.” He shifts his weight to one foot and frowns.
“He just gets in office and does whatever he wants because he has the power? What happens if the people who voted him in are unhappy?”
“Then he doesn’t get reelected,” he drolls. His lips become a flat line as he pins me with a stare.
I nod. “He has to bend to their will. Do things that make them happy. So, who holds the power?”
“The voters who put him there, I guess.”
“Exactly. Control that is given can be just as easily taken away. Therefore, the giver is the one with the real power.”
“Makes sense.”
“It took me years to understand all of it. What I am. Why I do it.” I stand and cross the room to him. “I’m a sexual submissive, Dex. It doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t mean I’m helpless or some sick, twisted freak. I don’t necessarily need it. I’ve had regular sex quite a bit, and I didn’t dislike it. I just—”
I start to pace as I glance at him. He’s not giving anything away, and normally I like that about him, but right now it’s just frustrating. “I’m a giver. I like to do things for other people, and sex, for me, can become… confusing. I give everything to my partner and take nothing. Most people, normal people, are a balance of both give and take. What a Dom does for me—it takes away my choice in the moment. Gets my head out of its focus on my partner and allows me to just feel. No thoughts, no worries, no guilt. Just pleasure given and received. And I’m not telling you that you have to be a certain way or accept some position to be with me. You just need to know this is who I am and why I’m this way.”
“Stop,” he says, and I freeze midstep. “As adorable as your pacing is, it’s very distracting. It makes sense, but I don’t get what has you so anxious about it.”
“Because I’ve never had to do this before. I’ve never had to explain this.”
He raises an eyebrow at me in question.
“I’m serious. I’ve only ever had one top, and that was years ago. We both kind of fell into it without giving it a name. It took years of therapy to understand all this. Because it wasn’t until after that relationship ended that I found out how hard it would be to live without it, or to be with someone who couldn’t understand it.”
“Come here,” he says, holding out a hand to me. He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me. “I understand it.” His fingers trace along my jaw. “I just have one question.”
I nod.
“Where does your friend Nic fit into all this?” he asks.
“Sounds like I’m right on cue,” Nic says, standing in the now open doorway.
Then
“This is just some place you heard of?” I asked, pinning Holly with narrowed eyes.
She shrugged. “Aunt Mae’s worked here longer than I’ve been alive, but it’s not like she owns the place.”
I gave her the side eye and took a deep breath.
Turning my focus to the stage, I studied the weathered old man up there. The lighting onstage wasn’t very powerful, and his dark skin blended with his dark clothes and the dark wood paneling of the wall behind him. Only his instrument, a pearl-white Gibson ES-335 guitar, was truly visible. I’d a feeling that was his goal. He played a bluesy, twangy melody as his fingers plucked the strings and his other hand slid back and forth over the frets. It was hypnotic.
By the third bar, I recognized the song as “I Can’t Quit You Baby” by Otis Rush. I closed my eyes and swayed in my seat, just absorbing the musician’s soulful voice. The tinkling piano keys and slow brush rhythm accompaniment was also lost in the dark behind him. It gave the tune a haunting feel, and I was captivated.
“Earth to Maddie,” Holly said, snapping her fingers next to my ears.
I opened my eyes. Everyone at the table was looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry,” I murmured with an apologetic smile.
Jared leaned forward and captured my hand, pulling it to his mouth. “She does that with the blues. Gets lost.”
“You could say that,” Asher laughed.
“I was just sayin’—you gonna get on the stage?” Holly asked. “Gus will be off the stage after this song.”
“Can I do that?”
“Of course—it’s fuckin’ open mic night, bitch.” She grinned deviously. “You think I’d bring you to a place you couldn’t feel at home? And I know you’re at home on the stage. I got you.” She winked.
My heart raced at the thought of getting to play something different than our regular tour set. I grinned widely at her. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.
“I wanna go up there with you,” Asher added. “You know what you want to play?”
“The possibilities are endless,” I answered.
“Brothers Osborne?” Asher suggested.
“Definitely fits the vibe here.” I nodded. “What songs do you know?”
“All of them,” he said with a shy smile. “They’re one of my favorites.”
“We could do ‘Love the Lonely Out of You.’ Since it’s just two guitars.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Asher nodded once and turned back to the stage.
It didn’t take long before the song was over and Holly was dragging us to the stage. House instruments were shoved in our hands, and we took our places on the dark stage, Asher with an acoustic guitar, me with an electric and a microphone.
It felt anonymous on the dark stage. I allowed myself to get lost in the words and the notes I plucked on my guitar. When Asher joined me with his guitar, my heart soared.
The song was a soulful surrender to a lover, sexy and heartfelt. My eyes were trained on Jared as the words fled my mouth. When a gorgeous blonde in a denim miniskirt approached him with a tap on the shoulder, I fought hard not to falter. He patted her back as she hugged his neck and took my seat next to him.
I wasn’t sure who she was, but as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, my vision tinted green. It was obvious that they knew each other as they talked through my performance.
Jealousy filled my heart, making it feel dark and nasty. I’d never been one to get jealous. I’d never been in a relationship where I didn’t feel secure about the other’s commitment to me until that moment. And that hurt.
When the song was over, I turned to Asher, placing my hand on the mic. “You know any of the songs from my old band?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he answered with a wicked grin.
I whispered in his ear the song I wanted to play. He laughed loudly and got up to put the guitar away and move to the drum kit behind us. I stood and moved the chair I was sitting on to the side. Adjusting the mic, I told the crowd we were about to shake things up.
Asher led the song, setting a rhythm, and I followed with the fast-paced grungy guitar licks. Then I opened my mouth to sing the song that Spencer wrote for me all those years ago. It was written as a joke after he walked into the kitchen one night while Law and I were discussing some rather intimate suggestions for our alone time. The thing was—it was good. It had a catchy tune and quickly became our most popular song.
It felt weird not hearing Spaz’s bass or Spencer’s guitar join us. But I shut out that pang of loss that echoed in me. It was time to take my revenge.
I may look like a saint, but I’m a sinner.
I’m the girl that brings you to your knees.
All you have to do to please me…
is spank me like a bad girl.
I knew once the words were out of my mouth, I’d have his attention. His head snapped in my direction from the bubbly blonde. His face became a hardened mask. Narrowed eyes watched me as I put on my show.
Tie me up, touch me, tease me
Make my body your new religion
I’ll beg until you lose control
And you spank me, I’m your bad girl.
I was working the crowd, playing up the sex appeal like I used to. A crowd began to form in front of the stage. I felt powerful again at that moment, weaving a spell over the crowd as I captivated their attention.
I realized then I’d been suppressing myself, trying not to garner too much attention for fear that it would set Jared off. But that just pissed me off. We could’ve grown together, but he forced us to grow apart and then decided he didn’t like who I’d become. Fuck him.