by Renee Rose
“Ack!” she cried in surprise, squirming against the grip.
“Who is in charge?”
“You are! You are!”
He lowered her hips, running his thumb along her glossy slit. “Good girl. I make the rules here. You lie back and take it. And right now, you’re going to take it in missionary position.”
She bucked even more at his fondling and his words, her hips bobbing under his thumb.
He eased her feet back to the bed. “Now, open your knees, girl.”
She stood her feet on the bed, knees bent and feet wide apart, arching her pelvis in his direction.
“Oh, now you’re begging for it, aren’t you?” he asked, slapping her pussy.
She shrieked, but didn’t close her legs, just panted, watching him with excitement.
“You’re going to want to come the second my cock penetrates that pretty little pussy of yours, but you can’t. Not until I say you can.” He slapped her pussy again. “Understand, little girl?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good girl.” He insinuated himself between her knees and shoved into her, deep enough to make her grunt. “That’s right,” he murmured, sliding out and repeating the aggressive plunge. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you will always remember who owns you.”
She moaned, arching up, her eyelashes fluttering.
As he continued to plumb her depths, he bent his head to one nipple, teasing it with his tongue, then nipping it with his teeth. He pushed back and slapped her breast, making her give a little scream, her pussy gushing, her hips gyrating in a frantic rhythm beneath him.
Using one hand to press her bound wrists down into the bed, he gave her face a gentle slap — not enough to even sting, more symbolic than anything.
She gasped, lifting her legs in the air and pushing up at him with her pelvis. He stayed with that rhythm, letting her rock her clit against him on each in-stroke until her cries became desperate.
“Do you want to come now, Lexi?” he asked, slapping her breast again. “Do you?”
“Yesssss. God, yes!” she cried.
He gripped her shoulders, bracing her as he slammed inside her over and over again until his own orgasm crested. “Now, Lexi!” he shouted when he reached climax.
She went wild beneath him, wriggling against him, coming with a screech and a shudder.
“I think,” he mused, freeing her wrists as she recovered beneath him, “You just need it rough.”
“I think I just need you,” she said.
His heart lurched.
She blushed, as if realizing she’d shown him all her cards.
He wanted to tell her he needed her too, but revealing his hand weakened his position. He settled for expressing the depth of his emotion for her with the most tender kiss.
* * * * *
She floated through the next week. What happened between her and Bobby — spanking as real discipline as opposed to for sex — wasn’t the sort of thing she’d want to admit to a friend, but she came out the other side of it feeling rock solid with him. She loved him more for it, though she could not explain why. Perhaps it was just the intimacy of being pushed past all her defenses until she broke like an egg, and then being held up and supported through it. Perhaps it was the continued appeal of a man so clearly in charge of her and the world around him. Or maybe it was as he said, she just needed it a little rough.
He’d had a box delivered by courier to her salon the following day with a dozen pair of expensive panties from Victoria’s Secret. The note read,
Sorry about ripping your panties last night, hope these make up for it. Can’t wait to see you again.
They were exactly her size and the style she tended to wear.
She had seen him the following two nights, and had another date scheduled with him for that night.
“Excuse me, Lexi?” the receptionist interrupted her while she cut a client’s hair. “You just had a walk-in who requested you. Can you fit them in?”
“Them?” she asked, glancing toward the waiting area where two beautiful young women stood. They looked like twins.
“Well, just one of them wants a cut. But they came in together.”
“Sure, I can squeeze her in. Tell her it will be twenty minutes.”
The receptionist left and she finished trimming her client’s hair, then styled it with the blow dryer and brush. After cleaning up her station, she ushered the girls back. One of them plunked down in her seat and the other sat in the hood dryer seat beside her station to watch.
“Just a trim,” the pretty brunette said.
“Keep the layers? Just the way it is?” The girl didn’t appear to need a cut, but she wasn’t going to argue.
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, come on back for a shampoo,” she said.
She wrapped a towel around her neck and clipped it in place, then led her back to the sinks to wash and condition her hair.
When they returned to her station, the girl met her eye in the mirror. “You don’t know who we are, do you?”
She frowned, looking from one face in the mirror, to the identical one sitting nearby.
“Should I?”
“I’m Juliana Manghini, and this is my sister, Janine.”
Her heart stopped and her mouth went dry.
“Bobby is our dad. He didn’t tell you about us?”
She took a breath and willed herself to speak. “Uh, n-no. I mean, I knew he had kids, but I didn’t know the specifics.”
The girls beamed, as if they were pleased with themselves for finding her. She wondered if they had some wicked retribution in mind.
“H-how did you find me?”
“Our Aunt Sophie gave me your card.”
“She’s a cousin,” Janine corrected her.
“Right. Whatever. She said she met you at a Cubs game?”
“Uh... yeah,” she managed. Her hands thankfully operated on their own accord, combing Juliana’s hair and parting out sections to trim. “Does your mom know?”
The girl shrugged. “Our mom? I doubt it. She’s too busy with her new boyfriend in Scottsdale, why?”
Janine looked at her and Lexi saw the same quick assessment she experienced under her father’s scrutiny. “Did you think they were still married?”
The earth under her shifted and she swayed on her feet.
He wasn’t married?
Even if she’d wanted to save face and play it off, she could not think of anything to say other than, “Yeah.”
The twins looked at each other and back and her. “Why?” Janine demanded.
Emotions tangled. Tears, fury, humiliation all swirled building a pressure behind her eyes. She pressed her lips together, her hands still working steadily, snipping the ends of Juliana’s layers.
“Well... he told me I was his goomah,” she admitted, knowing how stupid she must appear to them.
They exchanged another glance and an uncomfortable silence fell.
“Well, he just doesn’t like to mix his dating life with us,” Juliana offered. “It’s our fault — we used to be brats about him dating after they got divorced.”
“H-how long have they been divorced?” she found herself asking.
“I don’t know — ten years?” Juliana looked to her sister.
“No, we were ten. So nine years.”
“Yeah, nine years.”
Somehow, she had finished the haircut. She picked up the blow dryer and turned it on, thankful it would drown out any further attempts at conversation.
When she turned it off, Juliana launched in, as if she’d been waiting to speak. “He really likes you, you know. You’re the first woman we’ve heard about. That’s why we came to check you out.”
She could not bring herself to answer, just gave a wan smile as she removed the cape and dusted the stray hairs off the girl’s neck. “They’ll take care of payment at the front desk,” she managed to say.
Both girls hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but she turned
her back, walking away to fetch the broom. When she returned, they had gone.
She sat down, trembling.
Not married. He had treated her like a second-class citizen. And for what? To have a laugh at her expense? To keep her at arm’s length? Was she not good enough to be an actual girlfriend? Did you have to be Italian to make that cut? Or have a college degree?
She could hardly think.
She stepped outside to call Gina, afraid she might cry and not wanting anyone at the salon to observe it. Her friend picked up on the second ring.
“Hi Lex,” she said, sounding sleepy, even though it was 2:00 in the afternoon. With Gina working late nights, she often slept past noon.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Mmm, no. I was just getting up. How are you?”
“Crappy,” she said, her voice breaking.
“What happened?” Gina asked, her tone concerned.
“Bobby’s not married!”
“What? Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she choked. “His daughters just showed up for a haircut and told me he’s been divorced for nine years.”
“Did he tell you he was married?”
“Well, no, but I’m his mistress. He said I had to be discreet with his family! That certainly implies he has a wife.”
“How old are his kids? Maybe he’s just protecting them.”
“Nineteen! They’re not even kids, for God’s sake! I mean, I think they might still live with him, but they are full-grown adults. Not. Kids.”
Gina whistled. “Well, that’s weird.”
“I think it sucks. Apparently I’m not good enough to merit a normal girlfriend position. I’m just the whore he keeps for good times,” she said bitterly.
“I’m sure it’s not like that. Why don’t you just talk to him and ask him WTF?”
She made an impatient noise in her throat. “I don’t even want to talk to him again. Listen, I’d better go, I have a client coming. Thanks for listening.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, Lexi?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t feel like you can’t leave him because you don’t have a place to go. You’re still welcome on my couch.”
“Thanks,” she said heavily. “I appreciate it.” Sleeping on Gina’s couch was better than hanging around and being Bobby’s whore.
She hung up and checked her phone. An email had come in from Stellar’s human resources. She opened it, all her enthusiasm drained in the emotional turmoil she faced with Bobby.
She scanned the email, hardly able to process what she read: she got the job.
She got the job.
She had pictured this moment so differently, pictured calling Bobby and having him whisk her off for a fancy dinner to celebrate.
Now she could not fathom seeing or speaking with him again.
She moved through the rest of her day mechanically, grateful when at last she could take off her apron and leave.
Bobby had texted and called, but she ignored his messages. She didn’t even know what to say to him.
* * * * *
Lexi hadn’t returned his messages, which concerned him. He thought she was supposed to hear about the job today, and he hoped her silence didn’t mean she was upset. He drove to the apartment after work to find her.
He found her in the kitchen, cleaning maniacally. She glanced up when he walked in and greeted her, but said nothing.
“Lex? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just cleaning up in here before I make dinner.”
“Do you want to go out instead?” It was a stupid question. Something was wrong with her. Asking about dinner avoided the obvious.
“No. No, I feel like staying in.”
He walked around behind the counter. “Did you hear about the job?” he asked gently.
“I got it,” she said flatly, without looking up.
“Hey, that’s great!” he exclaimed, but she continued to avoid eye contact.
He reached for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped as he touched her shoulder.
He froze, yanking his hand back like he’d been burnt. For all his aggressive play, he would never handle a woman who didn’t want him, especially not Lexi, who he genuinely cared about.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
She did not answer, but she had stopped scrubbing the already clean countertop. “You’re not married.” It came as an accusation.
“I never said I was,” he said, although he knew it was a lame excuse.
She whirled, her eyes flashing. “Bullshit! You sure pretended you were. You said I was your goomah. You told me to be discreet — not to mix with your immediate family!”
He held his palms out. “Okay, you’re right. I let you believe I was married. It’s only because I prefer not to mix my dating life with my kids.”
“Your kids are nineteen years old! I met them today at the hair salon.”
He paused, digesting that. “It’s just easier this way.”
She nodded, brushing past him and stomping to the bedroom.
He followed.
“Yep, it’s just peachy this way for you, isn’t it? To play your little games with me? Make me your whore to laugh at while I fall all over myself at your gifts?”
“Why are you so upset?” he asked, trying to reason with her. “Doesn’t this conversation strike you as backwards? Shouldn’t you be happy to discover I don’t have a wife?”
“Should I? Why? Clearly the position is not available!”
“Lexi... you are blowing this way out of proportion. I’m sorry you’re upset —”
“Sorry you’re upset means you don’t think you did anything wrong!” she interrupted, throwing his words back at him.
He winced.
But was he truly sorry? Not really. He liked their arrangement. He didn’t want the boring, vanilla sort of dating life a girlfriend would have entailed.
“Lex,” he said coaxingly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I certainly wasn’t laughing at your expense or thinking I pulled one over on you. It’s just the way I wanted our relationship to go. You seemed perfectly happy to accept it, so I didn’t see a problem.”
Tears filled her eyes, but judging from the set of her jaw, they were of fury. “I just need some time to think. Could you leave? I want you to go.”
His heart twisted, painfully in his chest.
A tear slid down her cheek.
It took everything in his power not to lunge forward and fold her up into his arms. But she didn’t want to be touched. Not by him, anyway.
“Lexi,” he tried again.
“Please,” she begged. “Please? Just go?”
Coldness descended from his heart all the way to his shoes. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
She didn’t answer.
He hadn’t really expected her to. He walked out, turning his mind off, using numbness to avoid contemplating how this situation had turned so wrong. He didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want things unresolved between them. It went against all his better instincts. He should stay and fight for her. But he respected her too much to ignore her wishes. He owed her that much.
He drove home, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, the cold circling through his veins. The girls were home and they met him with curiosity tempered by caution.
“Okay,” he said, striding into the kitchen, knowing they would follow. He put his hands on his hips. “I do not appreciate you playing your little games with my love life.”
Recognizing real sharpness in his tone, they sobered. “Sorry, Dad,” they both said, eyes round.
He scooped some of the baked ziti they had made into a bowl and ate, standing up.
“We were just curious,” Juliana began to explain. “We didn’t know you were lying to her.”
“I didn’t lie!” he snapped, too ferociously. He ran his hand through his hair. “I just... prefer things separate, that’s all.
”
“Well, that’s hardly our fault, is it?” Janine dared.
He took a breath before he spoke. “No, it is not your fault, but if I had controlled how she found out, instead of having you two amusing yourselves at my expense, I would have explained it better.”
The girls eyed at him cautiously. “So... is she mad?”
He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said heavily. Putting down his bowl, he walked out, climbing the stairs to his bedroom where he could be alone.
And of course, he had three messages from the fucking mayor about the investigation on his phone. He could not even begin to deal with his petulance at this moment.
He picked up the phone a dozen times that night and started to call Lexi, but he always hit “end” before it rang. What would he say that he hadn’t already said? How could he change her perception of what had happened?
He spent a restless night, dreaming of being interrogated by the Feds, who somehow had Lexi standing behind them, her arms folded, as if they worked on her behalf.
In the morning, he skipped calling her, opting to drive over as soon as he showered, a pressing sense of urgency moving him forward.
He walked in, a cold sense of dread filling him at the silence. She was gone.
Fuck.
He should never have ignored his instincts.
The phone he’d given her lay on the table, along with the keys to the apartment. He walked swiftly into the bedroom. Everything was gone. No clothes, no boxes. Nothing in the bathroom.
Dammit! Fuck!
He tried her number on his phone, but was not surprised when she did not answer.
He took the elevator to the basement to check the storage area. He found her furniture still packed in where his boys had moved it. It gave him a faint glimmer of satisfaction to know she would at least have to contact him to get her things. But he would track her down before that. He knew where she worked. He knew where her friend Gina worked. He would find her.
* * * * *
She rose with a crick in her neck from sleeping on Gina’s couch. She’d been studiously pretending to sleep until Gina’s boyfriend had left for the morning, not having the energy to deal with the awkward situation.