“Open…wide…wider…” he coaxes, voice soft as velvet.
My mouth opens as far as it can. I wiggle my tongue and wink. He tosses the popcorn and I catch in my mouth. I bend my wrists and hold them up like a dog. I pant and bark once.
It’s obvious Trevor is biting the corner of his mouth to keep from laughing.
I get on my knees and bark again.
Trevor laughs and tosses me another piece. I catch it with a snap of my jaws. I love hearing his laughter and will act like a silly dog all night long if it amuses him.
Just as he’s about to get a few more pieces, Trevor receives a call on his cell. We both look over at the living area in surprise. It’s been a rule that his phone never rings on his first night back. Trevor quickly excuses himself. I watch him walk over to the coffee table, curious and more than a little concerned.
“St. John here.”
…
“I see. Yes, of course.”
…
“Understood. I’m on my way.”
…
“Thank you.”
Oh, no. Something catastrophic must’ve happened at one of his companies. I get up and hurry over to him. Something in his rigid stance keeps me at bay.
“Trevor?”
He stands there, his gaze shuttered and mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Trevor, is everything okay?”
He looks at me as if he doesn’t comprehend who I am or what I just said. He carefully sets the phone down.
I’m scared. Not for me but for him. Who called and what did they say?
Before I can ask, Trevor picks up my flowers and hurls them across the room. The vase hits the one of the windows. It doesn’t break. My roses are strewn all over the floor, crystal shards glittering like tears.
I freeze. Trevor’s never done anything like this before.
He pushes his hair back off his face and tightens his robe belt. “My father has passed away. I have to go.”
I rush to him only to have Trevor hold his hands up. “I have to go,” he repeats, voice monotone.
“I’m so sorry, Trevor. I’m so, so, sorry.”
“Thank you for your concern, Rebecca. Please get dressed. I’ll see you to your apartment.”
I know I’m taking a chance here but I can’t help myself. Despite his blank expression and tone, the agony I see overtaking his gaze is unbearable. I reach out and say, “I can go with you.”
“Pardon?”
“England. I’ll go with you.”
“Rebecca, this isn’t a pleasure trip.”
I wince inwardly. Is this what he really thinks of me? Does he believe I’m so shallow of a person? I feel anger spike but quickly swallow it down.
“I know. I understand if you can’t or don’t want me at the funeral or your family. I just want you to know I can be there for you if you need me.”
Trevor stares at me. “What about the show?”
“It’s what understudies are for.”
He considers it for long moments. “Are you sure?”
I take a step closer. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want.”
Trevor nods once. “I would appreciate your company, Rebecca. It’s very kind of you to offer.”
My heart breaks for him and I blink back tears. He seems surprised I would offer. Doesn’t Trevor realize yet how much I love him? That I’d do anything for him? I already know the answer.
He knows love in theory but can’t understand the feelings when they pertain to him.
“I’ll get dressed.” Trevor doesn’t say anything. I hurry to the bathroom and am dressed in a minute flat. I pick up his clothes and place them in the hamper for dry cleaning. I go to his cavernous dressing room and pull a suit, shirt, tie, belt, socks, shoes, and underclothing for Trevor. I know he won’t want to be anything less than impeccable. I look over my shoulder and see him standing in the entrance.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I want to hug him so badly but I don’t even try. “I’ll leave you to this and do something with my hair. I’ll be ready by the time you’re dressed.”
He watches me leave without saying a word.
Twisting my hair in a chignon, I’m glad we’ve already bathed. I’m far gladder that his call didn’t come in the middle of us making love. Instinct tells me it would’ve been disastrous for Trevor to miss the call because he was in the middle of spanking me or having me rim him while giving a handjob or in me as I beg him to fuck my ass harder.
He’s dressed by the time I come out. His hair is already combed back and gelled in place. Trevor St. John, the newest Viscount Hinton stands before me. An apology spills from my mouth. He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. We go back out into the main living area. I put on my coat as I hear Trevor call his driver to take us to the airport.
“Thank you, Mr. Hay. I appreciate you coming again on such short notice.”
We could’ve taken a taxi to the airport but Trevor has always said the only person he trusts to drive him in this congested city is Mr. Hay.
Thank God Mr. Hay is able to come get us. It’s one less thing for Trevor to worry about.
The minutes tick by as we wait in silence, me on the couch and him by the impressive windows. I’d already excused myself to contact the director and explain the situation. Thankfully, my dependability throughout the years impresses upon him the gravity of my leaving. He sent his condolences to Trevor but I don’t repeat them. I’ll save them for later when Trevor doesn’t look like he’ll shatter like my vase.
Speaking of vase, I get up and go over to the mess. This snares Trevor’s attention because he snaps, “What are you doing?”
My voice is pleasant as I explain, “I’m cleaning this up. The floor will be ruined if this water is left.” I see he’s about to order me to leave it alone. “I want to salvage the roses too.”
He keeps his silence but also keeps his attention focused on my every move. I’m careful as I gather the long-stemmed beauties. I stride to the kitchen and find a pitcher. I fill it with water and put my roses in, silently apologizing to them for their rough treatment.
I set them down on the bar, moving quickly to find several dish towels, a broom, and dustpan. Trevor is right where I left him, standing by the windows and looking out at the darkness. Aware of my limited time, I sweep the shards into a pile and onto the dustpan. I then lay the towels down over the water and do my best to avoid any missed glass while mopping up.
“Be careful, Rebecca.” His voice has lost a bit of its wooden tone.
“I will, Trevor.” And I am careful. I don’t want to give him something else to worry about. I pick up the dustpan and towels, leaving the broom for a final pass. I toss the shards and the towels in the trash. I use one more towel on the floor. I finish just as Trevor’s phone rings again.
My stomach tightens. I’m afraid he’s going to receive another bout of tragic news.
“We’ll be down, Mr. Hay.”
I hurry into the kitchen with my domestic equipment. I throw the towel away before putting the broom and pan back into the utility closet. I’ve nicked my finger but it doesn’t bleed much. I probably don’t even need a Band-Aid.
I toss the nearly-full water bottles along with the popcorn. I rinse it quickly and leave it in the sink. It’s not clean but I don’t have time to hunt for a sponge. It’s strange to me that less than a half hour ago we were eating and playing.
Now everything’s different. Trevor’s forever changed.
I briefly think of turning off all the lights when I remember Trevor’s laptop has access to the electronic system governing the penthouse. I’ll remind him later. Either that or the lights will just stay on. It really doesn’t matter.
I meet him at the elevator. We enter in silence and keep it all the way to the awaiting limo. Mr. Hay holds open the door. I thank him softly, really appreciating his familiar face at the moment.
Soon we’re seated and on our way. First, we stop by my apartme
nt so I can grab my passport. I find my small carryon and stuff it with essentials. I’m sure I’ll get a chance to purchase anything major once we’re in London. I turn off all my lights and check my appliances. Everything’s off and so I fly out the door, making sure I locked it by twisting the knob hard. The last thing I need is to come home to a ransacked place.
It’s only a few steps from my ground floor apartment to the waiting limo. We’re on the road and headed to the airport in less than five minutes. It’s when we’re approaching the terminal exit that Trevor suddenly says, “You weren’t careful.”
It takes me a moment to know what he means. Trevor gestures and I look down at my hand. There’s a spot of dried blood. I must’ve reopened the small cut when I was packing. “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Your pain tolerance is abnormal.”
“That’s true.” It is in more ways than one, isn’t it?
Trevor clears his throat. “I’ll buy you another bouquet.”
“You don’t have to. I like the ones you got me tonight just fine.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown them.”
This time my voice takes an edge. “Trevor, it’s fine. Truly.” Fuck, I’m not saying this right. I try again. “You can’t be blamed for how you reacted. The news you received—”
“Doesn’t excuse my actions. Again, you have my apologies and I will replace the flowers.”
I don’t argue. Trevor needs this. “Okay.” I expect him to go back to gazing out the window. He doesn’t look away.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
Trevor inhales deeply before asking in a near inaudible voice, “May you please sit next to me?”
I don’t let shock show on my face. I react as if this were a normal request. “Of course, Trevor.” I move across and take my seat besides him. He reaches out for my hand. His skin feels so cold but I’m sure it’s not because we’ve forgotten his gloves. I hope my touch brings him a bit of warmth.
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
I squeeze his hand. He returns it.
Yes, loving Trevor St. John is very difficult. I’m sure I could find a much easier relationship with a man who doesn’t carry the kind of tormented past Trevor does.
I could be with a man I see everyday and not just once or twice a month for a few days at a time.
I could be with a man who’s not afraid to tell me he loves me for fear of my leaving or using it against him.
I could be with a man who isn’t so damaged that he can barely touch me for fear of being rejected.
There are many different choices I can make. But I’ve already made mine. I want Trevor. I need him and he needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down.
I love him, you see?
About Charlotte
Charlotte DeCorte explores dark erotica set in contemporary situations. Her stories are meant to examine the theme of “Punishment is love” through the use of unstable and/or unusual characters. Violent expressions of passion and psychological implications will abound because Charlotte writes from the viewpoint that not all relationships are or want to be grounded in the traditional rules of courtship.
Other Works by Charlotte
Novellas
Cry for Me
Yes, Mr. Collins
Writing Dark, Paranormal Love Stories as Claudia D. Christian
Novellas
Love Unfortunate
Suicide Doll
Darling
Love Blind
Novels
Devil’s Descent I: purgatory
Devil’s Descent II: impure
Vicious Bliss: fallen
Short Story Collection
Fracture – A Miserable Love Collection
Anthology
Hearteater – A Creative Collaboration
Writing Erotica as D. Cristiana
Short Stories
Dark Desires: Bought
Dark Desires: Sold
Dark Desires: Traded
Dark Desires: Kept
Marcus & Marguerite #1: Don’t Look Away
Marcus & Marguerite #2: Make You Cry
Short Story Collection
Dark Desires: Owned
Novellas
Becoming Devon’s Girl
Freeing Damian and Taming Juliana
Table of Contents
Need Me – Being Trevor’s Toy
About Charlotte
Other Works
Need Me - Being Trevor's Toy Page 4