Chagrined but still seeing red, Ben stood down and retreated a few steps while Samantha helped Mitch uncuff Lindsey and lift her off the horse. She was grinning and giddy when she joined Ben and Ivan, after taking a quick perky bow for the smattering of applause the crowd gave her. “You guys ready? I’m starving!”
So am I, he thought, even though he knew Lindsey meant just for food. She looked hazy and flushed, though, almost like she’d been freshly fucked. She’d liked it up there, on display for the crowd, while “Rick” teased her for hours.
He reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers tight, then felt another flash of unreasonable ire when Mitch chuckled at him. He felt like a skinny math geek trying to establish a hold on his girlfriend in front of the football captain.
“You kids enjoy your lunch. Okay, Sadie babe, let’s warm up that sweet ass!”
“Everyone else is already at the restaurant, securing a table,” Ivan explained as he led the way between the booths and out of the main exhibition hall. “It’s about five or six blocks, so we need to hurry.”
“Ed wanted Thai,” Ben added, pulling Lindsey along the sidewalk at a brisk clip. She was nearly a foot shorter than him or Ivan, and she had to trot to keep up.
“I’m going out for Thai in this?”
“There are people in costumes all over the downtown area right now,” Ivan pointed out. “The normal rules don’t apply.”
A hefty guy in horrifically revealing anime drag sauntered past them, proving Ivan’s point.
“I really don’t think anyone will care, Linds,” Ben said, though a sliver of doubt pricked him as a group of stormtroopers, no doubt sweltering in their white plastic cases, slowed down to eye Lindsey appreciatively when she passed them. Or it looked to Ben like they were eyeing her; it was hard to tell for sure under those masks.
“It’s Phoenix. Not exactly a bastion of open-mindedness.”
“The costume covers more than your bathing suit.”
It covered differently than her bathing suit, perhaps. Not necessarily more, Ben acknowledged to himself even as he spoke. He supposed if he were seeing Lindsey like this for the first time he’d have been more aware right away. But he was used to her, they’d dated for months, and she’d never been particularly shy about her body. Nor had he minded being the guy with the girl in the casually revealing swimsuit or figure-hugging tank top. She didn’t dress like a sexpot, just like a very pretty girl who was comfortable in her own skin. So he didn’t bat an eye at seeing that much of her skin out in the open. Today’s outfit, though, was another story, and he suddenly saw her as if through a stranger’s eyes.
The straps covered everything important, technically. But they also seemed to cling to her trim, slight body through magic, holding themselves in their strategic horizontal positions as though they were painted on. Each strap was no more than two inches wide, though they overlapped in a few spots. And between the bands of glossy, leather-like ebony fabric, Lindsey’s skin gleamed an almost unearthly white. If you knew where to look—and Ben did know, because he was no stranger—you could spot the faintest trace of freckles dusting the tops of her shoulders, her forearms, and the bridge of her nose. From more than a foot or two away, however, the illusion of snowy perfection was complete.
It should have looked pallid, pasty, unappealing. But especially now, with the heavy-rimmed eye makeup and the shocking hair, it just made Lindsey look like a cartoon fantasy come to life.
“Whoa,” a guy in steampunk cowboy gear murmured as if it were involuntary, stopping in his tracks on the sidewalk to gape at Lindsey. At Ben’s girl. “You’re from that comic with the sex fiends.”
She giggled and waved her fingertips at him, putting a little extra sashay into her step. The high-heeled ankle boots made it easy, and made her legs look several miles long. Ben wasn’t sure whether the rush of emotion he felt was pride or jealous rage.
“Here we go.” Ivan held the restaurant door for them and Ben felt a blast of icy air before he stepped out of the overbright Arizona noontime, motioning for Lindsey to precede him into the relative gloom of the Thai cafe. Ed was waving from a table across the room, but his hand faltered and his jaw dropped when he saw Lindsey in the Sub Red costume for the first time. Then a broad grin split his face. He shot them two thumbs-up. A few heads turned to the entrance, and eyes widened as Lindsey stepped into view around the hostess’s podium.
Male eyes. Non-convention-going, lustful male eyes, crawling all over Lindsey’s skin. And Ben identified the emotion as jealousy, clear as day this time. A hot pressure thumped in his ears, wanting an outlet and finding none.
Before Lindsey could walk over to the table he grabbed her wrist, encircling it snugly with his fingers.
“Wait.”
“Huh?”
“You’re with me. You wait for me.”
She tried to cross her arms, pulling away from his grip, but he refused to let go and she ended up fumbling awkwardly by her chest before giving up the effort. Ivan stared at their hands for a moment then skirted them, making for the table without another word.
“This isn’t the bedroom,” she hissed at him. “And I don’t know if I’m with you again or not.”
“In that outfit you’re with me,” Ben insisted, even though he knew stubbornness was a bad way to go.
She tilted her head and sighed. “Why don’t you just lift your leg and pee on me so all the other dogs will know whose tree I am?”
Taken aback, he let her go when she tugged her arm away again, and watched as her gorgeous body drew half the room’s attention on her walk to the table. His eyes had adjusted enough to the lower light that he could see the faint bruises on her hip; the costume covered most of her tattoo, but a gap between straps revealed the entire row of fingertip-sized marks he’d left behind when he fucked her silly.
Branded as his, whether she realized it or not. Jesus, he had lifted his leg and marked his territory, for those who knew how to sniff it out. What the fuck was happening to him? That had never been who he was before. This wasn’t who he’d planned to be.
But a long-stifled part of him was already clamoring for more. He wanted to see more pink marks on that white skin, marks from a paddle maybe. Or a big tattoo of his handprint with a caption reading This Ass: Property of Ben. Fuck Off!
Satay with peanut butter sauce did little to help. It was as appetizing as sawdust. All Ben could think about was getting Lindsey back to the hotel and persuading her to bail on her afternoon commitment to the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth. A few seats away across the table from him Lindsey was absorbed in her own meal, and seemed unaware of the glances she earned from around the room, or even the lingering gazes of speculative appreciation.
She noticed Ben, though—he could tell. He realized he was probably giving her a psycho killer look now, but didn’t really care. It was all he could do to keep himself from whipping the tablecloth off the table and wrapping her up in it, spiriting her back to the hotel to lock her in a room away from prying eyes, because mine mine mine. And then spanking her some more, followed by fucking her until they both passed out. Mine. Not yours.
But she’d worked it a little for the cowboy on the street, and she’d spent the morning being ogled at the booth by every visitor to the conference. She’d let Mitch do wicked things to her with that feather, a feather that had touched places Ben felt should be his own exclusive playground. She hadn’t gotten his permission to do any of that. He hadn’t come out and demanded that of her, so she had no reason to, but he still wished she had. He didn’t want to feel this way—infuriated, possessive, Neanderthal. He just couldn’t help it—it was like he’d unleashed a demon last night and now he couldn’t get it back under control.
Lindsey peeked at him over her curry, giving Ben a look he couldn’t categorize. A little tense, a little shy, a little needy, a little...it wasn’t a happy look, especially, and he wondered why that was. Lindsey should be on top of the world, shouldn’t she? She was getting to explore something
she’d been interested in, wallowing in all kinds of attention at the booth, and living out every fan’s fantasy of being discovered and recognized by the artist they admired. Elevated to semi-stardom just because she was the best Sub Red around. It ought to be a dream convention for her. So why was she blushing and looking kind of miserable?
And who the fuck was that asshole in a business suit?
“Are you folks here for the comic book convention?”
Ben hated the guy instantly. He had sidled up like an oily used car salesman to loiter next to Lindsey’s chair, acting like she wasn’t his destination but all the while sneaking glimpses down the front of her costume.
“Yep. Drove in from Houston,” Cami replied, polite but not over-the-top effusive. She didn’t say, “Duh, obviously we’re here for the convention,” which Ben would’ve been tempted to do.
“That looks like a lot of fun. I keep meaning to check that out one year. It’s cartoons and that Japanese animation, right? Some of that stuff is hot. Really great artwork. So are you all staying at the convention center hotel, or...?” He was angling toward Lindsey now, directing his question her way and shooting her a private smile. Then the suit asshole leaned toward her, and Ben clenched his fists.
“We’re about to head back to the convention. We don’t really have time to chat,” Ivan said firmly, shutting the guy down. Ivan looked strained, more uncomfortable than annoyed, which Ben suspected had more to do with Ivan’s aversion to strangers than his perception of the guy’s intentions toward Lindsey. He was sending very clear “fuck-off” signals. Not his Dom vibe, but not one Ben would’ve chosen to ignore. The jerk ignored it, however.
“I work a couple blocks from here. If you’re at the hotel, maybe we could—”
“I’m not interested,” Lindsey said. For the first time since the jerk had walked over, Ben looked her way. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her face looked pinched and pale.
“I’ll leave you my card. If you want to give me a call, you—”
Ben’s chair caught on a loose tile and fell back when he stood up. Not the statement he’d planned to make, but it certainly grabbed the asshole’s attention. Ben wasn’t sure why he’d risen, except that the pressure to do something was too great to withstand. It had unfolded him, propelled him out of his chair, and if he wasn’t careful it would propel his fist right into this dickwad’s face.
“She said she isn’t interested,” he repeated softly and very carefully. “She’s also not available.”
“Ben.” Lindsey sounded mortified, but he couldn’t spare her a look. He was too busy staring laser beams into the jerk’s face, attempting to make him explode through the sheer force of his dislike.
“Didn’t realize she was taken, man.” The suit guy held up his hands, placating. “Chillax.”
“Nobody says chillax anymore except ironically. I don’t think they ever did. Now go back to your table and leave her alone.”
It took the guy a second to figure out what Ben had said. Offense and common sense warred on his bland, tanned face for a bit, then he uttered a face-saving curse and returned to his two besuited cohorts.
The waitress and the restaurant manager were hovering, faces grim but adamantly courteous. The manager had already swiped the credit card Ivan gave him earlier, and now he pushed the receipt tray and a pen into Ivan’s hand.
“Heading back to Houston soon?” he asked hopefully. The message was clear: don’t let the door hit your troublemaking asses on the way out, comic convention freaks.
The waitress glared at Lindsey, who looked ready to melt into the floor from embarrassment.
“Let’s get a cab back to the hotel,” Cami suggested to her. Lindsey nodded and the two left without another word.
Ed and Lin were still too stunned to do anything other than stare at Ben. For his part, Ben was as horrified with himself as Lindsey had seemed to be. He didn’t even argue with Ivan over the check, but let his friend settle up and lead the way back to the hotel in silent compliance.
* * *
“Testosterone,” Cami declared. “It makes them crazed, poor things. So I take it you and Ben are, ah...”
“Acting like idiots? Yeah, we are.”
“Idiocy plus testosterone. Sounds volatile.”
Lindsey shrugged, the motion causing the straps of her costume to shift into indecent territory. Adjusting herself, Lindsey considered all the implications of volatility.
Unpredictable. Unstable. Dangerous. Explosive.
“Yep, volatile about sums it up. Jesus, I’m never going to be able to come back to Phoenix again. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. And I didn’t even want to go out in this outfit.”
“Don’t victim-blame,” Cami scolded. “I don’t care what you were wearing, that guy was a total jerk, and just because Ben was kind of a jerk right back at him doesn’t mean you were asking for any of that. You said you weren’t interested, you obviously didn’t look amenable to a come-on. You’d gone all hedgehog, all wrapped up and prickly. He should have backed off.”
“I know, I know. It’s just...”
What was it, exactly? She wasn’t sure. She wanted to be unreservedly angry at Ben for his macho tomfoolery—knocking a chair over, really? What was that about?—but found herself absurdly flattered by the display at the same time. And not just flattered, impressed. He’d been like some angry fighting fish, flaring out when it catches a glimpse of an opponent. Or a territorial bird, maybe, fluffing its plumage out to look more intimidating when predators threaten the nest. Possibly even like a protective alpha wolf. All of which was ridiculous, because she could have handled the guy on her own. She’d handled worse in her time, to be sure, and she was hardly in any danger sitting in broad daylight at a table full of friends. Pushy jerks weren’t insurmountable obstacles.
You should have let Ben escort you to the table like he wanted, a seditious voice in her brain suggested. You would have been safe if you’d let him pee on his tree in the first place.
So why hadn’t she? She wanted him more assertive—maybe not assertive enough to be flinging furniture to the floor in public places, but at least he had made an effort to take a stand. Then, sadly, he’d backed down. Let her have her way.
“It’s just confusing,” she finally offered, unable to dig deeper in front of the cab driver.
The cab swung to a halt in front of the hotel doors and they exited, making for the convention hall. Cami chucked Lindsey on the shoulder. “It can be confusing. And if you need to talk about it, you know I’m always willing to listen. But that part does get easier once you let go of your preconceived notions about what you’re supposed to want, and just...you know. Want what you want.”
“For Ben to drag me to his cave by the hair and take me hard on all fours?”
“Mmm. Caveman style. Nice! But sure, if that’s what turns you on and Ben wants it too. Why not?”
“I don’t know if he wants it, or just wants me and is doing this because it’s what I want.”
“Look,” Cami said, stopping them a few aisles shy of the Balls ‘n’ Chain booth. “When Ivan first told me he was into this stuff, I admit I mostly agreed to try it because I was curious and he was hot. But I realized pretty quickly that I’d wanted a lot of it all along. I just hadn’t had the vocabulary, the conceptual framework, to ask for it. I didn’t even know to ask, but it was still in my psyche somewhere and, when he introduced me to it, it was like a lightbulb going on.
“We’re programmed by society to think this stuff is wrong and deviant, because these days there are more important factors in mate selection than who’s the biggest and strongest, or who’s the smartest mind fucker, who can build a better animal trap. But that doesn’t change the fact that thousands of years of human evolution are probably behind that ‘dragging the girl to the cave’ model. Physiologically we still respond to that, and for some of us that physical, chemical reaction leads to a very strong emotional and psychological response to arche
typal male dominance behaviors. Some of us just want someone who can show they’re still capable of that. It’s really very simple.”
To their right, a graphic novelist was signing copies in front of giant posters of her work, lurid fairies in a psychedelic woodland. Across the aisle, vendors were hawking everything from complex tabletop games to the detailed technical blueprints for famous spacecraft from the movies. A girl wandered by in a leather bikini top and skirt, carrying a lifelike heart dripping “blood” that smelled strongly of vodka. Her companion was dressed as Neptune, complete with giant foam trident. Nobody batted an eye. It struck Lindsey that perhaps she and Cami had a skewed idea of what “simple” meant, if this was their idea of a fine few days’ entertainment. Still, Cami had a point.
“We’re programmed to get all wet for alpha wolves?” She grinned.
“Lord knows I am. For weird, kinky dominant loners, at least. Ivan would have definitely been the caveman building the better antelope trap, not the one wrestling water buffalo. Caveman thinker, not the muscle-bound caveman asshole. Heh. Cavehole.”
Lindsey started toward the booth again, not wanting to be late for her afternoon gig with Mitch. “So you’re saying I should have gone with the impulse to let Ben manhandle me over to the table at the restaurant?”
“No, because that wasn’t your impulse. Think about it. What did you really want to happen?”
It took her a few seconds, then Lindsey frowned at herself. “You’re right. Ew. I was testing him. Because really I wanted him to make me, then I was disappointed when he didn’t.”
Cami nodded. “I did have that thought, yeah. Because you don’t really trust him yet, I think. I mean you do, but you have doubts too. You want him to prove himself.”
“Wow. He said that about me, kind of...but I didn’t mean to play games like that. I try to never do that passive-aggressive shit. I don’t know—I guess you’re right. I want him to prove he means it. Alpha cavehole has to grip on tighter and keep dragging the girl if he wants to get her to that cave. You wouldn’t want to be with the one who’d let go as soon as you started to kick and make a fuss.”
The Seduction Hypothesis Page 8