by CD Reiss
I stepped onto the plane behind the pilots.
Chapter 39
MONICA
The plane was probably the nicest thing I’d ever seen. The pilots had pointed us up the little stairs embedded in the dropped-down door and into a cabin with ten cushy leather seats. Two seat banks faced each other around a gleaming lacquer table. The wood matched the liquor cabinet and the galley, which was cleaner than my kitchen had ever been.
Darren threw himself into a seat, and I sat next to him. We had work to do. We’d detected a flaw in the sound for the show. It wasn’t much, but the music was meant to be loud, and the little click in one of the forty-some tracks would seriously ruin the experience. I freed my phone and headphones to start.
I smelled Jonathan. Then I saw him standing over the table. I felt like a kid caught eating her lunch before the bell.
“I had a feeling you’d show up,” Darren said.
Jonathan slipped in across from us. “And you didn’t bring me flowers or chocolates or anything?”
I slid toward the window, watching Darren as he said, “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“Or Monica to get the wrong idea,” Jonathan looked at me with that irrepressible smile. It was nice that he was smiling and nice that Darren was remembering that part of him liked the guy, but I had a mixed bag of feelings.
“This is the second time you’ve shown up where you weren’t supposed to be,” I said.
“It’s my plane.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. I am going to the opening and the viewing the night before because I love art and because I’m on the finance committee at the B.C. Modern. Now. I have work to do.” He put his laptop on the table and glanced at each of us expectantly. Despite the six other seats, that table was the only laptop-convenient surface. Bastard.
Darren followed suit, his Mac out in a flash. He glanced between Jonathan and me as if one of us would suddenly go into heat.
“I need to check the loops,” Darren said to me, all business. “There was a weird clicking. Then I’m mixing down again.” He handed me the clunky pro headphones he’d brought and looked at Jonathan. “She has a perfect ear.”
“Indeed.”
I put on headphones and watched Darren’s computer screen, listening for a flaw that might be part of the hardware or a tiny blip on track thirty-two of forty.
The plane took off. The tiny thing felt shaky, unsure, too fast. My stomach fell between my feet, but I tried to keep a straight face, even when I gripped Darren’s forearm. We had to start the loop again when the laptop slid across the table. There was no one there to tell us to put our stuff away, and it didn’t seem to be a requirement anyway. Jonathan pretended to work, but I knew he was watching me.
I glued my eyes to Darren’s screen when the plane evened out and I could swallow again. I’d heard the music for the B.C. Mod piece a hundred times, but in only a few minutes, I was listening with my whole brain for a click that may or may not have been there. I watched the wavy lines flow across the screen like heartbeats until my phone buzzed and lit up. A text. From the guy sitting across from me.
—Is it hot in here? Or are you
just gorgeous?—
He was looking at me over his computer screen, lips curled in a smile.
—That’s so unpoetic. Even for you—
—Shall I compare thee to
a summer’s day?—
—In Los Angeles? Yuck. Is
there a shower in this tin can?—
He leaned back, a smile creeping across his face. He ignored his computer in favor of the phone. The cold, electronic blue lit his face while the soft light from above warmed his brow and hair.
“Mon?” I barely heard Darren through my headphones. “Did you hear the click?”
“Uh, no. Can you run the loop again?”
—I feel your hands on the phone—
My heart skipped a beat. Or stopped. Or did the thing where I felt its presence in my chest.
—How, exactly?—
—As if they were on my body—
—We have a no touching rule in effect—
—Only until you commit yourself to me—
I knew where this was going, and I wanted it, dangerous as it was.
—What if I don’t commit myself?—
—You will—
—Then what?—
—Then I’m going to take those touchy little hands and tie them to your knees—
—No kissing first?—
—No—
—Not even your cock?—
He pursed his lips and looked at me. His hands slid over the glass. Fuck that, he was not taking control of this conversation. I put my elbows on the table, leaning over it toward him.
—What if I crawled at your feet,
kneeled before you, looking up at
you as you pulled out that piece
of meat between your legs—
He glanced at Darren, who sat in the dark, eyes glued to his computer screen and unaware of our bloops and dings. Then Jonathan leaned forward, mirroring my position on the table, as he texted.
—When I’m done tying your
hands, I’m going to bend you over
and press your cheek to the
mattress. Then tie your ankles to
the bed’s legs, holding them spread
for me as you stand—
—What if I kissed the tip of your
cock? And you took me at the back
of my head while you rubbed it along
my closed lips, and I opened them—
Our forearms rested on the table, lateral, not touching, as we watched each other and our little glowing screens. Our phones dinged and blooped and buzzed rapid fire, like electronic jumping beans.
—I’m going to put my thumb
on your clit, then move it up to
your asshole until it’s wet—
— In one move, you put your
whole shaft down my throat—
—I’ll lean my wet thumb on your
asshole until it yields to me—
—I flatten my tongue on the base of
you as you pull out of my mouth—
—My thumb will enter you and
you’ll groan and strain against
your ties—
—I look up at you and open my mouth
for you to fuck it again—
—I’ll kneel and lick your cunt
until you beg for me to fuck you—
—You tighten your grip on the hair
at the back of my head—
—I won’t—
—and press your cock into me until
my tongue touches your balls—
—I’ll spank you until you can’t do
more than sob—
—Cruelly, you fuck my mouth and I
love it because it pleases you—
—When you least expect it I
will enter you and fuck you. Hard.
Two strokes, then pull out and rub my
wet dick all over—
—Spit drips down my chin and onto
my chest—
—Your asshole will be fresh and
wet and ready for me to slide into
it. You will scream—
—oh—
—Then you will moan—
“I heard it,” I said, pulling off my headphones. “The click.”
“Me too,” said Darren. “Okay, all I have to do is—”
“Slide over, I have to get out.” I bumped him, and when he didn’t move fast enough because he was wound around the equipment, I stood on the back of his seat and climbed over him.
The bathroom was probably nicer than anything I’d ever seen, and I didn’t care. I didn’t have to pee. I slapped open the door and Jonathan was right behind me, closing it behind us. I put my arms around him.
“Behind your back,” he growled and laced my hands behind me. My bac
k was against some kind of counter, I felt more than saw cabinets, a toilet to my left, and a tile floor. Mostly, I saw Jonathan. His hands were on the cabinets, his face an inch from mine.
“Touch me, Jonathan. Please.”
“Commit yourself to me.”
“Oh, God. Don’t—”
“Commit. Yourself. To. Me.” He said it softly and firmly, half whisper, half scream.
“I’m yours. Touch me.”
“You don’t even know what you’re promising.”
“Yes, I—”
“I cannot watch you walk away again. If you commit yourself, you’re mine. You will set your limits, and I will honor them. You will be exclusive to me. You will submit yourself to me sexually. Completely.”
“Yes.”
“People will know.”
I thought I would have agreed to do anything for him, but that stopped me dead in my tracks. “Why can’t we be discreet?”
“I want everything. I want to take you out. I want us to be tied without worrying about who sees us, and I don’t want men looking at you like you’re single.”
“Fine, then Carnival’s going to put me on stage in a collar.”
He raised an eyebrow as if he found that interesting, not repulsive. “You crossed that off your list.”
“Figurative collar. If everyone knows already, I might as well let them have their way and put one on me. But it won’t be your collar; it’ll be theirs.”
“Tell them that’s not acceptable.”
“I’m not in a position to negotiate.”
He bent his knees a little to get his face level with mine. “You don’t know the power you have.”
My hands were still behind my back, but my shoulders sagged. I was uncomfortably aroused, and though I was happy my pussy remembered sex fondly enough to moisten, the sweet physical desire was in opposition to the shitstink in my heart. “I just want us to be secret for a while.”
“No secrets.”
“Oh, you know what? Mister No-Secrets-Sir. Mister Your-Honesty-Is-Beautiful. Tell me about when you were sixteen. Westonwood Acres?”
If I’d held out any hope of him putting his hands on me, I’d dashed my chances pretty cleanly. He removed his hands from the cabinets and leaned against the opposite wall. I flushed red.
“It was Gabby,” I said. “You didn’t know her deal. She wanted to know everything about everyone she thought could help her. People with money or connections or both. Westonwood Acres came into my hands the day of her funeral.”
“Those records were sealed.”
“Everything was blacked out but the institution, your name, and the date.”
He scanned my face, his eyes flicking back and forth, then he cast them downward. “I took a handful of pills. The Adderal was mine. The Oxycontin and the rest were my mother’s. I don’t even remember all of them.”
“Why?” I reached for his hand, but he pulled it back, still obeying the rules. Damn him.
“Do I have to talk about this in the bathroom of a Gulfstream?”
“Commit, Jonathan.”
“Are you sure you never considered law school?”
I could have cracked a joke, denied it, or even demanded an answer, but he was stalling. I wouldn’t give him something to answer with another stall. I folded my arms.
As if understanding the gesture, his mouth curled in a wistful smirk. “Now you know why I ran to you when your friend killed herself.”
“I thought it was because you cared about me.”
“That too. Believe me, that too.”
“What was so bad you’d try to take your own life?”
He nodded and slipped down the wall until his feet were wedged against the opposite counter. He put his hands in his pockets. “Remember Rachel?”
“I’ll never forget that story.” I slid down as well, leaning my feet on the opposite wall, a mirror of his posture.
“It wasn’t just the once, her and I,” he said. “It was a thing. I was infatuated, and she was fucked up. It was intense. All encompassing. My father wasn’t in the picture then, but we snuck around. Tough to do when you’re fifteen, but enough money makes it easier. I got my license and a car as soon as legally possible.” He smiled as if some uncomfortable, yet pleasant memory flooded his mind. Then he shook his head. “Anyway, drunk driver. Meaningless loss. Devastation. A family I couldn’t lean on or they’d know the truth. Et cetera, et cetera.”
“I don’t think you can ‘et cetera’ any of that.”
His laugh was short and humorless. “No. I shouldn’t.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I have a big family. I know, we’re loaded, so it’s not like we all lived in a one-bedroom apartment, but someone was always around. It wasn’t until she died that I realized I was surrounded by seven sisters and two parents and all these friends, and I was alone. Very, very alone. My dad said, ‘Oh, son, by the way, I took care of her family, so don’t worry.’ Like that was all it was about for him. Or not. Maybe he was hurt and didn’t want to show me because he was in denial? Or she really didn’t mean shit to him, which disgusted me, because I knew it was true.”
“Your dad sounds like a charming guy.”
“You have no idea just how charming he is.” He looked at his feet, then continued. “I felt like I came from shit, and that was what I was. Rachel, for what it was worth, understood the dynamic. She made me feel less isolated. And when she died, I felt worthless and alone. A handful of pills seemed like the best way to take care of it.”
We watched each other for a second before I said, “I want to hold you.”
“Commit yourself to me.”
“Yes.”
“Will you be okay with people looking at you, knowing you’re submissive to me?”
I swallowed. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I’d ever be.
“From your face, I can see that’s a no,” he said.
A buzzing noise came from the speakers, shocking me straight and alert. Jacques’s voice came soon after.
“Mister Drazen and passengers. Please buckle in. We’re landing in a few minutes.”
Jonathan snapped open the door and let me go out first. He pressed himself to the doorframe as I passed so our bodies did not touch.
Chapter 40
MONICA
We piled into the limo, exhausted. Night time in Vancouver looked much like night time anywhere else. Though I was excited to be outside the U.S. for the second time in my life, my body, mind, and heart had been through too much in the last six hours.
“We’re at the Travel Lodge,” Darren said. “I assume you’re not staying there.”
“Neither are you,” Jonathan said.
“Jonathan,” I grumbled.
“I own a hotel practically on top of the museum. Don’t be stupid. Staying in Richmond’s going to waste time and money. Separate rooms, in case you’re concerned.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“Thank you. That’ll be great,” Darren said.
I wanted to kick him. Why was it okay for him to accept an expensive hotel room, but whenever I accepted a gift, I was whoring myself? I tried to give him a look, but he just dicked with his phone. Then he smirked a little and glanced over at me. Then I realized that in his mind, by accepting it himself, he was saving me from doing so. Thus, I was no whore.
Men.
“Boxes arrived this afternoon,” he said.
“Have you heard from Kev?” I assumed he wasn’t invited to Hotel Fancypants, and he’d need to know where we were.
“Nope.”
“I’ll arrange food sent up to your rooms, and an early wake up call,” Jonathan said. “When’s the earliest you can get in for set up?”
“Seven,” I said. “It’s gotta be done in time for the preview at four.”
“It’s tight,” Darren said.
“And we have zero experience doing this kind of thing, so Kevin needs a wake up call, too.” I kicked Darren. “That’s you.”
I noticed Jon
athan’s silence, but I didn’t look over. I didn’t want to see his reaction.
Hotel C looked like all of Jonathan’s hotels, a sleek, modern building no one would mistake for home. The long front drive had a marble fountain, and the entire hotel seemed to be made of glass and steel. Staff descended upon us immediately with Mister Drazen this and Ma’am and Sir that. Darren stayed outside to manage the equipment unloading. We got through the door and entered a lobby done in black and brown, wood and matte surfaces, with a cement floor and warehouse ceilings. A woman with her brown hair in a French twist and a black leather skirt handed Jonathan a clipboard. She looked lovely despite the fact that it was after ten p.m.
“Mister Drazen, happy to see you back.”
“Thanks, Marsha. Can you call Kristin for tomorrow’s meetings please? There were some changes.”
“Of course.”
“Should we go check in?” I asked Jonathan, who was signing a bunch of papers.
“Done already.”
“Must be nice.”
“I admit it,” he said as he handed the clipboard back to Marsha with a smile. “It is. Where’s Darren?”
“Getting the processor and mixer out. His life is those computers.”