by Sandy Lowe
Emma’s head spun, her thoughts grappling with each other and climbing up the inside of her head, so jumbled she could only echo. “You like it when I fight the way I feel.”
That sure as hell needed some explaining.
Lauren shook her head as if annoyed she wasn’t being clear. “Not fight like it’s a bad thing. You being shy and nervous, it turns me on because I want to be the one who earns your trust. I want to be the one who shows you how amazing you are when you let go. In the same way that sex isn’t as good if it’s just friction, sex isn’t as good, for me at least, if it’s easy and simple and uncomplicated. I want…”
Lauren trailed off, and for the first time, Emma was able to supply a word Lauren couldn’t muster.
“Vulnerability. You want me to be vulnerable, and that I get nervous and hold back makes you hot.” How was that at all fair? She’d asked Lauren about Kink’s to share the vulnerability and it turned out Lauren’s kink was vulnerability.
Lauren rubbed a hand across her face. “It’s not the struggle that makes it hot. It’s the surrender. It’s being the one you surrender to.”
Emma got off the bed, walked to the window, and stared across her backyard, patchy with snow and ice. Lauren wanted her to be submissive. But no, that wasn’t the word Lauren had used, was it? Not submissive. Not happily kneeling at the feet of the one in control, knowing that it settled a place deep inside to be exactly there. No. Submissive would’ve been easier. If submissive felt anything like being crowded against the door of a bar, against a bookcase in the library, against her kitchen sink, then submissive was the best thing ever. But Lauren hadn’t said submissive. She’d said surrender. No matter how Lauren phrased it, surrender implied a battle, a fight, opposite sides and opposing goals. Lauren got off on Emma’s shyness and nervousness because they were the obstacles that she had to overcome to win her surrender.
Emma turned from the window. “Why’d you stop, just now? You had everything you wanted. If you just let me keep my eyes closed I would’ve come. We both know it. I’d have tried to hold back and been unable to, which is exactly what you’re telling me you want. So why did you stop?”
Lauren sat on the side of the bed, her hands braced at her sides like she was stopping herself from jumping up and running over to Emma. The moonlight filtering through the window highlighted all the angles and planes of Lauren’s face, giving her a ghostly appearance that was no less sexy.
“Because you weren’t enjoying yourself.”
Lauren’s words were flat, like she was disappointed that she had to explain. “Do you think wanting your surrender is the same thing as wanting to watch you suffer? It’s not. If it hurts you, if it’s not consensual, then we stop, always. Surrender is sexy only because we both know you do want it.”
Emma leaned against the window, the frigid glass chilling her all over. What Lauren didn’t seem to get was that she wanted an orgasm, she wanted to be touched, but forever hoped it would somehow get easier. That she wouldn’t need to surrender because she’d never have to fight.
She took a deep breath and realized that she hadn’t had to focus on her breathing once since Lauren touched her. That was odd, especially given the direction the night had turned. If anything was going to make her anxious it should’ve been this conversation. “I’m having trouble reconciling enjoying and surrender the way you do. It’s not hot for me.”
Lauren slowly came over to her, not touching her but vibrating with so much passion Emma felt as if she were. “That’s a lie. It’s a comforting lie right now, I understand that. But, still, you’re not being honest with yourself.”
Emma’s heart began to pound. Who the hell did Lauren think she was, anyway? No one had the right to tell her how she felt. The whole conversation was insufferable. “I know my own mind, Lauren.”
Lauren’s smile seemed more sad than happy. “You do know your mind, but do you know your body? Didn’t you tell me tonight that you liked it when I took control, because you didn’t have to think? That not having to make decisions made it easier for you? More pleasurable, perhaps? That being able to let go and lose yourself in that kiss was only possible because I made it seem like you had no choice? Is that not surrender?”
“I…” Emma felt like she’d been drugged and didn’t know which way was up. “That was different.”
“It was different. It takes trust to let someone kiss you. To allow her to control the kiss, to take responsibility for it so you don’t have to. But not as much trust as sex does, not as much as being shy and nervous and still surrendering to your orgasm with your eyes open.”
“It’s not easy for me to trust like that,” Emma whispered.
“I know. But I can’t seem to not care that you won’t look at me. I know it’s not easy, but I want you to trust me.”
Emma couldn’t stand the intensity in Lauren’s eyes. Her expression was so open, so raw and honest, and, yes, so vulnerable. Emma had asked for her vulnerability, and Lauren had given it to her freely. She’d asked Emma for something that wasn’t easy to ask for. Lauren needed, and just because Lauren’s need was different didn’t make it any less powerful. But what Lauren needed wasn’t something she had left to give.
Emma turned her back to Lauren and stared out at her empty flowerbeds. How could she trust Lauren with the very thing that caused so much pain? She’d trusted once, and that had landed her with a goddamn clinical condition that she battled every day. She might’ve revealed her past, but she’d resolutely blocked all of Lauren’s attempts to persuade her from what she knew was true. More than knew, felt was true. That mortifying disaster had been her fault. She wasn’t normal. How could Lauren want her trust when Emma had ignored the emotion in her eyes and the promise of her words? How could Emma trust her when Lauren had told her she wanted the very thing Emma had had ripped away from her?
Lauren needed something that was already broken. Already gone. Dead long before tonight.
Emma began to count the branches on the old oak by her garden shed, wishing she could block out her thoughts. Lauren had said sex wasn’t as satisfying without vulnerability. Emma didn’t want to be vulnerable ever again. She didn’t want to struggle either. How could the Lauren who’d done everything in her power to make tonight easy on her, also be the same person who got off on how nervous she always was? It didn’t make any sense. Except, that maybe it did. Considering the one thing Lauren had said that Emma didn’t want to hear.
I want to be the one who earns your trust.
The jury was still out on whether or not being vulnerable in bed made sex hotter. But being vulnerable standing naked in her heels by her bedroom window was close enough, thank you very much.
“You should go,” Emma said to Lauren without turning around.
Chapter Ten
Friends were as important as family, but Lauren had the right to reverse her opinion when friendship involved hauling a fifty-pound barrel of sloshing hot chocolate five thousand treacherous miles from the car to the tiny-ass tent they’d be huddling under while filling five million Dixie cups with the brew. Also, it was snowing. Of course it was. Main Street was fully decked out with Christmas decorations and refreshment tents. That Christmas was already in the rearview mirror wasn’t a problem for anyone but her.
It looked as if the entire town had abandoned their La-Z-Boys, warm fires, and Saturday night television to jostle for prime sidewalk real estate. And for what exactly? To watch a bunch of tractors they got stuck behind on country roads every day covered in cheap plastic lights? To listen to police sirens as if that wasn’t usually a reason to slam on your brakes and curse the gods for getting caught driving over the limit on roads that had no traffic anyway? Really, was a parade all that exciting? Small towns like Sunrise Falls had so little going for them, people did think parades were worth leaving their house for.
“I hate you.” Lauren caught the toe of her boot on a tent peg and almost landed on her face.
Roxie had a bag of cups and napki
ns slung over her shoulder like she was Santa’s employee of the month and took the insult with a smile. “No, you don’t. You just hate winter. And Sunrise Falls. And the Christmas parade.”
“And yet you’re forcing me to participate in all of the above.”
They finally reached their tent, and Lauren carefully settled the thermos on the table provided while Roxie got busy setting out the cups.
“I’m sorry, but have you seen me? I couldn’t carry that thing if I lifted weights every day for a million years,” Roxie said.
Unfortunately, she had a point. Rox wouldn’t be winning the Ultraman marathon anytime soon. She didn’t have a small frame like Emma, but she was definitely more bone than muscle.
Stop thinking about Emma. Thinking about Emma will get you nowhere. You know this because you spent half the night and most of the morning thinking about Emma and getting, exactly, precisely, specifically, no-fucking-where.
Lauren tugged her hat firmly down, hopefully saving herself from the stabby pain she always got when the wind whipped around her ears. Had she mentioned in the last half a second that winter sucked? It bore repeating. Repeatedly.
They’d only just managed to set everything up when Doug and not-hers Gayle strolled up to the tent, hand in hand, looking exactly like a couple off the cover of a stuck-in-a-snow-covered-cabin-whatever-shall-we-do romance novel. Lauren sighed the kind of long-suffering sigh usually reserved for mothers of two-year-old triplets. “Hi there.”
Gayle’s smile was perfect. “Lauren! How are you?”
Gayle made Lauren feel bad about herself. Not because she did anything to cause this reaction, but because her innate goodness shined all over Lauren and lit up all the petty, mean, lazy, judgmental, and just downright dickish things she’d ever thought, said, or done. Gayle asked her how she was with a smile on her face and zero mention of the elephant in the room, because she genuinely wanted to know. That’s how nice she was. If Lauren told her the truth—that everything sucked because the whole world thought she was a home wrecker, and she was maybe, kind of, sort of, falling for the local librarian who currently wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, not to mention that she lived in a town that was the last exit before Hell—Gayle would listen. She’d give her a big hug and impart mature and well researched advice that would be authentic instead of preachy. Gayle wasn’t just out of her league when it came to romance, she was out of Lauren’s league when it came to being a human. She was better than Lauren in every way that better was possible.
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” Lauren smiled at Doug and experienced the odd sensation of not wanting to throat-punch him.
Gayle’s smile kicked up from pretty to knockout. She all but danced on the spot. “My mom is going to kill me for not telling her first, but I can’t keep it to myself. Doug just proposed. We’re getting married.” Gayle said married as if the word contained approximately thirty thousand i’s.
“Wow. Congratulations.” Lauren waited for the hopelessness. The longing and regret that usually gave her nausea. Gayle hadn’t just moved on with Doug, she’d gotten freaking engaged to him. Trampoline bouncing, sophomore year royalty, diamond-present-giving Doug, was going to be her husband and Gayle Wentworth was forevermore off the market. Lauren waited, bracing herself for the let’s-just-die-now feelings. They never came.
“Thank you. We’re so excited, aren’t we, babe?”
Clearly just as besotted, and who could blame him, Doug wrapped an arm around Gayle’s shoulders. “So excited.” They grinned all matchy-happy, and Lauren had to work extra hard to shove aside the wave of jealousy that only served to prove her point. Their happy faces made her feel like crap, but not for the reason she’d expected. She just didn’t want to be around happy in love people because she wasn’t. Looking at Gayle, the woman she would’ve given her little toe to have been with only last week, made her think of Emma, and if that wasn’t the most fucked up thing ever, she didn’t know what was.
She poured them cups of hot chocolate and launched a conversation about honeymoon destinations. Hawaii was awesome, but so expensive, so even though it was farther away, maybe Bali was better. Marriage decisions required fiscal responsibility after all. They chatted until Doug and Gayle had to hurry home and tell their folks the good news with thirty thousand i’s.
She and Roxie watched them walk away, still wrapped up in each other and still laughing at things that weren’t even funny.
“I hate the Christmas parade, too.” Roxie slung an arm around Lauren’s shoulders and gave her a tight side hug.
“It’s okay.” Lauren actually meant it for once. It was okay that Doug and Gayle were getting married, because Doug made Gayle happy. Lauren might not be the world’s best human, but she was good enough to recognize that Gayle had made the right choice. Maybe someday she’d look back on last night in Emma’s bedroom and hindsight would show her that Emma, too, had made the right choice by asking her to leave. She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine anything but emptiness.
“Look!” Roxie pointed to a horse drawn carriage someone had decorated with a giant wreath. “We should go for a ride later. Wouldn’t that be awesome, with the snow falling softly like this? It’s almost a postcard.”
“Hmm.” Lauren knew it was better not to say anything than to vomit her bad mood all over Roxie’s optimism. She grimace-smiled at a family with twin babies and poured them cups of hot chocolate, marveling that the biological imperative of procreation compelled otherwise sane people to have children, then to bundle them up in so many layers you could’ve rolled them downhill without a scratch, and bring them to a parade in the middle of a snowstorm.
Sorry. Postcard snowstorm.
“Okay, whatever you have stuck up your ass needs to be removed immediately, and don’t tell me this is about Gayle. You were pissy before she stopped by.”
Lauren almost choked on her fake smile as she watched the family walk away, cups in hand. “What?”
Roxie glared, hands on her hips. “You heard me.”
Lauren took a long, cold breath and mustered a little patience. “I can say with complete authority that I currently don’t have anything up my ass, stuck or otherwise.”
“Really? I’m surprised, because I can’t imagine what the hell else would give you a scowl so permanently ingrained.”
She didn’t even bother denying it. She felt like a scowl, so it probably was on her face. “Sorry.”
Roxie filled cups of hot chocolate for more of the townsfolk before turning back to Lauren. “Don’t be sorry. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” Lauren ignored the pointing and laughter coming from a group of teenage boys, ridiculously relieved when they were hurried along by their parents. Why the hell was she standing here feeling threatened by a group of teenagers who were ten feet away?
“Is it Emma?”
Lauren poured hot chocolate directly onto her hand and jumped back yelping. “Damn it, Roxie!”
“Let me see.” Roxie took a cursory glance at Lauren’s hand, then bent down to scoop up a handful of snow and dumped it in her palm. “There you go. All better.”
“You’re a saint. Thanks.” Lauren was fairly certain she was scowling again.
“So? Is this about so-hot-Emma?”
“No. Yes. I… Yes.” Lauren was thankful the parade had started and most of the people milling about had converged on the sidewalks for a good view of the action. The noise level increased as cheers rose for the start of the parade, providing some small semblance of privacy.
“So, your totally-a-date-even-though-it-wasn’t thing didn’t go well then?” Roxie asked.
“That part was fine. Better than fine. It was great.” So great she’d told Emma about Caroline. A story she hadn’t even told Roxie yet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so understood, had lost track of time, had wanted to make a woman smile or laugh—not because it got her anything in return—but because happy looked so damn beautiful on Emma. Sh
e had a face made for happy.
“So?”
“The sex didn’t go well.” Lauren bent down for more snow to ice her hand rather than look at Roxie.
“Huh,” Roxie said in a musing tone. “That’s surprising.”
Lauren tried to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t break Emma’s confidence. “Something happened to her as a teenager, and she experiences some anxiety when it comes to sex.”
Roxie covered her mouth and said through her fingers, “Was she…”
“No,” Lauren said. “Not abuse. Just a really very hurtful teenage thing.” She couldn’t say what it was, not without Emma’s permission, but dancing around the topic, calling it hurtful when what it was was soul destroying, just didn’t feel right. “It was bad, Rox, what happened to her. I tried to help her see that it wasn’t her fault, that sometimes kids make mistakes, and sometimes other kids are just downright mean. But she wasn’t hearing it. Then I topped everything off by saying what I think now was maybe the worst possible thing.”
Roxie frowned. “What did you say to her?”
Lauren leaned against the table, suddenly too weary to bear her own weight. “She gets shy and nervous and kind of lost in her own head, which makes it hard for her to relax and enjoy being touched. I was trying to explain that it was okay to be nervous, that it didn’t bother me, you know? But what I actually said was that her nervousness turns me on.”
Lauren risked a glance at Roxie and the expression on her face confirmed that yes, she had said exactly the wrong thing. Apocalypse, doomsday, axe murderer with a grudge kind of wrong.
“You told a woman who had endured a hurtful sexual experience, and was brave enough to tell you about it, that you got turned on by her nervousness?”
“I…” Lauren’s eyes stung, but that was the cold. Just another stupid side effect of winter. “I was trying to show her that she didn’t have to worry so much, that I wanted her just as she was, that I wanted to be the person she could let go with. Is that so bad?”