Hurt So Good

by Stasia Black

  “You have an appointment?” A shrewd woman in her mid-fifties looks over her spectacles at me in the lobby of Lennox Brothers Corp.

  “Just tell him Miranda Rose has stopped in to see him.”

  Her eyes narrow in scrutiny. “Mr. Lennox is a busy man.”

  I get what she’s not saying. He doesn’t have time to pause his important work for every hussy that stops in wanting to chat with one of the industry’s most eligible bachelors.

  I smile, humoring her. “I think he might want to see me.”

  Of course, he could very well order his assistant here to send me away without ever uttering a word to me in person.

  Somehow I have a feeling he’s classier than that. Then again, that might just be the man I’ve built him up to be in my mind as I’ve obsessed over him the past six months. But isn’t that why I’m here? To try to separate fact from fiction and let go of this fascination once and for all?

  Still frowning at me, the assistant ushers me to sit in one of the lobby chairs while she picks up her phone and murmurs into it.

  Her eyes dart over to me and I see the surprise register there. I only barely suppress a grin. Aha, so Dylan’s not the cowardly sort after all. He’s going to see me.

  The assistant clears her throat and then stands. “This way, Miss.”

  She leads me to the door to the left of her desk, pushes through it, and then heads down a long hallway. It soon opens up to a large warehouse like space.

  There are a couple of rows of cubicles but they’re interspersed with portions of the room where various robotics components are set up. Some are in pieces, but there are several large robotic arms taller than a car that whir and twist as technicians poke and prod at them.

  It all looks a little like the time I went to NASA when I was visiting my cousin in Houston that one time.

  We go down the wall of the room and to the back of the building. There the matronly assistant knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” comes Dylan’s low, manly voice. Even the sound of it sends shivers down my body.

  I reach for the door handle but the assistant gets there ahead of me and opens the door.

  Dylan’s sitting behind his desk, intimidating and hulking as he stares darkly past his secretary at me.

  “Thank you, Hannah,” he says, eyes still on me. “You may go.”

  “Do you need water or tea, sir?”

  He gives a hard shake of his head. “No, that will be all. Hold all my calls.”

  Hannah flashes me a distrustful glance and then backs out of the room, shutting the door as she goes.

  Dylan’s nostrils flare as soon as the door shuts. “What are you doing here?”

  I bristle a little at his bark, but only a little. I’ve been a sub to dominant men before and I know my coming here breaks all sorts of rules.

  But Dylan’s not a dominant, at least not in the traditional or contractual sense. And maybe I could play it coy and wait a week before contacting him but I don’t do that. I don’t do games.

  So I stride forward and sit in the chair opposite his desk and pull it closer, then lean in. “Look, last night was…”

  Shit. I had a whole speech prepared but it suddenly completely leaves my head as his dark eyes pierce mine.

  Looking into them last night for the first time had a similar effect but it was more manageable because of the dimness of the ballroom and darkness of the roof. But here, in the light of day…

  “Last night was regrettable,” he snaps, finishing my sentence. I immediately start shaking my head but he’s on a roll now. “Last night was something that will never, and I mean, never, be repeated.”

  I feel my cheeks heat at this, and not in embarrassment. I haven’t even been here all of five minutes and here he is, already pissing me off.

  “Do you know how long I’ve looked for someone like you? Someone real? You think I like setting up half-satisfying fucks online?”

  He shoots up from his chair and bangs both fists down on his desk. “That’s fucking irresponsible and you’ll never do it again. Jesus, we didn’t even use a goddamned condom!”

  “I always use a condom. It was just with you that I—” I stop when I can see he doesn’t believe me, then press on anyway, no matter how angry I’m getting. “And I have an IUD, so don’t worry.”

  He just shakes his head.

  “That doesn’t change anything. You could get seriously hurt. You don’t know who the hell will show up.”

  My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “Oh yeah? What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

  “Try controlling your urges. Discipline. Ever heard of it?”

  I laugh at that. “Because you were so disciplined as you fucked me against the hood of my car last night. Twice.”

  He sucks in a huge breath and then releases it, looking like he’s about to start breathing fire. Shit. This isn’t how I meant for this to go. I didn’t come in here to antagonize him. It’s not going to get either of us what we want.

  I just wanted to make my proposal, tempt him with my sexy top and cleavage, and get out leaving him wanting more. Okay so shit, maybe I do like playing games a little. But only because I know this could be good for both of us. With how ravenously he took me, I know he wants this, too.

  “Look,” I say, trying to pacify him and salvage the situation. “Everybody has needs. They’re nothing to be ashamed of. If we can find a safe, mutually beneficial way to meet those needs, what’s the harm?”

  He shakes his head and speaks through his teeth. “Some desires are shameful.”

  I stand up from my chair and take a step back at that. I can’t help it. It stings. He thinks I should be asham—

  “Fuck. I didn’t mean you. It’s fine for you to want whatever you— But for me, it’s not, I can’t ever—” He rakes a hand through his hair just like he did last night, looking flustered and pained at the same time. It looks like a deep pain, too.

  He closes his eyes and breathes out before piercing me again with that gaze.

  “This will never happen, Miss Rose. I’m not the man to scratch your itch. Find someone else. Please leave now.”

  But I didn’t get where I am today by being meek. I didn’t survive Bryce Gentry by walking gently into that good night. No, sir.

  I’m stubborn. There were nights, more than one, where I felt so worthless I wanted to give up and die.

  But I didn’t. I’m here today and everything I’ve gotten after Bryce was because I stubbornly stood up, demanded, and took it.

  “I’ll leave on one condition.”

  Dylan looks exasperated and throws his hands out.

  “Give me your phone number and I’ll leave right this minute.”

  “What? Is this some sort of fucking game to you?”

  I’m the one breathing out hard this time. Shit. Games again. “Maybe. I don’t know. I try to be as straightforward as I can. I’m not trying to fuck with your life.”

  He scoffs. “Aren’t you?”

  “We’re both single. And unless you’re celibate, you need, how did you put it, you need to get your itches scratched too. Why not with me? Someone you can trust to be discrete. I’ll sign an NDA or anything else if you’re worried about that, show you my test results, I know we didn’t use protection the other night but I’m clean and on the pill and I—”

  “Jesus Christ, you say giving you my phone number will shut you up and get you out of my office the quickest?” He yanks open the top drawer on his desk and shoves his phone my way. “Have at it.”

  I stare at the phone but only for a second before snatching it up and punching my number in. I hit the green dial button and wait for my phone in my purse to buzz before hanging up.

  I know I’m being pushy as hell, unattractively so. Maybe this all goes nowhere. Probably this all goes nowhere. Probably he blocks my number the second I walk out his office door.

  Still I add myself to his contacts and hope for the best. Stranger things have happened. And when I glance b
ack up at him, it’s to find him quickly averting his eyes.

  He was watching me.

  He’s attracted to me.

  He followed me to that garage roof last night. He’s intrigued. Maybe my pushiness today killed any interest.

  Or maybe he remembers exactly why he hung around last night after he came the first time and kept on fucking me for another half hour. Maybe he remembers exactly how incredible it felt for both of us to give into the animal and let ourselves free. For once, finally free.

  I incline my head as I lean over to place his phone back on his desk. Does it afford a spectacular view of my cleavage? Yes, yes it does, and yes, I hope he’s looking.

  “My ass is still sore from your fingers last night,” I whisper.

  And then I turn and head out the door.

  Chapter Five

  DYLAN

  My ass is still sore… said with that impish little saucy grin.

  I shake my head at her audacity for what feels like the hundredth time.

  “I told Hannah never to let her back to my office if she comes again.” I stride back and forth on the well-worn path in Dr. Laghari’s office.

  “I don’t need this shit. I’ve been doing so well in my recovery and then to fuck it up so bad like I did last night.” I shake my head again. “Fucking maddening.”

  Dr. Laghari doesn’t say anything for a long moment so I look over at him.

  “What, you think last night wasn’t fucking up my sexual sobriety?”

  He inclines his head. “I’ve never used that term. You came up with it yourself. But it’s interesting that you see having sex for the first time in four years in terms of an addict going back to a drug.”

  “Isn’t it?” I throw my hands up. Fuck, I know I’m being dramatic, but I could use with the good doctor being a little more… well, a little more. I expected him to look, I don’t know, disappointed when I came in today and told him about last night. But the last half hour all he’s done is ask me how I felt about what happened.

  I feel like I want to crawl out of my own fucking skin, that’s how I feel. I never wanted to be in that position ever again, standing over a weeping girl after putting my hands on her.

  But there I was, having come fucking twice. And even then, at the end when I was horrified looking down at her so broken, still there was a part of me that loved it. That loved seeing her there like that, that loved knowing it was me who’d done it to her. That wanted to grab her by her silky brunette hair, shove her face down and immediately do it to her all over again.

  “We talked about you eventually dating again and what it might be like to sleep with a woman after your years of self-imposed celibacy. Wasn’t this what all our time together has been working toward?”

  “Me dating was always a hypothetical,” I say. “And Jesus, no, all this therapy has been to try to keep these fucked up desires from ever coming out again. It’s been about learning discipline to keep myself in fucking check. So I don’t hurt people. Hurt women.”

  “Like your father did.”

  “Yes, like my father did.”

  “Do you think what you did last night and what your father did to your mother all those years are the same?”

  “Yes!” I explode. I stomp back toward the window and drop my hands to the small ledge, staring out at the city. “No. I don’t fucking know.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and image after image flashes through my head. There was the time Dad shoved Mom against the kitchen counter and bent her over until her face was buried in the burned casserole until she couldn’t breathe, arms flailing.

  Or when he grabbed her by the neck and forced her upstairs. When she tripped near the top, he got so mad, he threw her back down them. She rolled and screamed as she fell down half the staircase before catching hold of the banister. He yelled at her for being a dumb, clumsy slut. Not checking to see if she was okay, he just yanked up her skirt right there on the staircase and…

  I open my eyes and look out the window like the sky can banish the memories that form the fundamental core of who I am.

  I kept my little brother Darren from seeing the worst of it. He’s a kinky bastard but he never pushes it near the line. We’ve shared women a time or two in the past and he doesn’t have the same sick urges I do. He’s the fun one, always the life of the party.

  Darren, yes, Darren, I protected from Dad.

  But Chloe, just a year younger than Dare? Jesus Christ, little Chloe…

  I swallow and my eyes fall shut again.

  “Even if it’s not the exact same as what my dad did to my mom, it’s still too fucked up. To get off on that… when I know what it— what it can do…” I shake my head and swipe my forearm roughly against the tears stinging at my eyes.

  “It sounds like last night brought up a lot of the things you’ve been trying to push down and ignore for a long time,” says Dr. Laghari. “And that’s okay if that’s how you needed to deal with what happened. But at least consider that this might be an opportunity to reconsider how you approach dealing with the trauma you went through.”

  “Trauma I went through—?” I turn back to the doctor. He’s got to be kidding.

  “Have you thought any more about trying to contact your sister?”

  Jesus, doc, way to kick a guy when he’s down. “She wouldn’t want to hear from me.”

  “How do you know if you don’t try?”

  I scoff and shake my head. “I’m pretty fucking sure. I let her down her entire life. Besides, if she wanted to talk to me, she has my number.”

  Dr. Laghari just shrugs. “Maybe she thinks the same about you. If he wanted to talk to me, he has my number.”

  Jesus Christ, why do I even come here? I rake my hands through my hair. Okay, so after all the shit hit the fan, Dr. Laghari helped me through the worst of it. There was awhile there when I didn’t think I deserved to live. It was only doc and knowing my brother needed me that kept me from swallowing the bottle of pills on my nightstand.

  Darren had lost everyone, and he didn’t even know why. I couldn’t just cut out on him, too.

  But how the fuck was I supposed to live with the knowledge that my father was the worst kind of monster and I was just like him?

  I thought discipline was the answer. I’d just never give in to those desires. Ever again.

  But now doc is saying that, what? That that kind of discipline is impossible? That he always knew I’d fail and be back here, fighting this shit?

  “I swore I’d never be like him.” My voice is so low and guttural I barely recognize it. “I’ll die before ever becoming anything like that fucking bastard.”

  “Dylan.” Dr. Laghari calls my name but I don’t look at him. “Dylan.”

  A few seconds later, he moves into my field of vision. Damn, I actually made him get up off that chair he always sits in. This really must be a crisis.

  “Dylan,” he says again, his lined face gentle with compassion. “You grew up in a violent household. You witnessed horrific things, not just once, but over and over again. The women you loved, your mother and sister, were hurt by a man you loved, your father.”

  I want to deny it. I want to say that he’s wrong and that I hated my father. But I didn’t, at least not growing up. I think I do now. I think the hate has choked out all the love. Because how could I love a man who did the things he did…?

  “It’s not wrong for you to have grown up being confused about sex. The way your sexual education developed may have been unhealthy, or fucked up, as you say. The things that happened in that house were seriously fucked up.”

  Hearing the words fucked up come out of Dr. Laghari’s clipped and slightly accented voice sounds wrong and oddly hilarious.

  But I don’t laugh, if only because in all the years I’ve been coming to him, the doc has never gotten up and spoken to me so frankly. It feels like it goes against some shrink code and I go still.

  “But none of that means you’re doomed to be just like your father. The kin
ks you like as far as your sexual appetite don’t mean you want to hurt or control women the way he did. We’ve talked extensively about how abuse is about control much more than sexual gratification. From everything you’ve told me, that sort of control and abuse is abhorrent to you. Inflicting pain without consent is one of your greatest fears. It’s all but a primal fear for you, you hate it so much.”

  “But what if…” I trail off. Dr. Laghari is being so frank with me, fuck, it breaks something down and I finally ask the question that truly terrifies me. “But what if I secretly want it?” And after that all the other questions come pouring out. “What if I want to hurt them without their consent? What if I give in to it and find I like it too much? And I become a monster just like him?”

  I expect Dr. Laghari to pull back. At the very least, I expect his features to became wary at this admission of my deepest fears. Because he’ll finally see me for what I am:

  A monster lurking in a man’s skin.

  But instead he laughs and shakes his head, clapping me on the back.

  Fucking laughs.

  “What the fuck, doc?” I jerk back from him.

  But he’s still just shaking his head, a fond smile on his face. “Oh Dylan, Dylan. Shh, I will tell you something, but it’ll just be between us, all right?”

  I nod, feeling bewildered.

  He leans in and raises his hand to his mouth like he’s really going to tell me a secret. “You are not a sociopath. I’m old and I’ve met a few in my time. You aren’t one. You have the capacity to empathize with others. You worry about whether you’re hurting the people around you. By definition, that means you aren’t a sociopath.”

  “You’ll be just fine.” He claps me on the back again. “See you next week, my friend. See you next week.”

  I stumble out of his office, half confused, half more relieved than I’ve ever felt in my life. Is it really that easy? I just needed someone, a professional who knows what he’s talking about, to tell me I’m not a sociopath? And pow, I’m cured?

  I’m still frowning as I walk toward my car but I have to admit, I do feel a fuck of a lot lighter than when I walked in.