Out of Control

by Roberts, Teresa Noelle

  To Jen’s relief, Drake laughed. Then he sniffed the air. “Chili?”

  “Thirty-six hours ago it was chili,” Jen said. “Now it’s more like spicy glue. But we’ve been eating. And Sean and Ryoko and I split a pizza.”

  “At ten a.m., according to your voice mail. I’m amazed any place would deliver that early.”

  Jen shrugged. “Life in a college town. They didn’t even seem that surprised.” Drake was studying her in a way that made her feel both heated and uneasy. He was judging her, she guessed—but he wasn’t finding her wanting.

  If anything, he was finding himself wanting, which made her uncomfortable, maybe more so than the other would. She stepped closer to him. She was still annoyed with him, still felt they had a lot to talk about before they could move on and figure out if they could have a relationship. But she still wanted to wipe that look off his face.

  Drake reached out as if to sweep her into his arms. Stopped. Put his hands at his sides again.

  The atmosphere was thick, charged, swirling with enough colors that they were muddying themselves.

  Sean cleared his throat. “I was just running out for food,” he said nonchalantly. “Think I’ll eat outside, in fact. Clear my head. Gets stuffy after we’ve all been in the studio this long, especially after thirty-six hours of chili with beans.” As he talked, he was gathering a few belongings and stuffing them into a backpack.

  Don’t go, Jen thought desperately. That would leave her alone with Drake, and that would be either good or bad, but either way, she wasn’t sure she could afford the distraction.

  Fuck that. She wasn’t sure she could bear it if it turned out to be bad, and not much more sure she could bear it if it was good.

  But she couldn’t be that rude to Drake, not after he’d brought her bubble wrap. If he’d brought extra boxes or offered the use of his car for the weekend, she’d have forgiven him just about anything, but the wrap was a good start.

  And in any case, Sean was on his way out before she could say anything. He waved cheerily and winked at her in a way that clearly said he expected the couch to be in naughty use in roughly three-point-two seconds after the door closed.

  Instead, for at least three-point-two seconds after the door closed, Jen and Drake stared at each other, silently, almost fearfully.

  “Irrational numbers,” Drake repeated. He closed the small gap between them. Drake’s lips closed over hers. She tried to resist, tried to remain stiff and unyielding, thought uninterested cold gray. But gray wasn’t cold anymore to her. Gray was Drake’s eyes, and she could get lost in the shades and variants of emotion in those eyes.

  Despite herself, that memory softened her. She tried to hold on to a keen edge of annoyance, tried to remember how interfering and obnoxious he’d been the other day, but her lips parted under his. She lost herself in the heat and hardness of his body clutching her against him as if she’d been out of touch for much longer than a few days, as if she’d been lost and now was found again. Drake’s hand closed in the hair at the nape of her neck, and at that firm, commanding tug, a thrill coursed through her body, no matter what her brain had to say about it. His mouth took control of hers, and she let him, reveling in it, reveling in a moment when she didn’t have to think about the next project, the next bill to pay or the push to get ready for the show.

  When it could just be her and Drake and the colors of passion rising behind her eyelids, the pulse of passion rising in her body. She moaned into Drake’s mouth, rubbed against him like a cat. His hands were everywhere, pushing her clothes out of the way, touching every inch of skin he could reach, not always gently—pinching her nipple hard enough to make her gasp as fire seared through her, digging his fingers into her butt to pull her even closer. It was a ravaging as much as it was a kiss, an imperial power running roughshod. She felt like a conquered enemy by the time he pulled away. She was almost frightened. She ought to be, she figured. At the same time, she rather liked the feeling of being conquered, as long as Drake was the one who conquered her.

  In certain ways, anyway.

  Then she looked in his eyes. The gray looked stormy, clouded, and Jen realized he felt as bewildered as she did, as ambiguous about what just happened. “I’m sorry,” Drake said. “That was out of line.” But he didn’t let go of her.

  “No it wasn’t,” she said, pulling from a reserve of patience she didn’t know she had. “Calling in sick to work for me was out of line. Ordering me not to go to the studio when you knew I had insane amounts to do was out of line. Treating me like a child is out of line. Interfering with my art when you explicitly said you wouldn’t was somewhere beyond out of line. Kissing me wasn’t.”

  “I don’t know where we stand. Don’t know if we’re on kissing terms.”

  “I don’t know if we should be on kissing terms, but our bodies think we are.” She thought about that briefly. “I hate to say it, but maybe our bodies are smarter than our brains at the moment. I’m annoyed with you, but I still want you.”

  Drake squeezed her closer, though his eyes still resembled storm clouds: chilled and yet not cold or distant. Troubled. “Let me start again and try apologizing for something I should apologize for. I’m sorry I overstepped. I’m sorry I tried to do things that would interfere with your art, but in my defense I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was thinking about getting you to slow down for a day and then go back to making your art when you were feeling better. I was worried about you. I didn’t mean to treat you like a child. I meant to take care of you, to help you relax, because you knew you were safe and loved and had permission from the world—or at least the corner of it I’ve claimed as mine—to take time off. But I did it wrong.”

  “You sure did. I’m still mad at you.” She looked up at him. Damn, this would be easier if he wasn’t so gorgeous, but she’d always been overly susceptible to beauty. Then she blinked, puzzled. “What do you mean by ‘help me relax, because I was safe and loved’?”

  “That’s what people do for those they love. Keep them safe, take care of them, let them know they can put some of their burden on you. Especially when a dominant loves a sub.”

  “Because subs are weak and need to be taken care of like children?” Ire shot up Jen’s spine, filled her brain with acid green.

  Drake pulled away, stared at the furnace as if it would help him think. “No, because subs are so damn strong. To the point of not always been sensible about taking on too much, or knowing when to rest.” The virulent green faded to a softer, more natural shade. Jen wasn’t sure what the color meant, but it seemed positive, like grass and leaves and other healthy things. “You take care of everyone and everything except yourselves.”

  Jen ventured a guess. “Why do I think you’re not just talking about me?”

  “Look at you. We both know money’s really tight for you, and you were still feeding your friends.” By the way he pointedly avoided her observation, Jen knew she’d hit a sensitive spot, maybe one he hadn’t realized was there.

  She mentally noted to press him on that later. “I should thank you. Sean and Ryoko thank you too. I don’t know why I never thought of bringing the Crock-Pot here during crunch times, but I decided to do it this time. Of course, it was so I could avoid going back to the house and still eat decently, but it worked great. Only problem is transporting the Crock-Pot every time I need it. I suppose I’ll eventually see one at a thrift shop.”

  “I can give you one you can keep here.” Then he looked at the floor and backpedaled. “That is, I have one that belonged to my aunts. It’s beat-up and old, and a butt-ugly yellow-green color that doesn’t have a name that a guy would know, but it works fine. I figured I’d use it during exam time when I get crazy, but I never remember. Would that be helpful to you?”

  She hesitated. Not about saying yes to the slow cooker. She could see no reason not to take a used kitchen item she needed and he didn’t. Even her mother would think that was just sensible. But about the subtext, which was that he was tryi
ng to feel his way through how to take care of her without offending her. This time, he’d succeeded.

  But did she want to be taken care of?

  Maybe not, but she decided she’d be cutting off her nose to spite her face to turn down a perfectly good slow cooker. “That would be great. I could leave that one here and bring this one home again.”

  “Would it be easier if I picked it up in my car sometime? It must be awkward on a bike.”

  He was asking, not ordering, so she nodded. “That would be great.”

  Another awkward silence, which Drake broke by saying, “The food’s getting cold. It was…all right to bring you food, I hope.”

  She nodded. On one hand, it made her feel strange. Indebted. Awkward.

  On the other hand, it was genius to bring busy, broke artists food, yet none of her other friends, or Sean’s or Ryoko’s, had ever thought to do so. Not even Ryoko’s husband, and Stan could certainly afford take-out.

  Then again, Drake might be the only actual genius she knew.

  “May I share it with you?”

  “Sharing’s better. Then you bought us both lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever meal it is.”

  “Some strange hobbit meal, I think. It’s not a standard mealtime, but I figured you could use to actually sit down and take a break. Hope that was all right.”

  She smiled. He was trying so hard now to be good, to make sure he didn’t cross any more boundaries. “Oddly, I kind of miss you arrogantly assuming you know best. Not much, mind you, but humble and self-doubting doesn’t suit you.”

  Drake surprised her by bursting into bitter laughter. “If only you knew how much self-doubt there is under my arrogance!”

  “How could I? You don’t let it show.” She touched his face, and he leaned into her palm.

  But he had let it show, she realized, all the times he’d backed off or retreated into following a rigid checklist of how a dom should behave when a situation got out of his control, or when he got too passionate. He must harbor fears as deep and strange as her own terror of being dependent, or being pushed away from her art to become more pleasing to another, or being caught out as a failure at a basic rite of passage to adulthood.

  Still leaning into her hand, Drake said, almost in a whisper, “I told you my mom died of cancer, but that’s not quite true.”

  While Jen tried to process that, Drake straightened up, moved just far away enough he could look at her as he said, “She killed herself when the cancer reached the point she felt she couldn’t take care of my father properly anymore and didn’t want him to need to take care of her. She said she wanted to go before she became too much of a burden. I found her suicide note in my father’s things when I was fourteen. I looked back and realized he’d resented her illness, hadn’t done as much to help her as seemed right to me. I vowed then that I’d take care of any woman I loved and protect her with the last breath in my body. Not long after I found the note, my father’s girlfriend took out the restraining order. That was when I moved here, to be with people who knew how to love, and I never looked back.”

  Jen felt like a thousand glass shards had penetrated her heart. “Oh, Drake!” There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t have the words, only the colors for the compassion and love and need to understand that overwhelmed her. Maybe it was best not to talk now even if she could find the words. Words weren’t always his friends any more than they were hers.

  Instead of trying to talk, she kissed him, trying to put everything she felt, everything she sensed, everything she glimpsed without fully understanding, into the kiss. Something broke open inside her. Everything wasn’t right yet, still confused and fragile, but they could afford to take it hour by hour, minute by minute, until the show was over and they could take the time to hash it out properly. A cloud of pink reached out from inside her to surround them both.

  When they finally broke apart, Drake blinked a few times. “You said there was a couch in here. We should test its strength.”

  Jen hadn’t forgotten the couch. Had calculated how many steps it would take to stumble over to it. Her aching cunt and sensitive nipples were of the opinion the couch was a great idea. But it wasn’t, and not because she was still angry but because their bodies communicated so well they could easily convince themselves a quickie had solved all their problems. Which it wouldn’t.

  They’d need to talk even more. Then they’d need sex that would be anything but quick. Dammit, that beautiful rose shade couldn’t be wrong.

  They’d get through this. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. No doubt he’d be arrogant and demanding and annoy her again, and no doubt she’d be spacey and careless and annoy him, but they’d end up together.

  But first she needed to get ready for the show.

  “The food’s getting cold,” she reminded him gently. “And I think we need to wait before testing the couch.”

  “I thought you were the impatient, impulsive one.” Even as he spoke, though, Drake was opening the bag and taking out napkins, cutlery and the first container of food.

  “I am. But in case you haven’t noticed, I can be incredibly focused about what matters to me.”

  “Your work.” He gestured around the studio with a packet of chopsticks. “I guess this isn’t the best time.”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s not just my work.” She captured his hand, slipped the chopsticks out of his grasp, and raised it to her lips. “You matter, even more than I’d realized. This would have been a minor argument, not a real fight, if you didn’t matter. We deserve time and attention, and I can’t spare it until after Sunday. After that, I’m going to focus on you and this relationship and the mess we made and how to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She grinned. “And of course, there’s the makeup sex.”

  Drake leaned in close. He gripped her shoulders hard. “Makeup sex with me might just hurt.” The air shivered with menace. Then he added, “But only in good ways.” He kissed the end of her nose and released her.

  “Can’t wait for that! Now what did you bring me? Ooh, lemongrass chicken wings!” She took a healthy bite of chicken wing. It was slightly cool but flavorful, and juice and sauce ran down her chin. Drake leaned in and licked it away.

  “And a banh mi and some noodle dish I won’t attempt to pronounce still in the bag. Is there any place to sit that’s more comfortable than in here?”

  “There’s a picnic table by the loading dock out back. Not exactly scenic but it doesn’t smell like a glass furnace. And you can see the inlet, so we can pretend it’s scenic.” She sighed. “But I can’t stay long. Too much to do.”

  Drake swept everything he’d just unloaded back into the bag. “While we’re eating, let’s figure out if there’s anything I can do to help you out.” He smiled. “If I just start doing something without asking, it’s bound to be wrong.”

  “Maybe. Not if you bring me Vietnamese takeout. Or packing boxes. Or an extra body and car for schlepping. At this point, Sean and I are planning to put everything into his truck and make about fifteen trips.” She grabbed her water bottle and filled a mug for Drake. “But seriously, I bet there are things you can to do that would be useful. I just…never thought about it before. I’ve always done everything for this business on my own. Even setting up my Web site.” She snorted ruefully. “Which is why the site kind of sucks.”

  Drake opened the door for Jen, who led the way out. “Pretty colors, though.”

  “Just guessing?”

  “I’ve checked it out.”

  Jen didn’t know what to say to that, so she said, simply, “Thank you. I’m not good at HTML, but I know how to make something attractive. Just, in this case, not attractive and functional.”

  “Some of the links don’t work,” he admitted. “And once you figure out the organization, it makes sense, but it’s not obvious.” They sat at the picnic table and spread out the food. “It’s not bad overall, but it doesn’t look like you update it a lot, and it’s kind of…”

  “Bor
ing,” she filled in. “Other than the colors.”

  Drake savored a few bites of noodles and sipped water before saying anything else. Jen thought he was just busy eating, but when he spoke, she thought he might have been hesitating in order to find the right words. “One of my grad students is a Web designer.”

  Jen shook her head without even thinking about it. “Can’t pay anyone right now, and before you ask, I’m not letting you pay him or her either. Or bully the poor student into doing it for free.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Please. I wouldn’t do that. He’d mentioned he wanted to get something nice for his mom’s birthday, but his budget’s tight. Maybe you guys could barter.”

  “That’s an idea.” She smiled broadly. “That’s a good idea, in fact. Especially if he can show me how to do my own updates.”

  “He’s my best TA. If he can explain advanced math to undergraduate history majors, he can explain HTML to you. Do you want me to ask him, or do you think I’d bully him too much?”

  “Why don’t you put out the initial feeler, then I’ll take it from there if he’s interested. Just because I know what I need done, not because I really think you’d bully him,” she added quickly, “though you can be pretty intimidating.”

  “Haven’t noticed you being particularly intimidated.”

  “You don’t need to intimidate me. You can just melt me.” At some later date, after the show, when she had more brain space, she might talk to him about just how he intimidated her, she was pretty sure without meaning to. How he made her feel weak and childlike until she had to fight back, fight for her heart and mind and freedom. How his advanced degrees made it hard to tell him about her own history. But right now, she didn’t want to disturb their lovely, tenuous accord.

  “I like melting you. I think I’ll melt you right now.” He stood, stalked around the table and grabbed her ponytail, pulling her head back. “Outdoors. Where anyone could see.” Not that there was anyone around to be an audience at the moment, but public exposure made Jen all quivery. Firmly gripping her hair, he bent for a kiss. His free hand came to rest on her rib cage, just under the curve of her breast. Not quite outside the bounds of good taste but close to it, considering the setting. Close enough to feel taboo and thus incredibly erotic.