by Piper Malone
Sarcasm. Just what I need. “Can’t he just, I don’t know, put that stuff aside?” I huff into the muffin I have picked down to a crumbly mess.
I should have realized the answer the instant Ax put down the mug with a menacing clunk before leaning in, his arms bulking under the shift of his weight onto his elbows.
“Sure, he can put that stuff aside. I’m sure you two can work something out where he gives up his kink and you give up something you love, like artsy-fartsy decorating stuff or alcohol.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!”
“So is asking him to give up something that is a part of him. It’s not fair to ask Blake to change who he is for you. If you can’t be with him because you can’t talk about the reasons you’re scared, then walk away. Stringing him along to serve your own purpose is wrong, Kat.”
“I’m not just toying with him, Ax.” I’m hanging on because I care about him more than anyone I’ve ever dated.
“But you aren’t working with him. You can’t do this half-assed. People, specifically you, or Blake, or both of you are going to get hurt.”
How can this ox of a man be so compassionate at times? I don’t doubt for a minute he could drop someone like a sack of bricks, but even when he’s lecturing me, I feel safe. “I need to think.”
“Yes, you do,” he offers sagely before slugging down more coffee.
After an hour of back and forth discussion, I feel a bit clearer but the apprehension is still there. Unbeknownst to Blake, I’ve checked out some websites. There were a few where I was able to find logical, thoughtful connections that had me feeling optimistic about the longevity of this relationship. Others had me slamming down the screen of my laptop as if a viper had emerged from the depths of the Internet.
All of the sites stressed communication, which is what Ax, and Blake, have drilled into my head. One of the sites specifically discussed the need for communication when one individual in the couple has suffered abused. It pissed me off. It was too close to home. I’ve never been able to identify myself as someone who was abused, but the more I read, the more connection I found. I followed links to support groups for people who have been emotionally and mentally abused. I got angry. I cried.
I feel like I’ve fought so hard to push those feelings away, I wondered if I pushed everything away. I’ve witnessed the horror of someone who was completely vulnerable to another. The memory sends a quick jolt down my spine, chilling me.
And then I saw something that hit a deeper nerve.
“Can you tell me what honor bondage is?” I ask Ax.
He looks at me with hooded eyes. “What do you think it is?”
I glance around the diner. “He asks me to keep my hands in certain places and not to move.” The worn vinyl of the booth creaks under my shifting weight. “I read about it, and I think he’s doing it to me.”
“He’s doing it with you, Kat.”
“I thought there was a basic understanding of communication, Ax.” The realization that Blake could be taking advantage of a delicate situation is unnerving. Would he try to manipulate me into submission?
“Look,” Ax says with genuine understanding, “you need to talk to him. There might be a logical explanation. I can understand if you’re upset, but you need to ask him the questions you have.”
The more I thought about the hotel room and all our sensual moments since, I’ve been haunted by the thought that I’m being used. Then I got angry with myself because, in the moment, everything with Blake feels so pure. It’s the ancient conflict of heart and mind. Are we having fun, or is it kink? Can it be both? Is this what building a life with Blake could be? Fun, sexy, caring, enjoying all parts of each other, and never feeling disposable. But do I know what it feels like to be committed and not temporary. All aspects of this relationship feel like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Then reality slapped me. It’s not sex. I am open to new experiences. It’s the intimacy. The more I read about trust, connectedness, and belonging, the more I panicked. The issue isn’t the rote task of Tab A entering Slot B, and repeat. It’s about true connection, emotion. Things I haven’t felt in years. Responses to lovers I haven’t let myself feel because they were too deep. The more testimonials I read, the more clear my reality became. I felt shallow, disconnected. Then the wrecking ball hit; what if I’m not capable. What if my heart isn’t strong enough to give to another person?
What if looking at that house was a pipedream? A joke played by the fates to tease me with a life I can’t have. No gorgeous white dress, no picket fence, no sexy firefighter holding my baby on his hip because I’ve lived my life asking Does this feel good? not What does this mean?
That’s because you’re a whore. My cousin Artur’s menacing voice jars me, snapping me from the chaos in my mind.
Thinking officially sucks.
“Yo!” Ax calls from across the booth. “What’s up?”
Shaking off the fear that the Tin Man has a bigger heart than me, I opt for the magic show routine: distract with sparkles. “You’re going to help me set up this craziness for Reagan, right? I’m pretty sure power tools will be involved.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, intent on devouring every crumb of Reese’s dumpling. “What did she ask you to do?”
I laugh and lean in. The conversation is about to take a serious turn. “I have to turn Room One into a classroom. She asked me to set up this professor-and-the-naughty-student scene. I don’t even want to know.”
Ax’s face lights up, gorgeous cheekbones offsetting the masculine line of his jaw peppered with scruff. “That’s great. Are there props?”
“I think so. I know she had a crate delivered to his office this week and that there will be assembly required. I think she bought a desk.” I pause, wondering how and where Reagan found such a retailer. But anything is possible these days so, why not.
“Yesterday I had to pick up two costumes from the dry cleaners. A school uniform and a tweed blazer. I can’t think too much about it. I have to look at them at Christmas. Are there tools at Reign?”
He tosses me a wry smile. “More than you’d care to know about, I’m sure.”
“Ha fucking ha, Ax. You’re hilarious.” I glance at him, wondering how far I can push him. “So if your name is Ryan, where does Ax come from?”
“Last name’s Paxton.” Ax waves away my attempt to contribute to the bill, grumbling about how I barely ate, again. I notice he flops a fat stack of cash on the table as we leave. From behind the counter, Reese bids us a good day.
I say good-bye to Ax, who nods and tells me I know where to find him, before straddling a massive motorcycle. He pulls out and, in a staccato that sounds like gunfire, is out of sight in seconds. He’s a good guy. But he’s not my guy.
I dig my phone out of my pocket ready to text Blake good thoughts for the day when a message in the center of my lock screen makes my legs weak. No…
Artur Boytsov has sent me a friend request.
Chapter 21
Kat
The following Friday, I’m dancing at the front door of Reign trying to get warm. A polar vortex as graced us with unseasonably cold weather and I’m freezing. It’s my own fault for not grabbing a jacket on the day we’re predicted to get a huge snowfall. I’ve been a little fuzzy since the pitch. It all happened so fast. Ideas started raining down and the next thing I knew I was presenting my idea to the Board of Directors. They seemed to like my idea, some of them commented on their own family member’s civil service. I received more than a few compliments on the demo pictures from the women.
The next task on my agenda is transforming Room One for Reagan. Hopefully I can pull this off in record time and get to the grocery store before all the bread, milk, and eggs are gone. We can’t celebrate a snow day without French toast for everyone!
Ax ushers me in and leads me to Room One. The space is huge and perfect for setting up the scene. Ax offered to move any equipment or furniture if needed. When he leaves to grab some more hand tools, I tak
e a quick look around the room.
My initial worry was that I would seize and fall over like one of those adorable fainting goats the instant I was here. But, it’s not that bad. It’s well lit. Clean. The cedar closet in the corner gives the room a nice smell. The large X in the corner of the room looks harmless. So does the bed.
My thoughts about Reagan and Caleb and what they do in here come to a halt when Ax enters the room. He gives me a quizzical look. “Questions?” he asks.
I’m sure he doesn’t have the answer but I need to ask. “What do they do in here?”
Ax gives me an easy, yet devilish, smile. “Whatever they want.”
He laughs at my exaggerated eye roll and starts dismantling the large wooden shipping crate with a crowbar. True to my hunch, inside is a retro school desk, complete with a wire basket under the seat for books.
I’m left alone to finish the setup after Ax has helped me move the couch. Various props are placed around the room: a ruler, a pair of black horned-rimmed glasses, a plastic apple, and a faux hall pass. I look over the desk and trace the words carved into the desktop with my finger. The words “Professor Dunn” are surrounded by a simple heart. It’s not easy to miss and a clever addition. No one can accuse Reagan Langley-Dunn of skipping the details.
I feel a sense of pride as I look over everything one last time. I’m impressed with the outcome. The role-play looks like a lot of fun. The visual of Caleb and Reagan taking part in the fantasy makes me blush. They’d go at it, and then each other, with a crazy passion. I try to picture Blake and me in the scene, but the memories of STUDZ come to the surface. Is that what that was? A role-play to see how much fun we could have? For as nervous as I was about his reaction, he didn’t let me down. Blake jumped to it without hesitation and poured his heart into the fantasy…just like with my idea for the calendar. He watched my demo pitch a few nights ago, his brilliant smile lighting up his gorgeous face the entire time.
I reflect on Blake’s unabashed intimacy for a little too long, thinking about what else he might be willing to do, before deciding this good deed is done. With the floor swept and the garbage gathered, I grab the screwdriver, hammer, and set out to find Ax. I jiggle the handle to Caleb’s office that is, of course, locked. Ax’s inability to remember to unlock the door is frustrating. Whatever, he is a guy.
The only other option I have is to walk through the main room and drop everything on Skyler’s desk. The hallway still has the same dim lighting as when we arrived, but a deep, seductive sound is caressing the hallway. It’s not music I would have pegged for Ax to add to his playlist. It’s a song that tiptoes along the edge of dark and sexy. Maybe he’s been thinking about Reese’s dumpling.
Eager to pick on him about mooning over his favorite waitress, I rush toward the main area of the building. A few feet from the central room, the sound of a firework exploding stalls my progress. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge, a prickly sensation of anxiety stabbing my back. It’s wasn’t a huge firecracker but it was loud, the sound magnified by the heavy walls housing Reign.
Hedging a look around the corner, I steal a quick glance at the source of the sound before another explosion cracks and forces me back against the interior hallway. My mind kicks into overdrive, heart galloping at a pace that steals my breath and makes me question my sanity.
It couldn’t be.
I gulp down air, forcing myself to make sure my eyes don’t deceive me.
Blake, in worn leather pants and heavy boots, paces the floor, his eyes trained on the lean form of a woman bound at the wrist by thick rope tied to an overhead beam. The only thing covering her body are heavy red stripes decorating her naked rear end.
Holy shit!
“Where are you, girl?” he demands with clipped words. His voice is so deep I almost don’t believe it’s him.
With heavy motion, I watch her lift her head, blood-red hair held in a messy ponytail becomes visible as she nods and chokes out a watery, “Again.”
“Tell me,” he demands.
“Green.” She appears to swallow down thick pain as her head rests on her extended arm. “More.” Her voice is weak but her body stands firm. Skyler looks like a being of strength but sounds like she’s hovering over the edge of agony. “Please.”
Blake nods, assumes a solid stance behind her and assesses her body. I watch him lift his arm, creating a waterfall effect with a long object in his hand. In an instant, Blake flicks his wrist, the tip of the whip landing on Skyler’s backside, the crack of the popper making me stumble backward. Cupping my hand over my mouth, I try to breathe through my nose.
The dense smell of blood curls around me. Visions of my aunt bleeding and crying on the floor flash behind my closed eyes. She’s begging me to help her. Pleading with me not to tell. I feel the pounding in my chest push droplets of sweat to the surface of my skin. My adrenaline surges, drowning out all logical thoughts.
Until I hear a crack followed by Skyler releasing a tearful cry.
The need to help Skyler supersedes the desire to flee. I can help her. I can distract the situation. With the hammer in one hand, screwdriver in another, I bolster myself for a fight. I won’t hit Blake with them, just create enough of a distraction for Skyler to get away.
When I take my position in the doorway and prepare to create a commotion, I see Blake standing at Skyler’s back. His distance is far enough that he doesn’t touch her, but close enough to speak softly in her ear. She responds, shifts her weight, and nods. Their actions are simple, conversational. Intimate and yet prescribed. Skyler and Blake seem connected in this moment, but he hasn’t touched her at all.
He stands still, head cocked close to hers as if he’s listening to her before walking away again. Blake’s normally relaxed, playful stature is rigid, firm. His muscular back expands and contracts with measured breath as he stares her down.
With methodical actions, he strikes her with the whip, her body arching, then sinking into the strength of the ropes each time the tip falls on her body. She moans a sound caught between intoxication and sexual devastation. He requests her status with decisive words. She provides an answer. He repeats the process with systematic and controlled predatory grace. The rhythm of their act, the give and take between Blake and Skyler pulls me into sharp discomfort and, to my shame, unanticipated arousal.
The parts of me that were initially so eager to scream that what I’m witnessing is wrong fade away, destroyed by the parts of me that are curious about what it feels like to be in her place. If another man was engaging Skyler, the voyeuristic pleasure of watching the scene unfold would be very different. My curiosity about what they are doing is one thing; Blake’s proximity to a naked woman is another. He needs to be with me.
Or is it that I need to be with him?
And since I’m not with him, did he need to find someone else?
Blake moves with a surety that makes me think he’s engaged her before. What have I been missing? Has he been cheating on me?
My thoughts collide like a swarm of wasps, each sting deeper and more painful than the last. Did she ask for this? Why didn’t he tell me? What does this mean? Does he want to do that to me and I won’t let him? Why can’t I be like Skyler? Am I so easily replaced? Does this mean Blake and I are over? Should I end this because he’s with a naked woman in a building they thought was vacant? How many times have they been here together? Has my boyfriend replaced me with someone who had the ability to do what I can’t?
When my thoughts force my eyes to the floor, confusion lacing its way around the holes in the walls I’ve spent years building, the snap of the whip makes me jump. Her cries sound as if she’s purging a demonic soul, the act of being whipped allowing her the freedom to release the evil. Blake walks to her again, wrapping a rough hand around her ponytail. His grip on her head looks like he’s squeezing a gutted animal, her red hair a jagged contrast to his skin. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s intimate. She cries, her body sagging against the re
straint, Blake’s arm curling around her waist to give her support. It’s painfully obvious that parts of Skyler are very broken. At the sight of my boyfriend’s affection for a woman that isn’t me, my soul screams in wild outrage while my heart crumbles under the strain of knowing I might have forced this situation to happen.
A flash of movement snatches my attention away from Blake and Skyler. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, but the scene has a larger audience than me. Set back from the opening of the opposite doorway, Nick watches Blake and Skyler, standing rigid, fists gripped. Behind him, Ax hovers, the line of his jaw moving as if he’s trying to talk him down. From the look of fury on his face, Nick doesn’t look like he’s willing to be placated. He’s ready to fight. And the target is Blake.
The blistering waves of fear and longing sparked by Blake’s actions are extinguished by the cold rush of Nick’s obvious rage. When Blake moves away from Skyler, he doesn’t look around. He’s completely unaware of Nick or me. His focus is on Skyler and the whip.
I consider the possibilities of what could happen once Blake and Skyler finish. It’s easy to dismiss that Nick’s anger would be targeted toward Skyler or me. His glower is focused directly on Blake and when that fight happens, it’ll be a shitshow.
My initial concern about getting Skyler out of the situation she’s in morphs into getting all of us out safely. Why Skyler is here now, I have no idea. How badly is Nick going to destroy Blake? I have a pretty good idea about that. The real issue is, I’m trapped. There is no way to get out of Reign without Blake seeing me at this point. He’ll know I came here with Ax. He flipped over a text message. I can’t imagine his reaction when he learns my first entrance into Reign was in Ax’s company.
I blame Reagan. None of this would have happened if she didn’t need to get her school-girl kink on.
What if I decide to put myself between Nick and Blake? Maybe if Nick sees me first, he’ll snap out of it before fists fly.
I glance across the room, Nick’s beefy arms flexing under the paced curling of his fists.