by Carian Cole
“Just go to bed,” I say, angrily. “I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
I leave her sitting there and go out to the living room, seething mad and disappointed. The universe is obviously punishing me for my sins, constantly getting in the way of any happiness. It just doesn’t happen, no matter what I fucking do. I should have never gone near her; every part of it is wrong on so many fucking levels. My desire for her has clouded over all of my judgement.
Fuck. I want to cut myself wicked bad, and I have no razors here. I lean my head into my hands. Ever since the accident, my brain feels as if it’s trying to claw its way out of my skull when I get mad or stressed out. I want to rip my own fucking head off right now.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft but still startles me. I didn’t even hear her come into the room. She touches my head carefully. “Are you sick?”
“Just go away. We’re not doing this.”
I lean back on the couch and try to focus on her in the dark room. She’s still completely naked and is standing way too close to me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and then kneels on the floor in front of me and clasps her hands behind her back. “I know I’m a sarcastic brat. It’s how I deal with things when I’m upset or scared. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”
“Please, just go to bed.” I can’t stand having her like this in front of me. She makes me feel as if I’m going to lose my fucked up mind.
“I don’t want to go, I want to stay here with you. I promise I’ll be better. I want to see where this can go with us.”
My heart speeds up, and anticipation kicks in upon hearing those words. “Do you mean that? Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t play with me. This is serious for me . . . for both of us. It’s not a fucking game.”
“I know, and I don’t want it to be. I did some web research on my cell phone while you were at the store. I’ve read a little about this sort of thing before. I understand what it is. I’m just nervous.”
“I know you are. I am, too.” I let one brick out of my wall and pray she doesn’t destroy me with it.
“Can I kiss you?” Fuck me. She’s asking for permission.
“No,” I answer, even though I want her kiss more than I want to breathe. “Turn around and bend over the coffee table.”
Disappointment crosses her face, but she silently turns and does exactly as I ask, bending over the low table and resting her forehead against it, her hands still clasped behind her, her beautiful ass offered to me. I run my hands slowly down her ribs, over her hips, and further down to squeeze her tight, round ass. I want to ram my cock into her and make her scream my name so badly that it’s making my entire body ache just holding back from ravishing her.
I slide my finger between her cheeks all the way down to her lips, parting them and feeling her wetness. She wants this. Maybe just as much as I do.
I lift my hand and bring it down on her ass cheek with a smack. Not as hard as I’ve done to others in the past, but enough to make her jump and gasp.
“Will you listen to me from now on and not be a brat?”
“Yes.” We both know she’s lying, but that’s okay.
I smack her other cheek and she jumps again.
“You sure?”
She turns her face to the side, her cheek resting against the table.
“I’m positive. I want you to help me. I don’t want to be numb anymore.”
I rub my hands over her ass cheeks, soothing the sting for her. “Me either, baby.”
I really wanted to tie her up with the six feet of fake pearl strings I bought, but seeing her like this, I decide to put that off and stay in this moment.
I quickly take my clothes off and get on my knees behind her, pushing her and the coffee table forward to give me more room. I rub the head of my cock against her lips, teasing her and letting her wetness mix with my precum, lubing us both. Sliding into her slowly, I let her adjust to me so she’s not in pain. I close my eyes and savor the feeling of being inside her, the sounds of her mewling and sighing the only noises in the dark room. Grabbing her hips, I pull out and then plunge full force back into her, my balls slapping against her thighs. She lets out a whimper and puts her hands on the table to steady herself as I thrust in and out of her tight sex.
“Hands back,” I growl. She puts her hands back and I clasp her wrists with my hand, holding them tight, my other hand gripping her hip, pulling her towards me to meet every thrust. “You feel so fucking good,” I praise, tilting the angle of her a bit so I can go deeper and press against her more sensitive spots.
She tightens around me as she simultaneously starts to moan and shudder, her breathing quick and shallow as she comes on my shaft. The delicious tightening and spurt of wetness almost makes me come on the spot when I realize I’m bareback inside her. No wonder it feels so good. Fuck me.
I pull out and shoot all over her back and hands, jetting across her spine. Leaning back against the couch, I catch my breath for a minute and then pull her up to her feet. “Come with me, baby.”
She follows me to the bathroom and watches me quietly as I run a bubble bath for her. My throat and heart clench when I realize I just poured Katie’s bubble soap into the tub to bathe a girl I just spanked, fucked, and came on.
“Um, did you just . . . without a . . .” she says while we wait for the tub to fill.
I test the water temp and turn to face her. Her blue eyes are wide and her skin has paled two shades.
“I did. But I pulled out. I’m sorry . . . I got so caught up I just forgot. I never do that, I swear.” I feel like a freakin’ amateur.
“I got the birth control shot after Nick died, to help reduce the bad cramps I get,” she says, looking at her toes. “But I’m kinda worried about where you’ve been.”
Well, shit. She doesn’t beat around the bush, now does she?
“I’m clean.” My voice is defensive.
She looks at me with narrow eyes, and I really don’t blame her. I picked her up in a cemetery and fucked her seven ways ’til Sunday. Several times. I’m sure I don’t exactly give off an impression of clean and crabless.
“You think I would do something to hurt you?” I ask, turning off the water. I can feel the familiar anger building up inside me and I try to quench it.
“Well, you did forget.”
“Yeah, I did, but if I had some kind of fucking disease, I wouldn’t be touching you in the first place. I’m not that much of a douche.”
She eyes me some more, and I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “I swear to you, I’m clean.”
“Okay,” she finally says. “I believe you.”
“Good, now get in the tub before the water gets cold.” I help her in, and she settles down under the bubbles. I’m assaulted by a flashback of Katie bathing here not too long ago. My heart clenches and the familiar pain in my chest makes itself known. Not now. Please. I grab a clean washcloth from the linen closet and sit on the floor, wishing this bathroom had a big Jacuzzi tub so I could fit in there comfortably with her.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, idly playing with the bubbles.
“The answer to that will always be yes.”
She gives me a cute sideways smile and blows the bubbles towards my face. “This is part of it? Bathing?”
I nod and slowly glide the washcloth over her body under the water. “Yes, it’s referred to as after-care sometimes. It’s to soothe you, relax muscles that may be sore after using restraints, to clean you, of course, and to show you that I care about you and want you to feel safe and taken care of. And it helps to bring us closer, because it’s intimate.”
“Have you had other girls like me here?”
“Actually, no. I’ve never had any girls here. I don’t live here full-time; I only stay here sometimes.”
I follow her eyes to the pink bottle of bubble bath with the smiling kitten on it. Shit.
“Then why
do you have that? You really don’t look like the type who would be taking pink bubble baths. No offense.”
I take a deep breath and rub her back with the cloth in slow circles. “It was my daughter’s.”
I did not want to go down this road. Not now. Maybe not ever. I can’t lie to her about this though. Not when I’m trying to gain her trust and submission. I can’t have her doubting me about diseases and bubble baths and thinking I’m either a pervert or feeding her lies.
“You have a daughter?”
“She’s gone.” That’s all I can manage to say. I can’t verbalize anything else about it. I haven’t had to say the words before now because everyone I know knew Katie died. To actually say it, to say she is dead with my own mouth, is sickening to me. I never want to hear my voice say those words again.
Tabi looks upset, her eyes softening and watery. She grabs at my hand under the water. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Is that why you were there? When we met?”
I nod and slip my fingers between hers. I always want to be touching her in some way, maybe because I’m afraid she’s going to just disappear.
“How old was she?”
No. I can’t say it. I shake my head.
“Recently?” she coaxes. “A few months ago?”
“This year.”
She stares at the bottle of bubble bath, unblinking, and shivers.
“Around the same time Nick died, then.”
“Yeah, I guess around then.”
“Help me out?” she asks, rising from the tub.
I wrap her up in a big towel, but the mood has completely changed. “Are you all right?” she asks. “Maybe you should put on some pants and we can talk?”
I have no idea what one thing has to do with the other, but I go to the living room to put my shorts back on and flop on the couch on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Fuck. One good day. That’s all I want. One day without pain eating through my heart. That’s what I want for her too. Why is that so fucking hard?
She sits on the couch next to me, trying to read my face, with the towel still wrapped around her thin frame.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks. “You don’t look too good right now. You’ve gone pale.”
I bark out a short, sarcastic laugh. “A lot of alcohol would be great. Can you lift the ban?”
“Absolutely not.” She lays her hand on my chest, over my heart, and traces my ink. “Do you want to talk about her?”
I throw my arm over my face to cover my eyes. “No. Never.”
CHAPTER 13
TABITHA
AFTER HE TOLD me about his daughter last night, he succumbed to what appeared to be an emotional stress migraine and shut down. At least, that’s what I call them when I get them, and I get them a lot. It’s kinda like a brain overload. His grief has dragged him into a very dark place, and for some reason I just didn’t expect that in him, or for it to affect him so deeply. I felt such an intense need to console him, but I was at a loss as to how. I know from experience that you really can’t console a person in grief. Words are useless space fillers. He is so incredibly closed up, and I have no clue how to get in other than to give him what he seems to want so badly -- my submission.
I sat with him on the couch for hours with Sterling in my lap, unable to sleep myself but comforted by both of them sleeping near. I quietly left not long after midnight and slept alone in his bed.
He’s not on the couch this morning though, or anywhere in the house from what I can see, and for a moment I panic, thinking he left me here. But then I see him outside, sitting on the dock, playing a guitar. I slide the glass doors open and walk across the woodsy yard. The music he’s playing is beautiful and haunting, the kind of sound that goes straight through you and awakens your emotions and gives you chills. It’s the kind of music that I would play on repeat over and over and over again until it was impossible to unhear it.
My heart skips a beat as my eyes rove over him from behind. He’s shirtless, his wide, muscled shoulders flexing as he plays the strings, his long black hair hanging down to the middle of his spine, covering the tattoos that adorn his entire back. His head is tilted down slightly as he plays. I sit next to him and just watch him, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings, the song drifting over the lake. He is such an enigma, this rock-hard man with the bad-ass attitude creating this ethereal, soul-touching sound.
When he finishes the song, his eyes open very slowly and meet mine.
“That was incredible,” I say in awe. “I didn’t know you played the guitar.”
He puts the instrument off to the side. “That’s an acoustic bass.” He gives me a crooked cocky grin.
“Well, I know nothing about musical instruments, but whatever it is, I seriously have no words for how beautiful that was. It was just . . . wow. Seriously.”
“Thanks. Music is a big part of my life. If you want to hear beautiful, you should hear Lukas play the violin.”
“The violin? Really? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone play the violin in person.”
“He fuckin’ rocks it. He can play metal songs on ,it too. It’s pretty wild.”
“I hope I get to hear him play someday. Maybe you could play some more for me?”
He cracks his neck to the side with an audible pop. “Yeah. Maybe later.”
“Do you feel better? Your headache, I mean.”
“I do. How do you feel? Are you sore?”
“Sore?” I’m not sure what he’s asking me.
He bends his knee up and leans his arm on it. “Yeah. I rammed you pretty hard last night.”
My pussy immediately quivers at his words. Sweet Jesus. Who asks questions like that?
“Um, a little bit, but it’s all right.”
He stares at me intently and chews on a toothpick he’s got hanging out of his mouth. “I’m not good at slow and easy.”
“Maybe you just need to practice.” The words come out before I consider that he’ll take that as a challenge.
An evil but sexy smile spreads across his lips and I know that’s exactly what he’s thinking.
“Soon, your gifts will be here, and I’ll have a lot in store for you.”
“More ramming, I assume?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re such a little smart-ass, ya know that? I’m starting to like it. And yeah, there will be some ramming, but a lot more than that.”
I’m not sure if I should be worried about this or not. I’m definitely intrigued.
“I’ll have some rules,” he says.
“I’m not surprised. Such as?”
“For starters, you should kiss me good morning every day and thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
“Ramming you the night before,” he half teases, quirking one eyebrow up.
I can’t not giggle at him. I’m starting to like our little sarcastic talks and the way he makes me laugh even when it’s the last thing I want to do. Especially with him.
“I see,” I say. “Should I start now?”
He leans into my neck. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against me.
I turn my face towards his. “I do,” I whisper back, my heart beating faster. The way he makes me feel when he’s near is indescribable and beyond the usual butterflies I have felt in the past when I met someone new and exciting. I feel as if I’ve known him so much longer than just two days, as if there is some kind of timeless connection between us. Maybe death and guilt do that to people.
He touches my cheek and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Kiss me then. Make me feel like you mean it.”
Swallowing nervously, I tilt my head and kiss his lips. I don’t want it to mean anything, but it’s starting to. I just don’t know exactly what that meaning is yet.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask him softly, looking into his dark eyes, our noses touching.
His hand tightens at the back of my neck. “Everything.”
“Fuck, darlin’. You’re killing me.” He sighs.
I touch his stubbled cheek and kiss him again. “How so?”
“Your touch is so soft. No one’s ever kissed me like that.”
“Oh.” My voice drops with disappointment. I guess he’s used to something better, something sexier.
“Hey,” he says. “That’s a compliment. Don’t get down.”
I shake my head a little. “I’m just not good at this.”
“Cut it out. You don’t want to start the day with a spanking, do you?”
I giggle. “No.”
“Then don’t stop kissing me.”
We spend the entire morning on the dock, kissing and stopping for him to play some songs for me, then kissing more. Once I started kissing him, I felt as if I couldn’t stop, as if he were my anchor to keep me from drifting back to Nick’s memories, the depression, the guilt, and the suicidal thoughts. Maybe if I hang on to him long enough, I really will be okay. Maybe he will be, too.
“I’m gonna go for a ride,” he says abruptly, grabbing his bass and standing up. “I won’t be gone too long.”
“Okay . . .” I’m taken aback that he wants to leave and wonder if I did something wrong. I follow him into the house. “I could go with you?” I suggest, standing in the doorway of the second bedroom, watching him put his bass in its carrying case and then into the closet.
“I kinda want to be alone.”
Ouch.
“Oh.”
“Can you cook?”
“Cook?” I repeat.
He winds a hair-tie around his hair that he’s pulled into a ponytail. “Yeah, as in dinner?”