by Carian Cole
I call my best friend, Lara, whom I haven’t spoken to in about a week. I know if I don’t call her, she’ll start to worry about me, and she’ll start to blow up my phone with texts.
“It’s about time. Where have you been?” she asks when she hears my voice.
“I’m still here in the mountains. I’m fine.”
“You’re still staying with Mystery Meat? Girl, what the hell is going on there? Please tell me you’re not in the basement putting the lotion on.”
I laugh, missing her and our crazy talks. “I’m totally fine. Actually, I feel better than I have in a long time.”
“You definitely sound better. I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh. It’s good to hear that again.”
“Thank you. I miss you.”
“We should get together. I could come there if you want? I’d like to meet the guy who has practically kidnapped my best friend.”
I sigh uneasily. I don’t know how Vandal would feel about Lara visiting. His own brother wants to visit, and Vandal keeps putting him off, so having someone he doesn’t know come by is probably not something he’s going to be keen on.
“He’s kind of a recluse, Lara. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. But I’ll come see you soon. We’ll have lunch.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? This guy seems a little bit creepy to me.”
“I promise you, I’m fine. He’s a really nice guy, just kind of a loner. He’s going through a lot of shit, like I am.” There’s a long silence on the other end. “He’s good to me. He’s completely different than Nick, and that’s what I need.”
“So are you dating him, or is he like a friend with benefits?”
I can’t explain any of the details to Lara because she won’t understand and will likely lose her shit entirely. I would need hours to sit her down and really explain it to her, and I just don’t have the patience right now.
“I guess like friends with benefits. Maybe more, but it’s too soon. I’m just trying to find me. A me without Nick. It’s not easy, Lara. I miss Nick like crazy, but I need to try to move on, like everyone has been telling me to. I just know I feel better, and I’m actually getting happier. That’s all I want to think about.”
“Okay, I understand, hon. I just worry about you. You’re really fragile, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Is he hot at least? Can’t you text me a photo or something?” she jokes.
“Lara, he’s hot as hell. You would die. He’s over six feet tall, and built like a brick house. The guy is muscle on top of muscle. Total six-pack abs. And his hair is gorgeous; it’s long and jet-black, like an Indian’s. He’s got tons of tattoos. Actually, I don’t think I told you last time we talked—he’s a tattoo artist.”
“Get out, are you serious? I love me a tatted up man.”
“Wait ’til you see the tattoo he did on me! He put angel wings on my back.”
“What? You? I can’t believe it.”
“It hurt like crazy, but now that it’s healing up, it’s beautiful. The detail is incredible. I’ll ask him to take a picture so I can text it to you. Oh, and he plays guitar. Or maybe it was a bass? I can’t remember, but he’s wicked talented. He’s just yum, on so many levels. And he’s romantic.”
“Well, fuck. Does he have a brother?”
I laugh and pet Sterling who’s just jumped up on my lap. “He does, but I haven’t met him yet. I think he has a girlfriend though. What about Steve? Aren’t you still dating him?”
“Ugh. I guess. He’s kinda getting on my nerves.”
I roll my eyes. Right around the three-month mark she always starts to get the itch for a new man.
“I’m not gonna say anything . . .” I tease.
“Good! I just want you to be happy, Tab. I’m sorry that I probably wasn’t the best friend to you I could have been with everything that happened . . . I just really didn’t know what to do to help you. I feel like I let you down.”
“No, Lara. Please don’t think that. I love you, and you’re the best. No one could’ve helped me; trust me. I didn’t want anyone near me—you know that. I just needed to get through this in my own way. And I’m getting better, I promise. Being here has been good for me, as crazy as that sounds. I’m in a beautiful house in the mountains with a lake, a hot guy, and an adorable blind kitten sitting on my lap.”
“Blind kitten?” she repeats. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, he’s got this cute little blind kitten that is just a total ball of love. Every day, I lie on the couch and read, and he curls up on me. I want to take him with me when I go home.”
“Speaking of, when are you coming home?”
I sigh and flop back onto the couch. “I don’t know. He said he’s going back to his other house and back to his shop to work in two weeks. This was like a little vacation for him. I think I’ll be going back home then, and then I’ll have to figure out what I want to do next.”
“So what happens to you then? Are you going to keep seeing him, or was this like a thirty-night stand?”
Eep. My heart pounds a little faster, thinking about this. I want to keep seeing him. “I’m not really sure. I’m going to cross that bridge when I get to it. I’m hoping we’ll still see each other, but I don’t know.”
“Scandalous. I hope you figure it out.” I hear Lara’s other line ringing. “I gotta run; my break is over. You better call me in a few days. And send me some pictures.”
“I will. Love ya.”
“Love ya, too.”
Staring at myself in the full-length mirror, I wonder where the pole is that should have come with this outfit. The dress is so short that it barely covers my lady bits, and it’s tighter than any dress I would ever buy. Oh, and no panties were included. The shoes are like mini, slutty stilts. I don’t know if we’re doing stripper or hooker role-play or what. The requested dark makeup is just adding to the whorish look, which apparently is what he wants tonight.
I teeter out to the dining room at a quarter to five and wait. I’m not sure how he always comes home exactly when he says he will, but at five o’clock, his motorcycle idles in the driveway. He comes through the door wearing an old, beat-up leather jacket, his hair tied back, and dark sunglasses. My body immediately reacts to how sexy he looks, my heartbeat speeding up and dampness forming between my thighs. He washes his hands at the kitchen sink before approaching me in the dim dining room.
“Stand up,” he says abruptly, his face still hard.
Standing, I try to balance myself on the shoes. “These shoes are insane, I never wear heels—”
He touches my lips with his finger. “I’ll tell you when to talk,” he practically growls.
Uh-oh. The bad mood is still very much here, and I have no idea why. What did I do? Should I use the safe word and end this now? No, that wouldn’t be good. He hasn’t done anything to hurt me or scare me. He’s just in a mood. I can’t use the safe word the first time I feel a tiny bit apprehensive.
He pulls the dining room chair I had been sitting on away from the table and sits on it, leaning back, legs spread, so he’s facing down the hallway towards the bedroom.
“Crawl down to the bedroom on your hands and knees. Slowly. There’s an envelope in the nightstand. Crawl back to me with it in your teeth.”
Crawl? In this dress? I stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher what’s going on here. He didn’t shower, as he normally does before he engages in a scene with me. He had dinner without me. Where? With whom? Maybe he saw the girl he used to fuck but then didn’t fuck, and fucked her?
My stomach turns with nerves. His eyes are locked onto mine, but they’re dark and unreadable. Usually I can read them, but not tonight.
He breaks the silence. “Are we waiting for something? I could put a leash on you and walk you down there myself, if you prefer.”
A leash?
“No,” I reply, my voice shaking. I’m not scared of him, but I’m scared of what he’s thinking. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he would never hu
rt me, but that single, tiny percentage point is enough to make the hair on my neck stand up. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl slowly down the hardwood floor of the hall. The short dress has ridden up, completely exposing half of my naked ass and my pussy. When I get to the bedroom, I kneel at the nightstand and retrieve the plain white envelope from the drawer, then crawl back to him with it in my mouth, stopping to kneel between his jean-clad legs. Sitting like a dog with the envelope in my mouth, I wait for him to take it. Finally he does, and removes a folded white piece of paper.
He hands it to me and says, “Read this aloud to me.”
Fear grips me as I take the piece of paper from him, and I see a familiar picture on it. My picture. It’s my social media page. I stare at it, utterly confused, and look back to him.
“Just read the first status post to me and then the replies to it,” he instructs.
I swallow and begin reading.
“Jason posted yesterday, ‘Hey Tabitha, what’s up? I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I miss you.’
Then I replied, ‘Hi Jason, I’m doing okay. I miss you, too.’
Then Jason wrote, ‘We should have dinner and catch up. When will you be back in town?’
And I wrote, ‘That sounds great. I’m staying with a friend right now, but I’ll be back home in two weeks and would love to have dinner. I’ll call you as soon as I get back.’
And then he wrote, ‘Awesome, baby girl. See ya soon.’
And then I wrote, ‘Can’t wait.’”
Vandal snatches the paper out of my hand, glaring at me with a cold, menacing look. Holy shit, is he jealous?
“Who’s Jason?” he demands.
“He’s an old friend. I’ve known him since grade school.”
He nods slowly. “I see. And here you are, staying with a friend. Is that what we are?”
“No,” I reply without much conviction. I don’t know the right answer. “I don’t know.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Really? Do you fuck your friends? Do they tie you to the bed and lick every delicious inch of you until you scream?”
“No.”
“Do you suck your friends?”
“No, of course not.” Heat rises to my cheeks.
“Okay. I’m glad we have that clarified. Tell me, Tabitha, have you ever fucked Jason?”
My jaw clenches, and my chest tightens. “That’s rude . . .”
“Referring to me as a friend to your friend was rude, Tabitha. I’ve given you expensive gifts, I’ve invaded every orifice of your body, you’ve swallowed gallons of my cum, you sleep in my arms, in my bed, every night. I’ve invited you to live in my home indefinitely, all expenses paid, yet you think of me as a friend? How the fuck am I supposed to feel about that?”
My body trembles. I’ve never seen him mad before, and he is clearly beyond pissed right now. “I didn’t mean it, Vandal. Not like you’re thinking.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because he’s my friend and it’s a public page and my husband just died and it just seemed . . . easier. I didn’t even think about it.”
His jaw clenches, and I continue. “It’s no one’s business. What was I supposed to say? That I’m hanging out with my Dom? My boyfriend? My fuck-master?”
His eyes fly to meet mine, and now he’s surpassed pissed. “Fuck-master?” he repeats. “Now that’s a good one, Tabi. Actually, that’s the first I’ve ever heard that term, so bravo.”
“Vandal, I—”
“Answer me. Have you ever fucked Jason?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself. You know I hate it, and I will spank you if you play stupid.”
I let out a deep sigh and prepare myself. “Yes, I have had sex with Jason. A long time ago, in high school, we dated.”
“Outstanding.”
“He’s just a friend now; he and Nick were really good friends. He was in our wedding party.”
“He called you ‘baby girl.’ That’s a little overly friendly, isn’t it?”
Jason is a flirt, but that’s just who he is. I would never sleep with him again.
“Not for him. You don’t know him.”
“That’s right, I don’t. But I thought it was safe to assume that the woman who agreed to be my sub, and begged me to fuck her awake every morning forever, would not be making plans with another fucking guy the minute she gets back home. And I thought maybe you were staying here, like we talked about.” His voice rises. “I guess I was wrong. As fucking usual.”
Shit. I didn’t know he took all of that so seriously. Yes, of course I meant every word. I want to be his sub, and I’ve spent hours daydreaming about a forever with him, but I have no idea what’s part of the scene and what’s real. Or what he considers real.
“Do you want him?” he asks.
“God, no. Not at all. He’s just a friend.”
“So am I, apparently.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re not. You’re much more than that.”
“I know you’ve been reading, Tabitha. And I’m pretty sure you must have read the parts where it says that a sub is always, always, always, true to her fuck-master, as you think of me. That commitment is upheld at all times, no matter what. You don’t skirt around it on fucking social media, or conveniently leave it out when making dinner plans with another man that you have a history of fucking.”
“That’s not fair. We’ve never talked about what we are to each other. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say or how to act. I’ve asked you several times about us and what’s going to happen, but you ignore me. And where have you been all day? Visiting another girl you used to fuck, like last time? Do you tell them you have a little fucked-up, depressed sub waiting in your house for you?”
“I don’t discuss my personal life.”
I scoff at him. “Oh, so that’s okay? You’re a hypocrite.”
“It’s different. I’m in the fucking public eye, and I don’t want you to be part of that. And let me remind you, it’s not your place to question me.”
What the fuck? “Oh, please. How convenient. What public eye?”
“I’m in a band, Tabi. A pretty popular one. The fans and the press can be brutal.”
“You couldn’t have told me this sooner?” I ask. How could he not tell me all this?
“I just thought I meant more to you than this.” He throws the paper into the air and looks away from me, shaking his head and clenching his fists. He cares. It’s not just a game to him after all, and it’s scaring him. It’s clear as day to me now.
I gently put my hands on his legs and brace myself. I have to be honest with him, because I can’t stand to see him so pissed off and upset like this. “Vandal, please. I’m falling in love with you…”
He looks at me as if I’ve poured acid on him, his face contorted with disbelief and pain. “Don’t you dare fucking say that to me.”
“Why? It’s true.”
He stares at me, his eyes dark and icy.
“You don’t want to love me, Tabi. And you definitely don’t want me to love you. Trust me.” He whispers, “Love has no part in this.”
My heart plummets. “You’re lying,” I say, tears running down my face. “I can tell you love me.”
“You’re fucking delusional.”
I wince from his words. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because this is who I fucking am.”
“No,” I sob, “it’s not. This is who you’re telling yourself you are. If you don’t love me, why do you care about Jason? You wouldn’t be jealous if you didn’t care.”
He sneers at me. “Jealous? I don’t get jealous. I just don’t want some douchebag touching what’s mine.”
I almost fall back on my ass. “Yours? You don’t own me.”
“I guess you’ve learned nothing, then.”
I shake my head in disbelief at him, more tears streaming down my cheeks. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
; Standing, I pull the hem of the dress down, trying to cover myself, and kick off the stupid shoes.
“We’re not done,” he says, leaning forward.
“Yes, we are.” I turn to walk away, and he grabs me around the waist, pulling me down on his lap, crushing my back against his muscled chest, his arm snaking around the front of my waist to keep me from getting up.
“Let me go,” I try to push his arms off me, but he doesn’t budge.
“Not until you stop crying and put your shoes back on.”
I sniff and wipe my eyes, smearing the black eyeliner that just an hour ago I tried so hard to get perfect.
“You used to wipe my tears away,” I remind him, heartbroken.
He leans his forehead against my back. “I’d take all your tears away if I could. Believe me.”
Still with his arm wrapped around my waist, he leans down and grabs one of the shoes. “Slide your foot in.”
“No. Go to hell.”
“No means nothing to me, Tabitha. And I’ve been living in hell my entire life. Put the shoe on.”
“I don’t want to,” I say childishly.
“You know what I do when I ride?” he asks. “I think. In fact, it’s pretty much the only time I can clear my head enough to think at all. Sometimes I think about music, and write it in my head. Other times I think about my daughter and try to remember her smile. And sometimes, like today, I think about what I’m going to do to you.”
Maybe I am just some kind of toy for him and I’ve misread what I thought were signs of care, and possibly love. It’s possible that I’ve traded my grief for lust, and he’s right, that love has no part in this at all. Is every touch, every word, every glimpse of affection between us just part of a game that I didn’t realize I was playing?
Screwing my eyes closed to shut out more tears, I refuse to accept that. I can’t accept that. I know I love him; I’m sure of it. I want his happiness. I hate his pain. I want to be the one to show him that he can have a good life, and that he can have a relationship with a woman that doesn’t require being tied up to achieve a sense of control and mask his fear of being left. This isn’t a whim for me anymore. I like the sensuality of the game, but I want the love, too. Can we have both?