Another tug at the collar. “We were having a problem with our stud, but Jase saw to that. As it is, we’re making a loss. But it’s a new business! You know how things like that work!”
“How much of a loss? I thought we were making money hand over foot!” I bark, scowling over at him and then, I hold up a hand. Enough is enough. “Get your stories straight for the morning. I’m too tired to listen to this bullshit. I’m going to bed. One of you, help Nate upstairs, when he’s ready.”
Three
Okay, so I abandoned him downstairs.
Not exactly a smooth move considering our earlier conversation in the plane. But I had to get out of there. I just had to. Uncle Sam is one of the only people on this planet who can get my goat within ten minutes of our being together. For all that, I love him. He’s a pain in the ass, a major one, but my affection for him is real. It would be too easy to explode, to go atomic on his ass after what he’s done, but I’ve been back in Montana for twenty minutes. I don’t want to self-combust in anger. I’m tired, weary, and nervous about being here. I’m also on tenterhooks with Nate!
Storming out of the room might have been a bad idea, but I compounded it by ignoring Nate’s low call of my name. His low shout had me hovering on the staircase. For a good minute, I’ve hesitated here. A part of me wanting to go up and the other, reacting to that low tone, making me wonder if I should go down and back to his side.
That I’m even questioning myself has me striding up the stairs, but I know, he’ll be pissed off. But Christ, a woman can only take so much. And I’m not a dog. I don’t come running when a guy calls my name!
Feeling justifiably furious, I stomp up the stairs and head down the hallway to the bottom of the corridor, which is where my old suite of rooms lies. I remember Nate’s earlier words, the fait accompli discussed before that hideous night of the shooting, which would have me staying with him in his room as soon as I got here, but I ignore the memory. Things have most definitely changed since then. He probably needs his space. Not to mention time to get his head straight.
That could just be wishful thinking.
Banging the door, I switch on the light. Nothing’s changed here, either. It’s as if time stopped and I guess when Jimmy died, it did.
The lounge is a throwback to my teenage self. An old black box of a television stands on a low table covered in a flowery, frilly doily. A sofa, covered in matching flowers, sits opposite. Around the room, there are posters of my teenage crushes. Brad Pitt. Tom Cruise. Robert Downey Jr.
I’d been a weird teenager. Alone, but enjoying the solitude, needing it so I could create the wild figurines, the vibrant sculptures that in the local towns, I was starting to be renowned for. That changed when I met Jimmy. Many things did. New feelings emerged, feelings I hadn’t understood.
It had been during that period, when I can remember lying on the couch, the window wide open as a summer breeze floated in, legs spread as I masturbated to the one porn flick I’d found in the commune’s video library. It had obviously been put back there by mistake and I’d snatched it and seen more than I’d bargained for.
Watching cattle and knowing the logistics didn’t make the actual act any less shocking. At first, I’d been embarrassed, then uncomfortable and then horny.
The time between meeting Jimmy and the pair of us losing our virginity had been a difficult one. I’d wanted him, but had been playing hard to get. One of the girls in Sheridan, a kid I’d known from elementary school, had been five months pregnant at sixteen. Unusual for the nineties. I’d been terrified about the idea of getting pregnant, but still, I’d been needy.
That porn flick had pushed me through a very trying time. And the one thing my parents did give me was privacy. Not out of generosity to their daughter, simply because they didn’t give a crap. That did have its advantages. Sometimes.
A sad grin creases my mouth and I stride across the room and head to the bedroom. More nineties revival furniture. More posters. More frilly and flowery fabrics that make me heave now. But it’s all clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere.
I head to the closet hoping the bright orange pine cupboard still houses some of my old clothes. It does. Relieved I don’t have to return downstairs for my cases, I grab a T-shirt and pull off my fitted silk, pinstriped vest and the matching trousers. I’ve been dressed like I have a meeting with my attorney; have been since I landed in Chicago. The only things I brought with me from Manhattan were stuff I’d grabbed in a hurry. I should have taken the time to bring some casuals. Instead, at the hospital, I looked like a corporate shark and not a visitor. I never left Nate long enough to go out and buy some new gear. Thinking about it, I should have done.
Shrugging out of the clothes with a grimace at my lack of foresight, I pull on the shirt and climb into bed. The scent of summer, blue skies and fabric softener fill my nose and before I switch off the overhead light, I take a look around a room I’d once considered cool.
What had I been thinking?
Pine ruled. Bookshelves, cupboards, dressers, even the bed. More posters, some of hot guys and others with quotes, rebelling against society. One wall was filled with my sketches, the prelim drawings of my sculptures. I was never one for being tucked away in here. I was always down at the studios, doing something crazy with clay or glass. Those were the days.
Another smile tugs at my lips and I reach for the switch. Darkness fills the room and for a few minutes, those silent moments, I come to terms with the fact I’m here. I’m really here.
I swallow back the sudden surge of tears that linger at the back of my throat and press closed fists to my eyes. It’s only when I’m here that the sheer peace of the place can astound me. A distant bray of the cattle, perhaps a rustle from somewhere in the house, but where are the sounds of traffic? Of honks and toots? Of people and sirens?
It’s like being on an alien planet.
In a good way.
I’m here.
Really here.
I want to shake my head at the thought, question my sanity at actually returning to this madhouse, but before I can, I hear the outer door of my rooms open.
It can only be Nate.
The door swings open and the light from the lounge pierces the darkness in my bedroom. I blink, gawking at his shadowy form.
“I didn’t realize you had a crush on Brad Pitt.”
“I was fifteen at the time.” Whatever I thought he’d say, it hadn’t been that!
He hums under his breath and switches on the ceiling light. I blink back the glare and stare up at him from between my duvet and cozy pillow. He looks around, takes in the artwork on the wall and the rest of the adolescent paraphernalia on the shelves, anything from yo-yos to trolls. But his attention is mostly on the drawings. He limps over to the wall covered in paper tacked to the surface, as he studies it, he murmurs, voice soft, “I called you back.”
“I heard.”
My defiance has his head turning to the side to stare at me. And it’s then I realize why I looked away earlier and why I’m looking away now. When a tiger stares at you, you look away. You don’t stare back, do you? Not unless you fancy being tiger kibble!
My eyes trace the flowers on the duvet and I swallow as he continues, “Different rules now, Marina. You know that. I told you in the plane.”
“No, you didn’t actually. You didn’t tell me word for word that if you called, I was to come running!”
“No, I didn’t. You aren’t wrong. But tonight is the last night for any defiance without punishment.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, scowling at him.
“I mean exactly what I said. You defy me, or misbehave or lie or do anything I don’t think is appropriate, you get punished.”
“Who died and made you king?”
He snorts. “The nurses tell me I almost died a few times. So maybe that question isn’t appropriate?” When red tinges my cheeks, he smiles. “But, to answer, you did. It’s the same answer as I gave you earlier.”
“Anything I think is necessary.”
“What do you class as defiance?”
“When I call you, you come. Tonight, you didn’t. You ignored me. Plus, you’re here and not in my room. Two acts of defiance. Twice, you’ve gone against what I’ve said.”
Lifting a hand to my head, I wriggle my fingers through my hair. The act of self-comforting doesn’t do much apart from make my scalp tingle. “I’m a human being, capable of ruling myself. I don’t need you to control me. I’m not a child in need of chastisement, Nate.”
“No? I’d say that’s exactly what you are. A spoilt brat. You’re used to your own way and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”
I’ve read too many BDSM romance novels, seen too many scenes at Papillon to fail to realize where this is going. “I’m not submissive and I wouldn’t pin you down as a Dom, either.”
“Like I said on the plane. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. That part of myself is one thing I’ve kept separate from you. And the other, you’ve hidden from yourself. You’re most definitely a sub.”
Frowning at him, I sit up. Beavis glares at him from my shirt. “Just because you say it, doesn’t make it so. You want me to fit into some weird-ass fetish fantasy, then just labelling me won’t do. But hey, I like kink. Just not on a daily basis.”
He ignores that and cool as a cucumber says, “I’m not labelling. You know you’re a sub. Maybe not with most people. You take charge, you’re in control. But never with me.”
“Look, I let you take over in the bedroom and hell, you open a few doors for me, order my dinner whenever we go out: that doesn’t make me a sub. I’m not submissive.”
He shrugs. “If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. You’ll still get punished. Only you won’t enjoy it like a sub would. I guess we’ll see who’s right, when the time comes to discipline you.”
Discipline.
My pussy tingles at the idea. That simple word change has all kinds of ideas flittering through my brain. Punishment made me think of punches and pinches. Violence and cruelty. Mona’s father! Discipline, on the other hand... the very noun has my nipples peaking.
I don’t get why. I truly don’t think I am a sub. Sure, I enjoyed watching the scenes at Papillon. The brazenness. The in-your-face sexuality of it all. The sub’s apparent helplessness ̶ at her Dom’s command. The idea that while the sub isn’t in control, she holds the control. The freakish, distorted power play has always intrigued me... but I’m a voyeur, not submissive.
Aren’t I?
Biting my lip, I whisper, “How long do you think I need to be disciplined for?”
I’ve never been disciplined. My parents left rules with the housekeepers and I had to follow them; no cookies or candy. Just healthy, boring, organic food. When I was young; no video games or TV after seven. That kind of thing. Not for me, but the welfare of my genius.
I wasn't rebellious as a kid, so I just did as I was told. Only after Jimmy died, when my world turned upside down, did this new Marina emerge. One who refused to follow rules, who did what she wanted, when. I’d been too old to be controlled and soon after, I’d left.
Discipline has never been a part of my life, so maybe that’s why the idea of being chastised seems so alien. So exotic.
Or maybe I’m just being a freak.
“You’re off the rails, Marina. You know it and I know it. How long’s a piece of string? It might take years to turn you into the sort of person who isn’t proud of running a brothel! Or who can calmly lie to the police.” He turns around and walks to the door, he stands there with his back to me. “We’ll know when you change. When your behavior modifies to that of a decent human being, who doesn’t get their lover shot by the fucking mafia.” He pulls in a long, angry breath and on the exhalation states, “It’s time for bed. I’m fucked. I’ll expect you in my room before I switch off the light. And if you don’t, well, you know how it works now. You’ll be disciplined for your misbehavior.
“Tomorrow is the first day of your new life. If you don’t want it or me, then stay here. Be alone. Like you’ve always been. Live recklessly and without fear for the consequences. If you’re ready to change, then I’ll see you in two.”
Four
When I look back on tonight, I’ll realize it was the night my life changed. I had the choice. He gave me the choice. It might have been couched in the terms of an order, but I could stay in my room or go to his. The decision to change was mine.
I crawled out of bed the instant the outer door of my suite snapped to a close and was in Nate’s room as soon as I could figure out which one belonged to him. Three doors down, I slinked inside. Shocked at the darkness, I realized he might take my tardiness as defiance rather than just being lost and I stumbled my way to the bed. I found it, felt for the covers with my hands and managed to climb in without too much damage to my shins. I must have looked like Marley’s ghost, hands outspread wandering through the pitch black, but unless Nate has night-vision goggles, he didn’t see my impression of a ghoul.
And now, I lie here knowing he’s awake but not saying anything. It’s good to be back in a bed with him. Had things been okay with us at the hospital, when he’d been better, I’d have spent a lot of time sharing a mattress with him. It’s always like that with us. We might have spent months apart, but we’re glued together the instant we’re in each other’s company. So the two feet of space between us is odd. But welcome.
I’d like nothing more than to cuddle up against him, even though with any other guy, I’m no cuddler. I want to sleep skin to skin, press my back to his chest, have his back to mine. The distance puts me on edge but is a necessary evil. I’m here. Something that’s a miracle in itself. I can’t be greedy.
Despite my resolve, my foot crawls over the breadth of the space separating us and I nudge his big toe with mine.
“Did I tell you you could touch me?”
His low voice makes me jump and my foot scurries back to its earlier position. It’s hard to believe, but at his chastisement, my pulse has increased and I’m breathing heavily. I could note it down as surprise, but if anything, I’d expected him to make some form of rejection.
Sucking in air to calm myself down, I stare up at the ceiling and wonder if he’s going to say anything else. He doesn’t and somehow that’s worse than anything.
This whole discipline crack is going to be hard. Mostly because he’s right. I do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. And I’m rich. I can afford to do anything. Hell, it’s no wonder he thinks I’m as dangerous as firecrackers in a barn full of hay! Curbing those leanings is going to be nigh on impossible. But I guess that’s where Nate comes in.
I picture him in the gear I’ve seen some of my former clients wear. Leather chaps and shorts, PVC shirts, talc stains at the hems and whip in hand. But I can’t imagine it. I know from Rosalie, the professional sub at Papillon, as well as books I’ve read and things I’ve seen on the net, that no Dom/sub relationship is cut and dry.
Every partnership is different just as every so-called normal couple is.
There are the folk whose limits are being cuffed to the bed, and then there are those who can be whipped until they’re bloody or be pissed on in the shower... I guess I’m going to have to figure out what my limits are. I know enough about this lifestyle to realize I’m going to have to tell Nate what they are.
Toilet play is most definitely out, but again, I doubt Nate is into that stuff. Being whipped? Practically beaten and roughly used? No. Any arousal in my body would wither away and die at the prospect of Nate drawing blood from my poor butt with a whip. I’m into rough sex, and like I said earlier, kink, but that’s way too far out of my comfort zone.
Nate knows I like to fuck. I think back to our last trip together, when he dragged me into the phone booth in the hotel and fucked me in the tiny space. Pinning me to the wall, gagging me with his hand to keep me quiet, urging me to an orgasm that nearly b
linded me with its power. He’s always been rough, aggressive even. Not violent, just…
The word pops into my head and the instant it does, it’s like a light bulb bursting in my brain.
Dominant.
He dominated me without my even realizing it. He led me to the phone booth, pulled aside my panties and fucked me. He overloaded me with one-hundred percent him, closeted me in a tiny space that made the universe boil down to just the pair of us, until the very air I breathed was loaded with his essence. And I didn’t argue, didn’t even think to stop him. I submitted. To Nate. Without knowing it. Christ.
I just thought of him as being kinky. His aggression always turned me on, made me feel so powerful, because it was a sign of how much he wanted me. And I guess it’s no different, even knowing what I do now. But still… dominant. Wow. I form the word with my mouth as I stare up at nothing.
My eyes are sightless but my mind is buzzing, creating image after image of the pair of us together. That same night, back in April, he fucked me in the ass afterward. He was rough and I loved every second of it. I begged for more. Every part of me had craved him, desperate for everything he could give me. I’d wanted him to overpower me, to dominate me. How could I have been so stupid to have failed to see the truth of who and what I am?
Moron.
I’m ashamed at my lack of insight, but my thoughts are like quicksilver. They pass through my head at the speed of light so shame doesn’t sit with me long, before other things enter my mind. Shifting my mood within seconds.
I picture Rosalie as I last saw her ̶ professionally, at any rate. Bent over and locked into position, legs spread wide and pussy stuffed full with a dildo. And God help me, the same thing happens as it did that day. Arousal begins to simmer through my veins. I can feel my own sex start to heat up at the idea of being restrained. A part of me thinks, ‘Whoa! Back the hell up!’ But it’s too late for that, I’m already turned on.
Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) Page 5