Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “If you say so.”

  “What time is the limo picking us up?” I’d traveled enough times with Cole to know his routine. We had to be at the airport in plenty of time to deal with the red tape involved when traveling with a guide dog. Although Freddie’s papers were always up to date, Animal Quarantine Service required twelve hours’ notice for travel between rabies-free countries and an embedded microchip of ISO standards detailing Freddie’s vaccination history. He had the chip, and I was sure Cole had already sent in the paperwork to American Airlines to ensure an uneventful boarding. The Air Carrier Access Act was very specific about allowing service dogs on board a flight at the owner’s feet. Since Cole always traveled first class, that wasn’t an issue. Making sure there were no glitches was time-consuming, but it saved a lot of drama down the road. Cole was extremely knowledgeable of his rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act, and I pitied the person who had the temerity to question him. He was brilliant at turning any sort of paperwork glitch into a personal attack, and anyone in their right mind who didn’t catch that from the beginning usually ended up looking like a fool.

  We’d used the same livery service for years, and they knew Cole preferred to be picked up earlier rather than later. He was anal about punctuality. It made for a long fucking wait until takeoff, but it was better than dealing with his anxiety.

  “The flight leaves at 11:00 a.m.”

  “So I suppose you want to be there by nine?”

  “More like eight thirty.”

  “Jesus, Cole….”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Text as soon as you leave your place.” We disconnected just as I rounded the corner to my building. The doorman greeted me with characteristic cheeriness and followed it up with a comment that made me pause. “Looks like Mr. Hamilton forgot something this morning. He came back in a big hurry to go upstairs.”

  “Is that right?” There was a momentary rush of excitement at the thought of Trent having a change of heart and crawling back to beg for my forgiveness. I should have known better.

  He slammed me up against the wall as soon as I walked through the door and began grinding against me. “Where the fuck were you?” His voice was husky, and he reeked of beer and cigarettes. It was shocking, since it wasn’t even noon yet and he rarely smoked anymore. We’d both talked about giving it up, and he’d made some good strides in that direction. At the moment, it appeared that he’d fallen off the wagon again and had been chain-smoking since leaving the house. Obviously, he wasn’t as calm about his decision as he appeared last night. It made me feel slightly better to know he was having second thoughts about leaving me in the lurch, but I could tell the booze was messing with his head.

  He began kissing me before I could answer, crushing my lips possessively. This wasn’t the kind of kissing I enjoyed. It was a savage claiming of property. My Dom wasn’t planning to back down, only reassert his rights as my partner, plus make damn sure I wouldn’t forget him while he was away. He gripped the back of my neck, holding me in place so I couldn’t turn my head to escape his greedy mouth. I tasted blood when he bit down on my lower lip, and I winced when he sucked on my tongue, practically ripping it out of my throat.

  Gathering whatever strength I had, I shoved him away. “What in the hell has gotten into you?”

  He wiped off my saliva with the back of his hand and glared. “You have, you little shit. I’m not leaving for Fort Bragg until I have your blessing.”

  “So you’re going to rape me to get it?”

  “Since when has consensual sex been called rape?”

  “Do I look like I’m having a good time?” I’d raised my voice, which always pissed him off, but I was seriously freaking out. Trent looked crazed, and he had the mother of all boners. My resistance seemed to be making him hornier rather than having the opposite effect. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still in my safeword mode. I didn’t retract it last night, and I’m invoking it again, just to remind you. I’m not on board with your behavior or your decision to run off and become a fucking mercenary. QUEEN!”

  “You big pussy,” Trent sneered. “We’re not even in a scene and you’re hiding behind your safeword.”

  I think I had already burst a few blood vessels trying to hold back my own temper, but it was a lost cause as soon as I heard that. Blood sizzled through my veins like hot grease, and I rushed him, pinning him up against the wall with a strength I didn’t even know I possessed.

  “How’s this for pussy?” I kneed him in the nuts and watched him crumple to the floor.

  Trent grabbed at his balls and groaned. “You’re going to regret that.”

  “I doubt it.”

  He brought me to my knees with a swift tackle, pressing me down with arms that were ten times stronger than mine would ever be. I wrestled with him, but it was as pathetic as a minnow fending off a shark. I was getting nowhere fast, and he was getting more and more aroused. This was a side of Trent I’d never seen before. Way back when I was initially attracted, Max had warned me that Trent was a power-hungry sadist and had a temper, but hearing it from someone else and seeing it firsthand were two different things. Who was this guy? I made one last attempt to snap Trent out of this violent mood.

  “You’re a piss-poor Dom for taking your frustrations out on your sub,” I growled, holding him away with shaky arms.

  He blinked and shook his head like I’d just doused him with ice water. “Don’t call me that, you fuck! If I were as bad as you say, I’d rip off your clothes and shove my cock up your skinny ass.”

  “Try it and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

  Trent laughed. He fucking laughed at me, which was probably the worst thing he could have done. Whatever illusions I had had that I was an equal in this relationship were shattered by that insulting sound.

  “You bastard.”

  “Shut up, Sloan. One of these days, I’m going to put a muzzle on you.”

  “That won’t turn me into the perfect submissive.”

  “What you need is a lesson in respect,” Trent said dangerously.

  Before I could filter my words, they came hurling out like vomit. “You don’t teach respect, asshole, you earn it!”

  He grabbed my cock and squeezed until I saw stars. “What’d you say?”

  “Trent, you’re hurting me.”

  He eased off a little, but he continued to hang onto my dick like it was a joystick. And I suppose, in a sense, it was. Trent had a weak spot for my cock. All I had to do was wag it in his face, and he reverted to a drooling adolescent. Today was no different despite the beer and bravado.

  “I want to fuck you before I leave.”

  “If you force me, we’ll never recover.”

  “You make me crazy, Sloan.”

  “This sudden need of yours to go back to your old life is what’s making you nuts,” I said. “Don’t you dare blame this on me.”

  “You’re supposed to stand by your man no matter what I do.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. It ain’t happening!”

  He savaged my mouth again, and I knew this wasn’t the time to have a discussion on the difference between mutual respect and blind obedience. He grappled with my belt and pawed at my zipper clumsily, but I refused to make this easy for him. My stubborn side rose up like a phoenix, and I tried to wriggle out of his grasp. All it did was make him grip me harder. Trent seemed a little desperate at this point, using brute force to try to regain control over a situation he’d clearly lost.

  “Stop resisting, babe. You’re going to feel like shit if I die in some hellhole and the last memory you take away is this stupid fight.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I could turn this ugly situation into something positive. Allowing him to fuck me might knock the fight out of him and, hopefully, fill him with remorse when the bloodlust dissipated.

  “You could say you’re sorry, you know?”

  He slum
ped down on my chest and murmured into my ear. “Please.”

  It wasn’t the apology I was hoping for, but he sounded contrite. And Trent was right about one thing: if anything happened to him in the Middle East, I’d never forgive myself for letting him go without a proper sendoff. Besides, I wanted him to miss me, and memories of sensational sex would make him eager to come home rather than stay away indefinitely.

  I stopped struggling, and he sensed it immediately. He pulled off my pants and boxers and draped my legs over his shoulders. When he began to lick, I relaxed even more, giving in to the pleasure as he slobbered over my ass crack. I might be the most disrespectful sub around, but I knew what turned him on, and Trent was definitely into me. Normally a methodical and by-the-book kind of guy, he was so far gone he couldn’t even take the time to lube up. Hell, saliva helped, but it was a shitty substitute for oil, and he’d be hurting too, a fleeting thought quickly banished by the sounds of greedy slurping.

  He flipped me over, and I felt his fat cock slipping down in between my cheeks and taking up position outside my hole. Slowly he rubbed against me, employing his precum as another source of lube as he slid back and forth, while I clenched in anticipation. He spread my legs apart with his thighs to get better access, and just when I thought I had a moment’s reprieve, he pushed against my opening. The muscles clamped shut, resisting the invasion, but he persisted and shoved through the barrier. The burning sensation took my breath away. It felt like he’d shoved a telephone pole up my ass, but the guy didn’t even pause when I grunted in pain. His primal need to possess had taken over, and he seemed oblivious to everything else.

  “Let me in,” he growled, pressing down on my back with both hands as he rocked, struggling to stay buried.

  I concentrated on my breathing, and little by little, my body yielded, and he slid in a bit deeper. He sighed with satisfaction at my surrender and lay immobile for a few seconds, savoring the moment.

  “Better?”

  “Much,” he replied gruffly. The question must have jump-started him because he began to move again. He pulled out and just as quickly shoved back in, pounding me relentlessly even as he continued to question my insubordination. “Damn you, Sloan,” he chanted in sync with his rocking. “Why the hell can’t you be more compliant?”

  My head bobbled up and down with his forceful thrusts, but I managed to gasp out a reply. “You knew what you were getting from the word go.”

  His fingers dug into my hips, and he jerked me closer. By now, I was immune to pain, and when he shifted the angle to graze my prostate, I moaned in pleasure. We’d turned into animals, rutting against each other in a desperate need to regain the connection we’d lost last night. I didn’t stop to think that I’d be more miserable when this was finally over. Walking around with a sore ass for days would only make me miss him more, but if this was going to be our last fuck for six weeks, I planned to make it count.

  I turned my head, hoping to catch his eye, since grabbing his ass and pulling him closer wasn’t an option. The striking blue gaze hadn’t softened one bit. He was intent on having me, and his eyes widened in surprise when I urged him on instead of begging for mercy.

  “Harder,” I demanded. “Make me feel every goddamn inch.”

  He slapped my thigh like I was his fucking racehorse, urging me to the finish line. I shut my eyes and got into the zone, relishing the ache that bloomed as his palm came down repeatedly. There was nothing tender about this moment, but it sure as hell would be memorable. My cock leaked, and I could smell the arousal seeping out of Trent’s pores. It was a musky scent that made me even hornier. I wanted this moment to go on forever, but I felt my balls tighten in anticipation, and Trent fell on me with a final shove, spilling his load in shooting spurts that filled me up and ran back out my hole to coat my balls. I came with a shout, and warm cum arced and hit me in the face as I bowed my head. Heaven and hell mixed into one fucked-up mess. I sighed when he pulled out and more of his cream slid out my chute, trickling down my taint.

  Chapter 6

  HE ROLLED off, and I heard him muttering as he staggered toward our bedroom. I stayed on the carpet, giving us each some much-needed space. By all rights, I should have been angry or miserable, but I wasn’t. How could I bust his chops when this had turned into one of our more memorable fucks? I throbbed in all the right places, and it was hard to keep up the level of anger I’d had when he’d started this seduction. Knowing Trent, he was probably beating himself up for losing control.

  The last few years had taught me that I was resilient enough to withstand almost anything; still, there was no denying my pride was hurt. If Trent could be lured away so easily, then wasn’t it proof I didn’t have the right stuff to keep a man long-term? On the plus side, it wasn’t another guy who was enticing him, but there was no way on earth I could compete with a bloody war. Would the real Trent Hamilton please raise a hand? Had I been living with the kinder, gentler imitation, or was the soldier who’d dry-fucked me the real deal? Begging him to stay might work right now, considering what just went down, but if I did, I’d never know for sure if he resisted the Army’s siren call for his sake or mine.

  Trent had done his best to boost my self-esteem so I no longer felt unworthy of the attention I received in the modeling world. I’d felt secure in his love and honestly thought our union would be the forever kind. Now, I was starting to wonder if there even was such a thing. To say that my expectations had been shattered by this turn of events would be an understatement. My life was blowing up in my face again, and I wasn’t sure who to blame. Maybe I was unlucky in love. Some people were, despite their best efforts. I’d tried to make this work, and everything had been going well until that fucking repeal—a long-awaited reform for the LGBT community but a disaster for me. Next time, I was going to vote Republican. Or not….

  Trent returned and was at my side in a second. He’d cleaned up nicely and looked and smelled like the man I loved. The shock of what had just happened seemed to have sobered him up as well. His eyes sparkled with intensity.

  Rubbing my ass, now branded with handprints I’d carry for days, he clucked and fussed like an old lady. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m just sort of floating.”

  “Sloan, I….”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry, because I know you enjoyed this as much as I did.”

  “I had no right to ignore your safeword earlier or mock you for using it.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but you did point out we weren’t in a scene.”

  “Nonetheless… it was inexcusable. It shouldn’t matter that we weren’t in a scene.”

  I sat up, grabbed one of the throw pillows that had fallen off the couch, crossed my legs, and covered my crotch so Trent wouldn’t be distracted. He was so easy sometimes. “When do you fly out?” I asked nonchalantly.

  He looked suspicious, probably wondering if I had something up my sleeve, but it was simple curiosity. I had made up my mind to resist the urge to beg. It was pointless. Better for him to get this yearning out of the way and come back with a clear head. This would make or break us, but I’d be distracted enough with Cole’s problem to survive the separation without resorting to drastic measures.

  “Are you giving me permission?”

  “It never really mattered, Trent. You’d have gone with or without my okay, but yes, for our combined sanity, you may have my blessing for this segment only. I think its best that you see with your own eyes what you’re in for if you decide to re-up.”

  “And if I think it’s the right move?”

  “There’ll be plenty of time when you get back to discuss this in more detail. I say we should put our future on hold until then.”

  “You’re being surprisingly mature about this.”

  “Aren’t I? Our morning sessions have obviously paid off.” In truth, my emotional stockpile was completely depleted. I was too tired to argue and too jaded to hope. The next six weeks would come around soon enough, and I’d de
al with my choices at that time.

  “I wish you’d let the wedding ceremony take place before I leave.”

  “Let’s not go there, okay? For now, we’ll agree to disagree. You kiss me good-bye, I’ll wish you good luck, and we’ll e-mail or text as often as possible. They do allow you to communicate while you’re slaughtering the Taliban, right?”

  He winced but nodded. “I’ll stay in touch.”

  “Good to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to clean up.” I stood and glanced down where he remained kneeling. “What time’s your flight?”

  “It’s at 1630.”

  I shook my head. “Already with the military lingo and you haven’t even left the apartment. Does that translate to four thirty this afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to accompany you to the airport?”

  “I’d like that,” he said softly. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Then I will,” I said breezily, as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  In the shower, reality hit and I began to cry. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was crying for—my broken dreams, the twins, Trent’s safety—but the tears kept on flowing. Fortunately, I’d learned how to cry silently and it paid off. Trent never suspected a thing.

  The limo picked us up at one thirty, plenty of time for the forty-minute ride to LaGuardia. He was going to take a commercial flight to North Carolina and wanted to be there two hours ahead. Somehow, I always ended up with anal-retentive men who lived by the clock. It was incongruous, considering I didn’t even own a watch.

  He held my hand the whole way, and as we neared the airport, he put an arm around my shoulders and drew me close. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he said somberly.

  “Is it too late to back out?”

  “I’ve given my word, Sloan.”

  “You made me a promise on the yacht, Trent. You said you would honor me above all others. Putting the Army ahead of me is a direct violation of that vow. I’m supposed to come first.”