Fortune

by Annabel Joseph

  “Ryan,” she whispered.

  “Yes, doll?”

  “I have to go.”

  Chapter Six

  Kat stayed in her room almost all of Sunday. She didn’t want to face her mother. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She needed to be alone. Ryan called and she didn’t answer. At dinner she watched the chatter of her large family like a spectator. She felt numb, confused. Detached. Her foray into submission at Ryan’s home had sent her world lurching sideways. Pleasure and fear warred with some other new emotion she felt. Love.

  But that was ridiculous. It all came down to the deep intimacies he demanded and the bodily responses she’d felt. The idea of love was ludicrous and she hated herself for mooning over him. Basically he was just really, really good in bed. She tried to convince herself that’s all it was and then tried to forget him altogether. Without success.

  After dinner she wandered into her father’s small TV room. He was watching a cowboy movie, his favorite. In Westerns the good guys and bad guys were always blatantly obvious. In life, Kat thought…not so much.

  “Little princess,” he said in Russian as she pulled up a chair beside him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grunted. “Something is wrong. You are troubled tonight.”

  After a moment she sighed. “I just don’t know, Papa. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what, zaika?”

  “I don’t know how to change. I don’t know how to stop doing things that…that make me…unhappy…” Her throat closed on the last word, making a pathetic strangling sound that very much expressed how she felt. Her papa reached for her hand, clasped it tightly.

  “You must not be unhappy. This is not good.”

  “I know.”

  They both fell silent, sat together in comfortable stillness. Her papa always soothed her when no one else could, because he would just hold her hand and make no other demands on her. She looked down at his hand in hers, parchment white, with more liver spots than she remembered. Her papa was getting old. She was getting old. Life was rolling along, rolling past her with a velocity she didn’t know how to halt.

  “How did you know, when you met Mama?” she asked. “How did you know she was the one for you? Did you love her right away?”

  He blinked, looking past her, considering. “Ah, Katyusha,” he murmured. “I don’t remember.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But you know what?” he said a moment later. “It does not matter how or when you know. It matters that you love, not how you know or how you find it. If you love, you love.” He looked back at his cowboy movie, waved his other hand in a light gesture. “Katya, you think too much. You have too much intelligence. This is my fault, I fear.”

  Kat laughed softly. “Yes. It’s all your fault.”

  He squeezed her hand, warm gentle pressure. “Are you… Are you in love?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know? Poufft.” He tore his gaze from the flickering Western to look over at her hard and took her chin in his hand. “It is very important to know. And yet not important at all. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  “Ah well. You know…love…it begins in the heart, not up here,” he said, tapping her temple. “It is not thinking and knowing, zaika. It is feeling. How do you feel? Mama tells me it is the doctor you are seeing. This is true?”

  “Yes. I suppose.”

  “And how do you feel about him?”

  “I don’t know. That’s just it. I don’t know how I feel about him.”

  “Knowing is nothing. How do you feel? Here?” He laid a hand on her heart. She looked at him, considering.

  “I feel scared,” she finally said. “I feel anxious.”

  “Oh.” Her father’s brows drew together and he turned back to his show. “In that case…”

  She waited a moment. “In that case, what, Papa?”

  He stared back at her, a million miles away. She kissed him on his cheek and squeezed his hand. She watched the rest of the Western with him in silence until his grip loosened on her hand and he drifted to sleep. When Kat left to go up to her room and get ready to go out, her mama watched her closely but, for once, held her tongue.

  * * * * *

  The gay club was the place to be Sunday night. For years she’d come here to soak in the fun. The place was cavernous, dark, smoky, a thousand times cooler than Masquerade. The music was louder and more current, and the man flesh was definitely hotter, albeit not interested in her. Still, it was a great place to lose herself. At least it used to be.

  Kat felt more and more like an outsider at the clubs. Since she’d taken a few weeks off, since her tumble down the stairs, since him…the clubs didn’t feel the same. She felt trapped between her past life and her future—a future she didn’t know yet. She felt alone, stranded. No one talked to her. She realized there was only one person who wanted to talk to her and that was the person whose calls she’d ignored all day. She left her phone at home, thinking to escape him, thinking to come out to the clubs and have a blast the way she always had. Thinking to prove to herself that she didn’t need him at all.

  To her chagrin, she found she had never wanted him more.

  She made her way through the throngs of hard, sweaty bodies and pounding drumbeats to the fresh coolness outside. She headed to a pay phone only to realize she had no change. She sweet-talked a lesbian in line out of some change and returned to the phone only to remember she didn’t know his number. She thought just a moment before she turned and began to walk. So convenient, that he lived in Cambridge. Cambridge was close, a few blocks walk. She knew his street and was fairly sure she would remember his house. She looked at her watch. It was nearly one. She hoped she remembered his house or she might really alarm somebody.

  When she got to the door she thought was his, she knocked softly. If this wasn’t his house, she hoped no one answered with a gun. After another moment, she screwed up her courage and rang the bell. She had to be crazy. What was she doing here? She took a deep breath, a couple seconds away from aborting her mission, when the lock turned. The door swung open and he stood looking out at her through the storm door, rubbing his tousled hair. He was shirtless, in jersey gympants that rode low on his hips, drawing her eyes there. She quickly looked back up at his face, blushing.

  He opened the door to let her into the foyer. “Kat. Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

  It suddenly occurred to her that he had most certainly been sleeping. He probably had work early in the morning. God, he was probably going to screw up and kill someone on the operating table, all because she’d decided she had to see him tonight.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. Answer my question. What are you doing here?” He looked over her shoulder, outside. “Did you walk?”

  “I walked from Club Bronze. It wasn’t far.”

  He made a face, a quiet sound of frustration. “And now here you are. It’s one in the morning. I called you several times today to see if you wanted to come over.”

  “I…I didn’t answer.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry. You have to understand…understand—”

  “You need to understand this, Ekaterina,” he said, cutting her off in a curt, impatient voice. “If I let you in here, you’re not just going to take what you want and skip on home.”

  “Take what I want? I don’t… I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  His jaw tightened. He reached behind her and opened the storm door. “Out.”

  “Please…” She bit her lip, at a loss for words. She needed him, needed his help, but he was too annoyed to give it to her. She looked up at him in the semidarkness, at his nearly black eyes, his pursed, impatient lips. She felt guilty, desperate to mollify his irritated mood. “Please let me stay, Ryan. Please…I…I need you.”

  “Why?” he as
ked sharply. “Why do you need me?”

  “Because. Because…” She knew she had to come up with something plausible, something believable. “Because…” She put her hand over her heart, thought of her papa. “Because I feel something here. And it really hurts. Can you help me? You’re a doctor.”

  His expression softened. He might have even chuckled softly under his breath. “Cardiac is not my field, Kat.” He put his hand on her waist, just a tentative brush of fingertips, but it held her immobile. He gazed at her, hard intention and seriousness again. “If I let you in, you’re spending the night with me. You’re sleeping in my bed until morning.”

  “I’ll spend the whole week. I’ll spend the whole month in your bed if you want. Just please—”

  Her voice cut off on a quaver as his arms came around her. He bent his head to her, nuzzled her neck, ran insistent fingers into her hair and tugged a little, tilting her head back. His lips settled over hers and she went loose and shivery in his arms. All the loneliness and confusion, all the numbness went away. He was warm and solid, clasping her close. He smelled fresh and clean, just-showered, not smoky and brittle like her. “I’m sorry,” she said, and “I missed you.” She breathed the words against his lips when he let her come up for air. He didn’t reply, only kissed her again, pressing against her so she felt the solid outline of his cock against her front.

  “It’s late,” she whispered then.

  “Never too late,” he whispered back, leading her toward his room.

  She felt a strange peace, a warm fuzziness as he pulled her down the hall behind him. She felt it in her chest and in her pelvis. She loved the way his hand clasped hers so tightly. She gazed up at his broad back and straight shoulders as she followed him, stared at the movement of his hips. A faint light issued from his room and again she felt guilt that she had awakened him.

  But as she slipped behind him into the bedroom, she saw he hadn’t been sleeping at all. His bed was covered in a mess of glossy multicolored paper squares and already folded cranes. There were piles of them, perhaps a hundred or more. He looked sheepish for a moment, the corner of his lip drawn up in a self-deprecating smile. “I make them sometimes when I’m anxious. Frustrated.” He moved to the bed and swept them to the floor in a careless movement that startled her.

  “Oh, Ryan. They’ll break. They’ll get crushed down there.”

  He spun to her. His dark eyes blinked, once, twice. “They’re only paper. Isn’t that what you said once? You’re more important right now. Come here.”

  She went to him, feeling mournful about the swiped-away, scattered figures. “What are you so anxious about?” She thought of the stressful work he did, complicated surgeries and consultations.

  “You,” he growled. He kissed her again, harder, deeper, his fingers fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. She sensed anger in his touch and wondered why it didn’t scare her. Perhaps it wasn’t anger, only need. She knew she needed him. She helped him pull off her tights with trembling fingers, let him unhook her bra and toss it behind her. She had on skimpy panties—she heard the seam rip as he shoved his hand down the waistband and grabbed her ass, cupping and squeezing it with rough urgency. It was still sore from… Was it just last night he’d spanked her? With a soft grunt, he tore off the filmy panties, tossing them somewhere over by her bra. He slapped her ass hard and she cried out, more from arousal than the sting. He slapped her again and she pressed closer to him, grasped at him, whining into the hollow of his neck. He nudged her head back and kissed her with voracious, focused intent even as he slapped her ass a third time. She moaned into his mouth as dull throbbing heat spread across her ass cheeks and down to the center between her legs. She wanted to cry out Fuck me! Take me! But she knew instinctively that he would not appreciate orders from her, especially not in his current mood.

  He drew away from her with another low sound of pent-up frustration. “Go. Go lie on the bed. On your back. Arms over your head.”

  His words barely registered and yet her body moved to do just as he asked. No, not asked. Required. He kicked off his sweatpants and looked back at her watching him. She was afraid of what he might do to her, but she couldn’t have left for anything. He opened a drawer and rooted around in the low light, producing a pair of thick leather cuffs. He strode back to the bed and she stared at the sight of him. He was all force and strength, his abs contracting, his arms poised at his side, arms Kat believed could hold up the earth if they had to. He crawled onto the bed, knelt beside her and pulled her hands up hard above her so she felt manhandled. He buckled the cuffs on with a quickness and ease born of experience and hooked them behind one of the spindles on the headboard of his bed.

  “Oh,” she sighed.

  He looked down at her. “Oh, what? Too tight? Do they feel okay?”

  “I think I’m going to die.” Silly words. But honestly, how else to describe it? Her pussy felt alive with need, aching for him. Her whole body pulsed. She pulled at the restraints as he watched her, then turned her hips to one side in a defensive—or perhaps desperate—movement. He reached down, his eyes black in the soft light, and thrust two fingers roughly up inside her. She was so wet, so wet. What must he think? He smiled down at her, a knowing grin.

  “I’ve half a mind to leave you this way. This is fun to watch. And I think you deserve it.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He couldn’t be so cruel. “Please!”

  “You and your never-ending ‘pleases’. All they mean is give me what I want.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I want you. But please… Sir…what do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

  He laughed and knelt over her, straddling her. He brought his fingers to her mouth, soaked with her feminine essence. “Anything? Suck,” he said softly. “Suck my fingers clean, then suck my cock.”

  She tasted herself, her own arousal and need on his broad fingers. He leaned forward and guided his cock to her mouth, leaning over her so she was trapped, impaled. He felt so thick, so hard between her lips. She licked around the velvety tip, exploring the rigid contours. When he moved deeper into her, her mouth was wet and ready. She realized she had salivated for him, eager to take his length.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She looked up, opened her eyes and peered up at the man who subdued her, who was staring down at her while he eased his cock in and out of her mouth. He looked feral for a moment. Terrifying. Her hands moved in the rough cuffs, made fists and twisted in a small panic. Then he whispered, “Good girl.”

  He withdrew from her slowly. Her mouth still waited, open, feeling empty. He leaned down and kissed her hard, his tongue now pressing into her mouth. He licked her lips, groaned softly against her as her hips rose up to contact his cock wedged between them. With a stifled curse he tore himself away and lunged for the bedside drawer. He ripped open the condom and rolled on the latex barrier, then shoved her legs apart, wide, wider, until she squeaked. He slapped her between the legs, on the inside of each thigh. It was pain, but desperate, abject pleasure. She needed to be filled by him. The emptiness inside her was at its peak. The sensation, the slaps, the pinches, the strokes had built to an unbearable, insupportable tension.

  “Please,” she whispered. Please, a million times.

  He pulled her knees up, spreading her wider, pulling her down against her bonds. He sat back on his heels so his cock jutted up between them, nestled at her entrance. He looked down at her then, a predator going for the kill. She wanted to look away it was so frightening, but she didn’t dare. He dropped his hips and squeezed her thighs and thrust inside her, his size a pressing, invading ache. She burst into tears, not from pain or fear, but relief. She was going to come in seconds, mere moments. She looked up at him, frantic, and he nodded down at her. “Go,” he said. “Go on. I’ve got you.”

  She came apart. She shattered, she shimmered. She convulsed and lost herself in an orgasm that turned her upside down. He just watched her with a faint victorious smile, amused affect
ion. Then he fell over her, pumped in her hard so her cuffs rattled against the headboard. His knees drove into the bed between her legs. The rough hair on his chest chafed her and his hands gripped her arms, holding her down, down, down, hard and fast. He overpowered her completely. When he came, shuddering, he crushed her so she could barely breathe. She lay still beneath him, feeling peace at last.

  He was still a little in shock. When she hadn’t answered his calls, he’d tried to write her off, cut her out of his heart. Part of him thought that was the better thing to do. But then seeing her there at the door, hearing her plead with him to let her stay… His resolve crumbled, vanquished by her lush needful body. Now he held her close, tucking her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her soft dark curls tickled his chest and her skin was impossibly velvety and soft against his. He ran his fingertips over her, from perfectly formed breasts to delicate waist and hips, to smooth thighs.

  They started to talk after a while, quiet negotiating. What they discussed was important but his mind was elsewhere. Between her legs. Wrapped around her fingers. Sliding over her hips.

  “The thing is,” she said in a soft voice, “I won’t always want to call you Sir.”

  He looked back at her, trying to concentrate over the sensory shock of having her so near, so sweet and pliable next to him. He ran a finger down her jaw, stroked her chin. He kissed her softly and framed a tentative answer. “Of course you won’t.”

  “But I don’t know if…if you only like me as a submissive.”

  “I like you as Kat. What about you? Do you only like me as a Dominant?”

  “No. That’s only part of it.” She drew her fingertips through the hair on his chest, a casual gesture that made his jaw tense. Her caresses were a rousing pleasure he felt in his balls and his cock. He leaned down to kiss her again, a messy wet kiss, his groin tightening—his constant response to her. He fed on her rare sweetness and openness. When they drew apart he rested his hand on one of her lovely ass cheeks and looked down at her thoughtfully.