Nervous

by SM Johnson

  “Got it. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Was he laughing at me? I hoped he wasn’t laughing at me.

  “We’ll take the subway and find a thrift store. I’ll help you create a fuckable wardrobe, and we’ll go to the play. We can have dinner somewhere, but not,” he gave me an inscrutable look, “at a hot dog cart. A sit down and order dinner. If you can handle it.”

  Maybe I could handle it, depending how the shopping went. “No promises,” I said. “I might be too anxious to eat.”

  “I bet I can shut down your anxiety, so let’s plan on having dinner.”

  What the heck did that mean?

  He didn’t give me even a clue, just wandered into the kitchen.

  I picked up my tablet, thinking I’d read some more.

  “Do you want ice cream?” Avery called from the kitchen.

  Of course I did.

  He came back with two bowls, and that damned envelope with the demon story. I wished again and again and again that I’d picked anything else.

  Avery tipped the pages out and laid the pile on the coffee table. “I’m trying to figure out how the author could have made it clear that the scary thing was a demon.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it’s bothering me,” he said, and something in his tone was a little sharp. “Because I’m an editor and an agent, and I should just know, but I’m stumped.”

  He couldn’t get the story out of his head, either, and that tickled me.

  “Backstory, maybe?” I suggested. “A near-death experience? Maybe the demon saved his life, but everything was so confusing he doesn’t remember the details. Maybe he sold his soul to survive. Or maybe he dabbles in the occult and called it to him, and now he’s stuck with it. I mean, he had to do something to get its attention.”

  He seemed to think about it, then picked up the pages and started reading.

  I went back to my own reading.

  About five minutes later, Avery said, “I think you’re right. There needs to be some backstory. But I wonder where it would fit?”

  He put the pages back into the envelope, and picked up his laptop.

  Yes, Friday night at Avery’s was just like a Friday night at home. Except for the constant interruption.

  And the kissing that happened when Avery got bored.

  And a short time later his hand rubbing me until… well. Never mind.

  In the morning I discovered, as I’d suspected, that the public transportation system was fairly straight-forward. The bulk of the city was more or less set up in a logical grid. Avery showed me first how to find the office, and then looked up thrift stores on his phone and found one that was a ten minute walk from there.

  The shopping part went as well as could be expected, considering it was more of a second-hand store, and considering Avery bossed me to try on these pants and this shirt, and that jacket. All of which went on for at least two hours, and then he bossed me into a sit-down café for lunch. Or brunch, or whatever meal it is when people eat breakfast food at lunchtime.

  I didn’t complain. It was a casual atmosphere, almost grungy, and breakfast, especially bacon, is my favorite food. The bacon at Big Al’s Café was exceptional.

  I was probably as awkward as ever, in the shop and the restaurant, but Avery seemed to automatically do most of the talking. Also, something about the realization that it’s okay to let other people be responsible for their own social comfort made me put some effort into not analyzing every reaction to every sentence I managed to utter.

  Avery was different outside the office. Not a lot different. He was still intense, and he presented a lot more relaxed in casual clothes, although I’m not sure he was more relaxed, if that makes sense. I thought he was too abrupt with his interactions with people sometimes, although I’m probably not the best person to be the judge of that. He watched people. Stared at them even, sometimes until they almost seemed to feel it. And then he’d look away, but he never seemed embarrassed. At the café, he stared at a couple at one of the tables for an almost solid ten minutes. Long enough that it was noticeable. The guy was wearing a leather jacket and a baseball hat, and the girl a flowered sundress. She had flowers in her hair, and ugly, black-rimmed glasses on her face. They were interesting, but neither exceptionally odd nor attractive. I finally reached across the table and poked Avery’s arm. “What are you staring at?”

  He jerked his gaze back to me, and smiled. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “Liar. Tell me.”

  “I just… well. It’s weird.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m the epitome of weird, and you know it.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. But don’t tell Stephanie or E or anyone else at the office. Deal?”

  I laughed. Like really laughed at this notion. “Avery, I truly cannot see myself dishing gossip with the other employees at Phoenix & Phoenix. Seriously? You think you have to swear me to secrecy, or something? You didn’t exactly feel the need to tell me not to discuss the leather club with anyone, did you?”

  “It’s a BDSM club. And knowing not to talk about stuff like that is instinctive for most people.”

  I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I have very few instinctive social graces. But whatever. You’re stalling. What’s with the staring?”

  “When people catch my eye, I tell myself about their lives, in my head. Making up stories about them, kind of.”

  That was it? That was the big weird something he was embarrassed about? “The weirdest part about that is you think it’s weird,” I said. “Where do you think the slush pile comes from?”

  And for point zero two tenths of a second, I swear he looked even more embarrassed. Then he shrugged. “You’re right, of course. Good point.” He took a bite of his eggs benedict. “How’s the bacon?”

  The bacon, as I think I mentioned, was excellent. But the sight of the benedict sauce made me shudder. “Much better than anything with a sauce that has a reputation for making people sick.”

  I didn’t catch him staring at anyone else, but I felt a happy bubble inside my chest because I knew something about him that other people didn’t know.

  When we finished eating and got out on the sidewalk, Avery took two of my bags of clothes and slung his other arm around my shoulder. The first time our hips bumped as we walked, it nearly threw me off balance. I think there must be a trick to walking this close to another person, but my body didn’t know the rhythm. He jostled me off balance more than once, and his knee hit the bag I was carrying. After half a block he stopped.

  “Jules. It will help if you switch the bag to your other hand and put your arm around my waist.”

  Well. That made for easier walking. The inside of my head, however, got all muddled, trying to pay attention to his arm around me, and trying to keep my arm in place around him, and then trying not to be so tense. Finally two of my fingers accidentally slipped through his belt loop, and it was like having something to hold onto.

  His arm was so long that he could bend his wrist and stroke my throat.

  I knew that, because he did it. A warm soft touch that complimented the warm line of his body against mine. I almost bit my lip, but caught myself.

  That whole anticipation feeling started in my stomach, and fluttered through my body like a colony of butterflies had been set loose underneath my skin. He stroked the skin of my throat again, the movement of his fingertips slow and gentle. I think I stopped breathing.

  “If you think you can tell me to stop, we could try those handcuffs again. The ones attached to my bed.”

  I stopped breathing for real. Pretty much stopped thinking, too.

  “Jules.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and my voice was more of a squeak than I expected. Was it odd that I would agree to it so quickly? I knew that people often communicated with confusing mixed messages, especially when they liked each other, but I didn’t know how to play coy, with him or anyone else.

  He chuckled. “Was that a yes?”
/>   I cleared my throat. “Um. Yes. Unless that’s the wrong answer?”

  “There is no wrong answer. But ‘yes’ is the answer I was hoping to hear.”

  chapter twelve

  stay in the present moment

  I didn’t talk the rest of the way home. My brain buzzed with memories of being handcuffed to his bed, and wondering what he would look like naked. Wondering if it would be different than last time. Would I be able to tell him to stop? But I didn’t have to, did I? We had color code words, and they were easy to remember. I’d used red once already, and with Evan in the office! And Avery hadn’t made any big deal out of it at all. He wasn’t angry or disappointed. It might have been something of a test, but I’d passed.

  I’d passed the test.

  He undressed me slowly this time, and kissed me a lot, pretty much wherever he uncovered my skin. I was overstimulated and trembling by the time he got me out of my new second-hand clothes and down to boxers and socks.

  “Do you want me to undress you?”

  I had no idea if there was a standard protocol for all of this, but I didn’t want to make a mistake.

  “Maybe next time. You’re already shaking. Breathe or whatever it is you do to keep from panicking.”

  “I don’t think I’m having a panic attack,” I said. “I think I’m excited. Maybe a little bit scared. But that wouldn’t be irrational, would it?”

  “No, Jules. It would not.”

  He’d already taken off a casual, white button-down shirt, which he’d worn over a t-shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. He pulled the plain gray t-shirt over his head. His shoulders looked strong and capable. His chest, God, he had such a manly chest, the flat buttons of his nipples perfect, almost obscene, and the tattoo of the phoenix that highlighted the lines of his body. A trail of scattered hair ran from his naval and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  The fit of my boxer shorts was rudely disfigured by my erection.

  He looked amazing in jeans, did I mention that?

  I watched him as he pushed them off, revealing form-fitting boxer-briefs and a definite bulge. I couldn’t seem to look away from it. My peripheral vision noted that he stripped off one sock, and then the other.

  I wanted to see his feet, but my eyes refused to look away from his crotch, until he said my name.

  “Jules. Color?”

  “Green.” No hesitation.

  I was starting to feel again like this couldn’t be my life. Could this be my life? A life in which Avery gets naked and I tell him the code word for, ‘yes, keep going’?

  He drew out my name, in a sing-song tone, “Ju-ules,” which snapped my eyes to his.

  “Scoot up and let me cuff your hands.”

  I looked him up and down before moving. I don’t know how much I appreciated the form of an almost naked man before now, but I discovered I really appreciated his nearly naked form. I’d always concentrated on eyes and faces, sometimes smiles, when considering whether I thought someone was attractive, but there were definitely a lot more parts of the body to enjoy looking at.

  “Jules. Scoot up the bed and let me cuff you.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He stared at me for a second, and there was some look in his expression I didn’t quite understand. Almost like he was nervous.

  “Because I like it that way.”

  “Well, that’s a little ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’,” I said, almost laughing. I hadn’t read the book or seen the movie, but still couldn’t help stumbling into reviews and discussions about it.

  “Kind of the point, Jules.”

  “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t have to be.” I didn’t even know why I was arguing this. He’d mentioned the handcuffs, and I honestly had no problem with that idea. None. But my fingers were itching to touch him, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to give up the idea of having that experience. “What if I want to touch you?”

  I expected him to sit on the bed then, to invite me to touch him all I wanted.

  But that didn’t happen.

  He stood at the side of the bed, looking at me with those intense blue eyes. He looked at the floor for a few seconds, sighed, and finally looked at me again. “This really is going to sound ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’. I’d rather you didn’t touch me until I can explain some things, but I don’t want to explain right now.”

  He looked nervous.

  Huh.

  He was nervous and I was excited. There was something so wonderful about it that I decided to shut off my curious brain and do what he wanted. I pushed myself up the bed and lifted my hands above my head.

  The handcuffs went around my wrists, click, click, and he gave me a flash of teeth that was not at all nervous. Then he stood above me and examined me with those eyes, and they were darker, hungrier, than they’d been a few seconds ago. “Still okay?”

  I wanted him to kiss me, or touch me, or whatever he wanted to do, really. I licked my lips and stared back at him.

  Avery groaned like he was in pain. “Say something.”

  I took a breath. “Yeah. Still okay. Still green.”

  And just that fast he was on me, ravaging my mouth, as ferocious as the last time he had me cuffed to his bed. I was gasping, light-headed, by the time he nibbled my bottom lip, and started a line of kisses along my jaw, then down the side of my throat. Then he attacked my nipple with tongue and teeth, and it was too hard, too intense, and I cried out, but it didn’t stop being too hard, and I found myself whimpering and squirming beneath him, and maybe if my hands were free, I’d have shoved him away. But maybe I wouldn’t, because the heat and shock of that pain went straight to my dick, and again I was electrified. How did those two things, pain and arousal, work together like that? It made no sense to me at all.

  “Stop thinking, Jules.”

  I didn’t know if I could. I was experiencing a kind of wonderment at the weirdness of my body. The plus side was that I had no fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, because Avery made it clear that he was in charge. I had no social responsibility here.

  His hands stayed at my nipples, but his mouth and teeth moved down my body, and he was kissing my belly, then biting, and I couldn’t help but writhe beneath the onslaught. The sharp little pains were almost like ticklish, and worse when he moved his hands from my chest to my sides. He was practically on top of me now, his lower body pinning my legs. When he paused what he was doing to look up at me, there was a gleam in his gaze that made me catch my breath.

  He tugged at my boxers, deftly sliding them down my legs, over my feet,

  He nudged my dick with his nose.

  Oh, God. Was he going to bite me there?

  He did, and I thought I was going to scream, but it came out a strangled moan. It hurt, and it felt good, and I still didn’t understand this combination. Then it was just his tongue and his lips, and I never imagined in all my life anything could ever feel like this. What he was doing to me made me feel like being on a merry-go-round at the park when I was small, a knot of joyful terror in my belly as the other kids made it go faster and faster, while I clung to a metal bar, feeling like I was going to fly off at any moment.

  Some part of me wanted to let go.

  Some part of me had always wanted to let go.

  So I did. I bucked my hips, and he took me fully into his mouth, and I was making noises I’d never heard myself make before. A long, drawn-out whine, a begging sound, my breath rushed and panting. A few swear words thrown in there for good measure. I had no control of myself, inside or out, and the thought of not being restrained by handcuffs while all of this was happening was terrifying.

  Avery-fucking-Phoenix.

  He knew exactly what I needed.

  I was going to come.

  I knew this feeling, of course. I did get myself off once in a while, even though it was hard for me to relax enough to finish. And even when I could, I was overcome by shame and embarrassment while I cleaned up the mess.

  Avery stopped bef
ore I could come.

  He stopped, and lifted himself away from me, and a rush of cool air brushed across my skin.

  I was still panting.

  He crawled up the side of the bed, reached for the drawer of the nightstand, and took something out.

  What? What was he getting?

  I suddenly felt cold and apprehensive.

  “Still green?” he asked.

  I looked at his hands. He was holding a small jar. It didn’t look scary.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I’ll be very gentle with you. And there’s always yellow and red. I will hear you, and I will stop.”

  This, from the man who bit my dick. Also the man who made me feel wondrous sensations I had never felt before.

  Apprehension, I was finding out, was not the same as nervous. It was dawning on me that those two things didn’t have to co-exist. I had always lived with a progression of negative emotions – apprehension, anxiety, fear, and then panic. One led to the next, which led to the next, until I was out of control. Avery had all the control. I had given it to him. Why would I do that if I didn’t trust him?

  I looked at him. Swallowed. Nodded.

  He slid down the bed, and blew a breath on my aching dick, which had not flagged during my moment of emotional hesitation. He opened the jar and scooped some of the contents on to his fingers, then wrapped them around my erection.

  Oh.

  It was cool and soft and silky, then warm and soft and silky.

  This was almost as amazing as his mouth.

  “Close your eyes. Just let yourself feel.”

  I closed my eyes.

  A fluttering touch at my inner thigh startled me just a little. “Spread your legs more,” Avery whispered.

  It was easy to obey him, in this space of pleasure.

  A touch to my balls had me bending my knees, making noises again, and a gentle nudge between my ass cheeks opened my eyes. He wasn’t looking at my face. He was looking at all my private parts, and I had an embarrassed instinct to drop my knees and press my legs together.