LOVERS

by Roxy Harte

  He is the best lover I’ve ever had.

  I waste as much time as I can in the shower, waiting until I no longer hear Jameson’s raised voice before I step out and dry off. He appears in the doorway suddenly, smiling, and reaches for me. “I have the boys tonight!”

  He is still naked, because that is the way he sleeps. I like looking at him, my thin, pale professor, but I especially like looking at him when his confidence is high. I notice his success has not just affected his mood but his libido as well, his penis standing ready for attention. Should it bother me that his argument with another woman made him as hard as a rock? Nah, I get the benefit, her loss all around.

  I smile back, knowing how much he loves his kids. “Good for you!”

  “Victory is mine!” He crushes his lips to mine, his triumph obviously making him the aggressor.

  My towel falls to the ground as he lifts me and sits me on the vanity. I lean back, my head and shoulders resting against the mirror. He pulls my hips forward just enough before slamming into me hard. I lift as he pulls back, trying to keep him inside of me, but despite my efforts he slides out only to slam back in, making me moan. I grab for his shoulders, wanting something to hold onto, something to grip while he pounds into me, but he doesn’t want that.

  He commands, “Put your hands above your head.”

  I do because he is rarely dominant and I understand this show now is Emma’s fault. My hands reach up, the backs of my fingers touching the cool, condensation-covered glass.

  “Good girl. I like looking at you like that. I like it when you submit all that you are to me.”

  I lift an eyebrow and try to not smirk. Emma really did get his testosterone flowing. I might have to start encouraging their arguments—at least the ones I know he’ll win.

  He grabs my hips, squeezing my skin. It hurts to be held so firmly, but then he starts his assault, pounding into me, hitting places in my inside that should be impossible to hit, making me feel such a rise in need that I believe I could explode from the force. It hurts, it feels wonderful.

  “Oh God, baby!” I cry out, dropping my head back as I arch my spine. “Pound me harder!”

  He jerks my hips into him, slamming against my clit. “Like that?”

  I grit out between my clenched teeth, “Yes! Oh yes!”

  He jerks me and thrusts into me. It hurts, it hurts a lot to be plowed into and slammed repeatedly back into granite, but it also feels so good to be used roughly by him…this is a rare, wonderful moment. I feel my orgasm building and with it a bubble of emotion spreading through my chest. We both explode at the same time. My muscles spasm with pleasure so amazing I see spots before my eyes, spots of color, yellow, blue, red and silver. The dream I had earlier floods into my mind, and I choke on the scream leaving my throat as the floodgates open to my soul, leaving me sobbing against his bare shoulder. Don’t forget. I love you.

  As soon as he leaves for work, I crawl back into bed, longing to forget the memories brought out by the dream and Jameson’s crazed passion. When night finally comes to Los Angeles, I am crawling out of bed for the second time. I quickly realize that I am tender, meaning each step I take hurts, which can be a good thing, under the right circumstances, a reminder of the incredible sex I just had, but there are other times it just loses its appeal, like this moment, preparing for my date with the other man in my life.

  The wonderful thing about dating Adrian, other than the sex, is that he owns one of the hottest nightspots in town and I always get to bypass the line.

  I’m early, wanting to drink and dance, wanting to blow off some steam before my date actually begins. I’m still walking gingerly, making it questionable just how much dancing I will do. And then there’s that other activity that I have been looking forward to all week.

  As exciting and romantic as it sounds to be taken roughly on a hard surface, like a vanity, nothing giving an inch, not the granite, not the man, and as sure as hell not my pussy, the reality is that after the orgasmic high wears off, all the tender parts start letting you know just how extreme a sport sex can be. I sigh as my hand wraps around the handle to Adrian’s nightclub. Pausing to catch my reflection in the opaque glass, I try to look sexy and confident even though sex for us tonight is feeling more and more unlikely.

  I can hardly wait to share that news with Adrian. How do I tell the man who has been waiting as impatiently for this night as I have that my genitals hurt too much for sex because of the attention of my other boyfriend? Hell, in the decade I’ve been juggling relationships, this hasn’t happened.

  I see him from across the room, and he is bent over in conversation with someone. At first I think it is one of his bartenders, Joel or Alec maybe, the two I know for certain keep their heads shaved, but then as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I realize my mistake; it is neither man. I smile a little too widely, seeing that it is his other girlfriend, thinking, great, what is she doing here just before I rub my hand over his shoulders.

  He stands abruptly and pulls me into a tight hug, which earns him points, but I’m still miffed that she is here at all. When he releases me I manage to say, “Toby! What a lovely surprise.”

  Toby smiles in return, or at least I think it is a smile—her version of a smile at any rate—she smirks with the best of them. “Bianca,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

  We size each other up. It would be dishonest to say I don’t see what Adrian sees in her. She is a very complex woman, obviously very intelligent, and from what I hear, quite talented as an artist, quite successful as a television fitness-guru. I hate to admit it, but she is beautiful. Her small, delicate features and wide eyes appear even more dramatic due to the fact that she keeps her head shaved.

  She gives me the once over, not hiding she is assessing me with her gaze any more than I hid the fact I just did the same to her. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. I imagine I wouldn’t like her assessment.

  “Plans have changed, slightly,” Adrian announces, and I see that he and Alec exchange a glance of lifted eyebrows before he looks at me. “Toby was scheduled to perform tonight. The rigger she’d planned to use was in a car wreck, nothing too horrible, a broken wrist on his right side and a broken collar bone on the left, so he’ll be okay, eventually, but for tonight, Toby still needs a rope-guy.”

  I give him what I hope is a fairly strong look of disdain. “So, I suppose you volunteered.”

  “It will only be a couple hours, Bianca. Surely you understand the spot I’m in,” Toby interjects, “and afterward, he’s all yours.”

  I sigh heavily, feeling like she is mocking me but unable to prove it because she sounds sincere. It’s just her damn smirk. Knowing there is no peaceable means to get my way and accepting that there is no way to win tonight are two entirely different matters. I want to yell and scream at both of them for being so inconsiderate, but then I remember Emma yelling at Jameson, him yelling back, and realize I really don’t have the strength for anymore emotional drama today; and really, this could be the solution to the question of what we, as in me and Adrian, are doing tonight, because racing home to his house to get naked isn’t my first choice—not at the moment anyway. Damn Jameson.

  “I need a drink.” I walk away, going straight to the bar. Thankfully, Alec has an Irish whiskey poured and waiting.

  “I thought you might need this,” he says, winking and tilting his head toward Toby and Adrian.

  I throw it back and push the empty shot glass back to him. He starts to pour another but I stop him, telling him, “Unfortunately, I’m going to be here awhile,” to which he laughs and grabs a tumbler. He adds two ice cubes and pours whiskey to the rim before sliding it toward me. I nod and lift the tumbler to my lips.

  “Great. You’re mad.” Adrian pulls up the stool beside me, accusing, “You’re early. I was going to call you to give you a bit of advance warning she would be here, so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise.”

  “I don’t care that she’s here,” I lie
, staring at the solid wood bar.

  He turns my face to his with a soft touch on my jaw, and I look deep into his eyes. God, I hate it when he looks at me like that. He cares for me so deeply, and just looking at him makes my soul ache badly because I don’t know what it feels like to need someone that much. Toby looks at him that way. Shit.

  I lust Adrian. I don’t love him. When we first met there was an instant combustion between us. We barely restrained ourselves until we found a secluded corner, though I’m not so sure privacy was necessary. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other…and then we were naked, ravaging each other. Our relationship hasn’t moved beyond the physical aspect, and I suppose that is my fault.

  I gaze into his eyes and get lost in the tempest of emotion filling his. I tell him honestly, “I’ll be good, I’ll play nice.”

  “You’ll stay for the show?” His smile widens, and I realize this is a part of his life we rarely share since I’m not a big fan of Shibari. He is excited that I’m staying.

  “Where else am I going?” I ask with a grin, not feeling the emotion expressed. As he walks away to prepare for the evening, I look at Toby and see that she is doing the same as I, watching him walk away and yearning to follow after him, but she stays in her seat. She glances at me nervously and she seems in that moment, so young, so innocent, all wide eyes and pouty lips, despite her clothing choice which can only be described as marine recruit chic, dark green tank, camouflage pants, and of course, the high-shine black combat boots. She looks like a child awaiting permission.

  I wave my hand in a gesture that is meant to be taken exactly as she takes it, and she shocks me by mouthing thank you before she skips over to join him onstage.

  Chapter 2

  Adrian

  For us, it’s always been all about the rope. The first time I ever saw Toby, she came to one of my rope classes, in the days before I had my own club and was forced to use second-rate venues. At first I thought she was a prepubescent boy with no reason to be in my studio, but then I walked over to ask him to leave and realized, not a boy at all, but a woman, a very beautiful woman. I’d asked her, “What’s your name?”

  With her eyes downcast and her face hidden by the bill of a ball cap and the hoodie she’d pulled over the hat, she’d answered, “Toby.”

  “You’re sure you want a rope lesson? It can be fairly demanding.”

  With a swagger of confidence that mesmerized me, she stood, pushed back her hood and removed the ball cap, revealing her shaved head to me. I watched, trying not to gape too openly, as she pulled her sweatshirt over her head and tossed both the pullover and the hat in the chair she’d been sitting in.

  Her wide blue eyes locked on mine as she smirked. She then did something I’d never seen a woman do; she flexed her bicep, and lifted the edge of her white tank top and revealed a six-pack of abs that caught my breath, though aside from the muscle definition, she was thin, slight…not skin and bones, maybe muscle and bones.

  “Need to see more or do you think I can handle the physical demands of being tied up?”

  “God, you’re a cocky little thing,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

  “Are you twenty-one?”

  “I’ll be twenty-three in April.”

  “Really?” I said sarcastically, and she pulled a wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to her ID. “Okay, okay. The Bureau of Motor Vehicles doesn’t lie.” I smiled at her, hoping she’d relax. “I’ll give you a rope lesson.”

  “A private lesson. I’m not much for, you know, an audience.”

  That was almost six years ago.

  Now, she stands before me on the stage, completely naked except for a black, lacy g-string and her black army boots.

  “It’s been too long since you’ve been held in my rope,” I tell her, thinking I will make it up to Bianca later. I love to hold Toby in my rope. It is one of the true real pleasures in my life. Spiritual. Sacred. That’s how it feels. And for her to finally trust me onstage—I’ve waited a long time for this. This is a major relationship breakthrough.

  The energy the crowd brought with them makes her shiver with excitement; however, when I walk toward her with the rope, she stills like a deer caught in headlights. Silently, I tie her in a simple upper torso bondage, wrists behind her back, then double the rope around her shoulders above her small breasts. I form a knot behind her before looping the rope twice around her, trapping her arms to her sides as the rope catches below her breasts. The crowd’s excitement grows, and the tempo of the music playing increases.

  I tie some quick knots behind her back, meant to take the strain off her arms when she goes airborne in the suspension.

  “Almost there,” I whisper as she catches my eye.

  I walk around her, and I know that she is on high simmer, her blood racing through her veins as we get close to the moment she loves most. From behind her, I loop the rope over the back of her neck before making a knot that will fall between her small firm breasts to help to support her weight when I knot the main suspension line.

  “You look amazing,” I tell her, knowing she may or may not be hearing me because she is already drifting into her own space, readying herself for the moment she has been waiting for.

  I pull the rope through a ring hanging from the ceiling and hoist, lifting her completely off the ground. I hear her quick gasp, and then she seems to get heavier as her body completely relaxes. Her upper body is now parallel with the floor.

  She knows the drill and bends her knees, pointing her toes behind her. I loop rope around her left thigh, knot, knot, attaching it through the rope at her waist, and then a quick loop through the ring before catching her right ankle and tying it as well. She is now completely suspended and hangs beautifully, like a ballerina caught mid-leap.

  The crowd claps and cheers, but it is a soft drone as I look at her and she looks at me. For the crowd, I am merely tying rope, but between Toby and I, there is an emotional exchange, I am making love to her with the rope. This isn’t just foreplay for us, this is the real deal. I face her and pull her slowly toward me, catching her lips with mine in a kiss that is entirely too erotic, too emotion-charged to be shared onstage, but I do it anyway. When I pull away, I notice she is crying.

  For the crowd’s entertainment, I spin her. The rope takes her clockwise, winding up and then, when it reaches its maximum tautness it reverses, the spin going faster and faster. She closes her eyes, and I know she is experiencing that other place known only to masochists who are able to achieve a head space far and away from where their body is.

  The added drama of her beauty caught in motion gives me time to recover.

  I glance out into the crowd, accepting their applause, and catch sight of Bianca. She appears mesmerized by us, or maybe just Toby.

  I know instantly this isn’t going to bode well for this evening. She says that she isn’t jealous of Toby, but her words are often a lie. That much I know about Bianca after only eight months of being with her.

  The crowd applauds and much whistling and banging on tables ensues, seeming to awaken Bianca from a spell. She jerks aware and our gazes catch. I send her a smile and a wink before turning my attention back to Toby.

  “I hope you’re ready for more,” I tell her, stopping her spin. She opens her eyes and tries to focus. I ask, “Feeling okay?”

  “Yes, wonderful.”

  “Think you can manage a lovely back arch before the night is through?”

  “I should be able to.”

  “First, I want to tie you by your ankles and let you dangle a bit, maybe a little flogging?” I catch her frowning as I turn her to face me.

  “You can’t do that tonight. I promised Bianca—”

  “Call me selfish…I want to.”

  “But if you flog me…” She leaves the rest unsaid because I already know her fear. We’ve been at this awhile, years, and I know more about her some days than she seems to know herself. She is tenderhearted, alth
ough she wears the toughest exterior, and if I flog her, or spank her, something happens inside of her, an emotional release that is so powerful it will suck us both in, drain us, and then—I’ll need her, and she’ll need me—and it will be savage.

  Bianca isn’t going to understand that.

  Chapter 3

  Toby

  “Ready, baby boy?” Adrian asks me, and I nod although for just a moment I balk, seeing how many people have shown up for tonight’s demonstration. When I originally said I would be the rope model, it wasn’t just to help out a friend, it was to help me out. Adrian has been giving me assignments, trying to help me come out of my shell, sexually, but it’s been hard and I know I made Adrian very happy when I told him I was doing this demo with Micah tonight. It was a baby step.

  I’ve always refused to perform publically with Adrian, and because Adrian travels with his rope to the largest bondage cons in the US, there is ample opportunity to perform with him.

  I wanted to try it with Micah first, because I thought I might be able to stay emotionally detached with someone other than Adrian, and Micah is perhaps the only other man on the planet I would ever let touch me. One, he’s gay and thus non-threatening, and two, because he professes to understand and respect me for who I am. Isn’t that a hoot, since I have no idea who I am?

  I feel horrible he was in a car wreck. I thought I should cancel the demo, but Adrian insisted we go on. Facing him now, I don’t regret the decision, even though I start shaking. Steeling myself, I step forward and drop my robe, leaving me wearing my panties and my army boots. The panties are black lace and the boots shine.

  I stand before him, breathing hard and fast, terrified, though not of Adrian or the rope, but terrified of letting anyone see me. And not just the naked part, but the part of me I never let anyone see, my vulnerability. Only Adrian has ever seen that. With a glance he asks if I am certain I want to go through with this, without saying the words, and although every fiber of my being is shaking, I hold out my hands to him in submission.