Confessed

by Nicola Rendell

  “Nothing.”

  I grind my finger into his abs, and he bats it away. I say, “You’re laughing.”

  He is. But then the smile gets more sturdy, more happy than funny. “I’m not. Not at you.”

  “So then tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. I flip my head back over. I’m embarrassed and feel the heat comes up into my cheeks in spite of the spray of water.

  He squeezes a cold bead of body wash down my spine, and he says, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  I drag my suitcase towards the bathroom, and he watches me with his arms crossed. He’s got a towel around his waist, and there’s still water on his skin. Focus, Lucy. Focus.

  “I mean, I think we’re past needing privacy,” he says. He reaches down and helps me with my bag, and puts it on the shut toilet.

  “Order a pizza.” I guide him out of the bathroom. “I vote for a Veggie Lover’s. I’ll be out in a flash,” I say. As I shut the door, I see his mystified face narrow in the gap. Then I lock it.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, it’s like seeing some twin I didn’t know I had. My face looks thinner than it did before. I look older, my eyes look bigger. I draw my hair back into a ponytail, but it’s not long enough and it falls back onto my cheeks. There’s a little smudge of dye on the nape of my neck, so I take one of my nail polish remover pads, tear it open, and blot away the stain. Also with the remover, I take off my chipped Pretty in Pink polish. Then I do the thing I know I’m not supposed to do and throw the pad in the toilet, flushing with a rebellious joy.

  “Not my plumbing system. Not my problem,” I say, to the twirling water.

  I unzip my bag and take out my hairdryer. Blowing out the bob takes no more than two minutes, and I find this incredibly delightful. The dye has made it shiny and smooth, and I’m pleased that L’Oréal didn’t do too badly. Coffee brown, with a little bit of deep red here and there. I swipe my fingers through a tub of shine cream and run it over the ends.

  Then I take the Rockstar palette and start with bone shadow, followed by a gray. I look at myself. Not close to fierce enough. I go for the purple. Still too light. I dab my brush into the black and then into the purple, close one eye and swipe it on. Bingo. I do the same with the other eye, and do some nice thick liner, also in black, on both top and bottom lids. My eyebrows match my hair now, which is a strange inversion. Like looking at myself in a photo negative. I blink away the excess eye shadow and wipe it out from under my eyes. My blush I put on thicker and broader than usual.

  And I stare at myself. At the new brunette Lucy.

  I like her. A lot.

  But about these clothes. The new Lucy, she’s not white shorts and fit-and-flare dresses. She’s edgy, she’s spicy, she’s a little naughty. I pick a pair of black leggings and a black long-sleeve shirt. I push up the sleeves a little and pull my breasts up in their bra. It’s a Henley, so I unbutton an extra button to show my cleavage. These I pair with my ankle boots, which I usually wear with skirts. I zip up the little zips and smooth my leggings. I take the black polish and paint my nails. I thought it was black, but as I apply it I see it’s more of a deep purple. It only takes one coat. I blow on them for a minute, then sit on the edge of the sink and wait for a few minutes more. They dry quickly, with the air blowing from the air vent above me. Last thing, I lean close to the mirror and put on the new lipstick. I rub my lips together and clean up the edges. I ruffle up the roots of my hair, put on my haughtiest face, and step out of the warm bathroom.

  He’s looking out the window and saying, “Man, you better check your meat supplier before you go trying to peddle your pepperoni…”

  I cough a little. And then he turns around.

  Big, sexy Vince? Always so smooth and collected? His mouth drops open. He shakes his head and says, “Just deliver the fucking pizza. I’ve got something way more important that needs my attention right now.”

  I stalk towards him and watch his eyes move down to my cleavage.

  “Get on the bed,” I say. I’m not even trying to sound dark and raspy. But I do.

  He looks pissed. I keep stalking him.

  “Vincent Russo, get on that bed.” I reach up and put my hands on his shoulders.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” So cocky.

  “Yes, I do,” I say, walking him backward with my hands in a butterfly on his abs, “Now I’m in charge.”

  “You can’t take me,” he says and pushes hard back against me. There is something primal in him that makes me tremble for more.

  I pull his head down towards me and slip my lips up his neck. Up his cheek. Along his ear. That solid mass of muscle, it gives way in my hands a little. “You said I’d be your kryptonite,” I whisper. “And here I am.”

  With more power than I thought I had, I force him backward onto the mattress. The bed protests underneath his solid body. I rip his belt off, and his jeans. He doesn’t stay down, though, and rises up in front of me again. Towering over me. Blocking the light from the bathroom so all I can see, all I can smell, is him.

  “You think you can tell me what to do?” he says, grabbing my wrists hard. “You think you can call the shots?”

  “Right now, I feel like I can do anything. Everything.”

  “Fuck.”

  I lower myself onto my knees in front of him. With my teeth, while looking up at him, I pull his boxers down and his cock springs free. His grip tightens as I take him in my mouth. His grip loosens as I take his left ball between my lips. He’s got a weak spot for that. I love knowing his weakness.

  Inches from my eyes, his abs flex in a ripple. I return to his cock and lick up and down the length. Then I press the head deep into my cheek.

  “Fuck, Lucy. Just… fuck.”

  He lets go of my wrists and tries to pull me up towards him. But I don’t go so easy. I let his cock slide from my mouth, and stand up in my own good time.

  I kick off my boots, and they join his in a heap on the ground. I step out of my leggings, and he pulls my shirt off, burying his face into my breasts. He goes for the right nipple first this time and bites down. I arch backward and moan, clutching his head. I find I miss his hair for an instant. I’ll miss digging my fingers into it and pulling a little. But I can make him ache in other ways. I know that for sure.

  As slowly as I can, I move my fingers up his arms to his shoulders. I don’t blink. I go so slowly, it feels like time has stopped. His breathing slows and his hands caress my waist. I bring my hands up further, to that curve between shoulder and neck.

  “I want to do something to you,” I say.

  His eyes narrow. The caressing at my waist stops.

  “I want you to let me take all your power away,” I say. With my knees on the mattress, straddling him, I pin him to the bed.

  And place my hands around his throat.

  21

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I say.

  “Just a little,” she says, and squeezes.

  Christ. I’m so fucking hard, it hurts. I’m so fucking turned on, I can’t even see straight. This shit is so fucking hot.

  “You want the power,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “You think you can handle it? You think you can handle me?”

  She lifts an eyebrow, squeezes a little harder. “I think I’m already handling you just fine.”

  I don’t know if I sound like a lion or a bear or both. She straddles me, then tightens her hands around my neck even more.

  “Get dark with me,” she says. “Please.”

  Fuck yeah, I’ll get dark. For her? I sure fucking will.

  “Do it,” I say. “Give me what you got.”

  She gets me back onto the pillows and sits on my thighs. She tenses her fingers a little and then loosens them. I feel my pulse in my jugular.

  No woman, ever, has done anything like this to me. Never, not fucking once, would I have let this happen.

  With anybody but her.

  She keeps one hand on my thro
at, but with the other, she feeds my cock into her pussy. She holds it at the base and lowers herself onto it, inch by slow fucking inch.

  I press my head backward into the pillows and grip her around that little waist. I thrust into her from below once, twice, three times, but then her other hand comes back to my throat, and she leans down over my face.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says. Her eyes are ferocious. Her hair slips along her chin. Her eyes are dark. She looks like trouble. And trouble is fucking heaven.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” she says, rising up off my cock and then lowering herself back down again. “And I’m going to keep my hands right here. I’m going to cut off your air.”

  “You think you can do all that at once?” I say, driving into her slowly. “While I’m taking you like this?”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Told you.”

  She pins my legs down, with the flat of her feet on my thighs. “You’re not going to fuck me. I’m going to fuck you.”

  Jesus. Christ.

  “You’re going to let me fuck you,” she says, riding me now, and squeezing. “You’re going to let me strangle you and fuck you. Like this,” she says, and squeezes. Hard.

  Blood is trapped in my cheeks. Things start to tunnel out.

  Her fingers loosen. “Is that okay?” she whispers like it’s some other conversation. Some other version of us. “Will you let me do what I want to you?”

  I hold on to her forearms. I feel her muscles shift as she squeezes me tighter. As she does, she takes me deep. So fucking deep. She is so beautiful up above me. Somehow, my cock feels fucking huge. And her pussy feels endless.

  “I’ll let you.”

  “Good,” she says. “Now stop topping it from the bottom and give in to me. Got it?”

  Holy shit.

  It’s hard to let her take over. It’s hard to let her fuck me at first, but I get used to it pretty fucking fast. Her wetness spills out thick and heavy all over me. I feel it trickle onto my balls. They throb back at me. I smell her in the air, and I want her in my mouth. I want everything I can get from her. I want to fucking devour her whole. I want to ruin her, consume her, make her weep my name.

  “I want you to come,” I gasp. My voice doesn’t even fucking sound like me.

  She tightens down harder. “I don’t care what you want.” I find myself laughing a little because I don’t know what else to do. Tighter and tighter she grips me, and harder and harder she fucks me. I hear my pulse in my ears and feel it in my cock. “I don’t care what you want at all. Don’t you dare fucking laugh.”

  She slides up and down me. She doesn’t blink.

  Her thumbs dig into my jugular. I’m not laughing anymore. “Fuck, Lucy.” “That’s right. There you go,” she says. Riding me, up and down, so strong, so controlled. So unbelievably perfect.

  She arches away, keeping her hands tight on my throat. She brings her lips to my chest and kisses my right nipple, and then bites it. Hard.

  I suck in air, struggling for more. She brings her eyes to mine, but her expression doesn’t soften. Her grip gets tighter. Tighter. Everything starts fading away on the edges, a smear of black.

  “Breathe,” she says.

  I suck in a breath.

  And then she cuts off my air completely. One rise. One fall. Then another.

  “Come for me,” she says, as she sinks down onto me again. “Come in me.”

  Fuck.

  She drops her weight down on my cock, and my balls compress a little. I start fighting her hands.

  “Just trust me,” she whispers. “Trust me with everything.”

  Can I even fucking do that?

  Like she’s read my mind, she nods. “You can trust me. Just like I'm trusting you. With everything.”

  I gasp. But I'm getting nothing. My balls are throbbing and I’m on the edge of exploding into her. There is no point in fighting her. I don’t want to fight her. So that’s when it happens: I let go. I fucking let everything go.

  She nods at me. “Do it. Flood me. Drown me.”

  Holy.

  Fuck.

  I’m barreling into the orgasm, balls deep and wound up tight. “There. There it is,” I manage to say. I’m hoarse. I fight for a breath and don’t get one That voice is far away. She tightens her grip even more. Those tiny little hands, they could murder me. Right now.

  And that shit is so goddamned hot. So fucking dangerous. The two of us, at the fucking limit.

  I hear myself snarling her name. Then lets my neck go. I suck in a huge breath of air, and the orgasm doubles up. Triples.

  “Lucy. Fuck, Lucy,” I roar.

  “That’s right, Daddy. That’s exactly fucking right.”

  Quadruples. To fucking infinity as I explode inside her.

  Holy. Mother. Fuck.

  22

  He rolls me over, and he’s back in charge now. I can see it in his eyes. He climbs on top of me. I touch the place where I was choking him. Small compression marks from my fingers line his neck.

  “That was such a rush,” I whisper.

  He nods, slow and steady, three times. To have him under my control, this beast of a human being. To get him to give me control, him with his predatory stare. That was something else. “We need to do that again.” Again, a nod, and a smile, but then with one easy scoop of his hand he flips me face down into the pillows.

  “But you need to be put back in your place,” he says.

  I tilt my head to see him, pressing my lips into my shoulders. My hair falls in my face again, but I don’t care. “You seemed like you loved it.”

  He leans into my ear, growling, “You know I fucking did.”

  Then he turns my head so my cheek is flat on the sheets. I hear a jingling noise from behind me, but I can’t quite place it.

  He adjusts my legs a little, and I hang onto the comforter. The edge of something cool runs down my back. His belt. I try to see what he’s doing, but he pushes me away with the flat of his hand. I rub my cheek against it slightly and plant a kiss there on those rough calluses.

  “I’m going to hurt you,” he says.

  I moan into his palm, “Hurt me.”

  “If it’s too much, you just tell me to stop. Safe words, they’re not for us.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Fuck safe words.”

  “Not that…”

  He kisses me on the shoulder. “Us.”

  Us. Yes. Us.

  I feel a wave of my wetness come out of my pussy. I rub my thighs together once and feel it there on my skin. His fingers part my lips and draw it out of me. With one hand, he grips my hip, and I feel the leather against my thigh. His fingers come from behind me, and he puts them in my mouth.

  “That’s how we taste.”

  I suck us off of him. I feel myself getting even wetter. His cock presses into my slit, but not inside my body just yet. He slides his tip back and forth along my wetness. He’s hard again already. “Animal.”

  “Fucking right.”

  He bends down over my body. I focus on the belt in his hand, and I feel more desire rush through my muscles. It feels like a burn. A burn to have a fantasy come true.

  Pain. I’ve always felt like it’s some mark of accomplishment. If thighs don’t burn, you haven’t done enough squats. If your head doesn’t ache, you haven’t done enough shots.

  But I’ve never really had it during sex. Not like I’ve wanted and needed. Nobody’s ever been man enough. I turn and stare up at him. He can give it to me. I know he can. He already has, and that was just the beginning.

  “Do you want it?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Want me to punish you for being a little brat?” His eyes flash.

  Even the words are a good, clean pain. He knows just what to do, to say. “Do you want to punish me?” He comes closer, sliding his stubble up my neck. “Since I met you.”

  I grip the comforter, my fingers over the edge and my thumbs mak
ing a fist of the hem.

  He takes the prong of his buckle and slowly, so slowly, drags it up my forearm, pushing hard and leaving a long red mark behind it. I place my lips to the red line and feel for the welt under my tongue.

  “Feel how wet I am,” I say and part my thighs.

  “Don’t give me orders.”

  “Please, feel me.”

  His finger dips back inside me and then out, and now I hear him sucking our taste from his finger. “I want to break you and make you new. So get on your knees.”

  Oh, Lord.

  Straightening my elbows, I rise. I’m quivering, and I let the small of my back drop down. I let him see the full curve of me. But I eye him over my shoulder. I work my hair. I take a little bit of power back from him.

  He groans. A wordless little arrow flung from me to him.

  “Face forward,” he says.

  I do just what he says.

  Then the leather slides menacingly across my back. Down my leg, to the inside of my knee.

  “I want to be the one to hurt you,” he hisses into my ear, “so I can be the one to heal you. The only one. You hear me? The only one.”

  I grip the bedspread. The pink geraniums crumple in my palms. I nod into the space between my parted arms.

  “The only one,” I echo back.

  He’s not touching me anymore. But I hear the leather of his belt shifting in and out of his palms. It reminds me of the sounds of reins. “You ever been whipped before?”

  I shake my head. I can’t even talk. My heart is pounding in my eyes and my clit at the same time. I feel something move between my wet lips. The tip of his belt. The shudder is total and involuntary.

  I feel awake. I feel alive. I feel electrified and powerful, even on my knees.

  “You know I fucking worship this body, don’t you?” he asks.

  I turn and look at him over my shoulder.

  He says again, “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I gasp.

  “Good,” he says, “because for the next little while, I’m going to treat it like I don’t.”

  Whack. The shock of the force comes first, and then the burn. It’s almost less awful than I imagined, but then it comes up in a wave. His hand follows, rubbing in the pain. It makes it worse, and that makes it even better. I am making noise, I know I am, but I don’t know what I’m saying. Everything is just that sting and his hand over it. He trails his fingers off my body and leaves me there alone again. My elbows shake under my shoulders. My knees feel unsteady under my hips.