by Tasha Fawkes
He says nothing, and I pour a couple of glasses of Merlot, take them to the table, and sit down across from him. One thing about Stewart; we don’t have to fill the silence with empty talk. I sip, and then, watching him gulp down his glass, take a couple larger sips myself before returning to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle, and plunking it down in the middle of the table. He refills both our glasses while I grab a couple plates from the kitchen cupboard and dish up rice and orange cashew chicken.
By the time we finish eating, muttering inane pleasantries throughout supper, I’ve downed three glasses of wine. My head feels like a balloon floating a short distance from my shoulders. He looks at me and grins.
“How about a romp?”
I shrug. Why the hell not? Without another word, he heads for my bedroom, pulling off his button-down shirt as he makes his way down my short hallway. He’s the Stewart I’ve always known; athletic build, more suited to a surfer than a pathologist. I imagine another relatively tame episode in bed, although he does tend to get a little wild when he drinks wine, which certainly isn’t often. His idea of wild is doing it slightly different than the traditional missionary position. Maybe on our sides. Big whoop.
For the first time in a long while, I assess him. His shaggy, not quite brown hair is a bit on the long side, and he has nice-looking green eyes that bespeak an Irish heritage. Come to think of it, he and Daniel are only a couple years apart; Stewart a couple years younger. Stewart’s green eyes are more the color of grass, and I automatically compare them to Daniel’s bright green. Dammit! Is this to be my fate? Comparing every man I sleep with in the future to Daniel? What if—oomph!
I startle, realizing that Stewart has stopped just in front of my bedroom. I slam into his bare chest as he chuckles, his hands reaching to steady my shoulders. His breath feels warm against my face, smelling of Merlot.
“I forgot condoms.”
Nothing like a cold splash of water on my face. I glance up at him, nibbling my lip. “I think there’s still a couple in the bathroom cabinet. Go look.”
He scooches past me in the hallway and disappears into the bathroom. The light clicks on and I hear the medicine cabinet open and him rustling inside it as I make my way into my bedroom. I pull off my shirt and pants and then climb into bed, slightly dizzy, my thoughts fuzzy.
Moments later, Stewart returns, holding up a red package in his hand. “Found one!” He laugh. “We’ll get one shot at this, so we better make it good!”
I watch as he undresses. His cock is already engorged. Try as I might not to, I see Daniel in my mind’s eye, making mental comparisons. I purposely shove those thoughts out of my head as Stewart climbs into bed beside me. Leaning his face toward mine, he kisses me, sticking his tongue in my mouth as his hand begins to grope my breast. Then that hand strays downward toward my legs.
I reach for his hand and stop it by the time he gets to my hip. I feel horrible. I want to cry. I want to scream. He doesn’t seem to notice, but just keeps kissing and kneading my hip like it’s a lump of dough. His cock presses against my thigh.
It’s at this moment I realize I can’t go through with this. I’m just not into it. I can’t get Daniel out of my head. I don’t want to have boring sex with Stewart. To even suggest something a little different will really upset the status quo, at least as far as Stewart is concerned. I can’t really fault him for it. It’s just that sex with Stewart is dull. Always the same. It was boring before I experienced bondage with Daniel.
I pull away from him, and although I still feel a little fuzzy, I know what I need to do. He tries to envelope me in his grasp, and I place my hand on his chest. He looks at me, his pupils slightly dilated, his lips open, his face flushed.
“What is it? You want to put it on?”
For a second I don’t know what he’s talking about until he extends the still rolled condom toward me. “No, Stewart, I don’t want to put it on—”
“You want to go bareback?”
I stare, dismayed that he even knows the term. “No, I don’t want to go bareback, either. Stewart, I can’t do this.”
“What do you mean?” He frowns, and then his eyes widen. “You’re not on your period, are you?”
Oh my God. “No, Stewart, I’m not on my period. I just can’t do this.” He reaches for me again, and I pull away even more. Another inch and I’ll fall out of the bed. I lift myself onto my elbow, one hand placed firmly on his chest. “I mean I can’t do this. Sex. Us.”
“What are you saying, Ashley?” He gestures at the bed. “We’re lying naked in your bed. And you just changed your mind?”
I don’t want to hurt him, really I don’t. I steel myself and rolled out of bed, quickly heading for my dresser, where I yank out a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He watches me pull them on, his expression confused.
“Ashley, what’s going on? Did I say something? What?”
Do it, I tell myself. Do it now. Cut the cord. Quickly. I have his full attention now. He sits up in bed, staring at me. “I don’t want to hurt you, Stewart, but I just don’t think it’s fair for either one of us to continue. I—”
“Is it that guy at work? Your boss?”
My mouth drops open and I deny it. “It’s not, Stewart,” I say. That at least is the truth. “I just need some time to figure out where I am and what I want.”
He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his trousers. “And you waited until we’re in bed to tell me this?”
“I’m sorry, Stewart, I didn’t realize that… that it was over between us until we got into the bed.”
He frowns. “I don’t believe it. You met another guy.” He jerks his pants on, his movements stiff and awkward. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why string me along? How long have you been stringing me along, Ashley?”
“I didn’t do it deliberately, Stewart,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Even I realize it’s a self-defense mechanism. “I just don’t feel like I can commit to a relationship, not the way you want me to. We’re at different places in our goals. So, what’s the point? I don’t want to just have casual sex. You can understand that, can’t you?”
He mumbles something that I can’t understand. I don’t bother to ask him to repeat it. It doesn’t matter. He steps toward the bedroom door and then leans down to snatch his shirt from the floor. He pauses, then slowly threads his arms through the sleeves, every move precise, straining for what I perceive as his attempt to maintain his dignity. His face flushes with emotion as he looks at me, enclosing the buttons on his shirt. He rubs a hand through his hair and lowers his eyebrows. His eyes bore into mine, it’s as if he can read every thought racing through my head.
“I’m sorry, Stewart, I don’t—”
He lifts a hand. “You do know, Ashley, that once I walk out of here, it’s over. Forever. I’m not going to beg. I’m not going to take you back. It’s obvious to me that you’ve already decided.” He shakes his head. “But I’ll say one thing. I thought we were in a relationship. I thought we were on the same page. The least you could have done is have the decency to talk to me about this.” He shakes his head again and then turns and leaves the room.
I don’t move, not even after I hear the front door open and close softly behind him. The apartment grows still. I gaze at the bed, my clothes on the floor, and then, out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears and a stifled sob erupts from my throat.
Shit.
Chapter Twenty
Daniel
I sequester myself in my office for the rest of the day, trying to deal with business though my mind refuses to focus, constantly revolving around Ashley, Karen, and my mother to the point that I finally give up, lean back in my chair, and close my eyes in an attempt to block all of it out, if even for a minute or two. I keep thinking about the expression on Ashley’s face when I told her about Karen. It was brief, but I saw the slight widening of her eyes, that almost flinch. She walked out of my office, head lowered, but with a straight spine a
nd squared shoulders. She was almost as good as I was at hiding emotion.
The problem I have to resolve now, that’s been bouncing in my brain since the moment the door shut behind her is, do I care? The simple answer is yes. Ashley was certainly inexperienced with bondage, but she’s eager to learn. She’s a natural when it comes to quickly adapting to different ways of doing things in my playroom. We clicked. I grimace as the word forms in my brain. Another stupid cliché, but hell, if the word fit, the word fit. The truth is, I want more from her than that.
“What the hell are you getting at?” I mutter into the silence of my office. I know that if I put the answer into words, it will change everything, and not necessarily for the better.
I know everything I want to know about Karen, which isn’t much, mostly superficial, but I have no real desire to learn more. Our conversations don’t delve deep beneath the surface into emotions and feelings. It’s not like we’re in love, after all. And why should it matter anyway? Our marriage, quite simply, is a matter of convenience, at least as far as I’m concerned. I got the impression that Karen feels much the same way.
On the other hand, I do want to get to know Ashley better. It’s not just that sex with her is easy, in terms of it feeling so natural and relaxing. Even in the height of a session, I felt tension and anxiety leaving my body, replaced by sensations of, if not joy, then close to it. In just a few sessions, she already learned to anticipate what I wanted and what I needed. We’re well matched. Nevertheless, I still can’t put my finger exactly on what it is that attracts me to Ashley. She should’ve been just another sub, but she isn’t.
Do I need to analyze this? Isn’t it enough to experience those rare emotions of serenity that I feel around her? I cringe as I find my thoughts turning maudlin. My thoughts sound corny, even to myself, like something out of one of the manuscripts that often cross my desk, but for the first time in my life, I understand it.
I’m supposed to meet Karen after work, to deal with some of the wedding stuff, and I’m not looking forward to it. Lately, it seems every time I turn around, my mother or Karen want something from me. I’m tired of doing all the giving, of keeping everyone happy. Except myself, that is. Before Ashley came along, before I glanced at her laptop, I was resigned, if not completely satisfied to do what my mother wanted, mainly because I knew that I would be able to continue the enjoyment of my secret and keep my life pretty much the way it was. I doubted that Karen and I would spend much social time together, which was perfectly fine with me and probably fine with her as well.
I pick up a pen and idly tap it against my blotter, frowning, my lips pursed. Dammit. I’d been going through the motions before I met Ashley. Now, everything has changed. I want more. I need more. I didn’t really realize it until now. I also realize something else, and when I do, a knot settles in the pit of my stomach.
I have to do something about it.
For the first time in my life, I know what I want, above and beyond work goals and the enjoyable yet temporary release I gain from my subs. I want to get to know a real woman. A woman like Ashley; more than as my sub, more than as my employee. I want to spend time with her aboveground, dating. Traditionally dating. But if I break off the engagement with Karen, my mother will be scandalized. No doubt about it. She even might go so far as to request the board of directors to undercut me at our family company, but do I really care? Sure, she would do so quietly. Nothing so crass as my mother airing her dirty laundry in public would do. What Karen or her family will do, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care.
Even if I’m voted off the board of directors of the family business, I’ll be all right. My heart is with my publishing company, and I have enough money that I don’t need to lean on the family business for my survival. The more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s time. Time to make some changes. Time to change the way I do things.
I don’t want to marry Karen. I’m not attracted to her, and I don’t even particularly care for her. I definitely don’t like spending time with her. Having sex with Karen isn’t enjoyable either, though it isn’t her fault she isn’t experienced enough to know what I want, what I need, nor how to please me. Karen thinks of sex as black or white, nothing in between. She only does traditional things, safe and plain and vanilla. She refuses to give or get oral sex. She refuses to push the boundaries and experiment once in a while. I’ve tried to encourage her, just once, to let herself cut loose and let me suck on her pussy as she sucked on my dick, and she shut down. Told me that only perverted people do things like that.
And so, I sit in my office, scowling at my dark computer screen, not exactly waffling, but weighing the pros and cons. I could break things off with Karen, but I already told Ashley that our relationship is purely sexual, purely related to me as her Dom and she as my sub. Does she want more?
I have a feeling she will, considering how her characters developed in her manuscript. Those characters were more than just lovers. They were partners. Soulmates. Again, I grimace and shake my head. I’m getting carried away. Besides, Ashley might not even want me for more than a sexual partner. Still, even those considerations don’t really change anything. I don’t want to marry Karen. The thought of pursuing Ashley is beside the point.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I finally pick up my phone, stare at it for several moments, and then bring up my contact list. I scroll down to Karen’s name. It has to be done. I try to convince myself that doing this is for both our sakes, but I don’t believe that Karen will feel the same way. She doesn’t care whether she loves me or not. I’m a good catch by any standards. She and her family would undoubtedly be upset if the marriage fell apart. After all, they need capital. I grunt a chortle. Will my mother offer them a deal? Severance pay? I might be cutting off my nose to spite my face, but I see no other alternative. The thought of spending the rest of my life, let alone the near future, with Karen is unacceptable.
I’m grown man. I don’t need my mother’s permission or approval to do anything. I press the speed dial and hear Karen’s phone ringtone on the other end. Unanswered, my call goes to voicemail.
“Karen, we need to talk.”
*
“No! You can’t do this!”
I sit in a corner of the sofa in my penthouse suite, trying to maintain a bland expression. I’m not coldhearted, but I know I can’t respond to Karen’s growing histrionics. She paces from one side of the room to the other, her face red, flinging her hands this way and that, pausing only occasionally to glare at me. A few times she actually sputters, struggling to find words.
I know that my announcement that I was breaking off our engagement shocked her. Her reaction, her mouth dropping open, her hand touching her chest, and the chuckle of laughter in her throat when she thought I was joking slowly morphed into red cheeks, narrowed eyes, and literally bared teeth.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” she demands.
She pauses in front of the expansive window overlooking the city and then turns to look at me, arms crossed over her chest.
“You know that our parents have gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this—”
“You don’t need to keep reminding me that this is an arranged marriage, Karen,” I say. I hoped, foolishly perhaps, that I would give her the news and she would absorb it and then storm out, probably slamming the door loudly behind her. But no, she lingered, as if she thought she could talk me out of it.
“Why?”
“You know I don’t love you, Karen, and I know you don’t love me. So, what’s the point? You and I both know that we’ll end up making each other miserable. Is that how you want to spend the next year, five years, or the rest of your life?”
She gives a dismissive gesture. “My mother told me that she and my dad didn’t love each other when they got married, but they grew to love each other over the years. Now they’re practically inseparable.”
And miserable. I’ve seen Karen’s parents on occasion, only to note their obvious disdai
n for one another. They barely look at each other, their conversations short and clipped, their body language—to me, at least—clarifying also that they no longer share a bed. Still, Karen is playing the part of jilted fiancée to the hilt, pretending that she cares about me when I know she doesn’t.
“I’m sorry, Karen, but this isn’t going to work, and I don’t think it’s fair—”
“Fair?”
Her voice cracks as she takes a step toward me, hands balled into fists.
“Fair? You’re waiting until I’m deciding on wedding cake flavors and floral arrangements to tell me that you’ve changed your mind? And how is that fair?” She pauses and sucks in a breath. “Why are you being such a fucking bastard?”
I’ve been waiting for Karen’s true nature to show. The fake tears are gone and the banshee is out. Her eyes narrow on me, her jaw clenches, a visible vein throbbing in her neck. An almost feral growl rumbles upward from deep in her chest, but to her credit, she doesn’t let it loose. She stares down at the floor a moment, then looks back at me. Another cliché captures my thoughts—if looks could kill, I’d be dead by now.
I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t cave. I can’t allow those crocodile tears shining in her eyes to sway me. She isn’t furious because she can’t have me. She’s furious because… well, who the hell knows what she actually thinks.
“Don’t you think our parents will have something to say about this?” she hisses.
“I frankly don’t care,” I say. “I shouldn’t have waited so long, Karen, I know, and for that I do apologize. But I thought as time went by, as the wedding got closer, I would begin to feel differently. But the brutally honest truth is, I don’t. I just don’t think we can make a happy marriage of it. So again, what’s the point?”
She takes several more steps toward me. I don’t move. Perhaps she’ll slap me, and I’ll probably let her. But only one. No more than that. She doesn’t. She stops and a look of pure vitriol crosses her features. Her lips turn down in a snarl.