Right Message, Wrong Man

by Annabeth Leong

  My hardest fighting would never get me away from him. The man had been carved from steel, it seemed. I fought anyway, feeling his smile against my face as I yelped into his open mouth and batted helplessly at his merciless, vise-like hands.

  Then the mood changed for me, abruptly. My cunt woke up like never before. My head began to buzz, and I melted in Jaron’s grip, no longer fighting him. Instead, I pulled my body back to increase the tug on my nipples. The stretch in them accomplished an effect for me that would normally have taken hours of foreplay.

  He must have felt the change, too, because he released me, softly, then collected me against his chest. A little sob I hadn’t noticed myself holding choked up from my throat. Jaron rubbed circles on my back. “There’s a good slut,” he murmured.

  In the back of my mind, I thought it should have bothered me for him to call me “slut” the way he had been, but his voice glowed with such genuine caring that all I felt was an answering surge of affection. I pulled back after a moment and blinked at him.

  “That was different.” My voice sounded sluggish and drunk.

  “You dropped into subspace fast,” he said, reaching out and stroking my hair. He studied me for a long moment. Strangely free of my usual self-consciousness, I let him look, for once not worrying about places where my foundation might have smeared off, revealing my acne scars. Jaron’s eyes told me what he saw. The best version of myself. Luxurious dark hair, luminously tanned skin, big brown eyes. A body like an old screen star. I basked in the glamour reflected from his gaze.

  “Come here,” Jaron said, taking my hand and leading me to his cream-colored couch. I saw the bulge in his pants, and my free hand darted out to touch. The soft, expensive fabric made me sigh as much as the hard, hot length beneath it.

  Jaron frowned and removed my hand forcefully. “Not yet. Sit down here. I’ll get you some water. I have to control myself.”

  “Why? Don’t you want to...”

  “We have to talk about what we’re doing here. I really want to hurt you. I can’t make it through a normal fuck.”

  In my altered state, I giggled, and his expression of disapproval deepened. I dropped onto the couch and gazed up at him. That moment of surrender spread through my chest like the best, warmest glass of red wine I’d ever had. I wanted him to push until I had to fight, then make me give in again. “Just do whatever you want to me,” I said.

  “I shouldn’t have started off that way. You can’t negotiate rationally when you’re like this. I didn’t know it would affect you so much. I’m sorry. Breathe deeply. I’ll be right back.”

  I sat on his couch and waited, feeling unparalleled contentment. Because he’d told me to wait, sitting here the way he wanted gave me rapid little bursts of that sense of surrender. I bathed in the pleasure of them until Jaron returned, placing a glass of water into my hands.

  “Lila, it’s a very good sign that you liked what I did, but I need you to come back a little so we can talk this out.”

  “What is there to talk about?” I said. “Fuck me. Hurt me. I want you to. I’m glad I texted you by mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  The drunken feeling left in a hurry, chased away by a surge of adrenaline inspired by the ferocious darkness on Jaron’s face. I sat up straight on the couch, blinking and shaking my head to clear it. I tried lying. I said, “I hit ‘send’ on that message accidentally—before I’d decided I was really sure about it.”

  Jaron grabbed the back of my neck and tilted me so he could really study my face. My poker face had always been amateur at best, and Jaron had already demonstrated a peculiar ability to figure me out. I dropped my eyes away from his gaze, knowing I was doomed.

  He wrenched my head back further, dipping his chin in an effort to catch my gaze. “Look at me, Lila.”

  I obeyed. He was silent for a moment, then pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “You never meant to text me. It’s obvious when I think about it. You weren’t really in the neighborhood. You have no way of knowing I have a big cock. It was a weird thing to say to a man you’ve never seen naked. Not the way I would expect you to start things with me. You were surprised that I’d thought about having a relationship with you.”

  “Jaron—”

  He thrust me away from him as he stood. “Were you going to cheat on your boyfriend for a while then come up with some pretext to break things off with me?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Jesus, then I said all that bullshit to you, about the way I’ve thought about you. And you haven’t thought about me at all, have you? If I’d been thinking with my head and not my cock, I would have seen it right away.”

  “Jaron, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Then what? You put your contact list on shuffle and text whoever pops up that you want to suck his big cock?” He wouldn’t look at me now, just when I’d been getting used to his intense gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I really would like to stay. Please.”

  “Go home, Lila. Text whoever it was whose cock you really wanted to suck and find out if he’s still available. I never want to hear a personal word from you again. Ever. Do you understand?”

  I got off the couch, but arousal still ached between my legs. This wasn’t about being horny anymore. Before I left, I had to try one more time. “I don’t want anyone else, Jaron.” I touched the side of his arm with my fingertips. “I didn’t realize it, but now I think I was attracted to you all this time.”

  He turned, his face a furious mask. “Stop talking, Lila. You’re not helping either of us by continuing to lie to me.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but my voice died in my throat when Jaron grabbed me by the neck and propelled me toward the door. He switched his grip to my wrist while he fiddled with the locks. For all the nastiness of the moment, the pain around his fingers made me want him again. Almost unconsciously, I swayed toward him, wanting to rub my cheek against his arm at least.

  Jaron shoved me away. I moaned when my shoulder hit the wall. “Let me stay.”

  He stared at me. For a second, I could hope.

  Then he handed me my shoes, pushed me out, and slammed the door behind me. I stood, sick to my stomach but still aroused, unwilling to leave in case he changed his mind. Several times, I tried knocking and calling to him, but in my gut I knew Jaron wasn’t the type to give in to begging.

  Sinking to my knees in the hallway outside his apartment, I wondered how I’d gone from hating my boss to needing him in so short a time. I’d never thought of myself as a masochist, but now the word seemed like the answer to every question I’d had about myself. I could have looked for another job, but I hadn’t. I could have stayed away from Jason, but I hadn’t. Maybe the problem was just that I hadn’t known what kind of pain I was looking for.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, getting a twinge in my nipples when my arms brushed them. I waited until I started to worry how late the buses would run, but he never broke. The door stayed shut.

  If I hadn’t thought about Jaron before, I sure as hell did now. Texting Jason was out of the question, possibly forever. Leaning my head against the rattling window of the bus, I thought about how I’d always enjoyed the feeling of it pounding against the side of my head. The clues I’d never noticed before filled the world.

  Closing my eyes, I pictured Jaron’s steely expression and thin, strong fingers, and wondered what he had in mind when he said he wanted to hurt me. Did he have toys, or was he just planning to pinch and bite me? My surge of excitement soured when different images intruded—his disapproval, and the way he’d shoved me out the door. Worst of all was trying to imagine what he’d be like at work the next day.

  Jaron had already written me up once, caused me to extend my ordinary workday by an average of an hour and a half, and been the source of my self-imposed exile from the lunch bunch. I had him to thank for days when I ate nothing but two power bars and an extra large iced coffee. I already woke up every morni
ng with my heart pounding and my stomach churning, desperate to get to my e-mail. I couldn’t even conceive of what he could do worse to me.

  And you want to fuck this man? My brain couldn’t reconcile my daily misery and revulsion with the intense sexual excitement I had felt with him. My hands, which had been on my lap and inching toward my crotch, wrapped my abdomen instead.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but before the bus got to my neighborhood, I took out my phone one last time and pulled up our texted conversation. Ever think about how mistakes can sometimes lead to serendipity? I typed. I even added a smiley face. It didn’t relieve my nerves, and he didn’t respond to me.

  Chapter 3

  The Right Kind of Pain

  “Lila, can I see you in my office?” I glanced up in surprise. It wasn’t an odd request, but Jaron had just pulled off the amazing feat of making it all the way through our daily strategy meeting without so much as glancing at me, addressing me, or saying my name.

  “Of course, Jaron.” My voice shook, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Everyone shuffled papers and packed up their things. Most of them would walk a few blocks to the food trucks near the office and get lunch now. I wouldn’t have been joining them anyway. Jaron had gotten to the office hours before me, producing a prodigious amount of work that required my input before it could be finalized.

  I followed Jaron down the hall, trailing a few feet behind him. I didn’t know how to walk anymore. One second, I thought I was swaying my hips too much, and the next I felt like I’d been made of wood. Where did I normally put my hands when I walked? Did they really just dangle at my sides? I raked my fingers through my hair to toss it back, but then felt self-conscious of the gesture. Worst of all, I couldn’t figure out where to put my eyes. It felt odd to look past Jaron, or to stare at his back, and my gaze kept slipping down to his ass anyway. I found myself wondering why I hadn’t been lusting after all that firm muscle every day of my working life.

  I tried keeping my eyes on the carpet between us, but that made me aware of the bend in my neck. It brought the word “submissive” to mind.

  By the time we got to his office, I was sweating. He opened the door for me and gave his slight smile. He’d noticed.

  Jaron closed the door behind us. No one would hear our conversation, but a glass window onto the hallway at the side of the door meant a person standing at the right angle might be able to see us.

  He sat in the swivel chair beside his computer—his was leather, not cloth, and as stupid a sign of power as that was, it had always intimidated me. I took the seat on the other side of his desk. That chair positioned me a few inches lower than Jaron. Many times, I had wondered if that was a natural consequence of his height or a subtle assertion of superiority intended to manipulate the psychology of his visitors.

  Jaron didn’t bother with preamble. “When I told you I never wanted to hear a personal word, that included text messages,” he said. “You will delete my number from your phone. Now.”

  “What if I have to call to let you know I’m running late?”

  “A message to my desk line will suffice. It was a mistake to give you my private cell phone number.”

  My chest ached with shame and loss, but I ducked my head and nodded.

  “Well?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I said ‘now,’ didn’t I?”

  “Oh.” I freed my phone from my pocket.

  “I want to watch you do it.” I pulled my chair as close to the desk as I could, then tipped the phone forward to try to share the view of the screen. Jaron sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not like that. Come stand next to me.”

  I did as he asked. I stopped well short of touching him, but still it felt like invisible lines connected us. I could smell the leather scent of his skin. My hands shaking, I showed him the phone and tried again.

  He sat in perfect silence until I’d erased him from my phone, not betraying any reaction, even when I accidentally pulled up our exchange of texts from the night before.

  “Good. Now go sit back down.” Obeying, I thought of the way he’d said, “Good slut” the night before. I missed the word.

  I pulled myself up tall in the chair across from him, trying to make eye contact. “Sir, may I just—”

  “It’s not ‘Sir.’ It’s ‘Jaron.’“

  “Right.” I swallowed hard. My eyes stung. I waited for him to dismiss me so I could cry in the privacy of my own office.

  “There’s something else,” he said instead. “I had IT check your logs. You’re doing a lot of Internet shopping. Amazon. Target. Mod Cloth. I could go on.”

  “I work very hard, Jaron. I have to take some kind of breaks.”

  “I haven’t even gotten to your social networking habits. Facebook. Twitter. LinkedIn.” He gave a significant pause there. “The usage on that one increased recently. Are you looking for another job? Your profile is very complete. I checked.”

  “What do you want me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  “Was that a sexual invitation?”

  I wanted to scream at him. I folded my hands on my lap and forced my voice to stay calm. “I’ll stop visiting non-work-related websites. I was just trying to ask if there’s anything more you want me to do.”

  He took a loud, deep breath, and suddenly I noticed his tightly clenched jaw, the muscle standing out on the side of his neck. He was anxious, too. “Of course, there’s more that I wish you could do, but we’re past that point now, aren’t we?”

  He spoke so softly I could barely hear him. The sadness in the words washed over me, and I understood something about him. “You always liked me,” I said. “This is your way of dealing with it.”

  Jaron went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Maybe I’ll write you up again. That would be fair.”

  My realization made me feel daring. I leaned in and, even though I didn’t think anyone could hear me, I lowered my voice even further. “What if you just spank me instead?”

  His Adam’s apple worked up and down in his throat. “Have you watched too many movies? That doesn’t happen in real life, Lila. That’s not how it works.”

  “Then what is?” I stood up and glared at him. “If you want to fire me over what happened, fire me. I won’t contest it. Hell, I’ll even resign if that’s what you want. If you want to hurt me, then take me home with you and do it right. But make up your mind.”

  Jaron looked away and leaned back in his chair. He took a highlighter from a jar of pens on his perfectly arranged desk and tapped it rhythmically against his leg. Inspiration struck me. My hand darted forward and snatched a fine-pointed fountain pen out of the jar. When I got the cap off, it was as sharp as I hoped it would be.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Showing you what you’re missing.” I stooped, making sure to point my cleavage in his direction, and put one hand flat on the desk, palm up. Before I could think about it, I inhaled and stabbed the point of the pen into the center of my palm.

  It hurt like hell, but I didn’t think I’d broken the skin. I sank into a squat and kept pushing, letting out a hissing breath as I twisted the pen. I’d seen a girl do this in preschool, slowly working her way through the layers of her flesh, and the awed fascination with which I had watched her now seemed like another clue to my newly discovered identity.

  “Lila. Stop. Jesus Christ.”

  “Don’t you wish it was you doing this to me?” My voice sounded distorted, coming through clenched teeth. I wanted to feel that inner click I’d felt with him. I knew the mental state I’d found at his apartment existed, shimmering somewhere past the pain. The pen hurt much more than his fingers had on my nipples, but it also didn’t feel like enough to take me where I wanted to go.

  “Lila.” His fingers closed on my wrists. I resisted him, and the next thing I knew, I was up against his chest, his wrist lock forcing my hand muscles to drop the pen. I pressed my face into his neck, gratified to discover the light sheen of sweat there.

/>   Jaron’s fingers twisted slightly, and my body had to go where he wanted. I fell backward, landing on my ass on the floor at his feet. And this was what I needed. I blinked up at him and moaned.

  He shot a look over his shoulder, checking the view through the window into the office. Right then, I didn’t care what anyone else saw, but the hallway must have been clear because Jaron relaxed slightly and turned back to me. He hissed, “I could call HR right now and have you dismissed for psychiatric reasons.”

  “But you don’t want to.” I knew because his hard cock was at my eye level now. It was big.

  Jaron sighed and pulled me to my feet. He turned my hand over and examined the big, blue ink stain and the angry red weal I had created. “Damn you. There’s nothing good about this.”

  I let my eyes drop again to his cock, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “You think you’re persuading me right now? I can’t be with you if you’re going to do crazy things like this at work.”

  “Are you going to fire me?”

  I had never known him to hesitate over a thing like that, but now he did. Anguish poured off him so palpably that my wild mood softened. I eased my hand out of his grip and wiped my palm with a tissue. “I’m going to go back to my desk now. I’ll leave you alone and do my job. But I want to see you later. After work. Please think about it.”

  I thought he might be trembling. Just before I disappeared into the hall, Jaron spoke, softly and urgently. “Come to my place at 8, but only if you are ready. Your safe word is ‘taxi,’ and you will say it if you want everything to stop. Otherwise, I’m going to make you regret you ever saw me, and I won’t let up until you beg for my cock.” His grim tone of voice made me want to swoon against the wall. I clenched my fist, increasing the sting in my palm, and held that blue ink stain in my hand like a secret all the way back to my desk.