His to Own: 50 Loving States, Arkansas

by Theodora Taylor

  But Colin still isn’t saying three. Eventually my heart slows and I can hear the brook in the background, cruising quietly past as I wait to hear three. Small animals rustling in nearby trees. A birdsong or two. With my eyes closed, it feels just like my creek back home.

  And suddenly I hear something else. The intro to my song about West Tennessee, and then a soft voice singing about blue grass, and the sons of sharecroppers, and farmsteads that nobody tends. About monthly Sunday chicken dinners and an old lady who doesn’t sit on the porch as much as she used to because the man she loved got sent home.

  Eventually the song is finished and quiet descends. The creek is still flowing, but the animals no longer chatter. They seem to be listening, too.

  My eyes are still closed. I’m afraid to open them, because it feels like that would break some kind of spell.

  And then comes Colin’s voice. “Play me one of the ones you’ve been working on since you started your new job.”

  I shake my head with my eyes still closed. “I can’t. I didn’t bring my journal with me.”

  “That’s even better. Play me whatever you wrote that’s so good, you already got it memorized.”

  Colin’s words pull on my hands like a puppet master’s strings, and before I know it, I’m playing him the song I wrote about watching my mom get on a cross-country train bound for LA. The one he suggested I write.

  There’s more quiet when I’m done with that one. And I begin to feel like a fool, sitting there with my eyes closed, because I’m too afraid to open them.

  But Colin’s voice is all business when it comes again.

  “Go back to that part where she steps on the bus and says ‘See you soon,” but you know she ain’t coming back. That’s your tear cue—the lines that are going make anybody listening cry—so you don’t want to be playing over them. Try that whole verse again, but stop playing on those two lines.”

  I do as he says, and he’s right. It’s way more poignant and I can almost hear the young girl’s broken heart vibrating inside the words.

  Then I’m done again, and this time there’s no quiet. Just Colin taking the guitar from me. I hear the sound of him setting it aside. Then his hand is on my face, cupping it, as he says, “Open your eyes.”

  I do and I’m immediately startled by his tender look. “You have a song about how you got this scar yet?”

  I begin to move away.

  “No don’t.” He uses the hand cupped around my face to pull me closer and a moment later, I’m in his lap, his legs folded under my butt, my legs sprawled out on either side of his. My naked core against his hard length.

  “I just want to know about you, Purple, that’s all,” he says, laying my head down on his shoulder.

  Not having to look at him is a relief, but it’s doesn’t make the bad memories his question brought up go away.

  “I don’t have a song about the scar,” I tell him. “I don’t sing about it. I don’t even talk about it.”

  His body stiffens against mine. “Not even to me.”

  Especially not to him. “No, and please don’t make me. It’s not a story I want to tell.”

  He abruptly stops holding me and starts shoving my clothes off. The flannel shirt is stripped off my body, and the t-shirt pulled off over my head. When I’m fully naked, he catches my arms behind my back and says, “Purple, look at me.”

  My heart freezes at the same time I feel myself clench down below, my body helplessly responding to his rough action.

  His eyes bore into mine, “You understand I could make you tell me.”

  I do understand. And the knowledge scares me to my very core.

  “Nod if you understand.”

  I nod. Scared of him. Even more so of myself.

  And he suddenly lets my arms go, stroking both hands into my purple curls. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, baby. I’m fucked up, and I’m curious about you—” he breaks, kissing one of the shoulders he bared when he stripped me naked. Again. “Damn curious. But I’m never going to force you to do something I don’t think you really want to do. Tell me you get that.”

  I do, and my heart warms with an emotion I haven’t felt for any other man but Beau in a very long time. An emotion I know I shouldn’t be having this soon, or this fast.

  And then he’s pushing into me, and this time it doesn’t even occur to me to fight him. It’s not that kind of fuck. Though somehow the feelings are just as intense as the first time. Colin’s arms around me, his hands holding my wrists prisoner, his head bent and pressed into my shoulder. In this position, there’s no question of whether I’m getting enough clitoral stimulation.

  I am. I so very, very am, and I soon fall apart, my cries echoing across the backwoods along with the animalistic grunts he makes as he thrusts up into me.

  I slump into him, just in time to feel the muscles in his shoulders bunch and hike up. His body stays tight a long time, his whole face squeezed shut, like he’s barely withstanding what’s happening to him. I can feel his release flooding my core in a stream I become afraid will never stop. But then it does, and soon after I feel his large hands back on my body, stroking my back.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  The question should have seemed a little out of nowhere, considering there wasn’t any back and forth like the other times. Just straight up sex. But I get why he’s asking it.

  Before could have been considered fun and games—the kind of things authors put in books to titillate their readers. However, having plain old vanilla sex makes me feel like we’ve just crossed some sort of line.

  I tell him the truth. “Yes, I’m okay, but this is crazy.”

  “Yeah it is,” he agrees. He sounds even unhappier about it than me.

  “I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this. So intense…”

  He nods in somber agreement. “I’m pretty sure it ain’t.”

  Well, at least we agree on that. This is crazy. Sex shouldn’t be this intense. I rest my head against his shoulder, wondering if I’ll ever feel strong enough to put a stop to it.

  Chapter 24

  Colin is, I’m finding, a man of his word. He makes us a dinner of chicken seasoned with lemon and pepper, and a nice spinach salad to go on the side.

  “This looks delicious…” I tell him when he sets my plate down on the coffee table.

  I trail off when he sets another plate down. It has the same thing on it, times five.

  “It’s a thin line between built and skinny and Fairgood men tend to live and die skinny, except for a small beer gut if they’re lucky,” he explains to me. “I got to hit the protein hard.”

  Fascinated, I watch him eat nearly five times as much as me. Colin seems to enjoy the food for the first two chicken breasts, then it becomes a pretty grim business with him continuing to eat with mechanical bites after I’m long done.

  “Not quite as good as Josie’s chicken, huh?” I say after a while of this.

  “No, it ain’t. Next time I’m in town, maybe I’ll write your grandma about sending over a plate of her chicken. Though I hate to bother a little old lady. Maybe there’s somebody else who could make it for me…”

  I giggle. “Or you could get one of your groupies to make you some.”

  “Yeah, because that’s what blondes with fake tits are known for,” he mutters. “Being real good in the kitchen.”

  “You don’t know! Maybe all they need is a chance to prove themselves,” I answer with a laugh.

  Colin sets his empty plate aside on the coffee table. “You done eating?”

  “Long done. Why?”

  I get my answer when Colin takes me by the hand and pulls me up from the couch. “Time to keep my other promise,” he says.

  So yeah, Colin is for real a man of his word, and like a lot of musicians, good with his hands. Less than ten minutes later, I’m completely bare down below, courtesy of a pink razor he bought during the trip he took into town while I was asleep.

  When he’s done, he th
rows me a satisfied smile, and says, “My pussy looks good.” He cups me below, causing me to take a sharp breath, because there’s now no cushion of hair to serve as a buffer against his touch.

  His blue eyes turn dark with lust when he looks back up at me. “You want to touch my pussy?” he asks his voice low.

  I hesitate, remembering what happened the last time I tried. And not quite ready to trade in all these good feelings for what came after I disobeyed one of his commands.

  “Go ahead, you’ve got my permission to touch it this once,” he says. A magnanimous king with his possession. “I want you feel what I’m feeling when I touch you.”

  So I do. I tentatively touch myself, and find a much smoother surface now, one that’s way more sensitive to the touch. I dip a finger into my slit and easily find the button hidden within, already engorged and pulsing with desire. Apparently, getting shaved by a country superstar turns me on.

  “My pussy feels good, doesn’t it?” Colin’s dark voice says above me.

  I don’t answer. I’m too busy exploring, my fingers going deeper and deeper inside me. I should be embarrassed for myself, but his gaze only makes me that much hotter.

  I don’t get much further than that, though. Colin’s hand closes around my wrist. I think just to stop me, but then he’s turning my whole body over so I’m on my knees when he ties one of the ropes still attached to the railed headboard around both of my wrists.

  “No! No!” I say with a moan. “You said I could.”

  He’s behind me now, his hips centered right behind mine so I can feel the muscled front of his legs against the soft back of mine, and his hard length against my quivering core.

  “Calm down, Purple,” he says. “This ain’t about punishment.”

  Then he pushes into me from behind. It’s embarrassingly easy for him to do so. Not just because of the position I’m in, thighs pushed apart with my naked pussy in the air, but also because I’m soaking wet. I feel another wave of shame come over me, because just the act of getting tied down seems to turn me on beyond anything else I’ve ever known.

  “No, this ain’t about breaking the rules, Purple,” he says behind me. “This is about laying some down. Tomorrow I’ve got an afternoon flight to Ontario for the Canadian leg of my tour, and I’m not back for another few weeks, til Columbus Day weekend.”

  My heart shrinks with the reminder that our time together is limited. Which is stupid. Because of course he’s leaving Tennessee tomorrow. And I’m driving back to Alabama in order to get the house ready for Josie and Beau’s return on Monday. Still, I can’t help feeling gloomy, like something magical is coming to an end.

  “You around Columbus Day weekend?” he asks me.

  “Kind of,” I say. “That’s the last Sunday Dinner of the year, so I’ve got to help my grandma out. But I could come here after that, since I’ve got Monday off.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He starts moving behind me, with long aching pumps. “We don’t need to have that other discussion again, right? I think you get that this pussy belongs to me?” He cups my core in that rough way of his, so I can’t possibly mistake which pussy he’s talking about.

  I nod, too mute with lust to care what I’m agreeing to.

  “Good,” he says, like I’ve passed the “sign your name” part of the test with flying colors. “And since you know this pussy is mine, I don’t have to tell you

  I’m the only one who gets to touch it while I’m on the road, right? Not anyone else. Not even you get to touch my pussy while I’m on the road, unless you have my permission. We clear on that, Purple?”

  No, we aren’t clear on that. I’ve been single too long, and he’s basically asking me to give up masturbation. Until I see him again. Whenever that is. I rally, shaking my head. “Not yours,” I mumble.

  “If you’re good and you follow the rules, I might let you touch my pussy while I’m talking to you on the phone,” he says. His voice is full of dark promise.

  I shake my head. Resisting. Trying to hold on to one shred of dignity. “Not yours.”

  And suddenly it’s no longer fun and games.

  “Do not fuck with me, Purple,” he says, driving himself into me. “I will lose my mind if I find out you’ve been with someone else while I’m on the road, so you need to tell me what I want to hear, now. ”

  I clamp my lips, refusing to answer. Afraid of him. Even more afraid of myself. It’s becoming a familiar feeling.

  My mutinous silence seems to enrage him. He yanks himself out of me and the next thing I feel is his chest blanketing my back. His body so heavy, I have no choice but to sphinx down to my elbows.

  But even that helpless physical submission isn’t enough for him. He yanks on my arms, forcing them out straight in front of me, as one large hand manacles around my bound wrists.

  “You think this is funny?” he asks me, his voice little more than a sneer. “You think I won’t zip up my pants and leave you here? Call Ginny, tell her to come untie you in a few hours? Is that what it’s going to take to make you learn your lesson about fucking with me?”

  The prospect of him leaving me tied naked to the bed scares the shit out of me. And of course, in this messed up dynamic we’ve got going, that only makes my pussy quiver more. I can feel it clenching in and out in a thirsty search for Colin’s cock, which is pressed against my backside.

  I have never wanted to give in to something the way I want to give in to this. But the one part of me that isn’t completely gone with lust has a question. One I have to ask. “How about you?”

  “What?”

  I turn my head toward the sound of his voice, even though he’s made it impossible for me to look at him over my shoulder.

  “What about you? If you’re out on the road, I don’t want you getting with anybody else either. Or touching yourself.” I lick my dry lips. “Not unless I’m on the other side of the phone.”

  Silence. And I see his other hand fisting around his dick, which he pushes back into to me.

  “You’re an idiot,” he says quietly.

  Now it’s my turn to still, the three words bringing back memories of the first time we met. The first time we fought.

  “You’re an idiot if you think I’d want to do this with any woman but you,” he finishes. His strokes become faster, meaner, even as his words become nicer. “But if you need me to say the words, here they go: I’m not paying any other girl any attention while I’m out on the road, Purple. And you’re going to pay for that, because I’m going to call you every day, make you play out all the fucked up fantasies I’ve been carrying around in my head since the night we met.”

  His words makes me feel strangely at peace, despite the ominous threat lurking in them.

  “Your pussy,” I happily concede. “Nobody touches it but you. Not even me. Nobody…”

  I have to stop then, because the orgasm hits me hard, ripping through my belly with such electric urgency, my heart stops beating and my brain goes offline for a few moments.

  Colin’s thrusts become faster above me. Desperate and urgent like he’s barely holding on.

  “Fuck yes, Purple. Damn you come good on this dick, girl.”

  His dirty assessment of my current situation sends a fresh climax shuddering through me. I cry out, my teeth grinding against the onslaught of intense pleasure. And just when I think I’ve got it under control, Colin swells and explodes inside of me with a jagged shout.

  Cue the third climax, and I just can’t… The entire side of my face hits the mattress as I collapse onto the bed. My butt is the only thing in the air now, and that’s because I’m still fully impaled on Colin’s dick. If not for that, I know I’d be little more than a quivering puddle of flesh on the bed. Every single ounce of fight has gone out of me. I’m no longer capable of speaking anything but Colin’s name in wonder, over and over again. My body is no longer capable of doing anything but shuddering with pleasure. Everything inside of me has given out. Given up. A word floats into the puddle
of my mind like a steel boat with a foghorn. Piercing and undeniable.

  Submitted.

  I’ve submitted to him. This is what it must feel like to completely give yourself to someone the way Colin’s been demanding I give myself to him all weekend.

  The realization is too much. This situation is too much. Colin is too much. Hot tears blur my vision, but I don’t even have enough strength of will leftover to wipe them away.

  Then comes Colin’s voice, like a lighthouse in the fog. He pulls out of me, and the coldness of his disengagement is soon replaced by the warmth of his arms. “C’mere, Purple…”

  He tips my chin up. Presses his entire face into mine. Forehead, noses. I can even feel his eyelashes against my closed lids as he breathes his next words into my mouth like a CPR kiss. “I know it’s intense. I know it’s scary. I’m fucking scared myself. But it’s okay.”

  I believe him. Colin is probably the only person on Earth I could believe about anything right now. Especially this.

  “You did real good,” he tells me. “Better than I ever could have expected.” Suddenly he’s flooding me with a string of compliments. How much he likes my voice. How soft my body is. How he’s been dreaming about this for years—literally dreaming about it.

  “And you’re beautiful,” he tells me. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are? So fucking pretty, I’m supposed to be one of the best writers in country music and I can’t come up with anything better than that. Lookin’ at you fries my brain the hell out, Purple.”

  I believe him. For once I’m not thinking about the scar or the trouble spots on my body that keep me from doing things like wearing a bikini out in public.

  Colin makes me feel beautiful. Clean and glowing with promise.

  It’s the sex. I dimly recall something I read once about sex literally messing with your brain chemistry like a drug. This sex, I realize somewhere in the back of my mind, is definitely a drug, one that renders me incapable of telling what’s bullshit and what’s not.