Fate

by Nikki Sex

  Her face was frozen in an emotionless mask. Emily nodded at the appropriate times, as if she were actually taking this in. But she wasn’t able to process what he said.

  She was stunned.

  Paul went on to explain that pain during sex can increase pleasure. “I’m good at what I do, Candy. I know exactly how to hurt you in a way that will make you soar. I bet I could make you climax into unconsciousness.”

  “Climax into unconsciousness,” she repeated in a colorless voice. “Really? Through pain? Is this something that you think a normal girl…” Emily paused for a moment, recalling her stalking habits and all-consuming obsession over Paul. “Okay, well a somewhat normal girl like me, would actually want to do?”

  “You’re not a normal girl, Candy,” he observed calmly.

  A slightly hysterical snicker threatened to burst forth, but Emily bit it back. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, shriek or cry at that pronouncement.

  Would pulling her hair out while running and screaming naked through the streets of Cabo San Lucas be more appropriate? At this point in her ‘stop the world, I want to get off” ride, it seemed a sensible option.

  Paul tapped her forehead. “Think about it. You respond to me. You’ve already responded to pain. Remember the small bits of pain I gave you during sex last night? A spank on that beautiful ass of yours, pulling your hair, biting your neck, squeezing your breasts and nipples?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I think the relevant phrase here is ‘small bits of pain.’ I’ve heard the expression, ‘Hurts so good.’ I figure we did that last night. Not to mention the way you pounded and bruised the hell out of me to the point where I felt so sore that I wondered if I’d even be able to walk today.”

  His smug smile in response to this comment had her suppressing a grin. God, he was a bad, bad, man. But that smirk of his was just so darn adorable. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him, or smack that self-satisfied grin off his face. Maybe both.

  Emily rubbed the back of her neck, and consciously lowered and slowed her voice. Speaking as Candy would. “But seriously, right now, I have an idea that the pain you’re talking about inflicting has more to do with spankings, riding crops and whips. Am I right? Because I’ve read about that stuff, and it’s not for me. You’re not talking about a small amount of pain. It sounds like you want to cause serious hurt. I am so not up for that.”

  Paul gave her a strange look. There was an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite interpret. It seemed to be a combination of amusement at her ignorance, as well as a sense of superiority, and the joy of a challenge.

  As naturally as breathing, he reached over and pulled her into his arms. As naturally as breathing, she found herself unable to resist him – not in the slightest. Without any effort at all, he pulled her to him, twined his fingers through her hair and tugged. Again, she felt just the tiniest nip of pain. Her body responded.

  Mmmmmm. So good. So, so good!

  “You’re already mine,” he said, his voice rough with lust. There was triumph in his eyes. Well, Emily had known that for half her life, but how did he?

  Paul took his time, giving her a heart-stopping kiss that made her eyes flutter and roll back into her head.

  When he released her, she felt dazed. Again. His kisses were intoxicating. She felt giddy and drunk, or drugged. Where did that strong-willed woman from a moment ago disappear to? Clearly, she had gone off somewhere with Emily’s backbone, not to mention her ability to think, or even speak.

  Events were set in motion that were out of her control.

  A deluge of thoughts and feeling shot through her: fear, excitement, and inevitability – a weird inexorable feeling of destiny. She felt like a willing captive. This was more than love. It was like Paul owned her completely, mind, body and soul.

  Unfortunately for her, Paul belonged to no one. He didn’t commit.

  Was this her fate? To love someone who was unlovable?

  “Candy, Candy, Candy,” he murmured against her cheek. His warm breath teasing her with a self-satisfied sigh. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t avoid pain or anything else I want to do to you.” He gripped her chin and stared into her eyes. “You’re going to be begging for it.”

  Chapter 15. Two Weeks Later…

  “Mom!” Emily yelled, as she came down the stairs, carrying her laptop. Dressed for work, she wore a linen, raspberry colored pleated dress. She’d dyed her hair back to its natural color. No one in Lincoln City had seen her as Candy.

  The automatic coffee-maker had been set on a timer, so the kitchen smelled wonderful. Emily poured two cups, then added milk and sugar.

  Frowning, she listened but heard nothing. “Mom! I’m not kidding. Time to get up!” she yelled. “I’m going out after work today, and I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

  With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed one cup, and stormed down the hall. Opening the door to her mother’s bedroom, she looked inside. Still in bed, her mother had the sheet and blanket pulled over her head.

  “Get up, mom,” Emily snapped. She set the cup of coffee down, and then began pulling the bed covers off of her.

  “I can stay in bed if I want,” her mother argued irritably, pulling at the covers to remain hidden. The result was a ridiculous tug-of-war that eventually made Emily laugh. She finally got the covers off her mother’s head, then sat down on the bed beside her.

  “Mom,” Emily said in her most reasonable voice. “You and I both know that it’s not good for you stay in bed all day.”

  “Just leave me alone, Emily.” Her mother covered her head up again.

  Emily exhaled her breath in a long tired sigh. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone. But I’ve made a list of stuff you need to get done today. Don’t fuck with me, mom,” she warned. “You’ve been doing really well, so stay in bed for now if you want. But I swear to God, if you don’t have all that shit done by the time I get home, this time I really will leave you.”

  “You swear too much,” her mother said.

  “And you make me feel like swearing.”

  “Your father left me.”

  “That was years ago,” Emily reminded her using a sensible, patient tone. “He’s remarried. Seriously. It’s time to move on.”

  “Why don’t you just go and live with him?” her mother snapped. “You always liked your father best.”

  “That’s true,” Emily said with calm, brutal honesty. “As a child I did like him best, and you know why? Because he was a child, too. We’ve talked about this, mom. Dad’s the irresponsible one, and people like that are a lot of fun. He acted more like a playmate than a parent. But he never cooked meals, paid bilIs, made us do our homework, or put us first. You were the responsible one who always did those things. Dad promised us the world and didn’t deliver. You promised nothing but were always there for us. Anyway, I sure don’t like him for what he did to you. And I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Her mother turned away from her, lying on her side, with the blanket over her head. Emily began to pat her back. “It stinks, but we both have to live with what happened, mom. It’s been a really rough time for you. I get it.”

  “I love your father!”

  “Not this again,” Emily muttered softly to herself. The anti-depressants the doctor prescribed had certainly helped, but her mother still had a long way to go. She regularly fell into these black moods. The sound of soft sniffing came from under the blankets.

  “Look, mom,” Emily said with a patient sigh. “I’m an adult and I have a life my own. I’m really proud of you for going back to work two days a week. You should consider working more. Maybe three days, or even four. You’ve been better since you went back to work.”

  “I can’t,” her mom sniffed from under her covers. “I just can’t do any more. I just want to die.”

  There was always a point where Emily wanted to start screaming at her, or even into the air to let off some steam, but she never did. Mainly because once she started yell
ing, she might never stop. And what would she say in that high-pitched hysterical voice?

  In her mind, Emily could hear it: I can’t be the only one trying to help you! You need to help yourself, too! I refuse to watch you waste your life like this. You stupid, foolish, depressed, unhappy, impossible to move, pathetic piece of jelly!

  But Emily would never say those things to her. Those words would be hurtful and wouldn’t help either of them.

  I’ve said things in anger before, and hopefully I’ve learned that lesson. Never say anything you’ll regret. It’s easier to say nothing at all than to say something you can’t take back.

  Although Emily had experienced her own low points, she’d never experienced the kind of depression that her mother suffered from. But if Emily had ever been lucky enough to marry Paul, and he left her for her best friend, Emily figured that she would probably want to die, too.

  Emily took a deep, calming breath in and slowly let it out. “I love you mom,” she finally said, patting her once more, genuinely meaning it. “You’re very important to me, and to Reese. So don’t worry about it. When you’re feeling better, please get up and get those chores done. I’ll call you at lunchtime. But if I come home tonight and the list of things I set for you aren’t done, I swear I’ll be looking for somewhere else to live. I mean it. I refuse to sit back and watch someone that I love self-destruct.”

  There, she mused, pleased with herself. I said what I felt in a nice way.

  Yet, they both knew that leaving was an empty threat.

  For Emily, a stupid and pointless sense of guilt and duty was more confining than chains. Running away from her self-appointed responsibilities seemed as likely as escaping a maximum security prison.

  So not going to happen.

  An image of Emily standing alone, holding a big ugly sack came to her. A sign saying, ‘I was left holding the bag,’ was all she needed to complete the picture. Despite herself, she smiled.

  Caring too much was a big a part of her nature. Her best friend used to tell her that she was an idiot. “Emily, you’d cut your own heart out and give it to someone else, if they needed it,” she’d say.

  Unfortunately, her mom needed someone to look after her, to keep her moving in the right direction. Emily wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she abandoned her. There had been a real fear of her mom committing suicide, too. The potential burden of guilt that could result from that would crush her.

  Happily, her mother’s depression, all in all, had been improving. But shit a fucking brick! It had been years. Looking after her mom was a serious bummer. As needy, exasperating and as exhausting as her mom could be, it wasn’t all bad. With one last pat, she went off to the kitchen.

  In many ways, Emily looked after Paul’s dad, too. Tom Jarman liked her much more than his only child. Emily was always trying to get Paul to reconcile with his dad, but both Paul, and his dad, Tom, were really stubborn. For once, this was a good thing.

  There was no way Paul was coming home any time soon. The chance of him figuring out that she was actually Candy was non-existent. Thank God.

  While eating a bowl of shredded wheat, Emily looked at the pictures she’d taken of Paul in Cabo. He’d briefly fallen asleep. Wanting to capture the memory, she’d taken a number of photos. Looking at them transported her back to that amazing time. She could almost smell him. Too bad that she’d only gotten pictures. She’d wanted to steal his shirt or something, to keep his scent, too.

  I would have done it, except I was afraid he’d hear the sound of the zipper when I opened his duffel bag. Crazy stalker person! God, I’m pathetic!

  The idea of sleeping with Paul’s t-shirt, wrapping it around her pillow and hugging it to her at night was tantalizing. Sexy, yet comforting. Well. She was obsessed with the man, what could she say?

  Everyone has things they’re embarrassed about, she consoled herself. Secrets they’d never tell anyone. Obsessing over Paul was hers.

  My one not-so-little secret! My shameful, twisted, guilty pleasure. Either way, it’s a secret that I’ll never tell.

  Chapter 16. Memories

  Emily was an amateur photographer, entering and even once winning a local competition. So it had been creepy, yet natural to take pictures of Paul while he slept. Oh, boy. He’d be so mad if he ever found out. She’d been crossing boundaries one after another since she arrived in Cabo, and figured, what the hell. This was a little vacation from her normal code of ethics.

  Her obsessive love of Paul, and fear of his fury if she’d been discovered, had warred with each other. In the end love won. She simply had to capture the wonderful experience they had shared. They were a personal souvenir that she would have to let go of someday.

  Emily had taken twelve pictures of him on her phone. She hadn’t dared to use her Canon. She knew Paul all of her life, but now she really knew him. There was a whole side of him – a controlling part of his personality that freaked her out.

  Every day, probably twenty times a day, Emily flipped through those photos, like the crazy stalker person that she was. He was so beautiful to her artistic eye.

  Such masculine glory as he slept, flat on his back, a sheet covering below the waist. She recalled his chest, the solid rise and fall of it, and the comforting sound of his heart beating. The fine dark hairs on his arms and belly, trailing lower to the male secrets between his legs. The dark tangle of curls around his manhood that never seemed to be less than semi erect. The stubble of his beard that shadowed his skin and rubbed against her. He looked dangerous. Like a wild animal.

  He is dangerous. To my heart and to my sanity.

  The photos were erotic, but not X-rated. They were tasteful close-ups of those long-fingered hands of his; his face resting in unconscious repose; full-length shots of the length of him, tangled in the sheets. If those sheets could talk. The poor things had almost burst into flames!

  Oh my God. Emily shivered. The shameless way she’d begged and writhed against him. The things they had done together on that bed, not to mention the table, the couch, and the rug…

  Emily had eagerly knelt on the floor, looking up at him with his beautiful cock in her mouth. She couldn’t have felt better sitting upon a King’s throne.

  What was it about being on her knees and sucking a man? The truth was, she’d been a thumb sucker as a child. Her mom had tried everything to make her stop, Tabasco sauce, bandaging her thumb up, corporal punishment, and bribery. Eventually, Emily quit sucking her thumb during the day when she began first grade. But she secretly continued to suck her thumb at night, and only gave it up when she was eight.

  Sucking her thumb had been comforting. It generated a feeling of love, safety, and happiness.

  Sucking a cock was even better. And sucking Paul’s cock? Wow. A blast of heat rolled through her body, making her breasts tingle and her pussy clench. There was nothing better. Emily recalled the rigid length of his erection; that solid well-veined shaft, with the hot, rounded head. The soft, velvet on steel, most-male part of him.

  Mmmmm… The look, taste, smell and feel of it in her mouth, against her lips and tongue. There was nothing like it. His was the most marvelous of all. A memory intruded, invading her thoughts, and her breath caught.

  I begged him not to use a condom. Paul had stiffened and his lips had compressed with sudden and complete disapproval. The shame of that moment still made her blush in disgrace. What had she been thinking?

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t of safe sex.

  She had ached for there to be no barriers between them. Nothing to prevent their connection. She’d always trusted Paul so completely that she hadn’t thought anything of it.

  Paul had finally allowed Emily to suck him, but only after she repeatedly begged. Even then, he still wouldn’t allow her to touch him with her hands while going down on him. She could have him in her mouth while on her knees, with her hands behind her back, and fingers linked. She did everything he ordered. Even after all that, he wouldn’t allow himself to
climax!

  He was so stingy. Paul’s cock was his, and he didn’t like to share except on his terms.

  He withheld his cum from her, too. He refused to even shoot on her breasts. Apparently, she hadn’t earned that, either. Emily could never remember wanting to see a man ejaculate more in her life.

  Although the condom wasn’t welcome, even that couldn’t stop her enjoyment of giving Paul pleasure.

  Frankly, she couldn’t remember any man ever holding back their orgasm. In her limited experience, even that was rare. Men tended to be greedy. Their own climax was usually their focus. Paul was the opposite. He was intent on giving or withholding her pleasure. This was totally new for her.

  She recalled his low, lust-filled words, as he pulled his throbbing shaft out of her mouth and teased her by stroking it, right in front of her face.

  “Please, please, Paul,” she’d begged. “Let me suck you off! Please let me.”

  “You have to earn it, Candy,” he said with patient authority. “I don’t give my cum to just anyone. And you won’t get it until you deserve it.”

  “What do I have to do?” she asked, trying to keep the begging whine from her voice.

  She wanted to see him lose control, wanted to feel his cock throb and see him throw his head back as he shuddered with pleasure. Emily knew that if she saw, smelled or felt him shoot his hot spunk, she’d go off, too. Damn that condom! And damn him for holding back what she ached for. He was such a tease.

  Paul shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  It only made her want it more. Why was that? His refusal was like throwing jet fuel into the fire within her, causing it to flare up and consume her with longing and desire. Paul was implacable once he made up his mind. Logically, safe sex was always the right thing to do. But in her lust-filled daze she hadn’t been thinking logically at the time.

  Emily never did get to hold his cock in her hands.

  In her experience, a lover wanted her to go down on them first. Or else they’d do the minimum of foreplay, since he’d be in a hurry to get off. They focused on their own orgasm.