Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  So, making the introductions to new folk and greeting those I’ve known since childhood occurred under a rather strange cloud. I’d say the majority of people who’ve known me a long time were probably wondering what the hell was the matter with me. Had life in the big city managed to separate me from a personality?

  No, a night in Nate’s bedroom has done that.

  Or, it has for the moment, at any rate.

  It’s strange because I was kind of dreading reconnecting with all these people, but with my mind focused elsewhere, it wasn’t the challenge I imagined. I’ve too much to think about at the moment. What with this Thoroughbred stabling issue…and even in the Twilight Zone, I haven’t failed to notice Uncle Sam or Jase are nowhere to be seen ̶ they’re definitely ducking out of the spotlight. Ha. As if their absence will stop my righteous fury at what Sam has done. I want to tackle Nate over this idea, but with this new dynamic between us, I don’t dare. Things have turned so complicated, I feel like I’m living in a maze and at the moment, I’m very lost, and I don’t want to lose myself even further.

  These things can be dealt with tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. The commune can wait, for as always, it’s running like clockwork. The people here are too intelligent to let the place that nurtures them fall into disrepair, even if Nate has been away for a fair while.

  I’ve chatted, smiled, and greeted most of the people here. Over the coming weeks, I’ll have to talk with each of them and make sure they realize I’m here on a permanent basis. But as it is, my mind is focused on one thing only. Nate.

  I don’t understand how things have careered so swiftly down this path. Don’t things like this take time? Instead, not even a day after Nate made his proclamation and I accepted his terms, I’m already feeling like a different person inside.

  A part of me is wailing, wondering if Nate doesn’t like me for who I am. It’s always the height of folly to go into any relationship thinking you can change your partner. And this isn’t just change. This is a categorical annihilation of who I am as a person.

  Isn’t it?

  The question sends droplets of acid down my soul, and I know I’ll have to ask him, before I let this wound fester away. As it is, we’re in the mess eating lunch, hardly the time or place for soul-searching debates, even though tons of questions sit on the tip of my tongue.

  The mess is like a medieval great hall, where everyone eats, drinks, and is merry. Here, missing links to formulas are debated, inspiration for art is discovered, and conversation reigns supreme amongst the commune’s population. The size of three Olympic swimming pools sat side to side, it’s packed to the brim. Everybody comes here every day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then, when work is over, they return here and sit en masse. Some sit in silence, reading a book in a quiet corner, others participate.

  As with any part of the commune, it’s all managed in house. Everyone is on a schedule. Some days, it’s your turn to clean, another to cook in the communal kitchen. Sometimes you’ll be out on the ranch mending fences; and others, you might be working in the vegetable and herb gardens. The ranch is self-sufficient, and every member here makes it that way.

  Nate and I are seated in relative seclusion, in two armchairs, with a high table in front of us. Every seat doubles as a place to sit and relax as well as a place to eat. It’s as informal as you can get; something that hasn’t changed since my childhood. Only my parents didn’t eat here, and neither did I. They broke custom to eat in their own home and have a housekeeper who kept the place clean for them as well as prepare their own meals. It wasn’t a popular decision, and for me, I missed out on the social aspect of the commune. Another way I didn’t fit in, thanks to dear old mom and dad.

  As tasty as the kitchen’s efforts are: roast chicken, fresh crusty bread and a salad with a zingy dressing, I’m not hungry. Nate isn’t talking, and I’m not in the mood thanks to my thoughts, as well as the constant reminder of this morning’s spanking now I’ve taken a seat. I’ve picked at my chicken until it has disintegrated into tiny flecks but prodding at it with my fork is the only thing I want to do with it.

  “Sam’s right. You do need to gain weight.”

  From downcast to head flinging backward in outrage and in two seconds flat, I glare at him. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

  “You’re underweight and you know it.”

  He cocks a brow at me, and it makes me want to slap him. “There’s nothing wrong with my weight. I’ve always been thin. I can’t help it.”

  He snorts. “Amazing, I can’t imagine why if you don’t eat.” Nate’s eyes narrow down on my plate. “You’ve poked and prodded, but I think I’ve seen you take two bites.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “If you don’t eat, they’ll think you believe you’re too good to share their meals. Sam told me what your parents used to do. It wasn’t good for morale. I let the housekeeper go a few years back.”

  “She’d been with us for years.” Despite my outrage, I’m not particularly bothered at the idea of Mr. and Mrs. Brownley having to find other employment. I always hated the bitch; she used to make me sit down and eat even if I was full.

  I might sound like I have some kind of eating disorder, I don’t. I just have a very small appetite. Little but often is how I eat. Three meals, three times a day is a nightmare for me.

  “I think you’re annoyed I made the decision but not at the fact they’re gone.”

  “I’m pissed off in general actually, Nate,” I bite out, clenching my teeth afterward and turning my head away.

  “We already discussed this. No cursing. You just broke a rule.”

  Whipping my head around to look at him, I glare at him. “I’m not a child and it’s my mouth. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

  “I think we’ve already ascertained that in certain regards you are. I don’t like to hear you curse. I never have. It doesn’t suit you. Anything worse than crap and you’ll suffer with a sore butt.”

  My stomach begins to burn. Where the hell are those antacids when I need them?

  “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything about me you do like. Why the hell did you keep on seeing me if you don’t like the fact I swear, fight back, defend myself, have a voice. Why are you trying to eradicate all the parts that make me, me?”

  Nate settles back into his seat, pushing his shoulders back into the rest so as to get comfortable. His slight wince has my stomach churning again. Another reminder of my failings and what I’ve done to this man.

  “I’m trying to eradicate those parts, because they’re not you. That’s the point. All of those things you’ve just said are defensive characteristics. They’re traits you’ve developed to protect yourself. You don’t have to protect yourself now. I’m here to do that.

  “I like your voice, very much. I like your opinions, the way your mind works. You’re a very smart woman and that’s attractive as hell to me. I’m not trying to change you; I’m trying to make you the woman you’re supposed to be. Sam’s told me about your childhood, about most kids’ childhoods here. Bullied, teased at school, then you were alone for most of the time because you weren’t allowed to come to the mess and had to stay in the house. That’s why I was so shocked when you told me about your art and Jimmy... Sam never mentioned it.”

  I huff under my breath. “It would seem he can respect privacy when he wants to.”

  Nate’s quick grin has my nipples tingling. What the fuck is that about? Since when could a guy’s smile get me hot? Christ, I’m losing it. There might very well be a rational explanation; after all, for nearly four weeks, the most he’s graced upon me is a glare. A grin is akin to a come on.

  “You know, Sam. Mute when he wants, loudmouth when he wants. He told me a lot about you, and I’ve known for a long time that you’re so shored up with defensive characteristics that the real you is just swamped. You’re cocky, yeah, that’s a part of you. I like that. You’re strong, I like that too. But you’re not strong in the
way you think you are. You reckon you can take on the world, because it’s yours for the taking.” He shakes his head. “I don’t, can’t approve of this brothel of yours, but I was listening. You helped those girls. You saved them from themselves. Why? Why help them, when to most people, they’re scum? It’s not out of any religious beliefs. It’s because you know what it is to be lost. But you’re strong enough to keep it together.

  “I’m here for you now, Marina. I want to do this for you, and I don’t want any bullshit between us.”

  Even though his words have me biting my lip, I fall back on umbrage to save me from the insecurities he’s just broken open. “What? So you can curse and I can’t?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You see, that’s what you pick up on. We both know I’ve just touched a sore spot. Nobody’s ever come to defend you, Marina. You’ve had to do it yourself and all these shields; they’re getting in the way of the one man who will protect you. Who will defend you. Even, if it’s from yourself.” He sits up, peers around the armchair. He must have caught someone’s eye, because one of the new members, a guy named Lewis, pops up. “Can you do me a favor, Lewis? Can you bring Marina another portion of chicken if there are any leftovers? I’d get it myself but...” He motions at his torso. “And Marina’s new to the mess.”

  “Sure. Do you want extra as well?”

  “No. Thanks, though.” He smiles at Lewis, who wanders off to do as bid, before returning his attention to me. “You’re not lying; I know you’ve always been on the point of being too slender. But those weeks at the hospital have made you lose weight. After this, I’m going over to the clinic. I want you to come too and I want you to have a checkup. We’ll see how much weight you need to put on.”

  There’s one word for the way I’m feeling.

  Bulldozed.

  “So I have no say in that?” Even though I’d like to have added a bit of caustic anger to the tone of my voice, I’m too weary. Out of nowhere, the feeling cascades over me like a blanket of fatigue.

  “No. You’re not looking after yourself, so I’ll do it for you. I want you to be the Marina you should be. Not the one your experiences made you. And look at your art…those drawings of your sculptures are beautiful. I can’t even imagine what the figurines looked like in reality. You’ve even repressed that side of your nature; I’ll bet you haven’t picked up a pen to do a sketch since you left this place ten years ago. I don’t want that for you; it isn’t good for your soul.”

  That he’s right ̶ I haven’t had any interest in art since Jimmy’s death ̶ has me feeling mutinous.

  Perhaps he can see that, because he shakes his head. “Tomorrow, you can claim a place in the studio. It’s time you reconnected with who you really are.”

  Before I can answer him, Lewis appears with another plate. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling anything but grateful.

  Is he right? Like most kids, my parents did a number on me. They made sure I was fed and watered and that I was nurturing my artistic abilities, but that was it. The sum level of their parenting. I have had to build defensive shields. I have had to learn to protect and fend for myself.

  Does the idea of Nate taking over sound like a good thing?

  A little.

  The idea of him doing this out of his desire to protect me...yeah, I like the sound of that. I would never have said that I was a mushy woman. I’ve always had my feet planted very securely on the ground. But I like the notion that he wants to look after me...will it chafe? Yeah, I think it will.

  I’m independent. Have had to be for a long time, but if it’s something I’ve adopted and that isn’t really a part of me, then doing without might become second nature to me.

  I think back to Papillon. Were there times when I wanted to share things with Nate? Have him lighten the load?

  The instant the shit hit the fan, I wanted to run to him. Needed him to help me sort things out. I turned to him for advice, needed him to help.

  What does that say?

  In a crisis, my true nature was revealed. I didn’t want to instruct, but be instructed.

  That is telling.

  And do I want to return to the studios? Has something inside me been dying because I’ve neglected my artistic talents? Could be. The idea of working with clay, of forging shapes with my fingers, or tapping out pieces of stone and carving something magical fills me with excitement.

  He’s right. Again.

  This could get tiring.

  “How are the experiments going?” Nate asks, taking his and Lewis’s attention away from me. I’m slightly appreciative but otherwise daunted at the amount of food on the plate in front of me.

  It’s probably nothing for anyone here, but I might as well have been given ten roasted chickens to eat, not just a breast, and a thigh.

  Even though my stomach is still churning, I sit up and forward and make an effort. The cursing and the eating as well as the visit to the doctor’s, they’re all part of his: ‘Don’t defy me’ rule. I’m not stupid. I’ll find myself on my knees getting my ass spanked the instant I refuse to eat or do anything he’s said.

  Each bite is like a lead weight on my tongue, but with the use of two huge glasses of water, I manage to swallow down half of the breast and most of the salad out of sheer orneriness. But each mouthful feels like it takes a life time to eat and in the background, I can hear Lewis and Nate discussing what sounds like an advance on the prototype Nate’s wearing as a prosthetic.

  Lewis must be a part of the team to have developed the bionic hand.

  I want to congratulate him, thank him for what he’s done for Nate but I’m feeling a bit like Hercules. Faced with a herculean task of finishing off my lunch. I don’t even realize Lewis has gone until Nate’s hand creeps forward to grab mine. He makes me jump but ignores my jolt of surprise, and tugs the fork out of my fingers.

  “That’s enough. Well done.”

  Why that congratulation makes my belly stop its incessant churning, I don’t know.

  “Thank you.”

  “I won’t ask if you enjoyed it.”

  His teasing has my lips twitching. “No. Not really.” I sit back in my seat and on the brink of taking another sip of water; the sight of a trio on the opposite side of the room has my brows lifting. “Oh,” I mutter, making little to no sense, but hey, I’m shocked.

  Spotting this, Nate turns as far as his wound will let him and stares in a similar direction as to the one where I’m looking. “What is it?”

  I huff out a laugh. “It’s nothing really, but do you remember back in Chicago?” The instant the words escape, I wish them back. Christ, it’s not like he could forget Chicago, is it?

  His eyes are warm with amusement, but he says nothing to upset me. “Which part?”

  A blush warms my cheeks. The sheer uncharacteristic nature of my blushing doesn’t escape his attention. His lips quirk and I quickly say, “In the bath. Do you remember me telling you about a man who lived here twenty or so years ago? He was an amputee, math genius too?”

  I’m not that far gone that I don’t see the sudden interest in his gaze. It’s more intent than I would have expected. He more than remembers. “John?”

  “Good memory,” I mutter, frowning at him, because if I recall and my recollection is A-1, it was just a passing mention.

  “What about him?”

  His eagerness isn’t lost on me either. “You see those three over there?” I nudge my head in the direction a woman and two men are sitting.

  “You mean Greta, James, and Alexei?”

  “Yeah.” I’d seen and greeted them all separately this morning. But seeing them together comes as a shock.

  “James, Alexei, and John were working on something before John killed himself. They were really close. Really. Even as a kid, I remember rumors; I was eight or so at the time, so I didn’t understand them back then. I’d hazard a guess the rumors were about them being in a relationship... Maybe? Then, Greta appeared. Within six months, all three of them were drooli
ng over her. My father was disgusted because they were missing deadlines and all sorts of stuff that didn’t interest me at the time.

  “The three of them fell out. You’d only ever see one of the men with Greta. And then John died, and it got worse.”

  “So why are all three sitting together, looking so cozy if they were sworn enemies?” Nate’s eyes narrow, and while it’s nice to know his attention is elsewhere and not focused on my foibles, I’ve grown rather accustomed to being in his spotlight.

  Rolling my eyes at my contrariness, I mutter, “I don’t know. As far as I was aware, the last time I came to the ranch was to hire you, the men still weren’t talking. They must have made up.”

  “I’ve seen them together before and nobody’s commented on it.”

  I shrug. “If they’re friends again, then nobody will give it a thought. It’s only because it’s weird to me, after being away for so long, that it came as a surprise.”

  Greta, in her thirties, had been the commune’s version of a pin-up girl. She had all the men drooling, most of the women foaming in jealousy, and wherever she’d gone, she’d managed to stir up trouble. My father had been on the brink of evicting her when she published something miraculous, about computer motherboards, that had the still-infant computer industry spinning on its heel. Now she was a troublemaker, and twenty years on, she has lost her youth but not her looks.

  Blond hair that gleams as though she brushes it a thousand times a night, thick and wavy, curling around slim shoulders. Bright blue eyes, a rosebud mouth. Curves to put Marilyn Monroe to shame... She’s no angel, even if she looks like one. In fact, in her mid-fifties, she’s still sexy. It’s easy to see why James and Alexei are as hot for her as they ever were.

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?” I ask, curious. It’s weird, when I consider it, but only because I know the background.

  He shrugs, his head still turned away from me. “I like to know the interplay of the folks I’m working with.”

  “Since when?”

  Nate’s focus returns to me. He cocks a brow. “How would you know when you’ve never seen me working?”