by Sionna Fox
He loomed over her in the dim light cast by the lamp next to the bed and the ambient glow of the city streaming in through the window above the bed, low, heavy clouds reflecting back on them, making the room feel smaller, less connected to the real world.
His gaze pored over her, like it was the first time all over again. Like when he’d carefully removed her cheap corset and run his fingers down the lines the boning had left in her flesh. He’d seen her naked nearly every day for five years, but he could still look at her like that. Like he couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe he’d never stopped.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, starting with the cuffs. There had always been something about the turn of his wrists that slayed her. Forearm porn at its finest. Watching him now, heat surged through her. The shirt fell to the floor. With a single, fluid move, his undershirt joined it in a heap. Standing at the end of the bed, Ian carefully, deliberately unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops and looked down at Kate, naked and waiting for him, with a wicked smirk sharpening his cheekbones.
“Hold out your wrists.”
She obeyed eagerly and lifted her arms for him. He looped the belt around her wrists and pulled the leather taut against her skin, the softened edges just barely biting into her flesh, the leather still warm from his body. As improvised bondage, it was mostly effective in making her feel tied up. She could escape whenever she wanted to, but if she did, the scene would be as over as if she’d called her safeword.
He knelt on the mattress and straddled her, letting the slightly rough fabric of his trousers brush against her skin. He pushed his arms over her head and brought his face level with her ear.
“Where are you, Kate?”
“Green.” She choked, nearly adding the word Sir.
“Good girl.”
He lifted away again and unbuttoned his pants, his erection clear behind the zipper. He kicked away the slacks and toed out of his socks. She bit her lip at the sight of him in nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, his cock so hard it peeked above the waistband. He’d always been narrow-hipped and lean, but the last year had made him sharper, the hollow of his pelvis more pronounced.
She stopped wondering what her absence had done to him when he shucked his underwear and settled next to her on the mattress.
“Spread your legs.”
She did as she was told and was rewarded with his sure, practiced fingers stroking the seam of her pussy. Up and down, he teased her with his fingertips and watched her face. Impatience grew and heat bloomed up from the core of her. But she wasn’t alone. Every time she whimpered, his cock jumped against her thigh, the soft skin sliding against her own.
He spread her open and nestled his fingers around her clit. Working her in the way she’d shown him years ago, her hand over his, guiding him to the surest way to bring her to orgasm, Ian rolled her clit under his fingers, stopping to dip shallowly inside her, until she was throbbing and slippery, thrusting her hips into his hand.
“Do you have condoms, Kate?”
She winced. They couldn’t pretend the last year hadn’t happened, that they hadn’t both had opportunities to be with other people. They’d been apart.
“In the drawer.” She gestured at the nightstand with her bound hands for the box she’d only purchased a few days ago, anticipating her date with Owen.
He looked as sad as she felt for a split-second, that she had confirmed that she had needed them in his absence. He said nothing, reaching over to open the drawer and remove a packet, setting it on the sheets next to her head.
He lifted her slightly, placing pillows under her shoulders to prop her up before he tapped her chin with two fingers. As automatically as breathing, she opened her mouth.
“Good girl.”
He brought his cock to her lips, and she inhaled deeply as he slowly worked his way into her mouth. Regret, nostalgia, and desire flooded her senses at the smell of him, the feel of his skin under her tongue, the particular stretch of her jaw to accommodate him there between her lips. He sighed and ran his hands through her hair as he retreated. There was no ponytail left for him to guide her with. She wanted to grab his hips and keep him from moving so she could torture every inch of his cock with her lips and tongue.
“Don’t you dare move,” he growled from above, as if reading her mind. He cupped her skull, threading his fingers in what little hair she had to anchor her in place and slowly fucked her mouth, inching closer to the back of her throat. Before, she’d been able to take all of him without thinking, sinking down until her nose was pressed to the tangle of hair at the base of his cock.
“Snap your fingers if you need me to stop.”
She mumbled her assent with her mouth stuffed full. She remembered all their old signals and rules.
“Good girl.”
He kept thrusting slowly, bringing his hips closer to her face each time. She could see him shaking with the effort to hold back, to maintain control, to not fuck her mouth with brutal force, to have her spluttering, eyes watering as he came down the back of her throat.
She wriggled and rubbed her thighs together, her pussy throbbing and empty as he filled her mouth instead. She sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t leave her like this, desperate to come with him inside her. But she didn’t snap her fingers, and she wouldn’t free herself from her bonds.
With a final thrust, he wrenched away from her mouth and sat back on his heels. They were both gasping for breath. He snapped up the condom from its resting place next to the pillows and rolled it down over his cock, wet and gleaming from being in her mouth.
He grabbed her thighs and yanked her down the mattress before he pushed her knees up and thrust fully inside her in one quick, deep stroke. With her knees against her chest, she tilted her hips up and allowed him to fuck her deeply, and with force. Held down by his hands and the thrust of his hips, she struggled to move in time with him.
“No, Kate. Take it,” he rumbled as he pushed into her in a punishing rhythm.
She slumped back and let him use her. Let herself feel his urgency, his desire, every hard thrust and snap of his hip bones as they crashed into her thighs.
Abruptly, he released her legs and slid free. “Turn over.”
She rolled onto her stomach and spread her legs slightly. He fitted himself into her and pushed her thighs tighter together. She arched her back as he started to move and wrapped one hand around the base of her neck like a collar, digging the fingers of his other hand into her hip. With her legs tight together, she felt stretched and full, the friction of every stroke winding her tighter. The hand on her neck clasped harder and pushed down, mashing her face into the pillow. She flooded with heat and sensation as her orgasm started to build steam.
How could she have thought vanilla would do when she needed this? She needed the rough handling, to be fucked and filled and used. And god, did Ian know how to do that to her.
He thrust harder, faster, his rhythm starting to falter as he got closer. She arched her back deeper to meet him, felt each snap of his hips reverberate through the flesh of her ass.
“Are you going to come for me, kitten?”
His fingers tightened around her hip—she would probably have five round bruises in the morning. She couldn’t speak with her face pressed into the pillow, could only nod frantically. She was close, so close.
“Good girl,” he panted. “Come for me now, kitten. Come. Right. Now.” Each word was punctuated with a hard, deep thrust as he spilled inside her. Her back bowed as an orgasm ripped through her muscles and nerve endings, clenching and tightening through her whole body, until she slumped into the pillow, tremors of pleasure still rocking her hips.
As soon as he slipped out of her, she scooted like an inchworm until her face was free of the pillow and she could breathe again. He lay beside her, slightly sweaty and panting, for a few moments before he sat up to undo the belt at her wrists. He gently lowered her arms and kissed her shoulders.
Fuck. He’d called
her kitten. She wasn’t supposed to be his kitten anymore. He was stroking the circulation back into her arms, checking her skin for marks, with so much tenderness and affection. A lump rose in her throat. What have I done?
A fat tear rolled down her cheek, but she brushed it away before Ian could notice. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “You should go.”
His hands went still on her skin. “If that’s what you want. This was… We still need to talk.”
“I know. But I need you to leave.” Did he think she was going to let him sleep in her rented twin bed? That this total malfunction of her judgment meant they were back together?
He stood and gathered his clothes, taking them into the bathroom. When he emerged, he was fully dressed. She pulled the sheet up to her armpits, her nakedness now that he was clothed no longer a fun power play.
He opened his mouth to say something, shut it, and shook his head. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, Kate.”
When the door closed behind him, she slumped forward. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Six
Ian left, torn between respecting her demand for him to leave and the need to make sure she was okay. He stood on her doorstep long enough for the cold to creep into his bones through his still-damp skin, and regret to sit like a lead weight on his chest.
They shouldn’t have done that. He knew that, despite his inability to let go. They were supposed to hash things out so they both could move on as friends, or at least as friendly. He only wanted to know why she’d left. What she had needed from him that he’d missed, so he could be better for the next person. If he could ever bring himself to truly be with someone else.
Now, her smell was on his skin, and he was worse than back at square one, wanting her all over again. He was never going to be able to scrub the image of her under him, wrists bound with his belt, on her little twin-sized bed, in her tiny student apartment. He’d never been with her like that, even when they’d first started, she’d always come to him.
He’d taken her like she still belonged to him. No checking in. No discussion of limits or safewords. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’d even goddamn called her kitten.
He drove back to his house in a blur and barely slept. He resisted the urge to find her at the coffee shop in the morning. It was no place to have the discussion they should have had last night, nor to check in on her after the mistakes he’d made. He’d likely left her with bruises he hadn’t had permission to leave.
She’d loved them once. His fingertips etched in her hips from where he’d gripped her pelvis, taking her hard and fast and deep; the stripes from a cane, little bee stings from a flicker whip, and when she’d really craved atoning for her perceived slights, the wide, hot welts from a tawse. Those nights had been rare, and usually followed by taking her as gently as possible, telling her how much he still loved her, how he forgave her for whatever mistakes she thought she’d made.
But there were no rules now. They shouldn’t have kissed, shouldn’t have fucked on her tiny rented bed in her garish little studio.
He was barely focused on the client call they were on, scribbling repetitive shapes in the margins of his notes, Jeff frowning at him across the table while Alice picked up his slack on a simple fucking question.
It was no surprise that Jeff asked him to hang back when they were done. “We can’t keep having this conversation, Ian.”
“I know.” Fuck, did he know. He’d finally been getting back into some semblance of normalcy when she returned, but his HR file must have gotten much thicker over the last year.
“Listen, why don’t you take some time off? Get your head together.”
“We’re almost to launch on this; I’ll take a vacation once it’s done.”
“Alice is already doing your job and then some. Take some time.”
“Is that a suggestion or an order?”
“Call it a strong suggestion. Get some rest, get some help. Come back when you’re ready.”
“I’ll put in for a few vacation days.”
“Already done, buddy. I’ll check in with you in a week or so, see how you’re feeling.”
“Right. Got it.” If he resisted, they would fire him. This was the kindest, gentlest way of threatening his job possible. Put him on leave, then decide if they even needed him to come back. Fuck.
Jeff patted him on the shoulder. “Take the rest of the day. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He went back to his office, put his coat on, and stumbled into the elevator in a trance. The spots were back, white lights popping in the corners of his eyes. His hands shook on the elevator’s railing and his breath was shallow. He saw it all as if from above, his head light as a balloon somewhere near the escape hatch, watching his body descend into panic.
The elevator shuddered to a halt on the ground floor, knocking him back into himself, to the thoughts racing through his head, jumping from one conclusion to the next about how utterly fucked he was. He had a week to get his shit together and prove to his employer that they still needed him and that he still wanted to be there. Nothing like adding the threat of how the hell he was going to pay his mortgage to the existential crisis of having the love of his fucking life waltz back into town, fuck him, then tell him to get the hell out of her apartment while she brushed away tears.
He’d seen the tears. He knew that catch in her throat better than anyone but herself.
He forced himself to slow his breathing and think logically. He had money saved. He had severance even if he was let go for performance issues. He would be fine. He would find another job. But the threat to his comfort and security was enough to make him sweat, and Jeff knew it. He wasn’t like Kate. He couldn’t flit to the other side of the country for a year for a good opportunity. He didn’t handle change well, least of all change he couldn’t adequately explain. Hence, the last year of his life throwing him into a tailspin.
He went by the coffee shop and stood at the window, watching her. She had headphones on, though he knew it was only to deter people from talking to her—nothing was playing in her ears. She liked the noise of public spaces for work, or being in the center of things. She’d been far more likely to use their kitchen table than the actual desk in the office. He’d never understood that about her. The sensory overstimulation of being in public spaces made it impossible for him to consider working like that. Hell, it made some places nearly impossible for him to go at all some days, with their noise and bright lights and too many people in his personal space. But Kate thrived in the places he couldn’t. He’d always thought they balanced each other out. But maybe she’d wanted someone who would thrive in those places too.
She ruffled her hair and rested her chin in her hand, her other fingers toying with the ends of the scarf wrapped around her neck, staring at her screen.
He could either stand there staring at her like a creep until she looked up and noticed him, or he could go inside and talk to her. He could check on her, apologize, soothe one of the sources of creeping unease that were buzzing around under his skin. He swallowed and opened the door.
She scowled as he passed her table. He ordered a coffee and a muffin and brought them to where she sat.
“May I?”
She looked around without taking her decoy earbuds out. In the off hours, there were plenty of other places to sit. “There are other tables. What are you doing here anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?”
The question was the closest to an outright invitation he was likely to get. He sat and picked at the edges of the muffin he’d bought, not hungry at all. “I’ve been put on leave.”
“What?” She gently tugged the cord and sent her earbuds clattering to the tabletop. “What did you do to piss off Jeff?”
“Kate.”
“What?”
“I haven’t— It’s been a pretty terrible year. And they’ve noticed.”
“Shit.” She grimaced and looked at her keyboard, chewing the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t blame
you. Going to California would have been tempting even if things had been perfect between us, and obviously they weren’t. I don’t— You had to go. It would have been foolish to turn down the opportunity and with things the way they were… It’s my fault. I don’t handle change well. Or that I didn’t see it coming.”
Kate sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s not like I told you I was applying for fellowships out of state. I could theoretically have written my dissertation without ever leaving your kitchen table.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I know. But this isn’t—”
“The time or the place. I know. I wanted to check that you’re okay today.”
She leaned forward. “Well, I kept my scarf on for a reason.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”
She looked at him and arched her eyebrow. “I was never that fond of careful. I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
When they’d first gotten together, he’d been scrupulous about checking on her after a scene. She’d been inexperienced, and he’d felt honor-bound to ensure that she was not only physically well, but wasn’t in any emotional turmoil either. He made it a point to at minimum speak to her on the phone, if he wasn’t able to see her in person. When she’d moved in, he’d seen her every day, and had learned to read her body and her moods well enough to know when she needed extra attention and care and when she needed a pat on the head and a long nap.
But in the beginning, he’d talk her through what they had done, noting what had worked for her and what had left her cold or confused. He had wanted her so much, every bit of extra caretaking she might have required had been worth it.
