by Jane Henry
The door clicks shut behind him and I’m left alone on his bed. Lying here under the sheets and blankets, I’m not sure what to do with myself. Why am I even here? His lingering scent clings to the cool, soft sheets, to the heavy blanket over me, and hell, it permeates the whole room. I squirm on the blankets, so tempted to slide my fingers through my folds and take care of business. I’m swollen and needy. But he’ll punish me if I do.
To distract myself, I pick up my phone and check my messages. There’s one from Marla.
Marla: Hey, everything okay? How are you?
I feel a little guilty not telling her everything. After all, she’s a member here, too, and she knows Axle well. Should I tell her I’m here? I decide against it, because I have no idea exactly what I’m going to tell her. Oh, hey, met up with the guy I knew years ago who I was in love with and we decided, just for the hell of it, to have a no-holds-barred day of kinky sex. And you?
I shake my head and keep it generic.
I’m good. How are you?
Marla: Okay. No, I’m kinda fantastic. I wanted to meet up again at the club tonight, but the website says they’re closed. Maybe next week?
Yes, sounds good to me. But girl, I want all the details. You’re just going to say you’re kind of fantastic?
Marla: I went home with Viktor last night. His private dungeon makes Verge look like the kiddie gym.
I grin to myself. This is awesome. Even though I’m excited for her, I’m a little scared. Does she even know who he is?
Is he a good guy, though? Like how well do you know him?
The door to the room opens, and Axle walks in carrying a tray with a bunch of food. I feel a little guilty holding my phone, though I’m not really sure why. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t have my phone, but I have this weird idea I should be submissively lying there or something. I put it down.
“Do you know who Viktor is?” I ask him.
He draws his brows together. “The name’s familiar,” he says. “Why?”
I don’t want to rat out my friend, but at the same time, I want to know details.
“Marla left with him last night,” I say. “She texted and says she’s excited, but I’m not really sure how well she knows him.”
He slides the tray on the bedside table. There are two turkey sandwiches and some chips.
“Well, Marla’s a big girl,” he says. “She knows better than to give too much trust too soon to a guy she doesn’t know, doesn’t she?”
I look down at my naked body and back up at him, and it seems he reads my mind, because he clucks his tongue. “Afraid you’re the pot calling the kettle black?”
I shake my head. “You’re hardly a guy I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Not sure that’s true, babe,” he says, handing me a sandwich. I don’t even ask him where he got it or how. I’m starving, and I know he’s only going to give me something good to eat. I take a bite, chew and swallow, and don’t say anything at first. So many questions. But where to begin?
“Why do you say that?” I finally ask. I take another bite of sandwich and watch him as he chews and swallows before he swigs down half a bottle of water.
“The man you knew was a good man,” he says. “Preached the good word to people. Helped people choose between right and wrong. Counseled them. Performed sacraments with hands blessed and sanctified to do so. But I was corrupt. I shouldn’t have been a priest to begin with.”
I swallow my own water and sit up in bed. “Is anyone really good?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Sure they are. And don’t downplay the shit I’ve done.”
“The Noah I knew was a strong man,” I say quietly. My voice is a bit shaky, but I press on. “He made mistakes. And yes, he never should have joined the priesthood to begin with. But he did the right thing and when he knew he’d made a mistake, he left that life behind, because it was never his to begin with.”
He smiles sadly. “But we were talking about Marla.”
I smile back. “And now we’re talking about you.”
“I shouldn’t let you take control here,” he says.
“I’m naked in your bed, dying to climax, and welted and red all over from your hand. What part of this am I controlling?”
He tugs a strand of my hair playfully. “Adorable,” he says. “And yeah, that’s why I left. I didn’t maintain my vow of celibacy, and I couldn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t.”
“I couldn’t, either.” I speak so softly at first, I wonder if he heard me, because he doesn’t react, just opens a bag of chips and pops one in his mouth. But after a minute, he speaks up again.
“Sometimes growing up means making mistakes, learning from them, and doing better with the next choices we have. You left your home. You went off and pursued your dreams. Nothing wrong with that.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with choosing to live the way you do,” I tell him. “You could have stayed, like how many others who stay, and keep mistresses and lovers? But you didn’t. You recognized you weren’t meant to choose that life, and you went to pursue your own.”
He nods, thoughtfully. “Back to Marla,” he finally says, and I know he’s choosing to change the subject on purpose.
I hope he’s at least thinking about what I said to him.
“Marla,” I repeat.
“Keep in touch with her,” he says. “She’ll do the right thing, but sometimes people need the space to do that.”
The irony kills me. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” I say, but his demeanor changes and his gaze turns stern. My belly flips when the low tone of his voice arrests me. “That’s enough now, Chandra. I’ve let you speak freely. Now this conversation is over.” He raises a brow and gestures to the tray. “Eat.”
I bite back a retort and take another bite. It tastes good, and as the food settles in my belly, my grumpiness begins to abate.
“Damn,” I mutter to myself. “Guess I was a little hangry.”
“A little?” he asks. He leans down and gathers up the empty tray. “Now,” he says, walking to the door. “You take a nap. When you wake up, we’ll continue where we left off.”
Nap? I don’t nap. I do things. Although I don’t say anything, he gives me a look that dares me to defy him and a little part of me wants to, but my ass still stings, and my eyes do feel really heavy.
“Fine,” I say. I lay back on the bed and let the food settle in my belly. I try to clear my mind, but it’s a jumble of thoughts and confusion. I wish I could clear it. My mind begins to wander as he goes about the room and leaves me to rest. I close my eyes, and a memory assaults my mind like a blow.
I’m alone, clutching my abdomen in pain and rocking back and forth. I can’t share my agony with anyone. I hate blood, and there’s so much blood. I flushed the toilet and flushed again, and again, even when the water ran clear, because I needed to know everything was gone.
Everything. It’s all gone.
I feared my parents would find the positive pregnancy test and I made up my mind then and there it was time for me to move out.
The local paper has finally stopped calling me. Rumors are beginning to die down. Sometimes when I go out, little old ladies at the supermarket still whisper behind their fingers, but mostly people have begun to move on.
“Father Noah” is but a distant memory now. He’s turned in his collar and moved on. I told him to. I begged him to. But I can’t bring myself to forgive him for actually doing it.
We were careless. So careless. I never should have let him near me. The second he touched me, my self-control began to wane. But I gave him my heart first. He listened to me. He laughed with me. He cared. And I fell in love.
He wasn’t mine to have, though. And as I stand here and wash my hands over and over again, I know, this is the curse sent to me from above. He wasn’t mine to have and neither was this baby. Both have been ripped painfully from me, tearing my heart into pieces that will never mend.
A knock sounds on the door. �
��I’ll be right out,” I shout, my voice unnaturally high.
“You’ve been in there a long time,” my mother snaps. She knows something is wrong, and she’ll never forgive me for the scrutiny and scorn I dragged them through.
“I’m almost done,” I say, my voice gaining an edge. I look at myself in the mirror. There are bags under the dark brown eyes rimmed in red. My face is thinner. I’ve lost weight. My hair hangs in crazy waves around my face, unkempt and unruly.
I splash water on my face and make myself stare at my stained hands, then grab my abdomen when another spasm of pain contracts. I hiss out breath, trying to regain my composure.
“Chandra!” Her fist pounds on the door.
“I have my period!” I shout, my shrill tone stopping her. “Leave me alone!”
She says nothing, but I hear her walk away, and a part of me silently begs for her to come back. I want someone to hold me. Someone to tell me I’m not evil, that I didn’t bring this curse down on me.
But there is no one. The only person who ever believed in me is gone.
“Chandra?”
I wake with a start and clutch the blanket to my chest. I blink, trying to remember where I am. God, I so have to get my act together.
“You alright?” He sits beside the bed, his brow drawn in consternation.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep. I was having a bad dream.”
“S’alright,” he says, and he gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “I have good news.”
“Do you?” I sit up and try to mentally shove the weight that settled on my chest off, but it’s leaden and immovable. I’ll have to let it seep off me.
“Yeah,” he says. “The forecast says the snow is over. It’s turning to rain now. Looks like you’ll be able to go home soon.”
My heart sinks, deflated. That isn’t good news at all. It’s terrible news.
“Oh,” I say, looking away.
How can I leave him? I feel like our session’s barely begun and it’s already over.
“I can leave soon?” I ask. I can’t bring myself to say it but only repeat it incredulously. I tear myself away from his stern, tender eyes, his beautiful, powerful body, the hands that can be so harsh yet so tender. There’s an ache in my chest. I don’t want to leave him. I’ve buried a part of me that was complete when I’m with him and now he’s ripping me away again.
“C’mere,” he says gruffly. He tugs me onto his lap. “Never could stand to see you sad.”
“I’m not sad,” I protest, but it’s a lie. I’m devastated.
“You were a minute ago.” I lean into his strong embrace. He smells so damn good. I let myself be held, and I nuzzle my cheek against the softness of his shirt. When I’m quiet, I can hear his heartbeat. “Can you tell me what the bad dream was?”
I want to. God, I want to. It was his baby, too, and he deserves to know the truth.
But I can’t. Not now. Tonight, I’ll go home, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever see him again. Telling him about the baby will bring back a connection neither one of us is ready for and memories I’m not ready to face. We can’t do it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
I shake my head. “Alright, then, babe,” he says. His grip tightens.
“So,” I say, needing to lighten the mood. “Are you staying here tonight?”
“Maybe. Thinking about it. I want to be here in case anyone comes. We’re closed, but I think it’s probably for the best.” He shrugs. “My place is boring anyway.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, my need to get home isn’t so strong as it was before. “Axle?” It feels weird calling him that, but it’s growing on me.
“Yeah?” The rumble of his voice travels over my skin, and I pull a little closer.
“Can we finish this session?”
His laugh is like the low beat of a bass drum, rhythmic, soothing, and a little intimidating and I flush pink.
“Finish as in, you need to climax?”
My mouth goes dry, and I’m suddenly super embarrassed. “I didn’t say—”
“Yeah, babe,” he interrupts. “We can finish.” Releasing me, he points to a corner of his room and orders in a sharp command. “Go kneel and wait for me.”
Wait for me.
Why does that make my pulse spike? And I can’t believe I’m still completely naked in front of him. This is crazy.
I jump when his palm cracks against my ass, reigniting my need. “Ow!”
“You say ‘yes, sir.’”
I rub my stinging ass with a little pout. “Yes, sir.”
I go to the corner of the room that’s dark in shadow and notice a little bookshelf and armchair I didn’t see before. This is almost like a little sitting room. Glancing quickly at the bookshelf, it doesn’t surprise me the titles are non-fiction and spiritual. This is his room, after all.
I kneel as he’s instructed me, my head bowed, so fully conscious of his eyes on me. I take a deep breath in and release it, doing what he told me to before. Letting it all out.
A flash of my memory comes to me again, but I shove it away. No. That was in the past. All of it was. I’m here now researching my book in the most visceral way possible. Right. That’s it.
He prowls behind me, tapping something against his palm.
“In position.”
My spine goes ramrod straight but I keep my head bowed and my hands in my lap.
Something cool trails along my naked ass, but the sound of metal on metal makes me freeze. My breath freezes in my lungs. My chest constricts. My pulse races like thundering hooves. What is that sound behind me? He likes keeping me in a state of suspense like this.
I consciously let out a breath. Hell, maybe I like it, too.
This. This is what I need.
I shiver when he slides something around my neck, then clicks it in place, but I know that if I move my head, he’ll spank me with whatever’s tapping on his palm. When he tugs, I feel what’s on my neck. He’s collared and chained me.
“Just like that,” he says. “Hold your chain.” He places the length in my hand but doesn’t walk away. When he brushes something along my inner thigh, a little shudder courses through me.
“Sir?”
“Relax, Chandra,” he says. “Part your legs.”
Holding my chain, I do as he says and part my legs, shaking a little. “Good girl. Just like that.”
Something smooth and cool is gliding along my folds. I close my eyes. It’s so personal, so private, but I’m still primed from being aroused before. I whimper and try to maintain my position. He’s positioning something over my swollen, throbbing parts.
“Keep this here,” he says, taking my hand and positioning it over the device in my hand that vibrates and hums. To my shock, it suckles my clit and I convulse with the power of it.
“Oh my God.”
“Quiet, Chandra,” he commands. “Be a good girl now.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper. I’m holding the thing in place when he tugs my collar, and my eyes fly open. The little machine in my hand sucks and vibrates and I whimper, grinding my hips. It feels so damn good but it’s so intense.
“Sir?” my voice is hoarse, choked.
Lifting my chin in his hand, he tips my eyes to his to maintain my gaze. “You’re allowed to come when you’re ready,” he says. With his free hand he wraps the chain tightly around his fingers and gives a little tug. For a brief second, it restricts my air like his hand on me. I gasp, but he lets the chain go.
My pussy throbs, faster, harder. I’m going to climax. The suck and whir at my clit continues with relentless pulsation, and then I’m soaring, my thighs contracting as my pussy clenches and my sex convulses. I try to scream but his grip on the chain at my neck is too much. I have to consciously work hard at not looking away from him, because my eyes want to close and ride this high.
I drop the tool, and yet my hips still convulse violently. I’m half-crying, half-moaning, as my climax rips through me like lightning, hard and fast and
blinding. My voice is hoarse. It’s all I can do to maintain my position. He’s not touching me, nothing is, and yet I’m still climaxing, still contracting and writhing. It’s too much. Too intense.
“Axle,” I whisper. I’m lightheaded from the chain at my neck, whimpering. Then he’s kneeling beside me and his hand is at my pussy. I moan when he presses his fingers between my legs. I’m too sensitive. The slightest touch of his finger makes my whole lower body shudder.
“Might’ve been too much,” he says. He unsnaps the chain and coils it on the floor.
“Wh—what was that?” I ask. He soothes my rocking hips by placing one palm on my abdomen and the other on my lower back, holding me still.
“Sonic clit stim,” he says.
“That was g-good,” I tell him. My teeth are chattering. I don’t want to wimp out, but I can’t control the shivers and shudders.
“I’m glad,” he says. “Still, you may need to be eased into this. Come on. Stand, now.” I get to my feet and turn to face him. “Good,” he says. It strikes me that he’s still the same Noah he was back then, taking such careful care of me, but I have to banish the thought. “Chandra,” he says, an air of finality in his voice that makes me pay attention. “I’m calling this day off for now. You’ve had a good taste of a few things, but you’re done for now.”
I don’t argue. I know by the look he’s giving me now that he’s made up his mind. There’s no use trying to talk him into something once he has and part of me knows he’s right. I am done. Still, I’m disappointed when he leads me back to the bed. My legs shake, my hands tremble.
“Damn, I didn’t know it would hit you that hard.”
“I’m a d-delicate flower,” I stammer, trying to make light of the situation but I’m shivering violently, and I can’t make it stop.
“Baby,” he says, and the soft tone of his voice makes tears sting my eyes. I can’t handle this intensity. I need to get away. Sitting on the edge of bed, he draws me onto his lap. “Delicate flower,” he repeats. “I don’t think so.”
“I a-am.”
“You’re a goddamn cactus.”
That makes me giggle. We sit in silence for a while. I listen to the sound of his heart beating and try to get my mind to rest, to stop racing, but it’s not an easy task. I inhale his strong, masculine scent and letting my fingers rest on his chest, letting myself wish that this was real and not make believe. My hips still quiver a little, and I want it to stop, but I can’t control the tremors that still shudder through me. Placing his hand on my lower back, he pulls my torso against his.
