His To Have

by Devon Birchley

  “Since then I’ve been in a mess. My no-relationship rule has done me well over the years. But I haven’t met anyone who’s seriously tested it. You’re different. Before we even had sex, when we were sitting right here in the bar, I felt like there was something unique about you. I hoped I’d get to see enough of it by playing with you, exploring your desires. But then at the ball—” He stops.

  “No, that’s not it. I’m not being totally honest, with either you or myself. Long before the ball, I realized that I was falling for you. And it made me deeply uncomfortable. I didn’t want to acknowledge it to myself. So the more I felt for you, the more harshly I dominated you. I thought I’d be able to keep my feelings in check. But the ball was where things came to a head. I thought you’d disappeared with some other guys, and I totally lost it. I felt something that I’d never experienced in my adult life before. I wanted you all to myself. And that scared the hell out of me. As much as it shames me to admit it, I think I created the scene to punish you for being so perfect, to make you hate me. I’m very sorry for the way I treated you. I whipped you way too hard. I hit you in anger, and I’d promised myself I’d never do that. But please believe me, Reagan. I watched for your signal before every single stroke. I wouldn’t have hit you without your permission.”

  My lips purse as the events of the ball rush through my mind again, and there’s still a filament of anger glowing deep inside me. “So tying Lark up was also a way to distance me?”

  He blinks as if that was the last thing he expected me to say. “No. Not at all. Why—?”

  “Adler, she’s crazy about you. I know she used to be your sub.”

  His forehead furrows. “No. Not at all. Lark and I have never been any more than friends.”

  I roll my eyes. “So when I was recovering from you beating the hell out of me, she came over to tell me you always get bored of your subs.”

  His face darkens. “She said what?”

  “Yup. She was trying to hurt me.”

  His eyes are full of confusion. “She’s with someone else. Happily.”

  “I don’t think you understand the effect you have on women.”

  “I’m very sorry if she upset you and for tying her up. And most of all, I’m sorry for hitting you too hard. I hated having to leave you the next day, when all I wanted was to hold you in my arms and make it better.”

  The server comes to ask if we want another beer, and there’s a welcome intermission while we order.

  “What I don’t understand—most of all—is why you’d deny your feelings for me,” I say slowly. “So you didn’t do relationships, but then you meet someone who makes you feel differently. Surely that’s a reason for happiness?”

  He sips his beer, avoids looking at me. “I’ve always thought I was fundamentally screwed up. I got involved in BDSM a few years ago, and I told myself that was enough for me. Having play partners would satisfy all my needs. And working a lot meant I didn’t have time to get lonely.”

  “But why? Why? I’ve met screwed-up people before. And you don’t seem anything like that. You’re a very cool, very personable guy. What is it?” He stares at me for a long moment, and I feel like there’s an avalanche coming.

  “My parents aren’t real parents. I haven’t seen my dad for ten years, and I meet my mom very occasionally for coffee when she’s in town. I barely know either of them, and I’ve never called them mom and dad. They’re very successful in their fields, but they weren’t interested in looking after their kids. Callie and I got sent off to live with this person or that person. Distant relatives and friends of friends. During the road trip, we figured out that I only lived with them for a total of four years of my life, and Callie, less than two. My grandma was the one person who truly loved us, but she had a chronic illness, and she couldn’t take care of us full-time. And then we got dumped in a super-strict religious boarding school in Switzerland that we both hated. Callie ended up with anxiety issues that she’s still dealing with, while I—” He breaks off, looks around the room.

  “You misbehaved.”

  “Yup. I was very wild and disobedient. But the school was run by monks, and they believed in corporal punishment, so I used to get beaten. A lot.”

  “And that’s where the BDSM thing started?”

  He smirks. “Doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure it out, does it? My first sexual fantasies involved making someone else suffer in exactly the same way that I suffered. And then there was one monk who liked me. I mean, liked me liked me. He was always inventing reasons to discipline me. But I knew what he really wanted. Then one night he dragged me out of bed on some pretext and tried to take advantage of me in his office. At that point I was getting big. I was playing rugby a lot, packing on a lot of muscle. I think he underestimated how quickly I’d shot up. He wound up with a broken nose and arm, and I got expelled.

  “After that my grandma intervened and Callie and I finished high school in New England. The kids thought I was cool because I’d been to school in Europe, and I fitted in there. It was almost like Switzerland had never happened.” He spins his glass around on the table. “I think—no, I know—it’s given me a lot of trust issues. When I left high school, I made a conscious decision to turn my heart into a fortress so no-one could hurt me again.”

  There’s so much pain in his eyes that I can hardly stand it. I long to take his face in my hands and kiss it away. “This all makes perfect sense,” I say gently. “First your parents abandoned you, and then you got abused at school. You must have felt like there was no safe place in the world. I’m surprised you don’t have much worse issues.”

  He shrugs. “My adult life has been happy. Socially, work-wise, sex-wise. But I’ve never trusted anyone, except for my grandma and Callie. No-one ever touched my heart. I’ve never been in love, never said I love you to anyone.” He, pauses, stares down into his beer, then lifts his eyes to mine with an effort, like someone preparing to have their photo taken in bright sunlight. “Until now.”

  I swallow hard. I feel on edge, almost nervous, my pulse beating fast, and adrenaline prickling in my stomach. “So you’re telling me you want to go on having this BDSM relationship with me because you love me?”

  He reaches across the table and clasps my hand. “No. If there’s one thing that my sister’s tragedy has taught me, it’s that life is short. Her husband left her for the dumbest reasons. And I’ve realized that I can’t keep clinging to my rules while you slip through my fingers. I’m telling you I want to be your boyfriend. I want to go on weekend trips with you, snuggle on the sofa, go to the movies, go out for dinner, meet your friends.”

  “But…what about your need for kink? What if you get bored and decide you need somebody new?”

  He shakes his head, almost sadly. “I’ve never been the kind of guy who’s always running after someone new. Most of my previous liaisons have ended because of a mismatch in expectations and—”

  “You mean, the girl fell for you and you didn’t reciprocate?”

  An embarrassed smile flickers at the edges of his lips. “I’m just saying I hope you reciprocate.”

  My heart pounds as he leans forward to kiss me. But I pull back at the last moment. The deep breath I take is ragged, my throat constricted. “I do, Adler. But I can’t have this twenty-four-seven dom-sub relationship. It’s fun as a game. A lot of fun. But I’ve always had relationships that are equal, and I don’t want my boyfriend to be in control of me. I mean, it even feels weird talking to you like this now. I feel like we’re out of character, and I shouldn’t be speaking so openly.”

  “Reagan, I haven’t been in control of you.”

  I give a burst of laughter. “That’s not how it’s seemed from my end, at all.”

  He gives me a long look, his eyes burning with intensity. “You’ve got to understand that the secret of BDSM is that the submissive is the one with all the power.”

  I frown. “How do you mean?”

  “They’re the ones who absorb all the
energy, who make the dominants work endlessly to satisfy them.”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t get it. The whole time we’ve been having sex, I’ve been obeying your every demand because I knew I didn’t have a choice.”

  “But did you like it?”

  A flood of recollections rushes through my mind, and my clit jolts. “I loved it. I loved not having to make any decisions.”

  “Exactly. Everything was done for you. Every scene was set up to give you maximum enjoyment. I studied you carefully to figure out what your kinks were, what would speak to your deepest needs. From the first time I undressed you and observed how uncomfortable, but aroused, you were at being naked in front of a stranger, I figured out you had exhibitionist tendencies. From the moment I shaved you, I figured out you’d enjoy playing a lot with anal sex. I learned you liked to respond to orders, rather than being physically forced. That you preferred discipline to pain. Discovering each of these things was beautiful and precious to me, and every day I fell in love with you a little more. You probably think you’ve been my slave the whole time, but you’ve actually been a princess, with your every need and whim attended to.”

  My face heats up, and I look down at the table. Is this true? Did I really have all the power that whole time?

  “Think about it. Were any of your needs not met by me? Did you ever have to use the safe word?” I shake my head. No. He never pushed me beyond my tolerance. Except at the ball.

  “The truth is I’d happily spend the rest of my days having missionary sex with you. I just wanted you to be happy and fulfilled.”

  I allow myself a small smile. “And how about you? Was it all hard work for you?”

  “Of course not. A lot of our preferences coincide. But more than that, it was an exciting journey to take with you, and a delight to see how much pleasure you got. The first time I spanked you was a revelation. I could tell that a whole new world had been opened up to you.”

  “You’re right.”

  “When I first saw you at the Sexpo, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I watched you for a while. The way you were looking at things, questioning them. The intelligence shining in your eyes. That fierce independence. It was so heady.”

  There’s a little tingle in my stomach. “So tell me, was that a line you give all the girls?” I demand.

  He looks surprised. “Not at all. I could tell there was something missing in your heart. That you hadn’t been sexually fulfilled as you deserved to be.”

  He reaches for my hand, and this time I curl my fingers around his lightly. “And that was just the beginning. Every time I saw you, I discovered new, amazing things about you.”

  “Such as?”

  To my total surprise, his eyes become a little dreamy and unfocused. “You have all these different qualities that fit so harmoniously with each other. You’re so smart and feisty, and you played soccer, you’re creative, you’re beautiful and vulnerable and kind-hearted, but you don’t take any shit. I’ve never met anyone like that before.”

  I shrug, fighting off a wave of embarrassment. “I’m just a small-town girl. The girl next door.”

  He grins. “That’s the last thing you are. You’re unique.” His fingers close tight around mine. “Reagan, all I want is to be with you. Will you give me a chance?”

  “And the BDSM?” I say.

  “If you want to keep playing kinky games, so do I, but it stays in the bedroom. We can work out whatever rules you’re comfortable with. Apart from that, we’ll be equals.” My heart’s beating hard and my stomach’s full of butterflies. “Yes, I’ll give you a chance, Adler,” I say slowly.

  His lips part in a radiant grin, and he leans over and I melt into a kiss that leaves me tingling all over.

  15

  Adler is looking at me searchingly. We’re in his bed, sweaty and glowing from the vigorous, yet tender and not-at-all-kinky sex we’ve just been having. He went down on me, making me come twice, then I sat on top of him, riding him, while he ran his hands all over my body. It’s the first time we’ve had sex in this position, and it felt so intense. controlling the depth of the penetration and seeing the pleasure on his face.

  “So that’s what you want. Really?”

  “I don’t know. I’m confused. I always knew I’d leave my hometown after college and move here. But last time I was home, it just felt right. All my close friends are there. It’s a really cute town. I love all the green space. I just want to go to the interview and see how it feels.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. We can go tomorrow, or tonight, if you want. And you can show me around.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I am. I want to know everything about you, Reagan. See where you grew up.”

  “Have you ever been in a small town before? There’s not a lot to do there, you know.”

  He laughs. “Of course, I have. Callie lives in Maine.” He strokes my face. “Are you ready for me to meet your family? Or shall we book into a hotel?”

  “You want to meet my family? Really? Are you a dream?”

  He grins. “You can meet my sister in return. I know she’s bursting to meet you.”

  “Okay, I guess they’re allowed to meet you. But let’s stay at Monica’s. It’s more relaxed.”

  On Saturday morning, I wake up with a jolt, and my mind takes a little longer to catch up to the fact that I’m in Adler’s bed. He didn’t close the curtains fully last night, and it’s bright in the room, the light reflecting off the white walls and comforter. And Adler’s beside me, still asleep. He’s lying on his front, arms tucked beneath his pillow and his face turned away from me. It’s warm in the room, and he’s pushed the comforter right off so his incredible body is displayed in all its glory. My gaze roves over his broad, muscular back, and his toned ass. And then I see it. A long, thin scar, cutting diagonally across his right ass cheek. How have I never seen it before? I raise myself up a little to get a better look. Because I’ve only ever seen his ass fleetingly, in dim light. Most of the time I’m either face down, or facing him. He stirs and I fall back onto my pillows. As he wakes up, turns, looks for me, I watch him, waiting to catch his very first reaction.

  He sees me and breaks into a grin. “You’re still here,” he says.

  My pulse speeds up. “Thought I might have changed my mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come give me a hug,” I say, holding my arms out to him. He stretches across the bed and pulls me into his arms, surrounding me with his deep, clean, masculine scent. “Like this?” I say.

  “Yup,” he replies, still sleepy. But as I run my hands up and down his back, he stiffens. My instinct is to stop. But I don’t. Instead I trace a path along his hip, all the way to the mark on his ass where I can barely feel the scar tissue. His body feels tense, and I sense that he’s longing to grab my hands, pin them over my head, and enact some punishment. Instead, there’s a crunching sound as he grinds his jaws together.

  “What happened?” I demand, although I think I already know the answer.

  “At school. A monk hit me so hard he broke the cane on me, and it cut me bad.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

  He shrugs. “Yup. I’m just glad I never have to see it.”

  There’s so much discomfort in his eyes that I hate to keep pushing him. But I know I have to. Because I need to know if he’s for real. “Why don’t you like being touched?” I ask.

  He rolls onto his back, laces his hands behind his head, and lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan. “Same stuff, being beaten at school. Walking around with bruises for days afterward used to make me feel like I wasn’t in control of my own body. It used to make me so mad and disgusted I felt like bursting out of my skin sometimes. After that I couldn’t deal with any hands laying claim to my body.” He gives a short laugh. “I don’t know if that makes any sense at all.”

  “It
does,” I say, my heart aching with sadness for him. “Did your grandma hug you a lot?”

  His lips curl in a half smile. “All the time. She was a very warm person. And it made me feel safe when I was very small.”

  “It’s different when someone loves you,” I say softly.

  He turns his head toward me. “I know.”

  I reach out and run my hand over the firm contours of his abs. “And it’s important to me that I can touch my boyfriend. I’m a very tactile person.”

  “I know.” His tone is lighter now. “I want you to be happy, Reagan. That’s very important to me.”

  “And you might even come to like it.” I keep stroking him gently, alternating between his abs and his thighs, teasing him, getting closer to his cock but not touching it.

  Before long, he begins to shake. “Baby steps,” I murmur as I grasp his shaft with my right hand and stroke his pecs with my left. When I take him in my mouth, his body jolts violently, as if there are two warring impulses inside him. I’ve never gone down on him in this position before. Usually I’m on my knees, or in some other position where I can’t escape his onslaught. His hands knot in my hair and his hips jerk back and forth, but he can’t come. At last I give him what he wants and flip onto my hands and knees. With a growl, he gets up, takes hold of my hips, and enters me roughly. I come less than a minute later, his weight heavy on top of me and his hips pounding me into the mattress. He feels wild, possessive, and delicious.

  “That was pretty hot,” I mutter, a few minutes later, snuggled into the crook of his arm.

  “It was,” he agrees, stroking my face.

  “Was it boring?”

  “No, it was perfect. Enough questions now.”

  “Okay,” I say, with a sigh of contentment.

  On Sunday morning, we drive to Springfield in his BMW. It’s a bright, crisp day, and I feel a little dazed. I keep looking at Adler sideways. Is he really mine? And am I crazy going to this interview?