Unexpected Protector (Isthmus Alliance)

by Sloan Johnson

  “Holly, time to eat,” I call from the kitchen as I pull a pan of lasagna out of the oven. For once, I’m thankful for the fact that my mom still sees me as her baby boy and drops by at least once a week with food that I can just throw in the oven to heat through. It’s made it much easier to focus my energy on Holly’s treatment during the day and trying to pull her out of her protective shell at night.

  “Hang on, I’m in the middle of some stupid aptitude test,” she responds. While I’m relieved that she’s finally focusing on her future beyond the possible legal issues she’s facing, part of me doesn’t want her getting a job. That’s going to take her focus off what she needs to be doing right now and chances are slim she’ll get anything that will make her happy for the long run when she fell short of graduating high school thanks to the lack of support in her life. I have no doubt in my mind she’ll achieve whatever she puts her mind to, but right now, all of that drive needs to be focused on her health and well-being.

  While I wait for her, my mind drifts back to Mom’s visit this afternoon. It was particularly tense and I’ve been struggling to not show how much it upset me.

  “Tommy, you need to be careful,” my mother warns me. “You’ve always been the boy who wants to save people. You need to work on saving yourself right now. Doesn’t she have her own family to help her through this?”

  “No, Mom, she doesn’t. I know you like to think that all parents are like you and Dad were, but they aren’t. I’m not sure she even knows where her parents are and that’s not by her choice.” I wish my mother would see that what I’m doing is a good thing. I wish I could get her to help Holly, to be a mother to her and guide her through what’s to come. But I can’t ask that of her.

  “Just promise me you’re not going to get so attached to her that you can’t see what’s coming,” Mom pleads with me. “You have a way of doing that and it frightens me.”

  “I promise,” I groan. She has been like this since I was nine. Back then, I watched my sisters trying to make her see that the boys they liked weren’t bad people. By the time I was old enough to date, I didn’t as much as I could have because I realized I would never get what was most important to me; my mother’s seal of approval on my decision.

  When she finally slides onto the bar stool at my high dining table, I fill a plate and push it in front of her. She’s still having problems eating and it worries me. I talked to Jeff about it the other day and he said it’s a fairly common issue for recovering addicts. She’s used to not eating because the drugs suppressed her appetite. Now that she’s clean, she’s likely battling the notion that if she starts eating properly, she’ll gain weight.

  We sit in silence through dinner, both of us lost in thought. While I have no clue what she’s thinking about, I know where my mind is, and it pisses me off. It’s getting harder every day to ignore the attraction I feel to her. At night, I find myself wanting to walk into her bedroom and carry her to my bed so I can feel her body pressed against mine. When I succumb to exhaustion after tossing and turning, my dreams are filled with images of her laid out beneath me, leather cuffs securing her arms over her head.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I watch as she pushes the food around her plate, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Do I have a choice?” she asks with a wry smile. Her fork hits the plate with a clank and she leans forward, waiting for me to speak.

  I reach for her hands. It’s an intimate move, one I’m no longer willing to keep myself from making. After the first night she was here, when she wound up falling asleep in my arms, I’ve tried to maintain some distance from her. I’ve never felt drawn to a woman the way I am to Holly and it scares me. I can only imagine how she would feel if she knew. She’d probably think I’m sort of creeper.

  “You always have a choice,” I assure her.

  For as nervous as she looks, I doubt what she’s feeling is anything compared to the anxiety coursing through my veins. All she knows is I’m about to take a hammer to her carefully constructed walls again. I, on the other hand, know that what I’m about to ask will change things between us forever. For better or worse, there will be no turning back once I open my mouth.

  “Why do you go to Marquee?” Her face contorts, seemingly confused by the question.

  “Why does anyone?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that, do you?” Much like Dylan and Zeke, I have strong feelings about the club across town that offers a fetish night once a month, giving people who think it’s cool to be kinky the chance to hang out and try things they wouldn’t otherwise have the courage to experience.

  The biggest problem is it’s dangerous to combine alcohol with BDSM. Once you take into account the fact that almost everyone who goes there has no training, and many have no experience, you realize it’s a disaster waiting to happen. If Holly truly wants to explore the lifestyle, that’s not the place to do it.

  According to Dylan, Holly always Tops when she’s playing there. I can’t figure that out because everything I’ve seen around the house tells me she has a much stronger submissive side. That side of her makes my cock twitch when she doesn’t realize what she’s doing or saying. One soft, “Yes, sir,” when I tell her to do something or the way her eyes snap to the floor every time I enter the room and I have to remind myself that she’s not mine. Not yet.

  Even now, I can’t focus on the conversation I insisted on starting because of the visions. I need to get my head in the game.

  “If you’re like Dylan, then no, you don’t need to answer that.” The fact that Dylan’s name rolls off her tongue as if it’s acid doesn’t escape me. They have a mutual dislike for one another. Yet another problem for us to overcome.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  Tommy’s sitting across the table, waiting for me to answer a question I really don’t have an answer for. At least, I don’t have an answer I want to share with him. The truth is that I go to Marquee because it is anonymous. There is no chance of becoming attached to anyone and it is acceptable for me to release the pain of everything Nathan put me through. In the playroom, no one hits on me or calls me a slut. I’m the one inflicting pain. I’m the one demeaning the person kneeling before me. There’s no way I can tell Tommy that.

  Just like the drugs, Leather & Lace night is an escape for me. It doesn’t solve the problems in my life but it masks them for a little while and lets me feel something other than the negative emotions suffocating me.

  “Holly, we had an agreement.” He squeezes my hand, forcing me to look at him. Yet again, I’m momentarily breathless after looking into his light amber eyes. When he’s upset with me, I swear they take on an intense glow. Tonight, they’re light so I know he’s not angry, but the subtle lines at the corners tell me he’s distressed about something. “You promised you would answer me when I ask you something. Now, why did you go?”

  “Because I need to be in control.” It’s a partial answer, but it’s as close as I can get to the full truth.

  “I can understand that.” He stands and begins clearing the table. Before he can protest, I skirt around him to start filling the sink. He keeps telling me that he doesn’t want me to do any of the housework but I have to do something. I’m not a guest visiting him; I’m a squatter with nowhere else to go. “Why do you Top?”

  “Didn’t I just answer that?” I’m confused by his question this time. No matter how he phrases the question, my answer isn’t going to change. I can’t give him any more of the truth at this point.

  I take the dirty plates from him, putting them in the sink. When both of my hands are in the water, I feel Tommy come up behind me. He’s been doing this more often lately; as if he’s trying to see how close he can get to me without touching me.

  I want him to touch me. I’m nearly desperate for him to show me that I’m not repulsive to him because of everything I’ve put those he cares about through. But I won’t tell him that. If he touches me, it has to be because he wants to. If I had more
courage, I would take one tiny step back, causing my body to make contact with his.

  “No, you didn’t answer my question,” he whispers into my ear. My nipples pebble beneath the thin tank top I’m wearing from the lethal combination of his smooth voice vibrating through my body and his hot breath bringing every nerve to life. “You told me why you go to the club. But why do you Top?”

  “I told you, I need to be in control.” I’m frustrated now and Tommy knows it.

  Rather than react the way I expect him to, he wraps one arm tightly around my chest, effectively pinning my upper arms to my body. “Are you in control right now?” he asks, without a hint of amusement or sarcasm.

  “Yeah, I’m in complete control of this situation,” I say, flapping my arms in front of me like a penguin because my mobility is so limited.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Tommy asks. The strange thing is, I don’t. I don’t ever want to feel the loss of the security I feel when his arms are around me.

  “No,” I say breathlessly.

  “Now, let’s say you had my arms pinned behind my back,” Tommy suggests, not letting go of me, but instead wrapping his other arm around my waist. As he speaks, I feel his pinky finger trailing along the waistband of my lounge pants. “What would you do if I said ‘red light’ while you had me restrained?”

  “I’d stop. No doubt about it.” I might not know much about the lifestyle, certainly less than I’d like to know, but that is one of the first things I learned. Even with as much as I love torturing the hell out of someone, if they ever yell out ‘red’ in the playroom, I immediately stop what I am doing.

  “Okay,” Tommy says almost sweetly, as if he’s proud of me for giving the correct answer. “Now, if all I have to do is say the word and everything stops, who’s really in control?”

  I’ve never thought about the D/s relationship this way. I always thought it was the submissive giving up a part of themselves, giving their body and soul to another person to use as the Dominant desired.

  “I guess you are,” I admit. I want to finish the dishes and talk to him more about this. Now that my head is clear, I can see what he’s trying to tell me. I don’t know that I have it in me to be submissive, but I want to know more about Tommy’s version of Dominance.

  “Finish cleaning up in here. When you get done, meet me out in the living room.” He smacks my ass before leaving the kitchen and I want to feel his hand land across my ass cheek without the minimal padding offered by my pajama bottoms.

  Of all the nights for him to decide that I’m allowed to help with dinner clean-up, it would be the same night he found just the right buttons to push to have my insides throbbing with need for him and my panties uncomfortably damp against my skin.

  As soon as that thought crosses my mind, realization dawns on me. That prick did this on purpose.

  Removing my hands from Holly’s body is far harder than it should be. The way her gentle curves press against my body has me picturing what it will be like to feel her bare skin pressed against mine, how it would have felt if she had turned around. Would I have kissed her if she looked up to me with those rich brown eyes? Yes, I absolutely would have because I’m weak to resist her.

  After running upstairs to get what I need out of the bedroom, I turn on one of my favorite playlists on the iPod and sit on the living room floor. Tonight, I want to see how far I can push Holly while allowing her to remain completely in control. For that reason, I selected this music because there’s nothing sensual about it. I don’t want her to think this is sexual in any way. On second thought, perhaps I am trying to remind myself of that fact. As much as I hope what I’m about to do to and for her brings her pleasure, I’m already in pain, trying to adjust myself so she won’t see how much I want her as soon as she walks into the room.

  When she rounds the corner, I pat the floor between my outstretched legs. She looks at the floor and then up at my face, confused.

  “Have something against the couch?” she asks, trying to stifle her nervous laughter.

  I shake my head and point to the same spot. Without any further protest, she sits on the floor facing me. “Turn around,” I instruct her.

  Once she settles in her place, I begin gently massaging her shoulders. Her back momentarily tenses before every muscle relaxes. The quiet sighs coming from her mouth are making my already semi-erect cock harder. I want to hear those noises coming from her while I rub every inch of her bare skin.

  “Does that feel good?” I ask, leaning closer to her so she will feel my breath hitting the porcelain white skin of her left arm. When she nods almost imperceptibly, I lean forward, allowing my lips to graze her skin. I regret it almost as soon as I make contact. Tonight’s not supposed to be sexual, but I’m having a hard time maintaining distance from her.

  “Do you want to see how a person can submit to another and still be in control?” I ask, trying to get the evening back on track. I need to get my head in the scene I have planned out for both our sakes.

  She nods again and I lean to the side, pulling a sleeping mask out of my pocket. It’s been sitting in my top dresser drawer since the day my sister, Nicole, gave it to me. She gave it to me to help me sleep during the day when I was pulling swing shifts and I’m sure her devout Catholic brain would explode knowing I’m using it for this purpose.

  I place the blindfold on her knee, allowing my fingers to linger on her leg for a moment. “I’m going to put this on you. Tonight is all about you learning to trust me. If, at any time, you’re uncomfortable, you can pull off the mask and we’ll stop. Think of it as your safeword because if you do remove the mask before I tell you to, we’ll be done for the night. I won’t be upset with you, so don’t think you have to do this for me.”

  When she turns her head to me, it takes more willpower than I know I have to keep from kissing her. Those pouty pink lips taunt me, and having them within inches of my mouth makes it almost impossible to resist tasting her. I take a deep breath and grab the sleeping mask.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, holding up the mask. Until she tells me she’s on-board with this idea, I won’t go any further.

  When Tommy kisses my shoulder, I want to lean into him, urge him to continue, but I don’t. I told him I would let him show me his idea of Dominance and submission and I know how much I hate it when someone Tops from the bottom. But dear Lord do I want to push him.

  I turn to look at him and his face is so close to mine, I can feel every breath. All it would take is a slight movement and I would know how his lips feel when pressed against mine.

  “Is this okay?” he asks as he leans back. His whiskey irises are nearly non-existent because of how his pupils are dilated. I feel slightly better, knowing he’s just as aroused as I am at this point. Too bad he said tonight isn’t anything sexual. No, I haven’t changed my mind and think that I deserve to have him, but dammit, I swear I might explode if I don’t get to feel his strong arms wrapped around me again soon.

  I nod, my throat so dry the words won’t form. “You need to say that it’s okay, Holly. You know the rules.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about him pointing out my knowledge of D/s. In a way, I wish he didn’t know what I know. I wish I didn’t know what I know. Because I’m reasonably certain there’s little of what I think I know that I will retain after tonight.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my throat still reminding me of Death Valley in August.

  I close my eyes as Tommy’s arms reach around my body. This way, I’m the one controlling the darkness. The black silk pressing against my cheeks and eyebrows is a contrast to texture of the rope edging. I focus on these details as the elastic strap snugs against the back of my head. Opening my eyes, I see nothing but darkness, which makes sense, but it still causes minor anxiety.

  “Are you okay?” Tommy asks softly. For someone who claims to be Dominant, he certainly isn’t acting like it. He’s far too sweet to be an effective Dom.

  “Yes,” I respond, trying to steady my breathing
. Tommy’s body presses against me as he kneels. He presses his lips to the crown of my head and then he’s gone. I hear nothing except the music coming through the iPod dock.