Pretend I'm YoursA Single Dad Romance

by Vivian Wood

  Sean shrugged. “I know you liked it,” he said. “It’s not exactly groundbreaking in the world of BDSM, but it could be worse.”

  She laughed and elbowed him gently. “Don’t pretend like it’s not a good movie.”

  “It’s alright,” he conceded. “Especially for the time, it was certainly more accurate than other mainstream films. I could go with a different actress than Maggie Gyllenhaal, though.”

  “What? She’s hot!”

  “She’s kind of dopy looking. And too skinny.” The words were out before he caught them. He saw Harper draw in a breath, but she didn’t say anything.

  “These tickets don’t have seat numbers. Is it open seating? We should hurry,” she said.

  “They don’t have seat numbers because we’re in a private booth.”

  “Private? I … didn’t know these kinds of things have private booths.”

  “They don’t,” he said. “But they can for the right amount of money.”

  “Oh.” She flushed and looked down.

  “Honestly, I was going to book a private rooftop viewing of The Secretary for just the two of us,” he said. “But when I saw an advertisement for it happening anyway, I got to thinking …”

  “Thinking what?”

  “Why fuck you on a rooftop to your favorite movie, just the two of us, when I can get you off surrounded by dozens of strangers?”

  She blushed and Sean was aware that his voice carried. The woman who clutched the dog collar looked over at them and smiled.

  “So … where are the seats then?”

  “You’ll see.”

  A makeshift private box with a balcony had been created to Sean’s specifications. It perched ten feet above the crowd, just high enough to allow some privacy—but not so far away that they couldn’t eavesdrop on conversations. All the crowd had to do was turn around and they could make out whatever Sean did to her.

  As James Spader told Maggie Gyllenhaal to lean over the desk for the first time, Sean pulled the long silky skirt up Harper’s legs. Every time Spader spanked Gyllenhaal, Sean flicked a finger through Harper’s wetness. Her nipples hardened more, jutted through the thin material.

  By the time Gyllenhaal had positioned herself in the leather executive chair, drowned in a wedding dress, he’d brought Harper to orgasm four times. Every time she reached for his cock, he gently brushed her away.

  “Who’s to say that love needs to be soft and gentle?” asked the priest who came to take Gyllenhaal away from the desk. Even as she thirsted from dehydration. Even as she pissed herself to prove her devotion.

  As the characters descended the hidden stairs from the law office to Spader’s secret bedroom, Sean pulled Harper close. Gyllenhaal was bathed by hand in the copper tub and laid out on the bed made of grass. While she told Spader the story of each cutting scar, Sean thought of Harper’s own body secrets. The ones he’d started to unravel.

  The marks he inflicted on her were temporary. The ones she inflicted on herself were invisible for most, especially in L.A.

  But he’d started to notice. He realized he’d rarely seen her eat by choice, though she ate the exact amounts of food he demanded. The curves he’d first fallen for were built in the gym, not fat but muscle. And that ant’s waist, so incredibly small, he’d realized was due to a permanently empty stomach. Sean longed to fill Harper, wholly, completely. Beyond what happened in the bedroom.

  Lizzie West’s “Chariots Rise” swelled across the rooftop, and Gyllenhaal asked Spader endless questions. A quest to know everything about him. “Where were you born?” “Des Moines, Iowa.”

  They watched the character melt into the familiarity of daily living. The housewife, the lawyer who goes off to the office. The marriage in a vacant field. A black wedding dress. A tied-up fuck against an oak tree for consummation.

  The dead cockroach was flung onto the bed, a token and a call for a night of unorthodox play. “Harper,” Sean whispered into her ear. “I … feel something. For you. Something more than can be explained by the … chemistry between us.”

  She looked up at him in the dark. The light from the film cast a glow across her face. The murmurs from the crowd, the small munches of popcorn, filled the silence. “I feel the same,” she said.

  He could see the truth in her eyes, knew she meant it. It looked like she wanted to say more, like there were critical words in her throat. She opened her mouth, but then seemed to think better of it.

  They stayed in their private little box above the world, suspended in the night sky, until the end of the credits.

  27

  Harper

  Sean took the sting out of her career. All Harper could do was watch it spiral to a pathetic end. When she was with Sean, all worries about her future disappeared. However, as soon as she was alone—or, worse, in the house while her roommates chattered about their upcoming shows, a deep depression washed over her. It was punctuated only by bouts of anxiety.

  There was no way she could tell Sean about getting fired from the agency. Or how she’d be homeless in a few days. Whenever she wasn’t with him, she scoured Craigslist for cheap housing and side hustles. However, the few so-called “modeling gigs” she’d emailed about ended up being nothing but thinly veiled porn. I’m not that desperate yet.

  Harper cornered Helena in the kitchen one morning while Helena nibbled on a rice cake and black coffee. “I’m a lot better,” she started. “I think I just overdid it at the gym that day. Do you think—”

  “Your body too tired,” Helena said with a shrug. “Can’t handle the stress of modeling.”

  With just a week left before she got the boot, Harper sucked it up and called her mom. She’d moved to southern Oregon as soon as Harper had deposited the first fat modeling check in their joint account. From what she’d heard from the infrequent letters from Ashland, it was a beautiful town full of hippies and overpriced Shakespeare productions.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Harper? What’s wrong?”

  The concern melted her. “I just … the manager here says my body can’t handle the stress of modeling. I was wondering—”

  “That’s it? Your stressed? Harper, we’re all stressed.” She heard a male voice in the background. “I don’t have time to handle your problems right now on top of my own. James is taking us to Bali for the long weekend and I haven’t even started packing.”

  “James?” She’d never heard the name.

  Her mom lowered her voice. “Silicon Valley money,” she whispered. “Just … I don’t know. Go to the gym, work out the stress. I have to go.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Harper logged into her various accounts, including the high-interest savings account her mom didn’t know about. I can live for a few months off this, she thought. Ask anyone outside of Los Angeles or New York, and it was a hefty nest egg. But it wouldn’t last long in L.A.

  The Facebook tab on her laptop lit up with a notification. Yet another invitation to some designer’s showcase. However, when Harper clicked on it, Sophia’s message popped back up. Could I do New York? Sophia hadn’t mentioned a salary, but it would surely be enough to live on.

  “Hi Sophia,” Harper wrote. “I’ve thought it over, and I would love to set up a time to talk with you about opportunities in New York. I can come to you, if you’d like.”

  Sophia started to type right away. “Why the sudden interest? I messaged you over a week ago.”

  Harper could feel the coolness from across the country. “I don’t think my body’s up for modeling anymore,” she admitted. “It’s time to start looking at transitional careers.”

  “Did Helena kick you out?”

  God, did she know? How quickly did gossip go bi-coastal? “I have to be out in one week,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophia said. “Truly. I do have a vacant apartment here in Manhattan that would be included in the benefits package of whoever I have. IF you pass the in-person interview, of course. I’ll be in Los Angeles on Wednesday on busi
ness. Can you meet then?”

  “Definitely. Just let me know the time and place.”

  There. At least it was a solid lead. But what about Sean? Could she really up and leave now? Harper didn’t know if she could handle it all without him.

  “Busy?” she texted him.

  “Just got up, not scheduled for another six hours. Come over.”

  Harper pulled on her sandals, grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

  “How’s my good girl?” Sean asked as soon as she walked in.

  Harper dropped her beg and pulled her shirt off as she walked towards him. All she wanted in that moment, all she needed, was him to make her forget.

  He laughed as she threw herself at him. “Normally I’d expect you to be a little more proper, sweetheart, but I have to say your energy is unprecedented.”

  “Tell me what to do,” she said. That’s all she needed. To be told what to do.

  Sean slammed her against the wall. Her bare back pressed into the cold stucco covered in his art. “Turn around,” he said.

  She obeyed, and he immediately pulled down her skirt. “No panties, you’ve learned well,” he said. “Raise your hands.”

  Harper didn’t look behind her, but heard him open the drawer. Sean slipped rough ropes around her wrists, not the usual slick bondage ropes. He bound them tight and attached her hands to the empty curtain rods that ran across the ceiling. There was just enough give that she could move slightly.

  Sean grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Her feet lifted off the wooden floor. When she landed, she was bent nearly in half and the ropes cut slightly into her skin.

  “See this?” Sean asked. A black riding crop appeared in her line of vision. He traced it along her cheek. “Remember your safe words.”

  He reached below and sharply pinched each of her nipples.

  The first swat was relatively light. The sting was delayed. Harper didn’t feel the full impact until he’d swatter her again, harder, on the other cheek. She cried out, mostly in surprise. The pain was sharp, but fleeting. Sean’s warm palm smoothed each site, and he pressed comfort into the pain.

  By the tenth swat, she panted. Harper looked at her thighs and saw that her juices had streamed down nearly to her knees. The eleventh swat, and there was no unmarked area on her ass. “Eden,” she whispered.

  Sean took extra time smoothing her flesh. “More?” he asked. “Ready?”

  “One more,” she said. The twelfth took her over the edge. She pressed her eyes shut through the pain.

  “That’s enough,” Sean said. He tested her wetness and she writhed against his hand. Still, she heard a cap open.

  Harper looked over her shoulder and saw Sean with a bottle of lube. “Do … do you really need that?” she asked. She’d never been so wet.

  “Are you questioning me?” he asked.

  “No. Sorry. No, sir,” she said.

  “Trust me, you’ll want it,” he said. “Have you ever been fucked in the ass before?”

  Her eyes widened. “No,” she said. Is that what he was going to do?

  A smile spread across his face. “I’m honored to be your first,” he said. She bristled with unexpected pleasure as he circled her rim with the cold lube. “I’ll go slow.”

  Harper dropped her head and focused on the unfamiliar sensations. With one hand, Sean expertly worked her clit and she groaned with pleasure. His other index finger went from spreading the lube and teasing her rim to sliding inside her. She cried out, but it was surprise, not pain. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  By the time Sean had worked his finger completely into her ass, she realized she pushed against him. The contrast of the stimulation on her clit and the fullness his finger offered pushed her towards the edge.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said as he removed his finger. “Remember your words.”

  Harper grunted as he pressed his tip against her rim. There’s no way, no way it will fit. She could tell he’d lubed himself up, too. His tip slid in, no more than half an inch. “Eden,” she said tightly. “Eden.”

  Sean stopped, his hands on her hips, but he didn’t remove himself. She was grateful for the rough rope at her wrists. That relatively minor pain offered a welcome distraction. “You want to stop?” he asked.

  She thought she heard disappointment in his voice. “No,” she said. “Just … slow.”

  He eased in another half inch and she cried out. She felt his hand move from one hip back to her clit. As he started to flick, she felt her juices return. With every inch, he increased the pressure or speed on her clit. The juxtaposition, the pain married to the pleasure, put her in another element.

  Sean held himself, still, deep inside her. “This is enough this time,” he said. He began to skillfully flick her clit. “Come for me,” he said. “Like this, I’m telling you to come for me.”

  She felt full, too full, but the pain mixed with pleasure put her in a state where she couldn’t think about anything but pleasing him. Doing exactly as he said.

  When Harper came, she heard droplets hit the floor. She looked down to see a puddle between her legs. “You squirted,” he said, and bent down to kiss her shoulder. “Just your second time. It seems you like it rough.”

  “Yes,” she said, and caught her breath as he eased himself out of her.

  She looked forward to the pampering that always followed. To the pets and caresses, the sight of the black robe.

  As Sean ran a brush through her hair, she watched him in the propped-up full-length mirror. I should tell him, she thought. But no matter how she tried to formulate the words, they just didn’t seem to come together right.

  Why bother? she wondered. What could he do? What if the only decent job I can get takes me out of the city?

  It wasn’t just that. What if his face falls when I tell him I’m not a model anymore? The weight of the unknown pressed down on her. Modeling wasn’t just a job, it was her whole life. She’d never known anything else.

  Not being a model meant she’d get fat. She knew it, and he probably knew it. And if she was fat, there’s no way he’d be attracted to her anymore. The thought of him dumping her, on top of everything else …

  No. Just stay quiet for now.

  28

  Sean

  “Hey!” Connor said. “What’s up?”

  Sean could hear the surprise in his brother’s voice, but ignored it. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m going to take you up on that offer. To join your company.”

  “That’s … great, man,” Connor said. “I mean, I’m really excited about it. What convinced you? It was that girl, wasn’t it? Harper.”

  Sean stiffened. “No,” he said. “Actually, her and I haven’t talked about it at all since we had dinner.”

  “Oh, well regardless it’s good to have you on board. I actually met with some investors earlier this week and things are moving right along. I could use you right now.”

  “I have to give notice at the shop,” Sean said. “But … I’ll do it this week. Give me ‘til the end of the month. Does that work?”

  “Sure,” Connor said. “Can you just shoot me over a bio when you get a chance? I need to add it to the business plans, website, all that.”

  “Yeah, I’ll send it over,” Sean said.

  He was filled with uncertainty when he hung up, but there was an edge of excitement, too. Sean looked around the tiny apartment. He’d never fully unpacked, and as much as he tried to lie to himself, this place had never felt like home. Maybe he should move. Hell, there was no way Connor would set up shop in L.A. proper. He’d probably scouted out some place in the suburbs. I could do the suburbs. Maybe, Sean thought.

  Sean could almost feel the wheels of change turning, and in the middle of it all was Harper. No matter what happened, where he worked or where he lived, he knew he wanted her with him. Change can be good, right?

  Soon enough, she’d surely ask about their relationship. He couldn’t blame her. Organically, he’d been sexually exclusive wi
th her since the start. It was partly just circumstance—he just happened to not have a regular sex partner at the time. But Sean had to admit that it was mostly by choice. It was about time to put the official “monogamous” title on what they were. He’d known that for awhile, but all of these transitions sealed it.

  “Dinner tonight?” he texted her.

  “Sure.”

  “Go all out,” he said. “I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

  When Harper opened the door, he almost couldn’t speak. She was poured into a perfectly tailored red dress with a sweetheart neckline and gladiator gold heeled sandals.

  “Sweetheart neckline for my sweetheart,” he said. “I approve.”

  She blushed and took his arm.

  The white-shirted waitstaff whipped out her chair. “How did you get a table at Repubique?” she asked. “And on a Friday?”

  Sean shrugged. “You let me worry about that, sweetheart.”

  She smiled at him. When the waiter asked about drinks, she looked at him, brow raised.

  “You can have one,” he said. The waiter didn’t even blink.

  “Gin martini, very dry with a twist,” she said.

  “Very good. And you, sir?”

  “A bottle of sparkling water,” Sean said.

  As Harper pored over the menu, he tried to guess at what she’d order. The oysters, the grilled octopus salad—or maybe the diver scallops. “What sounds good?” he asked.

  “You want to share oysters?” she asked.

  “Maybe. What about entrees?”

  “Uhm … I think the scallops. No grapes, though.”

  He knew it. Her face looked thinner than usual, almost gaunt. When she smiled, there were more lines in her cheeks. Not enough fat to plump them.

  “I’ll be ordering for both of us tonight,” he said.

  She swallowed. “What … what do you have in mind?”

  “For you, potato and leek beignet to start. Steak and fries for dinner.” He took a gamble on the steak. It was low-carb and all protein, but also high calorie. If she was doing what he suspected, it being paired with fries would put her over the edge.