by Sionna Fox
Jolene: Izzy has a late class, then she’s in her studio. Come over and I’ll make you dinner this time.
The seconds crawled as I waited for him to respond, and I started composing messages in my head to cover for my misunderstanding.
Matthew: What time?
I would need to do a quick sweep of the apartment to make sure the place wasn’t a total wreck. Izzy had a way of leaving a snail trail of dropped and discarded notebooks, pencils, jackets, shoes, and any number of other trinkets wherever she went, making our apartment look like a tornado had swept through in comparison to Matthew’s neat, orderly space.
Jolene: Seven.
Matthew: I’ll see you at your place.
The flock of birds in my chest stretched their wings. Matthew was coming over. He wanted to see me again. Before our prearranged date on Wednesday. A glimmer of hope bubbled up that he might be as affected by me as I was by him. I tried to pop it. This was just an extension of aftercare, he was making sure I wasn’t coming down too hard, but a foolish piece of my heart refused to believe the logical explanation.
The second the clock ticked over to five, I packed up and punched out. I raced home and raided the fridge and the pantry, laying out ingredients for baked ziti. The weather had turned cold, and aside from being easy to make while cleaning the apartment, bubbling hot cheese, pasta, and sauce were an excellent antidote to the damp October chill that was starting to creep in.
When Matthew buzzed at the front door, the pasta was in the oven, wafting the homey smells of baking starch, dairy, and tomatoes through the apartment. I ran down the stairs to show him up. He was waiting on the steps with a bottle of wine in hand, terribly handsome in dark gray trousers and a charcoal wool topcoat, the collar of a soft blue oxford shirt peeking out.
I opened the front door and the smile that lit up his face almost knocked me on my ass with a powerful rush of desire and possessiveness. I stood there for a second too long, drinking him in, before I stepped aside to let him through the door. He kissed my cheek as he passed and stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.
Right. “Come on up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
He followed me upstairs and sniffed the air, making an appreciative sound in his throat as he set the bottle down on Izzy’s vintage kitchen table. Then he pinned me to the fridge with a fierce kiss.
He pressed into my mouth while he threaded fingers through my hair with one hand and pulled my waist to him with the other. I drew myself up onto my toes, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and clasped my hands at the nape of his neck.
If I hadn’t taken a page from him and set a timer on the oven, I’m sure our dinner would have been a burnt, smoking lump by the time we came up for air. As it was, I had to give him a slight shove before he broke from me, even with the alarm blaring behind him.
“I’ve been dreaming about doing that all day.” He grinned at me and squeezed my hip as I ducked around him to grab the potholders to pull the heavy casserole dish out of the oven. He turned to the table and the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Corkscrew?”
“Skinny drawer on the other side of the dishwasher. Glasses are in the cupboard above.” We danced around each other in the narrow space, and that sense of rightness and ease battled wills with the dread of how much worse that would make it later.
“This looks delicious.” He reached for a crispy bit of cheese as I passed, and gingerly brought it to his lips to blow on it before he popped it in his mouth. “Mm. Thank you for making dinner.”
I blushed. It was only baked ziti, cheap and uncomplicated. I served him a portion first, then took some for myself before I sat down. I looked at him, waiting for another cue or sign of approval.
He met my gaze and shook his head. “Let’s eat.”
We picked up our forks and ate quietly for a few minutes. I expected he’d continue our conversation from the morning before, or ask me how I was handling what he’d sent me last night, but he talked like it wasn’t hanging over our heads and we were two people having a normal dinner date. When we were done, he helped me clear up, and we took our wine glasses to the living room and sat on the couch.
Matthew turned me to face him and gently kissed me. “I’m glad you didn’t have other plans tonight,” he whispered. “I don’t think I could have waited for Wednesday.”
I pulled back and looked up at him through my eyelashes. “Me too.” My voice sounded small in my ears.
He let out a satisfied sigh and leaned against the armrest. “Did you have any thoughts about what I sent to you?”
I snorted. “Oh, I had thoughts.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you? Perhaps you should elaborate.”
Heat rushed to my face. “It was…interesting.”
“Jolene.” He knew I was helpless against that tone of voice and the air around us subtly shifted. This wasn’t a normal dinner date anymore. “Were you aroused?”
I stared at my lap and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Did you masturbate last night?”
My face was boiling hot. “No.”
He did the eyebrow thing again. It was like a tic. A really sexy tic. “Why do I think you’re lying to me?”
I was going to get in trouble for what came out of my mouth next. And I was okay with that, looking forward to it, even. “I didn’t last night. That was this morning.”
He smacked my leg and mock-sighed. “We’re going to have to talk about the brat thing, aren’t we?”
I grinned at him, relieved that he was amused, not mad. “Yes, sir, I think we are.”
I couldn’t do this if I had to take it too seriously. I was a born smart-ass, despite the layers of social anxiety, and I’d meant it when I said I couldn’t imagine calling anyone Master with a straight face. If the result of pushing Matthew’s buttons was some kind of sexy torture, then fuck yes, I would be a brat.
“Fine. I don’t have a problem with a bit of sass.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
“I like your sass. It’s not what I expected from you at all, but it’s oddly endearing. However, I don’t want you constantly trying to goad me into punishing you. If you want a beating, you can always ask for it.”
He smirked wickedly, making all the blood that was supposed to be powering my higher mental functions mysteriously disappear from my brain. It reappeared somewhere in the vicinity of my crotch. Not helpful.
“Asking for it doesn’t mean you’ll get it, but directness has its benefits.”
“Understood, sir. Thank you for clarifying.” I was still laughing, but his words and the slap to my leg had added a thread of hot, sharp arousal to the mix.
He smacked my thigh again. “When you did masturbate, what were you thinking about?”
We were back to that now. I flushed again, but I was grateful to have lightened the mood somewhat. “I had a dream about being tied up. And suspended,” I said to my lap and took a swig of wine.
“What about bondage appeals to you?” He retreated to an air of clinical detachment, like he was interviewing a research subject. I’m sure he was delighting in making me squirm.
“It looks so peaceful. And quiet,” I blurted. I needed to get a better filter around this man.
His brow wrinkled slightly. “You never feel that way, do you?”
Shit. “Not really, no.” I struggled to figure out how to get out the next words without opening myself up for a full discussion of my mental health. I didn’t want him to decide yet that I was too much trouble. “I think this might actually help. Does that sound weird?”
“No, it’s not weird. Lots of people feel that way. There’s even research to support using kink as a reasonably effective coping strategy by forcing the body to complete the stress response cycle in a controlled way.” He gave my leg a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for telling me.” He picked up my hands and kissed my palms. “Are you on medication for your anxiety?”
Crap. Too far. I shook my head. “No.”
“Are
you on any medications regularly?”
I bristled. “Why?”
“You don’t need to tell me everything, but I’d like to know if you have health issues or triggers I need to be aware of, so I can help you be as safe as possible when we do this.”
His face was sincere, but I was cringing inside. It was all going to unravel now. I was too much of a minefield, whatever approving things he said about people using kink to cope. “I understand. I have something for panic attacks. And sometimes for sleep.”
“Thank you. I need you to promise me something.” He looked at me intently and I nodded for him to go on. “Tell me, or anyone else you might play with, about any medications you’ve taken before you start a scene. And don’t ever play when you’ve taken a tranquilizer or anything that affects your ability to accurately judge how you’re feeling. You could get seriously hurt.”
It wasn’t a difficult promise to make. I couldn’t imagine wanting sex of any kind after a panic attack. They left me too raw, wrung out and exhausted, and the medications only made me sleepy. “I promise. I tend to zone out in my pj’s watching cartoons until I doze off.”
“Good girl,” he said and squeezed my hands.
I glowed at those two precious words and relaxed, thinking that would be the end of the conversation.
“Is there a reason you don’t take a daily antianxiety medication?”
I didn’t want to talk about my mental health, or lack thereof. He sounded genuinely concerned, but so did most people before they realized I was too much work. I didn’t want to be one of his lab subjects either, an object of clinical interest he would grow bored with once he had me diagnosed. I took a deep breath before I spoke again.
“I’ve tried things, but I never found something that worked all that well for me.” Not to mention the fact that the only game in my hometown for psychiatry also worked part-time at the college and was a walking HIPAA violation. I stopped seeing her after she greeted me at the grocery store, prompting my cousin Tina to tell my whole family that I was a weirdo who needed to get her head shrunk. “Can we talk about something else now?”
Matthew pulled me forward and kissed the palms of my hands again. “Thank you. I know it isn’t easy, but do you understand why I would need to know?”
“I get it. I do. I just don’t want to talk about it.” I pulled my hands out of his, crossed my arms over my chest, and looked up at him.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know. Would you drop it please?”
Matthew gathered me up into his arms and kissed behind my ear. He softly trailed his mouth along my jaw to my lips. His touch was tender, sweet, and undemanding, and I relaxed into the easy grip of his arms.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and settled myself more firmly onto his lap. His mouth grew urgent against mine, his tongue traced my lips before he bit down, hard enough that I let out a tiny gasp. I twined my fingers in his hair and tried to hold his mouth to mine, but he resisted and drew away.
“Just because you’re technically on top doesn’t mean you’re in charge, Jolene.” He flipped me onto my back to prove his point.
Every time he tossed me around, my insides flooded with liquid heat. I had never imagined it could be like this; I could be wriggling and desperately needy underneath a man I was allowing to be in total control of my body, and I liked it. Matthew shimmied my skirt up around my hips and ran his fingertips around the seams of my panties. I shivered, goose bumps rising on my bare legs.
“So responsive,” he murmured, looking down on me like he was about to devour me whole. He brushed over my clit with his knuckles. I whimpered and arched my back, helpless to stop reaching for more contact.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You almost make this too easy.”
He hooked the waistband of my panties with his fingers and yanked them down my legs. He kissed my neck, the tops of my breasts where they spilled out of my shirt, and the exposed strip of my stomach where my skirt was rucked up around my waist. My clit throbbed in time with my heart, aching with every press of his lips to my skin. His destination was clear, and I writhed and moaned in anticipation, urging him to hurry up and get there already.
“Settle down,” he said sharply, and I did everything in my power to keep still for him. “Good girl.”
He kissed and nipped at my thighs with maddening slowness, circling all the tender, sensitive flesh surrounding my pussy with his lips and tongue. I was going to lose my mind when he finally put his mouth to me. With the barest hint of pressure, he finally slid the tip of his tongue down my slit.
I tensed and raised my hips without thinking, begging him to take my aching clitoris into his mouth. He chuckled, his breath hot against my wet flesh, sending a fresh wave of goose bumps over my skin. It took almost nothing for him to reduce me to an incoherent, whining puddle.
“Please, sir. Please,” I begged.
He laughed again and lifted his head to look me in the eye. “Since you asked nicely, sweet girl.”
He swept me open with a flat stroke of his tongue and pulled my throbbing clit between his teeth. I cried out and he let go, my cry turning to one of frustration at the loss of contact and pressure, and even the bit of sharp, delicious pain his bite sent rocketing through me. He sucked and licked my labia, dipped his tongue inside me, then went back to sucking and nibbling on my clitoris.
I rested the backs of my knees on his broad shoulders as the workings of his mouth made me break out in a sweat, heat buzzing through my system with every swipe of his tongue. My heart pounded, my clit ached, my pussy clenched and rippled as he drove me on. “Fuck, I’m close, sir,” I choked out between panting breaths, head thrown back against the armrest. My hands clutched at the cushions, scrabbling for purchase.
A voice that most definitely did not belong to Matthew called out, “Hey, Mouse,” as the door opened behind my head.
Upside down, I registered Izzy walking in the door as our three voices started yelling, “Oh shit,” “Holy fuck,” or some variation thereof.
Izzy was stuck in place by the door. There was nowhere to go that wouldn’t force her to walk directly by us. I made a mad grab for my underwear and yanked my skirt down, shoving Matthew to the other end of the couch while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled a pillow into his lap to hide the bulge in his pants. Izzy stared at the ceiling. If the universe were a kind place, a hole in the floor would have mercifully opened up and swallowed me then and there.
Izzy swiveled her head back and forth between us, her mouth twitching, before she dissolved onto the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter, complete with snorting and tears streaming down her face. Matthew and I stared at her, then at each other, as if the other would know what to do about my roommate’s taking leave of her senses. Every time it sounded like she was about to pull herself together, she cracked up again. He lifted a corner of his mouth—the gorgeous mouth that had been this close to making me come a minute ago, the mouth that was still damp with the evidence of where he had just been—and started shaking with his own suppressed laughter.
Izzy wiped at her eyes and sniffed, gathering her wits at last. “Hey, Matt,” she croaked and hiccupped.
“Isolde.”
She pushed herself off the floor and picked up her bag before she ducked around the couch and waltzed off to her room. “Carry on.” She snort-giggled as she closed the door behind her.
I hunched over with my head in my hands and let out a low whine of distress. “Fuck, I’m sorry. She told me she would be out late. I had no idea she was coming home. Oh god.”
Matthew pulled my hands away from my face and shushed me. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” I pulled away from him indignantly. “She saw, you know.” I gestured at the space between his mouth and my crotch.
“Me eating your pussy,” he whispered in my ear.
I burned scarlet right to the top of my head. “Yeah, that.”
“Jolene, lo
ok at me.” He took my face in his hands and forced me to meet his eyes. “She’ll get over it. So will you. This is not the first time in history roommates have walked in on each other having sex. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I know.” I dropped my head into my hands. He was right, but it didn’t lessen how mortified I was. And Izzy would give me shit about it forever.
He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Do you want me to go?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I scrunched my eyebrows together and fought the urge to curl up into a ball and die. “Kind of killed the mood, right?”
He kissed my head again. “It doesn’t matter, sweet girl. I’ll stay if you want me to, or I’ll go. It’s your call.”
“I think I’m going to go hide in my room. By myself, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Thank you for dinner, Jolene. I’ll see you Wednesday.” He kissed me and I tasted myself on his lips. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” he whispered and gave me a peck on the cheek before he let himself out the door.
I shuffled into my room and flopped on the bed with a groan. Three, two, one…Izzy burst into the room and jumped on the bed next to me. I covered my face with a pillow and mumbled for her to fuck off. She ignored me, ripped the pillow out of my arms, and stared at me with undisguised glee, waiting.
“What the fuck are you even doing here, Izzy? You were supposed to be out late.”
“I got hungry, and I didn’t want vending machine snacks or takeout. I texted you to tell you I was on my way. Not my fault you were”—she cleared her throat and waggled her eyebrows—“occupied.”
I grabbed my pillow back from her and whacked her in the shoulder with it. “I hate you.”
“You love me.” She bounced off the bed. “What did you make for dinner?”
“Baked ziti.” I rolled onto my back. “It’s in the fridge, but it’s probably still half-warm, so it will only need a minute or two in the microwave.”
“I know I can’t cook, my dear, but I can microwave.” She swanned off to the kitchen.
