by Sionna Fox
I expected her to go on the defensive for Matthew, but once our plates had arrived, she asked about me instead. “Are you doing okay with this? Do you have questions? I know Matt puts on a great show of being all-seeing, all-knowing, but he’s not and he doesn’t. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here.”
“I don’t… I mean…” I paused and exhaled slowly, counting the beats of my heart. “Thank you. There are things I don’t understand, but I think it’s more in the realm of ‘your kink is not my kink’ and not, like, applicable to me.”
“You can ask those questions too.”
“I don’t want to make anyone feel like a zoo animal.”
“Well, no, you wouldn’t want to randomly ask a stranger, but I’m offering.”
“It’s okay. Thanks.” I studied the table in front of me, fidgeting.
“You want to tell me what happened last night?”
I groaned. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I needed to talk about it. And maybe Sarah could help me understand. “Matthew got up for a drink and Simone walked up. It caught me off guard, that’s all. She called me his latest project and told me to watch out because he’d get bored and dump me as soon as he had me trained. She said it’s what he does.”
“Which is what you’re afraid of.” I didn’t answer, and Sarah took another sip of her milkshake. “Look, I’ve known Matt a long time, and I have never, I mean never, seen him as gone over a girl as he is over you. Not even when he was still a literal teenager.”
I had to force my heart back to the ground. He might have been thrilled with me at Thanksgiving, but I’d had a few days to screw it up. “But what if it is just the newbie thing? I mean, is that his thing?”
“It can be. Like I said, Matt’s one of the good ones. He’s conscientious, experienced, patient, and part of what gets him off is taking really, really good care of his partners. He’s an amazing person to have as your first, and he’s done that a time or two for women who are new to it. I wouldn’t call it a ‘thing’ or a fetish, but he has a bit of a reputation. Hell, I’ve set him up with women who were looking for a practical introduction to kink.”
“You set him up with Simone.”
“I did.” She paused. “And she knew exactly what the arrangement was going into it. I sat there with them while they negotiated it and signed the ridiculous contract she insisted on.”
“What happened?”
“I think Simone read too many billionaire bad boy novels and not enough real people doing kink.” She rolled her eyes. “She couldn’t separate the fantasy from reality. She got it into her head that she was going to meet some rich dom, and even though it was only supposed to be training, he’d fall in love with her. She’d be whisked off to sit around and be worshiped for deigning to submit. Matt’s not a billionaire, but he’s a genius with a trust fund, so close enough, right?
The thing is, doing this for the first time is an intense experience. It’s easy to get carried away with your feelings for the person who’s helping you figure out how to express or use a whole other side of yourself.” She smirked conspiratorially at me. “Matt followed me around like a duckling for months when we first met, even though we hadn’t—and have never—had sex. It’s a powerful thing.”
Shit, am I a duckling imprinting on the first person to give me a spanking?
Sarah cut off my thought. “That doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t real, or that they can’t last, Jolene. Trust me.” She popped a fry into her mouth and chewed. “Try the pepper relish, it’s amazing.”
I raised my eyebrows at her to go on while I spooned a dollop of the proffered relish onto my plate.
“They were a terrible match, but Simone started to have feelings for him anyway, even though they had explicitly agreed it was a training arrangement only. Matt stuck it out for longer than he should have, but when he realized what was going on, he ended it. He even offered to put her in touch with another dom who might be a better fit for her.”
“A better fit for her how?”
“Matt didn’t want to get involved with anyone at the time, and aside from that, they were legendarily incompatible.”
“Incompatible how?”
“Simone doesn’t have a submissive bone in her body. She likes pain and impact, but getting her to give up an ounce of control is a losing battle. She fought him on everything, every step of the way. She might be more of a masochistic top than anything, but try telling her that. And her biggest fetish, by far, is stirring up drama.”
I munched fries for a minute or two. “Why am I hearing this from you and not him?”
“He thought you might hear it better from me. It still bothers him. It was exhausting just hearing about it, and it shook him. He feels responsible for what happened, even though she wasn’t honest about what she wanted or was looking for. She might not have realized at the time that she wanted a different dynamic than he could give her, but it still wasn’t a good faith agreement, because she thought she could change his mind about making a commitment. And no matter how many times he’s apologized, she won’t let it go.”
“It bugs you too.”
“Well, yeah, of course it bugs me. I set them up. I should have helped her be clearer about her desires in a scene and about having a relationship. He was hurt by it, and now she’s messed with you too. I’d say Matt’s like family, but I’ve seen him naked too many times.” She shuddered theatrically.
“Please, like anyone’s gonna complain about that.”
She gave me a wide, genuine smile. “I knew I liked you.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
We finished our dinners, talking about anything other than Matthew’s sexual history. It turned out Sarah was the friend who ran a small press. Matthew had described them to me as niche, which made her keel over laughing. She explained that they published queer erotica and romance.
“When I started it, it was a way to get my friends’ work out there. Mainstream publishers weren’t really interested, and it’s still hard. Most of the time, we did tiny print runs and sold them at cons and stuff. Things have changed, readers and markets have changed, but we still get by. We do a lot more short story anthologies now, helping emerging authors get a toe in the door and a credit or two to their name, help them find an audience.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“It is.” She paused. “Matt mentioned you’re temping right now?”
I’m gonna kill him. “Yeah. A six-month contract.”
“If you’re interested, I could put you in touch with some people—”
I cut her off. “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t want you to go out of your way because I’m your friend’s whatever the hell I am.”
“Hey, the offer stands. And not because you’re Matt’s girlfriend,” she said pointedly. “It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted to do, even longer to have the resources to do it, so I try to help out where I can.”
“How are you this awesome?” I blurted and my cheeks heated furiously at my outburst.
Sarah wrapped an arm around me and pulled my head to her shoulder. “I never had kids. All this maternal bullshit has to go somewhere.”
After dinner, we hugged and parted ways. I wanted to believe the woman who’d been his friend since he was an eighteen-year-old boy, but it needled at me all the same.
I didn’t care that he’d had casual arrangements for sex and dominance with other women, but I was still terrified that once the glitter shook off me and he ran out of new things to teach me or do to me, that Simone was right and he would get bored. There were only so many boundaries he could push with me. Or Sarah would be right that he was a workaholic and he’d get busy, and I’d never see him and our relationship would die a slow death from neglect. He’d tried to tell me that himself. What if when it wasn’t shiny and new anymore, there wasn’t a place for me in his life? And if I wasn’t a project to him, what the hell was he doing telling Sarah I needed help finding a job? Everything we
’d said and done unraveled with each spin of the hamster wheel of doom.
I needed to talk to him, to see him, but whenever we were in the same room, it was too easy to give in to the desire to please him, to have him. I needed space, but space would only give me more time to self-destruct. I got home, turned off my phone, took a sleeping pill for the first time in months, and went to bed.
I slept fitfully, even with the assist from the medication. I hadn’t talked to Matthew since he dropped me off on Monday night. I knew I needed to. I didn’t want it to end with a slow fade because I was too scared to deal with it. I didn’t want it to end yet, period. I had to talk to him. But I didn’t know how. Or if I should. If I couldn’t trust myself with him, if I couldn’t trust him, the whole thing wasn’t going to work.
I plodded through the day at the office again, my stomach roiling with that terrible, low-level nausea that comes with anxiety. Even Doug noticed and asked if I was feeling okay. I promised I was fine and went back to chewing a hole through my lip while staring blankly at my monitor.
When I turned the corner onto our street, I was terrified and relieved to see Matthew’s car parked in front of my building. I knocked on the window. He looked up at me, and I was gratified to see him with dark circles under his eyes, unshaven, his hair sticking up at odd angles. The last couple of days had been rough on him too.
The window rolled down and I leaned in. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to give you time, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Will you talk to me?”
I opened the door. “I’m texting Izzy to let her know I’m getting into a car with a strange man I found outside our apartment.”
I got half a chuckle for that. “Can I take you for coffee, or something?”
“Okay.” It was for the best that we do this in public. There was a risk I’d start crying, but at least I wouldn’t be tempted to strip naked and kneel at his feet to avoid having the conversation.
He took us around the corner to a quiet cafe. We ordered and sat at a table in the corner, toying with our mugs, waiting for the other to start talking.
“Sarah told me you had dinner last night.”
“Yeah, we did. She told me about the Simone debacle.” I took a deep breath. “I wish you had felt like you could tell me about that yourself.”
“I know, I thought—”
“You thought it would sound better coming from her because you’re still mad at yourself for getting into the whole mess. I know. She told me that too.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t elaborate or qualify the apology, letting it stand for everything.
“I know. I’m sorry too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, I do. She called me your new project and told me that you would get bored and dump me, and I believed her. I believed that from a woman who didn’t even bother to introduce herself before she started talking shit about you.”
“You’re not a project, Jolene.” He looked so earnest, dark eyes wide and emphatic, that I almost broke.
“I want to believe you, I do.” I stared into my mug and gathered my wits. “Sarah asked me about work last night. She offered to introduce me to people, because you asked her to. That kind of makes me feel like a project. Like I’m not good enough for you and you want me to change.”
He held up his hands. “I didn’t ask her to help you find a job, Jolene, I swear. Sarah asked me about you at Thanksgiving and I told her. If she offered anything, that was Sarah being Sarah. I don’t want to fix you up and pass you on, little mouse. I want you.” He pulled my hands into his. “Please.”
I sniffled and focused on the way his large, capable hands engulfed mine. “I’m a mess, Matthew. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to pass me on.”
“Look at me, little mouse.” I forced my eyes up. “I know who you are and I am not going anywhere.”
He looked fierce and vulnerable at once, and I broke. “Okay.”
He lifted my hands and kissed my palms. “Thank you.”
He took me home and I brought him upstairs. I held out my hand to lead him down the hall to my bedroom. Without a word, I pulled him inside, closed the door behind him, and stood up on my toes to whisper against his neck, “Take me to bed, please, sir.”
He looked at me, his eyes questioning if this was what I wanted. I needed it. I needed to feel him close to me, to have his long, tall body covering mine, skin to skin. For contact to calm the roiling in my gut, for him to show me he wasn’t going anywhere yet. He was still mine. I tugged his hand toward the bed, and he let out a deep sigh as he picked me up and gently laid me down.
With a touch bordering on reverent, he undressed me, then himself, and climbed into bed next to me. He didn’t tease or make me wait, and would have stopped after using his hands and mouth to soothe and please me. I lifted my hips in invitation. I needed to feel him inside me.
Only when he slid home, propped on his elbows so we touched nearly from head to toe, did I feel complete. I held him there, my feet locked at the base of his spine, my arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck. We made love silently, kissing and cuddling and holding onto each other while he slowly moved within. He slipped a hand between us to bring me to climax once more before he took his own release.
When it was over, I wanted to hold him there forever, afraid to lose the safety and warmth. I let him up because I had to, but the moment we dropped back into bed, I wrapped myself around him. I fell asleep clinging to him.
It would have been easy to sweep it all under the rug and pretend that nothing had happened. God knows I wanted to. I wanted back into the naked, sexy bubble where we didn’t have families or pasts. Where this was only sex and no one’s feelings were involved, except mine, and that was my own problem, my own fault.
Matthew started insisting we go on proper dates, treating me like a girlfriend and not only a sex partner, but he still hadn’t said the words. We had dinner with Sarah and Evie, whose abiding love and partnership should have reassured me that what Sarah had told me was true, that these feelings could last. Still I worried.
Dates and meeting his friends were nice, but I could feel him pulling away. He stopped dropping by, only seeing me on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and I didn’t hang out all day on Sundays. I was no longer his shiny new toy, and he started spending more time at work, becoming the man he’d warned me about. I spent our nights together just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He was gentle, he was patient, he was kind. He was everything I should have wanted, but I wanted my mad scientist back, poking, prodding, gauging my reactions. I wanted him to make good on his promises to test my limits. There were so many things we hadn’t done. Things I’d been unsure of at first but found myself open to now that I understood how my body responded. But he stopped pushing. The sex was still good, still better than anything I’d ever had, but wariness radiated off him with every pulled slap. Every time he ended a scene long before I was ready and laid me down to fuck me in the gentlest way possible, the wheels in my head spun, spitting sharp debris into the crevices of my self-doubt.
I had failed to hold my shit together for something as simple as a forced orgasm. I had panicked. I had choked and spluttered and cried in his sheets over nothing. I had ruined his evening with friends by getting worked up over Simone. He’d said he knew who I was and that he was staying anyway. But if staying meant gentle sex and pity, a slow breaking of my heart, I wasn’t sure I wanted it.
Chapter Sixteen
The week before Christmas, I was at my desk, struggling through another mind-numbing day when Doug approached. He looked shiftier than usual, and my stomach dropped.
“Jolene, can you come into my office, please?”
Stomach roiling, knowing this was going nowhere good, I followed him and sat in the chair he indicated while he shut the door behind me. “I’m sorry to have to do this, Jolene...”
Snippets of what Doug said filtered through the buzzing in my ear
s. Words like “bought out,” “redundant,” and “eliminated” drifted into my consciousness as the terrifying reality of what he was saying sunk in. I lost my job. I lost the job that was supposed to be a temporary placeholder while I searched for something better. The something better I’d stopped looking for because I’d been wrapped up in Matthew. Now the stopgap was gone. I was fucked.
“I’ll need you to go clear any personal effects from your desk today. I’ll sign off on your time for the agency before you go. I’m sure you’re on to bigger and better things.”
I stared at his sad, basset-hound face, numb. Right. Sure. Bigger and better things. Like my parents’ couch. Christmas was in a week. I had no job. No money. The relationship I’d thrown myself into at the expense of better job prospects was tanking fast. I had to go home.
The few things I’d brought with me to liven up my desk fit neatly into my bag. I hadn’t planned on staying. I hadn’t planned on leaving like this either. Disappointment and anger swamped me. I’d done this to myself. I’d let my ridiculous infatuation with a man sidetrack everything else in my life, and I was paying for it now.
I walked out the door in a haze. It was freezing cold, but the sidewalks and T stops were bustling with holiday traffic. I wanted to crumple to the pavement and beat my fists until they bled, I was so angry at myself. The only things standing between me and a full-scale public meltdown were my thick mittens and my shame. I needed to get back to the apartment, peel myself out of my office clothes, and settle in for a good, long cry. Then I would pack up my stuff and head back to Vermont, tail between my legs, a failure.
At home, I shucked my clothes and ran the shower to just shy of scalding. I crouched under the spray and cried, swiping at my tears and runny eye makeup until I had nothing left and my sinuses were so swollen I could barely breathe. A gentle tap at the door signaled that Izzy was home. I sniffed and tried to pull myself to my feet, to call out to her that I’d be out in a minute, but my voice refused to cooperate, my legs and stomach were cramped, and I couldn’t stop shaking. Nothing came out except a strangled, choking sob. I wasn’t done crying after all.
