Role Play (Silhouette Studios)

by Katana Collins

  My cheeks burned and I nodded, still moving my hips to the music… only less aggressively than before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably wise advice.”

  “Aw, fuck,” Miguel murmured. “You already did, didn’t you?”

  How the hell was he doing this? “Are you psychic or something?”

  Miguel sighed. “I’ve got three sisters. And really good intuition.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “Why?” I clutched my black wristlet where my phone was tightly zipped up against my chest.

  “Because I’m going to give you my number. You should have it… just in case.”

  My eyes shifted to Ash once more and his glower darkened as he studied Miguel and me from across the room.

  “In case of what?”

  Miguel shrugged. “Just… in case. In case you ever need it. Or you need a ride home. Or in case you need me to bust my fist on Livingston’s face.”

  I raised a brow and despite the graphic and violent offer, something warmed in my chest. And it wasn’t just the tequila. “You’d punch your boss? The director of your movie?”

  He grinned, looking up from where he tapped numbers into my phone. “Sisters, remember? And I’d only do it if he really deserved it.” After his phone buzzed in his hand, he handed me back mine. “Now,” he said, “I should not be driving tonight either. I’m going to Lyft back to Long Beach. Wanna share one?”

  I shook my head. “I’m in West Hollywood.” They were totally opposite directions. Damn. Would have been nice to split that cab fare. I looked over and our table was finally empty. Ash free. I breathed easier, a heavy sigh releasing from my chest. “I’ll get an Uber. I’m just going to use the bathroom first.”

  Wash the sweat off my face. Maybe throw up a little. The usual.

  “Want some help?”

  I shook my head no, but the quick movement left me light-headed. As I gripped his arm yet again for balance, Miguel caught me around the waist. “Whoa. Okay. Easy, Lucy.”

  “I got her,” a deep voice stated.

  I stared up at Ash, open-mouthed. Then, I lifted my hand, brushing it down his chiseled jaw. Whiskers rasped against my fingertips, spiky and coarse. “You’re stupid handsome,” I slurred. Aw, shit. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  Miguel gaped at me, and an amused smirk twisted Ash’s full lips.

  Miguel squeezed my hip. “It’s okay Mr. Livingston. I can take her—”

  “I said, I got her.” Ash’s voice was deep, rich, and I sighed as I felt his arm snake around my waist. “I’ll take her home.”

  “Lucy?” Miguel said my name, stepping in front of me. Through my heavy-lidded gaze, I smiled at him. “Are you okay with Ash taking you?”

  The bottom line was Ash wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Even if I said no, I had no doubt he would follow behind my Uber until I was home. “It’s fine, Miguel,” I said, and blinked up at Ash.

  “Okay,” Miguel said hesitantly. “You have my number. I want you to text me when you get home safely, okay?”

  I nodded, but even as he asked me, I could feel the thoughts slipping away.

  Then Miguel’s eyes cut to Ash once more as he added, “Make it a voice text so that I know it’s actually you.”

  Ash gave him a genuine smile. “You’re a good man, Miguel.”

  Miguel snorted. “Sure. You say that now that you know I’m gay. If you thought I was straight and hitting on her though, you’d probably be threatening to break my nose.”

  Ash’s jaw twitched and his palm squeezed my hip. “Maybe. And I’m sorry.”

  Miguel snorted, shaking his head. “You two should be more careful in the future. I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but if I figured it out in a matter of a few hours, then others might, too.”

  From over top of his phone, I saw him open up the rideshare app and he gave me a final pointed look. “You’re sure?”

  I nodded tightly. What was I going to do? Make him take me back to his apartment in Long Beach? And if I was being honest, in this drunken state, I sort of wanted Ash to take me home.

  “See you both Monday, then.” Then with a final point in my direction, Miguel reminded me, “Voice text. When you get home.”

  He exited the bar and all that was left were five women still belting their little hearts out in karaoke and a few stragglers on the dance floor.

  Ash helped me over to our table and sat me down with two full glasses of water in front of us. He dipped a napkin in one and slid the other toward me. “Drink,” he said, holding up the straw. I wrapped my lips around the cylinder of plastic and drank in the cool water. It felt good in my dry mouth. Ash took the saturated napkin and brushed it across my damp forehead. “Close your eyes,” he said, then gently ran the cloth across my eyes, wiping away whatever was left of the makeup Miguel had painted me with. My contacts were dry and itchy and I pressed the heels of my palm against them.

  “Don’t rub your eyes,” he said. Then asked, “Do you have your eyeglasses with you?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “They’re in my car. And I’m never wearing my stupid contacts again until my wedding day.”

  The washcloth froze at the bridge of my nose, then resumed moments later, gliding across my sweaty skin. “Why wouldn’t you wear your glasses on your wedding day?” he asked as he dipped the napkin in the ice water again.

  “Because,” I sighed. “Girls want to be pretty princesses on their wedding day. Have you ever seen a four-eyed princess?”

  He smiled and brushed the napkin over my cheeks and down my neck. “I’m looking at one.”

  I snorted, but smiled in spite of myself. Damn him for making me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

  “Feel better?” he asked quietly, drifting the napkin to the back of my neck where my hair was matted and sweaty.

  “Mm,” I answered, not trusting myself to form words just yet.

  What did this mean? He’d said he was sorry, but honestly, that wasn’t enough. He’d warned me… he didn’t do relationships. I didn’t believe it was because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. And the relationships he did have were out of my league. Way out of my league, I thought as I brushed my thumb over the puncture wound from the safety pin that was almost healed already.

  I swallowed hard, drinking more from my water glass and the straw slurped up the small amount left at the bottom.

  “Good girl, Shorty” he said.

  “Don’t say that,” I snapped and set the water down. He was being so nice. And it was pissing me off. “Can I just get a stupid Uber home? You obviously have some weird vendetta against my apartment—”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Oh?” I challenged, lifting my eyebrow at him.

  “Yes.” He nodded and stood, holding a hand out to help me up. “And it’s not a vendetta… it’s a memory.”

  “A bad memory?” Ash held my arm on the short walk out of the bar to my car and he helped me settle into the passenger seat.

  “A bitter-sweet memory,” he said. Reaching across my body, he clicked in the seatbelt for me. “My wife used to live in your building. Before… before she moved in with me. Before we got married. Before… she died.”

  I swallowed against the emotion clogging my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed heavily and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Where are your glasses?”

  I dug into my tote bag on the passenger side floor and popped out the contacts, putting my glasses back on. I felt human again. Like I didn’t want to claw my own eyeballs out. All the technology out there and they can’t design contacts that aren’t itchy?

  Ash smiled and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “There she is,” he said quietly, and started my car up.

  “You know…” I said, pretty sure this was the alcohol talking and not logical, rational Lucy. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but at least you have those sweet memories to cling to. To balance out the bitter.”

  “I do know tha
t,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t seem like I do.”

  Even though we’d broken up, I’d kept my promise to him and refused to Google him, despite knowing all the answers I was craving were at my fingertips, a quick search away. He was quiet for another long moment, and I had to ask. I was so curious. “How did she die, Ash?”

  He swallowed hard, his grip on my steering wheel tightening. He drew in a sharp breath before answering, “Suicide.”

  We were driving down the freeway back toward West Hollywood. Andrea wouldn’t be home until after three a.m. at least. On a Friday night at LnS? She was earning her tips and then had to close up and clean the bar before coming home.

  I pressed my forehead to the window which was surprisingly cool against my clammy skin. I opened my eyes, watching the blur of headlights and street signs. “You had no right,” I said, my eyes still focused out the window rather than on his gorgeous face.

  “You’re going to have to clarify,” Ash stated. “I do a lot of things I have no rights to.”

  I snorted. I knew he was trying to be cute, but I also had no doubts that it was an accurate statement. “Telling me to eat my dinner,” I said. “You know that’s my hard limit. You know that will trigger my shit. But you did it anyway.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a trigger for me, too. Seeing unhealthy and destructive behaviors.”

  “I am not destructive.”

  “Then what do you call getting drunk on an empty stomach?”

  Yeah, okay. It was a little destructive. But lots of young women go out dancing and get drunk. I was with a friend who was taking care of me. I wasn’t planning to drive home. I wasn’t being unsafe. And it didn’t change the facts. “Destructive or not, my well-being and safety isn’t your concern.” Not anymore. Maybe it never was.

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.”

  I finally dared a glance to my left. His hands clutched the steering wheel. Knuckles white. Lips tight and pressed into a flesh-colored line. “Why?” I asked quietly.

  He shrugged. “The lifestyle states that a Dominant’s sole job is to look out for the well-being of his submissive—”

  “No,” I snapped. “Not the textbook answer. “Tell me your why.”

  He took a deep breath, waiting a long while to answer. Finally, he said. “Because if I had done my job better as a Dom, my wife might still be alive.”

  I could feel his pain as sure as if it were my own. I winced at the crack of his voice. So… he felt responsible for his wife’s suicide… somehow because of his Dom relationship. It still didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but it was the most he’d opened up yet. And because of that, he was extra assertive over what he perceived to be my health and well-being.

  Even without all the information, it made a whole lot more sense. Ash made a whole lot more sense. I still couldn’t quite equate how her suicide coincided with my eating habits, though.

  “What about you? Your dad?” Ash asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Did he ever abuse you? Or was it just your mom?”

  I snorted, my eyes heavy as I stared out the window. “Just my mom,” I repeated. “Just. As if she wasn’t enough.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Lucy.”

  I sighed. “I know, I know. No, he never hit me. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel every hit. Every shove. Every hair pull. I saw it all. I fell asleep to my mom’s screams. Her shushing him as he yelled at her. Her sobs. Her begging him to stay. To be the husband she wanted. To love her. And I swore to myself I’d never be that woman.”

  “You’re not that woman Lucy. You weren’t that woman with me. And in BDSM, you aren’t, either. You see the difference, right?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I see the difference. But that night? It felt exactly the same. Thank God for my uncle. He found the marks on my mom… I’m pretty sure he’d suspected abuse for a while, but when he finally had the proof, he confronted my dad. Dad was a pussy. And when it came down to it, he didn’t want to fight someone his own size. So he packed a bag and left. With my uncle there watching over us. And my mom begging Dad not to go.”

  “Your uncle sounds like a good man.”

  I laughed. A full-on belly laugh and tugged my knees to my chest. “He is a good man. He’s your friend.” I laughed harder, the absurdity of our whole scenario was suddenly the single most hilarious thing I’d ever heard of.

  “He is? Wait, who’s your—”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Uh oh? What—”

  “Pull over,” I said. “Fast.”

  The tires squealed and he barely hit the brakes before I threw open the door and hurled onto the side of the road.

  Oh, God. Could this be anymore humiliating?

  I felt his hands at my back, running the length of my spine in strong, reassuring strokes. And then his fingers scooped my hair back and off of my sweaty neck. The evening breeze brushed across my clammy skin and it was a welcome reprieve from the cold sweat covering my body.

  “Easy, easy,” he cooed in my ear. I loved this softer side of Ash. I loved how sweet and caring he could be. Without this side of him, those spanks he administered were nothing. This was what made the Dominant side so sexy. Knowing that the opposite side of the coin was tender and I was soon to receive this treatment after. Knowing that the pain was temporary and that caring and consideration was the follow-up.

  He had me back in the car and we made it to my apartment without any further incidents. My knees were weak as I got out of the vehicle and Ash didn’t hesitate to scoop me into his arms and carry me to my door. He got my keys from inside my wristlet, and eased me into bed, removing my shoes for me.

  “Do you want your skirt on or off?” he asked.

  I was face down in my bed, one leg hanging off the edge. “Don’t you dare touch my clothes,” I said. He heard me despite the muffled tone of the pillow.

  “You’re the boss,” he answered with a chuckle.

  I snorted. “Yeah right.”

  I heard some rustling around and then he set folded pajama pants and a t-shirt beside me on the bed. “You’ll feel a lot better if you change. I’ll wait in the hallway.”

  “Mmph.” I waited until I heard the click of the door, then sat up, peeling the sweaty, sequined top off and wiggling out of the skirt. Why in the hell did I let Miguel talk me into wearing that shit? I looked ridiculous.

  Crap, Miguel. I grabbed my phone, dropping it on the floor in the process and groaned. Not like I could shatter the screen much more than it already was.

  “You okay?” Ash called through the door.

  “I’m fine,” I called back and through the cracked screen, I pulled up Miguel’s name on my texts and sent him a quick voice message. “It’s me. I’m home and safe and no one is coercing me into leaving this message.”

  “You done?” Ash asked through the closed door just as I was finished and falling back onto my bed.

  “Yeah.” I felt so much better in my pajamas and I hated that he was right about changing clothes. Could he just be wrong once?

  He slipped back into the room, almost silently. “Do you need to be up for anything tomorrow?”

  “No. Day off.”

  I heard a small beep that I recognized as my phone being plugged in. “Didn’t fix your screen yet, I see,” he said.

  “With what money?”

  He made a thoughtful hmm sound before placing a hand at my back. “There’s a trashcan here if you need it.”

  Then, there was more rustling around my room and I peeked open through one eye. He had turned off the lights and pulled a chair into the corner. Knowing what I knew now about his wife? This can’t be easy for him to be here. Even if the building was renovated, the layout was the same. It was the same windows. The same walls. And if people were correct that a place can inhabit and collect the energy of the lives that once were here, he must be vibrating with her energy right about now. “You don’t
have to stay here.”

  “I know.” But he didn’t say more. Didn’t get up from where he lounged in my little papasan chair.

  And honestly, I was too tired to argue with him.

  Closing my eyes, I drifted off.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke fast, sprinting for the bathroom, and only just made it before I puked again. Ash was right there, sprinting beside me, holding my hair. Talking gently in my ear.

  By the third time it had happened, I didn’t bother going back to bed and Ash joined me on the bathroom floor with pillows and blankets.

  My stomach was empty. There was nothing left in my system to throw up. I reached out my flattened palm to the tiled floor, only instead, it connected with Ash’s bare chest. The heavy rise and fall of his rhythmic breath. And then, his fingers laced into mine and he pressed his lips to my knuckles.

  “I don’t know that I’m ready for this,” I confessed. “For you. I want it, but also… it scares me.”

  “It scares me, too,” he whispered. “So damn much.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever find love. I didn’t want it,” I whispered. “I saw how it destroyed my mom and I just… I didn’t think it was worth the trouble.” I swallowed hard, my eyes raw and itchy still from the stupid contacts earlier. I looked up at Ash, pushing my glasses higher onto my nose. His gaze was angled down at me and his gorgeous blue eyes were bright despite the darkness. “No matter what happens with us,” I whispered, “You’ve made me realize that it is worth the trouble.” I wanted to add, You are worth the trouble, but those words just wouldn’t form. It was too honest. Too vulnerable. And I couldn’t keep opening my wounds and bleeding before Ash if he wouldn’t reciprocate. He was trying. I could see he was trying, but that might not be enough. It might never be enough.

  The rims of his eyes tightened. If he answered me, I didn’t hear it. My eyes grew heavier and I felt Ash’s fingers brush through my hair as I drifted off into a heavy sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy

  I wasn’t surprised to find Ash gone in the morning. Beside my bed, he’d left a bottle of Advil and a glass of water.