Degrees of Control

by Eve Dangerfield

  “You’ll get my hand this time, girl, but you bite me like that again and I’m gonna take a belt to your ass.” Another blow landed on her right cheek and she jerked uselessly in his grip. That same mean laugh. “You like that, don’t you? You get wetter every time I can feel it. C’mon, sweetheart, scream for me.”

  Another stinging slap, then another, then another until she was a writhing, useless mess. The pain kept her climax at bay and she was relieved when he collapsed on top of her, pressing her body into the carpet. “Good girl. Now you just lie there nice and soft, I wanna come in you.”

  Desperately, she tried to squirm against him. “Please stop, I can’t, I don’t want to, please.”

  “Too fucking bad.”

  He ploughed into her with short, sharp thrusts, satisfying himself with her flesh. The warmth between their bodies was oppressive and her orgasm seemed to swell in the pressure, blowing out like an overheated balloon.

  “Oh God, James, James, James.”

  “You’re gonna cream, aren’t you, bitch?”

  Charlie had never been so sure of anything. He could pull out and leave her empty and she’d still come. She nodded and James chuckled.

  “Even when I use you like a blow-up doll you get off. Know why that is, Charlotte?” He whispered the words in her ear like it was childhood secret, like a prayer. “Because you’re my whore.”

  Charlie screamed so loud the sound ate up the world. James pumped, once, twice, three times, then went rigid behind her, swearing like a sailor. They shuddered like animals, riding out their climaxes until they were both completely drained.

  Chapter 9

  After they’d lain on the floor for about a million years, Charlie turned to look at James.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  “That was…”

  “Yeah.”

  A small bead of blood studded James’ lip where she’d bitten him. She wiped it away with her thumb, slightly freaked out by her own abandon. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Doesn’t matter, I deserved it.”

  He rolled onto his back, the muscles of his chest flexing like something out of a fantasy. She watched the thick lines of the stallion on his ribs move, dying to ask him if he knew how to ride a horse.

  James stared at the ceiling. “I could use a smoke. Gave them up a few years ago but it’d be worth it just to lie here and have a drag.”

  Charlie smiled. I should really clear out. It must be close to midnight and I can’t afford a cab. But she didn’t move an inch and neither did he. Just being this close to James felt like a risk, like dozing beside a fully grown tiger. She didn’t know if it was the rough sex or what came before it, but she had the strange urge to cry. There were just too many things to feel.

  “Is it yoga that makes you clamp up like that?” James asked, and Charlie laughed, relieved for the chance to escape her muddled post-sex thoughts.

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  From the floor she could see into what she assumed was his spare bedroom. There was nothing remarkable about it except the sleek black guitar propped against the wall. He had a Taylor Baritone. “Whoa,” she muttered.

  James followed her gaze. “You play?”

  “I could do a good Smoke on the Water until my sister Tess took dad’s guitar away and threatened to beat me to death with it.”

  James chuckled and Charlie felt herself grow bold. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded slowly, brushing a length of hair from her eyes.

  “What you said about my underwear…Do you, um, hate natural fibers or something?” Whoa, James Hunter was blushing, wonders would never cease. He shook his head and turned away from her. Charlie gripped his forearm. “I know cotton briefs aren’t the sexiest undergarments known to man, but I own a lot of briefs. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Yep, he was definitely blushing, blood pumping hot under his golden skin. She’d never seen him this uncomfortable. “Oh come on, James, you can laugh about the ‘daddy’ thing, but not this?”

  He closed his eyes as though wishing her away.

  “If you don’t tell me I’m probably going to guess it’s worse than it actually is,” she teased.

  He sat up, the flat planes of his stomach contracting. “I’m not a creep, Charlotte, I just like nice underwear on women, it—it turns me on.”

  His hazel eyes were darting everywhere and Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, you and every other straight guy on earth. Is that why you asked for stockings the first time we had sex?”

  He nodded stiffly, barely inclining his head.

  “So you kind of have a panty fetish?”

  James scowled at the F-word. “I don’t have a fucking panty fetish. I just—I just like it, okay?” He ran a hand though his thick blond hair. “When I was younger, my sister used to have all these Victoria Secret catalogues lying around and I just…”

  He flushed even deeper.

  “Beat off to them?” Charlie suggested, trying not to smirk at the idea of a teenage James pilfering lingerie catalogues.

  “Pretty much, but I don’t jerk off into thongs, I don’t have a fetish, okay?”

  Charlie felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you. It’s nice to know lingerie isn’t a scam invented by Agent Provocateur to sell three-hundred-dollar bras.”

  James stared off blankly into the distance. “Yeah, well, a chick doesn’t have to be wearing a corset for me to get a hard-on, so I usually keep this shit to myself. It just came out when we were…doing what we were doing.”

  James’ perception that his needs were weirder than what they’d just done made Charlie giggle. “No offence, Hunter, but that’s the lamest kink I’ve ever heard. It’s like having a fetish for blowjobs.”

  “Thanks, Blue-Eyes.”

  His tone was dry but the corners of his mouth quirked up. God, she shouldn’t like him saying that so much, he was clearly a nickname kind of guy. So why did it feel so intimate? She gave a great mock-sigh. “I want to be more supportive, James, but honestly, I feel betrayed.”

  He was definitely smiling now. “Oh really, Charlotte?”

  “Yeah, really. You don’t realize how lucky you are. I bulk buy cotton undies but most women don’t, and even if they do you just give them a few nice gifts and bam, fetish accommodated.”

  “I don’t have a fetish—”

  “Take it from me, you can’t fool anyone into doing sadistic stuff to you.”

  He stared at her, hazel eyes narrowed. “Wait, so what do you call your sexual preferences, Charlotte?”

  Masochism. “Oh, you know, just the kind of stuff we’ve been doing,” Charlie blathered. This was her own fault for throwing stones within her own, very obvious, glass house.

  James arched an eyebrow at her. “And what is ‘the stuff’ we’ve been doing, Blue-Eyes?”

  Webster’s dictionary defines masochism as…“Ahh…stuff?”

  James smirked at her, his stupid face so handsome she wanted to punch it. “Now who’s the one hiding, Charlotte?”

  “It’s easy for you, hot guy. You could be into anything; peeing on people, stuffed animals, anything and women would just line up.”

  He shrugged. “What makes you think you’re any different?”

  Charlie snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m a five-foot-nothing yoga teacher. People either think I’m a virgin or that I make slow sensuous love under waterfalls.”

  “And do you?”

  She examined her toes. The purple polish on them was chipping.

  “Charlotte?”

  “I’m into this,” she mumbled. “I’ve always been into this.”

  “You mean BDSM?”

  Charlie shook her head. She wasn’t into latex or dog collars and being beaten with a sex-paddle. To her that kind of scene seemed cheesy. “I like…psychological domination. Feeling like I’m being used. Being taken against my will or forced to do things…things that are a lot harder to admit than wanting t
o have your wrists tied to the bed, or a little spanking. Even now that I understand what I want and I know it’s not too unusual, I find it hard to talk about.” She wrinkled her nose. “Nice girls don’t have rape fantasies.”

  James smiled. “Well, you’re about the nicest person I’ve ever met, so I’d say that’s a point disproven.”

  Charlie felt a warm glow filter through her stomach.

  “Who else have you told about this?” James asked. “Your ex?”

  That was a laugh. Dale would have driven her to a psychologist before she’d finished a single sentence. “Just a few girlfriends and you.”

  James nodded thoughtfully, and Charlie realized he’d already known he was her first. Silently she thanked him for not gloating about it.

  “You took a pretty big leap with me at that party, Blue-Eyes. You had no idea if I was an asshole or what you wanted.”

  Charlie looked at him sprawled out on the floor like an Adonis, all gold skin and firm muscles and beautiful, dangerous eyes. Seriously, who could look at you and not want you?

  James smiled, a big grin that made him look years younger. “What?”

  She wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to tell him how amazing he made her feel. How much it meant to her that they could do these crazy, wonderful things together. Charlie placed a hand on each side of his head and lowered herself down for a kiss. James lay there like a slab of beef, motionless against her lips. She pulled away, confused, and after a long, awkward silence James sat up. “Ah, thanks. For that. I should probably—I’m gonna get rid of this condom.”

  He strode away like a pedestrian avoiding a speeding car. A wave of very un-erotic humiliation rose inside Charlie’s chest.

  You’re an idiot, Bell. You really, really are. Tell you what, once you’re done trying to make out with a commitment-phobe after sex, you should try licking a toaster. In the bath.

  Suddenly she was bone-tired, fully aware of how late it was. She would have to take a cab home and that meant no money for food, bills or anything until next Monday. She heaved a great big sigh and sat up to adjust her dress. With a throb of horror she realized there was a huge tear beside the zipper. Her heart plummeted, unless she could mend it the whole thing was going in the bin along with the undies James shredded.

  God, I’m so tired of being poor.

  Charlie knew she was living on borrowed time. Her savings were dwindling and rent almost took up her whole paycheck. In a couple of weeks she’d need to book her flight home. As much as she loved living in America she couldn’t keep wearing battered clothes and skipping dinner to pay for the pill. It was getting downright Dickensian.

  James re-entered the room wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt that clung to him like cashmere. Feeling even shabbier by comparison, Charlie grabbed her bag.

  “Well, thanks for dinner and the encounter on your carpet.” She tugged on her flats. “Do you have a number for a taxi?”

  James put his hands in his pockets. “I’m giving you a ride.”

  Charlie shook her head. She was poorly funded, but she wasn’t anyone’s charity case. Especially not his. “It’s okay, man, I’ll take a cab.”

  James scowled. “I’m. Giving you. A ride.”

  He looked so stern it was ridiculous to think she had embarrassed him over his preference for sexy underwear. “Well, thanks, James, more rice-money for me.”

  They walked down to the car in silence. James’ brow was furrowed, as though something was weighing on him. Charlie had no capacity for awkward situations. She desperately wanted to ask if he was okay, but as he had made clear, they were fuck buddies, not lovers and not really friends.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Hartwell Street, Ashtown.” She scrambled into his ridiculously oversized truck. They traveled the first few blocks in silence, a warbling country singer aggravating her eardrums until Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. “Where’s your dog? I couldn’t hear him tonight.”

  James frowned. “He’s not mine; I was watching him for my sister.”

  The “don’t ask” couldn’t have been more apparent if he’d stamped it on his forehead. Fine. Charlie examined the glossy black dashboard in front of her.

  Probably a present from his dad. “Here, son, have a gigantic Tonka truck for Christmas.”

  Money had never, and probably would never be an issue for James. Like Sophia, he had a cushy job and probably owned his flat and car outright. She felt a pang of envy, he lived so far away from her world of scrounging for rent and wearing your clothes to rags. She didn’t want to be ungrateful, but it was hard not to idealize life with rich parents. As they cruised the city’s empty streets she pictured his childhood. Horses, big birthday parties, brand-new clothes and luxury cars…

  “Why don’t you have a bike? It would fit in with your whole…thing.”

  Charlie smiled. “You mean my whole vegan, Birkenstocks, ‘save the whales’ thing?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Charlie thought about being dismissive but fuck it. If Mr. Bipolar wanted to act like everything was fine again, she’d go along with it. Tension was exhausting. “I’m scared of bikes.”

  James huffed out a laugh. “Why?”

  “When I was eight I tied my Border collie to my handlebars to try and power myself along. As anyone could have guessed, Butterscotch went mental and I ended up snapping both my front teeth in half. Haven’t been on a bike since.”

  James opened his mouth and closed it again, a half-smile on his face.

  “Are you dismissing my bike fear, James? Trying to make me all self-conscious?”

  “Nothing like that, Miss Charlotte.”

  “Plenty of people are scared of bicycles, you know. It’s a dangerous way to get around.”

  He laughed and her heart started pounding. Here she was trying to soften him up with humor once again. Clearly, she wasn’t just a bedroom masochist. He pulled onto her street. “Which is your place?”

  “The dirtiest one on the block.” How Charlie wished that was a joke. James gave a little huff of disapproval. She couldn’t blame him. Her whole street looked like a prison relocation scheme.

  As soon as the car came to a complete stop she flung open her door and leapt out, flat shoes slapping on the sidewalk. “Okay, bye, James, see ya.” She reached forward to shut the car door.

  “Charlotte…?”

  Oh come on, man, again? “What?”

  James’ response was to stare at the steering wheel like it contained the mysteries of the universe. “Have a good night, Charlotte.”

  Dear God, just when she halfway believed he was opening up, he snapped shut like a carnivorous plant. It made her want to scream. “Good night, James.”

  He tipped his head toward her, like the infuriating cowboy he was, and she shut the passenger door. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Charlie stood in the gutter to watch as James’ big black truck pulled out of sight.

  Chapter 10

  Charlie was hurt but not entirely surprised when James didn’t call. In her weaker moments she wished she’d taken up his sleazy friend’s offer and gone clubbing, that way she could have had at least one more round of blistering hot sex before it was over.

  A dozen times she picked up her phone intending to contact him, but the thought of mustering up the courage only to hear amused indifference on the other end of the line made her cringe. Sophia’s words resonated through her mind like a gong. He’s going to lose interest. Probably soon. Charlie wished she could lose interest, probably soon. The real problem she realized, as she sat in an exposed brick café, was that she had too much time on her hands. Three of her private clients had gone away on holiday, Sophia was busy with the wedding, and Belinda’s pot consumption was driving her out of their apartment to contemplate her pent-up sexual energy alone. In every quiet moment, she saw his arms braced on either side of her head, smelled sweat and sex and cologne as that honeyed voice growled in her ear “because you’re my whore.” Face it, Bel
l, you’re completely screwed.

  At least she had enough graphic masturbatory material to last an entire lifetime. Maybe she could buy a vibrator and call it James, save herself some trouble.

  Her phone vibrated on the table and her heart leapt into her mouth. James Hunter flashed up on the screen. Charlie bit her fingernail. Should she pick up? What if she didn’t answer and Sophia had been in a near-fatal car crash? She had to pick up. With trembling fingers Charlie pressed the green button. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Blue-Eyes. What are you up to?”

  The sound of his voice made her stomach drop. Somehow, even her wildest fantasies hadn’t managed to do it justice. And maybe it was just wishful thinking, but there was a hint of eagerness in his tone, like maybe he was impatient to speak to her as well. Either way, it didn’t sound like he’d called for medical details.

  “I’m just having a latte. You?”

  “I’m at work. I got some free time, can I take you to lunch?”

  Charlie closed her eyes. Undoubtedly a line was being drawn in the sand here. Would she consent to his flaky behavior or would she teach him a lesson and walk away? The smart thing would be to walk away. What was a little mind-blowing sex compared to your peace of mind?

  “Sure, James, why not?”

  Stupid mind-blowing sex.

  “Great, you know the Walker building?”

  Oh no, the fancy side of town. Going dutch on this date would likely bankrupt her. “Yeah.”

  “Ask for me at reception, they’ll send you on up.”

  Before Charlie could voice her concerns regarding this plan, James hung up.

  Stupid mind-blowing sex god.

  After looking up the directions on her phone, Charlie found the Walker building without much difficulty. It was a big gleaming complex with an indoor pool and rooftop bar. The problem was that the glass and chrome reception looked as welcoming as an active beehive. She was wearing a white cotton smock dress, gold ballet flats and carrying a canvas tote bag. She’d stick out like a handle on a bowling ball. She could text James and ask him to meet her on the street, but that smacked of cowardice. She wasn’t a pizza delivery guy. So after several minutes of pacing and unnecessary phone checking Charlie took a deep, calming breath and walked through the revolving doors. A bored receptionist directed her to the thirty-first floor and Charlie made it to the elevator without encountering another human. She stepped out on the thirty-first floor, slightly dizzy, to discover James’ workplace was essentially a glamorous rat maze and she had no idea where to find him. She wandered aimlessly, on the verge of asking the kindest-looking person for directions when she heard her name.