by Vivian Wood
He directed her to the low-slung Japanese-style bed. The headboard featured a row of slats, perfect binding posts. At the foot were two small circular rungs he’d just installed himself.
It took just a few loops and pulls to secure her arms behind her back in a hobble tie. “On your knees,” he directed, and she dropped immediately onto the low mattress.
The hardness inside his jeans was almost unbearable. As soon as he released his cock, he cupped her jaw and she opened her mouth hungrily. “How badly do you want it? How much do you want to suck my cock, you fucking slut?”
“More than anything,” she said. Harper looked up at him, beautifully bound, through those thick lashes.
“You may,” he said. Her tongue circled his tip, and he dropped his head back. This time, when she took him to the back of her throat, it was smooth and easy. She didn’t pause or choke, and he missed those sounds. “I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he told her, and gripped the back of her head.
He was on the edge, but eased her into it. As he got closer, the sounds of her saliva and wild sucking and swallowing got him even harder. He released her head, just for a moment, and Harper gasped for breath. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. “Do you want my come?” he asked. Sean grapsed his length and traced his tip along the edges of her lips.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Ask for it. Politely.”
“Please, I want to drink your come,” she said. “I need it.”
“Good girl,” he said. He dove into her mouth and emptied into her with just a few more thrusts. He heard himself give a small cry, the warmth and wetness of her mouth the perfect receptacle for him. As he withdrew, he watched her alabaster throat swallow greedily.
Sean leaned down and untied her wrists. “Lie down,” he said. “Spread eagle.”
She flattened onto her back while he towered over her. A lark’s head tie to her wrists and ankles was fast and simple. But even during those easy knots, seeing the rope dig into her soft flesh got him hard again. He left just enough give in her ankle ties that she could slightly bend her knees.
He alternated between kisses and bites on her neck. Harper tossed her head to one side to offer easier access. He felt her stiffen as he moved to her nipples, but she didn’t resist. As an award, he circled her areolas with his tongue gently. Sean sucked firmly on the nipples until she pressed her wet center to his torso in frustration.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he said. “But you have to be perfectly silent. Understand?”
Her eyes were wide, but she nodded.
“If you make a single sound, I stop,” he said. “And you won’t be allowed to get yourself off, not tonight or any other night unless I give you permission. Understand?” she nodded again.
“Now, I could use a ball gag on you,” he said. “But let’s see how well you follow directions. Okay?”
He positioned himself over her and slapped his cock against her clit. Harper squirmed in anticipation, but didn’t make a sound.
Sean held himself on his forearms to watch her face, check for any sound as he entered her. Halfway in, Harper squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, but no sound escaped. He plunged completely into her, shocked at the silky wetness of her. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he said. She opened her eyes but said nothing.
As he started to move in her, slow and steady, he felt her walls tighten around him and her wetness grow. Although she did as she was told, when he got close he clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. “Come with me,” he said, breathless in her ear. “Come with me, Harper.”
When he came, her name was on his lips. He released his hand from her mouth and saw a glimpse of her eyes screwed shut in orgasm—but still, she kept her lips pressed together.
Sean got up, out of breath, and untied her. He reached for the bedside table and pulled out the plush robe he’d reserved just for her. Even as he wrapped her in it tightly, and pet her softly, she had started to drift into sleep.
With Harper in his arms, safe in slumber, all the darkness he carried inside washed over him. The self-doubt, the self-recrimination, all of it.
He looked down at her willowy, sleeping form. How can someone who looks like this be interested in someone as fucked up as you? It was impermanent, that was for certain. Enjoy it while you can. Enjoy her while you can.
“Don’t think about the future,” he told himself quietly. He was already more attached than he’d like.
But something was growing, and he couldn’t stop it. Is this what real affection feels like? It must be, or the physical relationship would never have gone this far.
21
Harper
Harper sunk into the plush seat at Water Grill, flanked by Molly on one side and their housemate Lily pressed against Molly’s side. Next to Harper were a couple of clients, including the insufferable Alfie Lowe who Harper loathed. The group had worked through the raw bar, each one eskewing the mignonette sauce and it’s untraceable sugars, carbs and calories.
Thirty calories, Harper thought as she let another oyster slide down her throat. That was assuming these oysters were considered medium. Or were they large? She examined one of the specimens closely, but couldn’t tell.
A “lunch out with the girls” meant this would be all they indulged in today. Oysters and Tanqueray martinis, very dry with a twist. No temptation to eat the olives, and no worries about useless calories in vermouth. “Basically we want chilled glasses of gin,” Molly had told the waiter.
“Pet, I tell you,” Alfie said in his grating Manchester accent that he swore was actually the Queen’s English watered down from too many years in America. “She was so dark she was purple.”
“Are you talking about the Queen of the Dark?” Molly asked. “The Sudanese model?”
“Darling, I haven’t a clue,” Alfie said. Molly self-consciously grazed the lengths of her own cocoa-colored forearms. “But if she’s Sudanese, that’s a saving grace. Exotic, perhaps. I imagine a pleasing accent, or at least more so than the horrific American excuse for English.” He gave an exaggerated shudder as he swallowed an oyster.
Molly looked like she was about to say more, but clamped her mouth shut. Lilly exaggerated her own Vietnamese accent, which was almost non-existent since she’d moved to L.A. at five years old. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, confident in her ability to pass Alfie’s xenophobic, racist tirade.
“Regardless of where she’s from, that girl needs some curves in the right places immediately,” he said. “I swear, as soon as a model hits L.A., she picks up an eating disorder like it’s a Birkin. But much easier to acquire.”
Alfie raised his brow at Harper, her hand mid-way to an oyster. Fuck him. She maintained eye contact while she picked up a half-shell, separated the flesh with the tiny fork, and slipped the decadence between her mouth.
“Of course, sometimes a good diet is in a model’s best interest. Especially when age isn’t on their side.”
The moment of confidence Harper had wrangled slipped away. She looked down at her little starter salad, the dressing untouched on the side and the croutons painfully separated to the corner. Harper pushed the leaves and sliced carrots around to make it look like she’d at least tried it.
“Like you,” Alfie said thoughtfully. He moved closer to her. “Purger, I’m guessing? I mean, judging by the marks on your knuckles.”
Harper quickly tucked her hands underneath the table.
“Yeah, you don’t look full anoretic to me,” he said. “Too puffy. Busted blood vessels in the eyes. Let me see the teeth, pet.”
“Alfie!” Molly said. “That’s enough. Stop picking on Harper.”
Harper forced out a laugh, and Alfie easily picked her up and slid her onto his lap. “Stop!” she said, and tried to make it sound playful. Am I too heavy? She struggled, but Alfie held her surprisingly tight.
“You feel lighter than you look,” he commented.
“Put me down,” she said half-heartedly.
“Hey, Alfie, let her go,” said Ben, the client who rarely spoke up.
“Oh, piss off. I’m just having a bit of a laugh,” he said. “Besides, what are models for if not life-sized Barbies?”
“You like playing with Barbies, do you?” Ben asked pointedly.
“Are you okay?” Molly mouthed, but Harper couldn’t get any words out. Her throat was stuffed with a cry that threatened to spill out.
“I, uh, I have to go,” she said. It took all her strength to get those words out.
“Already?” Alfie said. “But, love, we’ve just begun. Besides, I want to see you demolish dessert on your plate and see how you make it disappear without it passing through your mouth. Or do you just need a quick vomit in the bathroom?”
“I have an appointment I forgot about, I’m sorry,” Harper said. “Molly, can you get me and I’ll pay you—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Molly said.
Harper barely made it to the lobby before the tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. She called Sean, only slightly aware it was her first time making a call instead of a text.
“Harper? What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
“I’m at this place, Water Grill. With these asshole clients. They—”
“The Water Grill? Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”
Harper waited outside, hidden behind her enormous glasses. The valet boys snuck glances at her as she sat stiffly in the wrought-iron bench, but didn’t dare approach her.
She stood up as soon as she saw the white Nova approach. Sean waved the valet away as she slid onto the cool leather seat. “What happened?” he asked as he drove away from the regal building.
She twisted the sleeve of her jacket and considered telling him all of it. “Just this one client, this British guy who’s a total prick.”
“What did he do?”
Called me out on bulimia in front of the whole table. “Nothing,” she sighed. What would Sean think if he knew? Would he stop whatever they were doing? Maybe. Probably.
“Harper. Tell me.”
“He, like, picked me up and forced me onto his lap. He pretended like it was a joke, but I couldn’t move.”
“He what?” Sean’s voice dipped dangerously low.
Fuck. He might go back there. “I mean, he was joking. I think he just had too many drinks. I just got upset over nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Sean said. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Sean pulled up outside his apartment, threw on the emergency brake and drew her close. Harper angled her face up and was rewarded with soft kisses. What was I so upset about anyway?
Still, even with Sean’s arm wrapped around her, Alfie’s words wormed into her brain. Not a full anoretic, huh? We’ll see about that. She felt Sean’s hand as it squeezed her upper arm. The usual feeling of comfort was tainted with the idea that maybe he was testing her—seeing if she was fatter than last time. Harper shifted her arm out, away from her torso, and instantly made her arm feel smaller.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Sean asked.
“Nothing,” she repeated.
She wanted to tell him, but the words were logged in her throat. How do you tell someone you have anorexia? That your bulimia goes back and forth between classic purging and exercise-induced bulimia rallied on by the numbers that climbed higher and higher on the elliptical?
Sean’s hand moved to her bare thigh, and she jumped at the sensation. As his hand inched up her leg and his finger hooked into the lace hem of her panties, Alfie’s words faded away. All she focused on was what Sean did, how his dominance lightened her completely.
She parted her thighs and his thumb found her clit. He started to circle, smooth and steady. As she let out a moan, his index finger slid into her. She pushed against him while his other hand tweaked her nipple below her thin tank top.
“Always so wet for me,” he whispered into her ear before he bit lightly on her lobe.
Harper closed her eyes and focused on his mouth against her neck. She pictured the new hickies as they blossomed against the faded red and purple explosions she’d taken to covering up with light scarves.
He slipped another finger into her and she whispered his name, spread her legs farther until one knee hit the door and the other rested against the stick shift. She didn’t give a damn who walked by and saw. Sean reached down and tore an opening into the panties while she offered herself up with an arched back.
Her eyes flickered open just in time to see a young couple, hands clasped tight, peer open-mouthed into the window as they passed. The man slid his hand down to the girl’s ass as they walked on.
In these moments, she was alive and for once light and hollow as a bird’s bones. However briefly they may last.
22
Sean
Sean considered ignoring Connor’s call, but picked up at the last minute. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just calling to check in,” Connor said. “Sam’s passed out, as per usual these days.” He laughed. “But she may as well get the rest when she can. I should follow suit.”
“Probably pretty easy, considering you’re holing up in the Wilshire.”
“At your suggestion,” Connor reminded him. “So, have you given it any more thought? About joining this fledgling, startup of an endeavor?”
“I don’t know, Connor,” Sean said. “I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it. And obviously it’s more tempting than slaving away with the needle all day. But I’m a fucking mess, man—”
“Correction, you used to be a mess,” Connor said. “You’ve changed, I can tell. Honestly, I wasn’t sure until we met up. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but keep at it. I think Harper’s helping to steer you straight, too.”
“Maybe,” Sean said slowly. “I’m trying to turn it around, I can say that much.”
“The old Sean wouldn’t have brought a girl like her around,” Connor said. “You think I don’t know you, little brother? Just because I went all G.I. Joe for a decade doesn’t mean I don’t know you. And that girl is good for you, trust me. You there?”
Sean went silent. The idea of having Harper around as a sign of anything rubbed him the wrong way. It was just dinner, and suddenly Connor thinks he has a read on him? He doesn’t know shit.
“Hello?” Connor asked.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Sean drowned out whatever it was Connor went on about. And he thinks he knows Harper? Sean degrades her when they’re together, and she likes it. Begs for it, practically. What kind of girl does that? He was instantly hit with guilt. She deserves so much better than that—and no amount of doting afterwards can make up for it.
“—asking is that you give it an honest consideration,” Sean said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sean said, anything to shut him up.
“It’s good to see you happy, little brother,” Connor said. “I … well, I worry about you. We both do.”
“We?”
“Sam and I.”
Sam really doesn’t know me. Whatever the two of them think, Harper will figure out she’s slumming it eventually. I just hope I don’t fuck her up permanently.
“Well … I guess I’ll let you go,” Connor said.
“Okay, enjoy the A-list treatment.”
“Sam will. She’s got salon appointments booked almost every day. I’ll get in touch soon, okay? Try and have a better idea of what you want to do then?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Sean said. “Talk later.” He hung up before he could tell Connor what he really thought. That job’s too good for me, and Harper sure as hell’s too good for me.
Sean stirred with restless energy. He scrolled through his phone and hovered on Harper’s name. He knew all it would take was a text, and she’d come running. It would feel good, that sexual release. And even the affection that came afterwards. But he needed to wean himself off it, at least a bit.
He realized it had been days since he’d craved alcohol. Joon-Ki would be thrilled, at least unti
l he figured out Sean had swapped one addiction for another. Transferring your addiction, that’s what they called it in AA. For a lot of alcoholics, it was cigarettes. Others went full orthorexia, though that was a new term for Sean. “An obsession with clean eating or healthy living.” Apparently it wasn’t an eating disorder yet, but it was close. And alcoholics were a demographic especially prone to it.
“Yeah, I don’t need to worry about that,” Sean said aloud. Instead, he texted Joon-Ki. “Going to the meeting in an hour?” he asked.
“Absolutely! Do you want to go for coffee after?”
“Sure. I can’t imagine the meeting coffee has improved much.”
Nothing registered for Sean at the meeting. He chewed through one of the stale doughnuts without tasting it. When the group circled around to him, he opted out of sharing. “Don’t you at least want to share how long you’ve been sober?” Koon-Ji asked, quietly but just loud enough to garner the attention of the group.
“Uh … almost six months,” he said. Was it really that long?
“Your anniversary’s coming up on the fourteenth, right?” Joon-Ki prompted.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
A flurry of congratulations came his way, but he felt undeserving. Sean didn’t know why—it’s not like it was a lie. It’s just that it had been so easy recently to stay sober that it didn’t feel like an accomplishment.
After the meeting, Joon-Ki let him lead them immediately to their go-to café around the block. The French press cost enough here that they usually didn’t run into any fellow AA-ers. Stop stereotyping, he thought to himself. Since when are all drunks poor?
“So,” Joon-Ki said as they settled into their booth. “Large Americano, shot in the dark? I’ll buy.”
“Thanks, man,” Sean said.
“You want anything else? A pastry?” Joon-Ki fawned over him sometimes like a goddamned parent. Sean hated himself for how he pushed him away, how he used him and only called when he needed something. But he couldn’t help it. It was like Joon-Ki allowed him to be selfish.
