by Alison Tyler
What the fuck was I doing here? Alex was right. Why did I care what went on behind closed doors? I had what I needed from Jack. All that I needed. Why rock the boat?
Because Jack had given me the chance. And he knew me. He knew all of the questions that swirled through my mind on a daily basis. He knew how difficult it was for me to hold my tongue. Yet I’d managed. I’d behaved. This was my reward. Alex must have known that, too.
“Does he take you out to lunch, tell you what he wants you to do to me for the coming week?”
Alex closed his eyes tight and turned his head away. He clearly didn’t know how he was supposed to answer me.
“We’ve fucked,” I reminded him. “The two of us have shared a bed together.”
“Yeah?” Now, he looked my way. Telling me that what I’d said didn’t matter. Didn’t count for anything. He would have fucked anyone at Jack’s request. Alex’s commitment ran so damn deep. He was beyond loyal.
“Were there girls before me?”
“We’ve talked about that, Sam.”
“Was there anything like this?”
“No. I’ve told you that, too.”
I felt like one of those insecure chicklets who’s always asking her boyfriend for reassurance. “Do you love me? Do you think I’m pretty?” But instead, I was craving knowledge.
“Did he fuck other girls the way he fucks me?”
“How does he fuck you?” Alex spat back.
I took a deep breath. “Did he hurt other girls the way he hurts me?”
“That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Alex asked, and his expression seemed to soften along with his tone. “You want to be special. You want to be the one.”
I should have been whipping him. I should have been in control, yet I was trembling. Guilty for asking Alex questions that I ought to have been brave enough to pose to Jack. What the fuck was I doing? What did Jack want from me?
I sat on the edge of the bed, my reflection mocking me from a mirror across the room. Who did I think I was, all dressed up like this? Jack had successfully set this scene from thousands of miles away. Suddenly, I felt angry. As if I were acting a part in a play, and I didn’t believe my role. I was a phony. I unbound Alex before he could ask me another question. Then I started to head toward the bathroom, tears streaking my cheeks—the stress of the flight, the surprise of traveling without Jack, the urge to understand my place in the world—a combination of emotions flooding through me.
But Alex was quick. He was up and on me before I reached the door. His hands gripping tightly into my upper arms. Hard enough to leave bruises.
“Why can’t you just accept it?”
“Accept?” I echoed.
“He loves you.” He stared hard into my eyes. “And he loves me. And there are no game plans. There is no manual. This is just how it is. Crazy. And messy. And fucked up in the best possible way. You’ve had these needs in you for years. And he fulfills them.” A pause. “Doesn’t he?”
I nodded immediately.
“Then what do you need? Come on, Samantha. What’s all this really about?”
My eyes flickered toward the crop, and it was over like that. My little turn in the driver’s seat. Over in a breath. In a heartbeat. In the whisper of Alex’s voice as he bent down and pressed his lips to my ear. “I’ll pour you another shot.”
###
We got drunk that night.
The kind of obliterating drunk that makes you feel invincible.
The kind of fascinating drunk that makes you tell secrets—yet ensures you won’t remember a fucking thing in the morning. Or if you do remember, the images will be blurred and distorted, stretched into new shapes.
It started simply. Alex slid back into his clothes and poured us each a fresh drink. He waited while I removed the vinyl gear, waited while I put on my favorite jeans, one of my treasured old rock shirts, losing myself in the safety of my beloved clothes. I found a space on the bed, curling my feet under me and cradling the glass in my hands as if the crystal might keep me warm.
I felt demolished somehow, because I’d failed. Alex didn’t speak for a while. He drank, and he watched me, and he drank some more. The crop remained on the bed between us. I refused to look at the thing. Refused to touch it. My body pressed way up against the wall, the drink somehow keeping me from shattering into pieces.
Until, as happens with liquor, my safety blanket was the thing to turn on me. Pain didn’t make me cry. The maudlin wash of alcohol did.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Alex said, when he saw the tears steadily dripping down my face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t do anything right.”
“No, I mean, he wasn’t expecting you to behave in some sort of way, if that’s what you’re worried about. You didn’t fail Jack.”
Was that it? What that my problem?
“He was giving you a surprise treat. But surprises don’t always turn out the way people plan.”
For some reason, that made me think of my night back in college, with my two buddies. Thought of the tequila that had spun the evening into motion and the secrets we had shared. Thought of the way they had stroked me between them, treating me as if I were something precious. Special. Thought of the reverence of that evening—the total magic of it—and the way everything had dissolved afterwards. We hadn’t known what we were playing with that night. We hadn't known that one single fantasy could destroy a friendship.
But Jack knew better. If Jack had been here, in the room with us, the evening would have gone smoothly. Without a hitch. I could have performed for him in any capacity. I would have done anything he wanted.
Alex, as if reading my mind, said, “He wanted you to do what you wanted.”
I looked at him, startled, as he poured me more to drink. “I didn’t—” I stammered.
“You didn’t what?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what I wanted. Except, to please him.”
Alex grinned at me, and then he kissed me. “Don’t try so hard, Sam,” he said. “This isn’t a job, you know. This is your life.”
I don’t know why, but those words resonated through me. My life. He was right. This was my life. And I could fight it. Or I could accept it. Or I could change it. And I didn’t want to change it. Not for anything. So I lifted the drink again, absorbing the burn, and then I leaned over the crop and kissed Alex once more.
We took the liquor with us outside, strolling until we reached the water. We took turns passing the bottle back and forth, drinking and kissing and telling secrets on the bank of the Seine.
Here were the secrets that I so desperately craved. Told to me at a time and in a way that meant I couldn’t remember them properly in the morning. We leaned on each other, held each other. At one point, I straddled him, and I could feel how hard he was in his slacks, but we didn’t fuck. We just teased one another, whispering the filthiest memories we could think of. Alex talking about the first time he’d fucked a man. The first time he’d been fucked by one. Me telling him about cheating on Byron with Connor. About screwing each other on Byron’s desk at work. The most blatant form of betrayal I could imagine.
And then, when the bottle was empty, we stumbled back to the hotel, with me blindly trusting Alex, having no idea which way we were heading. We fell into the room, crashed together fully clothed, his arms wrapped tight around me. The sky outside already slowly turning from night to day.
Chapter Eight: Secret
There was no knock on the door to let us know he’d arrived. There was no phone call from the airport. Suddenly, Jack was simply in the room, his warm hand on my cheek, stroking my face. Alex and I had been up all night. We’d slept for half the day. Missing breakfast and lunch. The bottle was on the table on its side, mocking me when I opened my eyes and looked at it. I had to try very hard to figure out where I was.
Alex woke up far more easily. He stood and greeted Jack with a handshake rather than a hug, then retreated to the bathroom
to get cleaned up. At least, that’s what I assumed.
“Did you miss me?”
I nodded, bleary eyed, wickedly hungover.
Jack looked at the clothing on the floor, the vinyl gear, the discarded crop. “Really?”
“Oh, god, Jack. Of course.”
“What did the two of you do last night, aside from kill a bottle of whiskey?” As he spoke, he went over to the far wall and opened the blinds and then the windows, airing out the stuffiness of the room.
“We went to the river,” I told him, trying to remember. “We drank on the edge, watching the moon over the water.”
“And how did you play?”
I winced, remembering. I’d failed. I’d been unable to live up to what Jack had expected. What Jack had requested. Unable to meet his eyes, I said, “I wore that outfit,” pointing to the ripples of vinyl. “I cuffed him.”
Jack came closer to me, sitting at the edge of the bed. When I pushed back the covers, and he saw that I was fully dressed—as Alex had been—his eyes narrowed. He could tell that I was keeping something from him. But I didn’t feel awake enough to continue. Didn’t feel strong enough, truly. I thought of the previous night. Thought of sitting astride Alex and listening to him tell me about his first lovers. How sexy that had been, to hear him describe the way he’d felt the first time he’d been fucked.
But what had I told Alex?
What had I traded?
Jack reached over the bed for the crop, stroking the tip between his fingers. “Good quality,” he said, making the weapon dance in the air. “Fine craftsmanship.” I swallowed with difficulty as I watched him, wishing for coffee. A shower. A brand-new brain.
“And you used this on Alex?”
I nodded.
“I don’t believe you.”
I started stammering. “Really, Jack. I used the same cuffs Alex had on the plane. I bound him face down on the bed. I used the crop on him.” All of those things were true, so why did I feel like such a fucking liar? And why was I getting wetter by the second? Because of the gentle way that Jack held the cruel toy. He was fresh off a twelve-hour flight, but you’d never have guessed it. He looked the same as always, intense and ready. Fierce and alert.
“How hard did you work him?”
How could I answer that? “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did you make him beg?”
Oh, shit. No. I didn’t think I could ever reach a level where I would have that type of effect on Alex. Jack was the only one to wield that sort of power. Didn't he know that?
Jack strode to the bathroom door as he spoke. He opened it to reveal Alex, fresh from the shower, white towel around his flat waist, getting ready to shave. Alex looked from Jack to me, and Jack motioned for him to come into our room. Obediently, Alex followed his master into the room. His expression was curious. He wanted to know what we’d been discussing. I could tell. Jack filled him in immediately.
“Samantha says she tied you down,” Jack started, and Alex looked from Jack to me, eyebrows raised. I thought of our night. I thought of the way his lips had found the side of my neck. How his hands had stroked my body through my clothes. We might as well have fucked for the level of intimacy we’d shared.
“Yes,” Alex agreed with a nod. “She tied me down.”
“She says she used this on you.” The crop was still in Jack’s grip. Menacing as ever.
My heart was pounding. I had used it. But I hadn’t been a Dom for more than a few minutes. I hadn’t lived up to Jack’s expectations in any way. I stared at Alex, waiting for him to tell Jack everything. Waiting for him to explain the evening stage by stage, to reveal me as a fraud. To my total surprise, he didn’t rat me out. He didn’t point his finger and say that I was an imposter.
He simply turned around slowly and dropped the white terrycloth towel, showing off the marks that still remained, so that Jack nodded, appreciatively, and I felt guiltier than sin.
Everyone has a secret. Here was ours.
The question was, how long could I live with it?
“Not bad,” Jack said, walking closer to Alex, his fingers dancing over the remaining welts decorating Alex’s pale skin. A shiver worked through me. I knew what it felt like to be touched like that. To have the echo of pain brought to the forefront of my mind. “I’m impressed.”
I hung my head, feeling ill. Hungover? Yeah. Definitely. But that wasn’t the problem now. I knew what had happened between the two of us. I knew how pathetic I’d been in the role of power. Why was Alex protecting me?
Jack had the crop still in one hand, and he surprised me by passing the weapon to me.
“Show me.”
“Show you?” I asked, still looking at the mastery of Alex’s body. He was handsome. God, amazing, really. And I never actually looked at him as a person. That sounds evil. But he was so many other things. A rival, yes. A plaything, sometimes. A Dom, occasionally. But now…
“Show me what you did. Show me how you did it…”
I looked at Jack, surprised, and realized in a flash that he understood. Maybe he didn’t know everything that had transpired between Alex and myself, but he understood that something had gone awry. That what he had asked for and what had truly occurred were too separate visions.
“On the bed, Alex. Take the position.”
Alex turned around and his eyes met mine. He didn’t say a word. He pulled the rumpled blankets and sheets off the bed, then climbed into the hollow left by our bodies. The still-warm area where we had slept together all day long like puppies, limbs overlapped.
“Go on, Sam,” Jack urged. “Show me.”
I had the crop in my hand, and I looked at Alex, and I couldn’t believe he was going to let me do this to him. Let me whip him, as if all had gone serenely the previous night. As if nothing untoward had happened between us. Who was he? Why was he acting like this? He could so easily have told Jack that I’d been wretched in the role of Dom. That I’d failed miserably. Instead, he remained silent, wrists over his head, a portrait of submission.
“Wait,” Jack said, and my heart raced, thinking I was saved, but I wasn’t. “Alex was cuffed, right? With the cuffs from the plane?”
Jack looked around, locating them on the bedside table. While I watched, feeling as if the room was spinning—or I was spinning—he cuffed Alex’s wrists together. Then, satisfied, Jack looked to me once more. “Show me—”
I had the crop in my hand. I had a willing man bound on the bed. I had, in a way, a second chance. Here was my opportunity to prove what a good Dom I was. Or, rather, what a good sub I was. That was the confusing part for me. Jack wanted me to be in charge, and I craved Jack’s approval, wanting only to fulfill his wishes. But I have submission tattooed on my soul. Being in charge went against everything in me.
And what the fuck was up with Alex? Why was he letting this happen? Why wasn’t he stepping forward, crowing to Jack at what a miserable excuse I was for a Dominatrix? Alex remained absolutely silent, the muscles in his back taut and waiting.
“I can see the stripes you left last night,” Jack, coming to stand at my side. “I know you have it in you. So what’s the fucking problem?”
I raised the crop.
I looked at Alex.
I let the crop fall from my hand to the floor.
Alex turned his head to look at me. “Come on, Sam.” I was surprised to hear him say the words. He was ready. He would take this pain for me. For no reason at all. Was it because of the time we’d shared on the riverbank together, the secrets we'd told, or the way our bodies had been aligned in the bed? What was it that had changed for Alex?
Jack stared from one of us to the other. I saw his eyes flickering over Alex’s naked skin. He knew there was no way that Alex could have whipped himself like that. And yet he knew there was some secret bond between us. Jack was no fool. But he didn’t speak.
“Pick up the crop.”
That was Alex talking. Alex!
“Jesus, Samantha. Pick it u
p.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I started to cry, my back pressed up against the hotel wall. I didn’t know what was going on with me. I couldn’t explain it. But there was no way I was going to be able to hurt Alex now.
Silently, Jack stepped forward. Silently, he undid the cuffs on Alex’s wrists, then motioned for Alex to get dressed. I watched Alex slipping on fresh boxers. New jeans. A plain T-shirt. The lack of conversation in the room weighed heavily on me. Wouldn’t Jack speak? Or was he waiting for me to explain. The tears ran solidly down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“For what?”
“I couldn’t do what you wanted.”
“Explain.”
I was stammering over each word, begging Alex to help me, but the boy was quiet.
Jack had the crop in his hand. There was a space on the bed. There were the cuffs. And then there was me. Taking off yesterday’s clothes. Righting my world by climbing onto the warmth left by Alex.
And then watching Jack pass the crop to Alex and hearing Jack say to his lover, “Show me.”
Chapter Nine: Puppet Master
This was much easier for me.
How fucked up is that?
Being bound on the bed. Knowing that pain was imminent. Knowing that my man—my men—would take care of me. This was simple. I could feel the tension leaving me. I could feel my heartbeat returning to normal. And all because I was no longer in charge.
But I shouldn’t have relaxed so quickly. Jack was in Paris now. Jack was in control. There was no way of guessing what he was thinking, what he had planned.
“You know what I want,” Jack said to Alex. I didn’t look over my shoulder. I just listened. “I want to understand what happened last night. As if I were here, in the room with you. Samantha can’t seem to explain in a satisfactory manner.” I could hear a quiet sneer in his voice. “Why don’t you try?”
