by Donna Alam
‘You’ve even got the lexicon,’ he teases.
‘It’s all book knowledge. Haven’t had much practical.’
‘So you read dirty books, too?’
‘Very funny,’ I deadpan. ‘My God, how have you gotten me to spill this stuff?’
‘Good sex wipes out everyone’s bullshitting skills.’
‘Your turn,’ I say. ‘You’re into this stuff?’ His answer is the incline of one brow. ‘Do you play and stuff?’
‘You know I like games,’ he purrs. ‘But we’re talking about you.’
‘And it’s making you hard,’ I note with a sly glance.
‘That’s all you. Now, books you say. But what else?’
‘That’s pretty much it. What you have on your hands here, friend, is a brand spanking newb.’
Ignoring my spanking reference, he almost purrs, ‘Experience can be very overrated. Facta non verba.’
‘Show off. Deeds, not words. Yeah, we learn Latin in America, too.’ I can’t help but smile down at him. He’s like a peacock displaying his plumage. It’s easier to joke. To ignore the bad memories these feelings might invoke. ‘And I’d have settled for proper sentences.’
‘Erotica, porn, and kinky social sites. Anything else to confess?’
Blinking heavily, I bite my tongue against the urge to answer you. ‘Nothing,’ I say instead. What else was there? Reparative therapy and forced Christian camps.
‘Haven’t you ever . . .’ Was he going to ask me if I’d been to any clubs? And if he did, would I tell him that was what I’d hoped would come of last Friday night? ‘I don’t know, perhaps asked a past boyfriend to rough you up a little?’
Without regard for my nakedness, I pull myself upright and cross my legs as my voice takes on a perky edge.
‘Hey, Brad?’ I say, flicking the hair from my shoulders with exaggeration. ‘Will you, like, wrap your hands around my throat? Maybe grab my ass when we kiss? Slap me a little before, before . . . fucking me real hard?’ My shoulders sag, my expression marred by a frown. ‘You have no idea.’ And I’m not telling him.
‘So tell me,’ he suggests softly.
I can’t spill the words. How can I explain the line I’d walked back home? Socially? Morally? Instead, I feed him half-truths.
‘You’re looking at a small town girl with the same boyfriend from high school through college. A couple of casual relationships afterwards.’ A father who is a pastor, but I’ll leave that out for now. ‘That’s my tiny world.’
‘I’m certain kink isn’t exclusive to cities.’
‘I got close.’ My eyes fall to the sheet, and I chew my bottom lip as I recall. ‘With a boyfriend one time, I got close. I was in college. He noticed how I held my hands above my head when we were in bed, I think.’ On the rare occasion neither one of us had a roommate. ‘Then he bit me. As he was, you know.’ My eyes flick to his, hoping I don’t have to spell it out for him. ‘He left a bruise.’ I smile at the distant memory, the sensation of teeth that are more accurately Dan’s. ‘I couldn’t stop examining it as it faded. Even he thought it pretty hot. The next time, he bit my lip in the middle of sex. Now, that was definitely hot.’
Maybe I’ve said too much; Dan looks less than pleased. Lying down again, I hide my face in his shoulder once again. ‘Somewhere between my whimper and melting, he pulled away and apologised. I could never get him to try anything like that again.’ I don’t mention how wrong he made me feel for bringing it up again, or the weeks of guilt that followed—the sense that I’d become some deviant. And how, in a fit of jealousy, he’d told. I’m not going there. I don’t need the misery.
The room is silent for a beat but for the pitter-patter of rain against the window.
‘You really dated a boy named Brad?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s just such a cliché, isn’t it?’
‘And a one-night stand isn’t?’
‘So we’re both clichés. I can live with that. Girl meets boy. Girl wants it a little rough and got exactly what she bargained for.’
‘Is that so?’ I’m almost certain a smile can be heard. ‘And how do you suppose that happened?’
‘Perhaps they moved into familiarity much easier than either of them had planned.’
‘They did?’ I feel a little breathless all of a sudden; not at all surprising considering I feel like my heart just stopped.
‘Into an intimacy that could undo them both.’ Dan rolls onto his side, moving my body so I’m curled into him.
I fight to keep space between us. ‘What do you mean undo?’
‘You remember the house rules?’ He pulls his arm from under me, and I sit straight on the bed, pushing the hair from my eyes.
‘The house always wins?’ I use a faux sweetness, suddenly full of daring.
‘That’s a fact, but in this instance, it’s more about you doing what I say.’
‘Oh, I remember. At the door that night, the whole my way or the highway,’ I say, mimicking his bass tone. ‘Unless I don’t want to because then? Well, you’re pretty much screwed.’
As I shrug, something shines brightly in his eyes. Excitement, I think, as his eyes fall to where my nipples stand taut.
‘Freudian slip, love?’
‘Hah! You wish.’
‘Wishes aren’t really a priority for me. I’m more about demands. Roll over, darling.’
‘You can’t make me.’ Shoulder to ear, I shrug. I’m like the girl in the playground, all attitude and chewing gum.
‘I’m sure I can.’ His voice is quiet, almost chillingly so. He’d definitely had lots of practise. ‘But if I have to force you to, then mark my words, you’ll be sorry.’
‘Mark my skin, and I might smile.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell.’
In that instant, I’m up from the bed. Sweet baby Jesus, I hadn’t planned on running around the house naked, had I? I really ought to take the time to think these sorts of things through.
Especially recalling now who lived next door . . .
‘I don’t have to do what you say,’ I counter, coasting along the edge of the bed. ‘You’re not the boss of me.’
His smile was slow and sinister as it rose. ‘You’re going to regret this.’ His smile flashes teeth. ‘But I’m going to have so much fun.’
‘You think?’
He lunges for me as I step away from the bed. ‘Nowhere to run, love. Give up now and I might go easy on you.’
‘What makes you think that’s an incentive?’ On his feet now, as naked as myself, my heart beats wildly, and I can’t quite tell where my bravado is coming from. Eager, excited, and more than a little bit scared, I laugh as I nimbly dodge his arms again.
Unashamedly naked, he stalks me like prey. ‘I’ll get you, you know,’ he counters with a dangerous gleam in his eye.
‘And my little dog, too?’
‘Dog?’ he questions. ‘All I can see is pussy.’
I laugh loudly, my hand flying to my mouth in an attempt to smother it. A mistake, it turns out, as he catches me by my shoulder, pulling my flailing body until we’re skin to skin.
‘Lions and tigers and . . . you’re bare,’ he whispers, sliding a hand across my belly and down between my thighs. I clamped them together—as much to keep his hand there as to keep up the pretence.
‘Oh, my.’
Just a breath of words as he pulls me to him, my back flush to his chest. Wrapping an arm around my waist, Dan brushes the hair from my face.
‘What I want to know is, are you a good witch, or just a bad little girl?’ The whisper rasps against my ear, but I can’t help being impressed. And by more than his film references.
‘I’m whatever you need me to be.’
‘See, you’re learning already.’ Walking backwards toward the bed, he pulls my reluctant form over his knee. It might be a state of shock that allows him to place me there, though it’s more likely that he didn’t give me time to protest. Perhaps, it’
s more likely that I knew what was coming. Likelier still, that I hoped it would be me.
‘New house rule: you enter the house, you hand over control.’
He punctuates this with his hand on my ass, the sound reverberating around the room. Truthfully, the noise is worse than the impact, though it was definitely a little more painful than the kitchen spatula. That had been a dull thud, this a sharp sting.
Arching my back, I turn my head over my shoulder to glare at him. If looks could kill, he’d be pushing up daisies, as the saying goes. But I don’t ask him to stop, just inhaling a deep breath on the next slap. Despite my position and his obvious intent, the second slap still comes as a shock. I lower my head over his knee, trying hard not to part with the sounds, pushing my fingertips to the floor as he slaps me again.
Slapping and stroking, my cheeks are stung and soothed in equal measure. This isn’t like in the kitchen. This was so much more. Through the soundtrack of my indignity—breath after breath, slap after slap—through the mixture of my anger and embarrassment, the pain blurs my resistance.
A stroke, a caress, a whispered word, then the meeting of flesh, hard and fast. My belly tenses against his thighs, my back and shoulders shuddering with small, stifled cries. Cries I have no intention of offering him as I instead try to bite them back.
Time blurs, the pain turning to pleasure, each slap taking on the guise of a caress. And as Dan slides his hand under the front of my thighs, I allow him to manoeuvre me onto the bed. On my front, my ass in the air, I whimper as he kneads my smarting skin, then in response to his fingers, my whimpers turn to moans as he pushes two inside. When he twists his wrist, the sensation takes on a whole new meaning. My moans become desperate, his positioning so accurate.
Pushing an arm under my hips, he pulls me back into position from my collapse.
‘I’m not finished yet.’
I raise my head to tell him no more—to tell him to hurry—all of that, but at a pink blur flashes across the floor, I whisper hoarsely. ‘Twat.’
‘You’ll get extra that way,’ Dan says, laughing almost devilishly.
‘No,’ I reply, holding out a limp hand to point. ‘It’s your cat.’
He hadn’t been wrong about the colour; its fur a kind of salmon pink. The thing sits on the floor, just out of the line of Dan’s sight, staring up at me with a malevolent eye as Dan leans over the bed.
‘Shit!’
Jumping up, he grabs his jeans from the floor, stabbing his legs into them.
‘I thought we were in the middle of something,’ I demand, rolling onto my back. ‘You’re going to neglect me in case you offend the cat?’
‘It’s not the cat that bothers me,’ he explains. His hair falls across his forehead not quite concealing his deepening frown. ‘She’s usually one half of a pair.’ His words are called over his shoulder as he disappears through the open bedroom door.
‘You have two cats?’ I sit bolt straight. Surely not . . . the cat can’t be accompanied by his ex-wife? Did they both have visiting rights?
‘No.’ Dan’s head appears around the door, his expression contrite. ‘I’m sorry, but the furry fucker is usually accompanied by my son.’
Chapter Eight
LOUISE
Sitting on the bed, my mind is blank. I’ve no idea what to make of this turn of events. Sure, this is only our second . . . date? Assignation? But aren’t parents supposed to be inordinately proud of their offspring? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned him?
Because you’re just a temporary attraction, my mind whispers. And not around long enough to matter. I pull the duvet up over my legs because what else am I expected to do? Other than my tank top and bra, my clothes are in the kitchen. Along with Dan. And a child of indeterminate age. One—my clothes—I need in order to leave, the other—namely Dan—deserves a kick in the nuts. But I can’t do either draped as I am in a duvet.
‘Fuck my life,’ I whisper to the empty room.
Pulling the bedding over my head, I fling myself back against the pillows, growling words about fatherless persons having intimate relations with their mothers. Arms and legs straight, I pummel my fists and heels against the mattress, groaning from anger and frustration.
Something lands on my legs; maybe I hear a murmured apology? By the time I’m once again upright and free of the sheet, the door is ajar, but Dan has already gone.
‘Why is your friend asleep in the daytime? Who tucked her in? Is she a very fun friend? Did you play any games when she was awake?’ A solid stream of consciousness spews from the kitchen as I approach the door.
‘Which question do I answer first?’ Dan’s tone is wry and amused. ‘And grown-ups don’t play games. Mostly.’
Oh, Dan. That isn’t true.
‘When Tom sleeps over, we stay awake almost all night,’ the higher voice admits. From my position in the hallway, I inch closer, wondering what the child knows.
‘Does Mummy know?’ asks Dan in a calm tone.
‘Mummy said you had someone over to play,’ the child chides. ‘She told Charles you’d be doing a new friend. I think she meant making, though.’
‘Did she indeed.’ It isn’t a question. Not really. ‘What I meant was, does she know that you stay awake?’
‘I don’t think so. Her bedroom door is always locked. I think they like to watch grown-up TV alone. Did you play Xbox with your friend?’
Pushing the door fully open, I enter the room, reminding myself that I’m a grown-up, and as such, I should appear calm and confident. I’m not certain I manage much more than tense with a small measure of sheepishness thrown in.
I so don’t get kids, and I don’t know anyone with them. As the thought arises, I quash it, reminding myself I don’t really know Dan.
A small boy in Batman pajamas sits at the table where Dan had fucked me sometime earlier this evening. Thankfully, the child was at the other end, the dinner dishes cleared away. But still, the contrast between the act of our passion and the boy’s soap-scented innocence makes me feel a little ill.
Dirty. Illicit. Those thoughts aren’t always fun.
Blissfully ignorant of the sordid relationship between the wood and sex, the small boy continues spooning what looks suspiciously like chocolate pebbles into his mouth with a large, plastic spoon. With an inarticulate noise, chocolately lumps spray across the table, joining the half-spilled box and a puddle of milk.
The noise, without the cereal explosion, might’ve been hello. Hedging my bets, I murmur the appropriate response, bending to pick up my shoes.
‘Hal, this is Louise, my very special friend.’ Daniel stands farther into the kitchen, guarded by the island bench. He holds a phone in his hand as he addresses his son, though surely he can’t miss the venomous look I send his way. Turning from him, I slip my feet into my shoes.
‘How do you do?’ the little boy intones.
Bent forward, I notice his feet dangle in the air, unable to reach the floor. Grass clings to his feet, soil smudging his toes. What kind of parents were they, letting a little boy wander out during the night? I manage to return his greeting as my eyes begin scanning the room for my jacket and purse.
The little boy bursts into a fit of giggles, pointing at my shirt.
‘You have your t-shirt on inside out!’ He holds his hand across his mouth as he chuckles.
‘Oh, so I have,’ I answer, twisting and lifting the hem.
‘You should let my daddy help you,’ he answers very seriously. ‘He never lets me get tied up in my clothes.’ His voice lowers to a whisper. ‘Would you like some of my cereal? I won’t tell that you didn’t eat your dinner.’
He was right; we hadn’t gotten around to eating, though a few select implements lay here and there. Daniel picks up the spatula thing, tapping it absently against the butcher block surfaces as he begins punching numbers into the phone.
‘No, thanks.’ I cultivate what I hope looks like a smile, watching his father lift the phone to his ear.
�
�Mummy’s in trouble.’ I turn back to the child, concern etched on his face. ‘I’ll be next.’ I almost feel sorry for him.
‘You’re not supposed to sneak out, huh?’ Maybe I should ring the authorities; he couldn’t be more than maybe seven or eight. ‘Your mom must be worried.’
The child taps his heels against the chair leg, looking unconcerned. ‘No,’ he explains, ‘I have my own door in the fence. And I left her a note,’ he adds in explanation and, most likely, his defence.
‘So what makes you think you’re in trouble?’
‘Because I’m only six.’ He answers slowly, allowing for his father’s friend dimwittedness. He returns to his late supper. Or midnight snack, depending on his perspective, I suppose.
‘Of course, he’s done it again. No, not particularly.’ Dan pauses, running a hand through his hair, both voice and mane strained. ‘He can stay in his room.’ A pause for the other end of the line. ‘‘Yes, well, that is none of your business. Really? Well then, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about what she’s like in the morning. I don’t care, Annabelle. Good night.’
With force, he places the phone flat against the bench.
‘Finish up, Hal. Teeth time.’ His words were for his child, but his gaze was all mine.
The little boy argues he’s already brushed them before burping, then giggling, but eventually planting his feet on the floor.
‘Will you be here in the morning?’ he asks, turning back to face me, almost an afterthought.
I shake my head as the little boy tilts his to the side as though committing my features to memory. He pads from the room as Dan moves towards me.
‘Don’t,’ I spit through gritted teeth, holding up my hand. ‘Just tell me where the hell you’ve put my purse.’
‘You’ll give me five minutes.’
He rests his hand against my shoulder, his head tilted to the side in an echo of his son. I frown, noting the lack of request. What had earlier pushed all the right buttons now just pisses me off. I’m not in the mood for listening and jerk my shoulder from under his hand. Turning my back to him, I begin lifting seat cushions from chairs. After a beat, he walks from the room.
