by Solace Ames
Adriana helped him out of the seat and half carried him into the apartment. She laid him down flat on their bed, took off his shoes and stroked his forehead. The pain receded, leaving him hollow in his bones and in his mind.
“How many did you give me?” he asked. The ceiling seemed to undulate like a sheet billowing in the wind.
“Three.”
“Shit. I’m stoned.”
“That’s how many you took the last time that—”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You know what? It’s okay.” He swallowed. His tongue felt thick and unwieldy. “I don’t have a tolerance anymore, that’s all. It’s okay. That knocked it right out. I’m fine, baby.”
She sighed. “I bet it was the volleyball. That’s high impact, plus twisting. You can’t do that.”
“Sorry. I won’t do it again.” Incongruous grief washed over him, strong enough to bring tears to his eyes. He’d never play volleyball with his kids. Wait a second, he didn’t have any kids, and the only game his dad ever played with him was Chutes and Ladders, and he turned out just fine. Sort of. God, he was out of it. But he was happy now. Yes. He liked Chutes and Ladders.
Adriana drifted in and out of the room. She gave him some more water, helped him to the bathroom—walking in a straight line was stupid difficult—and back to bed, called Jasmine and said things weren’t going well tonight, but maybe tomorrow night.
“You need something for yourself,” he said, eyes closed so that the ceiling didn’t trick him.
“We already did that, baby. And it was for you, too.”
She was talking about Paul. “Right. We could see him again. Or just you. I trust him.”
“We’ll talk about this when you’re not all loopy.”
“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
She drew a blanket up to his shoulders and settled in beside him.
Don’t watch over me. Don’t let me drag you down.
But he couldn’t say it. He had a feeling Adriana wouldn’t want to hear it, anyway.
He rocked higher and higher until he couldn’t feel anything anymore, couldn’t hear anything, and even the roar of the ocean echoing deep in his ears faded into oblivion.
Chapter Six
Paul parked in the shadow of the glittering silver Escalade. He’d been to this Beverly Hills house several times before, enough to not really care that his own car didn’t fit in.
He texted the people inside. At the door.
When he put his hand on the door and swung it open, that reliable magic struck.
He walked in like he owned the place, his latest review had said, and it wasn’t the first time someone had used those words. Knowing Jay and Adriana had written them made the reading of it more satisfying than usual, though.
He walked in like he owned the place.
“What the hell are you doing here?” CJ asked. He was a big man, built strong, a little more solid around the shoulders than Paul. He worked in sports management, and Paul imagined he probably had a home gym and a personal trainer.
Paul brushed past him like he didn’t even exist.
“I called him over,” Mary said. She was naked, except for high heels, and carried a riding crop. “I wanted to show you how a real man fucks, you goddamn sissy bitch.”
“No,” CJ moaned. “Don’t do this to me.”
Paul had to fight to keep a straight face at this point. Once past the protestation stage, he enjoyed these sessions, but CJ’s love for melodramatic delivery was always dangerous.
The rope was on the hall end table. CJ struggled weakly. Paul held him down with the minimum of full body contact. CJ wasn’t really his type, but he was good-looking enough that Paul regretted not being able to stick something in him while he was down there. CJ didn’t go that way, unfortunately.
Paul tied the last knot and moved to let Mary have a go at her husband, her full breasts quivering magnificently as she struck with the crop.
When she was panting with exertion and nicely worked up, he had her against the wall, then on the floor, not two feet away from where CJ lay bound, his eyes wide and stricken.
He came inside her. Went to the spa-sized bathroom, threw away the condom and washed his hands. Waved goodbye on the way out. “I’ll lock the door behind me,” he told Mary. She was always nervous about that.
“Thanks. See you next month.” Mary turned away and looked down on CJ with cool delight, very much like a cat, and nudged a pointed toe against his thigh. He moaned again, and this time it sounded entirely real.
There was no one on the street as Paul left. He had a cover story involving real estate appraisal that he’d never needed to use. They could easily have found someone to do this for free, but discretion and security mattered just as much as performance.
He felt lucid, relaxed, alert. When he was younger, he would have been obsessed with the cost of the house and the luxury of the details. He’d gotten past that. It was a nice house, that was all.
Ruining his good mood by going to the design studio was the last thing he wanted to do. He made a bargain with himself—he’d go home, spend half an hour working out, half an hour reading something totally unrelated to BDSM or architectural theory, and then he’d try to line up something social for later in the week. Then, studio.
Two more years.
He turned on his laptop as soon as he walked into his apartment. Form mails, a flaky client, a nice client, porn-titled spam, porn-titled but not spam. And Adriana. Not Jay—Adriana.
Hi Paul. Can we set something up this week? Just me. Jay’s under the weather but he’ll be fine soon. He says hello. Let me know, thanks.
It had to be Jay’s back. Paul had a twinge of anxiety that it was related to last week. Well, he could talk to her about that at the session, among other things.
He reminded himself that it wasn’t a date.
On the other hand, he could easily steer the dynamic in a more verbal direction. A back and forth about life in general was appealing. So was putting her in a bit gag. He loved her mouth. The stark contrast between speech and muteness might work for both of them.
When he checked the time, at least five minutes had passed just idly tapping next to the trackpad while exploring...possibilities.
He emailed her back with some time slots and best wishes for Jay’s recovery.
Evan didn’t approve of his special interest in couples, maybe because Evan had been around in Las Vegas when the deals went south. Marc and Joanna had turned on each other quickly, gotten separate lawyers. That was what saved Paul, in the end. If they’d stayed together, they could have put more of the blame on him.
He’d done his time. He was paying his restitution, and successfully weaving the strands of his life back together again. A man and a woman together didn’t constitute some kind of ill omen for Paul, like Evan halfway believed.
He might be falling into the opposite superstition, when it came to Jay and Adriana...apart or together, his lucky stars.
* * *
Adriana paused at the door, gathering the courage to knock.
She was afraid of change. And she still wasn’t sure if Jay had made this decision in his right mind. They’d talked about open relationships a lot before they married, and they’d agreed it wouldn’t happen if it made either of them unhappy.
Unhappiness wasn’t the most clear-cut emotion, though. When she reversed the situation and imagined Jay and Paul together, without her—God, it was so complicated. She felt a little bit of unhappiness and insecurity, but a lot of positive emotions too.
She had to trust Jay. And besides, it was too late to back out. That wouldn’t be fair to Paul. She wanted Paul to think well of her. Not that she was ashamed of the whole paying-for-sex thing. Well, maybe she was, now that Jay wasn’t the point person, because
it was something women didn’t do unless they were undesirable or deeply damaged or shut up shut up stop thinking that way.
She took a deep breath.
Knocked.
“Hi, Adriana,” Paul said. Vertigo struck at the sight of him, because he was so real, a real person with a real apartment and a real life that he was inviting her into.
She forced herself to look up and smile. He had green eyes and sharply angled eyebrows that were a shade darker than his hair. It was good to have time to notice details. To put together pieces of the puzzle called Why is Paul so handsome?
She kept her hands in her jacket pockets and walked a few feet into his apartment before she got any dizzier. It was sparse and elegant, very modern bachelor. One wall was exposed brick, giving the place a sense of permanency.
“This is a nice place,” she said. And then she turned to her right and saw a dreadnought of a...bed. A massive steel canopy bed. There were chains hanging from the corner posts, and black leather straps laid out on the burgundy coverlet. “Sorry, I take back that ‘nice.’ Wow.”
“You can call it nice if you want.” Paul stood right beside her, but she wasn’t ready to look into his eyes again. The air between them might as well have been ice. This wasn’t right. She took her left hand out of her pocket and extended it tentatively, awkwardly. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying for—some kind of half-assed handshake, maybe.
Paul took her hand and folded her into his arms. It felt so good, like he was an old friend comforting her. She rested her head against his chest and leaned into his warmth. He smelled clean and musky and natural and she couldn’t imagine anything better than being wrapped in his arms and breathing him in.
“Touch is good,” he said, stroking the back of her shoulder. “I’ll give you all you want.”
And he would. He’d hold her and rock her and hold her.
At least for an hour.
“I don’t know what I want,” she said. “I’m so weird. I don’t know why I’m acting this way.”
“Nobody really knows what they want.” Paul shifted his hand to comb his fingers through her hair. “We make guesses and hope it turns out all right.”
“Your guesses are pretty good.” She smiled to herself. She could feel the outline of the harness underneath the shirt he wore—her cheek was pressed against it.
“I try.”
She could try harder, too. “I don’t just want to be held,” she whispered. “I want...I want...I can’t talk. Like as long as you’re touching me I’m totally relaxed, but I can’t think anymore.”
“We’ve got a strong connection.” If anyone else had said that, it would have sounded television-psychic ridiculous. Now, in Paul’s voice, it made complete sense. “I feel it just as much as you. It’s okay. It doesn’t take away from what you have with Jay.”
She hoped that was true. Maybe they could make it true. “He doesn’t want to see me hurt.”
“I do.”
Of course he’d take that opening. She looked up and met his eyes, took in his lazy, confident smile, and felt her stomach twist. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest, then slowed its beating as she took a deep breath and reminded herself it was all right—this fear wouldn’t last. It was draining away even now, leaving her peaceful, light, floating.
“I want to give you that,” she told him, without a catch in her voice.
“I’d like to see you cry again.” He trailed his forefinger underneath her eye, soft as a brush. “That was very special to me.”
“Make me.” The rush of desire hit her now, every bit as hot and hard as last time, burning out the last remnants of fear. “However you want. Just don’t leave any marks.”
“Well, that narrows the options. You didn’t say electrostim was off the list. Should we talk about that?” As he spoke, he edged her backward and pulled off her jacket. “Oh, and by the way, we’re on my time now. So when I ask you a question—” he gripped her chin and angled her face up so that she had to meet his eyes, “—you answer me. And you do not look away.”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded unfamiliar because she could hardly move her mouth. The warning and the first harsh touch thrilled her. The connection he’d talked about, she couldn’t get out of her mind now. If she blinked the right way she might be able to see the lines of force arcing between them, casting a strange light.
“Good girl. I’d like to tie you to the bedposts with your legs spread wide. That part shouldn’t hurt. I’ll hang you right at fucking height and play with both your holes. You’re good for that, aren’t you?” He let go of her face, gripped the belt loops of her jeans, reeled her in roughly and unbuttoned them.
“Yes.” However you want. She wanted it as well—nothing held back.
“And then I’ll gag you so the neighbors don’t complain when you scream, and wire your pussy.” He pulled her jeans down her hips. The rasp as they slid down to the floor was shockingly loud. Everything she heard made her afraid—everything she felt outweighed the fear. “We’ll see how much juice you can handle. Measure the pain. What do you think about that? No more monosyllables.”
“Yes. I mean, I just—” Her brain wanted to shut down so badly, but she stayed present, letting the lines of force lend her strength. “Will I be okay to walk out?”
“You should be. This stuff gets powered from a nine-volt battery. It’s not a Taser. You might be a little numb from the muscle contractions, but you’ll sleep that off. Arms up.” She stretched upward, spine flexing, skin coming alive as he ran his hands along her sides, pulling up her shirt. “Where do you get these?”
Oh. He meant her lingerie. “Jay made this set. It’s his hobby. He also makes clothes for dolls.”
Paul was running his fingertips up and down the satin of her bra, tracing the Op Art indigo swirls against the sunset pink. An easy question, she thought happily, and remembered not to close her eyes... Paul’s touch was so good, she wanted to focus on that alone.
“I’ll leave the bra on for now. The panties are coming off.” He hooked his thumbs in the sides and pushed them down. “You’ve already got them wet. When did that happen?” His tone was light and playful. He cupped her mound, not feeling into her, just holding her, claiming her.
“I don’t know. When you started—when you talked about what you wanted to do. Maybe then.” A harder question. The heel of his palm pressed against the pivot of her body, the bone under the wanting flesh. “Oh God.” She closed her eyes. He tapped her cheek. Her eyes flew open again.
“Let’s get you strapped in.” He led her to the steel bed and lifted her up so she was standing shakily on the mattress. “Hold on to that bar.” It was cold. His breath was warm against her stomach. “You can close your eyes now. Where did you and Jay meet?”
She had something to hold on to now. The world became much simpler. “We were friends in high school. Things changed in senior year. Then I went away to culinary school, and we thought we were friends again, and when I came back, we just...we never wanted to be apart again.” The bed shook. There was a clanking of chains, a slithering of leather.
“That’s a beautiful way to put it.” Something soft and smooth and very strong wrapped around her right wrist and half of her hand. He buckled it tight. She recognized the shivering, fluttering feeling that ruled her now—the rollercoaster high, visceral and undeniable. “Ask me something. Anything you want.”
She spoke before thinking to make sure that she spoke at all. “Have you ever paid for sex?”
“Yes.” He cuffed her left wrist, buckled it tight, clipped it to another unseen element with a bright metallic snap. “I went through a period about six or seven years ago when I was feeling very isolated. Part of dealing with that was hiring rentboys. Ones that subbed. That’s how I got into the business, actually. One of them turned into a friend. And then something else
, and then a partner, and then a competitor, and now we’re back to being friends. Let go and fall back a little. That’s good.”
Her weight rested on some kind of sling, supporting her upper thighs and lower back. Vertigo hit again—even with the soles of her feet still touching the edge of the mattress, she was essentially ungrounded.
“I’m enjoying this—the talking—but if you’re not, let me know. Have you ever had sex for money, or pretended to?”
“No. I mean—oh.”
He was lifting and spreading her legs. Her body twisted uncontrollably as a reflex to avoid being so vulnerable triggered deep inside her.
She opened her eyes and looked down and saw herself opened there as well, the little dark curls of hair parted to reveal her absolute nakedness. Think. Answer. “No. I thought about it, when I was younger, but it was too dangerous. And sometimes I play with my husband. He’s...he’ll keep all his clothes on and pay me for a blow job.”
He wrapped a coil of silky rope around her right ankle. “I love that image. Ask me something else.”
“Did you ever pay for a woman?” She was fully suspended now, and realized for the first time how strong these bindings were. She didn’t have to be afraid of falling. Perhaps she’d experience other, more exotic fears; pleasure throbbed between her legs at the thought.
“That’s a tricky one.” He lifted her right ankle higher and lashed it to something, tipping her back and changing her weight. “I had a woman sent to me once, but I wasn’t the one who paid for her. And working, well, I’ve subcontracted a few times, at client request. Why did you decide to become a chef?”
A woman sent to me. The hints of a deeper story were tantalizing. A thread that led into the labyrinth. It took her a few seconds to come back to her own story; her left ankle was lifted and bound in that time. She took a deep, shivering breath and spoke. “I’m good at it. That’s all, really. I knew I couldn’t ever work a desk job. I need to move. When I was young, I thought—” No, this was leading where she didn’t want to go, not now that he loomed over her, between her legs, tying her with measured grace and calm. Maybe there’d be a time later. So ask. “Do you have someone now? A girlfriend or a boyfriend or...”
