by Lilly Black
“You do see how that’s hard to believe?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe that any woman doesn’t want him. You’d have to be a blood relative to resist him, but that’s what it’s like with us. We kissed once, a long time ago, and it was like kissing a brother.”
“Why did you…I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” I really want to know, but asking was weak.
“I’m sure it wasn’t anything like what you’re imagining. Believe me.”
“I have no reason not to believe you, Lucy.” No rational reason, anyway.
“Good,” she says. “Because there’s one more thing I need to tell you. The night Cain met you at Prometheus…I…I was the reason you almost fell in the pool.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was waiting in the limo, and he called me to come up and nudge you.”
“That son-of-a-bitch!” I have replayed the incident in my head a thousand times wondering how I missed that corner when I could walk through that place blindfolded. Lucy swears that he has never done anything like that before, and as we laugh about it, I realize I’m probably going to like her in spite of myself.
“So,” I begin ready to find out what is behind the velvet curtain, “are you going to tell me what this place is, Lucy?”
“I’m going show you.” She picks up the silver remote control from the table, presses a button, and the velvet drapes retract revealing a room of well over a thousand square feet, but it isn’t the spaciousness that makes my chin drop. It’s what this room is - a massive, overly-equipped, leather-drenched, BDSM dungeon, and it’s absolutely beautiful.
“Do you like it?” Lucy asks anxiously. I do, and it’s exactly what I suspected I would find on this tour, but now that it’s tangible, I don’t feel the way I expected to feel. I feel hurt and humiliated.
“Take me home.”
“But…”
“Take me home,” I repeat, harsher this time.
“Yes, Miss Lucien,” she says, reverting to addressing me formally in her confusion. I know I should explain myself, but at this moment I don’t give a damn about the progress she and I have made or what she thinks of my behavior. I stare blankly out the window as she drives, hoping to make it home before the anger swelling inside me turns to tears.
When we get to my house, I jump out of the car to find Cain standing on the porch waiting for me. I knew she was driving too slow!
“Fuck you, Lucy!” I screech, furious with her for telling him.
“It’s okay, Lucy,” Cain says. “I can take it from here.”
“Fuck you, too, Cain!” I yell as I jam my house key in the door and slip in, trying to close it in his face. He’s too strong, putting his weight against the door to force it open. I let go suddenly, hoping to make him to fall, but of course, he’s too graceful for that. Bastard!
“Evan, are you going to tell me…” I don’t hear him finish as I rush into my bedroom and slam the door closed. This time I’m quick enough to lock him out, but the interior door locks in this house are fucking useless! He picks it and lets himself in.
“Get out of my house!” I yell, picking up the first thing that catches my eye to throw at him, which happens to be the heavy vase of aging calla lilies. Grabbing it at the bottom, I spill the water and flowers all over the floor and hurl it at him, smashing it to pieces against my bedroom door.
“For fuck’s sake, Evan, stop!” Cain demands impatiently, pulling me to him, and though I fight with everything I have, he’s too powerful for me. He pushes me against the wall, trapping me there, and overwhelmed by his 6′4″ frame, I feel so safe in his arms, it breaks me.
Goddamn it! I did not want him to see me cry over this, but what’s done is done. I can’t stop the tears, and he can’t change the fact that his actions have proven what I’ve feared all along. I’m not good enough for him, and when he’s done with me, he’ll throw me away like trash because I am trash.
“Shhh…it’s okay,” he whispers. He doesn’t tell me not to cry, he just holds me and lets me do it, and now that I’ve given up every chance I had to rein in this breakdown, I’m disgusted with myself. This isn’t me. I don’t cry over men, and I sure as fuck don’t cry in the arms of the son-of-a-bitch responsible, but even as I hate him, I ache for him. I want him take charge and make everything okay.
“Let me go,” I demand weakly.
“Never.”
“How could you treat me like that?”
“Treat you like what?”
“Like a whore!” I shout.
“What are you talking about?” Cain asks, loosening his grip as he steps back to look me in the face. I pull away, rushing to the other side of the room, putting the bed between us.
“Are you serious? How many women have you fucked in that dungeon, Cain?”
“I had the entire place remodeled for you! Everything in there down to the paint on the walls is new for you!”
“So you repainted the bondage cross you tied all your submissive whores to for little, old me? Gee, thanks, master!”
“Goddamn it, Evan! I said everything - the furniture, the equipment, the fucking chandelier - I personally selected it all down to the last scrap of leather for you!”
“Fuck you! You have no right to be pissed at me!”
“I have every right to be pissed! You’re acting insane!”
“Oh, really? Then let me get this straight. I have invited you into my home and my bed, and in exchange you prepare a place for me where you tie women up and beat them like slaves? What a fucking honor!”
“Evan!” Cain snaps, his hands clenched into fists, but just as I think things are about to get out of control, he exhales and runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re right,” he says, holding out his arms for me to come to him. When I resist, too stubborn to give an inch, he comes to me, sitting on the bed and pulling me to stand between his legs.
“I’m sorry, baby. I wasn’t thinking,” he says, looking up at me, his eyes a washed-out blue. “The only reason I haven’t taken you to my apartment is because it’s been under construction. I should have told you, but I just assumed that me staying here with you was enough to show you how much I want you in my life.” I don’t say anything. I want to believe him, but if he’s telling me the truth, then I’ll have to admit that I’ve really made an ass of myself.
“What you and I have is new to me, too, Ev,” he continues. “And I’m going to fuck up. Just give me a chance to explain myself next time before you throw a vase at me. Okay?” He smiles up at me, and I melt.
“Okay,” I say, and he pulls me into his lap, kissing me on top of my head, holding me like a child.
“It never even crossed my mind that I had taken you to my dungeon before my home, but now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, I can see how that would make you feel. From now on, if I’m being a thoughtless asshole, just tell me. You don’t need to…”
“Act like a psycho bitch,” I admit bashfully.
“Not my words, but yeah.” We laugh, and I love how he’s made my humiliation in the aftermath of yet another irrational fit just fade away. “Listen. They’re working through the weekend to try to get it finished by Monday, but if you want, I’ll take you there right now. You just have to change clothes.”
“Why?”
“There’s a construction crew in my apartment, Evan, and your cleavage looks spectacular in that dress,” he says, his hands suddenly cupping my tits. He kisses my neck, kneading my breast as one hand slides down the front of me, pushing the hem of the dress between my legs, and the palm of his hand bearing down against my clit through the fabric.
“It can wait until Monday,” I whisper as I lean my head back, reveling in his touch as it makes me forget everything that drove me to this fight. An urgency grows between us, and when Cain works his pants down far enough to release his cock, he pulls my panties over to the side and drives himself inside me. He controls me with his hands on my hips, fucking me while he s
its on the bed with me practically sitting in his lap, my legs spread over his, but this isn’t allowing him to fuck me hard enough. I want more.
I stand, bringing him with me as I walk my hands down my legs until I’m bent over, holding my ankles as he slams him body into mine. He’s rough and intense, swiftly taking me to edge, desperate to come but longing for something deeper, more connected. I reach back, grabbing his balls and teasing them until I feel his cock swell inside me as I take him to the point of no return. He erupts in a loud, sudden burst, taking me with him, crying his name as he drives into me so hard I nearly fall over, but he holds me up, his hands on my hips as my legs tremble, weakened, taxed, the tension of the fight spent and replaced by euphoria.
Makeup sex is so, very good.
September 8
Having survived our first fight yesterday, Cain and I are still in a state of absolute bliss. We wake late Sunday morning, and after I take him to a small, street front cafe in downtown La Mesa where they make the best quesadillas in San Diego county, he takes me to Mexico.
I’ve always parked on the U.S. side, walked across the border, and taken a scary cab ride to touristy Revolution Avenue in Tijuana, but today Cain drives us through the border to Baja California where he has arranged for us to ride horses on the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen. I haven’t been on a horse since I was a kid, and I’ve never had the chance to let it run wild.
My black mare runs like the wind, chasing the white stallion as Cain looks back, his blonde hair crowning him like a halo in the sun. My fear of losing him becomes ever more tangible in moments like these when he seems too beautiful to be real, as if he’ll vanish like a mirage over the horizon if I let him get too far ahead of me on the endless stretch of white sand beach.
I dig my heels in to urge the mare on, and she catches up to the steed just before we arrive at our destination, a private beach facing clear, sparkling, blue-green water. Cain brings his mount to a halt, tying the reins to an old wooden post near the craggy dunes, then he lifts me off my horse, pulling me into a kiss out of a fairytale.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say.
“It is,” Cain whispers with a stare that chases my eyes away.
“That was my first thought when Lucy drew back the curtain to the black room,” I say timidly as Cain spreads out a blanket. “That it was beautiful.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles.
“I’m really sorry I…”
“Shhh. You can’t control how it made you feel, and let me be absolutely clear about this. I do not want you going back there until you’re ready, no matter how long it takes.”
“If I hadn’t had that thought pop into my head, we’d be there right now.”
“Don’t toy with me,” Cain warns.
“It’s a moot point anyway because we haven’t finished our negotiations. I wish I had remembered to bring the list,” I say wistfully.
“Careful what you wish for, little girl,” he says, pulling his list out of his pocket. We’ve already covered most of it, but when I notice what’s next on the list, I cringe.
“What is it?” Cain asks.
“Well, we left off at, um…anal things.” Cain laughs at my hush-hush demeanor.
“I can’t tell if you’re squeamish or disgusted,” he says.
“I guess it depends on whose ass we’re talking about,” I say.
“I assumed we were talking about yours,” he says.
“My ass is ornamental,” I say, and he laughs. “I’m sorry. Is it something you’re really into?”
“I am only into it if you are, and it seems pretty clear that you are not,” he says.
“So it isn’t important to you?” I ask.
“I could take it or leave it, but if your curiosity is ever piqued…”
“My curiosity will never be piqued,” I insist. He can take it as squeamishness or disgust as long as he accepts that it will never change. “But if you were doing it before, there’s obviously something you were getting out of it, and I don’t want…”
“Some women love it, but mostly for me, the act was about debasing the submissive, violating her, having complete control.”
“Does that mean you won’t be able to get what you need if I don’t let you do this? I don’t want you to have cravings I can’t..”
“I assure you that I have no cravings that involve putting my dick in someone’s ass,” he laughs.
“Would you stop joking? If it’s something that’s important to you, I’ll try to open my mind.”
“You will?” he asks suspiciously.
“Life’s too short to be with someone who won’t at least try to fulfill your every desire.”
“That is the sexiest thing any woman has ever said to me,” Cain says.
“Shut up,” I say, embarrassed.
“I mean it, Evan, and I promise you the same.” He punctuates it with a soft kiss, but as it grows more urgent, I have to put a stop to it. I don’t want too much time to pass between his vow and what I’m about to suggest.
“Behave yourself. We’re almost finished,” I say.
“Then let’s get it over with. Next category.”
“Not so fast, Playboy. We’re only half finished with the last one,” I give him a wicked smile.
“We are completely finished with it,” he says flatly as he sits up.
“But you just promised to open your mind,” I pout.
“I’ll open my mind on that one just as soon as you open yours,” he says with a sly grin.
“This isn’t over,” I warn, but he ignores me, snatching the list from my hand.
“Prosthetics,” he says.
“We’ll move on, but this issue is not resolved,” I warn.
“Prosthetics,” he repeats sternly. Pleased with myself, I feel like I have the upper hand for once, but as we talk about prosthetics, the tables turn right back around as it dredges up memories of my past and my scars.
“I know you don’t like fingers inside you, but…”
“I’m sorry. If it bothers you, we can try…”
“Don’t be silly, Evan. I’m not a fourteen-year-old boy. I’d much rather have my cock than my finger inside you,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“And a prosthetic.”
“I would only use a prosthetic when absolutely necessary.”
“And when, exactly, is a prosthetic absolutely necessary?”
“When a man wants to give you his mouth and his cock at the same time,” Cain says bluntly, and oh, fuck me! I feel myself flooding with desire for him, and he stares at me as if he knows, his eyes boring into me for a long moment before his lips find mine. He eases me onto my back, lying on his side next to me, but I freeze when he unbuttons my jeans.
Can I do this here, out in the open in the middle of the day?
“So,” I begin as Cain drives us home from Mexico. We’ve finished everything on the list until fucking stopped us half way through the last category, prosthetics. I resume negotiations where we left off. “What’s your stance on prosthetics?”
“We covered that already. It’s a hard limit,” Cain insists, and I laugh.
“What do you think I’m talking about? Fucking you with a fake dick?” I ask, laughing.
“Shut the fuck up, Evan!” he growls, his discomfort making me laugh harder.
“I was talking about using a female prosthetic on you, silly.”
“Oh,” he mutters, and after a moment of riding in silence, his curiosity gets the better of him. “Why would you need to do that?”
“I don’t know. I guess for the same reason you want to use one on me.”
“What do you think that reason is?”
“To give me the illusion of two men at once?”
“Are you saying you’re interested in threesomes?” he asks.
“Are you going to answer all of my questions with questions?”
“Don’t distract me. I beli
eve the word threesome was on the table.”
“Because you put it there!”
“Answer me, woman,” he demands, and I giggle.
“Two men or two women?”
“Two men?” he asks, hesitantly, his face melting in relief when I shake my head no. Doing that would make me feel like a whore, which is far more damning to me than the thought of sharing him with another woman. I know it’s a double standard, but it’s a double standard most men can live with.
“So two women?” Cain asks, his eyes wild as he pulls to the side of the road in front of my house.
“Maybe. I’m not sure how far I could go, but if it’s something you really want, I would be willing to consider…” Cain’s lips suddenly smother my words, kissing me as if the very fate of the universe hinges on his mouth getting as close to mine as possible.
“You are so perfect, Evan,” he breathes the words into me, and for a brief, uncharacteristic moment, I let myself believe him.
Cain can’t stay with me tonight because he has a walkthrough with the contractor at his apartment early in the morning, and as I lie in bed missing him, my mind keeps wandering back to this afternoon on the beach. When he had tried to unbutton my jeans, I had protested, but even then, I knew I didn’t have a choice. I can’t say no to Cain.
I let him strip me down to my bra and panties, and I was about to let him take them off, too, when I realized that even though we had some privacy in the dunes, anyone who walked down the beach could have seen us. Slipping out of his reach, I ran to the shore, looking down the beach in both directions…
“What are you doing?” Cain asks, catching me from behind as I stand in the surf.
“Seeing if anyone’s coming,” I say as he begins kissing my neck, his arms tight around me.
“No one is coming,” he assures me. “The entire beach is mine today for miles in both directions. We could run around naked if we wanted.” Then I realize, he already is as I feel his hard cock, bare against my back. I turn around, and seeing it, I give in, pulling him to the ground in the wet sand, the chilly Pacific washing over us with each wave as we kiss.
I’m cold, and when Cain notices, he rolls onto his back, putting me on top, and with only my knees in the water now, he pulls my panties off. He slides his cock in all the way to the hilt, then lifts me and slams me down again, over and over, slow and deep as I sit upright, atop him unashamed in the bright, cloudless day. He reaches up and folds my bra down, releasing my tits, my nipples hard and tight, and as he watches me, I feel brazen. Though Cain says we have the beach to ourselves, I can see houses in the distance as I ride him with my back to the ocean, but I don’t care if we are being watched. I kind of like the idea as I lean back and put my hands on his legs to give him a better view.
