Boring.
I didn't say it out loud, but I probably didn't have to.
Ben noticed I was on pins and needles, and he wanted to talk about it. I appreciated that, but I wasn't going to tell him what really upset me. Naturally, he thought it had to do with the new development in our relationship. Like, the fact that we actually had a relationship now. Not a romantic one, strictly speaking, but it was something.
"That's all." I shrugged. "I'm just not used to being...on my toes."
"You prefer your routine," he said.
"I, uh..." Did I? That sounded so horrifically mundane. "I wouldn't say I prefer it. It's just what I'm used to."
He chuckled. "Well, that's the definition of a routine, isn't it? But we're certainly not following any kind of routine now."
There it was, again. Although I'd started out this trip by repeatedly reminding myself that none of it was real, now, I began to resent that fact. I hated being forcibly reminded of it. It wasn't that I wanted to pretend it was real, I just didn't want to think about it anymore.
"I know that," I said, irritably. "I just..."
"Jenna, hey." Ben's voice was soft, persuasive. I looked up at his face. "If you don't want to do this, we can stop. But I just want you to know it's normal for this stuff to bring up all kinds of emotions you don't expect. We spend most of our lives trying not to be vulnerable, avoiding it at all costs, and then..."
And then some kinky billionaire comes along and makes you do things you never knew you wanted.
It felt like losing headway, on a battle that was never mine to fight. I didn't want this to be political. And maybe, even if it was, I had nothing to be ashamed of. After all - this was my choice.
I'd proven that on the very first day, within minutes of our arrival. He told me that he was in control, but I knew that was just a fantasy. The moment I broke that spell, the moment I walked to the door, it was clear. I held all the cards. He only wanted this if it was given willingly.
When he first tried to argue for his altruism in all of this, I'd practically laughed in his face. But now I understood. It wasn't exactly selfless. It gratified him, but only because it gratified something in me.
There was a part of me that I never knew existed, something I'd had to suppress just to survive. I imagined most people did. The helpless part, the part that doubted, the part that just wanted to bow to someone's authority. Be a leader, not a follower. But not everyone could be a leader, all the time.
If I was going to follow somebody, I could do a lot worse than Benjamin Chase.
"I don't want to stop," I told him. "But I think we need to hash things out, before we keep doing this."
He nodded, slowly. "Right," he said. "Spontaneity's been fun, but it can always end badly." He smiled, a little sheepishly. "I just didn't want to scare you off by unrolling some big contract or checklist. It doesn't always have to be like that. We can just talk."
I cleared my throat and glanced at him. "You mean, we don't need to get it notarized?"
He smirked - meanwhile, my brain, my stupid overactive brain, couldn't help but wander to the thoughts of paperwork that did need to be notarized. Like divorce filings.
My heart twisted in my chest. Already, it felt like something inside me was breaking.
We're not even married yet.
"You brought something, didn't you?" I made a vague gesture. "You know...supplies. Toys. I don't know what you call them."
Was I imagining it, or was there some extra color in his cheeks? "I did," he said. "If you want, you could..."
"Look at them," I finished. "And we'll start there. If I have any questions, I'll just..."
"Right," he said, standing up. "I'll, uh, I'll go get them."
I stood up. "Maybe not in the living room?" I suggested, a little hesitantly.
"I don't want there to be any pressure," he said. "But if you think the bedroom won't be too, um..."
There's not a room in this house I haven't pictured you fucking me in.
I flushed. Now was not the time to have that conversation.
"It'll be fine," I promised him. "Lead on, Mr. Chase."
He glanced at me over his shoulder, with an unreadable expression. A moment later, I was following him up the stairs, trying to drag my eyes away from the tight muscles of his ass, bunching under those jeans he wore so well. I liked him best in suits, I thought, but the casual clothes were a delicious little vacation into a whole other world.
He could have made anything look good. I wondered if he'd wear an outfit I picked out for him. Did it go both ways? What if I wanted him to dress up for my fantasy - as a professor, or a priest?
My whole body instantly felt hot. Where did that come from? I didn't have any...fetishes. At least, I didn't think I did.
Still, there was no denying a nice pair of glasses, or a well-fitted cassock, looked pretty damn hot. Maybe we could talk about that later. But I was not dressing up as a nun. Maybe a naughty Catholic schoolgirl...hey, it could work in both scenarios.
Already I was starting to feel unsteady, a little tingle in the pit of my stomach warning me that this was going to escalate fast. Maybe sticking to the living room would have been a better option. We hadn't had sex there - yet. The kitchen, arguably one of the least sexy rooms of your average house, was right out. Obviously. I'd never be able to look at a stove hood again without remembering his tongue buried between my folds.
Back in reality, Ben was carefully unzipping an innocent-looking black bag that he'd plopped on the bed. I crossed my arms, in a mostly futile effort to hide the stiff peaks of my nipples. I didn't want him to think this little exercise was turning me on - no, picturing him as a professor with compromised ethics, spanking me over his desk with a ruler - that was what really lit my fire.
I wondered if he had a ruler in there.
I realized he was waiting for me, so I dug in.
Handcuffs. That was standard enough. I pulled them out and examined them - heavy, well-made. I frowned.
"These are police issue," I said, glancing up at him. He was hiding a smile behind his hand, but not very well.
"Yeah," he said. "I don't do things halfway."
Well, I could admire that. My fingers closed around something else that felt like some kind of whip or flogger, but when I brought up a handful of what I grabbed, I realized it was zip ties.
A little creepy, and not so sexy. But way less danger of losing the key. I could kind of appreciate that.
"For more realism," he explained. "They hardly use the metal handcuffs in real life anymore. Some people actually care about that kind of thing."
I snorted. "You do a lot of cop roleplay?"
It wasn't really a fantasy of mine. Then again, until earlier, I hadn't realized that I had any fantasies. This one might be a little too real-life scary for me, but I wasn't ruling it out. I knew the zip ties were technically more realistic, but they didn't really make me think cop. They made me think mafia, or...serial killer...
Holy hell, was I really more on board with a serial killer role play than a cop role play? What the hell was wrong with me?
"We don't have to...I mean, none of that is really my specialty anyway." Ben was misreading my hesitation, thinking I was already unnerved. And I was, a little - but only by the images in my own brain. "This is all stuff I like playing around with, but all I really need..." He paused, swallowing audibly. "....is you."
He was standing a little closer now, looking painfully sincere.
"That's sweet," I said. "But I know it's not entirely true. And that's okay. I'm just...there's a lot to think about. Nothing here scares me."
Not quite right. He just didn't understand what I found scary.
How could I possibly have all of these parts of myself, locked away, somewhere, for years and years - without knowing? Why had no one else ever woken it up?
What was it about this guy?
I reached in and grabbed something solid. Wooden. I knew what it was before it came out
of the bag.
A paddle. From the way he inhaled, sharply, and the way his body twitched a little, I could tell this one was important to him.
It made sense. He was into spankings, punishments, rule-following - but this really seemed like it would sting. I preferred his hand. Then again, maybe this wasn't always about what I preferred.
"Do you ever use your belt?" I heard myself ask.
"I..." He swallowed again. "For punishments? Yes. I have. Would you..."
"Might be worth trying," I said, lightly, setting the paddle aside.
I wished he would relax. I didn't like him this way, tense and watchful, embarrassed by his own interests and slightly terrified of my reactions.
"Sit down," I said. "I mean, if you...if you want to." I cleared my throat. "What I mean is, you're making me nervous, and not because of your little bag of tricks."
He let out a burst of laughter. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just - you know, this is new to me. Typically we work these things out long before anything starts."
Everything carefully regimented, carefully planned. It made things easier. I was a liability, in more ways than one.
Still, I couldn't figure out why he cared so much. As much as it made my stomach roil to think about it, I was sure he could go and find anything he absolutely needed after we were married. If I wouldn't do it, he'd find someone who would. Discretion shouldn't be an issue. There had to be a million people out there who would be in even worse-off shape than him, if anyone found out what they did in private. Plenty of people must cater to that kind of thing.
"You know, if you..." I felt bile starting to rise up my throat, and I tried again. "I don't want you to feel like you can't..."
He watched me, curiously.
I took a deep breath. "What I mean is, obviously, the terms of our arrangement don't preclude going elsewhere to have needs fulfilled. Right?" I watched his face carefully - other than a little twitch in his jaw, there was no reaction. "I mean, I won't. But you..." I clutched the edge of the bag. "You can. Obviously. Not that you need my permission."
He shook his head, finally walking to the other side of the bed and perching carefully on the edge of the mattress. "No," he said. "Too risky. That goes for both of us."
We hadn't talked about it. I honestly hadn't even considered it, because it hardly mattered one way or the other. It's not like I was going to stumble across the love of my life in the next two years. I'd be lucky if I stumbled across someone whose company I could stand for more than a few minutes, with my track record lately.
Just my luck, my fake fiance was turning out to be quite a lot of fun.
But now, I felt guilty. Anything I wouldn't agree to do with him, he'd just have to...go without? Something told me a man like Ben wasn't used to going without.
"There's no pressure," he said, quickly, as if he was following the same train of thought. "I don't want you to feel like you have to live up to some standard, just to keep me happy. I wasn't expecting any of this, so..."
"Me neither," I admitted. I reached into the bag again to cut through the awkward silence. This time it actually was a flogger, leather, I thought, feeling soft and supple on my hand. Depending on how it was wielded, I imagined it could either tickle lightly or sting like a bitch. And everything in-between.
I understood that pain could be exhilarating. I'd even experienced it a little bit myself, but I was pretty sure I couldn't be classified as a masochist. The spanking was something special.
"Are you a sadist?" I asked him.
He watched me for a moment, like he was trying to gauge my reaction before answering. "No," he said. "I just feel like the sweet tastes sweeter, once you've had something bitter."
Laughing, I reached into the bag again. "You know, I won't run for the hills if you just say yes."
"I'm not," he insisted. "It's not the pain. It's the control."
This time, I could tell he was being honest.
I found scraps of silk that could probably be used for blindfolds, or bondage. Elegant rope that was dyed deep black. There was a pair of surgical scissors, the kind that are smooth and flat on one side for safely removing bandages. Or, in this case, zip ties or bondage rope in a hurry, if needed - at least that's what I imagined.
Or...clothes?
At the bottom of the bag there were a few small things, themselves encased in little silky sacks, which made my pulse race a little bit. I picked up one of them, feeling the shape through the fabric.
A plug. I knew what that was for.
Flushing deeply, I dropped it back into the bag and reached for the last thing. Beads.
Okay, that wasn't so bad. Not something I was ready for, I thought - but still, nothing scary.
"No ball gag?" I looked up at him. He was watching me with rapt attention, but the question seemed to surprise him.
"I'd much rather use my hand," he said.
I tried very hard not to think about a scenario where he'd have to muffle me. Certainly not while he was pretending to be a priest.
Certainly not.
Careful, Father, everyone will hear...
I swallowed hard, looking back down at the implements on the bed. As luck would have it, the one fantasy I was obsessed with now didn't fit any of this. Maybe we weren't so well-aligned after all. Maybe the spanking had just been a lucky coincidence.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he urged.
Tie me up and pretend to kidnap me.
Oh, right, I had one fantasy that would make use of the zip ties. But as much as it quickened my heartbeat, I didn't know if it was a good idea. For one thing, even though I trusted him, it was pretty serious to basically lay my life in someone's hands. For another, it might scare him away.
After all this, now I was the one worried about frightening him.
"We don't have to talk about it right now," he said, finally breaking the silence. "If you need some time to think..."
"Do you ever pretend to be somebody you're not?"
I was blushing, deeply. And it was a stupid question. I'd worded it terribly.
"I mean, obviously you roleplay. As a cop, anyway. But I mean like...someone different from who you really are."
No, that was still terrible. Why couldn't I just bring myself to say it?
He was half-smiling. "I'm certainly not a cop. And I've been a priest before, if you need someone to absolve you of your sins."
Holy shit. His voice got a little deeper when he said that, and I felt heat coiling deep inside. "Well, I don't think you have the right outfit for that," I said, mortified at how husky I sounded.
His smile grew. "They don't always dress like that, you know," he said, edging closer to me. "Sometimes they just look like normal people."
My mind was racing. No, I couldn't dive into it. Not here, not now. I needed time. I needed to breathe.
Suddenly panicking, I stood up. I couldn't figure out why my brain wanted to claw its way out of my skull, but I just had to get out. Out of this room, out of this house.
By the time my tunnel vision cleared, I was on the front porch, leaning heavily on the railing. Ben must think I was insane. Or worse, he'd think that he did something wrong. Shit. Why couldn't I just be honest with him? Why couldn't I tell him what I was thinking, instead of panicking and running away?
I hated my inability to confront this. The fear, the anxiety, whatever it was.
The fear that I wasn't good enough.
That was what it was. Whenever I tried to roleplay, or perform, it triggered that fear. That inadequacy. I was so sure that my dreams would never come true, that my career ambitions were all stupid and pointless, that I couldn't even act for fun.
I had to stop running away from it.
They tell me what they don't like about themselves, and I help them fix it.
The solution to my problem was right in front of my face.
When I turned around, I half expected to see Ben standing in the doorway. But he wasn't there. Heart hammering with anticipatio
n, I went back up the stairs, finding him right where I'd left him. All of the toys were packed away, and his head was bowed, deep in thought.
I took a deep breath, walked in, and kneeled at his feet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ben
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I was so fucking stupid. Here was this girl, this completely vanilla, completely inexperienced girl, and I practically dumped a bucket of sex toys on her head. Expecting...what, exactly? That she'd instantly turn into an insatiable sex kitten?
No, I just wanted to give her a gentle introduction to my world. I didn't even care that much about any of these props, all I wanted was her sated and smiling in my arms again. However it took to get there, that was fine with me.
I didn't need ropes or cuffs, not even a paddle or a belt. If all I ever used was my hand, and I got to hear her ragged moans again, I'd never wish for anything else. How could I? She was perfect.
Just my luck, I'd chosen a pretend fiancee who melted at my touch like we were born to be together.
Why did things have to be so complicated?
After what happened in the kitchen, I knew I couldn't go back. Spending the next two years pretending to be her husband, but unable to do the things I wanted with her - utter torture. And maybe, maybe she'd still be down with vanilla sex. But that wasn't going to be enough. Not when I'd remember how she mewled and squirmed every time I spanked her.
When she first ran out of the room, I thought about following her. I ached to make sure she was okay, but at the same time, I didn't want to put any pressure on her. I split the difference and looked for her out the window, and could just barely see her on the porch, leaning out over the railing. She was still upright and she wasn't vomiting, didn't appear to be hyperventilating. Fine. So I wasn't needed.
I sat back down and packed up my stupid toys, one by one.
I expected her to come back in, eventually, probably apologize, which I would wave off. I'd put a brave smile on and tell her everything was okay. Because it was. I would make it okay. I just had to figure out what that meant, first.
I Married a Master Page 24
