by Linnea May
Writing just comes easy to me. It is something that I am good at and that I can do in a very efficient way. Taking over freelancing jobs for all kinds of ghostwriting tasks was just a way for me to test the water. To see, if I could actually be good at this on a professional level.
But I have only done a handful of jobs and didn’t earn more than a little extra allowance that made my life a little easier, but in no way came to close to financing it.
“No,” I reply. “No, I don’t have a novel in me. No stories to tell. I feel like everything I could say has already been said before - and a lot better than I ever could.”
“You might be right about that,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
I free myself from his hug and turn around, frowning at him as the unsettled water swashes around us.
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
His words hurt me. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but it felt like a stab in the heart. His assumption that I actually am as boring and vacuous as I often feel.
He just shrugs. “All the prejudices you threw at me when we first met - they weren’t exactly creative or unheard of, you know. Maybe it’s the same when you try to tell a story.”
“I never tried,” I object. “I just know that there is nothing there.”
“Oh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Now, that is even worse.”
“Not necessarily,” I say. “I just don’t want to waste my time on something that is fruitless.”
He gives me that stern look I have seen so often by now. His dominant face that is usually followed by an order of some sort.
And I react just as I always do - with silent anticipation. I wouldn’t mind a third round. It would certainly be more fun than this intrusive conversation we are having right now.
“I want you to do something for me,” he says, his voice strong and deep, allowing no objections.
I love that voice, and I love that face. And my body is not shy of showing it. I tense up, looking at him with big, expectant eyes while my heart skips beats just at the thought of what might follow.
“Yes, Sir,” I say to show my awareness of the turn we have taken.
I can see the hint of a smirk fleeing across his face in reaction to my words. So I am sensing this right. We will play again.
We are about to act out the specific dynamic that this relationship is defined by.
And we are. But not in the way I expected.
CHAPTER IV
“I want you to write something down until the next time we see each other,” he says.
My heart sinks with disappointment - and confusion.
“What?” I ask, cocking my eyebrows.
“Two things,” he continues. “One: I want you to think about what it really is that makes you write. What do you want to achieve with it? Do you think you could make a living from it? If so, how and-”
“Listen,” I interrupt him. “I know you mean well, but I don’t need another college counselor who tells me that I just need to find myself and realize what my priorities are-”
“I am not your counselor,” he says. “I am your Dom. And if you want to be mine as you said you do, I would want you to let me help you the way I can and the way I want to.”
“But-”
“No but, Nicky,” he interrupts, casting me a loving smile. “It is part of being mine. I told you I like to take care of you. And this is one way for me to do it.”
I look at him, cocking my eyebrows with suspicion again. “You are very… stubborn. And possessive.”
He nods. A hint of sadness flees across his face when he looks down for a moment, whispering: “Yes. I have heard that before.”
I gulp. I don’t like seeing him like this.
“Sheila?” I assume.
He looks back at me, his face unreadable. I am probably right. It must have been her.
“Is that why she left you?” I blurt out. “Because she couldn-”
“Two,” he interrupts, completely ignoring my question. “I want you to come up with a story. It doesn’t have to be long or well thought through. Just an idea, a scene, a certain setting with one or two characters.”
I look at him, narrowing my eyes. Okay, so this is his way of letting me know that he does not want to talk about these things.
But I won’t let him get away that easily. And he should know that.
“Okay,” I say. “I will do what you asked me to.”
He smiles. “What do I want you to reply when I tell you to do something?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say.
“Good girl.”
His hands reach for me below the mountains of foam that are still surrounding us. He embraces my waist and pulls me closer, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“I will ask you again, you know,” I whisper. “About Sheila.”
“I know you will,” he says. “You are stubborn, too.”
We are leaving the hotel together this time, but not in the same car, because he has to go “somewhere”. He won’t tell me where exactly, just that it is in the opposite direction of where I am living.
“That’s why my driver can’t take you home this time,” he explains.
“It’s okay, I can take the bus,” I reply while I am putting my pants back on.
He laughs. “Oh, no, you’re not taking the bus. I called you a cab.”
“But I-”
“I should spank you for every ‘but’ that leaves your lips,” he says, glancing at me with that stern yet playful dominant face.
I smirk at him.
“Alright,” I say. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for calling me a cab.”
“That’s better,” he says coming closer to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Good girl.”
He looks down at me and gently tilts my head to the side with one finger, observing my neck.
“You should probably cover that up,” he says.
I instinctively lift my hand and place it on the spot he just looked at. One of the spots where he had bitten me before. I can fell a slight sensation of pain when I put my hand on it, but other than that they are not noticeable at all to me. I had completely forgotten about them.
I turn around and rush over to the big mirror next to the door of our room to check myself.
They are clearly visible, both of them. I have hickeys on both sides of my neck, and they promise to only turn darker. My skin is so damn sensitive, it’s no surprise I look like I have been bitten by a vampire.
Luckily, they are both placed rather low on my neckline, so it won’t be too hard to cover them up for work with a light scarf.
Unfortunately though, I do not have any kind of scarf with me at the moment. Now, I am really grateful for Evan’s command to take the cab he has ordered for me.
And despite the ridicule that I am sure I will have to face at home, the marks do make me kind of proud. They were done by him, only proof of much he claims me to be his. His girl, his submissive.
I blush and smile at myself.
His eyes are on me again and I am sure that none of it goes unnoticed by him, my blushing cheeks, my complacent smile.
He approaches me, placing his hands on my shoulders as he is standing behind me. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and both of our faces display that same, silly face of infatuation.
“We have to go,” he says with a soft voice. “Our cars are waiting for us.”
“I have nothing to cover this up,” I remark.
“Well,” he says. “I guess then everybody will have to see that you are mine, won’t they?”
He leans down and plants soft kisses on each of my dark marks. I flinch at first, fearing that he is about to add another one. But his gentle gesture is the complete opposite to his rather brute behavior earlier.
I love this contrast. He keeps me on my toes. I don’t think I will get bored with Evan any time soon.
And boy, will I be right about that part.
We finish getting ready and head out the door. Evan looks just as hand
some and cleaned up as he did when we met, while my appearance can only be described as halfway presentable. My hair is a mess, my make-up has suffered badly from all the tears and our bath and I sport two beautiful hickeys on my neck.
Everything about me screams ‘walk-of-shame’, while Evan still looks dressed to the nines.
“So unfair,” I comment as we reach the elevator. “You turned me into a freaking mess, while you’re still looking like this!”
He gives me a naughty look from the side.
“You look perfect,” he says. “You have no idea how beautiful you look to me right now. If I could, I would take you right back to the room and show you how beautiful you are.”
The doors open and we enter the elevator - me with a silly smile on my face. What an incorrigible charmer he is. And I never would have thought that it would work on me as well as it does.
We have the elevator to ourselves, and of course, as soon as the doors close, he has me pinned against the wall again, claiming me with another kiss while he holds my hands in place above my head.
I moan, pushing my lower body against his as our tongues intertwine in wild, yearning motions. Theses kisses. These desperate attempts to become one, to eat each other up. I have never been kissed like this before.
He lets go of me just in time before we reach the first floor and the doors open to invite us into the hotel’s lobby.
“Convinced?” he asks.
“Mhm,” I make.
I am breathing heavily and I am sure my hair is even messier now than it was before. But now, Evan I share one feature: his cheeks are just as blushed as mine are.
He turns around quickly, taking my hand as he rushes out of the elevator. We pace through the lobby as if we are being chased. I hurry to follow his big decisive steps - and flinch in surprise when he yanks my hand away as if it was poisonous.
“What is-”
“Fuck,” he interrupts.
He stares ahead of us to the entrance of the hotel. At first, I have no idea what he might be seeing there that is so shocking. But then I realize.
Photographers. Paparazzi.
I don’t really make the connection at first, but my heart almost stops when they see us and instantly raise their cameras to take pictures.
“Are they waiting for you?” I gasp. “How come you haven’t told me-”
“I had no idea,” he says without looking at me. “Just go to your car as quickly as possible. Don’t look at them and don’t talk to them. Your cab is the one on the right there - just get inside as quickly as possible.”
“Um, okay-”
“And you might want to cover your neck with your hair as good as you can,” he adds.
Easier said than done. My hair is long enough to do that and I immediately brush most of it up to the front - but I know it won’t stay there for long as it is too rebellious to ever go along with any of my plans.
“I’ll go first,” he says. “You follow and then rush to your cab. Don’t linger, don’t look back.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t this a little-”
“Go!” he says, rushing forward.
I sigh and hurry behind him, comfortably hiding behind his back as he marches through the glass doors.
It is then that I realize why Evan made such a big deal about me stopping and waiting around for too long. As soon as he steps out the door, the group of photographers - a lot more than I realized before - close in on him, and then on us as soon as I follow through the door behind him.
I freeze for a split second before the frenzy of camera flashes starts and chases me away. Despite my initial shock and motionless stiffness, he does not have to tell me twice to get out of here.
“Damn,” I hiss as I try to get out of their reach, heading towards the cab that is waiting for me on the right side of the door. Luckily, it is parked only a few steps away from us.
I follow Evans command and jump into the car without even looking back once to check how many cameras may have followed me.
The driver appears to be completely unfazed by what is happening outside and languidly turns around to ask me where I am going.
I tell him my address and let out a big sigh of relief when we take off.
Even while the car is rapidly gaining distance between me and the crazy horde at the hotel’s entrance - I do not dare to look back even once.
CHAPTER V
“Damn!”
Damn indeed. Yuka has always been good at summarizing even the most outrageous or weird things that happen to either her or others. Of course, she was right there waiting for me when I returned home that night.
She greeted me with a mischievous smile the moment I walked into our apartment, ready to squeeze out every little detail of my meeting with Evan - and noticing the hickeys right away. It was just the kind of welcome I had expected.
Two days have passed since then.
I am recapping the evening in my mind while I absentmindedly wipe tables at the burger restaurant that currently provides my main income. This week will be tough for many reasons, and one of them is the fact that I am swamped with a bunch of really inconvenient shifts here. I have been working less the week before and not at all during the weekend - the shifts with the best pay. I have to catch up if I want to be able to pay my rent this month.
It is still early and rather quiet, giving me way too much time to think about the events of two days ago.
I didn’t tell Yuka all the details she wanted to know, but luckily, she was easy to overlook that fact, because the most exciting part of my story - our departure from the hotel - was by far the most enticing aspect of it all.
“Oh my god, you’re going to famous now!” she exclaimed.
“You’re saying that as if it was something good,” I noted and she just laughed, continuing to make jokes about me joining the celebrity ranks, just because I have slept with the right man.
“Right man?” I asked. “Wrong man, I’d say.”
I paused for a moment, regretting my words. Calling Evan the ‘wrong man’ when everything felt so right every time we were together doesn’t seem to be fair.
My feelings towards him are growing stronger with every new page I turn - in both directions. The ambivalence is getting bigger, I feel drawn and pushed away at the same time.
“Well,” I eventually added with a low voice. “I don’t know what to think. About him being right or wrong for me…”
At that point, Yuka actually got serious for a moment and looked at me with sincere concern.
“You really like him, don’t you?” she asked.
I nodded.
Yes, I do like him. I feel comfortable with him and I have never wanted to please someone as much as I want to please him. Seeing him happy has become a greater satisfaction to me than I ever anticipated.
But how could I deal with this? With all the secrecy, his growing possessiveness, while he is still more than unwilling to let me in on himself a little more. His arrogance towards my life and his own. His intrusive demands and the fact that he is giving me homework now. Homework that I have to finish before seeing him again.
Whenever that will be.
We hardly talked since that abrupt departure from the hotel. He wrote me a text right away when I was still in the cab that brought me home, asking whether I was okay. And I told him I was. He apologized for what happened.
And I told him it was okay.
But was it, really? After the initial shock has passed, I actually feel ambushed, betrayed almost. Did he know that there would be paparazzi waiting outside the hotel? It didn’t seem like he did. But maybe that was all show? It certainly wasn’t the first time for him to run into something like this. Could he not have anticipated it?
And why did they show up in the first place? Why was there any interest in him at this point? The tabloid article was published this month, but it seems so mundane and unimportant to me. What is Evan up to right now? Did it have something to do with the appointment he �
�canceled’ that night?
So many questions, but very few have been directed at him, because I know that he will be reluctant to answer them.
The only thing he wants me to believe is that he really didn’t know that they would be there - and that he was just as surprised as I was.
“That teaches me for using the same hotel for too long, I guess,” was one of his last messages.
Using the same hotel for what? His sexual exploits? How many women has he had there, in that same room? We never talked about being exclusive - which is nothing that would usually concern me after meeting someone just twice. But I feel very uncomfortable, thinking that I might just be one of many. Of little value for him. Disposable.
I would hate to be that kind of woman.
Until now, he has not asked to see me again - and neither have I. I will be busy anyways, but I am also unsure on what to make of the things that happened. I met him that day to talk, to clear some of the secrets surrounding him - and I left confronted with even more.
And with more affection for him.
“Fuck!” I cry out as I accidently drop a tray full of dirty dishes that I just collected from one of the tables.
The few customers who are eating here at this time grant me with a round of applause as the dishes shatter on the ground beneath me. I jump aside in time to save my foot from being hit by a knife - just to slip a second later, twirling my arms in the air as I gracefully plant my ass on the floor next to the shattered dishes.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I repeat, close to tears.
Fuck this! Fuck Evan for doing this to me. I could laugh about all of this and write him off as just another sexy adventure - if he hadn’t captured me the way he did.
I feel manipulated.
I don’t want to think about him every fucking second of the day. I don’t want to do his stupid homework and I don’t want to be photographed while leaving a hotel with him while he tells me to run off and hide like a dirty little secret.
Is he ashamed of me? He could have handled the situation so much better. Why did he not tell them to just fuck off, put his arm around me and protect me from their intrusive behavior.
Instead he distanced himself from me and told me to get lost as quickly as possible.
