Flynn, too, seemed moved beyond explanation. They stayed perfectly still like that, one inside the other, for what seemed like eternity, their breath marking time. A tear fell from her cheek, staining Flynn's shirt.
"Don't cry mo cuisla.” He whispered. “It's alright, Flynn's here."
At a snail's pace, Flynn worked his shaft in and out of her. The movement was imperceptible except to the two of them. He did not kiss or fondle her. She was locked into his gaze in a mesmerizing visual fuck. Everything they hadn't said to one another was being communicated through their eyes; the regret, the sorrow, the love. Echo felt as if he was looking into her very soul, coaxing all of her secrets from her.
She tightly shut her eyes, afraid to let him in—afraid of what he would find.
"Look at me.” Flynn said pushing his prick into her and pinning her against the wall. “Look ... at.... me. Look into my eyes, Echo, and tell me that you don't love me."
Urgently trying to control her impending orgasm, Echo's right hand flew out to grasp the edge of a shelf, toppling volumes of Byron and Browning to the floor. It was too late. Her vaginal muscles tightly gripped Flynn's cock as she quivered and climaxed.
Flynn kissed her mouth, softly like a lover. Echo felt his vulnerability; it poured into her mouth like bittersweet wine until it no longer belonged only to him, but washed over and through her until she too owned it. It wasn't a sympathetic, but rather an empathetic sensation so intense that it caused her head to whirl in a woozy fog. It was disorienting, as if she had no sense of herself as a separate being apart from him.
The desire to submit completely and utterly to him was so intense that she feared she would lose herself to him, following him blindly with no will of her own, like some pathetic zombie woman. It was too much. Even though her heart cried out for him, she felt a compulsion to break away lest she get swept up entirely.
Echo's feet found the floor, and she pushed Flynn backward, leaving him to stuff his unsatisfied erection back into his pants.
No one had ever caused this inexplicable reaction in her. The overwhelming intensity of the feelings she experienced when he was inside of her seemed different than they were before. They were frightening now in a way they hadn't been before. She had the sensation that she was a fly lured by fascination into a beautiful and mysterious spider's web that grew ever more tangled each moment she spent with him.
As much as she felt a compulsion to, she just couldn't surrender to him. It wasn't Flynn she didn't trust. It was herself she couldn't trust.
"I don't love you! I can't love you!” She hissed, hoping that in saying the words she could convince herself that they were true. She knelt trying to gather up the spilt books which only slipped from her arms and down to the floor again.
"Damn it!” she exclaimed, kicking the books with her toe.
Flynn grabbed her arm. “Echo what is wrong?"
"Go away from me, Flynn. Do us both a favor and stay away from me."
"That's my point, Echo. I am going away. After tomorrow night, I have to leave. I want to take you with me, if you'll go."
Leave ... he was leaving again? Echo's head began to swim. Here he was once more springing a surprise on her at the last minute.
"This is not a schoolyard game that you are playing. I am not like one of the meek, mewling men that you have toyed with in your past. I can take it, Echo. Whatever you think you can dish out, I can handle. And I can love you if you let me."
Echo barely heard what he was saying. All that raced through her mind was, he's leaving ... he's leaving. Isn't that what she wanted? Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn't. The lyrics from a silly old song reverberated through her brain; ever have the feeling that you wanted to stay, and yet that you wanted to go?
"H-how long will you be gone?” Echo stammered.
"I won't be coming back, Echo. I wasn't meant to stay here forever—this was only a temporary arrangement.” His gaze drifted to the floor taking Echo's heart with it.
He was leaving—permanently?
"Tomorrow is the last night. The Halloween party is my send-off. I want you to come with me. I won't pressure you for your answer right now, but at least say you will come to the party and think about going back with me.” His gaze climbed up her form until it rested upon her face. The intensity, the importance of the decision which faced her made her feel both warm and cold.
"I have something very important that I've wanted to tell you for a long time. Please say you will come and just listen to me. You can make your decision after that,” Flynn implored.
Echo wrestled with everything she was hearing. Her stomach tightened into a fist. Tears choked her throat. She didn't want to make this decision. She didn't want to make any decisions at all. In her present agitated state, she knew her judgment couldn't be trusted.
Flynn clutched her arms, shaking her. “Think, Echo. Think back on what you told me that you wanted from life—to love and to be loved. It's just that simple. Say you will come."
But it wasn't that simple. Their love had a cost she wasn't certain she was willing to pay. She wasn't the same person she had been before they met. Gradually, inexplicably, he had changed her. She had never guessed that living out her fantasy would have so many implications. What had started out as a game had turned into a life-altering journey. They couldn't go back the way they had come ... to the way it was before they had started the game. She knew she would crave the delicious pleasure of his domination and seek to recapture those feelings at every turn. She was torn between the demanding desire to submit and the fear of it.
"I don't know, Flynn, I don't know. Maybe.... maybe, okay?” Peeling his hand from her arm Echo rushed down the aisle without a backward glance, disappearing behind a soaring wall of books. Flynn pounded his fist against the window frame and watched through the glass as dried, broken leaves hurtled to the ice-covered ground below.
* * * *
Bewildered, Echo shielded herself from the howling October wind that pushed through the open library door. Shivering with cold and confusion, she gazed at the bleak, grey sky.
Just when she thought she might be able to go on without him, he had shown up and fucked with her heart again. He had reignited the feelings between them and now he was leaving for good. What was she supposed to do with this information?
"Excuse me, miss. I think you dropped this."
A dir ty hand held a small book out to her. Echo recognized the vagrant that had been napping in the library. She dismissed him smartly. She was in no mood for crazy today. She was already stocked up.
"No, you are mistaken. That's not mine."
"Pardon me, miss, but I saw you drop it. And, look, you even marked a page with this party invitation.” The man opened the book to where a single piece of white card stock marked a passage.
Echo was about to disregard the vagrant again, then she saw it—the invitation from Flynn stared at her from the printed page. How could this possibly be? That wasn't her book.
She looked back towards the library. It would be just like Flynn to set this up and then be lurking around, watching her reaction. He probably paid the man to bring it out to her. He knew it would freak her out enough to leave a lasting impression. But for some inexplicable reason he must want her to be in possession of this book.
"Oh yes, that is my book after all,” she lied. “Thank you for bringing it to me."
"It's okay.” He placed the book in her hands. “Would you happen to have some spare change? I sure could use a cup of coffee."
"Sure, sure,” said Echo, digging in her purse. “Here's a ten. Get yourself a hot meal too.” The drifter nodded in gratitude, and shuffled into the driving wind.
* * * *
At home, Echo carelessly threw the book on her bed and showered the scent of Flynn from her body.
With every cell of her being, she wanted to be with him. Yet, knowing that she depended on him so completely for her happiness put her in a place of such great vuln
erability that it frightened her.
She wondered if he could be her Master. She wondered if she could submit to him enough to allow him that place in her life.
Could she be with him, submit to him and still retain the essence of who she was? Or by submitting would she lose herself? Was it possible that in submitting to his direction she would find a new way of being, so that she could settle into a peaceful coexistence with him where she no longer struggled with the notions of independence that had been so strongly imprinted on her brain?
As she massaged shampoo into her hair, she sighed. It had all seemed so simple—a fun and exciting foray into forbidden pleasure. She had never imagined that it would affect her so deeply, that it would seep into every aspect of her life. The memories of their time together rolled through her mind once again. Those few hours when she had been able to drop her guard, and just be in the moment with him were pure delight. So why couldn't she feel like that all of the time? Why did she struggle and fight it so?
When she was in his arms, she was filled with a sense of security and protection. When she wasn't in his presence, she felt the lure of him clutching at her like a captor.
The connection between them today had been all-consuming. She feared it might swallow her up entirely. It had spooked her so thoroughly that she hadn't even apologized to him. He had given her the perfect opportunity to tell him how she felt, and her damn angst and pride wouldn't allow it. She had even denied her love. Shame at the remembered cruelty of her words crept through her and settled into her being. No wonder he thought she only wanted his body. Her behavior in the library had illustrated that to perfection.
He was leaving. He hadn't even told her exactly where they would be going if she went with him. But did where really matter? Did anyone ever know where they would end up? Plenty of couples sacrifice the life they know for the relaionship. In the end, all that matters is that they are together.
The doubts in her mind had nothing to do with whether she loved him or not. She had thought on nothing else for weeks. That she loved him was the only thing she was certain of. But did she love him enough to lay down her self-importance and apprehension—to put her heart into his hands and risk everything for him?
Could she give him what he needed? She wasn't certain that she even knew what he needed. Hell, she hadn't ever thought to ask. What did he obtain from her submission? He wasn't by nature the tyrannical type. It was clear he preferred to spoil her with kindness rather than punish her. There was no cruel streak that ran through his bones and he certainly didn't need a woman groveling at his feet to feel like a man. He possessed more masculinity in his little finger than many men had in their entire bodies. So what, after all, did he need from her?
Freshly showered, she sat on her bed and held the book in her hands. It was a collection of poetry by Alexander Pushkin. Echo slipped her feet under the cool sheets, opening the volume to the marked page.
"No, never think, my dear, that in my heart I treasure
The tumult of the blood, the frenzied gusts of pleasure,
Those groans of hers, those shrieks; a young Bacchante's cries,
When writhing like a snake in my embrace she lies,
And wounding kiss and touch, urgent and hot, engender
The final shudderings that consummate surrender.
How sweeter far are you, my meek, my quiet one,
By what tormenting bliss is my whole soul undone
When, after I have long and eagerly been pleading,
With bashful graciousness to my deep need conceding,
You give yourself to me, but shyly, turned away
To all my ardors cold, scarce heeding what I say,
Responding, growing warm, oh, in how slow a fashion,
To share, unwilling, yet to share at last my passion!"
Echo read the poem again. A realization dawned in her mind. The verses spoke of surrender. He didn't just want her body; he wanted her heart and her soul, entrusted to him willingly. He needed to be needed. He needed her to recognize that he was strong and dependable, and protective. It was the essence of his manhood.
He loved her best when she yielded to him and she had been bucking him at every turn, selfishly thinking only of herself, relying on her own judgment and never truly giving herself wholly to him. Flynn was standing with open arms, waiting to embrace her willing surrender. Her heart awakened to the confirmation that this wasn't a game that could be played with and forgotten. It was an all or nothing proposition.
A Celebration of Submission
"Hey Flynn,” King Arthur called out, “There's a naked girl kneeling on your porch!"
Flynn, who was brooding in the corner, looked towards the door in alarm. A naked girl ... could the guests be that drunk already?
Flynn pushed his way through the crowd of costumed revelers and made his way to the door. Nude, with hands bound in front of her, Echo knelt, shivering in a skiff of snow.
She had come! His heart sang victorious at the sight of her. Perhaps a little too victorious—he hadn't asked her for this extreme demonstration. He had only hoped she would consider his invitation and give him one last chance. His eyes drifted to her hands and the red satin ribbon that bound them.
"Jaysus, Mary and Joseph,” Flynn muttered under his breath, “I've created a monster."
Well, she certainly knew how to make an entrance. What in the hell can she be thinking, coming out in this blasted weather naked as the day she was born?
"Stand up lass,” said Flynn, whipping off his black satin cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. “It's cold enough out here to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!"
Masked faces craned their necks around corners to stare at the unclothed woman trembling in the frigid air. Someone shouted, “Alright! Flynn hired strippers!"
Christ how am I going to handle this one? He had to act fast, a crowd was forming.
"Don't be daft lad.” said Flynn, thinking on his feet. “Can't you see this girl thought this was a birthday party, so she came in her suit? Now make way, so I can get this creature out from the cold!"
He didn't give a tinker's tit what the guests thought. He was so thrilled that Echo had arrived, even if she had done it in a very unconventional fashion, that his usually steady hands were trembling with the earthquake of his excitement. When she left him at the library yesterday, his hopes of ever seeing her again had crumbled. Now his despair was washing away as the hope of renewal sprang in his chest. The worry that had lined his face gave way to a broad smile which he was powerless to subdue.
He rubbed her arms briskly with his hands. She was icy cold. He needed to get her through the crowd and into his room where he could warm her up and he had to find out what was going on in her head.
The curious throng parted. Their eyes followed Echo as Flynn guided her down the hallway and up the staircase to his bedroom.
Locking the door behind them, Flynn motioned to the low stool. “Sit,” he said.
This woman was more dramatic than he was. All in all, he thought they made quite a pair. He wondered whether she was trying to shock him or whether she was making some other statement that he was at a loss to understand.
Echo sat on the stool, her eyes lowered. The blood red ribbon contrasted starkly against her blue-white flesh. Flynn drew a small knife from his pocket and cut the ribbon, freeing her wrists.
Stepping back, he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. Echo had not uttered a single word, or even raised her eyes.
"Have you lost your mind, girl? What's this all about?” Flynn gestured at her nakedness, only partly covered now by his cloak.
Echo remained silent, her cheeks flushing red and her lip quivering. Flynn recognized the signs. She was on the verge of tears ... again. Lord help him, what had he done to her? He got down on one knee and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"Are you on drugs? What is it? Speak to me, Echo!"
Echo's eyes met his. There
was such a look of sadness in them that Flynn could scarcely bear it. A leaden oppression, with the immovable weight of a stone monolith descended on him, suffocating his heart. This was her farewell scene.
"The invitation said, explore your innermost desires, and to dress accordingly. This is what I desire—to kneel before you, stripped of everything I used to be."
The sound of laughter filtered up the stairway. Echo glanced over at the door.
"Forget about them,” Flynn said dismissively. “Right here ... you and me ... that's all that matters.” Once he had her full attention, Flynn was able to probe further.
"So, you think I want you to kneel to me? Naked as a newborn?"
"It's symbolic, Flynn ... symbolic!” She rolled her eyes.
"Symbolic ... yes ... of course ... I see that now.” He had a vague notion of what she was getting at, but didn't want to engender any further frustration from her by demonstrating his ignorance. Why couldn't women be more like men and just say what they meant? As long as he lived, Flynn decided that he would never understand women—especially this one.
"I wanted to show you that I come to you willingly, open and without pretense. I bound my hands in a symbol of submission to you. I couldn't think of any other way to tell you that I love you and if you'll have me, I will go anywhere you go."
All the cells in his body sprang to life as if his whole self had broken out in a joyous song. She was going with him! All he had really needed was to hear her intention, not this grand ill-conceived gesture. Flynn took Echo's cold body in his arms.
The Stir of Echo Page 13
