by Renee Rose
He’s characteristically hard to read.
“I got wet when you were defending her,” I murmur in his ear.
Pavel’s arm loops around my back. A muscle moves in his jaw. “This has been hard for you—our relationship.”
“It hasn’t,” I answer immediately. “It’s not.”
“There are consequences for lying, blossom.”
He’s right. It is hard—but not in the way he thinks. What’s hard is the rollercoaster of closeness and cleaving. Peeling myself off the floor every Monday after he goes back home.
A home where he lives with people who know him infinitely better than I do.
What’s hard is knowing it’s all temporary—even what little we have. He’s moving to Russia and leaving me behind.
And for some reason, that ending—which seemed far enough away when he told me, now feels like it’s hurtling closer and closer. Because the more I fall in love, the more terrified I become about our inevitable end.
16
Pavel
Monday I set up an appointment with a realtor in L.A. to look at apartment buildings and spend all day researching rent prices and crunching numbers. Kayla fills my mind the entire time, but it’s not the usual mental snapshots of Kayla. All the moments over the weekend where she burned my retinas with her incredible beauty.
Today, I’m thinking more about the totality of Kayla. Her friends, her career, her life. Until I saw her working that promotion and heard her roommate’s judgment of our relationship, I hadn’t known what I didn’t know. I hadn’t bothered to insert myself into Kayla’s life, I’d just borrowed her from hers.
And now, I think I’m going to move to Los Angeles, and it’s all going to work out fine? No, last night showed me I have some work to do. Work in areas I know jack shit about. But I’ll figure it the fuck out. That’s what I do.
My phone rings, and I look at the screen. I’m surprised to see it’s Kayla. We don’t call each other much—especially not during the day. It’s usually for bedtime phone sex and a virtual tuck-in.
A bump of concern raises in my mind as I answer. “Hello beautiful.”
Kayla sniffs. My fingers clench into a fist, and the hand holding the phone nearly crushes it.
“What happened?” If it’s Ensign, I will kill the fucker by nightfall.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just...sub drop, I think.”
Fuck. We hadn’t even played that hard yesterday. After sleeping in, I’d tied her up, spanked her a little. Made her come a dozen times, and then I had to head to the airport to come back here. She hadn’t cried. I hadn’t pushed her pain limits or endurance.
“Oh malysh. I wish I was there to hold you.” Desperation to make those tears stop has me up and pacing around my bedroom. “Has this happened before?”
Another sniff. “Yes. Mondays are hard for me. Not usually this bad, though. That’s why I called. I just needed to hear your voice.”
My chest burns like my lungs are being ripped out. I had no idea she was going through this.
“Where are you?”
“In my room. I never got out of bed today. I need to get it together, though, because I’m supposed to go to the studio tonight to meet some of the cast.”
“Have you eaten, blossom?”
Another sniff. “No.”
“Okay. Your brain chemistry needs balancing. Get out of bed, little flower.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is still teary, but I hear her moving.
“Go and turn on the shower nice and hot.” I wait until I hear the water running. “Now I want you to take a shower, get dressed and make yourself some lunch. Or breakfast. Whatever you feel like. Call me when you’re done.”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.”
“Thank you, Master.”
I hang up and throw my phone at the wall. It bounces off and lands on the floor with another few bounces. I ignore it and pace around the room, stabbing my fingers through my hair.
Dammit.
I am bad for Kayla.
No wonder her roommates think there’s something wrong with our relationship. If our time together leaves her crying and depressed afterward, it can’t be right. I am no better than my father. Yes, our play may be consensual, but I’m a monster, just the same. I like to hurt the woman I love. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I pick up my phone and grab my coat. Without talking to Ravil, without telling anyone I’m leaving, I walk out.
My little slave needs me, and that’s all that matters.
Kayla
* * *
I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for myself and pour a glass of milk. Total comfort food. I sit at the table and force myself to take a bite of the sandwich then swallow the sticky bite down with a gulp of milk.
“Are you sick?” Ashley asks, coming into the kitchen.
“No.” I instantly start crying again.
“Oh shit,” she says, abandoning her foray into the refrigerator to fly over to the table and sit beside me. “What’s wrong? Did you and Pavel break up?”
I shake my head. “No. I just miss him.”
She studies me. “This long-distance thing is tearing you apart, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think it’s just sub-drop, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, during an intense BDSM scene, all these endorphins and feel-good chemicals dump, and you get the high from it. But sometimes it causes a big drop afterward. It takes a while for your body to reboot and balance things. Pavel’s usually there to hold me and feed me a little chocolate or a meal and cuddle me until I feel better. But sometimes it hits after he’s gone, and I’m just… depressed.”
“Oh, baby. This isn’t good, Kayla. Don’t you have your first meeting at the studio tonight?”
“I know,” I moan. “That’s why I’m trying to get it together.”
“You will,” she promises, even though I see sympathy and concern bleeding through her expression. “I’m sure you will. But… you can’t let this relationship affect your career. It’s already taken over your life—I mean we never even see you here any more. When you are here, you’re holed up in your room having phone sex with him. And this whole concept of giving over all your control to him—I just don’t get it.”
I stand from the table, my sandwich uneaten. Ashley might not be making me feel better, but she is pissing me off, which is better than being depressed. “I know you don’t get it. None of you do, and it’s making everything harder for me!” I exclaim. Yes, I may be wallowing in a bit of self-pity at the moment.
“Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I swear I’m not criticizing. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” She pulls me back, and because I’m already falling apart, I fall into her arms for a hug.
“I’m okay. I’m happy with Pavel. I know it doesn’t seem that way right now, but I am. We’re getting closer. It’s more than just sex now. I think that may actually be why this is getting harder.”
“Because he can’t be your boyfriend?” she asks gently.
I bristle. “He is my boyfriend. He just can’t be here. And he’s moving to Russia.” My shoulders sag.
“I don’t know, Kay. From the outside, it really seems like this thing is hurting you.”
I wipe my tears. “It’s not.” I draw in a terraced breath.
“Promise me something?”
“What?” I ask.
“That you’ll draw a line at this affecting your career.”
“It won’t.”
“Promise me now. If it does, you’ll end things. I don’t want to see you throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“I promise.” Pavel would never interfere with my career. He knows how much it means to me.
My phone on the table dings with a text, and I walk over to look at it. It’s from Pavel. I’m waiting.
I hear the words in his dommy voice, the one that turns me aflutter. I pick up my sandwich and
eat the whole thing while I stand there, not caring that Ashley’s still watching me. “Pavel said I had to eat,” I explain.
“Well, good,” Ashley says. “I’m glad he’s looking out for you.”
I nod, relieved that I’d decided to call him. I didn’t want to seem clingy or desperate or weird, but I also just… needed him. When I finish my sandwich, I gulp down the milk and call him.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
“Yes, Master,” I murmur, ducking my head and mumbling so Ashley won’t hear, even though they’ve overheard me before.
“Good girl. How are you feeling now?”
“A little better.”
“I want you to put some shoes on and get outside for a walk.”
“Um, okay.” I say, heading into my room to pull on a pair of sneakers. I throw on my jean jacket and head to the door. “All right, I’m heading out.”
“Good. I’m going to walk with you, blossom, and I want you to tell me what you see. What’s beautiful out there on your walk—besides you?”
I laugh softly, already starting to feel soothed. “Oh. Um… okay. Well, right now I’m in the elevator.”
“What’s beautiful?”
What’s beautiful… in an elevator? I look around, seeing it with a new lens. “Well, it’s clean. Pretty basic. But it always runs well. It smells like lemons.”
“Like lemons?”
“Yeah. Must be the cleaner. But it’s nice.” The elevator doors open, and I walk outside. “There’s a palm tree in front of my building, and it dropped some of its bark. I stop over the piece of bark and stare down at it. “It’s in the shape of a heart.” I tilt my head. “Actually, it kind of looks like a bodice that’s been ripped open by a lover.”
“Mmm. A rough lover.”
“Yes.” I walk on, looking around for something else to report. I notice the concrete planter boxes at the end of the sidewalk and walk over to examine the plants there.
“You like it rough, malysh?”
“Yes.” I finger the green striped leaf of the trailing plant that grows inside, contrasting with the purple leaves of a wandering Jew. I walk on, looking at a woman pushing a stroller across the street. “I see a toddler with pink pants and kicking feet,” I report. “And tiny Crocs on her feet.”
“Hmm. What else?”
“A jacaranda tree. My favorite.”
“What does it look like?
“It has beautiful purple flowers. They’re in bloom now.”
We continue on our walk, me seeking out and naming all the beautiful things in my neighborhood, until I loop back around the block in front of my place.
“How do you feel now, blossom?”
“Better,” I say. It’s true. I do. I’m calm and steady now. The act of looking for beauty, or maybe just noticing the world around me instead of the turmoil inside, brought me peace. I may not be my usual Energizer Bunny self, but I certainly feel grounded.
“What time do you need to go to the studio?”
“Not until this evening. They’re filming today but wanted me to stop by for a cast meeting at six.”
“What can you do to make yourself feel good this afternoon?”
I lean into the question to feel for an answer. “I think I’ll go get groceries. And maybe clean my room.”
“Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Text me when you’re finished with those things.”
A puff of warmth fills my chest. “I will. Pavel?”
“Yes, little flower?”
“Thank you.”
“YA lyublyu vas.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I love you.” He ends the call before I can respond. I hold the phone to my chest, eyes filling with tears.
This can’t be wrong, what we have together.
I know it’s not wrong.
Pavel
Where are you, Pavel? You are in deep shit with me.
I ignore Ravil’s text and ring the bell of Kayla’s fourth floor apartment. I should have visited her in her own apartment before today. That fact makes me grit my teeth with self-disgust as I wait for an answer. It’s yet another indicator that I am ill-equipped to be a boyfriend.
Kimberly answers, and she’s not impressed with my arrival. Not that I expected her to be. She cocks a hip and surveys me, tossing her long dark hair over one shoulder. “Dude, she does not need this distraction right now.”
I push past her and into their living room, looking around at the cluttered but friendly space.
“You know she’s supposed to go to the studio tonight, right? For her new part?”
I ignore her. “Kayla.” I don’t raise my voice, don’t put a question mark on the end. That’s not my style.
A door bursts open. “Pavel!”
The two seconds it takes her to sprint across the room and wrap those slender legs around my waist take all the oxygen from the room. I squeeze her tight, closing my eyes and breathing in her spring meadow scent.
“Blossom,” I murmur.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to make sure you were okay. Are you?”
She lifts her face from where it’s buried in my neck. “I am now.”
“Thank fuck.” I walk her back into her bedroom and kick the door shut behind us. “Let me see you.” I lay her on the bed. She looks like a goddess with her hair curled in soft waves and make-up that gives her a fresh dewy look. “You look beautiful, blossom. Are you ready for your meeting tonight?” I try to lower her to her feet, but she keeps clinging to me like a koala bear. So damn adorable.
“Yes.”
“How long do you have before you have to leave?”
“Long enough for you to remind me who I belong to.”
I chuckle. An honest-to-goodness laugh. Because those words are like music to my ears. But I’m not going to dominate her today. She’s had enough of that. This afternoon I’m going to do something I’ve never done before—make love to her.
I kick off my shoes and climb over her, melding my mouth to hers. “You already know who you belong to,” I whisper, lightly wrapping my hand around her throat, my thumb caressing the front of it. “Don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I don’t need to remind you.” I lay a trail of kisses down the side of her neck and across her collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. “I need to reward you.”
She lets out a soft sigh as I slide a hand under her shirt and bra to cup her breast. I lightly thumb her nipple. “I haven’t rewarded you enough, have I?”
She makes a little humming sound.
I tug her shirt off over her head and unsnap her bra in the back. “Have I, blossom?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“What kind of rewards do you like?” I unbutton her skinny jeans and slide them off her legs then grasp the sides of her panties and lay a kiss on her mound before I start to slowly draw them down.
“You.” She reaches her fingertips down to graze mine before I’m out of her reach. “Just you, Pavel.”
I toss the panties on the floor with the other clothes and slide my hands behind her knees to lift them. “So spa time misses the mark.”
“I liked that, too. I like everything you do.”
“Not everything,” I challenge as I lower my head between her legs and lick into her.
She gasps, legs squeezing around my shoulders, pelvis shooting up off the bed. I pin her down and slowly trail the tip of my tongue around the insides of her labia.
“Everything,” she insists. It’s a lie, but I’ll let her believe it for the moment. It’s her fantasy, why poke holes in it?
I find her clit and circle it with my tongue, then use my finger to rub it as I move up to suck her nipple. “How do you want to come, little flower?” I ask as I leave one nipple to suck the other. “On my fingers? On my tongue?” I don’t usually leave these choices up to her—that’s part of our game, but today
I want to be the one to serve. Hearing her crying this morning ripped a hole in the fabric with which I’ve woven this fantasy of ours. The need to fix what I’ve done, to heal what’s torn is more important to me than anything. Today, I only want to pleasure my beautiful slave, to make her feel good.
“On your cock, Master.”
“You need me inside you?”
“Yes, please?”
I delay my own pleasure, stroking and kissing every inch of her skin before I finally free my rock hard erection and give her what she needs. What we both need.
When it’s over, I shower her with more kisses, then get a damp washcloth to clean her up. “Feel better, little flower?”
“Yes. Much better.”
“Good. Let’s get you ready for your meeting at the studio. Can I drive you there? What can I do to help?”
She climbs off the bed and accepts the clothing I hand her, piece by piece from the floor. “Are you staying the night?”
I hesitate, my phone with Ravil’s text smoking up my phone. I need to square things away with him—find out his terms for letting me move. Then I can be with Kayla full time. We won’t have the violence of ripping apart and stitching ourselves back together week after week. “I’ll see if I can. I will stay until after your meeting for certain. I know there’s a late flight out of here.”
“Yay,” she says softly, pulling on the designer jeans and pretty shirt.
“Now, what about food?” I tip my head to the door. “May I take you out?”
Her smile could light a stadium at night. “Yes. We’ll have to keep it short, but that would be perfect. Then you could drop me off at the studio.”
Ravil can wait. Right now, all that matters is Kayla.
17
Kayla
A young, beautiful studio assistant with huge black-framed glasses and a high ponytail picks me up from the front lobby and escorts me back through the giant building that must be at least eight thousand square feet. The director of Bad Boys is Lottie James, a gorgeous African American woman who radiates both warmth and power.
“It’s such an honor to meet you. Thank you so much for this opportunity,” I gush. “I cannot tell you how big a fan I am of the show. Huge. I’m sorry—I was going to try to bury the fangirl tonight.”
