Well, for more than one reason, admittedly.
I lay there silently, like I was waiting for a massage, except I was very much not. I felt calmer than I had in days, my jangling nerves quieted down to a slight quiver. And not an entirely unpleasant one, at that.
Was I ready for this?
He'd stop, if I told him to stop. If.
I felt something resting on the small of my back, and I knew without looking that it was the belt. I held my breath.
When it lifted and came back down again, slightly lower, I winced more at the sound of it cracking through the air than I did at the sensation. My jeans were thick enough to absorb the brunt of it, and he must have known that.
It had been too long since he'd done anything like this. I'd almost forgotten the intense feeling of well-being, enough to make me lightheaded - more than anything I'd ever experienced at yoga or during my meditation classes, or anything else. I melted into the bed. The sharp thwacks kept on coming, but their intensity no longer felt like pain.
Finally, I heard him toss the belt aside, and then he grabbed my wrists and flipped me over, climbing up on the bed and kneeling between my legs.
"You need to learn to think about someone other than yourself," he said, very quietly.
My jaw clenched. "All I do is think about you. I don't have much of a choice."
He shook his head, like he didn't understand what I was saying, or didn't want to accept it. "That's not what I mean." He was still holding my wrists down. I squirmed underneath him, no longer sure if this was just a game. Then again, I supposed I'd never been completely sure. "Not because I'm the reason you have this life. That's not how I want you to think about me."
I frowned a little. "That's not what I meant, either," I said. "I…"
I wanted to say it - I did - it was so easy, just three simple words. But after he'd gone so long without the words passing his lips, I didn't want to be the one to break the silence. He looked at me curiously for a moment. It was obvious I'd cut myself off mid-thought. But when he realized I wasn't going to finish it, he leaned down further, his weight coming down on my wrists. I winced a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.
"What were you about to say?" he demanded, softly. His hard exterior was beginning to crack - I could see his eyes that he was anxious to know, but he knew he couldn't actually force it out of me.
I blinked slowly, and swallowed. "I was going to say, I'm sorry."
For a moment, I swore I actually saw the disappointment pass over his face. "I'm not asking for an apology," he said. "Just try to be a little less self-centered."
"Fuck you!" I shouted, before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. I squirmed harder, trying to break free from his grip. He just kept staring at me, silently, not really moving. It was infuriating how little effort he needed to expend to hold my arms in place. It didn't seem to be taxing him at all, no matter how hard I strained. My heart was pounding in my ears, all the pent-up anger and frustration roiling in my blood. I kicked my legs, but there was no part of him that I could reach that way. And he just kept staring down at me.
"Do you want me to let you up?" he said, finally.
I swallowed so hard I could feel the tendons in my neck straining. I knew he wanted me to say yes. He just wanted to prove that I had to ask. That I couldn't break free from him - mentally or physically.
I just stared back at him, silently, fuming.
"It's so very telling," I said, finally, after I'd given up the fight and relaxed beneath him - sort of. My nostrils still flared with every breath. "That the only way you get people to stay with you is by playing mind games."
"All right, then," he said, standing abruptly, letting me go, his hands raised in the air like I'd just ordered him to drop his weapon. "Fine. Go."
I sat up, my hands clenched into fists. "You know I can't."
"I'm sure you can," he said. "I have faith in you." His deep, green eyes were filled with mockery - and anger - and something else entirely, that I couldn't quite read.
"All I wanted was for you to act like I existed," I said, feeling the tears well behind my eyes. "Just for a minute or two. When everything's going well, when you're happy, then I'm here - and you act like…" I took a deep breath. "…but then things go wrong, and suddenly it's like I don't matter anymore. I could help you. I want to help you. I want to be there for you."
"You want to be there for me, or for yourself?" He stepped closer to me again, so quickly that I flinched a little. I wasn't sure why.
"I don't know what you're talking about! " I shouted, no longer concerned if Lindsey overheard. "You think everything I do is selfish. Is it really easier to believe that, than to believe that I actually care about you?"
He was shaking his head, like he already wasn't listening again. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like, to be me right now?"
I lifted my head up, fixing him with a tearful stare. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like to be me?"
CHAPTER SIX
I couldn't tell if Daniel was angry, or sad, or both, or neither. He was just staring at me. Was I really the first person to ever ask him if he'd considered having a little empathy? He looked…stunned, almost as if I were.
Finally, he shook himself out of it, swiftly closing the gap between us and grabbing my hands out of my lap. "Everything has to come back around to you, doesn't it?"
"I think you might be projecting," I said, as he abruptly released my hands, grabbing me around the waist and tossing me on the bed.
I lay there, passively - it was the most defiant thing to do, it seemed like, at the time. I think he wanted me to fight him. Or maybe not. I watched him go to the closet - not his clothes closet, but The Closet, the one where he kept an ever-growing array of diabolical little things that only came out when he was in one of "those moods." I had no idea where he got them all. There always seemed to be something new, but I never noticed any packages arriving, either through the mail or under his arm. And I couldn't really picture him walking into one of those types of stores - especially not now. I could just imagine the Post headline - DANIEL THORNE, SEXUAL DEVIANT?
I giggled.
He turned, abruptly. "What's so funny?" he demanded, walking back over to me quickly and tossing something on top of me. Sitting up a little to look at it, I saw that it was a length of rope dyed in a deep, luxuriant purple.
"I was just trying to imagine where you buy all this stuff," I said, trying to look innocent. He climbed up on the bed again, this time trapping my legs between his. He picked up the rope and pulled a length of it taut, letting it slide between his hands. I shivered a little.
"I know someone who makes this," he said. "By hand. Every batch. It's hemp."
I had to giggle again.
He gave me a look. "It's the best material for the purpose," he said. "And I think you'll agree, it takes colors beautifully."
"Form and function," I said, flopping back down on the bed. "The best of everything. I should've known that's the only thing you'd settle for."
He was winding one end of the rope around my wrist, carefully. He tied an elegant knot, then began looping it around the bedpost.
"You know, if I were as selfish as you think I am, I'd never let you do this," I said, softly.
He didn't look at me, drawing the rope across the length of the headboard and looping it around the opposite post. "Oh, right - I forgot. You don't get anything out of this, do you?"
"Only the exquisite pleasure of making you happy," I replied, with a grin. "But, hey. I'm a giver." He'd finished fastening my other wrist. I tested the knots halfheartedly, tugging on them without any real intention of trying to get free. They were solid. Of course.
"Did Little Miss Tantra teach you about this, too?" I asked, referring to the woman he'd once told me he hired to teach him the finer arts of pleasure. I was pretty sure he deeply regretting telling me about it, based on the faces he'd pull every time I brought it up.
"You're obsessed with that woman," he said, stepping back and taking a look at his handiwork. "Why don't you forget about her for a while, and start focusing on your own development?"
I arched my back, very consciously, watching how his eyes bored into my chest while I did. "Are you saying I need to be better developed?" I purred.
He was on top of me in a second, his whole body looming over me, his eyes like flint - but if I was being perfectly honest with myself, this was how I liked him best.
Without another word, he leaned down and kissed me fiercely. His hand slid under the back of my head, grabbing a handful of my hair by the roots and holding on. Not pulling; just possessing. His tongue was firm and demanding inside my mouth. I loved every moment of it. When he got like this, I couldn't help but believe it was because he was so overwhelmed, so consumed by his need for me, that he forgot how to be gentle. It was intoxicating.
He reached down and grabbed either side of my blouse, ripping it open in one swift motion. I squealed in halfhearted protest. It was old - and besides, I was already dizzy with desire. He got up on his knees and pushed my skirt up over my hips. When he yanked my panties off and tossed them aside, I swore I heard him growl.
He unzipped, and then he was lifting me with both hands, positioning me right where he wanted. I bit my lip. Anticipation was buzzing through my veins.
Then, in one swift movement, he was inside me. I cried out, my hands tugging uselessly at the rope, not because I wanted to get free so much as that I simply couldn't keep myself still. I thrashed and moaned, and I wasn't really sure whether I was the one doing most of the moving, or if he was moving me. All I knew was that the bed was shaking, the headboard knocking against the wall with at least every other thrust, and I really, really hoped that our neighbors weren't home.
Not that they'd ever complained before.
Pleasure and tension were coiled inside me, tightly, like a spring that was ready to let go at any moment. I couldn't stop myself from whimpering every time I exhaled. His eyes looked like they had gone completely dark, but I wasn't sure if I was just imagining it.
The spring was tighter and tighter, quivering, and then it suddenly released. I screamed out his name, feeling my body convulse somewhere distantly in the back of my mind.
For a moment, I was lost. I came back slowly, blinking. My neck and head ached. Daniel was untying the knots, rubbing my wrists where the rope had left depressions in my skin. I curled up on my side and focused on my breathing, just the way he'd taught me.
In and out, in and out. Over and over again.
***
I woke up the next morning with a pit in my stomach. After how peaceful I'd felt last night, I supposed it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with me. No matter how seamlessly we managed to connect when we slipped into the roles of dominant and submissive, none of our problems were really solved.
Daniel was still asleep when I got up. I tiptoed down the stairs to avoid waking him, starting the coffee and poking at the basil's soil to make sure it didn't need more water. As I walked over to the living room to turn on the TV, I noticed something stuck under the door. I went and pulled it out, curious.