Firebird (14 page)

He stirred, and she noticed then that her hand was in his, that he was gripping it tightly even in sleep. She stayed still, tried to remember the night before. She remembered the main details. The sudden fight, the painful fall. The faces all around her as she tried to stay awake but found the edge of her vision growing dim.

She remembered waking up in the hospital as they stitched her up. While they cleaned off the blood, a doctor showed her pictures of her brain and neck and told her everything was okay. But was she really okay? She did a quick inventory. Her legs moved with no soreness or stiffness. Her head was a little groggy, but she thought it was only from waking up. She looked at the clock: 7:46 a.m.

Jackson was fast asleep. She tried to remember if his face had been there among the others the night before. She could have sworn it was, but why? How? How could he have been at her side unless he’d already been at the bar?

She shifted, lifted her hand to the bandage on the side of her scalp. Oh, God, she thought. Please don’t let me look too messed up. She had class at ten.

Class
. She had to call Lawrence. Her hand clenched involuntarily, and Jackson lifted his head, focused two weary eyes on her.

“What is it? You okay?”

She nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed the ambulance last night. Do you remember last night?”

“Yes. Vaguely. You were there?”

“I was. So was Blake, or you might have been injured further.” He scowled.

“Are you angry?”

“With you? No.” He cupped her face and kissed her. He pulled away at the sharp knock on the door. A nurse came into the room to bring her breakfast and check her vitals.

While she ate, Jackson sat in the chair next to the bed and talked on his cell phone to Lawrence. “Seven days,” he said to Lawrence, glancing over at her with a look she couldn’t place. Scorn, disappointment? Irritation? “Seven days before she’ll be able to take class.”

After that she could only pick at her food. Her life was falling apart. Injured at her second job, when she wasn’t even really supposed to have a second job. If it got her fired from her first job, she was truly and thoroughly fucked.

“Is he mad?”

“You’re so concerned about whether everyone is mad. How do
you
feel, Prosper?”

Her throat got tight. “Not very good. Kind of miserable, actually.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.

His irritated expression softened. He sat on the bed beside her and drew her into his arms. “Go on, get it over with.”

The kindness in his voice alone made her weep. He held her as she sobbed out her stress. His fingertips ran slowly up and down her arm, and the beat of his heart against her ear soothed her. When she finally calmed down, he turned her so she faced him and took her hand.

“Okay. Now I want you to listen. Lawrence isn’t mad. I’m not mad, not at you. But this situation has to stop. You can’t work at a bar three nights a week until three in the morning, especially if bar fights are going to land you in the hospital with eight stitches in your head. You’re supposed to be dancing for Lawrence. For me. This other stuff is—” He made an impatient gesture. “Don’t you have any family to help you? Any cheaper place to live?”

“I’ve asked. Everyone already has roommates. I could probably find a cheaper place farther out, but I don’t want to take the subway at night—and I can’t afford a car—” She sighed and dropped her head in her hands. “And my mom… I just can’t…”

“Why not?”

Prosper rubbed her eyes. “Please. I don’t want to think about it—”

“You need to think about it. You need to find a place to live.”

“I have a place to live.”

“A
safe
place. Your building is pretty much a few weeks away from being condemned.”

She looked up at Jackson. “Just please stop looking at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like I’m a total fuckup. I know I am. And you witnessing all of it only makes it worse.”

“Prosper—”

“I don’t want to stop dancing. I don’t want to leave New York. I’ll figure it out. I just need some time—”

“Prosper—”

“What?”

“Come live with me for a while. Until you get back on your feet.”

She went very still, shocked that he would suggest it. She wanted so much to jump at his offer, but at the same time she had so many questions and doubts. How would it work? Did he really want her to move in? Was he just guilty about what had happened? She tried to phrase a coherent response to his suggestion, but only garbled questions came out.

“But I… What… How…”

“There would be some things to work out. Obviously. But it seems like the most logical thing to do under the circumstances. I’m tired of worrying about you, and you’re working way too hard. And to be honest, I would enjoy having more time with you. Outside of work.”

“More time?” He wanted more time with her. She tried not to look too excited about that in the face of his casual tone. “Playtime, you mean?”

He shrugged and looked away. “If that’s what you want to call it. You-and-me time. But the rest of the time is my time. You can move in, but I’m not going to play the happy nice boyfriend, okay? And it goes both ways. You don’t have to spend any more time with me than you want to.”

“So we would be like roommates with benefits?”

He chuckled. “Sure. I guess.”

“I…well…I don’t want to put you out. When we started all this, you said no commitment. I know you don’t really want a roommate.”

He was quiet a moment before he answered her. “You’re right. A roommate isn’t exactly what I want. But it’s unfair to ask you for the other thing. Not as a condition to move in, anyway.”

“What other thing?”

He took a deep breath. “A deeper relationship. On the D/s side. More in-depth interaction.”

“More in-depth interaction? Meaning what?”

“More obedience, more pain, more restrictions, more intimacy. More everything, Prosper. For better or worse, you make me crave more. But I’m not going to pin that on as a requirement of room and board. I’m allowing you to move in as a friend, as someone who has an interest in your well-being. The rest…” He shrugged. “That would be up to you.”

She hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes to more. I want more too.”

He frowned. “You just had a head injury, and you’re in a hospital bed. You might not be thinking things through as well as you should.”

“No, I know I want more. If you show me, if you explain to me what you want—”

He put a finger over her lips. “First things first. You need to get yourself better. We’ll get you moved in, and then you need to recuperate and rest. Seven days of bed rest, the doctor said, before you try any strenuous dancing again. Or any strenuous decisions. Okay? Seven days. I should make it two weeks, but I suppose I don’t have much more self-control than you.”

Prosper stared at the clear blue eyes across from her, the usually stern face that had relaxed suddenly into easier lines. Or was it only that she knew him better, to see the ease around his mouth, his eyes?

“What?” he asked.

“Thank you, Jackson. For a place to stay. For being here now.”

He shrugged, squeezed her hand again. “Just remember, it’s not completely unselfish. None of this is completely unselfish.”

Prosper shrugged too and said, “It never is.”

* * *

Jackson had helped her home, carried her up the last two flights of stairs when she was too tired to climb them herself. To her amazement he hadn’t even been winded at the top. He’d helped her get settled into bed, tucking the sheets around her closely. His careful protectiveness fueled the slow burn in her heart—and her more private parts too. He’d told her to rest, that he’d return later to help her pack. His exact words were, “
Do not dare try to do it yourself
.” She’d packed a little anyway when she found she couldn’t lie still. She’d fallen back into bed a half hour later wishing she’d obeyed Jackson. By the time he returned, her head felt better, but he scowled at the small boxes of belongings.

“I told you to rest.”

“I know. I got bored.”

In the space of a second, he was across her bedroom and in her face.

“You got bored? That’s enough of an excuse, girl? What did I tell you to do?”

“Rest,” she whispered.

“Rest,
Sir
.”

“Rest, Sir,” she managed despite the sudden erratic beating of her heart. “You told me to rest. I’m sorry.”

“If you want more, Prosper, you’ll have to give more. You’ll have to keep your mind on what I want, not your own needs.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He put a hand to her forehead. “How do you feel? Any fever? Dizziness, headache?”

“A small headache, nothing bad. The nurse said I might have them off and on for a few days.”

“If it gets worse, you’ll let me know.” It was an order.

“Yes, Sir.”

He finished packing the boxes for her. It both thrilled and embarrassed her to watch him handling her things,
all
her things, down to her toiletries, her pajamas, her naughty bras and panties. She blushed at the intimacy, but he was very businesslike about it. While he carried her things downstairs, she wrote a check for two weeks’ rent to the landlord to close her lease. With any luck there would be units available when her time at Jackson’s house was finished, but she didn’t want to dwell on that just now. She wanted to enjoy every moment she had with him and not worry about what came after.

At his house, he brought in her things while she watched from the sofa. She thought of the early days when she’d come over, of the time he’d bent her over that same couch and spanked her with his belt. When would he touch her again? He seemed determined that she rest, but she was in anything but a restful mood.

He made a light dinner of chicken and salad, and they ate it together at his small dinette. The apartment was dark as always, the only faint light the fixture over their heads. She joked that he lived like a vampire, afraid of light and sun. He looked back at her.

“Perhaps. And you’re coming to stay with me. Here in my lair.” He reached out for a lock of her hair. “Little sunshine,” he said in a quiet voice.

She looked up at him in the dim light. She was so in love. So desperately in love with him. And the way he was looking at her… His eyes looked darker than usual, more intent. He didn’t let go of her hair, only caught a greater handful and twisted it in his fist. “You didn’t obey me earlier, girl.”

She was silent, her breath expanding in her chest. Her heart seized hopefully.
Please touch me. Please.

“How are you feeling?” His voice sounded strained. “Any headache? Any pain?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You should really be getting to bed soon. You need to be resting as much as possible. But I think you earned a punishment earlier. For disobeying me.”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir. If you say so.”

He released her hair with a soft laugh. “Good answer. Now get up. Bend over the table. Wait for me.”

She was throbbing, just like that. Three short commands and she was soaking her panties. She stood and draped herself over the small table while he cleared the dishes. Her face flamed with the indignity of what she was doing, waiting there bent over for him as he moved around her. She heard water running in the kitchen, things being put away. The dishwasher started with a hiss and a groan. She turned her head sideways and closed her eyes, too embarrassed to see if he watched her or not. Her hands opened and closed against the tabletop. Her fingers traced across the smooth wood. She wished it were Jackson’s skin.

She heard footsteps and opened her eyes to see him coming back, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He threw it aside and approached her. She loved the way his jeans eased across the muscles of his thighs when he walked. Her whole pelvis ached with lust for him.

He stood behind her, reached around to unbutton her jeans and tug them down over her hips. She held her breath, waiting, feeling exposed. The panties came down too. She shifted and buried her face in her hands. She was overcome with the same jumble of feelings he always inspired in her. Lust. Fear. Excitement. Embarrassment. Why did she love this? Why did he?

“Be still,” he said under his breath. She shuddered as she heard a metallic clunk and the sound of his belt being freed from its loops. She craned her neck to turn and see him doubling it over. As always, she squelched the sudden impulse to flee. He took her hands hard and pulled them behind her back, pressing them down.

“When I tell you to do something or not do something, it’s understood that you will obey. Yes?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“There will always be a reason, girl. And the reason will always be ‘I want.’ So if I give you directions, you do as I say and not as you want to do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“‘Yes, Sir, I understand.’”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.” She tensed as he rubbed the belt across her ass cheeks.

He leaned down next to her ear. “This won’t hurt you nearly as much as it should, because you’re injured. Now count each stroke and don’t dare move.”

He brought the belt down on her bottom, and she gasped. “One!”

The sting of the first blow spread across her cheeks. He paused then, making her wait. She felt so vulnerable knowing more pain was coming. She both dreaded the pain and yet craved it on some level just because it came at his hands.

“Two! Three! Four!”

They weren’t full strength, as promised, but they still hurt. He swung the belt with tight control, and the hard table held her trapped with nowhere to go. She danced around on her toes, trying to dissipate some of the ache. Her ass grew warm and tender, but at the same time a different type of warmth suffused her pussy. She tensed, aware of her nipples hardening into stones against the tabletop. She wanted to press her clit against the edge, but she didn’t dare. Even through the haze of pain, she was reminded of his power and control of her by the hand on her back, the fingers tight on her wrists. She struggled just to feel him hold her harder. He didn’t stop the steady delivery of blows, each one another trial to endure, another slap of fire. On top of all the other warring emotions and sensations, she had to remember to count each one. “Five! Six! Seven!”