Waking Kiss (7 page)

She was breathing fast and so was I. I leaned down and kissed her, and she smiled against my lips. “You’re strong,” she said when we parted.

“So are you.” My eyes were used to the darkness now. My leg was still slung over hers and my erection was about two inches from her hip. I desperately wanted to jab it between her legs but she was jittery and I doubted she’d welcome it. This seduction was turning out to be a marathon, not a sprint. I sighed and scooted back from her. “That’s physical bondage. Pretty exciting, right? Especially when you’re having other things done to you at the same time. There’s also mental bondage, which can get even more complex.”

She traced her wrists where I’d held them. “Is that like, messing with people’s minds?”

“In a way. It’s like saying, I’m going to touch you wherever I want and you’re not allowed to move a muscle. Or working your partner into a frenzy but not allowing her to come until you say she can. I like to set up situations where my sub has to use her own willpower. Her desire to submit. To obey.”

She was silent a moment. “That’s really intense.”

“Some people play really intensely. Dominants, submissives, masters, slaves, even ponies and toys and fucksluts. You name it. Other people just top and bottom for pleasure and call it a day.”

“Like Rubio?”

“Yes. He’s too impulsive and selfish to get into the lifestyle-role stuff. But he’s a responsible top. He finds like-minded people and makes sure they enjoy themselves.” I shrugged. “Different strokes.”

“You’re not like that.” It wasn’t a question.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “No, I’m not like that. I prefer to engage with my partners on a deeper level.”

“You fall in love with them?”

Whoa. How did she leap from D/s to love?
Because she’s vanilla, idiot.
“Love is… Love is another thing. People who exchange power don’t have to be in love. Or love isn’t…you know…central to the proceedings.”

“Oh.” I could see the wheels turning in her head, I just didn’t know which direction they were going. “So you could…” She paused and tilted her chin. “So you could develop a deep BDSM relationship with someone, play with them, have sex with them, and still have no strings attached?”

I couldn’t tell from her tone what she thought of that. “Some people do it that way,” I hedged. “A lot of people in my social group. Rubio does it that way.”

“What about you?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I prefer it that way. I prefer to play with no strings attached.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask me why, or expect me to spill out explanations and excuses.

She didn’t. What she said was, “Can you do that with me?”

Jesus Christ. Could I do that with her? I’d be glad to.
Should
I do that with her? Probably not. I’d never tried to “turn” a girl before, never attempted to bring a vanilla girl into the fold. I didn’t know if I had the skill or the patience, and more importantly, I didn’t know if she had the strength to stand up to me if I pushed her too fast.

But she was so, so beautiful. I looked up at the stars that were really flowers and thought about vanillas who were really kinky folks waiting to be born. I wanted her, ached for her here in our little haven from the world. I wanted her sex and her submission, her kinky innocence and nervous fidgeting. Her beautiful full lips and her soft voice and everything that made her different and compelling to me.

“Yes,” I said. “I could do that with you. But it might not turn out the way you expect.”

“I hope it doesn’t,” she said under her breath. I should have taken a moment to figure out what she meant by that, but I was busy drawing her willing, hot body into my arms. I was glad now I’d brought that rose over here. Genius idea, although it wasn’t from the performance, just a florist. She’d never know. I was glad I’d managed to soothe her nerves and seduce her into this crazy little fort. As I kissed her, I traced up the contours of her back to her nape and pulled her closer into my embrace. I wanted to feel her skin against mine. I pushed her sweater back and eased it off. My cock was so hard it was about to bust through my jeans.

“Liam,” she whispered.

I stopped and inclined my head to hers. “Yes, baby?”

“I want you to do what you did before.” She bit her lip. Our faces were inches away. “I want you to hold me so I can’t get away.”

Hot excitement arced through me. I didn’t see us developing any serious D/s thing in the future, but if holding her down got me inside her faster, I’d play along. “Give me your hands.”

I took them in mine and pinned her with my chest. She lifted her hips against me, sending jolts of arousal to my balls and cock. I used one hand to trap her wrists over her head, and the other to caress down over her lithe body. Her hips were curvy but firm and when I moved, they moved. I licked her neck and nibbled at her jaw, daydreaming about the things I could do to her if she was as kinky as me.

“I love the way you feel, baby.” I kissed her lips again, delving inside to taste more of her hesitation, her curiosity. My hands tightened on her wrists. “I’m going to touch you everywhere, wherever I want, and you won’t have a choice in the matter. We’ve already figured out that you can’t get away from me.”

She murmured something sweet and acquiescent against my mouth while I moved my hand lower, over her form-fitting sweatpants to the vee between her legs. “I wonder how you like to be touched,” I said. “I wonder if you like to be fucked hard or soft. There are so many things to discover about you.” I cupped her mons, gave it a little squeeze.

She tensed. “Don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t.”

She made lovely, aching sounds while I groped her through her pants. My hand could practically span her pelvis, she was that petite. There was a novelty to our disparate sizes that excited me. I felt like a giant around her and I had to subdue the urge to be more brutal than she could take. I thought I’d die if I couldn’t feel her and taste her. I dipped a few fingers into the edge of her waistband and when she didn’t stop me, I slid my whole hand in there, inching down to discover hot, welcoming wetness. She made a sobbing sound as I traced a finger over her clit. “Do you like that, baby? Does it feel good?”

“Please… Don’t talk to me. Just… Please do something to me. Anything.”

I lowered myself on top of her, letting her feel every inch of my cock through the barrier of my jeans. I unbuttoned my fly with one hand and wrapped the other in her hair, nuzzling my lips against her cheek. “I want you,” I said, even though I wasn’t supposed to talk. Who was the dominant, anyway? I tore myself away from her to tug a condom from my pocket.

Turning back, I pinned her wrists over her head and sucked in a breath as she struggled under me. Struggling females drove me wild, they always had, and this one was exceptionally strong. With a growl I reached down and pulled at one of her thighs so I could burrow between her legs. I gritted my teeth against the agony of my desire, palming the condom so I’d have it close at hand. I didn’t want to rush this, but I couldn’t hold out much longer.

“No.”

I almost didn’t hear it at first, my blood was rushing so hard in my veins. But then she said it again, louder. “No, please.” Her wrists struggled with sudden fervor against my palm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Please get off me. I’m going to be sick if you don’t let me up.”

I moved and she vaulted up and through the mats and blankets and everything. I sat blinking in the sudden light as one of the mats fell against my shoulder. The bathroom door slammed and I heard awful noises. Coughing. Retching?

I stood and refastened my jeans, pocketing the condom. Maybe it was a virus. Food poisoning. Overexcitement? She was crying, I could hear it from across the room.

I righted her decimated fort in a haze of shock. What had happened? Was it my fault? I thought back over the things I’d done. Up until the last few moments she’d seemed totally into it. Could extreme arousal cause nausea? That wouldn’t explain the sobbing. I went to the bathroom door and checked the knob. Locked. I could pop it in a heartbeat but she wasn’t acting like she wanted my company.

“Ashleigh?” I rattled the doorknob. “What can I do to help?”

There was silence for a moment, then she flushed the toilet. “I’m all right. I just need a minute.”

I spread my fingers against the door. “I’ll be out here, okay? If there’s anything you need.”

“I don’t need anything. You can go.”

There wasn’t a chance of me leaving, not while she was so distraught. “Can you open the door so we’re not talking through it?”

Silence. After a few minutes I walked back over to the hastily-restored fort and twitched at the blankets and quilts. I wanted to crawl inside and turn the flickering candle on, or maybe look up at the glow-in-the-dark flowers again. Mostly I wanted to go back in time about half an hour and do something to make this all turn out differently.

I should never have tried to seduce her. She was way too sweet. I’d come over here with my false rose to fuck her and now she was crying in the bathroom. I looked over at the pink bloom, at my jacket thrown over her chair. I could have visited ten other women to get my rocks off, no seduction necessary. It was going to take a long time to get over the image of her busting through those blankets to get away from me.

I walked back over to the bathroom door. “Ashleigh, please. There must be something I can do.”

“You can leave,” she said, her voice muffled by paint and pasteboard. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just want to be alone right now. I’m really…really not feeling well. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. Come out and say goodbye to me and I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. Or rather than apologize, just explain to me—”

The door whipped open. She stood there gripping the frame, her eyes and nose red with tears. “You’re right. You deserve an explanation but I don’t know how to explain it to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Then whose fault was it? She was fine until I climbed on top of her. I felt a little sick to my stomach thinking about what might make her react that way. I swallowed hard, wanting to touch her and comfort her. Afraid to reach out for fear she’d start retching again. “What happened to you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Ashleigh—”

She shut the door in my face and clicked the lock. I pressed my forehead to the wood. Who had hurt this girl so bad that sex made her freak out like this? Whoever it was, I wanted to plant a fist in his face.

“Ash?” I tapped on the door one last time. I spoke low, not really expecting her to answer. “Is there anything I can do?”

Silence. Complete and utter silence as if she’d ceased to breathe. I walked back across the room and twitched her blankets into place one last time. Floral quilts would forevermore be the stuff of nightmares for me. I grabbed my jacket, scrawled my number on the notepad on her counter, and called out to her from the door. “Okay, I’m leaving. I’m going to close the door behind me and then I’m going to stand outside until I hear you lock it. My number is on the counter if you need me.” I thought a minute. “Please call, at least to let me know you’re okay.”

I opened her door and stepped through and closed it hard behind me so she would hear. About a minute later I heard the deadbolt turn, so, so quietly.

I never should have come. Sometimes you showed up to fuck a girl, and things didn’t end up at all the way you hoped.

Liam fixed my bed before he left. He placed my mats and blankets almost exactly as they’d been before he arrived. His rose laid on my counter, so beautiful, and next to it, his name and number, which was beautiful too. He’d been concerned. He hadn’t wanted to leave me. I put my fingers over my lips, remembering his kisses, his thrilling touches, the silken way he spoke. He’d blame himself for what happened, but my issues with sex and intimacy were long-held and deeply entrenched. He couldn’t have understood what I felt when he climbed on top of me. My father’s weight. My father’s bulk.

No, I couldn’t think about it. I’d be sick again and I’d been sick enough.

I paced my apartment, angry, confused, disappointed. Defeated. If anyone could have fixed me, it would have been Liam Wilder. I thought this time it would be different, especially with the BDSM factor. For a while his force and confidence had worked and I felt swept away in the moment. But then…no. No, no, no, no,
no
.

I knew I should call to let Liam know I was okay, but I didn’t want the questions. This had happened five or six times already, when I’d thought,
this
is the one who can make it work for me.
This
is the guy who can make me forget the rasping breath and heavy weight, and the raw, grinding pain between my legs.

If Liam Wilder couldn’t do it, then that was it for me. It was time to give up and accept my lonely, solitary life. At least I’d have work to fill my days. Well, until I got too old to dance. I’d have my friends and acquaintances, and my comfortable apartment where I felt safe.

I would have to forget everything that had happened between us. I’d have to forget him, as hard as that would be. I was a dancer. I was used to enduring pain and denying myself things I wanted. I ripped the paper with his number on it into a million pieces so I wouldn’t be tempted to call, then I took a shower and crawled into my flowered retreat to sleep, but once I was under there, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. After a couple hours I pulled off the blankets, kicked down the mats, and slept on the couch.

Monday and Tuesday were hard, but I woke up Wednesday feeling better. I was focused again, or maybe just resigned. I took class at ten, concentrating on each step, blocking out any thoughts of Liam. I performed that night better than I’d performed since
Sleeping Beauty
began. When I watched the prince kiss Princess Aurora to life, I reminded myself it was only a fairy tale. I felt no regrets about Liam, no desire for Rubio to notice me or acknowledge me backstage. In fact, I was relieved he didn’t. My world was restored to normalcy and I felt peaceful and calm. I walked home with a group of friends who lived on my block, looking forward to some tea and a good book.