Chapter Twenty-Five - Nolan
I’m scaring the fuck out of her. Have been for hours. But I can’t stop. Not now. Not with her. I don’t why I’m fixated on Ivy Rockwell, but I am.
“First of all,” I say, scooting up on the bed with her so our bare shoulders are touching. She’s sitting up, leaning back on the headboard, and her hands are in her lap. She’s breathing fast and heavy, but that’s normal for the level of fear she’s experiencing. “It’s a fantasy, OK? Just keep that in mind. It’s just a fantasy.”
“I don’t think I need to see it, Nolan. Just untie me.”
“Just wait,” I say, holding the pieces of paper in my hand so she can’t see the first one yet. “It’s got a nice beginning. And a nice ending.” I wink at her, which elicits a tiny smile. “It’s the middle that people have a hard time with.”
“So you have shown other girls this?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be patient.”
I have the stack of drawings doubled over, not creased, just so she can’t see the first one until I’m ready.
“Mr. Romantic,” I say. “Just keep that in mind, OK?”
“Got it,” Ivy says, all her patience gone.
“OK.” I unfold the drawings so the first one is visible. “This is us. You and me.”
And it is. I always put a lot of detail in the first one. maybe because I’m nervous about the ones that come after. Or maybe I really am just a big ol’ romantic at heart.
Ivy is wearing a long dress that reveals her curves. Her large breasts, nipples pressed against the fabric because she has no bra on. My hands are the only thing of me in this picture and they are on her hips. “In my head, the dress is yellow.”
“Why yellow?” Ivy says, reaching for the picture so I’ll bring it closer.
“I like it. And it matches the rope.”
She looks at me with lots of questions but none of them come out of her mouth.
“We’re coming home from dinner. We had a nice night. This is our first real date.”
“What did we eat?” Ivy asks.
“Who cares?” I laugh. “We’re in New England, so let’s say lots of expensive seafood.”
“Fancy.”
“Well,” I say, “it’s a fantasy, right? Go big or go home.”
“What color is your suit?” she asks.
This is going well. I have a glimmer of hope. “Black. And my silk tie is yellow.”
“To match the rope,” Ivy says.
“Yes.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Nolan.”
“Don’t give up on me yet, Ivy.”
She looks me in the eyes and swallows. “Go on.”
I throw that picture off the side of the bed and it floats softly to the floor. “Now we’re in the back yard of a huge mansion. We’re kissing.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s a good kiss, Ivy.” My palm is on her throat, my thumb pressing on her chin, like I’m taking control.
“It’s… OK.”
“OK? You look like you might come any second.”
“Why does my dress look weird?”
“It’s wet. I made you walk into the pool and then step out. You’re soaking wet.”
“Why would I walk into the pool, Nolan?”
“Because I asked you to. And I told you how hard it would make me to see your dress clinging to your body like it is in the picture. Every part of your body outlined by the wet dress. Your nipples hard and peaked. Your mind spinning with anticipation.”
She bites her lip. “Keep going.”
I toss that drawing aside.
“OK,” she says. “What the hell is this?”
“Me, slapping your face. See the spot on your cheek? You have fair skin, Ivy. It won’t take much to make it red. Your ass will be the same color.”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Just wait,” I say. “It gets better.”
The next picture is me holding her face again, like the first, only this time I’m pushing my thumb inside her mouth. Her eyes are looking up at me. You can’t see me in this one either, it’s only her. My point of view.
“I’m crying, Nolan. This is sick.”
“Your pussy is throbbing, Ivy. Take my word on that. Throbbing. Because my fingers are inside you, pushing inside you. Strumming your clit in those tiny circles you like. If I had more time, I’d have drawn you sucking my thumb like it was my cock. I’d have showed you how turned on you were just thinking about what comes next. You want me to fuck you so bad right now, you’re begging.”
“I’m not. And I don’t.”
But her voice is weak. And not with fear. “Just keep an open mind. We’re not going to do any of this tonight. You’re not wearing the dress.”
She inhales deeply as she looks at me.
“Keep going?” I ask.
She shrugs.
I smile. Because I know she’s turned on.
“This one skips ahead.” She’s on her knees now, mouth open, my cock in her mouth. Her makeup is smeared so bad, it hides the mark the slaps are leaving. “What do you think I skipped, Ivy? Tell me, so when this date happens, I know what you want.”
Ivy is silent for a long time.
She stares at the drawing, studies it. Either thinking about what I asked her, or trying to plan her escape tonight.
“My dress is gone,” she finally says.
“I had to peel it off you because it was wet. We laughed about that and broke the scene.”
“Scene?” she asks.
“The… fantasy. It’s called a scene, but it’s private. I’d never want you to do this in front of anyone. For me and you it will always be private.”
“What’s next?”
I move on to the next picture, which makes Ivy gasp.
I’ve got her pushed down on the bed, face first. My hand flat against her hair, her cheek pressed so tight into the covers, most of it can’t be seen. “Fucking, of course. My way, which is hard, like I told you.”
“You want to hurt me?”
“No,” I say, more sharply than I should. “I want to play out this scene with you. It doesn’t define me, Ivy. Or our relationship. It’s just a fantasy.”
“Why would I agree to this? Why on earth would I ever agree to this?”
“Because it turns you on.” I reach between her legs and finger her pussy. “You’re wet just thinking about it. Don’t lie, Ivy. You can say no and still admit it turns you on.”
“Can I say no?”
“Of course.” I’m still playing with her, my fingertip doing a little swirl against her clit that makes her close her eyes for a second. “It’s OK to like it. It’s playing. It’s sexual fun, that’s all. I don’t do this every day. No one I’ve ever talked to does this every day. It’s an understanding. It’s set up ahead of time so everyone knows the rules.”
“What are the rules?” she asks. “What exactly are you asking me to participate in?”
“Fantasy…” I hesitate. Unable to make myself say it out loud.
“Fantasy what?”
“Rape.”
She goes stiff and silent.
“Fantasy being the important word here, Ivy. You’re going to agree to it. So it’s not rape. You’re going to agree ahead of time. We’re going to have rules, and boundaries, and limits. And when this happens, we’re going to do it exactly how I’ve planned it. That’s why I need to know what you want me to do in between the pages. Fill in the blanks, so to speak.”
She shakes her head. “You’re sick.”
“And yet you’re still turned on.” I play with her a little more. “Get up and walk out if you’re not interested. But I’m not done with the story yet.”
She remains silent. Just staring at the drawing as I continue to stimulate her.
“Should I continue? And don’t just nod, Ivy. Say something. Make a decision.”
“Fine,” she whispers. “I want to see how it ends.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “We’re not at the end yet.” The next picture is me on top of her. My cock halfway inside her pussy. My silk tie in her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Hands tied together in front of her, just the way they are now.
“I’m crying again?”
“You’re coming all over my cock, Ivy. Those are not crying tears. You’re begging me to keep going.”
She takes the picture and throws it aside. “What’s this?”
“This is after.” She’s sleeping, a half smile on her face with her unbound hands tucked between her legs. I’m behind her, spooning her, but propped up on one elbow so I can tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “We’re happy,” I say. “We planned it all perfectly and it was fantastic. The best sex we’ve ever had. And in the next moment I kiss your head and lie down, pulling you close so I can fall asleep with you.”
Silence. I want her to say something. Anything. But she stays silent, just looking at the final drawing.
Finally, just as I’m about to go crazy waiting, she says, “Where did you learn to draw like this?”
“Self-taught. I might’ve missed my calling. But there’s no money in art, so I own clubs.”
“How many girls have you done this with?”
“Ten, maybe. Fifteen?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Ivy,” I say sternly. “Do you really want to play a game like this with an amateur? I haven’t done it in years. A long time. Because I can’t trust people. But I want to trust you.”
“Why?” She laughs. “Do you know that the whole time I’ve been sitting here I’ve been thinking how to escape? I’ve pictured you killing me, throwing my body over the side of a boat, never to be heard of again. I’ve made an escape plan. I’ve had whole conversations in my head of what I will tell my father when this gets out. I’ve—”
“But you’re still here.” I play with her clit again and a whole new wave of wetness coats my finger. “You’re still here because it turns you on.”
“I’m still here because I’m as sick as you.”
“Ivy,” I say, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “It’s just a fantasy.”
“If we’re not doing it tonight”—she looks up at me—“then why am I here?”
“To negotiate. That’s why I like you, Ivy. You said that yesterday. You’re a negotiator. If there’s something off limits in these pictures, then say so and we’ll negotiate it.”
“I think I’m here because I’m inexperienced. I think you want to take advantage of me. I think I’m an easy target.”
“You’re smart to think that. It’s all true. But that’s not why I like you, Ivy. I want you. You. Not because you’re innocent, but because you’re smart. You’ll be able to tell the difference between the fantasy and the reality. That’s why you’re here.”
She’s silent.
“And I want to fuck you. Not like this,” I say, tossing the last drawing aside. “Just a good, old fashioned, semi-vanilla, hard fuck.”