Chapter 5
Clay
I’m surprised when I get a text from Max midday saying that he doesn’t need me to pick Gigi up from school today, that he’s got her, and he’s taking her out to see a movie and get dinner.
It works just fine for me since I have my date tonight, and now, I have extra time to get ready.
My own classes go by quickly, and when the day ends, I call a quick goodbye to Beck and rush home to get ready.
A nagging feeling has hung around the back of my mind all day long. It’s that feeling like I’ve left the stove on, even though I knew I checked it before I left. But it’s not the stove; it’s my stupid brain. You’d think knowing that would make it easier to ignore. It doesn’t. My heart still races, and my brain still buzzes. It’s like having my skull filled with bees. Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I sag against the wall and rub my eyes hard with the heels of my hands, until they start to ache. At least the pain gives my brain something else to focus on.
What if Max and Beck were right and this guy is a total creep? What if he has a torture dungeon that he’s planning to take me to as soon as he has me at his mercy? Ah, right on cue, I missed you my old friend catastrophic thoughts...not.
I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and then slowly let it out. For the love of god, please let this guy be up for taking care of me tonight.
I dress in a pair of relaxed fit jeans that hug my ass just right and a gray polo that brings out my steel blue eyes. I take some time styling my hair to messy perfection, and then I step back and assess the finished product.
I look fantastic; now the question will be whether Mr. HotStuff will deserve to unwrap this delectable package.
I jot a quick note for Max telling him I’ll— hopefully— be home late, if at all, and then I head out.
When I get to the restaurant, I check my pocket for my wallet three times, then I lock my car door and try the handle three times, and finally I put my keys and cell in my front pocket and...yep, you guessed it, triple checked.
The triple check ritual eases a little tension from my shoulders, enough so that I can move on to the next phase of entering the restaurant.
Inside, it only takes me a second to zero in on the gorgeous, brick shit house of a man waiting at the bar. Please let that be my date.
I approach him, and as soon as he notices me, he smiles, his gaze traveling over me with greedy abandon.
“You’d better be the guy I’m meeting, because damn,” he says.
“I believe I am.” I offer my hand to shake. “Clay, nice to meet you.”
“Damien, likewise.”
When we’re led to a table, Damien pulls my chair out for me and doesn’t make any suggestions about what I should order, so we’re off to a good start.
“What do you like to do for fun?” I ask once we’ve both decided on what we’re ordering.
“I guess I’m kind of a simple guy, give me a cold beer and a football game and I’m happy.”
“Do you play any sports?”
“I played football in high school and college. Now, not so much. What about you?”
“I’m a dancer. I own a dance studio, and I dance ballet, hip-hop, and burlesque mainly. And I do yoga.”
“Dance and yoga aren’t sports,” Damien says.
“You’re right that yoga is an exercise rather than a sport, but dance is certainly a sport. I entered dance competitions in high school and won trophies; I think that qualifies as a sport,” I argue, doing my best to keep my tone pleasant.
Damien snorts, and I clench my hand around my napkin.
“Isn’t it a bit feminine?”
Lord grant me the strength to not beat this man to death.
“How so?” I ask in a sugary voice. “It’s not like any of the dance moves require a vagina.”
“You know what I mean; it’s not manly.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
It could be argued that if I really want to get laid tonight, I should shut up and stop arguing, but this shit bothers the hell out of me. What does this guy have to prove with all his manly bullshit? Max is the most masculine dude I’ve ever met, and he’s never turned his nose up at my dancing or anything else.
The waitress chooses that moment to come take our order, and Damien looks visibly relieved to have an out for this conversation.
A year ago, that attitude would’ve been a deal breaker on the sex front, but beggars can’t be choosers. Damien has officially been struck from the boyfriend material list, though.
Once our food arrives, we stick to more neutral topics of conversation like the weather and the latest movies we’ve heard good or bad things about. It’s perfectly pleasant and absolutely boring.
While Damien tells me about some dispute he’s been having with his neighbor over his neighbor’s yappy dog, I wonder to myself if there is a man out there for me after all. Maybe I’ve been single too long, and now I’m too set in my ways to be in a relationship.
My last serious boyfriend was almost ten years ago when I was in college.
Jake was a great guy. We were assigned to the same dorm freshman year and became instant friends. It only took a few weeks before we were hooking up regularly and not long after that when we decided to be exclusive. We dated all through college, and he’s the one who introduced me to Shibari and bondage.
When graduation came, he was offered a job in Philadelphia, and I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving Seattle. I didn’t want to leave Beck and my mother, and I already had my eye on the perfect location for my dance studio. So, we made the mutual decision to part ways. We still text and Skype a few times a year to catch up and stay in touch.
“What do you think?” Damien asks, and I realize I haven’t been listening to a word he’s said for the last twenty minutes.
“I think we should pay the bill and go back to your place for dessert.”
◆◆◆
Damien’s apartment is only a few miles away, so I follow him in my car. He offered to leave my car and drive me back to it in the morning, but no way am I planning to stay the night. Not to mention, I’d prefer my own escape route just in case.
“Would you like a drink?” he offers as I toe off my shoes and leave them by the door.
“Sure, I’ll take a beer or whatever you’ve got.”
I sit down on the couch and glance around at the frat boy themed decor. There are several Seattle Seahawk blankets and pillows, a shelf of shot glasses and beer steins, and a plastic basketball hoop attached to one wall.
Damien returns with two beers and plops down on the couch next to me.
“So, I have some ropes and handcuffs, do you have a preference?” he asks conversationally, and my heart starts to pound, and my dick perks up.
“Ropes. I’m, uh, really flexible so you can get creative,” I offer before taking a sip of my drink to ease the sudden dryness in my throat. “No pain,” I reiterate what I told him over chat before. “No humiliation, either.”
“This is going to be fun. The safe word is potato, okay?”
I nod and let him take the beer from my hand and place it on the table.
“Come on,” he jerks his head toward the back of the apartment, and I follow him down the hall.
“Strip,” he commands as soon as we’re in his room.
I bristle at the command until I see the ropes lying in the center of his bed. He knows what he’s doing; these aren’t the rough ropes an amateur would pick up at the hardware store. I shiver in anticipation and grudgingly follow the command.
Once I’m naked, I crawl onto the bed and lay on my stomach.
The bed dips as Damien climbs on. He reaches for the rope and my cock flexes, trapped beneath me, and the pit of my stomach flutters.
It occurs to me that Damien hasn’t bothered to try to kiss me or engage in any kind of foreplay, and I’m fine with it. I’m glad we seem to be on the same page with what this is.
He grabs my left arm and roughly yanks it back.
I open my mouth to protest, but when he pulls my left ankle up and starts to bind it to my wrist, I forget what I was going to complain about.
All my thoughts narrow in on the feeling of the rope sliding against my skin and the pleasant tug of my muscles as I settle into the position.
Damien spreads my legs wider and then binds my right arm in the same manner.
My buzzing mind finally settles into the blissful quiet that only comes with being bound and giving my pleasure over to another man.
I’m basking in the glow of the endorphins flooding my brain, when Damien speaks again in a harsh tone.
“You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you?”
I seethe at his words, all the thrill of being bound and helpless instantly vanishing.
“No, I’m not,” I grit out.
His hand comes down bruising on my ass, and I yelp.
“I said no pain,” I protest.
“Shut up, slut.” He slaps my other ass cheek even harder, and I yowl.
“We’re done here,” I declare, struggling against the rope binding my hands to my ankles.
“Don’t talk back, slut.”
Fuck, what was the damn safe word?
“Potato. Potato. Fucking untie me.”
Damien let’s out an irritated growl but releases me.
“I thought you wanted to play?”
“I told you I don’t play like that. Literally, not twenty minutes ago, I said no pain and no humiliation.” Damien sits quietly brooding while I hurry to dress and leave without so much as a backward glance. “What the fuck was that? Why didn’t you listen when I told you what I needed?”
“I figured it was part of the game. Some guys say they don’t get off on that stuff, but they secretly want it.”
“You’re dumb as hell,” I huff. “Here’s some free life advice: if someone tells you their limits, fucking listen.” And with that, I’m out the door.
Once I’m outside, I let out a groan of frustration. I haven’t gotten laid in ages, and I’d been so sure Damien was going to give me what I desperately need.
I climb into my car and bang my forehead against the steering wheel. Now I have to go home to my gorgeous, straight roommate once again sexually frustrated.
Maybe I don’t really have a crush on Max; maybe my body is just confused because Max is the guy I’m around when I’m blue balling it.
Max
I collapse on the couch after Gigi is in bed.
After my lunch with Jess, I took off from work a little early and picked Gigi up from school. I took her out to her favorite ice cream shop and then we went to see the latest Disney movie. I let her stuff herself with popcorn and called it dinner. I know I’m not winning father of the year on that one, but she had fun, and one night of eating junk food won’t kill her.
When we got home, I gave her a bath and read her two stories before she fell asleep.
And somehow, I miss her a little bit now that she’s asleep and I’m out here in the living room alone.
I’ve gotten used to sharing half the week with Jess. But I can’t imagine having to wait half a year to see Gigi. More than half the year. She’s in school nine months out of the year, so where does that leave me?
I hope to hell there’s something Beck can do to help me with this because I can’t lose Gigi.
The front door opens, and I crane my neck to see Clay entering.
“I thought you had a date tonight?”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”
I frown and turn to assess him a little more closely. The dude he met up with better not have done something to him, or he’s going to have a world of pain coming to him.
“Want to watch something?” I offer.
“Yeah, I’m good with whatever,” Clay agrees, plopping down on the couch next to me. “Oh damn, my shitty date made me miss Gigi’s bedtime.”
My heart stutters. I should tell Clay what happened today with Jess. He’s going to be as devastated as I am about the idea of Gigi possibly being taken across the country. But, maybe I can wait until after I talk to Beck about everything. Maybe Beck will tell me this will be easy to fight and then there won’t be any reason to upset Clay at all.
I settle back, letting my shoulder bump against Clay’s. There’s a certain measure of comfort in his presence.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re meant to be alone forever?” Clay asks miserably after a few minutes of quietly watching Netflix.
“I don’t think about it too much, honestly. I figure if I find the right person, I find the right person, if not, then oh well.” I shrug. “Would I like to find someone to spend my life with? Sure. But after being with Jess, I realized that’s not something you can force just because you want it.”
“Yeah,” Clay sighs.
“Hey.” I bump my shoulder against his. “You’re a catch, any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Why are all the good guys straight?” Clay laments with a pointed look in my direction, and I chuckle.
“Such a tragedy,” I agree with a mock serious expression.
“You want me to drop Gigi off at school in the morning?”
“Do you mind? Jess has her for the next few days after this, so you don’t have to worry about her in the afternoon. I’ll be home late tomorrow, by the way.”
“Okay,” Clay yawns.
“You look tired, you should get some sleep,” I suggest.
“Just a few more minutes,” Clay argues, settling his shoulder a little more firmly against mine as if he’s craving a little human contact as much as I am.
Clay
Every dish in the kitchen is piled on the table, while I stand on a chair to scrub the insides of the cabinets.
Maybe I can strip and re-stain the wood; that would look nice. Although, I doubt there’s any stripper or stain in the house, so I’d have to go to the hardware store. I glance at the clock on the stove. There probably aren’t any hardware stores open at three in the morning.
Something soft bounces off the back of my head, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance down to see what hit me, and I frown in confusion. I must be more tired than I thought because I can’t for the life of me figure out what a random sock is doing lying at my feet.
“What the hell?” I mutter, trying to suppress a yawn.
“I figured you must be a house elf on crack, so I was trying to set you free.”
I snort a laugh and glance over my shoulder to see Max standing behind me in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. I force myself not to let my gaze linger on his toned chest or his adorable, sleep rumpled hair.
“Very funny.” I roll my eyes and yawn before turning back to continue my task.
Strong hands grasp my waist and, before I know it, I’m being scooped up into Max’s arms and carried to my bedroom.
I’m more excited than I have any right to be when Max lowers me onto my bed without so much as jostling me.
“Sleep,” he says with authority. I roll my eyes at him.
“I can’t sleep; that’s why I was cleaning.”
He sighs and looks down at me with a conflicted expression.
“What would help?”
A release— something to calm my mind for a few minutes.
“Nothing you can help me with,” I toss back with agitation.
“What if I climb into bed with you—”
“Keep talking,” I encourage with a salacious grin.
“Dirty mind,” Max accuses with a chuckle. “What I was saying was, why don’t I climb into bed, and we can pull up something boring on your laptop. I bet that’ll help you fall asleep.”
He’s not wrong. It’s the only thing that helps some nights. And, truth be told, it’s more about the feeling of Max’s warmth beside me and the steady rhythm of his breath as he sleeps.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Max assures me before grabbing my laptop off my desk and climbing into bed beside me.