Chapter 8
Katana
The weeks after the best night of my life passed by quickly, and soon enough Thanksgiving was just a week away. Many people looked forward to Thanksgiving and the celebrations they’d have with their families, but not me. I hadn’t had a real Thanksgiving since I was eighteen. I’d had to leave the foster home after that, and I wasn’t gone a year before both the people who’d taken care of me had passed away.
The holidays always got me down. But this particular season was hitting me a lot harder than usual. I just didn’t feel well most of the time. I had a hard time waking up in the mornings, and I couldn’t make it through a day without taking a nap—a thing I’d never done.
I was just off. And my mind drifted to Nixon and that night way too often. It was like he was haunting me, and I didn’t have a clue as to how to stop it from happening.
One night, when I woke up after a three-hour nap that started at seven in the evening, I flipped on the TV as I knew there was no way I’d be falling back to sleep anytime soon.
After clicking through the channels, I found a romantic movie and sighed as I lay back on the sofa to watch it. It was all well and good until a steamy scene came on and I felt a surge in my lower regions. And whose handsome face had to pop into my mind once again? That’s right, Nix’s.
A moan escaped me as I closed my eyes and relived the feeling of his hands moving over my body. I stretched out and arched my back as I pretended his mouth was on my skin again.
My hand moved on its own to the soft hairs that topped my pussy. I left a bit on top but kept the rest cleanly shaven. I didn’t want to look like a little girl, but I also didn’t want to look like a Sasquatch down there, either.
Dipping my finger into my wetness, I pulled it up my slit then tapped my clit. In my mind, Nix’s mouth had found mine, and he gifted me with a gentle kiss. Our warm breaths mingled as he eased his mouth off mine and looked into my eyes. “Good little slave. Now your Master will satisfy your cravings for him.”
“Yes,” I moaned. “I’m yours, Master. Only yours.”
I imagined him taking my tit into his mouth, sucking on it softly. He was teasing me, not letting me have the harder sucking I craved. Light licks and gentle pulls were all he did. I grew antsy for more.
Pushing my hand under my T-shirt, my finger traced a circle around my nipple, pretending it was his tongue. “Oh, Master, it feels so good.”
I could hear his deep voice in my mind. “You make me feel so good, slave. My sexy little slave girl.”
In my mind I belonged to him. I had no desire to be with anyone else. And that thought made me inexplicably sad. I knew what I’d gotten myself into. I’d been told the rules of membership at that BDSM club. Essentially, I was nothing more than a body for some rich man to use for a while.
I stopped touching myself and sat up, sick to my stomach. Even as I hurried to the bathroom, afraid I would puke on the light tan carpet, I thought about what I’d eaten last. That morning I’d had two bites of a bagel with cream cheese. My stomach just didn’t agree with it, and I never found my appetite for the rest of the day.
When I got into the bathroom, I stepped on the scale as a series of burps popped out of my mouth. I’d lost five pounds in the last week.
I barely ate and slept all the damn time. Did I have mono?
After a couple of dry heaves, I left the bathroom to get my laptop to search the symptoms of mononucleosis. Fatigue was at the very top, but everything that followed that—high fever, body aches, headache, muscle weakness, sore throat, swollen glands in the neck and underarms, rash—I didn’t have.
Well, at least it wasn’t mono. At least it wasn’t something I could’ve contracted from my one beautiful night with Nix. I wouldn’t have wanted the memory of that night to be tarnished by anything negative, like me getting sick.
And I’d also really hate to have to call Nixon to let him know that he should get checked for the virus because of our night together. That would be uber-embarrassing.
I turned off the television and headed to my bedroom to finish watching the movie in there. Grabbing a bottle of water and a sleeve of saltines out of the cabinet, I brought the crackers with me to eat in bed. Not a thing that a person with a partner would get to do. I guess I was lucky.
I could eat in bed, sleep at odd hours, work when I felt like it. Many had it far worse than me. I wondered if depression had caused my problems. I knew a lot of people only got depressed during the holidays—maybe I’d become one of those people. The good Lord knew I didn’t have anything to be happy about this season. Nothing to look forward to.
As a matter of fact, one of my clients had asked me why in the world I had given her December 25th as the date I’d deliver her cover to her. I’d told her that it was just another day for me. She’d told me that was sad, and I supposed it was.
With no family, days like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and even New Year’s meant little to me. Hell, even Halloween hardly registered on my radar—I hadn’t participated in that since I was a kid in foster care. My mother had never taken me out on Halloween from what I could remember. I also didn’t remember ever having a Christmas tree or anything else special when I lived with her. My birthday must’ve come and gone without me knowing it, up until I was put into the system.
My heart felt heavy as I lay in my bed, the television off. I didn’t feel like watching any romantic shit anymore. It settled in that I had to be depressed. Who the hell wouldn’t be, considering my past?
While my night with Nixon Slaughter had made something inside of me light, there was no one there to keep that flame going. It had started to dwindle into nothingness the moment we parted ways.
I’d been a damn fool to go to that club. Up until that night, I’d been just fine with how things were in my life. Yes, I did work myself too hard at times. Yes, sometimes I drank a bottle of wine all alone as I sat in bed and watched scary movies until I’d end up looking around my room, paranoid about what might sneak out to get me. But I’d been okay with that life.
Right?
I moaned as I got into bed, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and closed my eyes. They burned, and I felt dehydrated.
Sitting up, I chugged the water, praying I could just rehydrate and make everything okay again. I would put Nixon out of my head—refuse to let that memory enter my brain. I’d whack at it with everything I had each and every time he tried to come back to visit me in my imagination.
No more Nixon Slaughter!
Even though I’d slept some ten hours that day with all my naps, I found myself tired still. As I drifted closer to sleep, I began to think about one of the ideas my client had run by me.
Baily Sever routinely ordered book covers from me. She wrote young adult romance under a pen name, specializing in BDSM. When I’d told her about my little encounter with that world, she’d begged me to let her interview me. She’d pay me for my time, and better yet, she’d give me part of the royalties and tag me as a co-author.
I hadn’t taken her up on the offer yet but as I lay there and thought about what I’d been doing, falling down the rabbit hole, I decided I would take her up on that offer.
Getting back out of bed, I headed to the living room and my desk. Right then and there, I got on my laptop and sent her an email, telling her I wanted to take her up on her offer. She could call me as soon as she wanted to do the interview. Hell, I’d even make the cover of the book free of charge since she’d said she’d give me credit as the co-author.
The prospect of this new work had me feeling pretty peppy, and I headed to the kitchen to make me some eggs and bacon. Crazy how getting a new project started can get you up and going again.
I had to move on from that night. As spectacular as it had been, it was over. I had to get that through my head; I’d never have another night like that one. Not ever.