Hold Me Down (C 1), page 14
part #1 of Carolina Girls Series
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Fine,” I said. “Just ate. I’m going to the gym in a little while.”
“How are classes?”
“Okay,” I said, heading toward the stairwell.
“Harry said you’re getting a C in his class.”
Shit. Of course Dad was friends with my macro professor. Of course he was. I didn’t know how to mitigate this damage, so all I said was, “Okay.”
A little huff of breath, like he’d expected something more than that simple affirmation. “Sweetheart, you’re smarter than that. Your sister got an A in his class.”
“Probably,” I said. “She’s a math person. I’m not.”
“This isn’t about who’s a math person and who isn’t. You’re getting a degree in accounting, Talia. You’ll need to do better than this.”
Our door was closed, which I hadn’t expected, so I stopped to fish my key out of my bag. “Do you remember that conversation we had a couple weeks ago? About how I hate accounting?”
“This isn’t funny, Talia.”
“I’m not laughing, Dad.” I opened the door. Mal was on the couch in the common area, and I gave her a half-hearted wave and grabbed a Diet Coke as I headed to my bedroom.
“This is your future we’re talking about,” he said. “You’re never going to get into the MBA program if—”
“There’s your problem,” I interrupted. I slung my bag on my bed and shut my bedroom door. “Have you ever stopped to think, for like, a single second, that this isn’t actually your life? That you didn’t have kids so you could have a second chance at living? I can’t think of a thing I want to do less than go to business school.”
“It’s the best choice.”
“For what?” I asked. “What is it the best choice for?”
“Getting a job.”
“Dad, I literally do not know what that means. I don’t need a college degree—hell, I don’t need to have graduated from high school—to get a job.”
He snorted. “But you don’t want those kinds of jobs. They’re for—” He paused and cleared his throat.
“What?” I said. “They’re for Mexicans? You can’t do landscaping unless you’re fluent in Spanish? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I don’t know why you’re making me the bad guy, Talia,” he said. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
“But you’re not. You’re telling me what to do, and, I don’t know, I must be a total sucker, because I’m doing it. I’m not doing what I want, I’m doing what you want, and that isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t fair? You’re telling me you want to make your own decisions, but when something comes along you don’t like, you decide it isn’t fair, and so you shouldn’t have to do it? Come on, sweetheart. Grow up.”
I was super proud of myself for not hanging up on him. I cracked open my drink and said with as much disdain as I could muster, “That’s your big advice? That’s the golden nugget of knowledge? Life’s not fair?”
“I’ve spent your whole life trying to do what’s best for you. And now you resent it. I don’t understand.”
“It’s because you never take my opinion into account when you decide what’s best.”
“I’ve got a few more miles in the saddle,” he said. “I know what’s a good idea and what isn’t, and you don’t always have the best ideas.”
“You’re not exactly batting a thousand, either.”
“What does that mean?”
I rolled my eyes, as if he could see that. “Are we going to do this right now?”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Talia.”
“Because nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough,” I said. “Because I’ve never been pretty enough or smart enough or popular enough. Because I’m not good at the same things you are, or if I am, I’m not good enough at those things. Because you can’t ever just be proud of me. Because you can’t ever just say, good job, honey. Because—” I didn’t finish the sentence, because suddenly my throat was all closed up and my eyes were burning. I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand over my eyes.
“I am proud of you, honey,” he said. “That’s why I know you can do better in this macro class.”
I dropped the phone.
No: I tossed it. Threw it down. I launched off the wall, knocked my completely full can over, then blew out a hard breath and picked the phone up again. I said, “Oh my God, for fuck’s sake, Dad—”
“Talia, your language—”
“I really wish you’d treat me like a human being instead of some kind of marionette—”
“You’re upset, and—”
“You’re fucking right I’m upset,” I snapped, not waiting to find out if he’d stop talking. “You never listen to me. You never listen to me. You always assume you know what I’m going to say. And the funny thing is, your expectation and reality very rarely line up.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“See?” My voice was giving me away. My bedroom door cracked open and Mal’s head popped through. I turned away from her. “That’s not even a real apology.”
“Talia, that is enough.”
“You’re right about that,” I said, and hung up on him. I dropped the phone on the floor, saw the creeping spread of my former drink, and burst into tears.
Mal was beside me in a second. She pulled me down to the floor with her, laying my head on her shoulder and wrapping her arms around me while I sobbed. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything at all.
This was not a new thing.
When I finally got my hiccuping breaths under control, she said, “Let me get you some Kleenex.” I didn’t tell her no, and she eased up away from me and disappeared out the door.
I was not going to the gym, but I was changing my goddamn major. I was tired of this: if my dad was going to treat me like shit regardless of what I did, I might as well do what the fuck I wanted. I might as well try to make myself happy.
I picked up my phone again. I texted Sean: I need to see you. Tonight, preferably. If you’re not busy.
Mal came back, and I pulled myself together while she cleaned up the sticky mess on the carpet and I protested.
My phone vibrated. If you need me, I’m yours.
Tears welled up in my eyes again, but Mal had gone to throw the dirty paper towels away and couldn’t see me. I replied, I need you.
“If he calls you back,” Mal said from the kitchen, over the running tap water, “don’t you answer it.”
It took me a second to realize she meant my dad. I snorted. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna take me a minute to get over this one.”
When and where, baby?
“Was he always this bad?” I asked, finally getting up off the floor. “Or am I still an insolent teenager?”
The tap shut off, and she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She was frowning. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s gotten worse? But I mean, let’s be real. He was never in the running for a father of the year award.”
I sighed and hoisted myself onto the edge of my desk. “No, I guess not.”
“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” she said, “but, I mean, there had to be a reason your parents split up. Right? I mean, a pretty good one.”
“I know.” And, to Sean: The sooner, the better. Your place? If that’s okay?
Mal plopped down onto my bed, dragging my ancient stuffed bear onto her lap. “I know you won’t listen to me this time any more than any other time I’ve said this, but you don’t need that shit. I mean, like, period. You shouldn’t answer the next time he calls, or any time after that. Fuck that guy. He makes you miserable.”
I shrugged. “He’s my dad.”
I’m on campus right now. You want me to pick you up?
“That doesn’t mean you have to talk to him.”
No, I’ll meet you at home.
“I’m going to Sean’s,” I said.
Mal’s eyebrows went up. “Are you—”
“Yeah,” I said, pissed again, “I’m sure, but thanks for checking in.”
I’ll be home in 30 minutes. Can’t wait to see you, cupcake.
“Talia, come on.”
“No, no. You’re right. Everyone’s right. I have this fucked up relationship with my dad and with men in general and definitely the worst thing I could do is find a man who cares about me.”
She took a deep breath.
I didn’t go on.
She said, “I love you, T-Benz. Like, actually love you. I know I can’t tell you what to do, and I hope you know I would never try. You’re smart and amazing and loyal and there are a million reasons why I love you.”
“But?”
“But I worry about you,” she said gently. “I worry that you get so wrapped up in seeking male approval you forget about all the approval the rest of the world is throwing at you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Can you listen for a minute? I know you won’t listen to Olly or your mom but maybe you’ll listen to me. Your dad has hurt you in some really profound ways, but I don’t want you to think the only way of fixing it is by finding a man who won’t do that.”
“Are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t be dating anyone?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not. I’m not even telling you you shouldn’t be dating Sean, or that you shouldn’t go see him right now. I’m telling you I’m here for you, always, and one hundred percent, even if everyone else fucks off. I’m telling you you’re brave and brilliant and strong. You’re the sister I never had, and I love you.”
That jerk was going to make me cry again. “Stop, please.”
“Nope.” She grinned at me. “You know you don’t need some human with a penis to make you appreciate how awesome you are. Penises are just really well-irrigated skin tags.”
I snorted. “Jesus, Mal.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Admittedly, I really hate boys right now.”
“There’s a lot to hate.”
“Unless he’s Beardy McBlue Eyes.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t fight the grin on my face. “Thank you, though. For real. I just hate that I need a babysitter when I talk to my dad.”
“You know how I feel,” she said, shrugging. “Until then, I’m your friend and I’ll provide you with Kleenex for your snot as long as you need me to. But seriously? If you’re going to go bang your Asgardian, you probably want to wash your face or something.”
I laughed. “I can always count on you to ruin a good bonding moment.”
“Seriously.” She waved a hand around her face. “All this. Kinda bad.”
“Jerk.” I slid off my desk. “Thank you. You know, for cleaning up my mess. I mean, the actual mess. No metaphors intended.”
“Whatever,” she said. “That’s how you get ants.”
Sean was already home when I got there. Dexter about bowled me over when I walked in, but I welcomed his wagging-tail, jowly-chuff enthusiasm.
“I think he likes you,” Sean said. He was pulling his hair back with an elastic as I crouched down inside the door, wrestling with Dexter’s big shovel head, and getting licked for my troubles.
I looked up at him and, the way he was looking at me, his hands in his pockets, like he was imagining me walking in his front door, greeted by a dog like it was my home, like it was his home—I couldn’t even pretend to control my grin. I felt it in my lips, in my eyes. In my gut.
He held his hand out and said, “Come up here. I’m getting jealous.”
I gave Dexter a final scratch behind the ears and stood, putting my hand in Sean’s and letting him draw me against him. He folded his arms around me, and I hummed happily against his chest.
He kissed the top of my head. “Everything okay, baby?”
“No,” I said. “My dad’s an asshole.”
He stiffened against me. His tone was flat when he spoke again. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
“Well, if you change your mind—”
“I know,” I said. “I don’t really want to talk at all.”
“No?”
I shook my head against his chest. “No. I want to be comforted.”
“You seem very certain of what you want.”
“For a riotous change of pace,” I said. “Besides, you rarely indulge my requests unless I’m very certain of them.”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah?”
I leaned back enough to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “So comfort me.”
“I don’t remember asking to be bossed around,” he said, but one corner of his mouth was curling up. “That’s kind of your thing.”
“And?”
“Ooh,” he said, his eyebrows pulling together as he released me, “that mouth today. Why don’t we put it to use?”
My heart stopped.
But he just settled into his recliner and said, “You never answered my question.”
I blinked. “What? ‘Why don’t we put it to use’ didn’t really sound like a question.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “You’ve had some time to think about this one, and I imagine you have been.” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes flickering over my body. “Or maybe more than thinking.”
“You’re going to have to remind me of the question.”
“Do you want me to control your orgasms?”
I looked away, at something else, anything else; I couldn’t even tell if I was humiliated by how turned on I was. How immediately it’d happened.
Well, I guess I had my answer.
“Hmm?”
I chewed on my lips for a few seconds while I formulated my response. “That means,” I said carefully, “I would have to ask.”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Mostly?”
“I may ask it of you.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
I covered my face. “Oh my God, are you listening to our conversation? We’re talking about—about my orgasm sovereignty.”
“Why does that make you uncomfortable?”
That got me to look at him. “Why does that—are you serious? You really want to know what’s so embarrassing about handing over the reigns of my personal pleasure to you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“I should be able to get myself off.”
“I’m sure you can, cupcake, but you gotta take the should out of your vocabulary.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t solve anything,” he said. “All it does is make you feel bad for not conforming to some made-up status quo. How do you know half the people in your graduating class aren’t members at the local dungeon by now?”
“I—”
“Should is only there to make you feel inadequate. That’s its only purpose. So tell me: do you want me to control your orgasms?”
I stared at him. I didn’t know. I knew the words orgasm control turned me on, knew the idea of it made me very, very fucking wet—but the idea that I couldn’t come whenever I wanted rankled.
He said, “Do you remember when you asked me to boss you around?”
“I do.”
“And do you remember what happened after that?”
I swallowed. “I do.”
“Do you remember when I had my face buried in your pussy?”
Maintaining eye contact was so difficult I thought I was going to break a sweat.
“Hmm? Do you remember that? If not, I’ll have to try harder in the future.”
“Yes.” I sounded like I’d just run a 10k. “Yes, I remember.”
“Do you remember what you said to me when you were close to coming?”
I shook my head.
“You said, ‘Let me come.’”
The words dropped between us, floating there in front of my face, huge and undeniable. “Oh,” I whispered. “Did I?”
He nodded.
What was I supposed to say to that?
He stood up and came back to me, his fingers brushing mine, then sliding up my arm, to my shoulder, my neck. Coming closer as he did. He smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead. “If the answer is no, that’s okay,” he said. “If the answer is yes, that’s okay. If the answer changes next week, that’s okay.”
“Okay. Okay. So—if I’m—I don’t know. If I can’t sleep, and I need to, and I figure an orgasm will put me to sleep—what do I do?”
“Ask.”
“At four a.m.?”
He studied me.
“Look,” I said, “orgasms aren’t all fun and games. Sometimes you gotta rub one out so you can get some sleep.”
He snorted.
“Oh my God, like you’ve never done it.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing, and squeezed my shoulders. “If it’s before midnight, ask. If it’s after, text me anyway. I want to know what you’re getting off to.”
I blushed, barely resisting the urge to cover my face. “Okay, so, uh—any other time?”
“Ask.”
“What if you say no?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “What do you think?”
My laughter was not at all cool. I squeezed my eyes shut, shook my head. “Ha, yeah, I got you. And if we’re together—I have to ask.”
“Usually. Though, like I said, I may request it of you.” He grinned, smug and catlike. “Your orgasms are very satisfying.”
“Thank you?”
“Thank you.”
I blew out a long breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, yeah. Let’s try it. Oh my God, what—” I pulled back from him, just enough to shove my own hands in my hair.
“Talia, we don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I said. “I—I can’t explain it. I want to. I want to ask, and I want your permission, but I don’t. I want to know where the fuck this urge is coming from.”
He chuckled softly and pulled me against him, folding his arms around my shoulders. “It’s okay, baby. We can try it, and if you don’t like it, we don’t have to keep doing it.” He kissed the top of my head. “You want me to boss you around, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“You want rules.”
“I do.”
“That’s all this is: a rule. Breaking rules earns punishment. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Fine,” I said. “Just ate. I’m going to the gym in a little while.”
“How are classes?”
“Okay,” I said, heading toward the stairwell.
“Harry said you’re getting a C in his class.”
Shit. Of course Dad was friends with my macro professor. Of course he was. I didn’t know how to mitigate this damage, so all I said was, “Okay.”
A little huff of breath, like he’d expected something more than that simple affirmation. “Sweetheart, you’re smarter than that. Your sister got an A in his class.”
“Probably,” I said. “She’s a math person. I’m not.”
“This isn’t about who’s a math person and who isn’t. You’re getting a degree in accounting, Talia. You’ll need to do better than this.”
Our door was closed, which I hadn’t expected, so I stopped to fish my key out of my bag. “Do you remember that conversation we had a couple weeks ago? About how I hate accounting?”
“This isn’t funny, Talia.”
“I’m not laughing, Dad.” I opened the door. Mal was on the couch in the common area, and I gave her a half-hearted wave and grabbed a Diet Coke as I headed to my bedroom.
“This is your future we’re talking about,” he said. “You’re never going to get into the MBA program if—”
“There’s your problem,” I interrupted. I slung my bag on my bed and shut my bedroom door. “Have you ever stopped to think, for like, a single second, that this isn’t actually your life? That you didn’t have kids so you could have a second chance at living? I can’t think of a thing I want to do less than go to business school.”
“It’s the best choice.”
“For what?” I asked. “What is it the best choice for?”
“Getting a job.”
“Dad, I literally do not know what that means. I don’t need a college degree—hell, I don’t need to have graduated from high school—to get a job.”
He snorted. “But you don’t want those kinds of jobs. They’re for—” He paused and cleared his throat.
“What?” I said. “They’re for Mexicans? You can’t do landscaping unless you’re fluent in Spanish? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I don’t know why you’re making me the bad guy, Talia,” he said. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
“But you’re not. You’re telling me what to do, and, I don’t know, I must be a total sucker, because I’m doing it. I’m not doing what I want, I’m doing what you want, and that isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t fair? You’re telling me you want to make your own decisions, but when something comes along you don’t like, you decide it isn’t fair, and so you shouldn’t have to do it? Come on, sweetheart. Grow up.”
I was super proud of myself for not hanging up on him. I cracked open my drink and said with as much disdain as I could muster, “That’s your big advice? That’s the golden nugget of knowledge? Life’s not fair?”
“I’ve spent your whole life trying to do what’s best for you. And now you resent it. I don’t understand.”
“It’s because you never take my opinion into account when you decide what’s best.”
“I’ve got a few more miles in the saddle,” he said. “I know what’s a good idea and what isn’t, and you don’t always have the best ideas.”
“You’re not exactly batting a thousand, either.”
“What does that mean?”
I rolled my eyes, as if he could see that. “Are we going to do this right now?”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Talia.”
“Because nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough,” I said. “Because I’ve never been pretty enough or smart enough or popular enough. Because I’m not good at the same things you are, or if I am, I’m not good enough at those things. Because you can’t ever just be proud of me. Because you can’t ever just say, good job, honey. Because—” I didn’t finish the sentence, because suddenly my throat was all closed up and my eyes were burning. I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand over my eyes.
“I am proud of you, honey,” he said. “That’s why I know you can do better in this macro class.”
I dropped the phone.
No: I tossed it. Threw it down. I launched off the wall, knocked my completely full can over, then blew out a hard breath and picked the phone up again. I said, “Oh my God, for fuck’s sake, Dad—”
“Talia, your language—”
“I really wish you’d treat me like a human being instead of some kind of marionette—”
“You’re upset, and—”
“You’re fucking right I’m upset,” I snapped, not waiting to find out if he’d stop talking. “You never listen to me. You never listen to me. You always assume you know what I’m going to say. And the funny thing is, your expectation and reality very rarely line up.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“See?” My voice was giving me away. My bedroom door cracked open and Mal’s head popped through. I turned away from her. “That’s not even a real apology.”
“Talia, that is enough.”
“You’re right about that,” I said, and hung up on him. I dropped the phone on the floor, saw the creeping spread of my former drink, and burst into tears.
Mal was beside me in a second. She pulled me down to the floor with her, laying my head on her shoulder and wrapping her arms around me while I sobbed. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything at all.
This was not a new thing.
When I finally got my hiccuping breaths under control, she said, “Let me get you some Kleenex.” I didn’t tell her no, and she eased up away from me and disappeared out the door.
I was not going to the gym, but I was changing my goddamn major. I was tired of this: if my dad was going to treat me like shit regardless of what I did, I might as well do what the fuck I wanted. I might as well try to make myself happy.
I picked up my phone again. I texted Sean: I need to see you. Tonight, preferably. If you’re not busy.
Mal came back, and I pulled myself together while she cleaned up the sticky mess on the carpet and I protested.
My phone vibrated. If you need me, I’m yours.
Tears welled up in my eyes again, but Mal had gone to throw the dirty paper towels away and couldn’t see me. I replied, I need you.
“If he calls you back,” Mal said from the kitchen, over the running tap water, “don’t you answer it.”
It took me a second to realize she meant my dad. I snorted. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna take me a minute to get over this one.”
When and where, baby?
“Was he always this bad?” I asked, finally getting up off the floor. “Or am I still an insolent teenager?”
The tap shut off, and she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She was frowning. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s gotten worse? But I mean, let’s be real. He was never in the running for a father of the year award.”
I sighed and hoisted myself onto the edge of my desk. “No, I guess not.”
“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” she said, “but, I mean, there had to be a reason your parents split up. Right? I mean, a pretty good one.”
“I know.” And, to Sean: The sooner, the better. Your place? If that’s okay?
Mal plopped down onto my bed, dragging my ancient stuffed bear onto her lap. “I know you won’t listen to me this time any more than any other time I’ve said this, but you don’t need that shit. I mean, like, period. You shouldn’t answer the next time he calls, or any time after that. Fuck that guy. He makes you miserable.”
I shrugged. “He’s my dad.”
I’m on campus right now. You want me to pick you up?
“That doesn’t mean you have to talk to him.”
No, I’ll meet you at home.
“I’m going to Sean’s,” I said.
Mal’s eyebrows went up. “Are you—”
“Yeah,” I said, pissed again, “I’m sure, but thanks for checking in.”
I’ll be home in 30 minutes. Can’t wait to see you, cupcake.
“Talia, come on.”
“No, no. You’re right. Everyone’s right. I have this fucked up relationship with my dad and with men in general and definitely the worst thing I could do is find a man who cares about me.”
She took a deep breath.
I didn’t go on.
She said, “I love you, T-Benz. Like, actually love you. I know I can’t tell you what to do, and I hope you know I would never try. You’re smart and amazing and loyal and there are a million reasons why I love you.”
“But?”
“But I worry about you,” she said gently. “I worry that you get so wrapped up in seeking male approval you forget about all the approval the rest of the world is throwing at you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Can you listen for a minute? I know you won’t listen to Olly or your mom but maybe you’ll listen to me. Your dad has hurt you in some really profound ways, but I don’t want you to think the only way of fixing it is by finding a man who won’t do that.”
“Are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t be dating anyone?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not. I’m not even telling you you shouldn’t be dating Sean, or that you shouldn’t go see him right now. I’m telling you I’m here for you, always, and one hundred percent, even if everyone else fucks off. I’m telling you you’re brave and brilliant and strong. You’re the sister I never had, and I love you.”
That jerk was going to make me cry again. “Stop, please.”
“Nope.” She grinned at me. “You know you don’t need some human with a penis to make you appreciate how awesome you are. Penises are just really well-irrigated skin tags.”
I snorted. “Jesus, Mal.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Admittedly, I really hate boys right now.”
“There’s a lot to hate.”
“Unless he’s Beardy McBlue Eyes.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t fight the grin on my face. “Thank you, though. For real. I just hate that I need a babysitter when I talk to my dad.”
“You know how I feel,” she said, shrugging. “Until then, I’m your friend and I’ll provide you with Kleenex for your snot as long as you need me to. But seriously? If you’re going to go bang your Asgardian, you probably want to wash your face or something.”
I laughed. “I can always count on you to ruin a good bonding moment.”
“Seriously.” She waved a hand around her face. “All this. Kinda bad.”
“Jerk.” I slid off my desk. “Thank you. You know, for cleaning up my mess. I mean, the actual mess. No metaphors intended.”
“Whatever,” she said. “That’s how you get ants.”
Sean was already home when I got there. Dexter about bowled me over when I walked in, but I welcomed his wagging-tail, jowly-chuff enthusiasm.
“I think he likes you,” Sean said. He was pulling his hair back with an elastic as I crouched down inside the door, wrestling with Dexter’s big shovel head, and getting licked for my troubles.
I looked up at him and, the way he was looking at me, his hands in his pockets, like he was imagining me walking in his front door, greeted by a dog like it was my home, like it was his home—I couldn’t even pretend to control my grin. I felt it in my lips, in my eyes. In my gut.
He held his hand out and said, “Come up here. I’m getting jealous.”
I gave Dexter a final scratch behind the ears and stood, putting my hand in Sean’s and letting him draw me against him. He folded his arms around me, and I hummed happily against his chest.
He kissed the top of my head. “Everything okay, baby?”
“No,” I said. “My dad’s an asshole.”
He stiffened against me. His tone was flat when he spoke again. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
“Well, if you change your mind—”
“I know,” I said. “I don’t really want to talk at all.”
“No?”
I shook my head against his chest. “No. I want to be comforted.”
“You seem very certain of what you want.”
“For a riotous change of pace,” I said. “Besides, you rarely indulge my requests unless I’m very certain of them.”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah?”
I leaned back enough to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “So comfort me.”
“I don’t remember asking to be bossed around,” he said, but one corner of his mouth was curling up. “That’s kind of your thing.”
“And?”
“Ooh,” he said, his eyebrows pulling together as he released me, “that mouth today. Why don’t we put it to use?”
My heart stopped.
But he just settled into his recliner and said, “You never answered my question.”
I blinked. “What? ‘Why don’t we put it to use’ didn’t really sound like a question.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “You’ve had some time to think about this one, and I imagine you have been.” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes flickering over my body. “Or maybe more than thinking.”
“You’re going to have to remind me of the question.”
“Do you want me to control your orgasms?”
I looked away, at something else, anything else; I couldn’t even tell if I was humiliated by how turned on I was. How immediately it’d happened.
Well, I guess I had my answer.
“Hmm?”
I chewed on my lips for a few seconds while I formulated my response. “That means,” I said carefully, “I would have to ask.”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Mostly?”
“I may ask it of you.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
I covered my face. “Oh my God, are you listening to our conversation? We’re talking about—about my orgasm sovereignty.”
“Why does that make you uncomfortable?”
That got me to look at him. “Why does that—are you serious? You really want to know what’s so embarrassing about handing over the reigns of my personal pleasure to you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“I should be able to get myself off.”
“I’m sure you can, cupcake, but you gotta take the should out of your vocabulary.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t solve anything,” he said. “All it does is make you feel bad for not conforming to some made-up status quo. How do you know half the people in your graduating class aren’t members at the local dungeon by now?”
“I—”
“Should is only there to make you feel inadequate. That’s its only purpose. So tell me: do you want me to control your orgasms?”
I stared at him. I didn’t know. I knew the words orgasm control turned me on, knew the idea of it made me very, very fucking wet—but the idea that I couldn’t come whenever I wanted rankled.
He said, “Do you remember when you asked me to boss you around?”
“I do.”
“And do you remember what happened after that?”
I swallowed. “I do.”
“Do you remember when I had my face buried in your pussy?”
Maintaining eye contact was so difficult I thought I was going to break a sweat.
“Hmm? Do you remember that? If not, I’ll have to try harder in the future.”
“Yes.” I sounded like I’d just run a 10k. “Yes, I remember.”
“Do you remember what you said to me when you were close to coming?”
I shook my head.
“You said, ‘Let me come.’”
The words dropped between us, floating there in front of my face, huge and undeniable. “Oh,” I whispered. “Did I?”
He nodded.
What was I supposed to say to that?
He stood up and came back to me, his fingers brushing mine, then sliding up my arm, to my shoulder, my neck. Coming closer as he did. He smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead. “If the answer is no, that’s okay,” he said. “If the answer is yes, that’s okay. If the answer changes next week, that’s okay.”
“Okay. Okay. So—if I’m—I don’t know. If I can’t sleep, and I need to, and I figure an orgasm will put me to sleep—what do I do?”
“Ask.”
“At four a.m.?”
He studied me.
“Look,” I said, “orgasms aren’t all fun and games. Sometimes you gotta rub one out so you can get some sleep.”
He snorted.
“Oh my God, like you’ve never done it.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing, and squeezed my shoulders. “If it’s before midnight, ask. If it’s after, text me anyway. I want to know what you’re getting off to.”
I blushed, barely resisting the urge to cover my face. “Okay, so, uh—any other time?”
“Ask.”
“What if you say no?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “What do you think?”
My laughter was not at all cool. I squeezed my eyes shut, shook my head. “Ha, yeah, I got you. And if we’re together—I have to ask.”
“Usually. Though, like I said, I may request it of you.” He grinned, smug and catlike. “Your orgasms are very satisfying.”
“Thank you?”
“Thank you.”
I blew out a long breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, yeah. Let’s try it. Oh my God, what—” I pulled back from him, just enough to shove my own hands in my hair.
“Talia, we don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I said. “I—I can’t explain it. I want to. I want to ask, and I want your permission, but I don’t. I want to know where the fuck this urge is coming from.”
He chuckled softly and pulled me against him, folding his arms around my shoulders. “It’s okay, baby. We can try it, and if you don’t like it, we don’t have to keep doing it.” He kissed the top of my head. “You want me to boss you around, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“You want rules.”
“I do.”
“That’s all this is: a rule. Breaking rules earns punishment. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
