“I’m not sorry,” she rasped, her bound hands clenching into fists just like her pussy was tightening around my cock. “I’ll never apologize. Never.”
“So you want this?” I pulled her back onto me, slowly but not gently. I watched myself disappear inside her body, mesmerized.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want this. I want to break you. I want to be yours. I want you inside me.” Her voice hushed to a whisper. “I want everything.”
“Fuck. Fuck.” It was too much—all of it. The rope around her hands and her pale skin and curvy body, her words and the memory of her, the possibility of us. I held her hips and fucked her fast and hard and deep, and nothing—nothing—in my entire life had ever felt as good. Strength and power and indestructible certainty that I could do anything flooded my veins, and as I reached the breaking point, my entire body seizing up and then exploding deep within her, all I could think was taking her inside me, caging her within my bones, enclosing her within my ragged, imperfect puzzle of a heart.
Mine.
• • •
Later, after I’d unwrapped her wrists and kissed the tender red marks on her alabaster skin, we undressed each other and slid between the cool white sheets in my bed, arms wrapped around each other tight. She fell asleep first, and I lay there stroking her hair, ignoring the ghosts that tried to fill my head with punishing dread, filling it instead with the scent of her skin, the softness of her breath, the weight of her head on my chest. Then I closed my eyes and held her as I drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, I woke first, facing away from her, one of her arms slung over my torso. I picked up her hand and kissed it before sliding out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my dresser. Soft, golden morning sun was just starting to come in through the skylight, and I smiled at the way it fell across her features. I could get used to seeing the first light of day on her face.
It reminded me of a poem I liked by Robert Frost about the ephemeral beauty of the beginnings of things.
Was this our beginning? Would we always remember the first night we spend together? The first morning here at the cabin?
Don’t be fucking melodramatic, snapped the voice. You have no idea what she’s feeling. You think the things she said to you when you had her tied up and defenseless were real? It was a fucking game.
Fuck. It had been kind of a game, but I hadn’t sensed any guile or pretense in her. It felt like she was speaking the truth. I wanted it to be the truth.
Could this work between us? I wasn’t ever positive about anything, but something tempted me to think maybe, just maybe Skylar Nixon could be the one woman who was strong enough, sweet enough, forgiving enough to be with me. The thought was both terrifying and beautiful.
Quietly I climbed down the ladder, used the bathroom, put the coffee on, and took my notebook out onto the porch. I felt rested, but throughout the night I’d woken up repeatedly with words scattered in my head, and I wanted to see if I could make some sense of them on paper. Sometimes letting the voice have his way in writing demystified it—lessened its foreignness inside my mind. These were my thoughts, my words, my feelings, and I owned them. I wasn’t their victim. Pulling the pencil from the spiral where I’d tucked it, I looked out into the woods for a few minutes, letting the raw words weave themselves together.
Skylar
You fall softly
like snow
mine
I am beneath you (I fall hard, like stone)
so I will catch you
on my tongue
You melt there like sadness
mine
I tied your hands (mine)
a vain, exquisite endeavor
to break you
mine
Shards of bone and soul
mine
littered the bedroom floor this morning
I stepped carefully around them
for fear of injury
mine
but you are brave, I think
You will gather them close
and try to smooth their jagged edges
mine
with the fearless, infinite grace
of your foolish heart
mine
Guess he wasn’t kidding about the sunrise.
I had the day off, so arising at dawn hadn’t exactly been my plan, but when I woke up and found myself alone in Sebastian’s bed, I missed him right away. Holy hell, last night had been amazing. From the blowjob in the car—I don’t even know what came over me, I’d never done that before—to the sex in his bedroom to the things he’d said…my mind was spinning. Jesus, had he really tied me up? Sebastian Pryce, who was so nervous about hurting people he kept his sharp knives hidden above the fridge, had actually tied my hands behind my back with rope?
Spying the rope on the floor, I brought the sheet up to my mouth and giggled silently. God. He was such a study in contradictions. But I loved that he felt comfortable enough with me to do it. I loved the things he said while he did it. I could still hear his low, intense voice in my mind.
Apologize… For breaking me down… The only thing I can do is make you mine.
Every second of it had been perfect. I’d meant what I said—I’d never apologize for wanting him—but I didn’t see it as breaking him. And as for being his… my stomach tightened at the thought. What did he mean by that? Like his his? The forever kind of his? Or was it just great sex? Maybe he was the kind of guy who said things in the dark he wouldn’t repeat in the light. I wanted to talk about it, but it would probably be like pulling teeth. Tugging the sheet from what were assuredly perfect hospital corners, I wrapped it around myself and managed to get down the ladder without slipping.
The smell of freshly made coffee filled my head as soon as I started to descend. I didn’t see him in the kitchen or living room, but I noticed the front door was open. Through the screen door I heard the morning song of the birds, and I remembered he liked to watch the sun rise from the front porch. I set the sheet aside and scooted into the bathroom, where I found a new toothbrush and washcloth laid out for me. God. He’s the sweetest hot-and-cold asshole ever. This could be really good between us…will he try? After using the bathroom, brushing my teeth and scrubbing off what was left of last night’s makeup, I poured two cups of coffee from the full pot, and waddled to the door, holding the sheet tight under my armpits.
“Hey,” I said through the screen. He’d been sitting there writing, and jumped at the sound of my voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, it’s all right.” He quickly closed the notebook, stuck the pencil inside the spiral, and set it on the porch floor before standing. “I didn’t expect you up so early. Here, I’ll get the door.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Wow, it’s so beautiful out there.”
He opened the door and took the cups from me. “I like your outfit.”
“You’re not mad I pulled the sheet off the bed?” I stepped past him onto the porch and took one cup from his hand.
“Uh, no.” He let the screen door slap shut and brought his coffee to his lips. “I’m particular, but I’m not totally insane.” He paused. “Usually.”