Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Avery
I’ve been thinking a lot about my conversation with him. In fact, it’s all I’ve thought about for three days. We haven’t had a scene since that night. I feel like he’s giving me space. Space that I don’t want.
But I wonder if it’s space he needs.
And I know that I’m not supposed to push him. I could message him in the app, but he didn’t tell me to. But it didn’t seem like he was finished with me after we had dinner together. After we had such a nice exchange. But maybe…
Maybe he regrets telling me about his mom. Telling me about his past.
I’ve gone to his house every day, but have only scarcely seen him during that time.
I thought a lot about what he told me. The losses, what he went through. His control issues. The way that he learned how to be the Dominant that he is.
I shiver, remembering our last time together. It pushed me to the edge, and I loved it. He’s skilled. He knows how to make me feel vulnerable and cherished all at the same time.
He’s a man who has total control all the time.
The way he does everything is slow, methodical. I would’ve said that I’d hate that. But it turns out I love it. When it’s him. Because he knows how to get me out of my own head. He knows how to make me feel things that I never have otherwise.
Knows how to make me feel beautiful. Special. Right just the way that I am.
I miss him. Three days without touching him and I’m going crazy.
And just a week ago I hated him. Yeah. Those were the days. I didn’t know him then. I take a deep breath and pull his laundry out of the dryer, remembering folding it naked the other day.
We’ve still never kissed.
Everything feels inside out and backward and more intense for it.
I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time thinking about a man. The truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever thought as much about a man as I have him even before we had sex.
Sobering indeed.
I start walking up the stairs, and I hear water running.
I wonder if he came home while I was doing laundry.
My throat goes dry, and I walk past his bedroom. I haven’t ever done much in his bedroom beyond folding clothes and putting them away. The bedroom where he has scenes is a totally separate space. And it feels like a degree removed from intimacy. Deliberately.
It also feels like a breach of that intimacy to go in there when I think he might be showering.
Basket of clothes clutched my chest, I push open the door, and my heart is beating fast. He’s definitely in there. In the shower.
He was angry at me for pushing the other day. But it was a good kind of anger. The kind that led to sex. The kind that led to a punishment that I enjoyed.
I stand there, holding the basket, unsure of what to do. I probably should turn around, go back, act like nothing happened.
I should go back downstairs and see to my chores.
But I feel like I’m being led to him. My alpha wolf, knowing exactly how to get my attention.
Maybe that’s delusional. But then, I’m probably entirely delusional, given that I am in a fucking-only relationship with my formerly hated neighbor who I let tie me up and turn me into his sex toy.
Yeah. So there’s that.
I drop the basket and move toward the bathroom. He could lock the door if he doesn’t want anyone coming in.
I touch the handle, turn it, and find that it gives. Then I push the door open before I can think better of it.
I’m dizzy with anticipation. This could end badly, in multiple ways. It could end badly in a way that’s sexy and satisfying for us both. Or it could end in him dropping the axe on our relationship because I’ve stepped outside the boundaries of what’s expected of me.
I don’t know if I’m allowed to initiate with him.
I take my clothes off, standing there outside the glass door of the shower. He probably already knows I’m in here. But he hasn’t said anything.
Then before I can change my mind, I open up the glass door and step inside the shower. It’s filled with steam and I can only just barely make out the shape of his body through the fog. I don’t go to him. I don’t touch him. I’m simply there for his use. There for him to decide what happens next.
I’m ready to come, just from the anticipation of him touching me. Just with the pent-up need that’s been building up inside of me for days.
Then he reaches out from the shadow of the steam, grabs me and pulls me toward him, reversing our positions and putting me up against the wall as he cups the back of my head, his mouth crashing down on mine.
I’m stunned by the kiss. It’s hot, hard and deep. There’s nothing new or testing about it. He’s claiming me, his tongue sliding against mine as he moves his hands to cup my face, kissing deeper and deeper as he presses his body against mine, against the shower wall.
My legs give out, my whole body practically melting against him as he claims me like that.
I can feel his huge, heavy cock against my stomach and I roll my hips against him.
He reaches around behind me, grabbing my ass and digging his blunt fingertips into my soft flesh.
I whimper, arching my back, my nipples begging for his attention.
The last time he was so rough with them. It was a pleasure/pain that surpassed anything I’d ever experienced before. I crave more of it.
But he doesn’t give me the attention that I’m asking for.
Instead, he pushes his fingers through my hair and makes a fist, holding it tight as he draws my head back and kisses me deeper, harder.
His other hand is still on my ass, pushing toward my pussy.
He shoves one finger inside of me, then another, his movements rough as he continues to claim my mouth.
Then he withdraws his fingers, parting my thighs and lifting one leg up over his hip as he thrusts inside me, bare like I’ve been fantasizing about.
Bare like I’ve been afraid to ask for. He fucks me against the tile wall—that’s it, shaft hot inside of me as he pushes me closer and closer to orgasm.
I hold onto his shoulders, desperate for whatever he’ll give me.
He growls against my mouth. “So fucking hot. You dirty little slut.”
His words push me over the edge— I can’t even explain why. Even when I’m bad for him, he likes it. Dirty, desperate. He likes it.
It’s what I needed to hear, even though I didn’t know that it was.
I come hard, my pussy clamping down on his cock, and he thrusts into me three more times—rough and hard—before he spills hot and slick inside of me.
He doesn’t withdraw. He stays buried there as he turns the water off and opens up the door, lifting me off the ground and carrying me out into the bathroom.
He finally pulls out of my body, wrapping me in a towel and drying me vigorously.
He likes to do things for me when we’re done having sex.
I guess that’s true even when it isn’t a big scene.
My head is swimming. Because that wasn’t a scene. That was sex. Unplanned, and still with the spirit of the roles that we play sexually, but without the explicit protocol.
Without permission. Without a plan.
I think about what he said to me earlier. How he doesn’t keep a submissive the way that some Doms do. Doesn’t extend the dynamic out of the bedroom. Suddenly, I wish that he did. I imagine living here, existing to serve him. Please him.
That almost makes me laugh. Because I’m not going to spend my entire life being a sex slave. But God, it’s tempting. It would be easier than trying to figure out what the fuck I actually want.
Just thinking that makes me want to cry and I squeeze my eyes tight shut, trying to keep myself in the present, trying not to let myself get tangled up in what’s next.
“I’m going to get you something soft to wear,” he says.
I nod.
“Go and sit on the bed.”
I obey, my leg still feeling like jelly, and I sit on the edge of his bed. His bed. That’s a new intimacy. It’s not lost on me.
He returns with another set of luxury clothes from his secret drawer.
“So you keep these for all your submissives,” I say.
I don’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, though it does.
He slips the shirt over my head, and I’m so warmed by the gesture of care it makes my chest ache.
“Yes,” he says. “They usually sleep in the other room. Some of them travel from far away, and it would be… Un-gentlemanly of me to send them away in the dead of night.” He grins at me, a wolfish smile.
He’s no gentleman, and we both know it. But he does have that caregiver streak in him that runs deep.
It fascinates me, knowing what I do about his life. He speaks about the control aspect of domination, but it’s not the only thing that he likes.
I wonder if it is something that appeals to him because it something that was missing from his life.
Certainly it sounds like no one really took care of him.
I’m soft and comfortable, and he picks me up off the foot of the bed, holds me up against his chest, and carries me down the stairs.
I loop my arms around his neck, and I don’t ask where he’s taking me.
I don’t really care. Which is how we find ourselves on his couch, eating popcorn and watching a Marvel movie like we’re two normal people who just had a date.
It’s a sincerely strange new development.
I’m not unhappy about it.
He puts me on his lap, feeding me as we watch the movie. I’m not paying attention, but then, it’s all explosions to me. I’m so unbearably aware of his hard heat all around me. The way that his large hand rests on my side. The way he has me cocooned against him.
That’s what I really care about.
“Thank you,” I say, as the credits roll on the movie. “For not throwing me out of the shower.”
“I was waiting to see what your next move would be.”
I laughed. “Well, I can’t say that I fully knew. It’s just… You were there, and I missed you.”
He chuckles, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “So what is it you want, Avery?”
I’m stunned by the question. Not entirely sure how to answer it.
“Right now?”