Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Despite knowing better, Vivian was drunk and alone. She’d always been careful about mind-altering substances, but her concern had always been about darkness creeping in. About the isolation that bound her limbs and made the ceiling feel like the bottom of a grave.
But what she felt when she returned to her suite wasn’t suffocation. It was bright and effervescent and… freeing. Too freeing. The vodka made her reckless. Had severed her grip on self-control.
The sensation felt more dangerous than darkness while Vivian tore off her clothes without the usual care. When she stepped into the shower still wearing her jewelry and without removing her makeup. She just wanted to wash off the night.
Not the entire night. Not the part where she’d gone to Bryn’s room, although she’d like to forget what her eyes looked like when she’d been crying. She’d be happy never to see that again.
She stepped under the waterfall in the glass-encased shower and relished how it burned her scalp. How the mild discomfort grounded her. How it felt real when nothing else did.
Resistance lasted until she crawled under the heavy duvet naked, hair damp like she didn’t care that it would take twice as long to style in the morning.
And she didn’t. Not right then. Not when she was reaching for her earbuds and opening Siren.
Not when all she could think about was Bryn’s voice. Her insistence that Vivian listen.
So Vivian opened Kelly Craves’ profile, found the first Fdom audio, and listened to a track called “Kneel for Me.”
It started with the jarring sound of a heavy door clicking shut. And then, the rhythmic click of heels on a hardwood floor. The sound design was so crisp that Vivian instinctively held her breath, her heart hammering as if someone had actually walked into her hotel room.
Then, the voice.
“You’re late,” Kelly said.
It was Bryn, but it wasn’t. Her timbre was so low, but it wasn’t only that. It was stripped of all the warmth and vulnerability that permitted everything Bryn said. This voice was brass knuckles under a leather glove. It was arrogant and intoxicating.
Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness behind her lids spinning slightly from the vodka. A shiver, violent and electric, raced down her spine.
“I told you what would happen if you kept me waiting,” Kelly continued, her tone dropping into a dangerous whisper that seemed to curl around the shell of Vivian’s ear.
To take her by the throat. “I told you that my patience isn’t something you can afford to test. Look at you.
Standing there, nervous. You know you deserve what’s coming, don’t you? ”
Vivian stopped breathing. For a fleeting, dizzying second, she liked it.
She liked the idea of consequences. Of not having to decide.
Liked the weight of authority pressing down on her chest, pushing out the air, narrowing her world until it was just Bryn’s voice.
Until every syllable burned and she ached for more than just words.
“Get on your knees,” Kelly commanded. It wasn’t a request. “Eyes down. Don’t show me those gorgeous eyes until I tell you to.”
Vivian’s legs twitched under the duvet, desperate to obey.
“Tell me how badly you missed me—ah, ah, ah. No. Eyes down.”
Vivian swallowed hard and gripped the sheets with both hands.
“Tell me, baby.” Kelly’s voice was only in one earbud. “How often have you thought about me while I’ve been away?” Her voice shifted to the other earbud, disorienting and making the illusion too real. Too much like Bryn was in the bed next to her. Like Vivian was kneeling at her feet.
“Yeah? That much?” Kelly laughed, condescending. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”
Desire roared to life with destabilizing speed. Vivian almost muttered a breathless yes into the empty room.
“Good thing I’m here then,” Kelly whispered, sending goosebumps racing down her arms. “I’ll take such good care of you. I always do, don’t I?” A pause. Another condescending chuckle. “That’s right, baby. You’re mine and I take care of what’s mine.”
Vivian’s core throbbed. She yearned to slip her hand under the covers, but she couldn’t let herself. She gripped the duvet tighter instead, ignoring the way the material grazed her hardening nipples. Ignoring the desperate need to feel Bryn’s hands on her body.
“Tell me what you want,” Kelly demanded. “Anything you want. Come on,” she urged. “Don’t be shy now.”
Vivian clenched her jaw, afraid that she might speak a desire aloud. That she might surprise herself. Frighten herself.
“That sounds so good,” Kelly crooned before making a sound as if she’d bitten her lip.
The image of Bryn with her bottom lip between her teeth was too much. Vivian pushed the sheets down, body sweltering from the act of listening.
“I just want you to do one thing for me first, baby. I know you can do it,” she promised, but this time her tone wasn’t condescending.
“God, you look so good on your knees,” Kelly muttered like she’d broken character. Like it was Bryn looking at Vivian and getting overwhelmed at the sight.
Another hard pang of desire begged Vivian for release. She couldn’t stop herself. Vivian parted her thighs and pressed her fingers to her clit. Her shockingly hot and swollen clit.
Cursing, it was all Vivian could do not to relieve the pressure.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so turned on.
The last time she even wanted to have sex.
On the nights she reached into her bedside table to grab her vibrator, it was just a way to get to sleep rather than sating any genuine desire.
Kind of like coughing to clear her throat—just something her body needed to do sometimes.
But now, all she wanted was for Bryn to be at her side. For it to be her hand sliding between her thighs. Her lips on Vivian’s sensitive neck.
In Vivian’s ears, there were new sounds. She strained to identify them and then burned with understanding when she registered the sound of velcro being adjusted.
It had been an eternity since Vivian’d heard that, but her back nearly arched when she recognized the sound of a harness.
Core pounding, Vivian pressed her fingers to her shockingly wet entrance like that might be enough. Like it was just as good as Bryn teasing her with the tip of a strap before she sunk in so deep Vivian couldn’t breathe.
“Look at me, baby,” Bryn whispered, and Vivian opened her eyes like she expected to see her standing there. “Yeah, I know. I know how much you like this, and I’m going to give it to you. But first...”
Heart hammering, Vivian couldn’t return the moisture to her mouth. Couldn’t stop waiting in pathetic, breathless anticipation. She’d give Bryn anything she wanted as long as she released her from this torment.
“Open that sexy mouth of yours,” Bryn demanded. “Fuck,” she muttered. “You look so good like that. You want me so bad, don’t you?”
Vivian couldn’t stop her fingers from slipping inside. One and then two. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was going to be enough.
“I want you too,” she vowed, and Vivian believed her. “Why don’t you get this strap nice and wet for—” Bryn sucked in a breath like she’d been surprised by her immediate compliance.
Bryn’s moan went off like a nuclear weapon in Vivian’s body. She ground her hips into the mattress before her own curse tore through her raw throat. It was too much.
Vivian yanked out her earbuds, chest heaving and body covered in sweat. The silence of the hotel suite rushed back in, violent and disorienting.
She laid there, body a confused tangle of unsatisfied desire. She dropped her hand away from her body. Away from the heat that was still pulsing, demanding a finish she couldn’t give it. Not like this.
Cold sweat combined with the heat of her arousal, dropping the temperature in the room twenty degrees. Vivian clawed the sheets back over her naked body. She was exposed. Even alone and behind a locked door, she’d been flayed open.
Fear curled in her gut, sharp and unmistakable. It wasn’t sex she was afraid of, not exactly. It was the wanting.
Wanting Bryn was dangerous. This much desire, this much raw, unchecked need, was like standing on a cliff edge during a hurricane. Even standing still was a life-threatening risk. Just being so close to the drop could trigger the fall.
Her phone screen lit up, cutting through the dim room and Vivian’s haze. A text from Bryn.
She stared at it, chest still heaving, Bryn’s voice still echoing. For a wild, irrational second, she thought Bryn knew. That Bryn had sensed what she was doing. Vivian forced herself to get it together and picked up her phone.
Bryn: Thank you again. For the drinks. And for the rescue. And for not making me feel like a weirdo.
Vivian stared at the words. They were so polite. So utterly at odds with the woman who had just commanded her to get on her knees. The dissonance made Vivian dizzy. She typed a response, deleted it, and typed again.
Vivian: You’re not a weirdo. You’re a business-person. Go to sleep.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Bryn: I can’t. I’m too wired, and someone got me a little drunk. Okay… all the way drunk. LOL. Maybe I’ll get drunk tomorrow and brave the awkwardness of running into Richard and Seraphina to attend Julius Thorne’s seminar on the micro-physics of breath.
Vivian let out a sound that was almost a laugh. Her muscles unclenched without her command.
Vivian: Thorne is a pompous windbag who thinks he’s the only asshole who knows how to breathe.
Bryn: Don’t judge me! I’m kind of geeking out, okay? You’re probably going to sleep in and order room service like a real famous person. But I really want to go. It’s just… ugh… I don’t know.
Vivian looked at the empty space beside her in the king-sized bed. It was vast. Cold. She imagined tomorrow morning. Waking up alone. Ordering coffee alone. Walking through the lobby alone, shields up, dodging gazes and deflecting questions and absolutely not attending any programming.
She considered a different scenario. Sitting next to Bryn in a stuffy conference room, listening to a windbag talk about breathing.
Bryn’s knee bumping hers under the table.
Rolling her eyes when Thorne got too pretentious, which would happen immediately.
Bryn pulling out a bag of gummy bears or something just as ridiculous for a snack.
Whispering to each other. Sitting too close.
The wanting that flared in her chest had nothing to do with friction or heat. She couldn’t find a single sober brain cell to take over her abysmal decision-making. Damn it.
Vivian: What time is the session?
Bryn: 9:00 AM. But don’t worry. You don’t have to go. I’ll brave the potential awkwardness to listen to a man who wears scarves indoors alone.
Vivian’s thumb hovered over the screen. She should say goodnight. Should stay out of the danger zone, not run headlong into it. Fuck.
Vivian: I’ll meet you in the lobby at 8:45. Bring coffee.
Bryn: Vivian, really. You don’t have to. I know this isn’t your thing. And it’s not like you have anything to learn about craft.
Vivian read the message twice. Bryn was giving her an out. Bryn was always giving her an out, always careful not to take too much, not to ask for more than Vivian was willing to give.
Vivian typed the truth before she could convince herself to lie. Before she could just turn the phone over and go to sleep.
Vivian: I know. I want to.
She hit send, dropped her phone onto the bed like she might take it back, and buried her face in her pillow.
I want to.
The words lingered in the dark room, loud and accusing. Vivian pulled the duvet up to her chin, curling into a ball. A dull, terrifying ache started at the dead center of her chest and spread out like nauseating tendrils.
Desire she could handle. She could starve it, or she could feed it in the dark until it went back to sleep. But this softness spreading through her chest? This quiet, insidious hope that made her look forward to something she should hate…
That was the thing that could destroy her. But she was so tired of fighting to survive.