21. Salt
TWENTY-ONE
SALT
I spent my last day being twenty-five in bed, in the dark, doomscrolling social media. Eventually, I put on a movie and drifted in and out of sleep, trying to avoid thinking about my birthday. And my father. And the fact that I was living in the house that had trapped me for most of my life.
Messages piled up. What are you doing for your birthday? Want to go out? Want to go to a club? Want to ? —
I ignored all of them. Nancy and Beth were the only two people I’d maybe respond to, but they knew I always struggled this time of the year, so they’d bake a cake and force me to blow out candles some time next weekend.
My stomach grumbled again and I sighed, rolling over and draping my arm and leg over the side of the bed. Shadows grew darker in my bedroom as the sun set, my muscles begging me to move.
I didn’t want food, though. What I actually wanted, I couldn’t have, and that was Pepper.
A hoarse groan left me and I slowly let my body melt off the bed, my limbs colliding with the cool hardwood floor. I took the blanket with me and rolled onto my back, sprawling out to stare at the ceiling.
Every fucking year.
Maybe it would get easier one day, I wasn’t sure. But every fucking year, my birthday felt like this monumental hurdle that left me feeling isolated. I could be in a room full of people who loved me, but I wouldn’t feel it. All I would feel was the weight of my father’s hatred. The weight of my mother’s death. And I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I still carried that guilt.
I had a therapy appointment next week, at least. That was one of the things Nancy had encouraged me to do when I first came into her life, and I was still grateful for it. I’d been seeing the same therapist for years now, and while I wasn’t perfect and still struggled, I was a better person for it.
The meeting went well last week. Or, that’s how I’d perceived it. Tommy walked me through the contract process and what his vision was for me. Mostly, we talked about what I wanted.
What kind of music did I want to make? What song would I choose for a single?
The one that made me think about Pepper the most was my first choice. I’d written that song during a low point, while holding onto the idea that there was someone out there who could love me. Someone who I could love back.
It’d been a week though, and I hadn’t heard shit from Rosethorn. So maybe that opportunity really was dead.
Another grumble interrupted my thoughts. My stomach was starting to fucking hurt. “Fucking why ?” I growled and sat up, annoyed that I had to eat something.
I stood up slowly and stretched, every muscle protesting. A workout would be good right now. Well, really anything but bed rotting would be good. But it wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do was eat a little something.
I looked at my phone lying on my bed, my fingertips itching.
The only company to my misery was the desire to text Pepper. I wondered what she was doing today. What were her weekends like? What did someone like her do to relax?
I snatched up a throw blanket and pulled it around my shoulders, wearing it like a cape around my naked chest as I finally emerged from my bedroom. I went down the hall, haunted by the past. Remembering times my father punched these walls, times I’d hidden in the small linen closet.
Tightening the blanket around me, I entered the kitchen and yanked open the fridge. I had left over pizza...
I didn’t want to cook. I wrinkled my nose and snatched a cold piece from the box, a Gatorade, and kicked the door shut.
This was a better pre-birthday than last year, at least. I was eating something instead of wasting away into the night.
I shoved the pizza down my throat and drained the Gatorade, and stared at the living room from the kitchen.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
Everything had to go. I needed to sell the house. That, or fucking burn it down. Living here was eating away at me, and it didn’t matter how convenient it was, I needed to get out.
Almost all the furniture belonged to him. A layer of dust had settled over everything. The kitchen, the garage, my bedroom, and the bathroom were the only parts of the house I frequented, and I’d decorated those the way I preferred. I’d even created a corner of my bedroom for recording videos, but it was all temporary.
My hand tightened on the plastic bottle and I tossed it into the recycling bin. In a blink, I was throwing myself back on my bed again and glaring at the wall.
Pepper came to mind. Uninvited . I buried my face in a pillow and sighed, trying to chase her away, but no. It was fucking impossible.
Maybe she’d vetoed the proposal Tommy sent her. I reached around for my phone until I felt it and picked it up, looking at the screen.
It was driving me crazy.
“Don’t do it,” I whispered to myself.
I set my phone down. I refused to text her, even though every single part of me wanted to. My eyes shuttered as I went over everything that happened.
The coffee shop. Beaumont’s. Our phone call. Russo’s.
A complete whirlwind. In just a couple of nights together, her essence had permeated my soul. It went beyond a simple connection or a fleeting desire.
I wasn't new to the kink community. Once I met Nancy and Beth, I threw myself into it wholeheartedly. I loved being a Dom, I loved exploring desires with others. Through the community, I was able to find a healthy outlet for my sadistic tendencies and discover what I enjoyed, too.
But even with all the experience I’d gained over the years, none of it came close to the way Pepper made me feel. She was a match and my entire body was drenched in gasoline. The lust inside me burned hot.
The desperation. The constant craving. Knowing that there were so many things she’d never experienced, and I could be the one to show her.
I could be the one to corrupt her.
My imagination went wild. The things I wanted to do to her…
In the darkness of my mind, she appeared again.
I imagined her on her knees, looking up at me with her pleading eyes, begging me to fuck her.
Begging me to use her.
I knew how difficult it was for her to share that part of herself, especially given that her last partner never cared about her—at least not in that way. I couldn’t imagine being married to someone for so long and not being able to explore sex together. It sounded like hell.
She deserved better.
I wondered what secret desires she had—CNC was just one of them. We’d briefly touched on that kink, but there was so much more we could do.
She needed to get to a point where her mind turned off. She was smart and driven and making decisions twenty-four seven, and there was clearly mental fatigue around that. She’d put up a fight against fully relaxing until she was forced to, but then she’d beg for the release.
What was waiting for me just under the surface?
It felt like there was a fissure in my life. Before Pepper, and after Pepper.
My therapist was going to have a fucking field day with me when I saw her next. She’d tell me I was doing that thing —latching on to someone who might love me. Obsessing. Creating a fantasy world in my head that would never become reality.
She wouldn’t be wrong. Maybe it was just who I was. All of that didn't matter, though.
What mattered was imagining exactly what I wanted to do to her.
I imagined putting a collar on her. Not just any collar.
Working with leather was a hobby I’d picked up alongside woodworking while building sex furniture. The mask I wore on stage was a custom one I’d made.
The collar I wanted Pepper to wear would be made by my hands.
Nice, buttery soft black leather with a silver heart ring at the center. One I could loop my finger through and tug. My name engraved along the inside so it would always press against her soft skin. And with the collar, matching cuffs to restrain her.
I wanted to tie her down to my bed, fasten a vibrator between her pretty thighs, and make her come until she couldn’t remember her name. I wanted her pleasure to be the focus. To show her that she deserved every fucking orgasm possible.
My breath hitched as my cock hardened, all of my blood rushing down .
“Fuck,” I rasped.
I lifted my hips, grinding my cock against my bed. Dreaming of her beneath me.
I loved watching her expression freeze someone like jeff. The waves of power rolling off her in the elevator on Wednesday morning, the way that everyone gravitated to her. They were used to bowing down, and rightfully so. She was brilliant, determined, powerful.
It was a fucking gift to have even touched her.
I pushed myself back onto my knees, sliding my briefs down. My cock came free. Veins bulged along the length of me, hard from just thinking about Pepper. I spat into my palm, grabbing myself as I thought about fucking her. About putting a collar on her and pulling her hair while I drove in and out of her, making her squirt again.
I needed her.
“Pepper,” I moaned, stroking myself faster.
Pleasure rushed through me. I grunted as I felt my orgasm mounting, images of fucking her flashing through my mind. I thought about us in her shower, the way she’d begged for my cock.
The way she pleaded was so fucking pretty.
“Fuck,” I rasped, throwing my head back as I got closer.
My hips thrusted into my grip and I gave one final grunt, coming hard into my palm, heat filling my hand. I wished every last drop was going inside her so I could push it back in after we were done.
I shivered, relaxing completely. I opened my eyes and got off my bed quickly to head for the bathroom.
I needed a shower. I needed to eat something aside from cold pizza. And I needed to start gutting the entire house.
Which was exactly how I was going to spend the rest of the day.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d hear from Pepper.