Chapter 16
As I struggleto understand the installation instructions accompanying my new product display tables, I can’t keep my thoughts from drifting to last Saturday night. It’s been nearly a week since my encounter with Damon, since he gave me my first and second orgasm, and laid out the terms of what could be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Images of us flash before my eyes as I sit on the floor of my shop—his hands on my hips, me grinding against him and running my fingers up and down his chest. As we sat on the couch, I was so aroused, I nearly came from just rubbing myself against him. When he laid me down and fingered me, I broke. A second wave of pleasure rushed through me.
Being with him is addictive and confusing, which is why I’m glad he told me to wait a week before responding to his terms. He wants to make sure I’m okay with what I’m getting myself into. The truth is, so do I. What he’s laid out isn’t exactly what I pictured of my first relationship. Sorry, arrangement. In so many ways, what I’ve experienced with Damon is different from my first time, different from anything I ever could’ve imagined. And yet, it also reminds me of my first time. That was a simple agreement between two strangers. We met at a specific location, took off our clothes, and did the deed before my bodyguards could realize I was gone. This…this is different, for sure. But it’s still nothing more than a contract of sorts.
Damon says there are five rules I must follow if I want to continue what we started last Saturday night. The first—I’m not allowed to touch myself and neither is any other man. Only he can please me. That one is fine by me. I can’t juggle more than one man right now and I’ve never been much good at touching myself. Even if I get better, my touch will never compare to his. His hands, his tongue, his… Okay, focus, Anastasia. The second rule—we will never have actual sex. He said he may penetrate me with other things, but not his dick. It’s a line he doesn’t cross. That one gives me pause. In part, because the idea of being penetrated by other things seems kind of scary. And also because I want to have sex. I want to have that experience and, weirdly enough, I want to have it with him. I’m still not sure what to make of my desire, my feelings. But that night I wanted him—all of him—inside of me. The more we do this, the more I’m going to want him. The more I can’t have him…I’m not sure what it’ll do to me. The third—I’m not allowed to wear panties anymore. Apparently, he likes the idea of having easy access to me. If he would’ve proposed this two weeks ago, I probably would’ve slapped him. But, from the spanking to binding my wrists with his belt, I’m finding all these strange things arousing. Maybe the possibility of him touching me at any given moment could be arousing too. The fourth—I’m never to expect a relationship with him. This seems obvious. He said he wasn’t boyfriend or husband material and I don’t disagree. Accompanied by him having this weird rule of not fucking, he screams emotionally unavailable. The last rule—if I’m ever uncomfortable, I must tell him. He said it would break him to know he actually hurt me. Even in punishment, the goal is pleasure. The only reason he likes toys and games and even mild punishments is to keep things interesting since he doesn’t have actual sex. Well, ever since he swore off sex some odd years ago. Knowing this makes it all seem a little less scary. Pleasure—I suppose that’s where my thoughts always come back to.
I don’t know why I ever thought being with Damon in this way was a good idea. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the glimpse of true intimacy, true romanticism our walk home gave me. Maybe it was the fact that I’ve been deprived of physical touch for far too long and he’s the only man around that I’m mildly comfortable with. Yeah, that’s probably it. But, regardless, now he’s all I can think about. Or, rather, how he makes me feel, what he does to my body. In one night, I’ve become addicted to his touch. And even though this arrangement is unexpected, confusing, void of emotion, and even a bit scary, I’m not ready to give up the pleasure it brings me.
I know this can’t last forever, and it’s not like I want it to. I want a real relationship. I want to be in love. And I know that I can’t have those things as long as I’m involved with Damon, just like I couldn’t while living under my brother’s watchful gaze. But, right now, my priority is my shop, not dating. So why not have a little fun in the interim? Besides, I clearly have much to learn and Damon is a good teacher. I can view it as preparation for the real thing I hope to have one day with someone else.
As I find my resolution, I set aside the instruction pamphlet in my hands and rest my back against the brick wall of my shop. Brinkley takes my brief moment of relaxation to hop into my lap. “Good boy,” I whisper as I rake my hands over his fur. He starts off on a mission to lick the skin from my thighs in response. I smile and laugh. Even though it’s gross, I know it’s just his way of showing me love. “Careful, now. I’m not sure if Damon’s rules apply to you or not. He might get jealous.” Obviously, I’m joking. Besides, there’s no competition between the two of them. Brinkley is my baby and Damon is my… I’m not sure what to call him. Perhaps it’s better I don’t give him a label. Who knows how long this arrangement will even last?
I close my eyes then and allow the sounds of the French Quarter to drift in through the open double doors to my right and take with them all the stress this furniture has caused me. At least, I try to. Now that the painting is done, each day there’s a new delivery. The parts for my hanging racks which will go on the front and back walls and for the few tables I’ll have scattered about have arrived as well as the material for my checkout counter and the pink coffee cart I plan to set up to serve macarons, champagne, and coffee to my customers. All of my dreams are coming true. Well, sort of. I have the vision, just not the execution.
The painting nearly killed me, and now this place is full of cardboard boxes, random pieces of wood, and nuts and bolts that I have no idea which pieces they go with because I made the mistake of opening up several shipments at once. There’s no way I can do this all on my own, and just like with the painting, I can’t find anyone to help me. There’s only so much time I have to get this done before inventory starts showing up.
I open my eyes then, taking note of the soft sounds of a violin streaming in along with the afternoon sun rays. The sweet sounds remind me that Damon fixed his stereo system earlier this week and yet, he still hasn’t been blaring that atrocious noise. Hmm. Maybe he’s trying to keep the peace until I give him my answer. Or maybe he’s actually making good on his offer to be nicer. Either way, I wonder if his kindness could extend to other things, like helping me assemble all the furniture for my shop. I know he said noto the painting and refused to help me carry even a gallon up the stairs. But that was before. This week, things have been different. He’s given me my space. And while he still makes a point of antagonizing Brinkley once or twice a day, things between us have been good. He even helped me lug all these boxes up the stairs.
He did say this is meant to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, and while we both derive pleasure from the experience, I’m the only one being asked to follow rules. Maybe I should make some demands of my own. “That’s it!” I say, moving a bit too quickly for Brinkley’s comfort. He jumps off my lap in a fright and immediately starts barking at absolutely nothing at all. “It’s okay, baby,” I say. I try to calm him down but my efforts are useless. So, instead, I set off downstairs.
Damon should’ve known I wouldn’t play by his rules. At least, not without him making some concessions. He may like control and to be dominant, but I’m not submissive, even though I did quite like it the other night. He had a way of bringing me out of my head, out my guilt and grief, that no one has ever been able to do. Still, he doesn’t know that, and it wouldn’t be very Anastasia Cross of me to give in to him so easily.
Brinkley follows me as I step off the landing and round the corner, heading to Damon’s office. He actually hasn’t used the bathroom in a while, and he’s been known to sneak off downstairs to do his business. Hmm, maybe I can help the two of them bond by requiring Damon to be his poop monitor. That way, if Brinkley does shit in his office he can only blame himself and it’ll save me from having to deal with the stairs. Imagining the look on Damon’s face when I make my proposal brings a smile to my own. An unexpected turn of events, for sure. But if he agrees, then this really will be a mutually beneficial arrangement, at least temporarily.