Chapter 13 #2
His little smile is back, and he runs a finger just under the seatbelt across my chest, like he’s testing how tight it is, but it feels like he’s flirting again. But he can’t be… can he?
“I’m going out of town in the morning. I’ll be gone for a few days. So be good while I’m gone. Listen to Kira, tell your security team when you’re leaving to go somewhere. Keep your phone on you, Kira bought it for you for a reason. It’s safer to have it.”
He’s… leaving?
Wait, seriously? Wait, is he saying goodbye right now? Again? He’s not even going to ride with me to dinner?
Fuck me, why does he do this to me? Why does he spin my thoughts around, light my body up with sensations, confuse and confound me and turn me the fuck on and then… leave? Why does this keep happening?
Why do I keep letting it happen?
“Whatever.” I look away. Because, because–just because. Because fuck him, and fuck me and fuck everyone and fuck everything. Why am I so mad?
Why am I so sad?
“I mean it, Tommy.”
“Sure you do, boss.” I roll my eyes, and maybe I want to provoke him because when his fingers grasp my chin and bring my eyes back to his, I feel a thrill inside my chest, like I got what I wanted.
He holds me firm and tells me sternly, “I mean it.”
And part of me wants to roll over and show him my metaphorical belly like a puppy and promise to be good, but most of me wants to flip him off and bite his hand and freak the fuck out and run off screaming into the night.
Ugh. I’m a hot mess.
I deliberate on his words like I’m debating whether or not I’ll obey, chewing on them with dramatic expressions so he knows I’m debating.
And I do that for a while, maybe testing his patience, maybe testing mine.
I don’t fucking know. But he’s got patience for days and more discipline in his pinky than I’ve got in my whole body, so he holds real still and just stares at me, waiting me out like he always does.
He waits until I give up my attempt at being bratty and sag against the soft leather seat with my jaw still cradled in his hand, and just sigh. “I’m not good, Young-gi. I’ve never been good. I’m just Tommy.”
And I know I sound depressed, but I’m being honest.
Young-gi tks’s his tongue at me, so softly I barely hear it. “No, Tommy. We don’t lie to each other. Don’t think I won’t go get soap if I need to.”
I’m sure you will. And knowing he’s got that much follow through, knowing he’s not all talk, gives me a very confused boner because, like, what is my fixation on soap being in my mouth?
Or maybe it’s just the idea that he’s consistent about not letting me get away with bad-mouthing myself. That’s hot, I can admit that.
“I’m not trying to lie,” I say, and I hate that I can feel myself relaxing into his hold on my face. “I just don’t know how to be good.”
And if that’s not the truth, I don’t know what is. And why am I out here telling him this real shit? When did we get here? Wasn’t he just saying goodbye? Fuck him.
“That’s okay, Tommy. I’ll teach you.”
“You won’t even be here.” I can’t stop that from coming out, and I scowl at the way his eyes widen slightly, like I’ve just shown him something about myself he didn’t expect to see.
Well, fuck him, he’s not supposed to see me at all.
“So, no, I don’t think you’ll be teaching me anything.
But I know a guy who’s got a firm hand and an interest in me, so maybe I’ll call him up while you’re gone. Tell him I need some help being good.”
Yeah, I sink a lot of innuendo into that. Fuck you, I’m trying to distract him from the fact that I basically gave away how much I don’t want him to leave me alone in this fake fiancé life.
But he’s not having it. He’s flat, emotionless, as stainless-steel as ever. “No visitors, no overnight stays away from the apartment, no solitary contact with anyone not vetted by my security team.”
“So… no sex appointments with my Daddy fuckbuddy?” His hold on my jaw flexes slightly, and I think maybe I’m finally getting to him with that nickname drop. Oh, he notices the Daddy word, hm?
“Exactly.”
“Well that’s hardly fair. What if he’s my boyfriend? You’re going to keep me from the love of my life?”
That gets his attention. He lifts my chin higher, like he’s trying to look deeper into my eyes. “He’s not.”
“How would you know?”
“People in love don’t look at me the way you look at me.”
Fuck him. “Oh yeah? How do I look at you?”
“Like you want me.”
“Ha!” And I reach down and palm my crotch through my jeans, lewd and intentionally off-putting. “Have you ever once seen me get turned on for you? Since you’re a fucking robot, I’ll let you in on a human secret–if I wanted you, you’d know.”
I guess my inability to get hard or stay hard is coming in handy after all, for this bratty fucking tantrum I’m having.
And I think I’ve finally made him a little mad, or maybe even more amused, I can’t tell the difference with him, because instead of backing off, the fucker surprises me by looking down at it.
Staring, really. And not even doing anything else.
Just staring. My cheeks heat and I slide my hand away, suddenly feeling put on the spot.
He was supposed to get annoyed and leave, not…
not… like, stare at me like that. He called my bluff, and I fucking hate that. Hate how much I don’t hate it.
“No,” he commands, low and threatening and fuuuck, “don’t back off now.
If you want to hold it, if you want to be a brat, then go for it.
I’ll watch you be a brat, Tommy. If you want to put on a show and prove how much you don’t want me around, how much you don’t need me, then go right ahead.
But when you’re done, you’ll have to face the consequences. ”
Since I’m incapable of not meeting a dare, I slide my hand right back onto my dick and flex my hips up, being even more ridiculous than before. “Like what? Oooh, I know, spank me. Then I won’t need my Daddy friend at all. I’ll count for you.”
“No. I think you’d like that too much,” he says, somehow totally correct, and how the fuck did he know that?
“So no spanking. I think… time-out would be a more appropriate punishment for acting so immature, so in need of attention. What do you think, Tommy? You’ll stand in the corner, and stare at the wall, and hold really, really still while I watch you, stand behind you, and make sure you behave, make sure you take that consequence like a good boy. ”
Oh shit. I suck in a sharp breath and squirm because I’m about to get turned on and I just can’t right now, it’s too much, I feel too vulnerable. I yank my head away from his hold and shove at his chest, panicked and off balance. “Get the fuck away from me!”
He lets my chin go but his wide palm lands on my chest, pressing me into the seat and grounding me.
I grab his wrist and surprise both of us by clinging to it, keeping his hand there, rather than throwing it off.
He pushes his palm against me while I try to control my harsh panting.
But I can’t, I can’t. His eyes drop to my open mouth, and he very deliberately inhales–long and slow and full of an unspoken command.
He exhales. He inhales. He exhales. And I’m breathing with him, just like I did after the boxing match, when I’d lost my mind and needed violence, but got his care and attention instead.
“There you go. You’re alright, Tommy.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter weakly. My head hangs between my shoulders, and I’m embarrassed and confused. What do I do now? I shake my head at myself, and cling harder to his hand.
I’m losing my mind, I know it. We both know it, even the driver probably knows it.
I can’t stop myself though. I can’t stop.
He’s too much, he’s too close, and he’s leaving and I’ll be locked back in Kira’s apartment and this sucks and I hate it here and I want to go home but I also want to stay and that’s confusing and frustrating and I want him to stop making me feel so many things.
“Tommy,” he says conversationally, like I’m not holding his hand captive. “Are you trying to tell me something? Something you need?”
I freeze, and shudder, and feel weirdly naked. “No.” Wait, is that my voice? Pouty and sullen? Whiny and small? I’m so stupid, such an idiot! I clear my throat, letting anger heat my tone back up into something more normal for me. “No. I don’t need anything.”
“Hm.”
I wish he would stop looking at me like that. Like I’m a puzzle. I wish he’d stop looking at me at all.
But as he stands and gently untangles my death grip on his wrist, as he leans in and runs his fingers along the seatbelt again like he’s checking it one more time, as he tilts my head up with a hand on my jaw, looks me in the eye, and says, “e good, Tommy. I’ll know if you aren’t.
” Well, as he does those things, I realize that no, I don’t wish that.
And when he closes the door, taps the roof and the driver pulls away from the curb, leaving Young-gi behind, I realize I kind of wish the opposite. I stare unseeing out the window as the world passes by. Not quite dissociating, not quite present, either.
The streetlights blur past and my skin prickles with leftover adrenaline. I replay it all: his hand on my jaw, the way I grabbed at my crotch in front of him, the way he looked at me, at my dick, like all I am is a brat having a tantrum–and it was a tantrum.
It’s embarrassing. It’s worse than embarrassing.
And now he’s gone, and that’s the last memory we’ll have of each other for the next who-fucking-knows how long.
God. Fucking. Damnit. The next few days are gonna be torture. And it bothers me to know that I’d have an easier time with this whole situation if Young-gi would just stay, but he didn’t.
Whatever. I don’t need him anyway. I don’t need anything. And that’s not a lie.