Chapter 18 #2
“You haven’t made anything clear,” I pout, even though my mood is swinging right back up again, and I wish he’d step even closer and press himself against me.
“I don’t even know what you mean by that.
And why do I have to stay with you? Why don’t I get a choice on that? Isn’t that kind of fucked up, too?”
He sighs, his other hand coming up to hold my chin very, very gently. “So, it’s like that then. Don’t worry, Tommy, I think I get it.”
I shove his hand away, look down at the floor.
But I don’t say anything. If he gets it, I hope he fucking explains it to me soon, because I’m lost. My blood is humming, the world is a frighteningly bright and exciting place when he’s around me.
I can’t handle how good and thrilling it is.
It almost hurts. I think my heart might beat so fast that I’ll die.
He reaches up again, even slower, but I don’t stop him from softly reclaiming my chin, from bringing my face up so I have to look at him.
“You listen to me, young man,” he says, low and smooth and just threatening enough that my eyelids flutter and my knees go weak. “You can choose the place, because you’ve earned that. But you’re staying with me. For your own good.”
“For my own good?” I hiss, trying to act like that isn’t the single hottest thing anyone has ever said to me before. Like I’m not getting turned on, flushed with heat, antsy with overpowering need. “What the fuck do you know about my own good?”
“You don’t get to make choices that aren’t good for you,” he says, not really answering my question.
“And I understand if you want to pretend you don’t want it, if you feel like you have to act like you don’t need it, but that doesn’t excuse you from what happens if you lie.
So lie if you want, but you’ll have to be corrected afterward. ”
Fuck. I’m panting in his face now, I can’t stop it, and his eyes dip down to trace my parted lips.
If I didn’t know better, if I didn’t know he was straight, I’d think he was about to kiss me, and just the thought of that makes me half-hard in my jeans.
Okay, who am I kidding, I got half-hard when he told me he knew what was good for me.
I squirm out of his hold and press myself against the cool glass to try and calm down.
It’s been sooo long since I’ve had any relief of that kind.
When I try at night, I haven’t been able to finish, and when I was at the club, I wasn’t comfortable taking anything to help me relax when I was supposed to be watching the girls.
I’m a fucking ticking time bomb, I’m weak, I’m one more stern touch away from humping him.
And the worst part is that even if I did lose control and try to jerk off on him, I probably wouldn’t come anyway. I’m too fucked up. I need help to do that, and I don’t have that help here. Maggie has it, at the club.
“Fine,” I say, needing some space, needing to compose myself, to bring myself under some semblance of control before my head spirals and I get that sour-sick-shame feeling again. “Whatever.”
He backs off, spinning so that he’s leaning against the window right beside me, almost shoulder to shoulder except he’s taller than me, so it’s more like shoulder to bicep. I don’t expect him to do that, and I end up speechless, unsure what to say.
So he breaks the silence. “Do you actually want to choose a different place to stay?”
Lie, don’t lie… the choice feels important.
Weighty. Like this decision will show more of me than I want it to, whichever way I choose.
I’m tempted to lie just to see if he means it about the correction, but I don’t know if I can handle all of that in my current headspace, on the edge of a sexual-frustration fueled meltdown. So I don’t lie.
“No.” The single word is so quiet I’m not sure he can even hear it, but he does.
“Good boy,” he returns, almost as quiet. “Do you understand why you don’t get a choice about staying with me?”
“For my own good,” I whisper.
“That’s right,” he practically purrs. “Good boy.”
I’m not looking at him, he’s not looking at me, we aren’t even touching. But I think this is the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone.
“What’s actually bothering you about being here instead of with Kira?” he asks, surprising me and confirming that this isn’t flirting or fighting, it’s a real conversation, about real things. And that’s horrible, it cracks me open, but… I don’t put a stop to it.
“Oh, lots of things,” I huff. “I’m a fucking circus of problems, Young-gi.
” He tsk’s his tongue once, warningly, and I suddenly recall the taste of soap.
With a grimace, I correct myself. “I don’t know why it bugs me so much.
There’s a lot there. A lot… inside my head.
It’s loud. I can’t always figure it out. ”
“I know the feeling.”
“You? Really?” I ask, incredulous, unbelieving. We look at each other then, breaking the little no-looking game we were playing, and he nods.
“Haven’t you noticed?” he asks. “Everyone does, eventually.”
“I–” I hesitate, and think things over. His apathy, his intensity with no emotion, his focus with no clear motivation. “I guess I have.”
“Does it bother you?” he asks, surprising me. “That I don’t feel things?”
“You feel things,” I say.
“Maybe,” he sighs. “I feel a lot of things, but none of them have names or make sense. A lot of the time, everything feels the same. Muddled, and distant. Unimportant. I don’t remember things with sentimentality, usually. I don't have a lot that I care about.”
We go back to not looking at each other while I think about that. “What did you mean when you said I was yours?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Wait… what?!?
“You don’t know?!” I ask, a little annoyed. “Then why did you say it?”
“Because it’s true.” He says it so casually, so smoothly, that it’s hard to disagree, even though that’s insane. “I want it to be true. I think of you as mine. I feel… possessive. That’s a feeling that I’ve only recently decoded.”
He feels possessive of me?
I-I think I just flatlined. I have no idea what that means, what it implies, and I don’t think I’m brave enough to ask.
But god, he’s ringing me like a bell, I’m vibrating on a frequency I never have before.
And it’s terrifying. The possibilities for pain are endless.
So I take what he said, and I let it get twisted.
Twisted into something bad, because that’s got to be the truth of it.
It’s got to be something bad, or else it wouldn’t be happening to me.
“So, what?” I ask. “I’m property of the bratva now? Am I being conscripted?”
“No. Not unless you want to be. Right now, your job is still technically Kira’s fiancé, but you’re going to be staying with me, where I can keep an eye on you. I think you need it.”
“I don’t want to be your prisoner, Young-gi.” Uh, yes I fucking do, but let’s not unpack that particular box right now. “I don’t want to be chained, I don’t do well in captivity, alright? Like a junkyard dog. Think of me like that.”
“You are a bit mangey,” he jokingly agrees, and when I squawk, I hear the amusement in his voice as he keeps talking. “You think I’d keep you locked up? No, Tommy. If you want to go somewhere, you tell me, and we’ll make some time.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, goading him, making it clear that I think he’s bluffing and he’ll still try to make all these decisions for me. He hums his agreement, and I roll my eyes. “Then I want to go out. Dancing. Tonight.”
I’m saying it almost before I decide to, because holy fuck, I need to go out and get some help from Maggie.
I need to get some relief. It’s been weeks, maybe months.
I haven’t even had an orgasm in my sleep like I sometimes do when it’s been a long time.
I need some fucking help because with Young-gi around me, I’m getting a serious case of blue balls, and the rollercoaster that my arousal takes me on is grinding down on my self-control.
“Dancing?” he asks. “Didn’t you just get into trouble there?”
“I have friends there. And I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with them, and they’re probably worried. And I want to make sure Georgie’s okay.”
“What makes you think they’ll be out tonight?”
“It’s a Saturday,” I laugh. “I could’ve died yesterday and they’d still go out tonight, and pour one out in my honor.”
“Not very good friends, then.”
“No,” I agree. “But harmless. They mean well. They use me, but not for anything bad. They just like that I protect them, and they make me feel, um, happy,” I settle on. “And they’re all I’ve got. The closest to friends I’ve ever had.”
He takes a second to think it over, going as far as checking the time. Eleven p.m., plenty of time for me to get some relief. And holy fuck, I need it so bad.
“Alright, Tommy,” he says, slow and stern, letting butterflies loose in my stomach. “You want to go there again for some reason. Fine. But you’re going to tell me what it is.”
I blanch, squirm, hug myself. I’m glad we aren’t looking at each other. I slide away a step, but he reaches over and brings me back. I huff, but allow it, and I tell myself I’m not pleased with that small possessive action. Not at all.
“I just want to see my friends.”
“Tommy.”
“I just want to hang out with them, and let off some steam. That’s not a lie.”
“Then why don’t I believe you?”
“Trust issues, probably,” I snark. Then I backpedal when he turns his head and looks down at me, all threatening and hot. “Alright, okay, I’m just teasing. Jeez. Can we go or what?”
“What is it that you want there?” he asks. “What is it you think you need that’s there, and not here?”
Shit. Why is he asking it like that? Like he actually gives a damn? Like he’d solve my problems for me if he knew what they were?
Yeah, right. He can’t solve this problem. Although, I wish he’d fucking try.
“It’s none of your business,” I finally settle on. “I’m an adult, I can make these choices.”
He straightens, steps in front of me, makes me look at him. “Are you planning on meeting someone there? Someone more than a friend?”
And that sounds possessive, just like he said, but I pretend he meant it for a different reason, because my sanity demands I avoid that minefield.
“No,” I laugh weakly. “So don’t worry about security or whatever. My friends have what I need.”
“Tell me.”
My cheeks heat, and I feel familiar humiliation rise inside me like a tide. I don’t want to explain this. I don’t want to talk about how broken I am. “Can we please not do this?” I whisper. “Please? I just need my friends.”
His eyes burn, burn, burn, with intelligence and determination. I can almost see him cycle through the possibilities.
“Drugs?” he guesses. My silence is answer enough, and he hums, sternly. “I’m not sure that’s a good choice for you.”
“It’s nothing hard,” I protest. “Just poppers. It’s nothing serious. And you’ll be there, won’t you? To keep me safe?”
It’s a weird thing to say, a strange kind of dare. Like I’m testing him. And when he tilts his head, studies me closely, but finally nods, I feel like he’s testing me right back.
“You want to have a little fun, Tommy?” he murmurs. “Fine. But you’re right, I will be there. And I don’t trust you to know your own limits. If we go, if I let you do this, you need to do as I say, and follow the limits I set for you.”
“What? Why?”
“For your own good.”
I shiver hard, swallow down all the words I don’t know how to say, and nod. I’m desperate at this point. As long as he lets me dance with my friends, get their help, then I don’t give a shit if he has some stupid no drinking rule or curfew. “Fine, I agree. Let’s go.”
And he moves so I can get past him and go find a change of clothes, and I feel his eyes on my back, a sensation that’s quickly becoming comforting.
And isn’t that just terrifying?