Chapter 15
“Why aren’t you in a relationship?”
Tara stiffened and considered pushing away. She was well within her rights to tell him it was none of his business. The question wasn’t appropriate in an aftercare setting. At least it wouldn’t have been with anyone else.
He must have felt her stiffen because Nathan’s hand tightened on her knee. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just curious.” There was a brief contemplative silence. “But you came closer than I did.”
“To getting married?” Tara reached over and brushed Nathan’s hair off his forehead, her initial resistance to his question softened by his subsequent words.
“Or a serious relationship. I’d say long-term serious relationship, but I think we both had long-term relationships that weren’t serious.”
“True.” Tara smoothed back his hair again, this time lightly scratching his scalp with her nails. “You can be with someone for years, but if you only see them once a month, or less, it hardly feels like a relationship.”
Nathan made a happy grumbling sound in response to her touch. “I think I dated that one girl for…two years?”
“Your grad school girlfriend?”
“Yep. I broke up with her when I started my post doc. Which is when you started dating that guy in med school.”
Tara grimaced at the memory.
Nathan popped up onto one elbow, tumbling her onto her back, then leaning over to peer down at her, their noses nearly touching. “What was that?”
“You’re too close. Making me cross-eyed.” Tara covered his face with her palm, fingers spread to brace against his forehead, and pushed.
Nathan flopped onto his back with a dramatic noise, causing her to laugh. Tara pulled the covers up over her cold shoulders and turned on her side, their legs still tangled together.
Nathan rolled to face her, and there was something shockingly intimate, yet almost innocent, about their positions. She wanted to pull the sheet over their heads like this was the backstory scene in a movie.
“Can I tell you something?” she said.
“Always,” he replied instantly.
“I tried, with Clark, the med student.”
“Tried wha—” Nathan stopped, eyes flicking over her features. “You tried a D/s relationship.”
She nodded.
“Was he into it?”
“He was into kinky sex.”
Nathan’s jaw worked. “Kinky sex is different?—”
“I know that,” she snapped back, feeling stupid all over again.
“Sorry, sorry.” Nathan grimaced apologetically. “I know you know that. It’s just…you hear people talk about how they’re playing around with BDSM, and yeah, some bondage is probably okay, because being handcuffed to a bed is fine for people who don’t really know. It’s not like they’re doing full suspension rope bondage.”
“Agreed. And you’re right about vanilla spankings. It’s one thing to get a slap or two on the ass and call it a spanking.” Tara’s own ass tingled. Sadly, even the heat-turned-ache had faded now. “Being put across someone’s knee and spanked past the point of discomfort to pain, and finally catharsis…that’s something else.” Her words came out hungrier than she’d intended.
Nathan exhaled in the warm silence that settled between them. “Why aren’t you married to Clark? STEM power couple by day, Dom and sub by night.”
She got the sense he meant it as a joke, but the words came out to hard, almost harsh.
“It was actually trying to be Dom and sub that broke us up.”
He relaxed abruptly. “Shit, Tara,” then more grimly, “How bad did it get?”
“It was fine, for a long time. Because it really was just kinky sex, and I was in charge. I planned the scenes, showed him videos if it was something new, and then even in the middle of the scene would ask for things. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—plenty of subs help plan scenes during negotiations. And asking for things is good communication. And it meant I got exactly what I wanted.”
She’d said “and” too many times, trying to justify something long over.
“Sounds like you didn’t give up much control. So, it was kinky sex with no power exchange.” This time, Nathan was the one to push her hair off her face.
“Until there was a power exchange,” she said quietly. “At least for me.”
They were silent again, his knuckles still resting lightly on her cheek. She cleared her throat, lining up the words of the story in her mind.
“We had this magic weekend where we’d both just finished something major. I think I’d submitted the first draft of a journal article, and he’d just finished a test. I don’t really remember anymore.
“I do remember sending him a series of hinting text messages about what I wanted to do that weekend. And I got the box of toys out from under my bed.”
“So big hints.”
“Very big hints. At least I thought so. I’m not sure if he didn’t get it, or was waiting until we got in bed that night, but I was too needy to wait and find out. When he went to brush his teeth, I tossed a pillow on the floor and when he came out of the bathroom, I was naked on my knees ready to suck his dick.”
“The hint to end all hints,” Nathan said solemnly.
Tara laughed. “At that point, it was a statement that I wanted to have sex, but the hint about what kind of sex—very kinky, BDSM sex—was what I was wearing.”
“I thought you were naked?”
“Naked except cuffs. I’d put the Velcro restraints on my own wrists and ankles.”
“You always were proactive.”
He was teasing, but she grimaced, answering honestly. “I didn’t want to be, but I needed to submit.”
Nathan’s thumb rubbed her cheek. “I understand that need. And when you’re in a relationship with someone who doesn’t either understand, or share, that need…”
“You feel trapped.”
His brows rose in surprise before lowering in a contemplative expression. “Trapped. I guess you are. You can’t just go out to a club and find someone to scene with. That would be cheating, unless you’d pre-arranged an open relationship, or an impact-play only scene or something like that.”
“A relationship with BDSM on the side…I think you either have to start out that way—hi, I’d like to be romantically and sexually involved with you, but once a month I’m going to meet up with someone who will tie me up and paddle my ass.”
“Not something I would have tried at the start of a relationship in my twenties. Or even early thirties,” Nathan conceded.
“The other option is that at some point, you have to have a conversation with your partner. A conversation that reduces down to ‘you can’t satisfy my needs.’” Tara shifted restlessly. “If you tried to get your partner on board with your kink, like I did with Clark, then if at a later point you negotiate for some level of open relationship so you can have a BDSM partner too, you’re explicitly telling your romantic partner that they tried and failed to satisfy you.
“If you instead spring the I-need-a-BDSM-partner issue on them months or years into the relationship, without first telling them about your need, it shows you didn’t trust them enough to be honest about your sexual needs. And you didn’t think them capable of meeting your needs, because you weren’t even willing to let them try.”
“It’s hard,” he agreed. “And you’ve thought it through more than I have, all the variables and outcomes.” He pressed his hand harder against her cheek, not enough to turn her head, but it grounded their contact—like planting your feet and bracing against an ocean wave. “I want to know what happened that weekend with Clark.”
She let the rumble of his words soothe her. Took comfort in his touch before answering. “What happened that weekend was…it was good.”
Nathan’s brows rose, and she quirked her lips in a wry smile.
“He took control. Really took control. Spanked me like he meant it. Did some stuff I hadn’t explicitly asked him to do.”
Nathan stiffened. “Did he hurt you? Hit a hard limit?”
“No, no, I liked it. It was nice to be surprised. But the problem was, I hadn’t really been submissive with him before that weekend.”
Nathan’s hand slid back into her hair, cupping her head, his gaze lowering for a moment as he processed what she’d said. Then he grimaced. “Shit.”
“See where this is going?”
“You went truly submissive. Subspace.”
Tara grimaced a little at the term, but nodded. “I immersed myself in the power exchange.”
Nathan opened his mouth, but she put one finger over his lips.
He settled, absently kissing her finger while his gaze stayed intent on hers, his hand cradling her head in a way that was both protective and possessive.
“It was the best sex we’d had, not only kinky but decidedly D/s. I slept naked, which I never do. After sex I usually put on PJs. But I went to sleep naked, submissive, and aroused, and woke up the same way.”
“No PJs?” Nathan lifted the sheets just enough to peer at her naked tits.
She smacked the covers down. “Don’t let in the cold air.”
He grinned, then hauled her against him. Sparks of sensation lit up when her still-tender nipples brushed his chest, and again when he grabbed her ass to pull her into the position he wanted. Only when they were once more settled with him on his back, her tucked up against him, did she continue. The covers were pulled up to her neck and held in place by his heavy hand resting between her shoulder blades. It was warm and safe here.
“Normally, I hit a point where I need out of the scene. Maybe I’m sexed out, or my body’s had enough. Or I can’t be in the power exchange anymore.”
Nathan rumbled his understanding.
“But that time... We started Friday night, and Sunday morning I was still submissive and needy.”
It was easier to admit this when Nathan wasn’t looking at her. She didn’t want him to see the remembered embarrassment that tinged her cheeks. “Clark was sitting with his back against the headboard. We’d just had sex, so he was soft, which was fine of course, but I was still turned on. I was straddling one of his legs, rubbing my pussy against his thigh as we made out. He wasn’t doing anything else, and after a while he stopped kissing me, but I was happy to just bury my face in his neck. He wasn’t touching me anywhere but holding my hips.”
Her cheeks were hot with remember embarrassment. How had she not noticed his disinterest body language?
“I thought it was part of the scene—him making me hump his leg to come, like a needy slut.”
Tara tipped her head to meet Nathan’s gaze, unsurprised to find he was looking at her. Again, they were so close it was hard to focus on his face, but she didn’t want to put distance between them.
“I was at the point where I was calling myself a needy slut. I think I even said it out loud. ‘I’m your needy slut.’” Tara grimaced at the memory, tucking her chin. His arm tightened around her, but he didn’t say anything.
“Eventually I came, but it took a while. And the instant I did, he went into the bathroom to shower, then to the kitchen. I put on a robe and went out too, thinking we’d have breakfast.”
Tara swallowed the urge to adjust the story, to minimize what happened next to make herself seem less…pathetic. Nathan deserved the truth, but more importantly, she knew in her soul he wouldn’t think less of her.
“When I went to touch him, he looked irritated, so I stopped, finally catching on that we weren’t on the same page. He said he hadn’t expected to waste the whole weekend. He had work to do. He…” She stopped, adjusted her tone to make it clear her next words were a quote. “‘I didn’t expect you to take so long.’”
Tara could still hear Clark’s frustrated exasperation. Feel twinges along the internal scar caused by the soul-deep humiliation that had cut her apart.
Nathan’s muscles went tight, his body almost uniformly hard and unyielding against her. “What a shithead.”
“Yes, but also no.” She clawed her way back to an emotional neutral. “I mean, I wasn’t paying attention to his emotions and needs. He was clearly not engaged?—”
“A sub can and should trust the Dom to make sure both your needs are met. Including the need to stop.”
“I don’t think he knew how to get out of the scene.”
“Then he’s a stupid shithead. Not just a shithead.”
It shouldn’t feel this good, this validating, to have Nathan upset on her behalf. If she were a coward, she could leave it there, but the same brain chemistry that made her a masochist urged her to keep talking. To lay her whole soul bare.
“I must have made a face, because he immediately apologized. But when he tried to kiss me, I backed away. I was scared that if he touched me, I’d want something more. That I’d need or demand more than he was willing to give.”
“You were worried you’d ask too much of him, or did you not want a stupid shithead touching you?”
“If being a stupid shithead was a deal-breaker for sex, no one would sleep with men.”
Nathan barked out a laugh, and she liked the way it made her vibrate. The moment of levity made it easier to continue.
“Our relationship was essentially over after that.” Tara swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “He left, said he had some reading he needed to do. Apologized again. We didn’t technically break up until months later, but that weekend was the end.” She tried for a self-deprecating joke. “That’s my tragic backstory. My submissive needs killed my longest, and probably best, relationship.”
Nathan pressed their bodies tighter together, his presence warm and strong, but demanding in the silence.
Her throat was tight, making her next words quiet and thin. “I felt so stupid. So embarrassed.”
“Tara.” He twisted to press his lips against her forehead, holding them there as if he could heal her through the kiss.
“Even now, thinking about how I acted that morning, knowing that the whole time he was desperately hoping I’d finish so he could leave…” She jammed her face against his chest, as if she could hide inside her oldest friend.
“It wasn’t your fault. Your needs weren’t the issue.”
Tara took several deep breaths, willing away the remembered humiliation. She cleared her throat and eased back to her previous position. “That’s what my therapist said too.”
“Good. It was a communication issue. And I’m not saying it was only on his side. If he wasn’t familiar with D/s, then I’m giving you some of the blame for not prepping him with information about how serious a power exchange becomes.”
“Thanks for that,” she said dryly, but his words evaporated the tightness in her throat.
Nathan’s hand moved to her hair, once more cupping her head. “Tara?”
“Yes?”
“How bad was the sub drop?”
She exhaled slowly, even as her heart clenched. Of course he knew, he realized, what would have followed after Clark walked out.
“Bad. I’d never really had sub drop before. I’m not sure I’d ever let myself be that submissive. Mostly I played at private parties, or with people I met at munches. Because they were strangers or short-term acquaintances, I could never really let myself go.”
“But Clark was your boyfriend. You trusted him.”
“I felt hollow after he left.” Hollow wasn’t a strong enough word for the way she’d felt, standing in her kitchen in shock, her body pleasantly achy from the sex but so, so cold after the heat of the humiliation. “I… I literally didn’t know what to do. I sat on the floor for a long time before I eventually cried. It was only when I got angry—and I think it was dark by then—that I was able to get up and go shower. Pull myself together.”
“No aftercare and sub drop. Shit.” He kissed her head, and again there was something healing about that kiss. “How long before you tried scening?”
“Right question again,” she said with a laugh. “It was years. For a while I thought I’d maybe been…I don’t know. Cured?”
“This isn’t a disease. You don’t need to be cured or fixed.”
“After Clark, it definitely felt like my need for sexual submission was detrimental.”
“You deserve better than that.”
“Thank you.” The blush that heated her cheeks at his words was a world away from the acute embarrassment she’d felt all those years ago with Clark.
“When I eventually did try and get back into the community” she continued, “and started looking for partners, I heard about Las Palmas. It took another year before I was financially ready to join, but I did, and my life has been much better now that I have a regular, safe outlet.”
“And that’s why you haven’t had a long-term relationship, or gotten married. You know you need BDSM, but you don’t think it works to introduce your needs, and BDSM, to a partner.”
“No,” she agreed. “I know there are people out there who are successful in doing that very thing, but I won’t attempt it.”
“And what about telling them up front that you’re going to come here once a month or so?”
“That’s an option,” she acknowledged. “But not what I pictured for myself.”
“Why?”
“Why are you asking?” She pushed up so she could look down at him. “Is that what you’re thinking of doing? I’d ask if that’s what you were already doing, but I know you’re not seeing anyone.”
“I definitely wouldn’t have just fucked you without protection if I were with someone.” Nathan’s words were almost absent, his gaze having slid down to her bare breasts. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Neither did you.”
“I asked first.”
The way he was looking at her was making her blood heat, just a bare simmer of need. Her abused body screamed at her that she needed to be done for the night, so Tara settled back against him, repositioning the corner of the pillow she’d stacked on his shoulder.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to try for an open relationship. Again, I know people make it work, but for me… If I’m with someone, I want to be theirs, and for them to be mine.” It felt silly to say out loud.
The idea of a single person being able to satisfy all of their partner’s emotional and physical needs was nearly ludicrous, yet that was society’s expectation, and even knowing it was unrealistic, she couldn’t out-think what her heart wanted.
“For me, if he—my hypothetical husband—was okay with me being with someone else, part of me would always wonder if it was because he didn’t care.” She exhaled a self-deprecating laugh. “My therapist says it’s a self-esteem and self-perception issue. My partner’s acceptance of my seeing someone else to get my needs met could be a sign of love—of them wanting me to be satisfied and fulfilled, and therefore welcome things that allow me satisfaction.”
“Good therapist.”
“Annoyingly so,” Tara agreed. “Even after she said that, I couldn’t stop thinking that if my husband was okay with me going to another man, okay with another man touching me intimately—even if there was no penetrative sex—it would mean he just didn’t care about me. Didn’t care what I did, or who I was with.”
“This hypothetical husband is a shithead.”
A strangely comfortable silence fell. Tara felt lighter for having shared this, but now curiosity nipped at her. She opened her mouth to ask him about his relationships, why he’d never married, but what escaped was a yawn.
Nathan pulled the covers back up over her shoulder, and the exhaustion that had been held at bay by their conversation pounced, weighing her down. The last thing she felt before she fell asleep was Nathan once more kissing her forehead.