33. Grae
Grae
Last night we talked about stupid shit and some important stuff too. I spent the first half hour apologizing, and she explained that what hurt her the most was that I did a better job keeping her safe than she did for me. Her hyper-competitive perfectionism wasn’t sure if she could get over that.
Then she reminded me I fucked her friend and called it even. Honestly, not the best resolution but I’ll take it.
But mostly, I didn’t want to waste any time with her, every second was precious.
I spent all day arranging different options for her, getting tickets, reserving tables and even a private room at Club Midnight.
I was going to make everything perfect. When she comes in, I kiss her like I haven’t touched her in a lifetime.
She gives me a little moan when the kiss ends.
I grab her overnight bag and put it in my bedroom then lead her to the breakfast bar where there’s seven envelopes waiting for her.
“You can pick whatever you want. Some have super fancy dinner and show options. The other envelopes include you spending a ton of my money on whatever you want, or we can hang out here playing boardgames—which I won’t let you win at.”
She raises her eyebrow at me. “And what’s the purpose of all of this?”
“To convince you to extend your membership and woo you with all the benefits of having me as your boyfriend.” She says nothing as I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, swaying the two of us back and forth.
She feels perfect and she’s almost vibrating with excitement… Nope, that’s her phone. Lame.
“Hold on,” she says. “I really need to take this.” She swipes on her phone and a young boy’s voice bursts through, loud and urgent.
“I need your help.”
“What is it, Ian?” she asks immediately. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Listen… I need you to sign some papers for me.”
She frowns. “What do you mean? Why can’t you have your dad do that?”
“Okay, okay, so here’s the thing. It’s… gonna take a second. You’re gonna have to follow my logic on this one, all right?”
She leans against the counter, already smiling. “I’ve got you, Ian. Go for it.”
“Okay, so… I want to start calling Katya ‘Mom.’”
Her entire face softens. “Oh my God, sweetie. That’s amazing. I love that for you. But why are you asking me? I don’t understand.”
“Well,” he says, hesitant now. “You’ve always been Aunt Alana.
You always will be. That’s not changing.
But… calling Katya ‘Mom’ is a big deal. It took me a long time to call Uncle Dimitri ‘Dad.’ And when I started changing names in my contacts, like titles and stuff, Drew got all weird when I called Lance ‘Uncle Lance.’”
“That’s Drew’s issue,” she says gently. “Not yours.”
“Yeah, I know. I think. But I wanted to make sure that when I start calling Katya ‘Mom,’ it’s not something that’s gonna explode in my face.”
“It won’t, I promise.” Her voice softens even more. “But… what do you actually need from me?”
There’s a pause.
“I failed a reading test. I need a parent or guardian to sign it. And you’re still listed as my guardian because you’ve been paying my tuition the last couple of years. My dad says he’s fixing it, but… I don’t know. You’re still on the paperwork.”
She pinches her lips together and raises her eyebrows. “And you don’t want Katya to sign it because…?”
“Because I don’t want the first time I call her ‘Mom’ to be followed by, ‘Hey, I screwed up and didn’t study, can you sign this?’ It makes it sound like I’m only calling her that to get something.”
Her expression melts completely. “That’s… actually very thoughtful.”
“So,” he rushes on, “I figured you could sign it. Just this once.”
She sighs, but there’s no real resistance in it. “Send me the paperwork.”
“Thank you,” But there’s a lingering pause. “Do you want to buy candy for my hockey team?” Her smile falters.
“I’ll cut you a check, but don’t bring that nasty-ass candy near me.”
“Deal. Thank you and love you.”
“I love you too,” she says, laughing as he hangs up. She lowers the phone slowly, a soft smile lingering as she sets it on the counter.
I just stare at her. There’s something on her face I’ve never seen before. Pride, maybe. Joy. A quiet sadness threaded through it. It’s complicated. Real. Then it’s gone when she glances at me and smirks. “That kid has the traumatic backstory of an anime character.”
I huff a laugh. “That’s a joke. Which one?”
She thinks. “He’s more of a Tony Tony Chopper than a Naruto.”
I freeze. “Are you kidding me right now? Did you just make a canonically correct anime comparison?” She acts like it’s nothing, and I step closer again, crowding her space. My voice drops making it sound dark and sexy, “Good behavior deserves to be rewarded.”
“Oh, does it?” Her brow lifts. I trail my hands lightly along her hips, testing the line, watching her reaction. “What are you doing?” she asks, though there’s no real protest in her voice.
“Encouraging positive growth,” I murmur. She huffs out a quiet laugh as I dip my head, brushing a slow kiss against her skin, letting the moment linger just enough to make her breath hitch. “So,” I say to her, voice low, “any other anime you’ve been secretly watching for the last twelve years?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says, voice turning thoughtful. “I really liked Fullmetal Alchemist.”
“Classic.” I grin. “Excellent choice. What did you like about it?”
There’s a pause. Then, very innocently, “I really liked how attached the little girl was to her dog.” I freeze. Slowly, I straighten and drop my hands.
“No,” I say flatly. “Absolutely not.” Her lips twitch, stifling a smile. “In the hierarchy of anime jokes, that is unacceptable.” I take another step back, shaking my head. “Nope. Not funny. We’re done here.”
She bursts into laughter, completely unrepentant, doubling over at my reaction. “You’re a terrible person,” I say. She just laughs harder, wiping at her eyes, then points toward the stack of envelopes sitting on the counter.
“How about,” she says, still grinning and leading me into the bedroom, “we have a different kind of evening?” She urges me to sit on the edge of the bed with a gentle push, then grabs her bag and goes into the bathroom.
When she comes back out a few minutes later…
I’m in trouble. Deep red lips, black mesh bra, and leather shorts with thigh-high leather boots.
My eyes lock on hers as she stalks over to the bed and straddles me, the press of her body pinning me flat to the mattress.
A kiss, and she bites at my lower lip. I wrap my fingers through her hair as her tongue parts my lips, pulling her body closer to mine, but she bucks away.
Her hands pin my wrists down as she arches out of my grip.
“Don’t touch me.” She slices through my core with a single glare.
“Oh.” I swallow. “Okay.” Is she still mad at me? She grabs my chin and forces me to look at her.
“This is about you. Not me.” I nod, words suddenly unable to form.
She works my body, kissing, licking, biting at my neck, chest, and stomach.
I like aggressive Alana as much as submissive.
And I love watching her be in total control of the situation and the joy it brings her.
With her ass in the air and her lips around my cock, she sucks me, taking me deeper into her throat, hitting her gag reflex and trying again.
“Alana,” I moan as she works me with her tongue and lips. Her hand wraps around my shaft, and I see stars as I come.
I lie there panting and trying to regain control. She is so beautiful, the lips, the red blush freckling her chest like it does when she’s turned on. She shifts back from me again, standing at the foot of the bed. And then her fingers slip beneath the waistband of her shorts.
“I’m so wet,” she groans. Her hand works herself, and while I can’t see exactly what she’s doing, I know.
She stands out of my reach on purpose, pleasing herself.
She pauses when I sit up and reach for her and doesn’t keep playing with herself until I ease back again to let her.
I want to touch her, to be able to do something for her, but she’s moaning again and lolling her head back.
Then she pulls her hand out from her shorts and brings her glistening finger to her lips and sucks it.
Watching her taste herself is the most erotic thing I have ever seen her do.
I think she’s coming back to me, but instead she struts back to the bag on the floor. The second I see the cuffs, my pulse jumps. She’s not going to let me please her at all, is she? "Alana..."
"What?" she asks, entirely too pleased with herself as she tosses the bag on the end of the bed. A slow grin spreads across my face, recognizing the game she’s playing.
"You've been waiting all day to do that, haven't you? She doesn't answer. She just cuffs my wrists to the headboard, and I’m ready to go again.
Unzipping her shorts, they fall to the floor. Her boots and bra are black against her pale skin, and a flash of pink. All I can do is stare. The room feels smaller. Hotter. It takes three steps for her to reach the bed. Each one stretches my patience thinner.
Every movement is deliberate, and she knows exactly what she's doing to me. My hands ache to touch her. My tongue dries until I can taste her. My pulse pounds so hard it drowns out every rational thought in my head. The distance between us feels impossible.
Alana’s tiny moans send me into a frenzy.
Her eyes darken just before she leans in and kisses me, deep and hungry, her hands holding my head in place.
My breath catches. The rest of the world falls away until there's only her.
She pauses just long enough to study my face, and the look in her eyes steals what little self-control I have left.
Amusement. Confidence. Affection. Holy shit, what is she doing to me?
“Do you want to touch me?” she purrs.
“God, Alana, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so beautiful, because you drive me insane,” I start, but she tilts her head to the side.
“Or because you want to make me come?” she asks, her voice dark and seductive.
“Fuck yeah,” I say in a low confident growl.
She makes a little hmm noise and reaches into the bag again, pulling out a small bottle of lube. Slowly, she coats her finger, and when I think she’s about to touch herself, she slides her hand around my ass instead.
Oh, God.
“Alana.” I give another warning, but she ignores it.
Her finger slides between my ass cheeks, then draws away.
All I feel is nervous energy, the uncertainty of what will happen next.
She drops to her knees and slides between my open legs, her breasts right at my cock.
Her wet finger reaches between my legs and returns to the spot from seconds ago.
“I’m going to make you lose control, Grae. And you’re going to come on my tits.” The way she commands me, the confidence and certainty in her tone, it’s a foregone conclusion.
Her finger presses my hole, and without warning, she eases it in it.
I gasp. The sensation is intense pleasure and burning mixed together.
She works me until she hits a spot inside that causes an explosion of colors and music, and a guttural cry escapes me as I spray her chest. Panting and dizzy, my legs melt into the mattress.
“Good boy,” she whispers.
She’s made me come twice and nothing for her. The post-orgasm glow and peace can’t make their way into my brain or body because anxiety and guilt clench my heart. What kind of man am I?
I want to rub my eyes with the base of my hands, but the cuffs keep them trapped. I try every breathing technique I know to keep the anxiety attack at bay. But my breathing doesn’t slow down, and the shakes I thought were from exertion are something else entirely.
The bed dips beside me, and her hand rests on my thigh. “It’s okay to enjoy it.”
“I do, but I need you to enjoy it too.” My eyes slam shut as a cool bottle of water brushes against my lips. As I take a long drink, she strokes my hair. The whole room feels like it’s a billion degrees. Her lips press to my neck, hot breath burning my skin.
“Your value as a man doesn’t relate to your ability to please your lover.”
I shake my head. She’s wrong. “If I don’t… it's selfish.”
“You like getting me off, right?”
“I love it.”
“Then why would you deny me the same experience?”
What? Am I being selfish by not letting her have the same experience that I’ve been chasing? Or is this not about selfishness at all, but partnership.
Before I can spiral in a new direction, she places her hand on my neck and her thumb on my chin. Lightning hits my nerves. This is her spot. No one touches my neck like this. Only her. Slowly, comfort and acceptance flow through me.
“You are not your father. You don’t use people.”
It feels like a gunshot. My eyes burn so I slam them shut.
“Your brother was wrong about you.”
My throat feels like it’s on fire.
Her lips brush against mine, pulling me out of it, “Your worth isn’t connected to pleasing your lover.” She repeats more gently, like a lullaby. “And it’s okay to take whatever your lover gives you without concern of reciprocation.” I want to argue, but words can’t form.
“Your value comes from your compassion,” kiss. “Your passion,” kiss. “Your loyalty,” kiss. “Kindness,” kiss. “Talent,” kiss. “Intellect,” kiss. “And the way you love something with all aspects of your being.” She rests her forehead against mine. “Do you understand?”
I don’t speak. My emotions rob me of words. So, she speaks instead.
“You are worthy of love and pleasure, because of everything you are and everything you are not.” She unhooks my wrists from the bedframe, and it's an instant relief.
I throw my arms around her and bury my head in her neck. They were words I needed to hear all my life, and when she says them, I believe her. The panic and anxiety are locked back into their cages, for now.
“When you’re ready, you’re going to bend me over this bed and do what you need to me.
” I squeeze her tighter, and she continues, “When you believe you are worthy, you’re going to make me come.
Because you are very, very good at it.” She chuckles and adds, “But that’s never defined who you are to me. ”
The words probe their way into my brain. I was never just a good fuck for her. I can give her more than just sex and pleasure. I can be a true partner.
“You’re right.” I whisper.
“My favorite words.” She lifts her head and kisses my neck.
Now I need to be the man she thinks I am.