Chapter Thirteen #3
“You checked all the labels?” His stomach did a flip that he recognized as affection. Or maybe … attraction? Weird thing to be attracted to a woman for, but he probably shouldn’t be passing judgment on himself, given his other proclivities.
“Of course.” She looked at him like his question was ridiculous. “It’s not a kindness if you ruin someone’s clothes.”
Blake smiled. “Thank you.” She was surprising him more every day.
Maggie hopped up, pulling her feet off his lap and standing up in one quick motion.
The cold air settled down on his legs as quickly as she’d left, and he immediately missed the contact.
“I know you just got groceries, but would you be offended if I ordered some Chinese?” She was already pulling out her phone.
“It’s on me this time. For the dress and the … ” She waved a hand. “The everything.”
“Chinese sounds great.” He didn’t want to cook, anyway.
They chatted throughout the meal. He asked Maggie more about the books she liked and got a wildly eclectic list that transcended any logical grouping.
Not only did she read romance, but also sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, biography, and literary fiction, but one of her favorite genres was true crime.
The only things she really couldn’t get into were westerns, apparently.
He started talking about his favorite books, including an extensive collection of the classics, then digressed into discussing what they’d each had to read for college.
She was not surprised about his English minor, since he apparently “looked like he’d have an English degree of some kind,” which she insisted wasn’t an insult.
“Because you write for a living,” she’d explained, and it sounded like backpedaling, but they both laughed.
They packed up leftovers and kept talking, sharing stories from college and their early years of adulthood.
He honestly lost track of time, and when she finally said she was going to take a bath and get ready for bed, he was shocked to see that it was nearly ten.
Blake went to his own room for some privacy and finally messaged Rose.
I’m free to chat when you are, he wrote.
Her reply came immediately. Perfect timing. I’m relaxing.
Me too. It hadn’t been a particularly stressful day, but he’d been busy. How are you feeling?
I’m OK, she wrote. Processing some stuff in my life.
He’d certainly been doing a lot of that himself lately. Want to talk about it?
No, it’s nothing really to share. Nothing personal.
Typical Rose with that. Never anything personal, right?
he sent, then stared at the words at the screen.
He meant it as playful, but it also felt bitter.
They’d both been firm on not getting personal from the outset.
What had started as sex had turned into conversation, friendly exchanges, an ongoing check-in that he missed when it didn’t happen.
You want to get more personal? she asked.
He recognized that this might be an opening or a trap. If you’re willing.
I have a hard time trusting people, she replied.
He understood. Mistrust wasn’t his natural inclination, personally: he was a trusting guy, overall, with the exception of his kink identity. That, he kept carefully guarded.
I’m pretty trusting, he answered. Sometimes too trusting.
It’s hard for me to believe that a guy with an entirely secret identity online is the kind who’s naturally TOO trusting.
Blake smiled at her text. How fitting. I’m different with my kink self. Nobody gets to see that side of me.
That wasn’t always the case, she replied. I looked you up. People knew you as the Pimpernel on KinkLife when you were still going to in-person events.
It made sense for her to research him, given what she’d told him about having a hard time trusting … and she did pick the name “Curious Rose.”
The secret identity was only for fun at first. Lots of people go by nicknames in those spaces. When picking that identity at his first play party, he had no idea that it would eventually become a full online persona. He’d just picked the name of his favorite plant.
I know you don’t play in person anymore. You told me it was the price of anonymity. What did you mean by that?
She was hitting right at the heart of it with these questions. He wasn’t sure how much detail to go into. He didn’t want to tell her who he was, specifically; if he was going to meet her, he would tell her then.
I started being in the public eye more, he answered. I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my work or the people I’m trying to help.
Makes sense, she responded.
I do wonder sometimes if I went too far with it, he wrote. I wonder if I overreacted. Maybe nobody cares who I am, and I’ve gotten paranoid. Then he added, My best friend thinks that’s the case.
What would happen if someone learned your real identity? she asked. Would you lose your job? You couldn’t get arrested. None of this is illegal.
There were obviously professions where he might lose his job for something like this, like if he was a priest. Or worked at a religious school.
Or if he was a politician. Although come to think of it, some politicians had come through significant sex scandals, way more serious than “attends a kinky house party now and then.”
Blake stared at the screen, considering how to answer.
The pipes gurgled nearby from the sounds of Maggie draining the bath.
I don’t really miss the kink events, he wrote.
I did miss them, but playing with you has made me feel the same way those events used to make me feel.
Better, in some ways. Because you’re the same person every time.
And because we’re sort of friends, she replied.
That made him smile at the screen. He liked to think they were friends, and it was nice to see her acknowledge it. Yes, and because we’re sort of friends.
You played with lots of different people? she asked.
A good number.
What did you do with them, exactly? Was it always sex?
He was surprised this conversation hadn’t come up earlier.
She’d apparently thought he’d slept with dozens of people.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it was so far from his experience that it made him laugh.
It was rarely sex. Usually it was bondage and impact play.
Most of the parties I went to had a no-penetration rule.
She didn’t reply right away. Maybe this was surprising to her; it was surprising to a lot of people, probably, who only thought of kink as relating to sex. Down the hall, he heard the bathroom door squeak open, then Maggie’s bedroom door closed.
No penetration or no orgasms? Rose asked.
She was astute. A very good question. No penetration. External play was fine.
Sounds like sex to me.
He had to give her that one. Fair.
Everyone is having more fun in Boston than me, she wrote.
Blake smiled. OK yes, if you’re asking if I was getting my partners off: sometimes. I guess that counts as sex.
Then are we having sex?
He considered the question. It gets murky when there’s no direct contact at all. When we’re not in the same place. I think we would have to define that for ourselves.
Do you want to have sex with me? she asked.
She really went for it, there. He blew out a breath. Do you want to know what I’d really like to do to you?
Yes.
If she wanted to know, he’d tell her.
I’d like to tie you up until you can’t move, he wrote, before I have my wicked way with you.
Ooh, your wicked way. Tell me more.
I’d tie your wrists together up above your head, anchoring them to the headboard. Then I’d bind each leg separately, calf to thigh, then tie them open, spreading your legs wide for me.
You’ve clearly thought about this, she wrote back. Am I going to regret asking you to tell me more?
You might, he said, then kept going. I need you motionless first. Then I’d take my time on you with my tongue until you started begging.
He’d gotten off earlier that day, but this conversation had his cock hardening again. This was a fantasy as much as any of his other fantasies: he’d had sex, and he’d had kink, but he’d never had the two together the way he longed for.
I don’t know what it would take to make me beg, she wrote.
I’d like to find out. God, he meant it, too. I’d like to see how many edges before you start losing your mind. I’ve never gotten to fuck a woman who’s been edged until she’s begging for it. I bet it’s wonderful, pushing into you when you’re not allowed to come.
Fuck, she wrote. You’re driving me crazy right now, you know that??
Of course I know. He was driving himself crazy, too. Yes, Rose, of course I want to have sex with you. I want to do all kinds of terrible things to you.
Consensually terrible things.
He smiled. Yes, consensually terrible things. Like putting clothespins on all the tender places of your body. Or spanking you while you’re bent over, impaled on my cock. Or watching you fuck yourself with that very large dildo you have.
Oh my god, she wrote. I want to touch myself.
I bet you do. His cock was achingly hard, and he had no idea what he was doing getting back into this with her when they were only supposed to be talking. Get that dildo from wherever you keep it.
My nightstand.
Good. Lie down with your legs apart to let me see. I want you to rub your clit and get to the edge. Imagine me watching you.
She didn’t respond right away. Blake took the opportunity to strip off his clothes and wrap a hand around his pulsing length.
The idea of Rose following his orders had him already halfway to coming, but he was going to hold off and tease himself as he teased her.
The pleasure gathered as he stroked his erection, savoring each moment, his orgasm building until he could come with another few strokes.
I’m there, she wrote, and he released his cock, letting his building climax subside.
How does it feel?
Amazing, she wrote.
He could have moaned, picturing her. Good girl. I want you to take that dildo for me. Nice and slow.