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  I walked as quietly as I could up to the bathroom, and shut the door. I had no idea what time it was, but it seemed right before the dawn. It was still quiet out, but you felt the energy of the day coming.

  I was washing my face when I remembered my dream. I had been out on the ocean, in something like a homemade jet ski. And there was a beautiful floating hotel, and strange mini floating docks scattered around it, all glass and chrome, surrounded by miles of empty ocean and the strange resort, hovering above it all, smashed repeatedly by the rough seas of the mid ocean. It reminded me of all the pictures of that island they had been building off the coast of Dubai, the one that was sinking anyway, the one that was losing money and would be destined to return to the sand bed it had come from. And I wanted to park at one of the docks, but someone told me I needed a yacht to be able to do that, something big enough to anchor it down. Then I was living in a trailer, and trying to sort out used canvases to paint on, and plant a garden, and someone was telling me I couldn’t, it was all my fault I was there, living in such squalor.

  I dried my face, and hung my discarded bra up on the heated towel rack, along with the garter belt. The stockings were ruined, but it didn’t matter. But I suddenly felt very out of place, and disposable and just wrong, like the underwear. I used some toothpaste, and rinsed out my mouth. I felt like leaving. This just wasn’t me, I didn’t do this, and like the dream, I needed a yacht to navigate these waters, when all I had was a rowboat, able to capsize at any moment. I knew some of the feeling was just the comedown, the depression that always followed the euphoria of imagining oneself capable, desirable, the high of possibility, the drug and ego fuelled dream where you can do anything.

  I wasn’t going to panic. If I had been home, I could have made a cup of tea, crawled back into bed, maybe read for an hour and just let the anxiety wash away. But I was here, with him, and I didn’t feel comfortable wandering around his kitchen. You didn’t do that, not with people you didn’t know, and I suddenly realized that I really didn’t know him, I didn’t really know anyone, and neither did anyone else. Out in the world, like a star in space.

  There was nothing for it. I was here. I’d have to deal with all the night terrors and pretend it was ok, as much as I felt like grabbing my clothes and running back home. I drank some tap water with my hand, and turned off the taps, drying off and carefully opening the door. I wished I had a t shirt or something to put on. I felt very naked and exposed. But I tiptoed out, and went back to the bed. There he was, asleep, looking more capable unconscious than I felt awake. More dark thoughts. I brushed them aside, and focused on the idea that I could get back into bed with him, I was supposed to, and I’d be mad not to do it. He was startlingly real in sleep, sharp features cut out against the white pillowcase, dark hair and moles and cheekbones. I wanted him to be flawed in some way, so I could relax, and it occurred to me how bizarre an idea that was. And how hard I had fallen for him. And how I was desperately trying to back pedal my way out of this danger.

  I took a deep breath, and crawled under the heavy duvet, keeping my back to him, trying not to wake him up, or touch him with my hands which were cold from the tap water. I was just arranging myself to try and sleep, when a heavy arm stretched out over me, and pulled me in closer to the huge soft warmth that was his body, bones and skin and muscle, and his scent, and he hugged me to him, like a child’s stuffed toy, I thought. And he sighed. A soulful, beautiful sound, yet light, floating over to me like a seed pod on a summer breeze. And all the fears I had came to the surface, reflecting back at the delicious sensation of comfort and calm and reassurance I felt being held like this, at the last minutes of the night. I sighed as well, involuntary reflex reaction to feeling my body melting into his. It was so good, it’d been so long since I felt anything like love. Love. There it was, that word. I was drowning in it, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to anchor myself, just like in the dream. But for now, he was holding me, and the weight of his arm and the size of him were comforting like nothing else. Love.

  I closed my eyes, and my last thoughts before sleep were how one complicated, beautiful, long, heavy arm was managing to chase away all the fear. And that I didn’t have to get up early.

  Chapter 12

  Consciousness came slowly for a change. First, the light, brighter, shadows made by the curtains, but sunlight still filtering in strongly. Then, the faraway sounds of honking, engines, a million people talking on their mobile phones. Afterwards, a very long leg wrapped around mine, heavy, smooth. Then breathing, mine, his. I was still here, and so was he. I’d slept again, dreamlessly and quietly, his body seamlessly touching mine. I was so close to him, in the light. Daylight to make it real. But it all felt so normal, not like something that was about to end. And the next thought. It was that word, that love word, again. And in the light, that was dangerous territory. I was going to have to survive, whatever this turned out to be, and getting too attached…not a good idea. I pushed it away. But this felt so right. I looked over at him, dark hair tickling his pale shoulders. He was real. It was easier to touch than look sometimes. Looking at him made my heart stop. So I breathed out, and closed my eyes, and tried to remind myself that not everything was down to me. I was here, he was here, it was warm—a cave—my memory brought back what he had said—and all I needed to do was feel it, for just a little while longer. Later didn’t matter, I told myself. Forget later.

  A few minutes on though, I really did need to move, and cursed my bloodstream for wanting circulation. I rolled over, extricating my pins and needles leg from under his, and put my head against his back. The gesture felt intimate and tender, and I wondered if it was too much. Never mind. He was waking up now, and we’d see what would happen.

  He yawned, rolling over and stretched his arms overhead and then around me. Smiling. He was smiling. I smiled back. Those lips. His deep set eyes, examining me. Then he closed them, his movements languid and dreamy, his hands running over my body as though he were memorizing it. His hands were large and slow over my skin; alternately comforting and erotic, pinching here, circling there. No words. I was tracing patterns over his back, his arms, his chest—his skin was soft, velvet warmth. Oh, this was nice, so nice. I didn’t want to say anything out loud to break the dream-like spell, and it was a dream, a really good one. His hands covered so much of me at once, like he’d taken hold of me and all I had to do was let go. I couldn’t help letting out a sigh of pleasure at the combined sensation of his fingertips lightly drawing lines between my hipbones, and the way the small of his back felt under my hands. His skin under my fingers was soft, and the muscles underneath were hard.

  His hands were going lower now. His fingers opened up my lips, both his hands exploring me, possessing my sex, and finding me wet and swollen. I tried not to moan, not wanting to break the spell, the silence that was building like a secret. But his hands continued their circling. I didn’t recognize the sound that erupted from my throat as his long fingers drew a line, over my sex, over and over. My hands had fallen away from him and as I felt my body start to spiral, and tense, I clung to him, but then just before it was all going to break apart, he stopped. And quickly rolled over, away from me. Something like a strangled cry emitting sounds of pain started up, that was me. No. No please don’t stop.

  But he was back, kissing my ear, murmuring something I couldn’t understand, again alternately soothing and erotic. But I was so wound up, I couldn’t relax. I had to have him; he had to make me come, now. I reached out my hand to touch him, and found his hands wrapped around himself. Putting on a condom. Oh god, yes. To feel him, now against me, in me, coming on me, in me, I didn’t care. I joined my hands to his larger ones, and surrounded his cock, one hand dropping to squeeze his balls, gently, putting pressure between his legs, that bit of flesh, smooth, inbetween. That made him gasp, and I pulled him to me, rubbing the tip of him up and down against me. Even with the condom, he was warm and wet and huge, sending shudders through my legs. So close. I looked up a
t him, his eyes were shut, his face all sensation. He pushed against me. But when he tried to enter, I was still sore from last night, and I was suddenly tight against him. I felt like a virgin, newly deflowered, unskilled, too sensitive. But there were his lips against my ear again, murmuring gently. “I want you, darling. Does it hurt? I’m sorry, I was too rough last night…we’ll take it very slowly now…”

  And he moved against me, tiny amounts, then backing away, more tiny amounts. So much sensation in such a small space but every motion took over my entire awareness, everything larger, the tip now burning into me, both of our breathing labored with the effort of doing this so slowly. He was moaning now. “God, you’re so tight, I like it, I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to be inside you.” And he pushed in a little further, and I felt his cock open me up and send a wave of desire and heat through me, vibrating in me, all my nerve endings on fire but wet, so wet. And he slowly, agonizingly moved further in me. It felt as though his entire body was inside me, and I wanted him, more than the pain, and little by little, I was taking him in, throbbing, moving past whatever pain was left, until he slipped in, heavy and thick, all the way inside, touching the very back of me. His fingers began twisting at my clit, again alternately gentle and rough, and I felt myself tightening around him, as much as I could, his huge cock fighting back, moving now inside me, gently, a rocking motion, like water, steady, rhythmic. He was kissing me now, and I was lost in all the sensation, his tongue against mine, his fingers tickling me, teasing me, and his body, smooth, dreamy. I’d never felt anything like this, the rhythm was constant and obsessive, perfectly slow, the head of him reaching the furthest point he could inside me, over and over again, just at the same time, slowly. I knew he was close when he suddenly jerked, out of time, syncopated beat, and moaned against me, incoherent noises. He moved his fingers away, and he was in me even further, pulling against me with every motion, and his tongue moved down my neck, and began sucking, hard, on the mark he’d already left. It was so sensitive already, and when he bit down on it, teeth sharp enough to break the skin, the bolt of electric fire it sent between my legs pushed me over the edge. I was trying to speed up, but his hands were on my hips, holding me down, keeping me to the same rhythm, controlling me, and the agonized slowness dragged it out, each thrust bringing another tremor and he rode it out, pinning me beneath him, biting me, steady. Then his body suddenly was hot, his skin burning, and he pushed even deeper within me, convulsive, shaking, crying out, throbbing inside me, his voice ripping out of him, rocking into me, over and over and over, completely devoured by his orgasm. I felt a burst of wetness flood me, and I was coming again, around him, under him, part of him, just from the sound of his voice, delirium. We were breathing, like one, panting, together, gasping for air, blinded by sensation. His skin was wet and slickly animal against me, his mouth hot on my neck, his cock still hard inside me, the smell and sound of it hanging in the air around us.

  And through the fog, the fullness, the burning pain in my neck, all I could think of was the word in French, apprivoiser. Hard r and teasing, drawn out oi sound, like an animal cry. Me. Tamed. Completely.

  Chapter 13

  We lay there for a while, not moving, not speaking. It was as though we had both been through something, a crash, a fight, a storm that we’d both witnessed and now were trying to process. As though we both knew what we had seen, but couldn’t really understand it. Not right now.

  He lay next to me, breathing, our sweat cooling on our skin. Finally, some of the spell lifted, and I turned to look at him. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, deep set and profound, a puzzle being figured out behind them. I liked that I could see that. It was a shame I had no idea what he was thinking. But his skin was so warm next to mine. And when his arm lifted me up slightly and brought me to rest on his chest, his underarm hair tickling at my shoulder, the scent of him sweet and strong, his nipples taut and brown if I opened my eyes to look down the length of his body, I decided I was past caring.

  He kissed my head, gently. It wasn’t just a gesture, and I thought I sensed a moment of fear in it. Maybe some of the anxiety I had felt was not just mine, but his. The worry at trying to start something, the blank sheet, and wondering how the fuck it would all turn out.

  “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled into my hair, and pulled his arm out and climbed out of bed to head to the bathroom. Ah, now, him in the light. Reality. Pale skin, and hair, and his long back trailing down to the most perfect fucking ass in the universe. And then legs. When he shut the door to the bathroom, I threw myself back on the pillows and groaned. There was daylight, girl, you wanted to see him in the light, and there he was. Is. I heard the water running. Then it stopped, and out he came, wearing a pair of old fashioned running shorts, tight, banded in white, and an oversized grey sweatshirt. I smiled at him.

  “Hey there.”

  He smiled back. “Hey yourself.” He gestured around the room. “Have a shower if you like. I’ll make us some coffee, ok?” He looked serious for a minute. “I wanted to talk to you…before I have to go. We never really got to talk.” He sounded serious, but his mouth was curling up in a small smile, that made me smile back.

  “No, we didn’t really, did we?” I thought I’d take a chance. “We seem to understand each other though.”

  He gave me that searching look again, the one that made me wish I really could read his mind. And then he bent down and kissed me, a sweet, soft kiss, that dissolved all the resolve I had to not care. “I think we do. But a few words just to make sure.” He walked to the door to the kitchen and the rest of the apartment. “I have to leave in an hour, ok?”

  I nodded. He went out, and a moment later, I heard the coffee grinder going.

  I stretched out against the sheets. Wow, I was sore. Everywhere. I looked down at my hips and saw neat, small bruises where his hands had been. Oh. It hadn’t felt that hard when he was gripping me, but then again I’d been delirious. Did I even want a shower? Part of me felt like never bathing again, leaving his scent and sweat on me like a mark, the fresh bruises, the soreness.

  I got up and figured I’d decide once I’d seen myself. I went to the bathroom, washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked a hot mess—lips swollen, eyes sunken and slightly bloodshot, hair tangled, cheeks pale from lack of sleep, yet flushed at the same time. No doubt what I’d been doing. I liked it. Clean was overrated. I rinsed out my mouth with the toothpaste, and put on my newly dried bra and garter belt. The matching underwear was torn…somewhere under the bed, I guessed. Torn stockings I stuffed in the trash. Dress went on slowly, over the bruises. The leather jacket would hide all that anyway. I tried to make something of my hair and vaguely succeeded. Well, it wouldn’t be a walk of shame. I wasn’t ashamed. He...it was incredible, and feeling covered all over, really all over, with the signs of his possession was thrilling, illicit, perfect in a way my brain could not explain. But my body could.

  So in this way, ten minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking strong coffee with the man I had shared it all with. He smiled, a hard perverse little smirk, when I came in wearing my dress, barefoot, holding my shoes. “No shower, huh?”

  I tried out a few smart answers in my head, and thought I liked the truth. I found my voice. “I like the way you smell on me. Don’t feel like washing it away just yet.”

  He raised his eyebrows, his eyes growing rounder. And laughed. In a happy way. “I never thought I’d hear a girl say that. They’re usually so keen on smelling like flowers, or berries or whatever else they think they should.”

  “No, I’m quite happy to smell like you for a while, at least.”

  “Good.” And he sat down with his coffee. “So I gather, so far, you’re happy with…” Here he waved his arm around, and gestured theatrically with his hand. “…all this.” Then he gave me a strange little bow of his head over his coffee.

  I took a sip of coffee. I needed it. “I am.” I took another sip. “Shouldn’t
I be?”

  His face changed slightly, but quickly returned to its implacable stillness. “You tell me.”

  “I’m happy. No, happy is a stupid word. Last night…this morning…you…yes.”

  The smile returned. “You’re doing that mangling words thing again.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed. “You seem to have that effect on me.”

  “Good,” he repeated. “Now we need to sort out some details.” And suddenly he was all business. He reminded me of that famous music publisher I had finally been able to interview, the one pointed out to me at that very first awards show. The same steely eyed, sharp nosed expression was there. Power. It was thrilling, and again I was awash with that same strange confusion, whether to fight him, or lie down and wait for the blessed inevitable.

  “Listen,” he carried on. “It should be obvious to you now. I like to be in control. It’s the way I’m made. But not everyone likes that.” He looked to my neck, where I’d washed off the small spot of dried blood this morning. Now it was just red. “But I have the impression that you do. Despite a certain…what should I call it…defiance is a good word…that seems to be part of your nature.” He gave me another searching glance.

  “True.” I felt like if I weren’t honest, I’d lose it all. It was terrifying, and I wondered if he realized how much he was in charge of me already. “Very true. I like to fight back, but I need to submit.”

  He smiled again, and it made me scared. “Oh—I want you to submit. A lot.” He took a deep breath. Here it was, the kill. “So let’s discuss terms.”