Asking for It by Lilah Pace
Page 18
I count the next point off on my fingers. “Two, I realize I might get—banged around during all this, but please try not to actually injure me or cause me serious pain. I’m not a masochist; I don’t get off on that kind of thing. ”
“I’m not a sadist, so that works. ”
Maybe he’s not a sadist in the physical sense. Emotionally? He has to be. How can you dream about raping women and not enjoy hurting people, in soul if not in body? I guess if you don’t understand what that does to a woman—how badly rape screws with your head, the scars it leaves—you could imagine that your pleasure wouldn’t cause someone else lasting pain.
For a moment I’m angry. I want to tell Jonah everything he doesn’t understand. Make him know how terrible it is.
But I need him to be fucked up, don’t I? The only possible partner for these games is someone as bent as I am.
“All right,” I say. “Third, you don’t film this. You don’t make an audio recording, and you don’t take photographs. ”
He looks disappointed. That’s something he wanted, then. “I’d never put anything like that online, or show it to anybody. ”
“I believe you, but stuff like that can fall into the wrong hands. Remember the scandal with all those movie stars last year? Some ‘revenge porn’ sites actually hack people’s computers and cell phones. They steal the images if they can. ”
This is when I learn what Jonah Marks looks like when he’s angry. His expression darkens, as do his gray eyes. His body tenses, like he wants to throw a punch but isn’t going to let the guy know when it’s coming. “Any man who would do that to a woman is scum. ”
I nod. It’s so strange, the division within him—how he can simultaneously hate men who take advantage of women and yet fantasize about being one of them. “So no recordings, no pictures?”
He gives in gracefully. “None. ”
“Okay. Finally—this is my last not-ever thing, I think—” I glance around the bar to be sure nobody has wandered closer while I was distracted. Nobody has, but I lower my voice anyway. “Please don’t come on me. ”
Jonah blinks, as if he’s surprised. I guess he would be. We’re talking about getting as kinky as anyone can, yet I don’t want him to do something that ordinary.
I don’t. I really, really don’t.
At last he says, “Okay. I won’t. ”
If he’s not coming on me, he’ll come in me. I imagine him in my mouth. Suddenly I want to taste him so badly I nearly moan.
I try to cover how flustered I am. “So. What about you? Do you have any limits I should know about?”
The answer I expect is No. He’s going to be the one in control; what limits could he possibly need? Instead Jonah answers me immediately. “The main thing is that if we’re ever discovered—if someone thinks what’s happening is real and steps in or calls the police—you have to set them straight. I don’t care if you’re ashamed of this fantasy. You tell them the truth, no matter what. ”
“Of course. I would do that anyway. ” I hadn’t even realized what a risk Jonah was taking. He studies my face carefully, and I know he’s trying to figure out whether I’m being honest about backing him up. More gently I add, “We have to trust each other or this doesn’t work. ”
“Right. ” Jonah goes back to his points like he hadn’t paused. “I told you I wasn’t a sadist. Well, I’m not a masochist either. Sometimes I realize you might want to fight back—and I might like that. If you struggled. ” The way he smiles at me makes me go hot all over. I shift on the sofa, and I can feel how slick I am between my thighs. “A few scratches, a slap, that’s fine. A black eye or broken arm I have to explain to people, that’s not fine. ”
“Got it. ” Like I could take out Jonah Marks. If we ever fought for real, he’d have me down within seconds.
He takes a deep breath. “Last thing, never call me Daddy. ”
I stare at him. It’s all I can do not to laugh.
Obviously he sees my amusement. His scowl deepens. “Some women say that, in bed. ”
“I know. ” I swallow the last of my smile.
“If I ask you to talk, I’ll tell you what to call me. And you’ll say it. ”
The urge to laugh vanishes. In its place are other, more primal urges. I want this man to give me orders. I want him to tell me what to do.
If Jonah accepted my weird limit, I can accept his. “‘Daddy’—that’s not one of my things. So we’re good. ”
I count the next point off on my fingers. “Two, I realize I might get—banged around during all this, but please try not to actually injure me or cause me serious pain. I’m not a masochist; I don’t get off on that kind of thing. ”
“I’m not a sadist, so that works. ”
Maybe he’s not a sadist in the physical sense. Emotionally? He has to be. How can you dream about raping women and not enjoy hurting people, in soul if not in body? I guess if you don’t understand what that does to a woman—how badly rape screws with your head, the scars it leaves—you could imagine that your pleasure wouldn’t cause someone else lasting pain.
For a moment I’m angry. I want to tell Jonah everything he doesn’t understand. Make him know how terrible it is.
But I need him to be fucked up, don’t I? The only possible partner for these games is someone as bent as I am.
“All right,” I say. “Third, you don’t film this. You don’t make an audio recording, and you don’t take photographs. ”
He looks disappointed. That’s something he wanted, then. “I’d never put anything like that online, or show it to anybody. ”
“I believe you, but stuff like that can fall into the wrong hands. Remember the scandal with all those movie stars last year? Some ‘revenge porn’ sites actually hack people’s computers and cell phones. They steal the images if they can. ”
This is when I learn what Jonah Marks looks like when he’s angry. His expression darkens, as do his gray eyes. His body tenses, like he wants to throw a punch but isn’t going to let the guy know when it’s coming. “Any man who would do that to a woman is scum. ”
I nod. It’s so strange, the division within him—how he can simultaneously hate men who take advantage of women and yet fantasize about being one of them. “So no recordings, no pictures?”
He gives in gracefully. “None. ”
“Okay. Finally—this is my last not-ever thing, I think—” I glance around the bar to be sure nobody has wandered closer while I was distracted. Nobody has, but I lower my voice anyway. “Please don’t come on me. ”
Jonah blinks, as if he’s surprised. I guess he would be. We’re talking about getting as kinky as anyone can, yet I don’t want him to do something that ordinary.
I don’t. I really, really don’t.
At last he says, “Okay. I won’t. ”
If he’s not coming on me, he’ll come in me. I imagine him in my mouth. Suddenly I want to taste him so badly I nearly moan.
I try to cover how flustered I am. “So. What about you? Do you have any limits I should know about?”
The answer I expect is No. He’s going to be the one in control; what limits could he possibly need? Instead Jonah answers me immediately. “The main thing is that if we’re ever discovered—if someone thinks what’s happening is real and steps in or calls the police—you have to set them straight. I don’t care if you’re ashamed of this fantasy. You tell them the truth, no matter what. ”
“Of course. I would do that anyway. ” I hadn’t even realized what a risk Jonah was taking. He studies my face carefully, and I know he’s trying to figure out whether I’m being honest about backing him up. More gently I add, “We have to trust each other or this doesn’t work. ”
“Right. ” Jonah goes back to his points like he hadn’t paused. “I told you I wasn’t a sadist. Well, I’m not a masochist either. Sometimes I realize you might want to fight back—and I might like that. If you struggled. ” The way he smiles at me makes me go hot all over. I shift on the sofa, and I can feel how slick I am between my thighs. “A few scratches, a slap, that’s fine. A black eye or broken arm I have to explain to people, that’s not fine. ”
“Got it. ” Like I could take out Jonah Marks. If we ever fought for real, he’d have me down within seconds.
He takes a deep breath. “Last thing, never call me Daddy. ”
I stare at him. It’s all I can do not to laugh.
Obviously he sees my amusement. His scowl deepens. “Some women say that, in bed. ”
“I know. ” I swallow the last of my smile.
“If I ask you to talk, I’ll tell you what to call me. And you’ll say it. ”
The urge to laugh vanishes. In its place are other, more primal urges. I want this man to give me orders. I want him to tell me what to do.
If Jonah accepted my weird limit, I can accept his. “‘Daddy’—that’s not one of my things. So we’re good. ”