Free Me by Laurelin Paige
He pulled away, and his mouth was replaced with his hand.
“Has anyone ever touched you here, Gwen?”
“Uh, no.” And no one was going to. Well, except he was already touching me there. The swirl of his finger around my rim traced the path his tongue had taken, and as it dipped in, pushing just the tip inside, I felt myself grow wetter.
The warmth of his finger disappeared suddenly. Disappointingly. Then a second later it was replaced with something else—something cold. It twisted outside my hole then slipped farther inside.
I tensed.
“Do you remember when you first touched yourself for me? How strange it felt? How foreign? And then you relaxed. How did it feel then?”
“Amazing.” I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He nodded so I went on. “It felt…I felt beautiful. Because I could do that to myself. I could make myself feel good, and you could see it. Which was the best part. The way you enjoyed watching me.”
“Remember that. This is going to feel foreign to you at first, too. But if you relax, it’s going to feel beautiful. It’s going to make you feel good. And I’m going to enjoy that very much.”
His words held promise and allure. They also alarmed me. How could they not when there was an unidentified object pressing against my back door?
I twisted my neck to try to see what he was holding.
JC pushed my head forward. “Don’t look. It will frighten you, and I don’t want it to.”
“Hearing that frightens me even more.”
“Don’t let it.” He pushed the object a fraction deeper into my ass and rolled it around the sensitive walls. “I promise you that it isn’t going to hurt. If we do this right—if you trust me—there will only be pleasure. Do you trust me?”
God, my legs were quivering just from this.
Yet, even on the edge of pleasure as I was, I didn’t know if I could go through with it. I was also starting to worry that JC wouldn’t give me a chance to say no. That amped my anxiety.
“I don’t know,” I managed, my voice breathy. “I mean, I do trust you. But I’m not sure about this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. And that makes me nervous.”
“I understand, and I’m going to help you with that.” With the plug still partially at my hole, he leaned his body over my back so that his mouth was at my ear and his erection poked into my asscheek. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Gwen. I’m going to put a lot of lube onto the plug so that it’s really slick. Then I’m going to slide it into you. Slowly. As I do, I want you to push out and relax. When it’s inside, you’re going to feel your nerves wake up. It’s going to make you nice and snug so that when I fuck you, your pussy will wrap tightly around my cock and you’ll feel me everywhere. And all those nerves that have woken up will be on fire. Then you’re going to come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. Multiple times. You’ll barely be able to stay on your knees and I’ll have to hold your hips while I pound into you. You’re going to feel so good. You’re going to be beautiful. And I’m going to enjoy that.”
Words. Words! The man had me with his beautiful, filthy words. I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
He nibbled on my earlobe. “Does that sound okay to you?”
My yes was more of a grunt than a syllable. Partly because I was already there, already halfway to orgasm where speech became less and less intelligible.
But also there was the part of me that was wary. Not because of what he was going to do or how he was going to fuck me, but because of the giant chasm that had formed between us. We were touching, we were connected by skin, but emotionally, he’d closed himself off. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d positioned himself behind me so that our eyes couldn’t meet. So that he would make sure that as he slid in and out of me, as he stroked the most private parts of me, he’d still never actually let me reach the most private parts of him.
This would be sex for sex’s sake, he was telling me. Like we’d agreed. It would be good sex. Amazing, mind-blowing sex. And that’s all. Nothing more.
If I didn’t like it, he’d given me the chance to say no.
And I didn’t. Because as much as I didn’t like it—as much as I was falling apart inside—my body was completely fine with the situation. It was humming and buzzing and wet and greedy for whatever JC had to give me. I was like a crack whore who would do anything to get her fix, including giving up the things that were most important to her. The things she really cared about. I was desperate for my high.
And, damn—as he slid the lubed plug into my ass, as I pushed against it, relaxing, opening up, as the nerves I’d never known about came alive and sang—it was easy to forget a little heartbreak.
The plug felt wider as it passed my tight rim. Then it seemed to narrow, and I wondered if it was all the way in. I tested it, squeezing my cheeks around it. It felt good.
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this, Gwen.” JC rubbed the base of my spine. “There’s one more ridge to go. How are you feeling? You’re doing great.” He was gentle and patient, yet his excitement was evident.
It bolstered my own excitement until it overtook the last of my anxiety. All that remained was a ravenous want and desire. “More,” I groaned, bucking back into him. “I want more.”
He half laughed, half moaned. “Hold on, baby.” He reached a hand through my legs to massage my clit, and I focused on the thrum of pleasure instead of the squishy way my chest felt after he’d called me baby.
His fingers slid along my slit and jabbed into my cunt. “You’re dripping, Gwen. Do you like how it feels to be this tight?”
I didn’t want to talk. I was teetering on the edge of orgasm and all I wanted was my release. I opened my mouth to tell him, but what came out was a blissful sob. Because, right then, while he continued to rub and play with my clit, he pushed the plug the rest of the way in.
I came.
My orgasm shocked me with its sudden appearance, making my thighs quiver and my arms shake. I fell to my elbows as it thundered through my limbs.
“Ah, Jesus, that’s beautiful. I’m so hard, Gwen. I’m stone.” He was done being patient. He was past being gentle. I could hear the ragged edge in his voice.
Which was just fine with me. I was reeling in my own ecstasy. And I was ready to be fucked.
JC nudged my knees farther apart and a bolt of electricity shot straight to my core as the new position tightened the plug in my ass. Then he grabbed me at my hips, positioned himself, and entered me on a merciless thrust.
I practically screamed as another orgasm split through me. JC didn’t give me any reprieve. He pulled my slack body tighter against him and pounded into me. Each drive touched me everywhere, stroked me everywhere. His tempo was rigorous, and with each staccato jab, his pelvis knocked against the plug, sending sparks shimmying in all directions. I couldn’t tell anymore where the sensation was coming from. My pussy, my ass—all of it burned. It was impossible to recover. I was a waterfall, constantly falling, constantly hitting the rocks below, constantly creating a splash.
Soon I was begging. Pleading with a jumble of sounds and syllables that didn’t make sense. I didn’t even know if I was asking for him to stop or go on. Just. Just, please.
Then, without pulling out of me, JC wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me up so my back pressed against his chest. My hands flew behind me to clutch his neck—I didn’t have the strength to support myself without holding on. He put a hand on my breast and squeezed, his other returned to my clit. It was too much.
It was exactly what I needed.
The flames spread, licking up, up, until every cell in my body was ignited.
Then I burst.
My vision dimmed, blood whooshed in my ears, my entire body turned rigid and tense with the explosion. It wrecked me. Destroyed me.
JC’s voice wove through the decimation, praising me, cursing me. “Good girl, Gwen. Fuck, you’re killing me. You feel…Jesus. I’m coming. I’m c
He pulsed into me, deeper, deeper, growling as he spurted out his climax.
I didn’t register finishing. Didn’t really notice when he pulled the plug out. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was numb. Exhausted. I was the ash after the fire. I was devastated. We fell—me facedown on my stomach, he on the bed next to me—sweating, out of breath. Worn down.
Satisfied.
JC came out of the haze first. “That was incredible. Holy fuck, this is the best arrangement.”
Then the haze cleared for me too. Because with those words, I remembered. Remembered it was all a lie. Remembered it was a quick fix. Remembered it was without strings, without commitment, without love. Remembered the chasm between us and the walls he hid behind.
I turned to my side, facing away from JC, and closed my eyes. Tears spilled out the corners, and I couldn’t decide if they were brought on partly from the amazing orgasms I’d just received or if they were entirely from the piercing stab of pain in my chest. How was it possible to have the best sex of my life while my heart splintered into pieces?
I was the type of woman who could be with a man without feeling anything for him, without feeling anything from him. But could I be with a man and feel something for him without the feeling being returned? Could I settle for whatever he had to give—the world’s best O’s and rare moments when our eyes would link and we’d fuse and feel?
Or would I insist on all or nothing?
It seemed like a harsh ultimatum, but now, as the afterglow of coming hard faded, and I was left with no touches, no kisses, no embrace, all or nothing seemed quite reasonable. Because this ache, this painful excruciating loneliness, was far worse than the ache he’d eased to begin with. It was trading one misery for another, and I didn’t know that it was worth it.
The bed shifted behind me as JC got up. I heard him in the bathroom. A few minutes later, he returned. “Gwen?”
I didn’t say anything. I was afraid if I spoke I’d end up sobbing or saying something I’d regret. This was supposed to be a no-strings thing. There weren’t supposed to be tears. So I kept my eyes shut and feigned sleep with deep even breaths.
He sighed, and I felt the weight of it as if it were a heavy blanket that he’d covered me with. Then another sigh. As though he could expel me from inside him with enough exhalations. He moved around for a bit. Then he left the room, and I let myself cry.
I didn’t overindulge—my cheeks were wet and my makeup smudged, but my eyes wouldn’t swell. I’d learned how to covertly cry growing up. For the times when saying ouch simply didn’t cut it.
When the tears subsided, I wiped away the evidence and realized that the hotel was quiet. Too quiet. I peeked in the bathroom and found it empty. He wasn’t in the front room as well. I would have heard him if he’d opened the doors to the terrace, but I checked there anyway. No sign of him anywhere. And he’d left no notes, either.
I’d felt lonely before, but this was worse. This was abandonment. The sting that had eased with my weeping now returned with a burn that made my previous ache seem dull. Perhaps I was being overemotional. Perhaps I wasn’t being emotional enough. I wasn’t schooled enough in the processes of love to have a grip on what was the appropriate amount of feeling involved.
What I did know was that I couldn’t wait around. Fuck, I’d been waiting around now for years. Ten of them. More. My whole life. I couldn’t escape one prison only to be chained in another.
I forced myself to clean up and dress. Even as I wrapped the coat around my near-naked body, I hoped he’d return with a good excuse. Hey, I ran down to get some champagne. That could have been delivered. I needed a breath of fresh air. There was the terrace.
I couldn’t figure out how to…be…with you when we weren’t fucking.
Ah. Now that one. That one would be honest. And if that was his excuse, there’d be even less reason to stay. At the door, I considered leaving my room key. It wouldn’t mean I couldn’t ever return—my name was at the desk. But it would be a message. When he saw it, he’d know something about my state of mind when I left.
In the end, I kept it. He’d left me clueless with no note. I’d leave him wondering as well.
I made my way to the elevator with as much stoicism and confidence that I could muster. Inside, I pressed the Lobby button then, on a whim, hit the button to the floor with the Meeting Rooms.
I didn’t hear him until I was just outside the Madison Suite. He was right—the walls were thick. The melancholy rolls of Philip Glass’s Opening slipped through the cracks at the door. I leaned my head against the wood and let it float over me. Into me. Let it simultaneously hold me and set me free.
It was gorgeous. Heartfelt. Not as sad as the songs he’d played for me before, and I wanted to believe that was a sign that, perhaps, JC wasn’t in as much despair as he had been. I twisted it into a daydream, as I tried not to breathe, afraid of missing even a single note. Pretended that this melody was the one that had demanded to be played. Because it was Philip Glass, which reminded him of me. Because it was hopeful and not forlorn.
But it was only a fantasy. And while I felt less abandoned now that I’d discovered where he’d gone, I didn’t feel any less alone. That man in there, the one lost in the sweet intoxication of his instrument, he was out of reach. Even if I went in and interrupted him, and he put me on the top of the baby grand and made me scream and writhe with his mouth and his cock…even then. Even then, he’d still be out of reach.
And I’d still be alone.
I listened until the end of the piece. Then I kissed my palm and placed it on the closed door, holding it for the space of a prayer before I pulled my coat tighter around myself and went home.
Chapter Fourteen
I’d begun to measure my life in Wednesdays. Every episode of my inner television show revolved around them. I filed the titles in my head: The Wednesday I Fell Asleep. The Wednesday He Canceled. The Wednesday He Canceled Again. The Wednesday I Tried the Butt Plug. That episode was broken into two parts—the second was called The Wednesday I Snuck Out.
This one was The Wednesday I Stayed Home. It wasn’t a decision made on a whim. I’d pretty much known as I walked out of the Four Seasons in the Snuck Out episode that I wouldn’t be back. On Monday, I’d given a note to Alyssa to deliver to JC. It felt shitty and gutless, but he’d set the precedent.
The worst part was Alyssa’s smug expression. “You’re going after him with a note?”
I’d thought of several comebacks after—Wouldn’t you like to know? Or Please, I don’t have to go after him. But I’d felt too guilty, so I’d lamely said, “Just give it to him.”
Then I spent the next two days curled up in a ball in my bed trying not to cry. On Wednesday night, Norma stuck her head in after work. “You still not feeling good? Are you not going out tonight?”
She’d been so happy the last week, going on and on about Boyd now that she could finally talk about him with me. I hadn’t wanted to kill her buzz with my stupid boy drama. “Yeah, I’m no good. I canceled.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I was planning on staying with Boyd tonight since you weren’t going to be here. But I can tell him I need to stay home and take care of you.”
Her kindness was salt in a wound. My days off were salt in the wound too. Basically, I was an open wound and everything pressed against it and rubbed against me in a way that made my breath trip and my chest spasm. Maybe Norma could make it better—distract me with a hot bath and instrumental music and make me peppermint tea like she used to when she’d come home from college and find me bruised and sore from my father’s latest rampage.
Except this pain was in the inside. And instrumental music would only make me think of JC at the piano, giving his soul away to an empty room. And I didn’t want to ruin her date with the person who finally seemed to take care of her.
“No, Sissy. I’m fine. I’ll probably sleep the whole night anyway.” I wouldn’t sleep. I’d toss and turn and relive every m
Instead, I was restrained and confined.
I’d get over him. Of course I would. I was tough like that. But that would be another episode. This episode I would wrap the chains around me like a blanket, clinging to the corners of my prison like an animal that had yet to realize that its cage door had been left open.
***
I’d half expected JC to show up at the club on Thursday night. Especially since the last time I’d seen him, I’d left without a goodbye. It seemed reasonable that he’d wonder what was up and come looking for answers eventually.
When he didn’t, I swallowed the lump in my throat and took it as a sign. He’d fought for my interest before. Now he was done. It made it easier to give the note to Alyssa the next Monday. And the next. The problem was trying to decide when notes were no longer necessary.
When Alyssa’s vacation came around and I had no one to deliver my message, I figured it was time. It had been the fourth Wednesday, anyway. He should have gotten the hint by now, but if JC wondered at all whether or not we were finished, he’d know when I didn’t show up this time. Without a formal cancellation, he’d know we were over.
That became my mantra, in fact. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.
It’s over, as I went into work that Thursday night.
It’s over, as I checked out cash bags to the bartenders for their registers.
It’s over, as I finished my opening tasks and climbed the stairs to the Viper to set up for that night’s bachelorette party.
It’s over, as I opened the door to the room and found him sitting in the same pose as when I’d first seen him. His legs stretched out in front of him, his arms casually at his sides.
I froze in my tracks, but my blood…my blood ran hot. Like I’d suddenly walked into a sauna, except the steam was on the inside. It was hard to get a breath, and when I did, all I could smell was him—half real, half remembered scents of sandalwood cologne, sweat, and sex. With my heart thumping and my stomach swimming and my senses on overdrive—yeah, this wasn’t over.