“I used to hate leaving,” he blurted out, before I could answer. “I used to hate the time thing. The sessions. It was so fake.”
“You could have paid to stay with me all night.”
“It still would have been a session. It would have ended. We would get so heightened, you know, physically, psychologically, and then our time would be up. I hated it.”
“You don’t have to leave, not anymore. And I’ll stay.”
He touched my fingers, tracing them one by one. “Remember that time you left? The time you just fucking took off and left me?”
“The Standard Hotel. Yeah, I remember. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that session. That was the first time I realized you were a stalker.”
“I didn’t stalk you. I just dug up a little information on your boyfriend.”
“That’s called stalking.”
He took my chin and gave it a little shake. “No. Stalking is giving someone an apartment so you can watch them with binoculars from across the street.”
He was joking, but it wasn’t funny. “Why did you watch me like that?” I felt like we could hash over this forever, and I’d never come to a place where I was okay with it. “Was it a voyeuristic thing? A sex thing? A control thing?”
He rolled away from me and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. It was a Chere thing. I told you, it was hard to leave. Every session, it was so hard to leave you. If I couldn’t leave you for a week, how do you think it felt to take an extended vacation from your life?”
“A ‘vacation’? So you always meant to come back?”
“I don’t know what I meant. I wanted you to graduate and start your life, and then, I thought, maybe…” He covered his eyes and made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know. I want too much of you. I still want too much.”
“What does that mean?” I wasn’t in the mood for his vague, distancing conversation. “I don’t understand why you keep saying that. How can you want too much from someone who’s already giving y—?”
“I have a dungeon,” he said, cutting me off. He took his hands away from his face and glared at me. “I have a dungeon, Chere, right here in this apartment, on the other side of this room. It’s got everything, all the furniture and equipment. But I brought you here to the bedroom instead, because…” His voice trailed off.
“Because you thought your dungeon might scare me?”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “I know it would scare you. I would have liked that part. No, it’s… I can’t…” He let out a harsh breath. “Look, I’ve always been straight with you. And here’s the truth: since you came back into my life, I’ve been getting it ready for you. I’ve been buying things with you in mind. I fantasize about taking you in there and…”
“And what?” I asked, even though I was kind of scared to hear the answer.
“Enslaving you. Training you and hurting you and fucking you up until all you know is Yes, Sir and No, Sir, and What can I do for you, Sir?” He frowned. “You’re going to graduate in a month. You’re going to go out into the world and start a career. You’re going to be happy. You and I…” He made a rough sound. “I’m bad for your happiness. I’m not safe. You know I’m not safe.”
“You’re safe,” I argued, like he hadn’t just revealed that he’d been outfitting a dungeon for me. I felt annoyed, because I wanted him to be safe. I wanted us to be two normal people without a bunch of fucked up issues. “You try hard not to hurt me,” I pointed out. “You exercise control. You’re not a vampire, or a lion, or some feral coyote.”
“I might be a feral coyote. That would actually explain a lot.”
He started kissing me again, hard, soft, licks and nips all over my face and shoulders. He cupped my breasts and then reached down to rake his nails across my tender ass. When I complained, he muffled my whimpers with more kisses, violent ones. I lost track of what happened after that. More sex, more pain, more tender caresses. More sex.
I was dying to see this dungeon now. Yes, Sir. No, Sir. What can I do for you, Sir? I begged him for details as I drifted to sleep but he wouldn’t answer me. He just left the specter of a Price-designed dungeon hanging over my head. I pictured something awful, cold, and elegantly sadistic. I fell asleep dreaming of a dark, dank cement room with chains looping down from the ceiling, and whips lined up along the wall.
When I woke the next morning, Price was gone. I vaguely remembered him kissing me around seven, and pulling closed the curtains against the morning light. I stretched my limbs, thrilled by the ache and burn. I felt weak and emptied out, and confused as ever about what had happened between us last night.