Sugar

“It wasn’t sexual with Tucker. Not as much as it was personal. We shared a puzzle piece we both needed to feel whole. He needed pain, and I needed power. When I hurt him, I did so with careful affection. When he cried, it was beautiful, like poetry in motion. Our co-dependent relationship went deeper than fucking and was sometimes far more intimate than making love.”

“Are you saying you’re a sadist?”

“No. But I’m addicted to that feeling. It doesn’t matter if I’m being tender or cruel, so long as I’m the one calling the shots.”

Gavin wasn’t the pain slut Tucker had been, yet we still fit together because he liked being controlled and needed someone to control him. I was that person. Same with Tucker, but with a lot more leather and toys.

“Why did it end with that guy?”

A bittersweet flutter teased my heart. “He fell in love.” The irony was, once Tucker found Raoul, he claimed he no longer craved the pain as much. I envied him for that, wondering if I’d ever stop needing control.

“Who was next?”

I smiled, detecting that he expected my list to take hours. Wouldn’t he be surprised? “You.”

“That’s it?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re only the third person I’ve slept with.”

He leaned forward to look me in the eye. “You’re serious?”

I shrugged. “How many women have you been with?”

“More than three.”

Ugh, why did I ask that? I didn’t want to picture him with other women. And now we were just sitting in this awkward silence, and it was all I could picture. “Say something.”

“I’m getting hard thinking about the fact that I was only your third.”

“I can tell.”

He nudged his hips forward, and I laughed. “Feel like taking care of that for me?”

“While you have some other woman’s lipstick on your lips?” I grimaced. “No, thanks.”

“I told you that was an accident.”

“Did you trip and fall on her mouth?”

“No, but I stopped her the second she tried to kiss me.”

Was that a dig at me for not stopping Micah? My smile faded. “I don’t always know how to respond, Noah. The girl I was never got any attention. If you saw what I looked like—”

“Avery, I saw the pictures in your album. You were a kid. There was nothing wrong with your looks. You’re still the same person.” He gave me a little shake. “This is the real you.”

“It doesn’t feel real.”

“Why don’t you stop trying to be what you think others expect and just be you?”

Just be me? Sometimes I was. Sometimes I was just Avery, building a snowman with my neighbor, cuddling up on the couch, dancing around my apartment in my pajamas. “Sometimes I think you see the real me.”

“That’s my favorite part.”

I glanced at him through my lashes and smiled. “You’re sweet.”

He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Can I tell you my theory?”

“On?”

“You.”

I stiffened, never one to enjoy being the center of attention, and even less of a fan of being psychoanalyzed by a non-professional. Why couldn’t he just accept me for who I was?

It was an easy request, but even I didn’t accept the real me. I was forever trying to change her or hide parts of her away from others. Maybe he could explain why that was. “Go for it.”

His hands closed around mine. Maybe he feared I’d bolt at the first sound of something I didn’t want to hear.

“I don’t think it’s about control, Avery. I think it’s about feeling needed, necessary. If you set up a deliberate role for yourself, you guarantee that happens. Your role with your clients is the opposite, but specific enough that you can relinquish control. Maybe because you still feel desired. They hired you to fill a need in their lives.

“That’s what it seems to come down to, Avery, feeling needed. The control isn’t always necessary, so long as things stay within certain parameters. You trust me not to take things too far, I think. That’s why your authority slips when you’re with me, because you see how much I want and need you. You only fight for authority when you start to doubt things.”

I could hardly blink let alone form words to respond. What if he was right and all this time I’d been wrong? I felt like an idiot, totally out of touch with myself. I should have spent some of my money on therapy instead. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like such a head case.

“Sorry if that was too much.”

I shook my head. “I’m just processing.”

“Well, I should also be honest about myself. Since meeting you, I discovered how much I like taking control.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I told you about my ex. She really messed me up. It took a lot of rebounds to get over what she did, and I’m still messed up from it. With you, it’s different. You and I have this gloves-off sort of chemistry where we can just go at each other and be ourselves, whoever we happen to be in that moment. You challenge me to always give you my best. I love being with you. I love trying new things. And I really love when you let me take the lead. You’re so fucking intimidating, but you can be incredibly indulgent at times. I love getting you there, watching you surrender. And if I’m holding the reins, I know exactly where you are, emotionally and physically. It’s so intense. When we’re in sync like that, I feel… I might be holding you in place, but you’re there by choice. It’s so clear in those moments that every part of you is present—with me.”