Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

He squeezed my breasts and then his fingers crept up to my neck. He put his thumb and forefinger on either side of my windpipe, staring down at me. I waited for the inevitable loss of consciousness as I held his gaze. I knew I’d come back, and that he’d still be inside me and around me, and that this was just another form of control.

I reached to hold him as the edges of my vision turned black. I dreamed of wonderful things during the time I was out. Warmth and comfort, a fire, a blanket holding me safe and secure. I woke to the heady force of his possession. He kissed me and held my neck as I squeezed on his thick length. I wish I could describe how it felt to have him driving inside me. He was power and strength, and barely restrained force, and sometimes unexpected tenderness. He gripped my neck until we came together, gasping and arching toward each other, and he still held it afterward as he gazed down at me.

“Are you mine?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you happy being my slave?”

“Oh, yes, Sir.”

He still looked unsettled. I traced his high Nordic cheekbones with my fingertips, trying to soothe him. He captured my fingers and brought them to his lips.

“We’re lucky we found each other,” he said after a moment, then drew out of me. We went into the bathroom, into his gargantuan shower, where we could continue to flirt and embrace. Sometimes Monday mornings could be wonderful.

“Chere,” he said, while I was rinsing out my hair. “I have to tell you something. I don’t want you to overreact. I don’t want it to affect any of the things we just talked about, you know, that you’re mine. That you belong to me. We’re happy together, aren’t we?”

I turned to him, watching the water sluice off his golden skin. Price, I love you. I won’t overreact. I’d been waiting for us to have some kind of breakthrough, where he could admit that he saw a future between us. A marriage, a family. Maybe this was it. I prayed this was it…

“You can tell me anything,” I said. “I’ll always belong to you, no matter what.”

I studied his expression. He didn’t look like a man on the verge of professing eternal, undying love. I twisted the garnet ring around my finger and waited.

“Simon died last night,” he said, holding my gaze. “According to the articles, he relapsed and suffered an overdose.”

I stared at his face, at the hard, unforgiving planes of his nose and jaw. “What?”

He shut off the water in an abrupt movement and took me in his arms. “Don’t overreact. Remember what we talked about. He’s your past. You’re not responsible for him.”

“But…” My mind swam backward in horror to our meeting at my studio, and the texts Price hadn’t allowed me to return. “He asked me for help. He said he was struggling.”

“It’s not your fault he lost that struggle.”

But it felt like my fault. It felt like Price’s fault. All the sex magic, all the marriage fantasies bled away in the face of this horrible news. I thought I should shove Price away from me, but before I could, he held me tighter.

“Don’t,” he said, staring down at me. “We’re not going to lose our shit over this. You know the rule about Simon. It still stands. We’re going to go to work, and concentrate on our lives, and move forward. Do you understand?”

I was having a little trouble catching my breath. He’d known this all morning. He’d known when he woke me up and had tender, hour-long sex with me. He’d known when he choked me out and brought me back with a kiss.

“When did this happen?” I asked, but what I really meant was, How long have you known, and why are you only telling me now?

“I found out last night. Andrew texted last night.”

“I want my phone back.” I needed some control back, because this was fucked up. Our rule about Simon? Really? Simon was dead, possibly because I’d turned my back on him, and Price was stuck on our goddamn rule. Tears rose in my eyes. Simon was dead. Overdosed.

“Don’t flip out about this,” he said, handing me a towel. “You know what will happen if you flip out on me. Let’s give it some time to process. We’ll talk about it tonight, okay?”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Tonight. After we talk.”

How could he be so calm? Didn’t he understand he was implicated in Simon’s tragic death? Tonight seemed a thousand years away, and yet I never wanted tonight to come. I dreaded it. I dreaded the furious, unguarded things I’d say to Price about this, and the things he’d do to me in return. I dreaded everything, and Simon…