Even Deeper (4 page)

Had he known when we’d been shopping? Had he understood what Jack had wanted from the very start? If so, then had he been intentionally—not rude—but brusque with me, hoping to raise my ire? Hoping to build me up so that I could take him down.

Isn’t the world a strange place? Aren’t people the most bizarre creatures? We have our treasured desires. We own our little codes of pleasure. And yet, sometimes, somehow, those wires can be shorted. You know me. I’m built to bow down. I was molded to take pain—to accept the blow—and yet, with the crop in my hand, with Alex’s eyes on me, fearfully on me, waiting to see when I’d start—hell, I was a different person. Transformed.

There were the cuffs he’d used on me on the plane, and I’d set them on the pillow. There was the blindfold. Ready, waiting. And then there were the two of us.

“You talked to Jack?” he said the words with an uplift in his voice, a hidden smile.

“Yeah.”

He flushed, “So…”

I admired him like this. Unsure of himself. Or unsure of me. I wondered how far I’d be able to go. How far I could take Alex. How far was
too
far.

“Strip down,” I said finally. “Not all the way. Just to your boxers.”

Alex set his drink on the table and started to undress. I’ve explained, I think—I hope—how handsome he was. But I never really saw him. Not for his body or for his attractive qualities. He was someone who came with Jack. Like a set. But on this night, I watched. I paid attention, noting how he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and set it carefully on the chair. How he kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, then slid down his slacks. Never looking at me. Never making eye contact.

What was going through his head? That’s what I wanted to know. I came closer to him, before he could do anything else, aligning my body with his, pressing against his back. I set down the crop so that I could bring my hands around his body, my fingertips dancing over his strong, broad chest. I pressed my lips against his naked skin. I felt him shiver. And then I spoke.

“Does Jack do this to you?”

The tremor that ran through him was fierce. Alex was always the one to ask me impertinent questions. What did Jack use on me when he spanked me—hand or belt? Did I need to be slapped for my impudence? But now, he was mine. For the night. Jack had said so. And I wanted to know. I wanted to use my power to learn what their relationship away from me was like.

“Does he touch you softly?”

My fingers snaked along his rib cage, then found his nipples and pinched. Alex shuddered again. God, he was good. Jack had told him—I was guessing here—to obey me. To be mine. However difficult that must have been for Alex, he was putting up far less of a fight than I had on the plane.

“Or does he only touch you hard?”

My fingers tightened on his nipples and Alex groaned.

I let my hands slide down his waist. I reached around to stroke him through his boxers, feeling his erection, knowing in an instant how turned on he was. I pushed him forward, so that he took a step toward the bed. “Lie down,” I told him, “hands over your head.”

I had him bound in seconds. As someone who adores being on the receiving end of bondage, I have spent quite a lot of my life admiring cuffs of all sorts. I could definitely handle the ones that Alex had brought with him on the trip. He was still in his boxers, but that was all. His fine, muscular back tensing in anticipation. His strong legs spread slightly in a “V” on the mattress.

The crop felt light now in my hands. A magic wand rather than a weapon. How odd. If I had been the one in Alex’s place, I would have looked upon the thing with fear. But now it was my friend, an assistant to finding out more about Jack and Alex. When Jack had given me Alex this evening, had he guessed how I would want to play? Did he think pain would be involved solely for the sake of sex? Or did he know me well enough to be sure that I’d realized what a true gift this was?

Bluebeard’s door was open. I was stepping inside.

Carefully, I traced the tip of the crop along Alex’s spine. So pretty. I took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d poured, savoring the bite, and then I dragged the crop down between Alex’s asscheeks, letting him feel the point even through his boxers.

“Does he touch you gently?” I repeated. “Or does he only touch you hard?”

“You can answer that yourself,” he said, and I struck him once. A little wake-up call.

“Why would I want to answer for myself when you can answer for me?”

“I meant,” he said, eyes narrowed at me, “that there’s no reason to think he treats me any differently than he treats you.”

I laughed at that, then struck again, quickly, several times in a row, so that Alex sucked in his breath. Christ, I could see the pleasure in this.  Of course, we were playing a game. Alex could have refused to bend to my will. He could have overpowered me in a second. But I knew that he wouldn’t. Jack had given him instructions—as he had given them to me—and Alex lived for Jack.

Still, I wondered how far I could go. How much I could torture him. Not physically, but mentally.

“Don’t lie to me,” I told him. “You’re an extension of Jack. You’re  his right-hand man. When he can’t be there, he sends you. You’re not on the ground next to me, kissing his feet, unless he wants you there. Most of the time, you are elevated, on a pedestal, right by his side. I want to know what it’s like when you’re alone with him. Do you fuck him? Or does he fuck you?”

“Come on, Sam.”

It was quite the little speech. Had I rehearsed the words in my head? Not knowingly. But I’d wondered. Every time we played together, the three of us, there was a power shift. Alex changed the dynamics simply by being there.

Did Jack bow down to him behind closed doors? That’s what I wanted to know. I don’t know why. I had images, visions of what the two of them would be like when I was absent. Were they equals? Did Jack have an equal? I couldn’t see that. I couldn’t believe it.

My plaything was thinking. I watched his eyes. He was trying to figure out how much to tell me. Or how to phrase what he was planning on saying. I didn’t want to give him the time to think. I struck again, and then, slowly, sweetly, climbed onto the bed and pulled down the boxer shorts, admiring the lines I’d driven into his flesh. Admiring the pure strength of his body. Strength he was containing—not for me, but for Jack.

“Count,” I said, because counting would keep his mind off the rest.

I stood by the bed. I looked at his face. His eyes were unreadable now. He’d gone somewhere else. Was he imagining that I was Jack, punishing him for some unknown indiscretion? Or was he accepting of my authority, even if I only had the power for one night?

I knew what it was like to be in Alex’s place. I knew what he was going through, and I relished every fucking second. We reached twenty before I stopped. Before I gave him a breather. I ran one hand over his heated skin. I pet him, knowing that my palm would soothe the sting.

“You fuck him,” I said, deciding on it. “You go to his office sometimes, when nobody’s there, and he tells you how to do it. You fuck him against the windows. Splayed. He gives himself over to you.”

No response.

“You use his own belt on him. Don’t you? He tells you how hard to strike. How much to make it hurt.”

He didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no. He was gone, still, eyes wet, expression immobile. If I said the wrong thing, would he be off the bed? Would he overpower me, even with his wrists bound together. Would he take charge?

No. Jack had bound him with a command. Alex was a far better sub than I was, much more obedient in so many ways. He would have been meek on the plane. He would have taken any change in plans in stride. And look at me. I pouted. I squirmed. I demanded to know things that weren’t mine for the knowing.

Like this: “Does he touch you gently, or does he only touch you rough?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” Alex said, and I smirked at him. He didn’t like me repeating things. I got that. He didn’t like me pushing. But was there something deep down in him that wanted to share? My life with Jack was open for Alex’s viewing. He not only saw our day-to-day routine, he co-starred in it. I was curious about the time before me, or the times when I wasn’t with the two of them.

I wanted to know.

“It matters,” I said, shrugging. “It matters to me.”

“Then ask Jack.”

“He gave me you.”

“For one night,” Alex countered. “One night.”

“Did you know that on the plane? When you were messing with me, did you know that we’d be here, like this? When you bought that crop, did you know I was going to use it on you?”

Alex wouldn’t look at me. But I didn’t mind. We had all night.

Pain is the center of all of my pleasure. The source, like blood through my veins. But it’s not only the ritual of being spanked, or the torment of being bound, or the concept of submitting to someone else’s power. The desire runs deeper for me. My whole world revolves around the simple concept of “taking it.” I am small and slim, but I can steel myself to accept all sorts of cruelty. Of malice. Of the most decadent type of agony.

Yet being in control made me wet.

I’d dabbled in this role occasionally, for Jack’s sake. I had stepped hesitantly into the shoes of a Dom as if sliding on one of the sexy little costumes that hung in my closet. Without Jack in the room, things were different. I was only playing this part due to Jack’s request, but with him physically absent, the atmosphere felt charged in a whole new way.

I wondered, when Jack arrived, which one of us he would debrief first. Would he call me to him, set me on  his lap, and let me spill my side of the story? Or would he take Alex out to a bar, some manly watering hole, and learn his version over shots of hard liquor?

Did it really matter? Were we down to “Who does Jack love more?” Was that what this was truly all about?

No. I didn’t care. I mean that. I was only curious. I wanted to know what went on with these two men when I wasn’t present. I wanted to know what happened between them when I was out of sight.

And Alex didn’t look as if he gave a damn about what I wanted. The strokes on his skin were nothing compared to what Jack had done to him at Juliette’s club. Still, I pressed on.

“How did it start?”

“What, Sam?” he sounded weary. But when I bent over the bed and slid one hand under his body, I could feel how deliciously hard he was. He groaned and tried to pull away, but I stroked him forcefully, and he started to buck against my hand. I was turned on, almost indescribably so. I thought about what it would feel like to have him roll over, to interrogate him between long, luscious licks of his cock. But that wasn’t what I needed. Reluctantly, I moved back from the bed and returned to my questioning, crop dancing in my hand.

“The two of you. How did it start?”

He gave me a look of total disbelief. “You’re not serious. That’s what keeps you up at night? How Jack and I met?”

I traced the tip of the crop under Alex’s chin, so that he raised his head up toward the ceiling. Then I bent down and kissed him—feeling totally out of control, and not sure how to regain my balance. Alex kissed me back, surprising me. I’d thought he would pull away. I’d thought he would refuse. His lips were warm on mine, and I lost myself for a moment in the kiss. Lost myself until he bit my bottom lip hard, and I had to pull away.

What the fuck was I doing here? Alex was right. Why did I care what went on behind closed doors? I had what I needed from Jack. All that I needed. Why rock the boat?

Because Jack had given me the chance. And he knew me. He knew all of the questions that swirled through my mind on a daily basis. He knew how difficult it was for me to hold my tongue. Yet I’d managed. I’d behaved. This was my reward. Alex must have known that, too.

“Does he take you out to lunch, tell you what he wants you to do to me for the coming week?”

Alex closed his eyes tight and turned his head away. He clearly didn’t know how he was supposed to answer me.

“We’ve fucked,” I reminded him. “The two of us have shared a bed together.”

“Yeah?” Now, he looked my way. Telling me that what I’d said didn’t matter. Didn’t count for anything. He would have fucked anyone at Jack’s request. Alex’s commitment ran so damn deep. He was beyond loyal.

“Were there girls before me?”

“We’ve talked about that, Sam.”

“Was there anything like this?”

“No. I’ve told you that, too.”

I felt like one of those insecure chicklets who’s always asking her boyfriend for reassurance. “Do you love me? Do you think I’m pretty?” But instead, I was craving knowledge.

“Did he fuck other girls the way he fucks me?”

“How does he fuck you?” Alex spat back.

I took a deep breath. “Did he hurt other girls the way he hurts me?”

“That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Alex asked, and his expression seemed to soften along with his tone. “You want to be special. You want to be the one.”

I should have been whipping him. I should have been in control, yet I was trembling. Guilty for asking Alex questions that I ought to have been brave enough to pose to Jack. What the fuck was I doing? What did Jack want from me?

I sat on the edge of the bed, my reflection mocking me from a mirror across the room. Who did I think I was, all dressed up like this? Jack had successfully set this scene from thousands of miles away. Suddenly, I felt angry. As if I were acting a part in a play, and I didn’t believe my role. I was a phony. I unbound Alex before he could ask me another question. Then I started to head toward the bathroom, tears streaking my cheeks—the stress of the flight, the surprise of traveling without Jack, the urge to understand my place in the world—a combination of emotions flooding through me.

But Alex was quick. He was up and on me before I reached the door. His hands gripping tightly into my upper arms. Hard enough to leave bruises.

“Why can’t you just accept it?”

“Accept?” I echoed.

“He loves you.” He stared hard into my eyes. “And he loves me. And there are no game plans. There is no manual. This is just how it is. Crazy. And messy. And fucked up in the best possible way. You’ve had these needs in you for years. And he fulfills them.” A pause. “Doesn’t he?”

I nodded immediately.

“Then what do you need? Come on, Samantha. What’s all this really about?”

My eyes flickered toward the crop, and it was over like that. My little turn in the driver’s seat. Over in a breath. In a heartbeat. In the whisper of Alex’s voice as he bent down and pressed his lips to my ear. “I’ll pour you another shot.”

###

We got drunk that night.

The kind of obliterating drunk that makes you feel invincible.

The kind of fascinating drunk that makes you tell secrets—yet ensures you won’t remember a fucking thing in the morning. Or if you do remember, the images will be blurred and distorted, stretched into new shapes.

It started simply. Alex slid back into his clothes and poured us each a fresh drink. He waited while I removed the vinyl gear, waited while I put on my favorite jeans, one of my treasured old rock shirts, losing myself in the safety of my beloved clothes. I found a space on the bed, curling my feet under me and cradling the glass in my hands as if the crystal might keep me warm.

I felt demolished somehow, because I’d failed. Alex didn’t speak for a while. He drank, and he watched me, and he drank some more. The crop remained on the bed between us. I refused to look at the thing. Refused to touch it. My body pressed way up against the wall, the drink somehow keeping me from shattering into pieces.

Until, as happens with liquor, my safety blanket was the thing to turn on me. Pain didn’t make me cry. The maudlin wash of alcohol did.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Alex said, when he saw the tears steadily dripping down my face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything right.”

“No, I mean, he wasn’t expecting you to behave in some sort of way, if that’s what you’re worried about. You didn’t fail Jack.”

Was that it? What that my problem?

“He was giving you a surprise treat. But surprises don’t always turn out the way people plan.”

For some reason, that made me think of my night back in college, with my two buddies. Thought of the tequila that had spun the evening into motion and the secrets we had shared. Thought of the way they had stroked me between them, treating me as if I were something precious. Special. Thought of the reverence of that evening—the total magic of it—and the way everything had dissolved afterwards. We hadn’t known what we were playing with that night. We hadn't known that one single fantasy could destroy a friendship.

But Jack knew better. If Jack had been here, in the room with us, the evening would have gone smoothly. Without a hitch. I could have performed for him in any capacity. I would have done anything he wanted.

Alex, as if reading my mind, said, “He wanted you to do what you wanted.”

I looked at him, startled, as he poured me more to drink. “I didn’t—” I stammered.

“You didn’t what?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what I wanted. Except, to please him.”

Alex grinned at me, and then he kissed me. “Don’t try so hard, Sam,” he said. “This isn’t a job, you know. This is your life.”

I don’t know why, but those words resonated through me. My life. He was right. This was my life. And I could fight it. Or I could accept it. Or I could change it. And I didn’t want to change it. Not for anything. So I lifted the drink again, absorbing the burn, and then I leaned over the crop and kissed Alex once more.

We took the liquor with us outside, strolling until we reached the water. We took turns passing the bottle back and forth, drinking and kissing and telling secrets on the bank of the Seine.

Here were the secrets that I so desperately craved. Told to me at a time and in a way that meant I couldn’t remember them properly in the morning. We leaned on each other, held each other. At one point, I straddled him, and I could feel how hard he was in his slacks, but we didn’t fuck. We just teased one another, whispering the filthiest memories we could think of. Alex talking about the first time he’d fucked a man. The first time he’d been fucked by one. Me telling him about cheating on Byron with Connor. About screwing each other on Byron’s desk at work. The most blatant form of betrayal I could imagine.

And then, when the bottle was empty, we stumbled back to the hotel, with me blindly trusting Alex, having no idea which way we were heading. We fell into the room, crashed together fully clothed, his arms wrapped tight around me. The sky outside already slowly turning from night to day.