Going Too Far (The Curvy Submissive) (3 page)

When he realized I’d noticed, he returned his attention to
the exceptionally clean glass in his hand.

“Considering how much money I’ve lent her over the last few
years, we sure as shit are,” Brian went on, ignoring his boss. Sometimes I had
no idea how Josh put up with it. “She knows how important this night is for
business. So do you. Stop coddling her.”

“Yes, of course I’ll be here, and yet no to enslaving me.
Don’t worry, Bri, I got your back.”

“Fine. Good.” Brian flipped through a handful of papers, his
scowl deepening the further to the bottom he got. “I can’t find that quote from
Lamont. You seen it, Josh?”

“Shit, yeah, it’s upstairs. I was going over the numbers
last night.”

“That’s my job,” Brian grunted. “I deal with vendors.”

Josh shrugged. “I know, but Martin Lamont is a friend of
mine. We worked out the quote together a few weeks ago over dinner. I just
wanted to look at it one more time.”

“You didn’t tell me that. You just said you wanted to
consider a new vendor. You didn’t tell me that you’d, quote unquote, worked it
out already or that he was a friend.”

The way Brian bit out the word
friend
made me flinch.

“I really don’t have to tell you why I want to do anything.”

Brian opened his mouth to protest, but one cooling look from
Josh put an end to that. Brian snapped his mouth shut tight as a corset and for
a second they held each other’s gaze without speaking. Brian sometimes forgot
South River wasn’t his, that Josh wasn’t really his best friend when he had to
be his boss, that Brian wasn’t a real Murcek.

That look made my cheeks warm and I busied myself with the
peanut bowl until the tension eased.

Most of the time Josh came off as easy going, wrinkled
t-shirts and loose jeans, a trusting, wide smile and baby blue eyes like laser
beams. His dimples were unreal, like if the messy, slightly curly dark hair
sticking up every time he ran his hand through it wasn’t heartbreaking enough,
then he flashed those killer dimples and WHAM, your heart thunked right into
your boots. Needless to say, he’d been very popular in high school. And
college. And whenever someone in heels sashayed into the South River. He looked
like the kind of guy who’d get into a fist fight to protect his best friend. He
looked like the kind of guy you wanted to take home and keep.

But when he got serious, when you’d tested the limits of his
patience, those eyes became storm clouds, turbulent and fierce that brooked no
argument. When his voice dropped low, losing its affection, when those dimples
vanished, you were
screwed
. You could feel his authority in your bones.
I’d pushed him too far only twice and wouldn’t do it again for anything. Clearly
Brian felt the same way.

You know you’ve really fucked up when you’ve forced a nice
guy to be mean.

“Besides,” Josh went on, relaxing. The dimples appeared and
disappeared as he spoke. “Martin Lamont is a good guy, and more importantly his
local brewery makes fantastic beer. We can get a better price, shorter
shipping, and I’ve offered to help him test some of his experimental stuff.
This is a good deal for both of us. The quote’s on my coffee table. I’ll go get
it.”

“I can get it.” I tossed the peanut bowl aside and bounced
forward in between Josh’s boots. Without waiting for permission, I slipped two
fingers into his front pocket and swiped his keys. He raised an eyebrow and
watched but didn’t stop me. I grinned and jingled them like hard earned
treasure.

“Last time I left you alone for ten minutes while I took a
shower and you stole my coffee maker.”

“Only because I didn’t have one.”

“Yes, and then neither did I.”

“But I really wanted some coffee.”

“Oh well, when you put it that way.”

I pouted a bit and leaned into him so that he had to make
room for me between his arms. He faked a look of disapproval.

“I
promise
to be very good.”

“You really are kind of a brat sometimes.” Josh set his hand
on my hip casually and set the glass and dish cloth down. I bit my bottom lip
and he sighed, defeated. “Fine, go, but don’t steal anything. Or rifle through
anything. And when you do anyway, don’t make a mess.”

“Pinky swear.” I gave a little squeal and tried to pull
away, but he held me still.

“While you’re up there, why don’t you do the dishes, dust,
vacuum. Be useful.”

Brian snorted. “You’ve seen her apartment right? She doesn’t
do her own dishes.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve become exceptional at using the
dishwasher. It’s quite fancy.” I leaned my head against Josh’s arm and batted
my eyelashes up at him. He gazed down, amused. “But if you want someone to pick
up after you, Josh, get a girlfriend.”

He tapped the tip of my nose. “I don’t need a girlfriend
when I have you.”

“If you think
I’m
as good as having a girlfriend,
then you’re doing it wrong.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really. What is it exactly I’m
doing
wrong?”

“Don’t answer that.” Brian pointed his pen at the two of us
menacingly. “Kat, stop flirting to get your way, it’s petty and kind of gross.
The Lamont quote. Go. Now.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” I squirmed out of Josh’s hands and
swatted them away when he tried to grab me back. “You’re a bad, bad man, Murcek.”

He laughed. “Apparently, not bad enough.”

I could feel the blush work up my cheeks and down the back
of my neck. Stupid Josh and his stupid smile. I made a bee line for the back
staircase.

“Don’t flirt with my sister,” Brian said when he thought I
was out of earshot. “It’s disturbing.”

“When exactly did you become a grouchy old man, Koile?”

Brian didn’t answer and that made me feel surprisingly sad.
So I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed my brother who’d gone from a fun loving
bar manager to a
you kids get the hell off my lawn!
curmudgeon.

I shoved my way into the upstairs hallway where Josh’s
office and apartment lived. I let myself in and headed for the living room. I
knew every inch of this apartment, had crashed here lots of times when I was in
college, not so much since moving across the street. He kept the place neat,
clean, modern. He liked the color blue, but only in little dashes, mostly
everything was white or black or grey. Every room was tidy enough that he maybe
bordered on anal retentive, but only a little. His wrinkled t-shirts and messy hair
proved it didn’t translate to every part of his life.

Aside from a few letters on the kitchen island, he didn’t
keep many things out for me to fuss through anyway. I poked around in his
fridge and cabinets and helped myself to a bag of white cheddar popcorn before
wandering aimlessly from one freakishly tidy room to the next.

He might actually have a heart attack if he saw the state of
my apartment.

If there was any justice in the world, he’d have a diary
filled with filthy secrets I could relish digging through, but I’d hunted
through every drawer and hiding spot in his bedroom several times over the years
and never found so much as a hint of porn, let alone anything really good. For
his sake, I hoped he was just very good at hiding his dirty little secrets.
Everyone deserved to have something that gave them shivers.

I adored Josh. If I hadn’t known him since I was thirteen,
I’d absolutely harbor a deep, unrequited crush on him. Maybe I did anyway. I
flirted with him shamelessly, usually to get my way, and mostly it was all in
fun.

Sometimes I almost meant it.

But sometimes I felt like he wasn’t quite here. Or that he
was missing something vitally important and he was just waiting for it to
appear before he could finally become the man he wanted to be. Even his
apartment felt like he hadn’t quite moved himself in, like he hadn’t yet
decided if he wanted to stay.

He flirted back after all, which couldn’t be any less
serious. I felt like maybe he was waiting for someone he wanted to love for
real and Brian and me and our friends were just filling in the space for him as
best we could until someone more deserving showed up.

I didn’t really think that was true, but I was always a
little afraid it might be. We sure as hell didn’t deserve him.

His bedroom had that manly, artsy feel I loved. Three walls
were exposed brick, old and a little flawed, with open pipes crisscrossing the
high ceilings. He had a big modern art piece above his bed, a clash of people
in the street as they poured out of a music hall. You could still see the
melodies in their faces, the swaying hips and stomping feet. The colors were
all too bright, too off, but the details of the people felt almost photo-real.

One full wall across from his bed was nothing but books,
mostly science fiction and mystery and a few non-fiction titles. Nothing
telling. There were two pictures on one shelf - one of him as his father, and
one of him, me, and Brian at my 21st birthday party. Josh had closed down for
the night and invited only my closest friends. He hired a band and catered in
dozens of different kinds of cupcakes in all shapes and sizes and colors. I’d
eaten so many of them I felt sick at the very smell of buttercream for months.

In the picture I sat in his lap, arms around his neck, absolutely
covered in glitter and adoring him to death. He was smiling, blue eyes as big
as the sky, dark hair messed from me playing with it moments before the picture
was snapped. Brian stood behind us, one arm around our shoulders and he was
actually smiling too, dimples the size of the sun.

Our father got sick a few months later, and stayed that way
for a long time before finally succumbing to his illness. During those months
we spent night after night at the hospital, wandering hallways together,
talking - not talking - about everything. We hid in the radiology waiting room
late at night in the dark sharing headphones while our father slept.

When it became apparent that nothing was going to fix our
dad, he began turning his life over to Brian. Suddenly, one day, he wasn’t
Brian anymore. He was a young man with our father’s frown and he didn’t want to
talk anymore. He didn’t want to listen to music or draw inappropriate cartoons
on the hallway white boards. He called me a little girl, accused me of not
taking our father’s illness seriously, ordered me to grow up. One day, he just
stopped being Brian.

The dimples had been the first things to go.

____________

Kat

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

The road spilled through the woods, moonlight escaping
between the silhouettes of trees on either side. My best friend, Julie Lyons,
carved her way through the dark, winding roads towards the super-secret party I
was super crazy for having agreed to attend. Brian’s accusations, the warning
letter he’d received, even Josh had clung to my thoughts all day, leaving me
feeling anxious and tense. Despite my nerves and reservations, I knew I badly
needed an excuse to be someone else for a night.

Julie smiled and pressed the gas. “Don’t chicken out on me
now.”

The party belonged to Kelli Arcona. We met her last summer
when she took over as a bartender at the South River when Julie was waitressing
between semesters. She was amazing, beautiful, and sassy. We’d become fast
friends, which I had needed when my father was in the hospital.

Kelli, as it turned out, also had a few secrets that took
the entire summer and a lot of Vodka to get her to divulge. She wore her
sexuality on her sleeve, never stayed with anyone for very long, and enjoyed a
sexual appetite that left most men unable to keep up.

One night when Josh had a rare date and left Kelli to close
down and lock up, the three of us stayed up doing shots and dancing to Billy
Idol in our socks until four in the morning. That’s when she told us about a
private club she worked at where people came to explore the world of bondage
and submission and sex like we’d never imagined it before.

I hadn’t even known there were such places. Had never
dreamed. It seemed so Hollywood, so fake, so fictional.

Domination. Submission. Power play. Those words had sounded
frightening at the time, but the more she talked about it, the more often she shared
little secrets, the fear turned into a nervous, hungry curiosity. What privilege
were we missing out on?

Over shots, Kelli described what it felt like to be tied up
and taken care of, the power exchange and deep, soul satisfying pleasure of
playing out your fantasies in a safe, consensual, honest atmosphere. She confessed
costumes, adoration, affection, tenderness. She described playing pretend and
giving in and exploration. Trust as pleasure. Make believe as longing.

A child’s curiosity matched to an adult’s ability to
consent.

When she described the other people she played with, the
beautiful variety of people from all walks of life, all levels of beauty, and
all ages, well it wasn’t surprising that we both fell in love with the idea of
such inclusive attraction.

Being heavier had always been a stumbling block for me. I
didn’t hate my body, but I didn’t trust it either. Some days everything felt
fine - symmetrical cleavage, flattering jeans, hidden thighs. But most days I
was all too aware of squishy midsections, stocky legs, squeezed-squashed-holstered
boobs. So being in an electrified, social setting without worrying about
competing with long, pretty people hit just the right trigger.

It was not, however so easy to make us forget the other
parts she described, the strangeness, the pain, the loss of control. The darker
side of her games.

It took Kelli a year to convince us to come to one of her beginner
parties where she introduced people to the idea of exploring their sexuality in
new, intense ways. She promised the atmosphere was fun and inviting and would
not break down into an all-out orgy or anything like that, though she knew more
than a few people who found each other through her parties. The men in the room
would all be experienced and generous with their attention and information, and
all the women would be new, nervous girls like us.