Kiss the Sky (24 page)

“She loves to disagree with me.” We argue a lot about
theories because they’re easily debatable, but we always, somehow, kiss in the
end. When she finally returned to Princeton, I spent the day with her in bed,
sucking on her neck, gently easing her to go further. She was too scared to do
more. But I think, for once, she will now.

“When she went down on you, you didn’t let her use her
hands?” he suddenly asks.

“No.” These questions are annoying me more than usual.

“Did she like it?”

“Immensely.”

“You’re very possessive of her,” he states, taking out his
notepad.

“How can you tell?”
 

“You sound irritated.”

Wonderful.

“Did you go down on her afterwards?”

“No.” I shift my jaw, trying to get my words to cooperate
and not come out so damn coarse.

“Because you didn’t have time?”

“No,” I
almost
snap
at him. I clear my throat as Frederick scribbles something down.

“Because she wouldn’t let you.”

I stay quiet since he phrased this one as a statement, not a
question.

“She’s frightened to let you touch her. The alcohol she
wants you to buy will lessen her inhibitions and reservations. If she’s afraid
in the first place, maybe she’s not submissive, Connor.”

My eyes narrow, a territorial feeling boiling inside of me.
“She responds the way a submissive would. She shudders in pleasure when I take
full control. But she’s still horrible at it; I’ll admit that. I’m trying to
get her to a place where she can accept what turns her on.” I pause. “Outside
the bedroom, you’re right, though. She’s not submissive. And she never will
be.”

“And you like that?” Frederick asks, his pen hovering over
the notepad.

“Yes.”

“Why does that appeal to you so much?”

“You know why.”

“But I want you to hear yourself say it again.”
 

I let out an exasperated sigh and clear my throat for the
second time. “I enjoy being matched outside of the bedroom. It’s a constant
game that’s fun to play. She keeps me on my toes.” The words come out like I’ve
rehearsed them, but it’s only because I’ve said them so many times before. “But
I love the part where I can give her everything she needs in sex, and I get the
same in return. Through that bedroom door, I become in control again, and I can
empower her. It’s a dynamic that never gets tired or old.”

I often thought about her when I was at Faust and
Penn—remembering the conversations we had at academic bowls and conferences. I
never believed she’d enjoy giving up control in bed. But the longer she shied
from affection, recoiling from other men, I thought she was just scared.
 
And how could a woman as powerful and
unabashed as her be frightened of sex? And then it dawned on me. She didn’t wish
to rule a man in bed.
She
wanted to
be ruled. But she didn’t know how to ask without feeling weak. So she thought
being alone, unfulfilled sexually was the better option. I’m here to tell her
it should have never been a fucking solution in the first place.

Frederick nods.

“There’s more.” I need to be honest about what’s going on
recently. “She thinks once she gives herself to me, I’ll leave—that our
relationship is nothing more than a game because I won’t allow myself to love
anyone.”

 
“And why don’t you
love her, Connor?” His chair creaks as he leans back, and a shadow of a smile
plays at his lips.

He acts as though he understands what I can’t, putting me at
odds with myself. He’s listened to my beliefs about love for years, but that
doesn’t stop him from routinely asking more.

“People relate love to insects fluttering inside their
digestive system. I’ve never had that affliction.”

He cracks a smile. “It’s a metaphor.”

“I know what a metaphor is, Rick.”

“Then stop being a smartass and so will I.”

I straighten in my chair, becoming more serious. “I’ve seen
the kind of love that cripples. Take Loren Hale and Lily Calloway—when one is
shot with an emotion, the other feels it. If you stripped one from the other,
they’d be less than themselves. If that’s love, I want no part of it.” I want
to be whole. I want to be the best possible version of myself without the
chance of being wounded or broken.

“Can you empathize with Rose?” he asks me.

“Yes, but love is a weakness that I won’t submit to.”

“Sometimes you can’t control everything, Connor,” he tells
me. “Even as intelligent as you are, there are things out of your grasp. Love,
death—you can’t predict either. They just happen.”

“And you believe it’s already happened?” I refuse this
outcome. It’s not computable.

“Why are you with her?”

“Attraction.”

“And?”

“Affection.”

“What else?”

“Amusement—these are just words, Frederick.”

“Love is just a word.”

“I can’t love her,” I tell him definitively as I stand and
pocket my phone.

He stays seated, and yet, I feel as though he has the
advantage on me. He still sees what I can’t. “And why is that?”

“Smart people do stupid things when they’re in love. I’ve
yet to do something inane.”

Frederick grins. “Give it time.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I wave him off and head
to the door. “See you next week.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Of course you are,” I say back. “You get to hear about me
spanking my girlfriend.”

“Get out of my office, Connor.” He returns to his papers,
but his grin grows wider and wider until I leave.

* * *

I stop by the liquor store after my session with Frederick,
and it’s late when I arrive home. The lights are off in the living room, and I
don’t hear Lily or
Lo’s
climaxes through the walls.

When I reach the second level, I stop by my door, not about
to knock. I haven’t been that courteous since we moved in together. There are
some barriers that I choose to destroy for her.

As soon as the door creaks open, I find Rose sitting on the
bed, flipping through the latest issue of
Vogue
.
Her eyes flit up to mine and she drops the magazine on her lap. “Did you bring
it?”

I hold up the brown paper bag. “Wine and tequila as you
requested, but I would advise only choosing one tonight. Unless you’d like to
be ill.”

“The wine is for you,” she says curtly.

My eyebrows rise. So the tequila is for her. She’s that
nervous.
 

She pats the mattress. “Take a seat, Richard. You look like
a scared little cat. Sadie would claw you for your cowardice.”

“My cat loves me unconditionally,” I reply. The bed rocks as
I climb onto it, and I set the paper bag in between us. “And I’m fine, so you
must be projecting your fear onto me.” I smile, just so I can see that flicker
of contempt in her eyes.

“I’m not scared.” She straightens up and pulls her shoulders
back. “I know exactly what we’ll be doing tonight. I can’t say the same for
you.”

“So what are we doing tonight,
hun
?”
I ask. “Other than getting drunk.”

She reaches into the paper bag and pulls out the bottle of
Patron. I watch her unscrew the cap and start rubbing the lip with the hem of
her black thigh-length nightgown. It’s silk and looks like a slip underneath a
dress.

I immediately imagine myself slowly lifting the thin fabric
off her body, leaving her bare for my touch. I want her naked. Now.

Patience.

I place my hand on the smoothness of her leg, her skin
nearly as silky as her nightgown and exceedingly warmer. The minute I pull her
closer to me with that one hand, her chest rises. But she focuses on wiping the
rim of her Patron.

Rose plans on drinking straight from the bottle. She’s
trying hard to progress our relationship, willing to forgo a glass. That’s a
big deal in Rose Calloway’s world. Her effort hasn’t gone unnoticed in my eyes.

When it’s successfully clean for her lips, Rose takes a swig
from the bottle. She nods to the bag. “Get your wine. And then we’ll play the
game.”

“What game?”

“Truth or dare.”

She says it with a straight face, almost challenging me to
laugh. I keep my expression complacent, but I can’t help what I say. “Shall we
spend seven minutes in heaven too?”

She shoots me a heated look. “We’re playing. Don’t make me
tie you up.”

I laugh and rub my lips, unable to contain my amusement.
“Darling, if anyone is going to be tied up,” I say, my hand descending towards
her ass, “
c’est
toi
.”

It’s you.
 

[ 21 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

“Don’t be a pussy,” I tell Connor. “If I can do
it, you should be able to.” Although with that confident declaration of
tying
me up—my brazen attitude feels
more like a front than anything else.

“Name calling gets you nowhere in life,” he refutes with
ease. “And just so you know, I was only going to drink from a glass in case I
spilled it on your comforter. But your loss.”

He acts like he’s going to tip the wine bottle
accidentally
onto my white-laced
bedspread. My heart jumps into my throat, and fear bulges my eyes.

He grins and then puts the bottle to his lips, taking a
large swig. The wine and tequila are strategic. I need more liquid courage than
him, and I’d rather be buzzed. I’ve never seen Connor drunk, which means he
could very well turn into an inebriated asshole. Someone I do not want to play
truth or dare with. But it’s a risk I’ll take.

“Truth or dare?” I ask him after another sip of tequila. The
liquor slides sharply down my throat, but I’m too nervous to care. Normal
couples who share a bed would be fine playing truth or dare together. Another
piece of evidence that I am not normal.
We
are not normal.

He doesn’t blink. “Truth.”

I don’t want to ease in. “What’s your favorite position?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, reading into my question. “I
know you’re nervous to have sex, but I promise I’ll be…” He smiles at his own
thought. “…no that’s not quite right.”

“You were about to say
gentle,
weren’t you?”

His lips rise further, validating my assumption.

The aftertaste of tequila sticks to my tongue, and my head
dizzies at the idea of Connor being
anything
but gentle. I’m not the softest girl, so the image of being handled by a
soft, careful boy makes me squirm.

“I promise I’ll be me,” he says, grinning into his next swig
of wine.

“It’s a good thing I like you then.” My voice is still icy.
The alcohol hasn’t kicked in just yet.

“
Like
me?
Qu’en
est-il
de
l’amour
?”
What
happened to love?

“You don’t believe in love,” I retort. “So you’ve lost the
right for me to love you back.” I nod assuredly at this new stance I’m taking.
“But I still like you. Don’t worry.”

“I never worry,” he says. “I do believe in love. When I was
a child I thought it wasn’t real, but I’ve come to see that it does exist for
some people. Just not me.”

Right. He can’t love anyone. He’s too analytical, I suppose.
I’ve come to accept it, but there’s a part of me that wants so badly to be his
first love the way he’s mine. His hand keeps descending, gripping my ass above
my silk nightgown. I tip the bottle of Patron against my mouth, taking half a
shot.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
 

“What’s my favorite position?”

“Yes.”

“I have a lot of favorites.”

“Choose one, Richard,” I snap.
 

He smiles. “Missionary…with a few alterations.”

“What alterations?”

His lips just curve higher, as if he’s partaking in a
personal inside joke. I kind of want to punch him for the smirk, but I also
want Connor to kiss me roughly. It’s an odd mixture that’s pounding my head.

At least he doesn’t want me to ride his dick like a sexy
dominatrix. I don’t think I could confidently pull that off. It’s not something
I’ve ever visualized either. Although when people meet me, I know it’s their
first assumption, their first wild picture. Of me in stilettos, a heel at a
man’s throat. All these years, I believed in the stereotype too. That to be a
strong, confident woman outside the bedroom, I’d have to be as equally dominant
inside. It’s a reason why I rarely brought guys back to my apartment in
college. Because I’d disappoint them. And I’d rather shove them out of my door
and be called an ice cold bitch than be laughed at for not making good on their
fantasies.

We’re all more than we appear to be.

“Truth or dare?” His question pops my thoughts.

“Truth.”

“What’s your strangest fantasy?”

“I change my mind. I choose dare,” I say quickly.

He laughs. “Play by the rules, darling.”

“Dare,” I repeat, not backing down.

“Fine. I’ll let you cheat this once.”

Cheat
. That is a
vile
word, but I stay my course.

“I dare you…” His eyes flit around the room before landing
back on me. “To answer my question.” He full-on grins.

“You’re terrible,” I deadpan.

“You love me. Even if you won’t say it anymore.”

 
“Maybe.”
Ugh.
I stare at my traitorous bottle of
Patron for loosening my lips and deteriorating my brain.

His hand dips further to my ass, and he pulls me so close
that I realize I’m sitting on his lap, my legs sprawled to the side. He combs
the hair off my neck and places a light kiss on my nape. He watches how my body
shivers from the touch, warms from the alcohol, and dizzies from his closeness.