School Ties (18 page)

When I finally sac up, her face is pinched and sadness is tugging down the corners of her pretty mouth.

“Is that why you didn't want to be with me? Because of Will? Because I'm not . . . Because I'm . . . ruined?”

Rage bubbles up inside of me. Who made her—? For fuck's sake. “No, Erin. I wasn't trying to keep myself pure or whatever. It just, never seemed right. I don't care how many guys you've been with. That doesn't matter to me. I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

She nods and bites her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.

“The only reason I wanted you to stay away from me, the only way I could keep myself from hauling up these steps and pounding on your door the second I stepped foot on campus and knew you and Will were over, was that I don't think I could be happy in a completely vanilla relationship. I liked what I did at the club. It turned me on in a way nothing else has and I don't want to live without it.”

Her teeth are sinking into her lip so hard she might break the skin. I want to tell her to stop, smooth the pad of my thumb over her mouth to make the mark go away, but instead I finish.

“I didn't want to scare you. I've always wanted more than anything to protect you. And I didn't want you looking at me like I was some sick freak. I didn't think you'd be into it and I couldn't stand the idea that you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore. It's not for everyone and I respect that. But it is for me, and the occasional spanking and fur-lined novelty cuffs aren't going to do it. You've told me you read that stuff, but reading it and living it aren't the same. But that is the only reason. There's nothing wrong with you. I know people say it all the time—it's not you, it's me—but in this case that is the absolute truth. Are we clear?”

I've slipped inadvertently into my Dom voice, but when she's sitting there all adrift, how could I not? And because I'm in that headspace, when she bursts into tears, I'm not confused or at a loss. She's relieved, because she was terrified of what I was going to say, that I thought she was dirty or used up. I should've punched Will Chase while I had the chance.

“Come here, lamb.”

She scrambles into my lap, blanket and all, and buries her head in my shoulder. I hold her tight but it's not long before she's pulling away. Is this too much?

“I shouldn't be—crying. I'm—sorry.” Her sobs are terrible, halting. They're choking her and she's trying to swallow them.

“Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry. You cry all you need to, I'm not afraid of some tears.” I've watched enough scenes go down for tears of all sorts to be commonplace, and to know how cathartic they can be. One woman I'd played with cried every single time. At first it had freaked me out, but Mordecai had assured me I wasn't doing anything wrong. I'd seen her use her safeword—she wasn't shy with it—so she wasn't afraid. It was a release. Whoever made Erin ashamed for crying . . . I take a deep breath. “I mean it.”

She looks up for a brief questioning moment and because she needs more reassurance, I give it to her. “I do.”

That's when the floodgates open, and she clutches at me like a jungle vine keeping her from drowning in quicksand. It takes her a while to wear herself out. When was the last time anyone held her while she cried? When she's quieted, I let myself enjoy the warm weight of her in my lap, the sweet flowery smell of her hair, the way her hand rests on my chest now that she's not clinging to a fistful of my shirt. When I look down, I'm not surprised she's fallen asleep. She's not a hundred percent better and a crying jag can take it out of you.

I slide my arm under her knees and stand up, trying to be as smooth as possible, but I shouldn't worry. Even when I almost trip over her blanket halfway down the hall she doesn't stir. I lay her down on the bed and make sure she's covered up before I drop back into the chair.

Is it possible Erin is even more perfect than I thought? I've had these delusions, fantasies, about her and her mildness. Wondered what it would be like to have her at my mercy, and her loving every second of being there. She's not
perfect
, perfect. No one is. But she might be perfect for me.

I let my curiosity get the better of me and hike up the ruffly thing at the bottom of her bed. There they are. Those books. Piles of them. Maybe I could be the one to turn Erin's fantasies into reality.

Chapter Sixteen

Erin

We barely leave my apartment for the next several days. We watch TV, and we eat peanut butter and jelly, and macaroni and cheese because that's what I keep on hand in my apartment. No need to cook much since I eat in the dining hall all the time. Cooking's never been my strong suit anyway, and I will not be making gnocchi ever again. Shep doesn't seem to mind my kindergarten culinary skills, nor does he remark on my plates and glasses that have animals on them. Will made me put them away.

I'm still sleeping off what's left of my cold or whatever that was, and Shep has me rest a lot. But sometimes resting means being tucked under his arm on the couch and I don't mind. It's my own slice of heaven. Though I try to stay awake to enjoy it, the heavy comfort of his arm around me is better than a shot of melatonin, and it never takes me long to fall asleep.

Sometimes I lie on my back with my head in his lap and ask him more questions about the club: the things he did there, things he saw, what he liked, what he didn't. He plays with my hair while he answers, studying my reaction to every word.

We're eating more oatmeal this morning and after we've tangled feet a few times under the table, Shep says, “So, I've answered your questions. How would you feel about answering some of mine?”

“That sounds fair. What do you want to know?”

“You haven't experimented with BDSM, but you've read a lot. You must have some idea of things you'd like to try or things you definitely don't want to do. That's what I want to know.”

My eyes bug at the potential for embarrassment. I don't know that I could say those things out loud. “I don't know if I can.”

“Why not? I'm not going to make fun of you, Erin. I promise.”

“I don't think you would. But what if you think what I want is gross? What if you don't want those things, too?”

So much of what he'd talked about made me so weak in the knees I'd been glad I was lying down. He was matter-of-fact about it, professional almost, which shouldn't be surprising. It was his job, for goodness sake. But it made me want to be ravished, made specific areas of my body ache for him. Can't I say “Me, too” and be done with it?

“What we want isn't going to match up perfectly, but I'm willing to bet there's some overlap. If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of a huge perv and I've hung out with a lot of other pervs. Mordecai is one of the filthiest people on the planet, and he's told me all about his exploits, whether I wanted to hear about them or not. It's pretty hard to shock me or gross me out. In fact, I challenge you to do your worst.”

That makes me giggle. “No. But even the things I might like to do, I don't have the words to talk about it.”

He sucks the last bite of oatmeal off his spoon, mouthing it thoughtfully, and I can't take my eyes off his lips. I would give anything in a bucket to be that spoon. When it clatters into the bowl, I'm shocked back to attention. “Yes, you do.”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together.

“Look. Communication, talking about this, is huge. It won't work if we can't talk to each other. It's the only way to keep you safe, and I want to keep you safe. I don't want to do anything you don't want to do, and the only way I'll know is if you tell me. I pay attention to your body language and your responses, but I'm not a mind reader. I know it's hard. It's not something that comes naturally. It'll take time. I'll wait as long as I need to. But while you get comfortable using your own words, maybe we can talk about this by borrowing someone else's.”

“What do you mean?”

“You've got a whole stack of dirty words under your bed.” Right. All those times I'd wished I could give Will an annotated copy of one of my books and here Shep is asking for exactly that. “You must've gotten some ideas from there, right? How would you feel about showing me?”

“Now?”

He shrugs. “If you want. There's no rush. I've waited for you for four years, I don't mind waiting longer. But now works, if you're ready.”

I've already started compiling a list of my favorite scenes in my head, so while some of me is shouting to play coy, I don't want to. I want to share this with someone; someone who wants to know, someone who might want the same things I think I do. The thought makes me stumble. I
think
I want this. “What if we talk and what if we try, but then . . . what if I don't actually like it?”

His features that have been so relaxed tighten like I've pulled a rubber band. His chest expands with an inhale and the line I want to soothe away with my thumb forms between his brows. “Honestly?”

I nod even though I'm not sure if I want the answer. Maybe I should plug my ears with my fingers and sing at the top of my lungs with my eyes scrunched closed, pretend that's not a possibility.

“I don't know. But you know I'm in the same boat, right? I've never done any of this with a partner, for real.”

His uncertainty should make me panic and there's an unmistakable flutter in my stomach, but of course he doesn't know. I've always liked his rock solidness but the fact that he's human, not perfect, soapstone instead of granite, somehow makes this more real, more possible instead of less. He's told me the truth. If there's anything Will taught me, it's that I don't want lies. Even when the truth isn't pretty.

“Okay. I'll be right back.”

Shep

As I watch Erin walk away, her round hips swaying in a pair of pajama pants with goddamn rainbows on them, blood starts to pool where it shouldn't.
You cannot think with your dick, Shepherd.
I need to pay attention to her, listen to her, what she wants. Cross my fingers and ask the universe to do me another fucking favor and let the Venn diagram of what she wants and what I want overlap enough to make this work. Please. I won't survive breaking her heart again.

What I told her wasn't a lie. I'm a total pervert. Even Mordecai's said so, and he would know, but he's in his own stratosphere. I can live without some of the kinkier shit, and who knows? She could surprise me. Some of the things she's read . . . they're not for the faint of heart. But I have some particular tastes I don't know if she'll be in for. I clear our places and while I wait for her, my mind wanders over various scenarios.

She comes back with a few books as I'm putting the last bowl back in the cabinet. She's clutching at them and her face is pink, I hope a mix of excitement and embarrassment. I sit on her couch and she snuggles her way under my arm, not shy with her affection. I love that it comes so easily to her. It makes me feel adored and protective at the same time.

Settled with some well-thumbed volumes on her lap, she looks up.

“What do you want me to call you?”

“I like it when you call me Shep. I remember the couple of times you slipped like it was yesterday.” It still gives my heart a kick whenever she says it.

“I like calling you that, too. It's like we're finally in the same place. You get to be Shep and I get to be Erin. But, I thought it might be easier, when we . . .”

Her face crumples up. She's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. Mordecai liked the heavy hitters, people who knew what was up, but I had a soft spot for the new kids. Guiding them through all this newness that was confusing, and awesome, and scary as shit all at once. I had been young—really young—for the average age of our members, but I'd never felt brand new even though I had a shit ton to learn. So I fill in the blank. “Play, Erin. You can say play. Or ‘scene' if you like it better.”

She purses her lips, and it's all I can do to keep from grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrestling her onto her back to kiss her.

“Play,” she declares. “That sounds fun.”

She's going to kill me. Her cuteness is going to stab me through the heart and I'm going to bleed out on her couch. Jesus fucking Christ. “It is fun. It can get intense, too, but if it's never fun, or funny, you're doing it wrong.”

She smiles without showing her teeth and her eyes light up. “So when we're having fun, what should I call you?”

The possibilities race through my mind, every option urging my blood south. What I wouldn't give to hear her call me Master when she's on her knees about to suck me off. But if she got in the habit and she slipped in public, in front of the guys? How humiliated she would be tugs on the reins of my runaway craving. I'd like to push her, embarrass her, make her cheeks bloom pink, but her being ashamed and in a situation I can't turn around quickly? Hell no.

“Why don't you call me Zach?” Her eyebrows pinch in a pout. Before she can argue, I lay a finger on her lips. “What if we were in the dining hall and you called me sir?”

Her face flames so hot I feel it and she claps her hands over my finger, still resting on her mouth. She shakes her head, a flick of panic.

“That's the only reason why. No one here calls me Zach. They'd think it was special, because we're together. It wouldn't mean anything to them, but it would mean something to us.”

She loosens the hands clamped over her mouth and lays them on my thigh, close enough to my cock my breath catches and she looks up at me through her lashes. “So we're together?”

“I think so. What do you think?”

She nuzzles my chest with her cheek and the hot dampness of her breath through the fabric of my shirt is testing my self-control. “I think I'd like that.”

“How do you feel about calling me Zach when we play?”

“It's like a code, right? A secret code.”

I've never thought the word “darling” before, but there's no other word for her. At least no other word I haven't used a hundred thousand times before. This girl. Goddamn. “Yeah, lamb. Our secret code.”

“Okay, Zach.” Just like that, the name I was called for the first fourteen years of my life is transformed from something I hate to hear because it means I'm back in Shamokin where everything is dark and shitty and hopeless to a ray of fucking sunshine because it's dropping from her lips in her sweet, compliant voice.
Okay, Zach.

I clear my throat before I rub her arm.
Limits, Shepherd, limits.
Before I do anything else, I have to get a sense of her limits. “So what have we got here?”