Slice of Pi 2 (6 page)

“Now hold still,” she commanded.

Owen gripped the bedsheets, his knuckles turning white, as Iris began to ride him harder. She could tell he was struggling not to thrust up against her, his shaft twitching inside her every time she moved, and she could even feel his leg muscles quivering against hers. The power felt heady, overwhelming, and she closed her eyes to better appreciate the mixture of adrenaline and arousal. He was completely at her mercy, and all she'd had to do was ask. No, command. Iris tucked one hand between them to rub her clit. Part of her wanted to drag this out and make him wait, see how long she could get him to hang on to his control, but the other part of her was quickly becoming overwhelmed by an impending orgasm, and that was the only part she cared about. She moved faster until she felt that first spark of pleasure crest. Then, and only then, did she sink all the way down and come hard around him.

Owen let out a low, fierce, desperate groan, his head tipped back to expose the long column of his throat. He was so gorgeous, straining not to come, his erection twitching and pulsing inside her, a pleasant hardness that she continued clenching around as the aftershocks rocked her body. His beauty in that moment shocked her, and so did her own carnal response.

When she came down from her high, he was still as taut as a rubber band, his muscles all quivering. She started moving again, rocking up and down, this time for his pleasure rather than for hers.

“Do you want to come?” It was a silly question, but something told her he wanted this. She was figuring him out more and more.

Owen nodded fiercely, his lips pressed together as he struggled to keep his climax in check.

She dug her fingernails into his chest. “Come.”

He arched up so high that he almost knocked her off his hips, his head thrown back and the cords of his neck straining with the tension. The noise he made sounded more animal than human, a feral growl as his hips jerked and he emptied himself. Iris kept herself braced on his chest, riding him through it, until he collapsed down on the bed in a boneless heap. Breathless, tingling from more than just her own orgasm, she climbed off him and grabbed the tissue box off the nightstand to clean them both up.

When Owen recovered, which took a couple of minutes, he met her eyes and then blushed red and threw one arm over his face, blocking his vision with his forearm. “Oh god, I can't believe I just did that.”

“Which part? Fucked a near-stranger, or let me boss you around?” Iris couldn't help a gentle tease even as she curled up next to him, brushing a still-damp curl off his forehead. “Don't be embarrassed. That was hot.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh, eyes still covered under his arm. “I can't believe you homed in on me like that. This isn't shit I just out and tell people.”

That basically confirmed Iris's suspicions. “So, what? You like women to boss you around during sex? That's cool.” She shrugged. “I'm sure lots of guys are into that.”

“Yes, maybe lots of guys are into it, but lots of girls are very much
not
into it.” Owen slid his arm an inch farther up onto his forehead and peeked at her from under it. “You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm perfectly capable of having normal sex.”

“That
was
normal sex.” Iris leaned up on her elbow. “Just with a little special kind of dirty talk.”

Owen shook his head. “I probably should have asked you about that before we got into bed, but I didn't think it would come up.”

“There were some signs.” Iris shrugged. She was surprised by how sheepish Owen was still acting about it—he should own his quirks and his kinks, even if they weren't for everybody. “I'm not offended, you know. That was really sexy. I've never done any of that before.”

“Well, you've really got a knack for it.” Owen put both hands behind his head, clearly relaxing more now that it was obvious Iris was cool with their conversation and what they'd just done.

“So do you do that sort of thing a lot?” Iris wasn't sure what sort of thing she meant, whether it was the bossiness or something more.

“Like I said, women aren't really into it. So no, not as much as I'd like.” He looked up at the ceiling.

Iris pillowed her head on his shoulder, not really because she wanted the closeness, but to convey her okayness with the situation, in case he needed further reassurance. “I didn't really see it coming. You seem pretty in charge at the bakery and everything.”

“Yeah, they're different sides of me.” Owen didn't say more, and Iris didn't press the issue.

She had a feeling his interest in this sort of thing ran deeper than he was letting on. “You're not just sort of into this, are you?”

He pursed his lips. “No, it's not a small passing interest, if that's what you mean.”

Shame that he couldn't find a partner. “There are websites, right? Places to meet people who like what you're into?”

“I'm a baker, Iris.” Owen sighed. “I get to work at four in the morning. I go to bed before it's even dark out. That doesn't lead to a very active social life. Gatherings for people like me, they happen at night.”

“So you've looked into it.” Iris felt a twinge of pity for the guy, having this kink with no one to explore it with. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” Owen let one arm drift down over Iris's back, his fingers coming to rest just above the curve of her hip. “It's why I don't really date anymore. It's just easier to be alone, maybe have some casual flings, rather than be with someone who can't give me what I need. Want. What I want.”

Iris hadn't missed the slip. She wanted to open up with something about herself to make him feel like they were both sharing, but didn't know what to say. Her secrets seemed so mundane in comparison. They lay in silence for a minute while she considered all the things she could say.
I don't think my life is going anywhere. I feel like I'm the most boring person I know. Sometimes I'm suffocated by my daily routine. I feel like I'm powerless in my own life. I have lots of sex but no one loves me.
Each subsequent secret made her throat constrict until she literally felt suffocated and had to close her eyes and calm her racing heart. When she felt a little better, she offered something she didn't mind sharing, even knowing it would sound out of left field.

“I don't really talk to my family anymore.”

Her words hung in the stillness. Owen continued tracing her back, his hand gentle and soothing, so Iris knew he wasn't asleep, but rather waiting for her to continue. That gave her the space to do so.

“My parents were really conservative. My dad's a minister. My mom was the perfect housewife. She stayed home with me while my dad worked, and we had the whole
Leave It to Beaver
home life.” She rested one hand on Owen's chest and felt the rough hair under her fingertips, his skin warm and his heartbeat slow and steady in her ear. Thinking back on her childhood, she felt a mix of emotions, all muted from the passage of time. “My dad felt that my mom's place was in the home, and she went along with that happily, as far as I knew. They were loving and all that. But when I was in high school, my mom got into selling Tupperware.” She smiled. “It sounds so cliché. Anyway, my dad didn't mind at first, because it was the sort of part-time hobby that he thought suited women. Turns out she was really good at it, started making lots of money, getting invited to train other women, and he wasn't too keen on that.” She remembered the passive-aggressive commentary that had slowly turned into outright fighting, voices raised at night when they thought she was asleep, and then raised all the time, no longer caring if she was asleep or awake.

“That must have been tough to witness.” He shifted, reaching down to grab the sheets that they'd kicked to the side and pulling them up over their naked bodies.

“I started to tune it out after a while. You adjust to that sort of thing.” Iris remembered spending most of her time in her room, filling sketch pad after sketch pad with pen-and-ink drawings, whiling away hours playing games with headphones blocking out all other sounds. “At that point, the divorce was inevitable. My mom moved out my senior year, and she wanted me to come with her, but I didn't want to leave my high school so close to graduation and she wanted to get out of the state. She left, and my dad turned all his attention to trying to make me into the perfect woman. The woman my mother wasn't.”

“What was that like?” Owen sounded genuinely interested, and Iris felt a thrill of pleasure at being listened to and really heard.

“It worked for a little while. I loved the guy and really wanted to please him. He wasn't a monster, he wanted me to go to college, but I picked human resources because I knew he'd consider it a safe, sensible job, and I had a knack for organization and that sort of thing.”

“What did you really want to do?”

Iris considered. It was hard to remember that far back. Thinking about what she wanted to do was like saying she'd made bad choices, and that was an uncomfortable prospect. Still, she'd started this conversation. “I don't know. Maybe art.”

“Yeah?” He sounded intrigued.

“Yeah. I still draw, but it's just a hobby now.” Iris thought about the art hanging up around her apartment, the digital tablet she'd bought as an impulse purchase and still used.

“I'd like to see your art sometime.”

“Sure.” Iris realized she was agreeing to a second date, or some kind of second meetup, and felt a little tingle in her belly at the realization that another date with this unexpectedly complex, passionate man was something she very much wanted.

“So you went into HR to please your dad, but you don't talk to him anymore?”

This part of the story was a little less comfortable. “I went a little crazy in college. As you do.” Once she said it, she paused. She didn't know if Owen was the type of guy who had gone all crazy in college. “Realized my conservative religious upbringing didn't suit me anymore. I had sex outside of marriage and it wasn't a big deal. I didn't get struck down by lightning. I felt guilty for a day or two and then realized what a crock of shit I'd been dealt. I confronted my dad about it, which might not have been the best move.” She snorted. “I guess I was a little impulsive.”

“Confronting your minister father about the merits of premarital sex? Yeah, maybe just a bit.” Owen chuckled, and went from stroking her back to stroking her hair. Iris let herself yield to the soothing touch, relaxing more in his embrace.

“It went about as well as you'd think. He was upset, I was self-righteous, we had a falling-out. I didn't talk to him for about a year. We made amends later, after he remarried and had calmed down a bit, but our relationship wasn't the same after that. He didn't respect me anymore, and I got tired of being treated like used goods. Now we're cordial but not close.” Iris thought of the every-other-Christmas visits, when she'd see him and her stepmother for an uncomfortable day and then head home, his unspoken but obvious disapproval of her life choices weighing down on her until she felt smothered.

“Where is your mom in all this?”

Iris tangled her feet with Owen's. She was getting drowsy and could drift off under the soothing influence of his head petting. “I don't know that she ever really got over the fact that I didn't go with her when she moved out. Then she got caught up in her own independence, I think. No falling-out, but she just drifted away from us. Now, when we talk, we're barely like acquaintances.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah.” Iris exhaled. “What about you? Are you close with your family?”

If Owen recognized that she was changing the subject, he was kind enough not to acknowledge it. “Yeah. I've got three siblings and they're all within a few hours' drive. We all try to get together for holidays and we do a big gathering every summer. It's nice.”

“Are any of the rest of them into baking?”

He shook his head. “No, that's just me. I cooked with my mom as a little kid, but I didn't really know what I was doing, of course.” He smiled, obviously recalling fond memories. “Used to try and make up my own recipes, which all turned out terrible, but my parents always ate whatever I made. I think they were amused more than anything. I took home ec as a freshman to try and meet girls, but ended up learning that I have a knack for baking, and I fell in love with it. My uncle bought the bakery right about the same time, so I started working summers for him. Went to culinary arts school, became a trained pastry chef, and bought the business from him when he wanted to retire.” He turned to face her. “There, that's the whole life story.”

“I think it's great that your family supported you in following your dream.” Iris wondered what that would have been like, if her parents had stayed together, if she had siblings to visit.

Owen nodded. “Honestly, I think they were just happy I found something. I wasn't exactly a good student. School couldn't hold my attention most of the time, and I was always getting into trouble. I think its because I had a huge crush on the guidance counselor, which is where they sent me when I kept cutting classes.” He grinned. “Miss Nelson. She was so hot.”

Iris laughed. “Women in positions of authority?”

“What can I say?” Owen gave a half shrug, as much as he could while lying down. “My patterns set in early. If it weren't for baking, I'd probably have ended up dropping out or something. I wasn't a dumb kid,” he added quickly. “Just easily bored. My family never gave up on me, though. They believed in me, and I couldn't have succeeded if I hadn't had that support. Running a business nearly killed me that first year, but they were always nearby if I needed help or advice.”

Iris rolled away from him, onto her back, and made patterns out of the water stains on the popcorn ceiling. “I wish I had that. I have friends, at least. It's not family, but it's still good. And I have a fun social life.” This had gotten way too serious a conversation to follow some casual—albeit mind-blowing—sex.