His For Keeps: (50 Loving States, Tennessee) (17 page)

As soon as he pulls out, I reach down, and furiously start rubbing my own pussy. It’s not even a decision I remember consciously making. More like a life saving measure, because my body is on fire, screaming with need. But I cry out when my hand is grabbed and slammed against the mattress.

I look up again and see Colin tying down my left hand. It must be even later than I thought, because the first hints of pre-dawn light are shining through the window. Making it so I can see the grim and angry look on his face as he loops the rope around my other wrist and ties it to the bed’s frame without a word.

But he doesn’t have to say anything to me in this moment, because I can still hear him talking to me in the silence.

Five words or two. Those are my only two choices. Five words go against everything I believe, everything I’ve ever known to be true about myself. But the other two are just as off-putting to me.

Because if I say them, this—whatever this truly fucked up thing is—will be over. Colin will let me go, and it will be no better than getting myself off when I return home after an unsatisfying encounter with a lover. Because if I say “property taxes,” I know Colin will make good on his original promise and never touch me again. I know this, like I know when a client is going to make my life miserable from day one.

This experience has been the most exquisite torture I’ve ever known, and I need it to mean something. Saying those two words now would be like getting out of an hour-long roller coaster line to use the bathroom right before it’s your turn to go on. Unthinkable.

But the first choice… my heart panics at the thought of giving in. I’m a strong black woman. Stronger than most because I work in the health care industry. I can’t even begin to imagine myself saying something like that—

A powerful wave of lust rolls over my body, so raw and blunt it lifts my hips off the bed and cramps my stomach with its urgent seeking.

Colin pushes my body back into the mattress, one hand pressing into my hot, naked stomach. He’s sitting on the side of the bed now, and his eyes are nearly clouded with his own lust as he watches me.

However, his next words are just as hard and cold as a block of ice. “You’re body’s turning on you, Purple. You’re going to give in soon. You’re probably going to end up crying when you do. Then you’re going to wonder why you ever wanted to deny me. Because denying me means denying you.”

I shake my head, “No—”

But my denial is ironically cut off by another powerful surge of lust.

I curse. “Just fuck me.
Please
.”

“No.”

“Isn’t begging enough?”

“I already told you it wasn’t.”

I pant, not knowing what else to do. My arms are tired, and so is the rest of my body. Wrung out and aching with unmet lust. Desire, the last time I checked, isn’t supposed to hurt. But this hurts. My body hurts to have him. My throat burns raw with the unspoken words.

But I hold on. Keep the words trapped behind my clamped lips…

…then watch helplessly as Colin gets up and leaves the room, the bathroom door creaking, then clicking shut behind him.

I dimly hear the sound of a shower running in the bathroom. Colin, despite his profession, doesn’t seem to be much into pampering himself. The shower shuts off in less than five minutes, and soon after that he comes out of the bathroom.

I watch him pass back by the bed in a fresh pair of jeans and start a new fire. He throws in enough wood that soon I’m only a little cold in my current position, which is tied up and covered in my own sweat.

But I’m not allowed to feel too grateful for the new fire. As soon as it really gets going, Colin walks over to the bed, and bends down, disappearing out of sight for second.

I realize what he’s fixing to do as soon as he stands back up. With my clothes all bunched into one fist. My leggings, my sweater. Even my underwear and bra.

“No,” I say. “Colin, don’t—!”

But it’s too late. He pitches my clothes into the fire before the words are even fully out of my mouth.

“You psycho!” I watch my clothes go up in flames. “Fucking psycho…!”

Colin just grabs a poker and uses it to make sure the clothes get eaten up by the flames within seconds. When it’s done, when there’s nothing left to the outfit I wore in here but ashes, he turns to me with an expectant look on his face.

Five words or two.

It feels exactly like a game of chess. But I’ve never been good at chess. I only know how to play because it was Paw Paw’s favorite game.

Five words or two.

I clamp my lips together and look away, letting him win the stare off.

“Alright, then,” Colin says. And then he goes to the kitchen.

Over the next hour, I get to watch him make breakfast for one. And eat it. And then fiddle with his phone for a while. And then move to the couch and watch ESPN on an old-fashioned set whose screen is too small to see from the bed.

I’m not in a comfortable enough position to fall asleep and there’s nothing else to look at, so I kind of don’t have any choice but to watch him do all of this. He doesn’t watch me back, though, only spares me the occasional hard glance. Like having a naked women tied up in his bed is the exact same thing as having peeling paint on your ceiling. Something annoying you’d rather deal with later, after you’ve had your morning coffee, which is exactly what Colin does. Taking long swallows of coffee out of a dented tin cup.

Does it piss me off? Well, as a matter of fact, it does. I’d love a cup of coffee myself. And while he’s watching ESPN, I’m trying to put out the raging firestorm tearing up my body with nothing but sheer willpower and pride.

And it doesn’t seem to be working.

No matter what I say to myself, my core continues to throb, and my body continues to ache between painful waves of lust that cramp my stomach and make me stamp my one free foot in frustration. My inner thighs are sticky and wet as I watch him watch ESPN, and I feel beyond nasty. Like a 5’5” vagina, so riddled with lust, it can barely think beyond the next moment. Even if I did give in—which I wouldn’t—I wonder if he’d even be willing to have me in this state, covered in my own sweat and lust.

Eventually the SportsCenter credit theme, which I recognize from my months of bringing Beau lunch in his office, sounds and Colin clicks off the TV.

He glances at me as he passes by the door again, but doesn’t break his stride, and soon I hear more water running in the bathroom.

When he comes back into the room, he has a chipped bowl in his hand. And a washcloth. He dips it in the bowl and starts cleaning me up. He’s careful though, I notice with great bitterness, not to come anywhere near my clit.

His movements are clinical and dispassionate and I recognize this for what it is: a sponge bath, the kind I sometimes have to give older patients. Designed to do nothing but clean.

But what I want is a whore’s bath. My body’s like a sexual lightning rod, with all its sensitive areas set on red. I shudder when he rubs the cloth over my inner thighs, trying to get closer to the cloth, trying to make him give me the bath I want.

No reaction on Colin’s part. He finishes below, dips the cloth again, and starts on my upper torso. I somehow hold it together when the cloth cruises over my stomach, even though the heat from the cloth only exacerbates the sharp lust now set on permanent pulse inside my womb. But when he brings the cloth up to my heavy breasts, I just can’t… a full groan escapes my lips when the cloth scrapes across my nipples and sends another spasm of lust shooting down my already overwrought body.

It feels a little like mercy when he moves the washcloth to my arms and eventually drops it back into the bowl. At least it does for a little while. But then the true torture begins again.

He slips two fingers back into my wet pussy, his face as hard as stone.

“Say the words.” His voice is quiet, but forceful as a lion.

“No,” I say with a whimper. His fingers feel so good. But only for a few moments, and then they feel like what they really are. Torture devices that tease, but aren’t coming anywhere close to giving me what I really want.

Soon I’m straining against my ropes, wild with lust. Begging him to fuck me.

But he doesn’t fuck me. He just stops, pulling his fingers away, leaving me cold and empty. Again.

I can’t help it. I completely lose it this time, begging, “Please just fuck me,” over and over again until I’m a blubbering mess. Crying just like Colin said I would—but not because I’m happy, because I can no longer deal. It feels like I’m having a nervous breakdown. I wonder for real if I’m having a nervous breakdown, and if Colin was serious about not wanting to pay my therapy bills.

It’s humiliating. The second most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me. Maybe the first. Because I didn’t cry during the incident that finally convinced my mother to leave Alabama.

But then I feel Colin’s hand on my cheek, turning my face to look at him. He’s lying beside me now, his blue eyes filled with concern.

“Purple,” he whispers. “You’ve got to submit. I know you don’t want to be this person, but you are. I could tell you were from the first moment we met. You’ve got to submit to me. That’s the only way this works.”

I shake my head, wanting to deny him. Wanting to say the two words, not the five.

But then he says, “There are ways I can be for you, better ways than this. But only if you submit. Please, Purple.”

And I’m not sure what happens, but I hear somebody gasp out, “My pussy belongs to you,” in a strangled yell, like somebody pushing out a baby after a difficult birth.

And I’m pretty sure it’s me.

A few minutes ago—hours ago, I’m not sure at this point—but while Colin was watching ESPN, I was pretty sure he was unaffected by this situation. That it was all a game to him.

But his next action proves I was dead wrong on that point. He’s on top of me so fast my head spins. Pushing into me with sloppy thrusts. Going in so deep, he’s crushing my hips into the mattress with every shove of his cock. Suddenly, I understand the term
caveman sex
.

“My pussy,” he hisses. It’s a declaration of triumph.

I should feel ashamed of myself for giving in, but Colin’s rough strokes are sending me completely over the edge. I forget about my sore arms and receive him with grateful cries. My whole body is on fire for him, burning with a lust only he can make right.

And when he pushes into me deeper than I ever would have thought possible, I completely fly apart, coming harder than I ever have in my whole life. Soon after, I feel Colin’s entire body go rigid above me.

“Fuck, Purple…” He explodes inside of me, coating what he’s just cleaned up with his release. Making me nasty again.

But I’m no longer capable of caring about the mess my body’s become. I’m barely breathing and my arms flop backwards, lax against their restraints.

Colin also goes lax on top of me, his heavy weight blanketing me. For a moment, I think I’ll fall asleep like this, underneath Colin, my human blanket. But after a few heavy breaths, he lifts up. Seconds later, I feel my arms tugged upwards, then go loose as the ropes fall from around my wrists. My arms near about sing a praise song of relief when they’re finally allowed to rest properly by my side.

“Come here,” I hear Colin say, his voice urgent. “Come here.”

Suddenly I’m wrapped up in his arms. My body squeezed against his chest in a cradle hold. And then the most shocking thing since my arrival at this backwoods cabin happens.

Colin kisses me. So sweetly and with such passion, ten different country love songs go off inside my head at the same time.

“You were so good, Purple,” he croons against my lips. “Do you have any idea how hard you made that for me?”

It’s a strange compliment, but I take it. A pathetic smile of pride splitting my face, as I say against his lips, “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I’m having fun,” he corrects. “More fun than I’ve had in years. You’re something else, Purple.”

A shadow crosses over my good mood, because he’s right. I had been something else, someone bad I hadn’t known existed inside of me.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it now,” he says. “People put a lot of stuff about sex in women’s heads. But know this, you’re sexy as hell, and at the end of the day we’re two consenting adults. What we do is between us. Don’t let other folks get a weigh in.”

Then he gives me another deep kiss that just about melts every single reservation I have about what just went down between us.

But I have to pull back from the kiss. Have to ask, “You really knew from the start I’d be okay with this?”

“Knew is a strong word,” he answers, stroking a hand over my faded purple curls. “Suspected more like.”

“And you were right.” I get the feeling Colin is often right about a lot of things, which is probably why he was so upset when he turned out to be wrong about Josie.

The thought of Josie makes me stiffen inside his arms.

“But… you know you wouldn’t have been able to do that with Josie, right? You would have triggered her after what she’d been through with her first husband.”

Colin’s eyes narrow on me. “Why are you bringing Josie into this conversation? You barely know her.”

A strange guilt sends ants skittering inside my stomach. Colin doesn’t know about my job, that Josie hired me to assist Beau at their home, which meant I now knew her a lot better than I did four months ago. To Colin, it must look like I was concerned for a woman I’d only spoken to face-to-face with one time. A woman he hasn’t spoken to since the last time he was in Alabama, over four months ago.

“I’m just saying I don’t think she would have been cool with this.”

Colin looks away, his expression unreadable. “No, she wouldn’t have been.”

And I realize… “You weren’t planning to show her the monster. Only the saint.”

He shoots me an annoyed look, but he doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, Josie would have required another set of rules.”

I shake my head, not liking what I’m piecing together from this conversation. “So your plan was to what? Keep this from her? Marry her without telling her?”