Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (26 page)

I turn my face away, rejecting her. I want to cry for so many reasons. I want to make love to her because it would feel really good and I love her. But I don’t want her the way she needs. I’m not attracted to her. I don’t see her as a sexual being. In my heart she’s my sister and this is wrong. Just because it feels good, doesn’t make it right.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into my pillow.

“You would like it,” she purrs into my ear. Her hand caresses a path under the blanket and settles over my mound. “It feels the same whether it’s a man or a woman. Trust me when I say that a woman knows how to touch better than a man does,” she lures.

I try to ignore the sensation of her palm rhythmically circling my sex. The cotton pants are a thin barrier that offers no protection.

“Ade,” I say sadly. How do I tell her that she liked the women better because she likes women, not because they’re better at it?

“You need this, Regina. It’s been years. Just relax and let me ease you.” Her voice is hoarse and deep.

My eyes flick open and find her hand lax at her throat with a fingertip dipping beneath the collar of her blouse. I see the finger wiggle and know she’s touching her own nipple
. I close my eye to the sight.

“No, Ade, stop. We can’t do this. I don’t want to do this with you.” I close my legs and roll over onto my side away from her.
My statement hits her and she flinches.

“If one of the other girls offered, you’d take it. I know you would.
Why not me?” She straightens up and adjusts her blouse.

“You can’t know that. I don’t even know that. And they would never offer. Kristal fucks men like they are going extinct and Fate is- well, Fate is just, Fate.”

“Trust me when I say that Fate enjoys the company of a female.” Her haughty arrogance floods her voice and it helps clear the lust fog from my mind.
I roll my eyes and sit up in bed. I pull the blankets to my neck. No need to give her any more ideas.

“My first time was with her, Regina.” I gasp in shock at her revelation. They couldn’t be in the same classroom during high school, so how the hel
l did they manage to have sex?

“It was the night after Grant passed. We were at the apartment and you were inconsolable. We gave up and left you in the empty bedroom while you screamed and broke everyt
hing. We consoled each other.”

Her words hit me with the force of a Mack-truck. I turn my face into the mattress and scream. I know she’s punishing me by telling me this- reminding me of the animal I turned into that night. She’s pissed that I wouldn’t have sex with her and now she’s punishing me by telling me I don’t know either of my best friends. Next she’ll tell me Kristal is really a man.

“Just go, Adelaide.” I say hollowly.

“Why not me?”
She repeats.

The real answer is: yes, I find Kristal and Fate attractive in a way that would make it possible to touch them intimately. Would I do it? No. But I’ve never felt anything for Ade. It’s like true sisters. The thought curdles my stomach. A kiss is a kiss, everything else is a no.

“Truth. You’re a beautiful woman that needs a woman who appreciates that part of you. I love you, Ade. You’re my best friend. You’re my sister in my soul. It was irrevocable when Grant and I came together. You’re the Aunt of my children, the sister of the man I loved. It can never happen between us. I kiss you because it feels nice and I want you happy. But it’s wrong because I’m just leading you on. You have Ezra now and I know things are different in our society when it comes to rules of marriage. You need to find a real lover that fits your needs.” I’m not the sort that gives flowery truths. I always go for the honesty, the truth that hurts the most.

Ade covers her face with her hands. I watch as her small chest moves up and down as she heaves in breaths. I worry that she is crying. Suddenly she huffs an imp
atient noise at me and glares.

“You need to live by your own God damned advice, girlfriend. Is there a man tucked under your bed?” She dramatically pulls the dust-ruffle up and says, “Yoo-hoo, anybody under there? Get your horse-cock up here.”

“I didn’t think so. Your snatch probably has cobwebs inside it.” She goes on the defensive since she didn’t get what she wanted. Same Ade, different day.

“Well, fuck you, too, Adelaide!” I kneel on my bed and seethe. I used to be patient. The word is- used to.

“Yeah, see, right there’s the problem. I want to fuck you. Here,” she picks up a book off my nightstand and tosses it on the bed. “This one’s the newest release, isn’t it? Are you going to read it while you finger your underused pussy? It’s what you always do. We joke about it, about how the only time you masturbate is to these fucking books. I know what they are about, Regina. You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? Is that why you don’t want me, because I’m not like that? Was my brother as sick and twisted as you? I would do that stuff for you, but you won’t let me.” She hisses in frustration.

“Yeah, you sound real convincing.
I love you, Regina. I want to make love to you
,” I mimic Ade’s haughty voice. “Then in the next breath you say my crotch has bats flying out of it and that I’m a fucking freak. Make up you cunt-licking mind, bitch. Get out of my house. I’ve had it. I just need two fucking minutes to myself. If I find those minutes with this book than you should be damned pleased for me.” I stand on my bed towering over her willowy frame screaming my grievances. “It’s my life and I make the cock-sucking rules!”

“I’m sorry,” she says meekly.

“No you’re not,” I say snidely. “Let’s be completely honest here. You wanted something and when I said no, you threw yourself. This is what I don’t want my children to turn into. I have every right to deny you something when it’s mine to begin with. You all turn into entitled assholes. Not only did you throw a fit because I said no, you tried to punish me as well. Get this through your thick head- no one owns me. Never again will I bow down. Do you understand me?”

She smiles at me brightly- her real smile. Her blue eyes glitter with pleasure and happiness. I
give her an unfathomable look.

“Why are you happy? We’re fighting.” I say in suspicion.

“You’ll thank me later. I’ll be here for lunch and then we will talk.” She says pleased with herself.

“Na-huh, no more
talking,” I utter indignantly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. G’night.” She runs from the French doors before I can respond. I watch as she traipses across the lawn and enters the guesthouse. Doesn’t she ever go home? Oh, she has to gossip with my friends first.

I lie on my bed in frustration. I need to sleep, but she amped me up and now it’s impossible. I feel the heavy weight of the hardcover by my knee. I haven’t started this book. I was saving it to savor. My fingers curl around the cordovan leather cover covetously.

Shortly after
Empowerment
was up and running I obtained my first client- James Atwater, an up and coming author. I call him an artist. I formatted his webpage and received all the back copies of his books as a gift. I was thrown off by the dark leather covers that were simply embossed with a number- no title, no author name.

Within the first page I was ensnared. I couldn’t put it down. They became my guilty pleasure, my escape from the world at large. For a few stolen moments I entered a universe of the author’s creation and left my misery behind. The content shocked me to my core. I’d realized that it had mimicked parts of the life Grant and I had led. The books are raw and twisted and it was exactly what
I needed to cope with my life.

Now I receive an advanced-reader-copy every six months. Twice a year I come alive. I never reread the books for I fear I would start them and never reemerge.

My fingertip caresses the
Twelve
lustfully. I close my eyes and allow my fingers the pleasure of cracking the book open. I know what the first few pages say without looking. Expensive, silky paper announces
James Atwater
in a modest font. There is never a title page or publisher information or even a list of past works. James Atwater is on page one and what is on page two always steals my breath away every single time.

With my eyes still shut my fingertip slides over the
MISTRESS
as a blind-man would with brail. The words are stamped into the paper not inked. With barely any concentration I feel the words inside my soul, rather than see them.

My eyes snap open to put myself out of my misery. I can’t wait a moment longer. I must transform into the private, hedonistic world of James Atwater’s making.

As with every time I read these books a flash of memory pulls me under; a vision, or rather, a premonition. Grant gliding smoothing into me, his face lined with sadness. He speaks words of finding me someone to fulfill all my needs. My soul screaming from its depths that he does meet them all; that something is just wrong inside of me.  The vision is of a large male rutting relentlessly on top of me. All I can see is his closely cropped, dark hair. All I feel is complete and utter apathy.

The reason this comes to me is the male in this series always depicts that same man I created from the ether in my vision; a strong man whose nature is dominance and control. A man I aspire to become, not caring that I’m female. I need to be
him.

Less than a chapter into this masterpiece my body is on fire, a fire I must squelch. A fire built on the dominance of the main character, not forged through sex. I allow the book to rest open on my breasts. My fingertips flutter down my skin and beneath my pants, wiggling into my panties until they gain access to my flushed core.

I smirk when my fingers impale my swollen flesh. Sorry, Ade, I’m cobweb free.

It takes all of my concentration to ignore Pandora’s Box that’s rattling in its chains. I only masturbate while I read these books because the story is strong enough to contain my subconscious. Tonight my resolve is thin and visions of pale hair and blue eyes, and inky hair and aqua eyes fill my imagination. I press harder to block the images before I start to sob.

I need this release. It’s been almost seven months since I’ve had the solace of pleasure. I pull the vision I created so long ago and concentrate on that to suppress Grant and Roman from my mind.

The air fills with the sound of my panting; it’s in time with the violent thrusts of the male I conjured. I shout my release and sigh.

My breath eases into its natural rhythm as the guilt, shame, and loneliness fills my soul. It’s never the same- the release. It doesn’t feel as it did with Grant. As I lost my virginity I told Grant I didn’t see what the big deal was. He told me it was about connection and that’s why it felt incredible between us. I’m not sure I believed him at that moment. I do now. A release brought by your own hand, is an empty release. Its pleasure is minimal, the effects are muted, and it never satisfies.

“Feeling better?” a smoky voice purrs from the darkness. I flinch causing my finger to flex on me and I whimper at the sensation. It felt better than my release. Not good.

“Shit!” I hiss. “Um… I don’t really feel any better,” I answer her question. “Thanks for asking,” I say sarcastically. “I’m seriously going to move to Timbuktu just so I can have two minutes to myself. What do you want, Kristal,” I growl.
“We need to talk and it has to be now.” She says impatiently.

Chapter Three

Kristal flicks on my nightstand lamp flooding the room with a soft glow. She settles next to me on the bed with her back propped up on the headboard. She takes number Twelve from my chest and leafs through it.

“I’ve read these books. I didn’t think this one was out for a couple more months.” She quarks a perfect eyebrow at me

“In my wildest imaginations, I didn’t think you’d be into it.” Her ruby-red lips slide into a smirk. She looks at me as if she’s never seen me before this moment.

“Why are you here? Do you just want to make fun of me?” I grumble and pull myself up next to her. I would have liked to lay in post-coital tristesse for a few moments without being intruded upon.

“Which do you identify with, Regina. I’m curious.” Her eyes are heated with interest.

“That’s private,” I whine.

“Oh, there’s no need to answer that one, I already know the answer. How deep is your interest?”

“It’s private. Drop th
e subject.” I say defensively.

“Fair enough,” she says knowingly.

Her hazel eyes glitter with mischievousness. I worry: Kris in this kind of mood is dangerous.
Empowerment
’s resident accountant doesn’t look the part. Her glossy, thick chestnut waves are asymmetrically cut and now the shade of fresh spilled blood. Her newest tattoo is peeping at me from beneath the sleeve of her black t-shirt. Its eyes seem to follow me. I have no idea what creature hides beneath the fabric.