He stops. "I don't want to hurt you." There's something similar to fear in his eyes."I want you to." I smile in an attempt to show him I'm not afraid of him."I haven't been with anyone in a long time. I like things really rough. If I don't keep it slow, you could end up with bruises from the neck down.""I'm willing to take that chance."Pushing up, he tries to pull away. "I'm not."Grabbing his arms, I plead with him, "Mason, look." I don't really know how to explain what I'm feeling. He mistakes my hesitation for indecision. "Listen, please. I've never attempted to put this into words, and honestly, I've never trusted anyone enough to try-so bear with me."Nodding, he lowers his body back to mine, and I notice he gently moves inside me, likely in an attempt to stay hard. I take a deep breath to clear the confusion clouding my mind.Ensuring I maintain eye contact so he can see the truth in my eyes, I start my stream of consciousness. "I'm wired differently than most p
Rolling off me in a not so graceful fashion, he lands on the floor next to the bed. I can't help but laugh at him. Physically speaking, he is perfection. Clumsy would not have been an adjective I would have used to describe him.Peeking over the edge, expecting to see his bruised ego, he catches my hand and pulls me down with him in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. His grin radiates, causing the appearance of a dimple in his left cheek I haven't noticed before.Cradling my fall with his arms, he tucks me into his side, essentially pinning me between him and the floor as his other arm comes around, finding my ribs vulnerable. I can't protect them quickly enough, and he's on them, tickling the shit out of me. Writhing under him in an attempt to escape this ridiculous torture, the hysterical laughter turns to tears, as I can't catch my breath."Mason..." I plead for him to stop, but it's muffled at best. "Please. I'm going to pee on you."The fits of heavy breathing and inability
The sound of the phone ringing startles me. Waking up in a strange place, staring at unfamiliar walls, it takes me a minute to realize where I am, and more importantly, who is lying next to me. It dawns on me it's not my phone ringing.As I nudge Mason, he opens those gorgeous, brown eyes, and I have to admit, I love being the first thing he sees. It doesn't take him any time to realize where he is, and he instantly focuses on my face, rewarding me with a grin."Your phone keeps ringing." It stops as I finish my sentence.He raises his eyebrows at me, like somehow I wasn't being honest or I was the one calling his phone. When it starts again, I raise my brows in return, and he busts out laughing as he rolls off the bed.Digging his phone out of his pocket, he answers on the fourth ring. "What's up, B?" I'm assuming that's Brian on the other end. After a series of yeahs, uh huhs, and one final all right, he says later and hangs up the phone.Turning to me, he gives me the gist
Mason arrived promptly at four the following day. We sat in my living room for hours talking about his expectations of me, me expressing my thoughts in return, in essence negotiating the terms of our relationship.Years later, I have to wonder why everyone doesn't start off relationships with a consideration period, a detailed discussion of wants and limits (not just of the sexual variety), and clearly defined expectations for both partners. We revisit that conversation every six months without fail, and as we have grown as a couple, the conversation has changed and evolved.Over the last couple of years, any time Mason and I have a disagreement, it's easy to revert back to those discussions where I readily agreed to outline rules that to this day govern my life.It's not him having control-it's us having respect. I tend to liken it to traditional gender roles. We have discussions, but ultimately, Mason makes the final call. He is dominant in the bedroom and in life, and I'm subm
I wished I could look back at the way this began with fondness; maybe it would make the circumstances bearable, but waking in the bed of a stranger on the wrong side of town didn't lend itself to memories I wanted to cherish. But hell, neither did the day, that preceded the night, that changed my life.I hoped the more time I put between myself and that horrific twenty-four hours, the easier the pill would be to swallow, but distance and denial did nothing for me. The reality was, I had participated in a chain of events I shouldn't have been a part of, and fate would remind me for eighteen, long years of just how pivotal one wrong choice could be.As I waited through the unbearable pain of the previously mentioned consequences, I couldn't help but replay what brought me here. Every decision-good and bad-that had led me to this moment filtered through the ever-increasing agony I currently experienced.My alarm didn't wake me for whatever reason-I refused to admit that I hadn't set
"Carmella, I don't care what you have going on tomorrow. Tonight we're going out. I got fired today. I need my girls to console me," I whined into the phone and pleaded with my best friend to help take my mind off the fact that my car was at the body shop. My father had refused to replace it, insisting I get it fix instead, and I'd lost another job I hated but needed to keep my bank account open. My life was in shambles while my childhood bestie worried about getting up early for a facial. "Kate, it's Thursday. We can go out tomorrow night. The crowd at the clubs will be better anyhow." I visualized my friend sitting at her condo with her phone on her shoulder, filing her nails as she refused to give in to my Thursday-night escapade. At the end of her sentence, I was sure she'd blown on the tips to rid them of any dust the file might've left behind before she turned them toward her to ensure they were all even. "Fine. I'll call Kappy. She's always ready for a night out." I
The only thing worse than being caught having a threesome was the press publicizing it. My father had me on total lockdown after the charade at Scene Six. I hadn't made a public appearance in close to two months. I swear to God, I believed he had sabotaged every interview I went on to keep me from getting a job and reinstating my trust fund freedom. Only the necessities were paid, and he wasn't afraid to cut those off as well. The first couple weeks hadn't really bothered me. I was as embarrassed as my father when I saw the picture that I fucking posed for on the cover of the daily paper, and my friends wouldn't shut up about my debauchery. The image that dominated the front page the next morning was, in essence, soft porn. The straps of my dress had fallen from my shoulders almost wholly exposing my breasts, and any periodical reader could now tell you the shade of my left areola along with the color of my panties. To make matters worse, I'd been dancing, drinking, and sweating all
Dr. Hale Duek. OBGYN. I liked his online ad, and he was farther away from my side of town than any other doctor while still being in the same city. Hopefully, I wouldn't run into anyone I knew, and photographers would lose interest as I crossed the track into a less affluent part of the community. When I pulled up to the little mill-hill home that housed his practice, I started to regret not accepting my father's offers of help. He had insisted on the non-disclosure to protect my privacy, and his own, but he'd relented on the bullshit story about artificial insemination and agreed we simply would not answer any questions regarding the details of the pregnancy. Eventually, interest would die down, and something else would take the place of my promiscuity. If I played my cards right-kept quiet and wore concealing clothing-it would be months before anyone knew I was pregnant, and a couple months after the birth, no one would be interested, anyhow. I hadn't told Carmella or Kappy and