Obsession Ch. 02

"What is it exactly?" I felt a dangerous rush of familiarity already.

"Candy." He gestured expectantly, a glint in his eye.

It had been years since I had touched anything and I had a sickening weight of guilt in my guilt as I thought of the hell that sort of life put me through.

"It'll be good." He promised. "You told me you're not exactly a virgin to the stuff, and it's nothing too intense. It'll only feel good enough to apologize for being a recluse for the past week or so."

He pulled himself up, leaning back against the headboard, watching me kneel on his floor, pulling my hair back.

"Are you coming?"
I climbed unsteadily onto the bed, crawling until I had straddled his relaxed frame. He held my face in his rough, strong hand, running a finger down my jaw as he looked me over. It inspired an incredible self-awareness, and a sense of comfort.

"I've been thinking, and I'm too nice to you." His touch ran down to the collar, toying with the silver ring that shone against black leather, "Aren't I?"

I nodded, mute, my head thick, but still attuned to a threat of sex.

"If you're going to be my sub, I want to feel like I really own you." His words came out lazily, almost indifferent, "I don't really own you. We're just playing house."

"No." I agreed.

"Though, this was a start." He spoke of the collar. "You've been out and about telling the world who you belong to?" He tugged on it, pulling me closer to him. I was so warm in the room, warm and thick and lighter. My head was heavy; my thoughts floating in tangents- I bit my lip, not full convinced I could form coherent sentences. Sensation dominated all else as I just kissed him languidly, allowing him to peel my jeans off of me.

He grabbed my waist, pulling me closer and kissed me with a confidence that forced my hips out to him. Everything seemed oddly heightened and dulled down, my thoughts growing blurred, smearing like fresh ink and growing indecipherable. Lips suctioned to my neck, nails baring down on sensitive skin, I felt our bodies moving as if they couldn't function independently of each other- contingent on each other like gears.

"Did you touch yourself that night, baby?"

I bridged the gap between us with my tongue, feeling him with my mouth, kissing his jaw. "No. . ."

"Are you lying to me?" His grip on my ass ground me against his leg.

"Ididn't." I grinned, and clarity narrowed his eyes.

"You slut."

He bit me, and I felt genuine anger breaking my skin.

"Ow! Jesus! What are you, jealous?"

He dumped me beneath him, moving over me like a sheet. I was laying beneath him, feeling vulnerable and foolishly empowered. My head was swimming and I had to close my eyes.

"After all that aching I did for you? All that pining for my obedient sub?"

Opening them, my hands were tied to the headboard, and he was looming over me, kneeling statuesque- the definition of his body reminding me of a roman sculpture; a crop in his hand gave me chills.

"Julian, come on. We never said we-"

He slapped the leather instrument between my legs.

"The only thing I want your mouth to do is suck. Other than that, it's only pissing me off." He blurred above me as he emphasized his words with crisscrossing strikes across my thighs.

"Fuck." I whimpered, not fully comprehending the ripe pleasure that bloomed from the pain, opening doorways into lust. My back arched from the bed, and I was vaguely aware of the cuffs cutting into my wrists.

"What?" He dared me, a furious snarl worked over his face as he made me gasp with another stroke, eliciting another sharp yelp.

He held the crop still as it broke through the sensuous fecundity of the air, sliding it up my body. He slapped my cheek with it, and as thought it were his cock held it above my lips.

"You love it so much, thank it."

I groaned, feeling myself sober up in the moment.

"Now wait. Jul-"

He snaked his hand between my thighs, pushing the scrap of panty aside, pulling his fingers back as though to gloat.

"Like I said: you love it. Now thank it properly with a kiss."

It dangled above me as though he was feeding me grapes and I reached for it, my lips pouting in ambitious wait. I think he might have cursed as he lowered it to my mouth. Sight became too much of an accent to the reality of the obscene act, so I bit down on the leather swath, my eyes shut tight.

"Cadence," His voice sort of absorbed into my bloodstream, a thick masculine embellishment like a second collar. Just his voice had me owned.

He tossed aside his weapon and his body collapsed on top of me, showering me in his furious affections. His fingers played lightly over my clit and I wondered then how he knew to tease me barely touching me with his fingertips, he bit and licked my mouth with feverish delight in simply devouring me. It was an overwhelming lust that stripped us both down to mere sensations-Me, begging for his lips and his cock and ownership, him asking me to forget everything besides belonging completely to him.

I felt him entering me and I almost wanted him to deny me even further, though it would've been cruel to both of us. I wanted that moment prolonged in a simple way, so that I could stay the center of his world for a moment longer.

He quickly found a rhythm that both had his eyes shut in pleasure and made me groan and beg for him- all of him. He fucked me in cut time like it was a symphony he had written, my body was the music he could manipulate and maneuver with his own flesh and passion. He gasped into my ear, tell me how he wanted to destroy and rebuild me.

"Do it" I think I managed, or else garbled some affirmative.

He held me up against him- I was only there to receive him. I lost control completely as he begged me and then ordered me to come for him. It was an untamable beast being unleashed, some fantastic ecstasy ripping from my body, all of my senses completely overwhelmed, all of my need coming to a melting point, and then slowly, slowly dissipating, slowly extinguishing.

I woke up- or maybe came to- with Julian's lips pressed to my hair.

"Honey?"
I roused immediately with such an unexpected term of affection sittingi n the air, not belonging to me. The sun had melted somewhere outside and I was noticeably lucid.

"Julian. . . Wow. . . Wow."

He laughed that deep, warm laugh, kissing my chest. He was layingo n top of me, kissing my casually.

"Wow yourself."

I reached to hold him tighter to me and the chain of the cuffs clanked.

"Do you mind?" I looked down at him, feeling his stubble scratching my bare stomach.

"A little. Leather and chains are a good look for you."

"I know, but still . . ."

He worked them off of me, brining my wrists to his lips. He apologized for any residual soreness from my desperate yanking.

"I don't think I can move . . ."

"So? Where are you going?"

I had curled up to him under his arm. I wore his collar and I felt at ease. I felt like I belonged to him. It was such a good, full, and sumptuous feeling and I centered all of my appreciating in soft, languid kisses. The reciprocation of such affections was everything to me- I could do little else but bask.

"I've been composing again." He looked down at me, smiling. He never looked so happy as when he was talking about his music.

"You have? That's great." I found his enthusiasm contagious.

"Actually, it's something I've been working on for you- it's what I wanted to show you."

He laughed at the pleasure he saw on my face.

"Oh, Julian! When can I hear it?"

"Hmm it's not close to being finished, yet . . ."

Every year a showcase of some of the breakthrough work of local composers and artists was held at the college, as the area was an alcove of talent brimming with jazz clubs and a few notable venues. The new work, to be celebrated and released in the next year, was always performed by the students majoring in music- a newer tradition that had started only about a decade ago. I had always been vaguely aware of it by the subliminal messages the fliers brought, posted on every hard surface.

He had pulled me back into his arms on the bed, and I listened intently as Julian described how the piece would be performed by a girl he had taught for the past three years that served as his connection. I hadn't known he was into anything serious, but then, I didn't really know him. I studied his apartment as his voice tickled my ear.

It might have been because I took the comfort of his arms around me as a sense of security after he had me waiting for him for maybe a week, or maybe because I felt so satisfied in that moment after such a moment of passion, but I felt like I could tell him exactly what had been building in me. It was strange, the way he was so openly affectionate. I almost had to wonder if he thought I had switched places with his fiancée when he wasn't looking. I wasn't exactly sure just what those sweet kisses were saying, but I wanted them desperately. We were still in the throes of whatever it was he gave me, and so we weren't exactly our guarded selves.

"I think I'm going to leave Ethan." I spoke to his bureau and bathroom door, feeling him hold me a little closer.

"Oh."

I nodded.

"That's too bad. I had no idea there was any sort of . . ." he trailed off, drumming his fingers on my hip as though it were a counter top.

I sighed.

"Are you okay?"

I turned in his grip and kissed him, suddenly needing the closeness.

"Hmm, baby, I'm sorry." He looked down at me, kissing my forehead.

"No you're not." I wasn't calling him out, really- just stating facts.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he brushed my hair back.

I was defensive, I know, but at that point I didn't really feel like he actually cared to hear anything about it. I had to look at the fact that I hadn't even known Julian for a month, and when we had been together we had one solid conversation that didn't end in him tying me to his bed frame.

"Yes, but not with you."

He laughed, biting my shoulder.

Julian reached over and clicked the lamp off, the lights had extinguished outside of his bedroom and I wondered when he would buy curtains. Shadows were strewn across the tent that our bodies formed with the blankets and he was a tarp of warm, unexpected affection. He had me move as he pulled the sheets up from beneath us, pulling me back against him.

"I want to hear you talk."

"Okay."

He let that one word escape and we were pushed back into a warm, comfortable silence. I placed my head on his chest, my fingers playing light patterns on his skin.

"You know how in your apartment . . . all of your paintings?"

He worked his fingers through my hair massaging my scalp, and I felt it down my back.

"Hmmm."

"They're all finished, right?"

Another sleepy affirmative.

"Why are they all holed up in there? Why aren't they on people's walls? Why aren't you famous?"

I bit him, grateful.

"Someone has to care first."

"I care," he kissed my shoulder, my arm, my cheek, spreading warmth where his lips trailed, "I'll buy them all, how much do you want for them?"

"I don't want your pity money." I bit his chest, squirming out of his grip.

"It's not pity-money; I always wanted to be the kind of person who was surrounded by art."

"No you don't. You'll have buyer's remorse as soon as you sober up- all those couples you don't know staring at you all the time."

He kissed me hard on the lips, and lie back down.

". . . Besides, you'll have two of them in your house already. You'll be the most narcissistic couple ever, competing for the space above the fireplace"

"In my future mansion we'll have multiple fireplaces."

He thought about it for a moment, and started again.

"And anyway they aren't for us, it's for our families. I miss you, Cadence."

It all poured out and I woke up a little at his non sequitor.

"Where am I going?"

"When you go tonight, I'm going to miss you."

I clung to him, his strong broad chest, and was surprised when he held me there.

"I don't want to go."

He kissed me lightly, almost as if to tease.

"No. . . " I insisted, refusing to kiss back.

He rebutted by rolling on top of me, grabbing my wrist and pinning it above me, kissing me again and again until I caved.

"I'm sore. . . " I pouted.

"I don't care."

The words sent a thrill through me. As I felt him move over me, our bodies locked into place. What was it about him hurting me that burned me up with voracious lust? I thought of his body arched over me, pressed to me as I remembered the pleasure-pain contort my limbs and brand me with a perverse sort of pride. He wanted to punish me for forcing him to feel something he couldn't control. He in turn broke me, ruined me, branded me with his pain and made me seek out his pleasure; to want nothing more than to be his to hurt, to provoke that passionate exchange. To be held in his arms and made to feel nothing but the fury of him. It was an experience all in itself. It wasn't anything I could explain to myself. It wasn't something just anyone could produce. Hand any sadist a whip and your name and he'll produce stripes and shame to feed his own ambitious hungers. What Julian had was terrifically unique in that he embodied that pain and he understood it enough to provide a newer, cleaner version. He was passion, too, and empathy and experience- privy to all of the most cultured tastes, the most profound statements. He understood women and he understood his effect on them. He understood symbolism and eloquence. He blended the two with his animal need. He had me in the most vulnerable position humanely possible. It was only sex, it was supposed to be that way. No one was supposed to be devastated.