Ricochet (5 page)

I woke up alone. At some point during
the night, we had woken up cold and stiff and moved into the bedroom. I called
out for Cash, and he didn’t answer. Rain beat down on the window outside and it
left the room dim and grey. I switched on the lamp. It revealed my clothes
folded neatly on a chair near the bed, along with a note from Cash. I jumped up
to read it.

I had somewhere I had to be early this
morning,
I didn’t want to wake you. See you tonight.

Romantic.
I wonder where he had to be before nine am on a Saturday. I shrugged it off and
got dressed. Maybe it’s better that he wasn’t here for us to have another
awkward morning.
 
Or worse. We could
have had a wonderful morning, where we stay snuggled in bed for hours, and he
makes me breakfast, which we eat in our underwear as we flirt and laugh. We
went from flirtatious strangers to incredibly intimate in just a few days, and
one of us probably needs to slam on some brakes. Otherwise, I am going to fall
fast and hard. I steal a soda from the fridge on my way out.

I spend
the morning putting around my apartment and carting laundry back and forth from
the laundry room. By the time I was finished it was late afternoon. I hadn’t
heard from Cash all day, and wondered what time he planned to go out. I
wondered if I should start getting ready. I went ahead and showered, just so I
wasn’t in a rush later. When I got out, I saw I had a missed call. It was from
Cash. I tried to call him back, and it rang once and went to voicemail. I just
got hit with the “fuck you” button. I end the call angrily and a text buzzes
through on the screen.

Hey, sorry I’m in the middle of
something. Did you really want to go out tonight? I forgot I already had plans.
But if you want to go I’ll cancel.

No, I guess I didn’t really want to
go.
 
He kind of had to talk me into
it in the first place. I’m a little disappointed. It makes me wonder what his
plans are, and if they involve another woman. I wonder if he’s in the middle of
another woman right now. It would be kind of rude to be texting me, if that
were the case.

That’s fine. We can reschedule :)

He doesn’t text back.

I
fall back onto my bed. I start to wonder where things were going with Cash.
If we’re on the same page, or if I’m just one of many.
He
sends a lot of mixed signals. Am I reading into it too much? Hunter was kind of
a smooth talker, too. I’m kind of used to empty promises. The difference is
that I have a choice here. I’m not completely blind to the possibility that we
might not end up falling in love and riding off into the sunset. I know that it
might be nothing but a whirlwind of late nights with heavy breathing. I could
own it. Detach myself and just enjoy the ride. I’ve always thought I deserved
better than that, I thought I was above it. Like I deserve some storybook
ending. But, now that I think about it, it doesn’t sound so bad to have a lover
I don’t have to love.
 

           
I
met Regan for drinks that night and told her all about Cash. Almost. I didn’t
tell her about the screams or his sadistic inclinations. She told me to just be
careful, that she wasn’t going to help me move again.

           
“It’s
not that serious. I’ll be okay,” I laugh.

“But
it’ll get that serious. Why are you screwing your neighbor? Don’t shit where
you eat. Or sleep, in this case,” she warned.

           
“Because
he is incredibly, incredibly sexy. I couldn’t help it. I slipped and fell on
his dick,” I joke, which incites uproarious laughter from Regan. “What if we
were
just
fucking,” I asked with a
grimace.
  

           
“Seriously?
That’s kind of trashy, Lil. Don’t be slutty. I’m the slutty one. Stop seeing
him if all he wants is sex,” she said, sipping her drink.

           
“I
think I’m the one that just wants sex,” I replied.

           
“No!
Don’t be
a ho
,” she jabbed.

           
“Some
things he says makes it seem like he wants to date me, other stuff makes it
seem like he doesn’t. I think I’m just going to see what happens and not expect
too much. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy getting fucked within an
inch of my life,” I replied. Regan rolled her eyes and beckoned me to follow
her to the dance floor.

           
Regan
ended up going home that night with a greasy clump of hair gel and axe body
spray in a pressed oxford. And she thinks she has any room to weigh in on my
life choices. I stared at my phone on the cab ride home, as if I
could just will
Cash to contact me. This indifference was
easier said than done. I decided to text Regan and tell her to text me her
location so I could give the police a lead in case she went missing. She told
me to eat a dick.

           
The
rest of my weekend was lazy and uneventful. I didn’t hear from Cash, even
though he was all I could think about. I thought about his lips on mine when I touched
myself in the shower. I thought about his head in between my legs while I made
myself dinner. I thought about him behind me, pulling back on my hips to push
himself
deeper, as I fell asleep last night. I’m a damn
mess.

It
was Sunday night, and I’d built myself a pillow nest in my bed to do some work
on my laptop. I was supposed to have an event calendar for the following month
turned in by Friday, and my department head had emailed me about it earlier
this afternoon. I needed to finish it and pretend like it had been done the
whole time and I was just too sick to remember. Northstar’s
Pollyanna
pumped through my headphones,
and I sang along at the top of my lungs. My phone vibrated on my leg, making me
jump. It’s Cash.

Keep your day job.

I responded by singing even louder. I
wonder if my defiance drives him crazy. If my strong will and sharp tongue
makes him want to string me up and show me the back of his hand. I wonder if my
smart-ass remarks make his belt hand twitch. I want to follow him into the
dark. I switch tabs on my web browser, and Nick Torres’ voice fades out as
grunts, moans, and nasally shouts of “yeah” pour through my headphones in its
place. I grab my phone and text Cash back.

           
Sorry. But hey, I’m finally doing some of
that research we discussed.

The seconds waiting for him to reply
felt like hours.

           
Come over and tell me more

I have to be at work in 9 hours. That’s
not happening. I can’t call off again.

           
It’s too late. I have to work in the
morning.

Ellipses appeared and disappeared on my
screen, and then popped up again. Real time messaging is so bizarre. It felt
kind of exposing that I could see the process of him typing something, changing
his mind, deleting it, thinking a moment, and then typing again.

           
Tomorrow, after work?
Come over.
 
I want to see you.

That’s kind of a demand. It makes me
quiver a little.

           
What about our “real date?”

It took him a while to respond. I
wondered if he was having the same internal conflict I was having; if the date
was really that important or if he wanted to get me back in bed and keep me
there.

I guess we’ll have to wait then. It
will be worth it, I promise. Don’t make plans Saturday night.
Or Sunday, for that matter.

Pangs of need shot through my pelvis
and radiated up into my stomach and down into my legs.
 
Now I’d have to wait a week to have it
satisfied. I turned to my side and fell asleep imagining myself on my knees,
dolled up in leather straps.

Monday morning, I walked out of my door
to find Cash leaning on the banister in the hall.

“Were
you waiting for me?” I asked.

“Maybe,”
he said, looking up from his phone.

“I
thought you didn’t want to hang out until we could go on a date-date,” I said,
blushing.

“This
isn’t hanging out,” he responded.

We walked together to the elevator in
silence. He glanced at me while we waited for it to arrive, and smirked.

           
“What?”
I ask.

           
“Nothing,”
he said, shaking his head.

We stepped inside. When the doors closed,
Cash grabbed my ass and pulled me into an impassioned kiss. He picked me up,
pushing me into the wall. The elevator dings to announce we had arrived at the
ground floor. He sat me down, and had moved away by the time the doors opened.

           
“Have
a good day at work,” he said as he walked away. I was speechless. I walked to
my car in a daze. I drove to work in a daze. I worked all day in a daze. I
needed more. I decided I couldn’t go the rest of the week without satisfying
this need. I decided to text him.

           
Tonight. Take me out tonight.

My phone buzzed instantly with his
reply.

Ok. Be ready at 7.

I left work a little early and rushed
home to start getting ready. Getting
date
ready is like, a four hour process, minimum. I had to deep condition my hair,
shave every strand of body hair, vigorously exfoliate, and moisturize. 15
pounds of foundation, eyeliner, mascara, highlighter, bronzer, and lipstick
later, I can blow dry my hair. Then I have to tease it, and curl it, and flat
iron it until it rises and falls correctly, stays put and bounces in the right
places. I pull on the sexiest dress I own; it’s short, red, skin tight, and cut
obscenely low. I feel like a million bucks in it. I step into black pumps,
spray a little more hairspray, and dump the contents of my purse into a black
clutch. It’s 6:55 by the time I’m done. I grab my phone to text Cash.

           
Ready when you are.

           
I
expected him to text me back to have me meet him in the hall, so I was
surprised when I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, Cash’s face lit
up in surprise.

“Wow.
I feel really underdressed. Should I go put my suit back on?” he teased. He was
holding a single Easter lily. “Oh, this is for you. Seemed like a really good
idea at the time, but now I realize it is ridiculously unoriginal so let’s just
not talk about it. Just, take the lily, Lilly,” he stammered. I think I was
making him nervous. This was a welcome change of pace, as he was usually the
one that made me stutter and shake.

 
“Thank you,” I muttered as I put the lily
in a coffee mug of water, grabbed my clutch and headed out the door. It was a
sweet gesture if not embarrassingly corny. We don’t have to talk about it.

           
We
didn’t talk much on the ride to the restaurant. Spring was turning into summer,
and my legs stuck to the leather seats in his car. His silence worried me. He
may have been thinking about what he wanted to do to me; peeling me out of this
dress, fucking me against the wall, or bent over the kitchen table. Or, we may
just have run out of things to talk about. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; I
just didn’t know how to break it. I decide it doesn’t matter. I’m just along
for the ride. He parks on the street, and walks around to open my door for me.
A perfect gentleman.
He extends his hand to help me out of
the car. As always, his touch is electric.

Inside,
we order our meal and sip wine. I try to make small talk, complaining about my
day at work. He seems disinterested and a little on edge. This goes on through
half the meal, until he finally looks me dead in the eyes and breaks his
silence.

“I’m
sorry, I’m being really weird,” he apologizes.

“Really?
You are? I didn’t notice,” I tease, taking a sip of my wine.

“Funny.
 
I just… I don’t… I can’t…” he trails
off.

“You
can’t what?” I asked.

“I
can’t…. focus. I really wanted tonight to not be about sex. Well, not
just
sex, anyway. I am definitely
fucking you tonight. I just really don’t want this, us, to be just sex. But
it’s all I can think about. I can’t stop thinking about where your research led
you. What you want to try. What you want me to do to you,” he whispered.
 
This sent desire shooting through me. I
shifted in my seat.

“Well,
I’m not talking about it here. You know, we could have gotten this conversation
out of the way in the car and moved on to talking about embarrassing family
stuff or fourth grade teachers by now,” I replied.

“I
know. I’m sorry. I was just really, really trying not to bring it up,” he said.
I told him it was fine, and promised I would tell him all about my foray into
the world of BDSM porn on the way home. He finally loosened up, and
conversation flowed a little more easily.

It
was dark by the time we made it back to the car. Once inside, he turned to me
and said, “Okay. So I’m dying. Tell me.” I blushed. This was kind of hard to
talk about. I suddenly understood why he was so reluctant to verbalize his
fetish the night I asked him, why he had to show me instead. It’s one thing when
you’re in the moment, turned on and ready. It’s another to speak about it
candidly.

“Well.
I don’t know,” I muttered. “I guesss… Uh… I mean… Fuck. Well.”

“Spit
it out,” he laughed, starting the engine.

“This
is all probably going to sound pretty mundane to you, since you’re so
experienced
and all. But. I know I am
more into the physical aspects than any of the humiliation stuff,” I rambled.

“Oh,
so you don’t want me to call you a whore and spit in your face?” he said
sarcastically.

“No,
I would really rather you didn’t. What else, uh, being restrained looks
incredibly hot, but that kind of goes with the territory. Um.
 
Hot and cold
sensations.
Hot wax, ice cubes in, uh, delicate places seems like
something I could get into. Clamps…”

           
“Nipple
or genital,” he interrupted, excitedly.

           
“Um.
Both, probably,” I continued, “Also, I’m intrigued what the sensation would be
like for you to… like… strike me. My nipples.
Maybe my clit.
That might be too much though, I don’t know. Would have to play it by ear. That’s
all I’ve got. And the stuff we did that first night. That was incredibly hot.
 
If I think of anything else, I’ll let you
know.”

           
“I
can definitely accommodate all of that. Did you want to try this tonight?” he
asked, licking his lips and glancing back and forth from me to the road.

           
“I’m
down,” I responded. I was weak in the knees.

Back
at his apartment, he led me to his bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You
should probably take off your dress. If I do it, I’ll probably destroy it. I
kind of want to tear you apart,” he whispered in my ear.

“Do
I have to call you ‘Sir’ or something?” I asked.

“No,
please don’t,” he laughed, “but do leave your heels on.” He walked out of the
room. I slithered out of my dress and draped it across the chair in his room. I
left on my lacey bra and panties. He could tear those apart if he wanted to. I
positioned myself seductively on the bed. He burst back into the room with his
arms full. He sat several candles on the nightstand and lit them, and then
turned off the light. “Are you ready?” He asked. I nodded and bit my lip.

“Take
off the rest of your clothes,” he demanded. I complied silently. He pulled my
arms above my head and tied them together with red twine. He reached to the
nightstand, pulling several cubes of ice out of a glass. He touched them to my
skin. Sharp, stinging cold traced its way down my collarbone. He let the ice
graze one nipple, and then the other, making them even more erect. He let the
ice slide down my abdomen, and stopped to run it in circles around my clit. My legs
jumped as several cubes slid inside of me. He pushed against my pussy with his
palm to keep them inside. He picked up one of the candles, and hovered it above
my breasts, letting me feel the heat from the flame. He blew it out, leaving a
sickly smoke to linger in the air. I watched with anticipation as he gently
tipped the jar, allowing liquid wax to trickle out the side, onto my exposed
chest.
 
I cried out. The sensation
made the top half of my body jolt as I tried to sit up.
 
He grabbed my hair to push my head back
down onto the pillow, covering my mouth. “Don’t move,” he whispered. He now
held my head down by my hair as he reached for another piece of ice.

He
ran his thumb across my lips, smearing my dark lipstick across my face. He
traced the outline of my lips with the piece of ice and let it fall into my
mouth. He kissed me, taking the ice back with him. He let go of my hair as he
pulled away, pushing my legs open, using his mouth to stimulate me with the ice
cube. He used his tongue to push it inside me. I was numb.

“I
can’t feel-“ Cash, shoving my panties into my mouth to gag me, interrupted me.

“Be
quiet,” he warned. He began twisting and pulling my nipples, making the wax
that covered them
flex
and crack. I let out a muffled
moan. He reached beside the bed, picking up jingling clamps. I winced and
squirmed as he attached one to my nipple.

“Too
much?” he asked. I nodded my head no.

“Then
be still,” he cautioned. I tried to remain motionless as he set the other. He
gently tugged at the shiny metal chain connecting them.
 
He pulled out my makeshift gag and kissed
me, maintaining tension on the chain.

He
reached down beside the bed again, this time bringing back a black leather
flogger. He dragged it across my neck, grazed each breast, and brushed it
lightly across my stomach. He raised it and let it crack back down on my hip. I
jumped. He tugged on the chain lying limply across my chest, and struck me
again. I twisted my hips down into the mattress. I was building to a completely
new plateau. There was no ball of light. There was only a raging fire that
burned hotter and hotter with every blow. I moaned with each strike, as I
wriggled in anticipation for the next. He reached up and untied my hands.

“I
want you to hold yourself open. I’m going to strike you three times. If you
move your hands, or cover yourself, we have to start over. Do you understand?”
he asked, calmly. I nodded my head in agreement. “No, say, out loud, that you
understand,” he insisted.

“I
understand,” I choked. I reached between my legs and spread open my lips with
my fingertips. He brushed the whip across my pussy, allowing the dangling
tendrils to tickle my glistening clit. He must have remembered my request to
tread lightly in this area, because he hit me very gently. It made me moan and
twist my pelvis. He hit me again, a little harder. I gasp. My legs are shaking.
Only one more. He reared back, and let the tool crack down on my delicate
flesh. I jerked my hands away, and used them to muffle my scream. Cash pulled
my hands away from my face and pinned them at my sides. He told me again not to
move. He inserted the handle of the flogger into me, rubbing my clit with his
thumb as he rocked it back and forth. My hands clenched the sheet below me. I’m
burning from the inside out. He tugged the chain attached to my nipples,
forcing me to pull myself upright. He used my hair to pull me off the bed,
making me stand in front of him, with the handle of the whip still inside me.

He
pushed me to my knees. He stood before me, undid his belt, and pushed his pants
to the floor. He took out his cock, and rubbed the head across my lips,
covering it in what’s left of my crimson lipstick. I eagerly open them and take
him inside my mouth. He regained his grip on my hair, and used it to guide my
head along the length of his dick. I began to gag as he forced it down my
throat. He pulled out and forced me to stand. He put a hand on my hip and pushed
down on my head, making me bend over the side of the bed. He pulled the whip
out of my pussy, and laid a firm blow across my ass. He pushed down on the
small of my back and slid his cock between my lips, and pushed it inside me. He
smacked the whip across my back while he smacked his bare hand across my
backside. The fire inside me burned through the back of my eyeballs. I crashed
into orgasm hard and fast. Cash didn’t slow to catch my crests and waves; he
kept his own tempo, forcing me to experience it as he dictated. I screamed
myself hoarse as he fucked me raw. When my screaming turned to heavy breathing,
Cash moaned and slowed. I felt him pulse as he came inside me.
 

He
landed one more solid smack on my ass as he pulled away. I was shaking. I
couldn’t stop.

‘’How…
How do I take these off?” I stammered.