Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
"What did you want to try?"
The public sex. But what does that matter now? "They were in order of interest."
"How would the BDSM work?"
I try to block the memory of Frederick's revulsion. He was not into bondage, role play, or even light pain. He looked at me like I was a freak for even suggesting it. "Why? Is that part of our story?"
Damon looks into my eyes. "Sure. Do you want to tie me up? Or do I tie you up?"
So much for unsexy thoughts. The way he offers, casually—I know it's a joke, but it still sends blood south. Are people really this open about sex? Do they really talk like this? "Both. But you like tying me up. You like the chance to finally be in control."
He smiles, but it's not smarmy or smug. It's actually sorta sweet.
What the fuck? I think I've gone off the deep end. "We try everything. Sometimes, we like it, sometimes not, but we're open." That's who I want to be. How I want to be.
He nods of course. "As long as there's no one else."
Is that because he knows this threesome thing hurt me, or is it how he really feels? It doesn't matter. It's a story. And this is how I want to tell it. "Other people can watch," I say. "But that's it."
"Was that what happened with you two?" he asks.
No. That's what I should have said. We can invite someone to watch. The end. But I didn't listen to myself. I tried to be someone I wasn't. "No, I was game to try an everyone plays with everyone type of thing."
He doesn't say anything stupid. Or even look at me like he's desperate to hear more details about me touching another woman. He stands there, sympathy in his blue eyes, attention on me.
It's too much, but I push on. "We invited a friend of his, one who'd expressed interest. She was cute." She was smoking hot, actually. My type too. Tattoos of lyrics, sexy short hair, and a down-for-anything attitude. "And sweet. I got into it for a while. When it was us and he was watching. It was kinda performative, but I liked something about that."
"You like being watched?"
My blush deepens.
"You do." He smiles. "That's why public sex first."
"This is not—"
"I think your boyfriend would know you like being watched."
He'd be wrong. Because Frederick barely noticed, but hey, why think about that? "That's the kind of boyfriend you are?"
"Attuned to your sexual needs, yeah."
Is he joking or sincere? I can't tell anymore. But then I shouldn't think about that. It's way too tempting. I need to stick with unsexy thoughts, like the epic fail of my threesome. "It was going well, until he touched her… I hated that. I hated seeing them together. I hated her hands on him. I hated the way he looked at her. It changed something." Or maybe it didn't. He was already seeing her. He was already touching someone else.
Damon studies me carefully. "Fuck, Cass, I'm sorry."
I don't know what to say, so I look at the sky. We're far enough from the city to see stars, but we're too close to see most of them. There are only a few handfuls of dots in the darkness.
"I know my opinion doesn't count for much," he says. "But the asshole didn't deserve you."
No. But it doesn't matter now. "Thanks." I let my gaze shift to the endless expanse of ocean. It is beautiful here. I forget that sometimes. "And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"What do I know about your sexual interests?"
"I like to watch," he says.
"Is that all?"
"And I like to tie you up." He looks toward me.
I let my gaze find him.
He continues, "unless you want a different story."
"Is that true?" I ask. "Do you like to watch?"
"I haven't tried." It's there in his voice. I want to try.
It's a bad idea. Dangerous. I need to leave before I do something stupid, but I want to stay too.
I want to hear the truth from him. Some sign of vulnerability. Any sign of vulnerability.
"Is any of that true?" I ask. "Do you like tying women up?"
"I haven't tried that either."
"What do you actually like?"
He looks at me intently. He opens his mouth, like he's going to speak, but he doesn't. He steps backward. He shifts away, toward that other Damon, the one who doesn't take anything seriously. "I should get to bed."
"Sure." Maybe I imagined his compassion, his interest. Maybe I imagined all of it.
There's no connection between us.
No closeness.
Nothing real, anyway.
He's listening because he's my fake boyfriend, not because he's my real friend.
Any kindness Damon is showing me is fake. I need to remember that.
After breakfast, I head home to my parents' place. And, tragically, my place too. I moved out right after college (I did stay here in the summers, but it was too far to commute during the school year; I stayed in the dorms). I never thought I'd move back.