Page 19 of The Roommate Subtext

The night was cooling off nicely, and she turned on the fan in one window to get some more fresh air moving through the space. The light hum and instrumental background music blended, blocking out all noise from the outside world. She went through stacks of mail, tidied up loose change on her bureau, folded the basket of clean clothes she’d been picking through all week. With still some time on the clock before she’d let herself text the Pimpernel, she changed her bedsheets, which elevated the feeling of the entire space. It was wonderful to have clean sheets. Then, finally, she settled down on the bed and sent a message.

Hey. You around?

After she hit send, she realized she had been counting on a “yes” response. Was she being too desperate? That wasn’t her MO in any kind of encounter, platonic, romantic, sexual, or otherwise, and the discomfort twinged. She hadn’t expected the feeling of vulnerability in being the one to reach out first.

But he replied almost instantly. Yeah. I was wondering if tonight was too soon to message you.

Relief washed over her. Thank god. She didn’t want to come on too strong.

His next text followed the first. I didn’t want to come on too strong.

Eerie. She scooted up on the pillows. So what are you wearing?

Ha ha, he replied. Is that how this works?

Beats me. Never done this before. Their mutual uncertainty made her smile. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.

Which story did you read?

She couldn’t remember the title, if it even had one. The one with the woman in the woods. Maybe he had more than one with a woman in the woods. The anonymous sex one.

I know the one. What turned you on about it?

Maggie blushed. She’d been contemplating the story for the last few days, mulling over its appeal. It seemed really risky, which probably should have been a turnoff, but I was into the fantasy. She paused, then sent the next message. The helplessness. The idea of being used. The bondage. And the public setting. Messages sent, out into the unknown where she couldn’t take them back.

What about the denial?

She’d liked that as well. That too. But I mostly like to think about denial but get off anyway.

I see, he replied before a long pause. What do you think about letting me control your orgasms?

Her immediate thought was fuck no, but she didn’t type it. Is that a condition of playing together?

I didn’t say that. I only asked what you thought about it.

She considered. My first thought is no. But maybe, if it’s not long-term.

I appreciate the honesty.

What about you? Do you ask because you like the idea of controlling my orgasms? she typed.

Yes, he responded.

What do you like about it?

She waited, watching the dots indicating that he was typing, then it all came through. The control. I like if you could disobey but you don’t. You obey because I ask you to obey. And I like the thought of you needy and desperate, squirming, soaking wet, and begging me to let you come. It makes me hard thinking about it.

Fuck, that was hot. She paused, rereading his text a few times and living in that thought before she replied. What would it mean, that control? What would happen?

I’ll play with you tonight, but I won’t guarantee that you’ll come. And if I tell you no tonight, I would want you to wait until tomorrow to ask again.

She stared at the screen. She was already dripping wet from this conversation. What would it feel like to have her control taken away? All right. I can do that.

You sound like a good girl, Rose.

She laughed to herself, because very few people would accuse her of that. Not according to my ex-boyfriends.

Maybe you need someone better to keep you in line.