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Kim, the head coach, blew her whistle. The clock on the gym wall said seven twenty-five. The girls broke out of formation and moved into stretching.
“Come by anytime.” Grace patted my arm and went to join Kim. I jogged out of the gym before Sydney saw me hanging around.
Monday morning, I was back at the gym watching, and again on Wednesday and Friday. I kept running every day, working my way up to longer distances. Jogging downtown, around the frozen lake, and back home was five miles. On the grass outside my apartment building, I stretched the way we would for cheer practice. After the girls vacated the gym, I slipped inside to test my tumbling skills. My splits were still good, my back handsprings decent. They got better as the week went on. I practiced my front tucks. Back tucks. My layouts and twists. They were all rusty at first, but I’d been tumbling since I was a kid, and my body remembered.
I came to depend on my runs to blow off steam and to stay calm when I tried to smooth things over with my parents. They told me that I’d need to pull at least a B in every class this semester in order for them to continue paying my tuition. I found myself running longer that day, wanting to feel more distance.
I can do this,I told myself as my feet pounded the ground.I can make those grades. Even in Victorian Lit. And if I don’t, I’ll pay my own way.
After Valentine’s Day, my visits to Patrick were mostly quiet. He held me down and whispered filthy words. It was still exciting, but nothing crazy happened. We kissed a lot. We didn’t talk about anyone’s families, and he must have slipped the money in my purse while I was sleeping, because I never saw him do it.
But that didn’t last. The following Friday, Patrick greeted me at his door with one hand behind his back and a little smile on his face. Wary, I stepped in. As soon as the door closed, he pulled out a stack of bills. The stack was thick, much thicker than the handful of twenties he usually gave me.
“What the hell is this?” My voice wavered.
He dropped a bill on the floor — a single. A fiver followed. The trail continued as he backed away from me, dropping ones and fives in a snaking path over his bedroom floor, until his hand was empty.
“Strip,” he ordered.
I gaped. He waited. I took my clothes off and let them drop by the wall.
“Crawl,” he said simply. “Pick this all up.”
I did it, clutching the stack of bills. He unzipped his pants and freed his erection.
“Suck,” he commanded when I reached him.
I did. The constant blowjobs I’d expected at the start had never materialized. This was only the second time I had my mouth on Patrick’s cock, and the first time it wasmewho’d dove for it. Calmly, patiently, mercilessly, he talked me through deep-throating him. I wasn’t allowed to put down the bills. When I gagged, he pulled back, then began fucking my mouth again. He used words on me he’d never said before.
Plaything. Toy. Submissive slut.
All while staring at my pleading face.
I was shatteringly aroused. Wanting his arousal. There was an overwhelming desire to give Patrick pleasure. His cock filled my mouth and nudged my throat, hot and thick. I breathed in his musky scent. His voice was silky, condescending.
“It's okay if you drool, girl. You know I don't want pretty. Look at you, trying to take my cock in your throat. You can't do it very well yet, but you'll learn.”
He finished by pushing me away and ordering me onto all fours. He fucked me, his fingers curled around my throat, his cock moving roughly in and out of me.
Submissive.The word scared me.
“Good girl,” he soothed.
I was still clutching that damn stack of bills, shaking with lust as the carpet pressed into my knees. At some point, I came. So did he.
I was dimly aware of him helping me to my feet and onto the bed, where I sprawled on the crisp sheets in a daze. Patrick stretched out next to me and touched my hip.
“Are you okay?” He looked almost concerned, hazed by the strands of dark hair that covered my face.
My voice was hoarse, my throat raw. “You know, I do take checks. Venmo works too.” He laughed and got me a bottle of water from his desk. “Seriously, any chance you can—”
“No, Christina. Cash only.”
“I was going to say,” I rasped, “could you maybe pay me in hundreds after this?”
Startled, he blinked, brushing the hair off my face. “Why do you want big bills?”
“Just because.”
