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I don’t smell like expensive French body wash anymore. I smell like Calvin. He’s all over me, inside me…
Once the glass is empty, I replace it on the sink and go to pee and clean myself up.
When I return to the bedroom, Calvin has settled in beneath the blanket. I thought he looked relaxed before, but I was wrong. He looked in control before;nowhe looks relaxed.
I pull back the blanket so I can crawl under it, but I’m unsure what to do. I was more actively involved in this sexual encounter than the last one, but only to avoid a worse alternative. I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen after an encounter like that.
Mercifully, I don’t have to figure it out. He reaches over and grabs me, then tugs me across the bed until I’m wrapped in his arms.
I’m not supposed to like that, but it feels nice. I feel safe, which is absurd, but given the precariousness of my situation, I’m in no position to turn down the feeling of safety, even if it’s only an illusion.
There are things that need to be discussed, though, and this feels like as good a time as any. “So… you’re into BDSM, then?”
He glances down at me, his dark eyebrows rising in surprise. “No. Why would you think that?”
My eyes widen. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe the big, scary BDSM torture machine in the corner?”
Calvin shakes his head. “I've dabbled, but the lifestyle doesn't really do it for me. The cornerstones of BDSM are ‘safe, sane, and consensual.’ Does any of that sound like me?”
A frown flickers across my face. “No, I guess not.” My frown lingers, but the concern his position nurtures has roots, and I know they’ll grow deeper and deeper if I don’t address it now. I feel around for the right words. I’m not sure I find them, but I start asking the question and hope I’ll find my way. “What do you hope to get out of this relationship?”
“What do you mean?”
“What am I to you? Or, what do you want me to be? You’re calling the shots, right? So it’s up to you, but I need to be looped in. I tried to touch on this earlier, but I was being a brat, so we didn’t get anywhere. When I was asking about the rules and limits. It was a real question, I was just mad, so I wasn’t approaching it in a level-headed, communicative way. But I do need to know exactly what it is you want out of this, because… I mean, that’s the only way I can adjust my own behavior and expectations accordingly.”
He’s following me, which isn’t surprising. The man is a lunatic, but all signs indicate he must also be intelligent. “All right. What specifically are you asking?”
I feel like an absolute idiot askingare we dating?like I’m a hair-twirling high school girl, but I need to know. “I’m yours as long as I have to be. I get that. But what does thatmeanexactly? Am I your prisoner? Your girlfriend?”
“Why not both?” he jokes.
At least, Ithinkhe’s joking.
“You’re not free to leave,” he says, “so in the strictest sense, I suppose you’re my prisoner. If you choose to think of it that way, I can’t imagine you’ll be very happy. If you’d rather be happy, then consider yourself my girlfriend.”
“But girlfriends are free to leave.”
“Then you’re my girlfriend, asterisk.”
I crack a smile. “Your girlfriend, asterisk?”
He shrugs. “It’s the best I’ve got for you.”
“All right. What sort of rights and freedoms does an asterisked girlfriend have? Will I ever get my phone back?”
“Yes, when I decide you’re ready to have it back.”
That’s annoying, but I’m picking my battles tonight. “I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to have it. I need it for work. I need it to talk to my friends and family. There’s this stupid mobile game I like to play and you areseriouslythreatening my daily login streak. These are my imperative reasons for having a phone. It’s not like I’m going to call for help. You’re blackmailing me, that’s the whole point. And what would I even say? ‘Help, help, a gorgeous rich guy is holding me against my will in his beautiful penthouse where a private chef cooks all my meals and I’m free to work if I want to and snuggle my cat all day long!’ No one would believe me.”
Calvin smirks. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Then what’s the deal?”
“I have my reasons,” he says vaguely, but doesn’t bother to elaborate on what those reasons are. “Anything else, or is your phone all you’re worried about?”
“Well, my login streak. Obviously, it’s a valid concern.”
He smiles. “Of course, a very big deal. I’ll make sure you get your phone at least once a day so you don’t lose it.”
