AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe that’s what this thing with Jonathan was about, this near-obsession with the feel of him inside her, with the bondage and the ache.
Otherwise, what kind of monster was she, still held underwater by grief but wet practically all the time, climbing the walls until he came to her again?
It was after noon when she ended the call with Leigh, but the last thing she felt like doing was eating lunch.
Instead, she stopped to plug in her phone to charge as she passed through the kitchen, slipped on the scuffed pair of garden clogs by the side door, and went outside.
She used to work here for hours pulling weeds, moving plants to sunnier or shadier spots so they would thrive. Gardening used to be therapeutic, a hobby she would get lost in. Then the books took off, and her career followed, and she had hired a landscaping service.
Now she walked among the flowerbeds, the shade plants, the two raised beds of herbs. She should let the service go, although they kept it looking perfect.
Too perfect. She needed weeds to pull, dirt to dig her hands into, grit under her nails. She needed something productive, something meaningful, some fucking thing to do.
With the shears left on a railroad tie, she cut basil and parsley for a dinner she wouldn’t cook and brought the fresh herbs into the kitchen, setting them down near the phone.
The phone.
You can’t summon him every twenty-four hours.
He has a life, a career. Maybe a girlfriend, although that’s not what the internet grapevine had said, and he wouldn’t have left that small pack of condoms on her nightstand if he didn’t want to come back, would he?
Just once more.
She picked up the phone, tapped out a text, and hit “send.” It buzzed a moment later:
Leaving city in 30 min.
* * *
A fiery sunsetback-lit the approaching rain clouds, and she watched them from the covered deck. Soon a light drizzle began to fall, and she went inside, undressed, and put on her robe.
Each time she had texted him, she had struggled with what to wear. Jeans or her go-to yoga pants and a t-shirt would require the awkward step of undressing. Lingerie added to the guilt; it meant a deliberate effort at sexiness. The robe, it struck some kind of twisted balance.
Because sex, she should not be asking for sex.
Shoes presented a similar conundrum, again tonight. Barefoot, she felt too much like herself. She stepped into her black heels, the ones she had worn last time. Borderline slutty, but better.
In them, she could pretend to be someone else, someone better suited to booty-text an acquaintance to tie her up and fuck her hard, into a fleeting but necessary oblivion.
By the time headlights flared and she heard the crunching sound of tires on the driveway, the rain was pelting. She hurried downstairs and opened the front door to Jonathan, shaking droplets off his sleeves.
The water ran in rivulets down the worn caramel leather of his jacket. Drops slid down his face, dripped from the tip of his chiseled nose, trickled over his full lips. She held the door and stood aside to let him in—and so she could resist the urge to dry his body and taste the droplets on his eyebrow, his cheek, his mouth.
“Hey,” he said in a hushed voice as he took off his shoes in the entryway, walked toward the living room, and lifted his messenger bag over his head.
She followed him and watched as he set the bag on the floor. He looked like he was about to ask her something, but he stayed quiet.
His hands went to her shoulders, turning her around so her back was to him, and he squeezed her upper arms.Stay.
He bent toward the bag, opened the flap, and when he stood again, blindfolded her. A shiver ran up and down her spine as he reached around and loosened the tie of her robe. The satin skimmed her calves as it fell to the floor, leaving her naked except for the instant rise of gooseflesh that covered her, head to toe.
There was more shuffling in the bag, and then he took her left wrist and, next, her right and brought them together behind her back.
Soft material brushed her skin as he bound her hands together at the wrists. The clink of metal—the post against his belt buckle?—sent moisture to the inside of her thighs, damp like the rain on his face a moment ago. Her breathing turned uneven, shaky in anticipation.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
“Yes.”Yes.Need curled her hands into fists.
