K. Bromberg - Bend

He turns away, but not before I catch the grin. His back expands as he takes a breath. Probably to tuck down his amusement so he can keep playing the pissed-off asshole routine.

All my life people have assumed I’m stupid because I’m quiet, I never interrupt, and I follow directions. But I’m quiet because saying less is always more.

I never interrupt because you always miss the parts better left unsaid when you don’t let people finish.

And I follow directions because it keeps things on an even keel, sailing pun intended.

I haven’t always felt this way about things. But back when we were little I once asked my brother why he was always so accommodating with the demands of the Admiral. We were about eight and I was spending my days that summer learning how to sail the ship to windward, while he was working in the galley, learning how to cook potatoes or something. But his answer that day has always stuck with me. ‘Pick and choose your battles, Harp.’

I thought about that piece of advice endlessly since that day. Pick and choose your battles. Accept that you cannot win every time, until you’ve got a sure thing. Battles are always a win and lose. Give and take. And ever since then I’ve been saving up my losses for the only battle that counts. The one that wins the war. So when the strong wind comes and wants to take me off course, I lower my sails and go with the current. I save that loss up for another day. But all these things are conscious decisions. I am attentive, but silent. I have come to terms with my life, but—hopefully—only for the moment.

“So you were trying to make me jealous.” He turns back to me, his expression a flat line again. But I already know he likes the devious side to Harper.

“I was,” I reply.

“Do you know what happens when I get jealous?” He steps towards me and puts both hands around my neck, his thumbs caressing my jaw in those little circles that will have me dreaming about them later. My body responds with the now familiar tingling between my legs and I am suddenly hot with want.

“No,” I say softly.

He stares at me for a few moments and then dips his mouth down to mine, resting his lips against my lips. “Who’s in charge, Harper?”

“You are,” I reply obediently.

He gently knocks his forehead against mine and huffs out a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Being good. You want to be in charge, then be in charge. I’m not a control freak.”

He takes my hand and pulls me towards the building. I dutifully follow him in. We descend the steps to the basement side by side, and then he leads me into the mechanical room and gathers my key from behind the loose cinder block where I hide it. He shoots me a glance to see if I’ll carry on about him knowing where it is. But I don’t, so he leads me back out, opens my apartment door, and waves me through.

I stand there in the little entrance, waiting for his directions like this is his place and not mine. He stops and stares at the closed door before turning. Like he needs a moment to make a decision. When he turns his eyes are aflame with passion. He puts his hands on my arms and pushes me back against the wall. His thigh wedges between my legs, rubbing against that spot where I know all my carnal desires can be fulfilled, and I moan. He takes that as a yes to his unspoken question and his mouth finds mine.

He bites my lip and takes me by surprise. I whine at the pain and then taste the blood but before I can react to that, his tongue is licking it away, tangling with my own tongue inside my mouth for a few seconds, then he latches onto my top lip.

“Mmmmm,” is all I get out before he nips that one too. I raise my hand to push him off but he grabs my wrist and hoists it up above my head.

“Do that again and I’ll tie you up.”

I take a deep breath and look away. So very unsure of what I’m doing.

“Limits, Harper? You better say so now. This won’t be some romantic fairytale fuck you’ve read about in books.”

Shit. There have to be limits. Right?

“Do you trust me?” When I look back, his gaze is serious. So very, very serious.

I shake my head because this question is easy. “No, not really, James. I mean, I want this. I do. But what we have is like a… a… tenuous respect and nothing more. Like the way you respect a large dog you’ve never met before.”

His eyes dart back and forth. It’s his tell, I realize now. His darting eyes are weighing in on me, letting me know he’s formulating an opinion. Which is good, I guess. Either he’s reevaluating me or he never really solidified one in the first place.

He brings the hand above my head down to my side and kisses me on the nose. “OK.”

“OK?” God, please don’t let him change his mind! “James, I—”

He places his fingertips over my lips, then leans in and licks the one he bit and sucks on it for a second. “I need to know how you want it, Harp. Or I might go too far. And…” He cups my face in his hand and pulls me close, right up next to his hard thickness inside his jeans. “And I don’t want to do it wrong. It’s a big deal for you. Even I understand that. I might hurt you so I need to know what you want.”

What do I want? I want to have sex. And feel the pulsations of an incredible orgasm.

“I need to know if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” I say quickly. “I am, I swear. I want to and if you stop this now, I’ll go find that skater guy!”

He smacks my ass. Hard. I yelp and try to scoot away from his hand as it comes back for more, but he holds me tight and this time the smack hits my bare thigh.

I squeal loudly at that one.

“Say you’re sorry,” he says, staring me in the eyes.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“You were just trying to bait me, and I don’t like it.” He stares down at me, his eyes narrow and his jaw set.

He’s totally not kidding about that so I chew on my lip, taste blood, and then nod. “OK, I’m really sorry. It was a bad joke. I’m not interested in Golden Boy back there.” He eyes me suspiciously, but I can tell he’s more interested in being playful than angry. Even so, I nod and reassure him. “I swear.”

“So you’re ready?” His fingertips slip under my tank top and then his whole palm presses against the bare skin of my waist. His hands are a little cold and this temperature difference sends chills up my whole body. My nipples perk to attention immediately.

I put my hand around his neck and lean up on my tiptoes and peck him on the cheek. “I’m ready.”

“No limits?”

“Just… be nice.” I smile sweetly because I don’t know what else to do. I have no clue about any of this shit. Some of the things he’s said I don’t even understand. He thinks I’ve been dreaming about my first sexual experience growing up? Well, he’s wrong. I never read any books about how other girls experience a first time. I had one very clinical discussion about sex with a retired Company medic when I was sixteen. And it was not very enlightening beyond don’t do it until you’re married , because I was promised to someone back when I was six, and that promise dictated that I be a virgin when I was given away.

He growls into my neck. “Fuck, Harper. You’re driving me crazy. You gotta tell me what not to do, or I swear, I’ll do it all. I’ll just do it all.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I just want it to feel good. I just want you to touch me and make me feel good. Make this loneliness go away for a little bit. Make me…” I stop and look up at him. His attention is rapt. Like he’s hanging on my every word. “Make me feel wanted.”

He lifts my top over my head in one move. My nipples bunch up as the cool air touches them, and then his fingertips roll one back and forth. My heart begins to race inside my chest, my breath becomes ragged and uncontrolled. He palms my breast and his lips find my mouth, his tongue thrusting in this time. Not waiting for a response, just taking me the way he wants. He unbuttons my shorts and drags the zipper down. His other hand slips down my panties and finds my completely soaked folds.