He leans forward, dragging his cock in the mess he’s made as he unlocks my wrists. I whimper a little as he releases them and lowers my upper body to the pillow again. I hadn’t realized I was nearly suspended.
He’s up, no cuddle, no talking. Just straight to the shower. He doesn’t even turn on a light.
I lie there a minute, not sure if I should laugh or cry. It is hands down the weirdest sex I have ever had, and yet I have a feeling it might also the best.
6. Professor Hyde
Angie gives me a confused stare. “So he just rubbed his wanker on ya bits and came, never entered ya?”
I shake my head.
She cocks an eyebrow. “He’s a freak. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He’s one of them Bates Motel types. Ya need to get out. No one needs that sort of shite. All the mess, with none of the sex? Feck that.” She shakes her head again, almost blankly. “Fecking weirdo, that’s what ya got. He breastfed from the tit till he was seventeen, I bet my life on that one.”
I snort, still feeling the odd bit dirty from the encounter.
“And you never did it again after that? Ten dates, and he uses ya to jack off?”
“Don’t get me wrong. He made me come twice before he came. We had mutual orgasms. He just never entered me with his penis.” I make a driving-forward motion toward my vagina, like I need to explain it better.
“Fecking weird.”
“Agreed.” I nod and contemplate what will become of us. I know I have to break it off, but I desperately want to have him. It’s perverse, but I can’t stop thinking about what it might be like. He’s obviously weird. Who just happens to have handcuffs on their bedpost? Does his mom know they’re there? Does he even have a mom?
“So what did yas do with all that free time the next two days?”
The memory of that brings a scowl across my lips. “Played games, hiked, and made gourmet meals.” I give her a look. “Pretty dissatisfying, actually. We cuddled every night.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Like friends or sisters or some shite like that?”
I shrug. “He seemed all sweet again when he got the shower over with. I had one, and then he warmed up the house and made a meal, and we watched a movie.” I flash the welts on my wrists. “We pretended this never happened.”
Her eyes widen. “He’ll tie ya up, but he won’t shag ya? Not worth it.” She starts filing her teal-colored nails. “I don’t mind a bit of tie-me-up tie-me-down, but it better come with a rock-hard shagging. I better not walk—”
“I get it!” I clear my throat. “He’s fairly good at everything else.”
“Yeah. He’ll be wearing your shoes by Christmas, trust me. This has Mommie Dearest written all over it.” Her words ring through my head, like a bell in a courtyard, chiming the hour.
I curl up in my bed and snuggle my cat, or rather struggle snuggle, until he eventually gives up.
I leave for my parents’ house the next day, for Christmas break. The nutty professor doesn’t text or call for the entire break. My brother mocks me as a crazy cat lady, and my mother defends my odd obsession with my feline companion. They all assume I’ll end up old and alone. But even then I don’t tell them about Derek. I don’t dare utter a word. How would I explain our relationship? Sometimes he ties me up and comes on my belly, and I’m not allowed to be seen with him in public, but he reads poetry and tells me impassioned tales of traveling through Ireland and his fondness for the place.
There is no way to explain Derek and me to myself, so I can’t imagine trying to explain it to my family. I nod and let them chide me.
I do notice, however, there is animation in my house that his lacks. His entire life lacks it. He’s dry and funny, but in a way that always seems to keep me at arm’s length.
After Christmas break, on the ride back to Seattle, I notice the rain hasn’t stopped. The fall was cold and damp, and the winter doesn’t seem to be improving. I hate that we might not see a flake of snow this year. It’s weird. We usually get a bit, just a bit.
I like to stare up into it, letting the flakes fall on my tongue.
When I get back to the dorm, I notice his Jeep is parked in the lot where all the girls park their cars. His silhouette is there, hiding in the shadows of the dark vehicle. He doesn’t open the door or climb out. He doesn’t wave. He just watches. And like a fool I walk to him. I don’t drop off my bags. I don’t tell anyone I am there. I walk to his Jeep and open the passenger door.
He looks rough, different. I never noticed before how much he resembles my brother. Tall and broad with dark hair and dark-blue eyes. He’s chiseled and ruggedly handsome. In the moonlight I lean in, squinting at the dark blue of his eyes I could swear were always green. Gray green when he was emotional at all. But now they’re dark blue, and his eyebrows seem a bit different. The boyish good looks are gone. In their stead are rugged features that make him handsome in a way that intimidates me, as if it has made him older.