Shaking my head at our silliness at the bar, I bebop around my bedroom to the song playing on my expensive-ass stereo.
Turning, I squeak at the black shadow in front of me. Taking in a deep breath, I open my mouth to scream, when arms wrap around me and I smell him.
Silly Twitch. Sneaky, silly Twitch with his creeping, lurking, and skulking.
Melting into him, I blurt out the first thing I think of. “Why don’t you use the belt on me anymore?”
Wow. That sounded a lot more desperate than planned.
Pulling back, he responds, “Because I’m sure you won’t try to run now.”
Hmmm. Well, I guess that makes sense. In a fucked up kind of way. I guess.
Insert pout here.
He asks an amused, “Are you drunk?”
I scoff. “No. I just had…” I mentally count. “…six Long Island Iced Teas and a shot of tequila. I’m fine.”
As I say this, my knees give out and Twitch holds me up like a doll. He kisses my brow affectionately. “You want me to get the belt?”
I respond breathily, “Yeah.”
Setting me on my bed, I watch as he walks over to his pants on the floor, removes the belt from the loops, and stalks back over to me. Whoa. He does something to my head. Every freaking time. Normally, thoughts would lurk in the thing I call a brain. Right now, all I hear is a high-pitched whistling noise.
We are officially off the air.
In my alcohol-uninhibited state, I ask, “I want to try something new tonight.”
He stops halfway to me. Wrapping his belt around his hand nice and tight is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. “Oh yeah? What’s that, Angel?”
Crooking my finger, he comes closer to me. I kneel up on my bed and cup my hands around his ears to whisper, “Role play.”
He sniffs a laugh. “Sure. I’m down for that.”
Suddenly nervous, I lean back and dip my chin. “You’ll think I’m weird. That I’m not normal.”
He returns with, “Fuck normal. Who’s to say what’s normal. Labels, babe. That’s all they are. Tell me, baby.” But my mouth won’t open. “C’mon, Lex. I won’t judge you.” But I can’t. That’s when he asks quietly, “You wanna try what Ling was doing?”
I’m so ashamed. I cover my face with my hands as my heart races.
His fingers come under my chin and lift. I drop my hands to accept my fate. Looking into my worried eyes, he kisses me softly before saying, “As soon as I put this belt around your neck, it’s on.”
How did he make that so easy for me? And why do I want this so badly? Both of those thoughts circle my head. My thinking time is cut short when he works the thick black belt around my neck. Looking up at him, mouth parted slightly, he watches me carefully. Buckling on the tightest notch possible, he takes his time, giving me an opportunity to refuse.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
I need this.
Something inside of me desires Twitch’s approval, and has from that very first day.
The moment he releases me, he searches my face. I know the exact moment he turns into his character. My attacker. I know this, because his hooded eyes darken and his lip curls cruelly. He wraps the remainder of the belt around his hand tightly, yanking hard. I yelp as my body is crushed against his strong naked torso. A large hand firmly palms my ass through my little black dress. The touch isn’t warm or affectionate. It’s so unfamiliar that I feel this man isn’t even Twitch.
But isn’t that part of the appeal? That at this very moment, we can become two different people. People we never would be or become.
It’s absolutely thrilling. My heart races and I begin to sweat.
Breathing heavily, I steady myself as much as I can, slide off my bed, and stand in front of him. Twitch taunts, “Move and I fuckin’ kill you, bitch,” then pulls the belt slowly but firmly closer towards his body. The move makes us impossibly close.
Right now, I believe him; he could hurt me, even though I know this is a game. Right now, Twitch is the most alluring man on earth, as well as the most terrifying.
It all happens so quickly.
His silky boxers are gone. I tremble as he grips the front of my dress, fisting it tight. He looks me in the eye as he pulls with all his might in opposite directions. The sound of material tearing fills the room before it falls at my feet in a heap. I openly gape at him.
I liked that dress.
Now dressed in only a strapless bra and a lace thong, my mind swims in an ocean of bliss as he yanks my bra down below my breasts. The move pushes them high up on my chest, and in the slither of moonlight through the closed curtains, I see his eyes fixed on them. Looking like a starving man eyeing his first meal in months, he steps out of character only a moment to run his thumb down the swell of my breast and mutter, “Perfect. So perfect.”
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he looks down at me through hooded eyes and whispers roughly, “I’m gonna fuck you bare.” My heart stutters. In a good way. He smirks. “Gonna blow inside of you. And you’re going to like it.”