An open lock, p.24
An Open Lock, page 24
All the bottles of perfume I own have been hurled at the wall and smashed into sharp shards of glass on the heavily scented floor.
What on Earth?
I don't understand how this could have happened. These didn't just fall off, they're a good two metres away from where they were on my dressing table. They were thrown, and with force. Steph is still in the Caribbean based on the Instagram pictures flooding my feed, and she wouldn't have any reason to do this anyway.
I had to unlock the front door to get into the flat and the only other person to have keys to the flat apart from Steph and I should be the landlord. Why on Earth would he do this? Or she, I don't even know who the landlord is. I make a mental note to ask E for their phone number.
I've paid my share of the rent straight into Steph's bank and none of the bills are overdue. I paid them all before I left. Besides, destroying my perfume is a pretty odd way of showing discontent with a tenant. I need to figure out what's going on.
For now though, I need to be able to breathe so I open the window and fetch some old rags to mop up hundreds of pounds of my wasted perfumes.
With my mind and body exhausted, it takes mere seconds for me to be clumsy enough to cut the side of my hand on one of the shards.
“Fuck sake!” I grind out, grabbing my wrist to try and stem the flow of blood.
The cut looks deep and I'm not in the mood for this. I rush to the kitchen sink, pressing a clean tea towel over the wound. The pain is biting, but it's nothing compared to the emotional pain I've been experience so I can handle it.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I chant.
“No language for a lady,” I hear Ian's voice from close behind me.
Breathing out a slow exhalation of frustration, I turn to greet him. I'm not about to apologise because my Mum always said it was okay to swear if you were in pain.
“What the hell happened?” His eyes darken as he bolts to my side to inspect my cut.
“I cut myself, sir,” I retort somewhat sarcastically because that should be obvious.
“How?” He narrows his eyes, taking over from me and applying more pressure to my hand than I was.
“On some glass,” I roll my eyes. “I didn't do it on purpose.”
I feel the pressure on my wrist lessen slightly and realise he was genuinely concerned that I might have done that.
“E,” I whisper. “You know me better than that.” It's not like him to misread me.
“You're right,” he grins. “Just testing you.”
I'm not buying it though; for a man that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my brain that was a mistake on his part.
“Where did you cut yourself?”
“On my hand, sir,” I reply sweetly, blinking my eyes innocently.
“Olivia,” he growls in warning, probably desperate to spank me, but refusing to because I'm still gushing blood.
“In the bedroom on some broken glass, sir,” I reply with an apologetic smile. I don't think he likes seeing me hurt.
“We'll sort that later,” he decides. “You need stitches.”
“What? No!” I try to pull my hand away, but his grip is too firm.
“Don't be a baby, Olivia,” he smirks. “Let's go up to my flat.”
“For what?” My eyes widen slightly.
“To get my medical kit,” he informs me, leading my reluctant body up the stairs.
“I hope you don't think you're putting stitches in,” I snap.
He grins. “Are you forgetting your manners, Olivia?”
“You can't make me do that, sir,” I grit as he leads me to his sofa, the cloth still around my wrist. “That's outside of our agreement.”
“I'm trained, Olivia,” he sighs, tired of my resistance.
“Are you a doctor?” I raise my eyebrow. Am I finally about to learn what he does for a living?
“No,” he smirks, well aware that I'm desperate to know more about him.
I hate that he's so private. I reveal all to him, physically and literally, why can't he offer an olive branch occasionally? I guess he did tell me about his parents; that's got to count for something.
“I am a trained medic though,” he insists.
“No,” I shake my head. What the hell does he mean by medic? He is not sticking a needle in me.
He narrows his eyes at me, radiating irritation. This is a scenario where he can't tie me up and gag me to make me do what he wants. “Compromise?”
I didn't know that word was in his vocabulary so I startle and my mouth gapes uselessly.
“Steri-strips,” he shows me his medical kit; a beaten up-looking dark green bag. “We use these, but if it doesn't look good tomorrow morning, we stitch it.”
“Fine,” I agree quickly because anything is better than the man who likes to spank me putting a needle in my skin.
“Pussy,” I hear him grumble, but there's a fondness there so I let it slide.
I smile as he works with surprising competence and wonder what's missing. Something is definitely absent today and I can't put my finger on it. It's not the fear; that has been slowly disappearing over the past few months anyway as I realise he won't really hurt me; not in any meaningful way. He's bossy, demanding, infuriating, but he's not there to hurt me. If anything he seems to want to cherish and care for me which is thoroughly unexpected.
That's what's missing; the irritation. Don't get me wrong, he's still very irritating, but like a puppy who destroys your slippers, it's a quirk of his character rather than a thorn in my side. When he's irritating; he's E. I'm starting to like his fiercely stubborn side and the way he has to get his way.
“All done,” he smirks, distracting me from my introspection.
“Thank you, sir,” I murmur, looking up at him from a new perspective.
“I guess we won't be binding your hands tonight,” E frowns down at the bandage he's wrapped my hand in. “At least you're right handed.”
“How do you know I'm... never mind,” I grin because he's too observant not to have noticed which hand I use.
“That means a change of plan for tonight,” E murmurs, pulling me close with his hands on my hips.
“Do you always follow a plan, sir?” I look up at him with a small smile, daring to place my uninjured hand on his chest.
“I always have a plan,” he smirks back, brushing my hair away from my glasses. “Plan A is scrapped, we’ll move to plan B.”
“And if that doesn't work, sir?” I grin impishly.
“There are a lot of letters in the alphabet, Olivia. We might try them all this week.”
“Yes, please,” I hum, delightful anticipation building between my thighs.
His eyes darken with lust and satisfaction, the smirk on his handsome face growing into a smile. “Are you sure you want this tonight, Olivia?” He prompts.
I nod confidently. If I'm honest, I've been looking forwards to it all week. I need the release, the distraction, and most of all - I need him to make the internal pain external so I can shred my skin of the hurt.
“Are you going to spank me, sir?” I ask hesitantly as he begins unbuttoning my trousers.
“Do you want me to?” He continues his work, focussing on each millimetre of my skin as it is revealed to him.
“Yes, please,” I bite my lip nervously.
I feel his hands still for a beat, but he doesn't reply, he just continues stripping me down to my birthday suit.
“On your elbows and knees,” his voice carries a deep growl, his face frozen in its normal expression of calm.
It's times like these that I crave his kiss, so that I can look inside and know what's going on behind the front of calm, cool, collectedness.
I rest on my elbows and knees at his feet and as I cast a glance upwards, I know he can sense my emotions. He can feel that I crave his kiss, and that I dislike being in this position, but I also know that he's not going to do anything about either of these things.
“Bathroom,” he barks. “Crawl.”
Excuse me? I snap my head up angrily. I'm not a pet.
His response is to raise an eyebrow in challenge. Do I really want to risk his wrath? I don't think I do.
I take a tentative length forwards, taking care not to put any weight on my injured hand as I feel my way across the wooden floor. I feel something akin to shame, crawling like an animal. That is until I look up at E and see the way his eyes are locked on my rear, his fists bunched tightly as if he's fighting the urge to grab me and take me this very second instead of carrying out whatever torturous plan he has in mind.
The shame becomes empowerment because I'm testing his control, the very thing he cherishes is now mine. With that thought, I add an extra wiggle to my hips as I move closer to the bathroom.
E places me with my rear in the air, stood up and resting my elbows on the edge of the bathtub. His bare foot nudges my own further apart, ensuring I'm fully exposed to his over-observant eyes.
Resisting the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny, I stand stoically still. I can feel the heat of his focus as it travels across my body, burning a path across my most intimate regions.
I feel rather than see him brush past me to turn on the taps, the deep rush of water echoing around the tiled room as the deep corner tub begins to fill.
The sound is rather soothing and I find myself relaxing only to be caught off guard by the firm slap which lands across my ass. Gasping with surprise, my back arches down, thrusting my ass into the air and closer to him.
“Is that what you want, Olivia?” E coos, gently soothing the stinging skin with the palm of his hand.
“Yes please, sir,” I reply breathily, urging him to continue.
“I thought you didn't like being spanked,” he reminds me smugly, his handsome face set in an expression of calm with his sculpted lips pulling up to one side.
I glare back over my shoulder. “I need this,” I grit. “Please, sir.”
Another spank, harder this time, whipping against my skin and sending a rush of endorphins through my being and a rush of adrenaline to follow. The blast of sensation is enough to shadow any of the dark pain inside my heart.
Grunting against the shock I focus on the rush of hot water into the bubble-filled bath as his hand continues to rain blows against my ass.
“Is this what you want, Olivia?” E’s stern voice reverberates around the tiled room.
“Yes, sir,” my voice is tinged with shame. “Harder.” Even as I beg, the hint of fear at the pain he could inflict lingers, but I need it.
“This is not the way to deal with your pain, Olivia,” he straightens and pulls away from me. “Get in the bath.”
For a second, I remain frozen in place, blinking at him. He knew exactly what I was doing. I was using him to hurt me.
I was using him to do the very thing I never wanted him to do; the one thing he said he never wanted to do.
“In the bath,” he growls, clenching his jaw.
I quickly clamber into the bath, eager to wash my shame away. The hot water stings as it touches my reddened behind. Wordlessly, he sheds his clothes and climbs in behind me, the large tub allowing ample room for both of us.
He pulls me backwards so that my torso is resting against him, using a sponge to gently clean my shoulders, chest, and breasts.
“I’m sorry, sir” I muster the courage to apologise for my poor decision.
“I know,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my head. “But that’s not how this works.”
I nod numbly, allowing my head to lull back against his chest.
“If you want to work some of the emotional pain out, talk to me. I will listen. I don’t have a magic cure to make you feel better, but I will always be here if you need me, Olivia.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, tears in the brink of my eyes. I almost wish he was angry with me rather than understanding.
“Keep your hand out of the water,” he guides my injured hand to the edge of the bath.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer appreciatively.
“What did you cut it on?” He enquires, continuing his gentle cleaning of my torso with the soft sponge.
“My perfume bottles have been broken,” I frown, remembering the chaos in my room.
“Hmm,” he frowns contemplatively. “The landlord had some maintenance guys in earlier today. I’ll feed it back and make sure they are replaced.”
“That’s disgusting, why would maintenance do that? And why is the landlord letting people into the flat without permission?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“He probably had permission from Steph,” E shrugs. “But don’t worry, I’ll let him know and we’ll make sure the company reimburses you or replaces the perfume.”
I know I'm a grown woman, and I know I'm capable of dealing with this myself, but somehow it's a relief to know it will all get sorted for me. With everything else that's going on at the minute, chasing a maintenance guy for perfume seems like a trivial task.
As E meticulously cleans and massages my body, I soften into his capable hands and finally allow myself to relax.
Chapter 29
My fingers move quickly over the screen of my phone as I fire off two quick texts; the first to Kev to check in on him because I haven’t heard from him in over a week and I’m worried I might have offended him somehow. The second is a reply to E to affirm that I am indeed still wearing the ben-wa balls he ordered me to use this morning.
Thankfully he allowed me to wear underwear because I’m not sure I could have made it through what was a slightly distracted day otherwise.
Sitting down at my desk was fine, but any form of movement left me slightly weak at the knees. The sensations grew gradually throughout the day. So much so that I almost broke rule eight and brought myself to a climax in the bathrooms of the gym after my boxercise class. Thank god the hot water was broken in the showers so my lust could be quashed by an icy stream of water.
Good girl. You
may remove them at
nine PM tonight. You will
then play with your pussy
and text me when you would
like to come. I may or may not
give you permission.
Smug bastard, I groan internally. My body is bound so tightly with the need for orgasm that I may explode if I don’t come soon.
Sir, please. Don’t torture me.
I need to come.
He doesn’t text back. I knew he wouldn’t because, as stated, he is a smug bastard. I grin to myself because that thought is less irritating than it once was. He has been there for me recently in a way nobody else could have been. He understands the difference between what I want and what I need, recognising that what I want is not always what’s best for me.
I lament that I’m most likely not going to actually see my addictive lover this evening. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back from work. It sounds like he has got a lot going on at the moment, not that he’d tell me that. I’m just slowly learning to read his micro-expressions and, of course, there are always his kisses.
I let myself into the flat, hoping that I haven’t kept Tamara waiting. Steph got back late last night so I’m assuming she will have let Tamara in. We’re meant to be eating dinner together and I hope Steph will join us. I feel like I haven’t seen her for an eternity, I was gone for two weeks with mum’s passing and she has been away for a fortnight with very little contact aside from social media pictures.
When I push the door to our flat open, my jaw falls slightly. I expect maybe to see Steph and Tamara sat on the sofa in awkward silence. What I see is definitely awkward, but only for me.
Tamara is sat on top of Xander as she eats his face. Honestly, there are teeth involved, but he seems to be enjoying it as his large hands squeeze her rear.
“Ehem,” I clear my throat slightly.
“Shit,” Tamara squeaks, jumping off of the calm looking hulk of a man.
“Olivia,” he greets me.
“Hi, Xander,” I murmur back, somewhat lost for words as I absorb what I’ve just seen.
Tamara grins impishly as though she hasn't just climbed down from mount Xander. “Hi, Olivia.”
“Where's Steph?” I cringe for asking the question, but if she's nearby, there'd be a blood bath.
“Out on the town,” Tamara winces because she knows as well as I do how unhappy Steph would be if she'd seen what I just witnessed. “She let me in and then left.”
“So, um,” I hedge. “You and Steph are... over?”
“Never started,” Xander shrugs. “Tea?” He makes towards the kitchen in a classic distraction technique.
“Yes, please,” I murmur, watching Tamara to try and gauge her emotional state. She seems happy and completely unperturbed by her change of relationship status with Xander, which leads me to assume that this isn't a new occurrence. They've obviously kissed before.
“You could have told me,” I sigh, sitting next to Tamara with a forlorn expression.
“I'm sorry,” she seems genuinely apologetic. “There isn't much to tell and I didn't want you to feel stuck in the middle with Steph.”
I nod because I would definitely have felt that way.
“Are you together now?” I ask with a grin, already forgiving her for keeping me in the dark because I think she did it for the right reasons.
“God, no!” She sticks her tongue it in mock disgust. “We're frienemys.”
“Frienemys?” I chortle.
“Frienemys who kiss,” she nods. “I don't know,” she shrugs dismissively. “He's annoying as hell but it's exciting. It doesn't have to mean anything.”
“I can empathise,” I grin because Ian is the most infuriating man in the history of the world, but I actually enjoy that. I enjoy the challenge, the back and forth, and – most importantly – the explosive sex.
“Well, if you're happy, I'm happy,” I give her a sideways hug.
“You do seem a bit better today,” she tells me cautiously. “How are you feeling?”
I'm feeling like I wanted to murder these ben-wa balls or at least the person responsible for them but Tamara doesn't need to know that. “Better,” I admit. “E is a pleasant distraction.”
