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And leave the room, closing the door behind me.
fifteen
Paisley
It’s so humiliating to be rejected like this. I thought he wanted me. He seems to be attracted to me.
I collapse on the bed, arms out, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a tray ceiling and Mom’s had the inside layers painted blue, almost like the sky, the trim done in a silvery gray. It’s beautiful.
She told me there’s a button on the side of the nightstand I should check out when I’m alone. I look at the door with an angry sigh. I’m alone now, I guess. Lying there, lazy, exhausted from my attempts, I reach out, feeling for buttons.
Nothing.
I scoot up a bit on the bed, my head now on the long, soft pillows. There, at the bottom corner, I see what she was talking about. Only it’s an on/off power switch, not a button. I press it down.
There’s a soft noise, a whirring sound. The room fills with a low, melodic, romantic tune, violins playing over other stringed instruments. Warm lights glow from the edges of the tray ceiling, casting what looks like candlelight through the room.
The room was already beautiful. Decorated exactly to my tastes. But this—is over the top.
“That’s amazing. So romantic.”
But what’s that whirring sound.
I look directly above me. A blue panel moves, slowly exposing…
“Is that a mirror?” I clasp my hand over my mouth to hide my virginal giggle. “Mom!”
The mirror is now fully exposed. I take in my reflection. My hair is spread over the pillow, my barely covered limbs exposed, gray bedding beneath me. The short, sapphire dress has risen high to the tops of my thighs, the light shimmering off the fabric.
In this light, I look almost beautiful.
Does he think I’m pretty?
Maybe not. Maybe that’s why he turned me down. But I’ve felt his hardness more than once. I’ve read about it in books, the feel of a man growing hard against you, so turned on by you that all his blood and energy rushes to his cock.
Feeling the warm, hard firmness pressed against me, was magical. The power of making someone want you. Of taking a full-grown man out of control, just by being you. Looking the way you do. Acting as yourself. Just being me made him hard, wanting.
Now, I want him.
Not like that—he’s so not my type—but I want what he can make me feel.
I’m inexperienced, but I’m not uneducated. I know what the women in this family do behind closed doors. What their men do to their bodies. I’ve seen the light in their eyes, the pretty blush in their faces, caught their low whispered words filled with heat.
How free they feel in the moment.
When I fight, I feel free, I feel a release. My sole focus is my body, how it’s moving, how it feels. My mind is so tight right now, thoughts of all these impending changes swirling in my mind, my simple, homey family life coming to an end, going from being a daughter to a wife.
It’s too much.
I want the freedom I feel at the Pit, but I’m done with fighting.
And if I’m to be a wife but not a Bachman, I want to experience what those Beauties were whispering about before I go and miss my chance. I want him to free me from my own mind, my worries, my fears. I want to feel, to be focused on nothing but my body and the freedom of sensation.
I know I’m asking a lot from him. He’s riding a fine line between fulfilling his duty and crossing a line that could get him in a lot of trouble. I’m happy to return the favor. Make it worth his while.
Make his life as easy as possible. Try to not make the next few weeks hard for him. My trip isn’t exactly totally scheduled yet. There’s some wiggle room. We could even add a stop for him if he wanted.
Does that make me a sex worker, trading BDSM for, what? Not annoying him?
