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"I have to," I said. "I've been too lost. I need to find myself." God, that was a cliché if ever there was one. "I've put you through so much. It's time to let go. You can't keep waiting for me, Mark. Because I'm not coming back." Probably I never had been.
He sat down beside me on the couch. We'd spent so much time there over our years together, when I was home, in his arms, I was aware how much muscle he'd put on. One hand slid over my cheek, then wrapped around the back of my head, pulling my mouth to his. I balked, for just a second, because this wasn't how it was meant to go. Then I relaxed into the sweetness of the kiss. Everyone is allowed to say goodbye in whatever way works for them. I kissed him in return, only sliding my tongue over the lower lip I used to like to bite softly.
I started to break the kiss.
And he didn't.
"Mark," I said. It came out muffled, his mouth hard against mine. "Mark, stop."
But his hand was on my breast, squeezing painfully hard. I tried to brush it off then grabbed his wrist and tried to pry him off me. Instead he tightened his grip so hard I made a sound of protest and started to pull away from him completely, pushing back to create distance between us on the couch so I could stand.
That's when he threw himself at me, pinning me to the couch. His leg came down between mine, forcing them apart. He started to grind against me, his mouth on mine turning to mostly teeth.
For a second I almost let it go. I'd had sex with Mark a billion times over the years. We'd done it outside, inside, in his parents bed which seemed like a big thing to him though they were in Europe at the time and we washed the sheets afterward. We had sex in all positions and sometimes he had cuffed me using my own cuffs, or played rough.
What would it matter? Let him have this last hollow victory. Given what I'd gone through when kidnapped by Vincent and when given to Claude by St. Martin, what would this matter?
But it mattered. I mattered. I mattered enough for someone to want to enslave me to my passion and his. I mattered enough that he'd come to rescue me when I needed it and beaten me later when I felt strange about it all. He'd pulled back when I needed freedom, despite knowing I might never return.
Mark? Mark had endangered my life and my career by calling the instant he got my emergency contact. He called about my father, which I needed to know, and which was the only reason we stayed together after that. He'd stayed with me despite my job and I was figuring out just how much that was actually control. He was sleeping with someone else, I was pretty sure now, someone he was willing to hit the gym for which he hadn't with me. Maybe that was just the difference in where he was in his med schooling, he had more time to do nonessential things, but I didn't care.
He wasn't getting this. He'd had me committed to a mental hospital, working with my father to do it because he was jealous that St. Martin could help me and he couldn't.
And there was one more thing. One more that flashed through my mind fast and exploded in perfect clarity. I'd never known what I was capable of until I learned I was kinky. I'd never known I could order a man killed until St. Martin gave me that option but not the option to go and take them down myself.
What was Mark capable of? Even St. Martin, a "career sadist" for lack of any better terms, didn't trust himself right now with the rage over some of the things that had happened to me at the hands of those other men.
Why in the name of anything would I trust Mark to only want to fuck me?
He'd pinned me and his weight was keeping me down. I could feel his erection pushing into me. I didn't flex, didn't move, I just considered as fast as I could each of my limbs, my center of gravity, my feet and hands, my teeth. I considered how he was holding me and that his knee grinding between my legs was horrible and distracting but ultimately unimportant.
The other things were more important.
He'd pulled back to look at me and I realized I was shouting at him. Good. Because the look on his face was one of savage satisfaction.
I wasn't wrong. Whatever he turned into, not after I left, for now, Mark was dangerous.
I waited for him to lean down again, biting at my lips, licking at me. Then I lunged upward and caught his lip between my teeth, biting as hard as the act would allow. Because it was horrible. Because I didn't want to bite it off. Because I'd once loved him.
But mostly because his blood started to flow and I yanked my head away, spitting. He'd reared back, shocked and spraying blood. Now he started to dive in again and I tucked my chin and threw my head forward, headbutting him and catching him under the chin.
I had no idea how soccer players used their heads even once. It fucking hurt, probably hurting me as much as it did him. My only advantage was I'd known I was going to do it.
His head snapped back. I followed it up, toppling him over backwards. He sprawled on the couch, kicking at me, grabbing. I let him grab hold of my arm because he was going to get hold of something and my left arm was less important to me than my right.
There are lots of pieces of advice about avoiding rape. The one that should never be on a list is to kick a man between his legs. Men protect that area. With good reason.
He was still kicking but I stood between his thighs. He was on his back, but because he had a hand to his mouth and the other on my biceps, he was open and defenseless.
I didn't kick him. That wouldn't have been feasible or safe. Or exact. Or possibly possible.
I punched him. A very technically precise TaeKwon-Do strike.
He made something like a scream and doubled up around his genitals. I no longer had any feeling that those had been parts of his anatomy that had once mattered to me. Once all of Mark had mattered to me.
Not anymore. And one of the reasons was that I now mattered to me. Astonishing or not, becoming the sexual submissive of Cole St. Martin had somehow given me back myself.
I didn't stay to take a victory lap. I didn't feel like it had been a victory. Just a necessity. I started to lean close to him but there was no one present but us. So I stood out of range and said, "If you ever come near me again, me or anyone in my family, or anyone I'm associated with, I will kill you."
