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20
Carrigan
When I’m around Carson I swear food tastes better. The plate full of rich nutty chicken, noodles, and veggies is delicious and before I’m even aware that I’ve done it, I’ve eaten every bite. I understand hunger far too well, but I’m not familiar with this warm feeling of fullness I get whenever I eat with Carson. It might just be that the food he eats is so bad for me that I’m bloated and full of carbs and sugar, but for the first time I’m starting to understand the enjoyment in good food.
Until him, I thought boys were simple. My mom explained how to play with them, how to tease, to coax, to lead them around with promises that I was never going to fulfil. But Carson isn’t like any of the rest of them. He doesn’t react the way he should.
When I’m the Carrigan I was taught to be, he’s cold and disinterested, but then when I feel at my weakest, in the moments that I’m too sad and pathetic and feeble to be the person I’m expected to be, he’s sweet and affectionate.
I don’t understand.
“When you’re acting like you think Carrigan Archibald ought to act, I call you Carrigan. When you’re acting like the girl who gave me her virginity, the one I want to be around, the one I can’t keep away from, I call you Priss.”
Those were his words, like I have a split personality or something, like I can control it.
Fitzy’s been asking me questions all through dinner, but I don’t know what answers they expect me to give. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I like, all I am is who I was told to be, but I can’t admit that.
“Right,” Fitzy announces, pushing off his stool with a bright smile. “I didn’t know your exact measurements, so some of the things I bought won’t fit, but how about we try some things on, so you can see if you like them?” he suggests.
“Okay, thank you.”
“I have a few more bits that I think might work in the car, I’ll just go grab them and the changing screen,” he says, as he disappears back outside.
When it’s just Carson and me, I feel the weight of his eyes on me and this pressure to be who he wants me to be settles on my shoulders. Sometimes being near him is easy, but other times like now it’s hard. I don’t know what he expects of me. He likes to be in charge and like earlier when I was feeling weak, I needed him to take control. But he’s not my friend or boyfriend or fiancé, he’s just someone I have sex with and I need to remember that.
Sliding off my stood, I look around the small kitchen space. At home we had staff to collect plates and do whatever they do with them, but I haven’t seen anyone here other than him on either occasion I’ve been here. “Thank you for dinner,” I say politely. “Do you have a dishwasher, or something?” I ask, feeling foolish.
“Have you ever used a dishwasher?” he asks, his lips quirking up into a smile.
“No, but—”
“Come here baby,” he says, beckoning me toward him.
Sighing I stay put, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Look Carson.”
“No,” he says decisively, cutting me off before I have a chance to speak. “I like you Priss.”
“All of me, or just the Priss parts?” I ask, shocking myself.
Reaching out, he snags my wrist, encircling it with his fingers and then slowly reeling me toward him. “I like you when you’re disarmed, when you’re not playing games, when you’re real. I like your body, I like the way you melt beneath me, and next to me, whenever I have my hands on you. I like how soft you are when you let that hard, practiced shell dissolve. I like that you let me take charge and that you like it too. I don’t want or need anything from you, I just fucking like you Carrigan,” he says, oh so softly, his lips a hairs breath away from mine.
“I—”
His lips press against mine before I can speak again and he kisses me, slowly moving his mouth against mine in a way that’s different to the others we’ve shared. This kiss isn’t about lust or want, it feels more indulgent, like he’s kissing me just because he likes me and he wants to and I don’t ever want it to stop.
The noise of a throat being cleared shatters the moment and I go to lurch away from him, but he doesn’t let me, kissing me for a moment longer before he slowly pulls his lips from mine, still holding me close as he turns his attention to Fitzy.
“You ready to pick some clothes?” Fitzy says, with a smirk.
“Sure,” I say, with a nod, reluctantly stepping away from Carson.
Fitzy sets up a large screen in the corner of the living room area and motions for me to step behind it. “Okay, Carson told me your size, and I’m a pretty good judge, so I think these should fit,” he says, handing me a bra and panties set made of pale blue satin, edged with soft lace.
It’s not a color I’d normally wear, but once it’s on I love the way it looks against my skin and I’m amazed to find it fits perfectly.
“Right, since we spoke about dresses I thought we could start there,” Fitzy says from the other side of the screen a moment before a garment bag appears.
Unzipping it I pull out a deep emerald green dress and slip it over my head. Fitted around my torso, it has capped sleeves and flares slightly from the waist with a triangular cut out section that reveals a small glimpse of the skin between my breasts and stomach. It’s exactly something my mom would choose.
