The Arrangement 10

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Reaching forward, he wets a washcloth before putting soap on it. “Hands,” he says, and I give them to him, holding them out like he’s going to handcuff me. Sean flips them over and washes each one carefully, while he speaks. “I am old. Besides, you know your mind. I wish you weren’t so afraid to speak it.”
I nearly double over with laughter. “You think that’s the problem? That I don’t want to tell you what I think? I can tell you. Believe me, that’s not it.”
“Okay,” he says, as he abandons the washcloth and dumps more shower gel into his hands, “tell me where you wanted me to kiss you before.” His palms land on my upper arms and work the gel into a lather. Oh my God, it feels good.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t decided. Either right breast or, uh—”
“Say it.” His voice is commanding, like he’ll whip me if I don’t confess this second.
“Between my legs?” Why did that sound like a question?
Sean smirks as his hands rub soap over my stomach and up to my ribs. “I can get you to say exactly what you’re thinking without any hesitation at all. I just—”
That makes me laugh. “No you can’t. That’s a bunch of bullsheeee.” My voice jumps an octave when his fingers wrap around my nipples and squeeze. My chin drops and I squeal as my back arches toward his hands. The touch is pure agony because he keeps his distance on the other side of the tub. I can’t rock my hips against his and there’s no outlet for the torture between my legs.
“What were you saying?” Sean smiles devilishly as water splashes up onto his bare chest. The only thing I can think about is licking each drop off with my tongue. I have no idea what he was talking about. “Oh, yes, tell me where you wanted my mouth during that kiss.” He rubs his fingers, pressing gently, watching my eyes as he does.
My mouth opens into a wide O and I squeak. “Between my legs.”
He shakes his head. “Not good enough.” His fingers clamp down like vices on my tender flesh.
Gasping, I try to pull away from him, but it just makes it worse. Pleasure and pain responses are firing through my brain like a lightning storm. He needs to let go or do more to sate my lust. Sean catches my eye and is watching me closely. I know he likes to see the pain dancing across my face, but he doesn’t take things too far. Not this time.
I’m making noises that will haunt me in daylight, and am close to hopping—what’s that about?—but I don’t answer him the way he wants, so he starts to twist. Oh. My. God. Suddenly the shower feels like fingers all over my skin and I gasp again and again as he tightens his grip. Coils of heat shoot through my core and my knees buckle, but Sean doesn’t allow me to dip. He holds me in place by my breasts, with his dark eyes on my face, fixated, and expressionless.
“Tell me,” he commands, as his hands twist both nipples in the same direction while increasing the pressure. I want to say it. I do, but I can’t talk like that when I’m not in the heat of the moment. It’s wrong or something. But my poor tatas are going to be stuck in a corkscrew shape if I don’t talk soon. “Say it.” He commands me again and twists the other way, increasing pressure as he does so.
“Pussy!” I blurt out. “I wanted you to kiss my pussy and lick me--hard.” The last word catches in my throat. I don’t look up at him. Saying stuff like that, out loud, to Sean, is unthinkable. I’m caught between pleasure and pain, somewhere between heaven and hell, with this beautifully twisted man watching streams of water flow over my body.
Sean doesn’t show any emotion, instead he slowly untwists my nipples and eases up on the pressure, but he doesn’t let go. I glance up at him. As if he can read my mind, he explains, “It’ll hurt more if I just let go.”
“More than before?”
He nods and then asks, “Why can’t you just take what you want?”
I can’t shrug because his hands are still on my breasts, holding me. “Why do you have to manipulate me? Why can’t you just say you want to fuck me?”
“Because I don’t want to fuck you.” He releases more pressure and then let’s go. Those blue eyes burn like twin flames.
My breasts ache because of what he did and because he’s gone. “Yeah, you want to own me. I got it and I’m not for sale. Well, I am, but that’s more like renting than buying me.” I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m mad he did that and angry that he got a confession that was so deep, so fast, and then he says he’s not interested.
I lift my hand to slap him in the face. Every single time the man grabs my wrist and stops me, but not this time. There’s a loud crack when my wet palm lands on his cheek. His sapphire eyes stare at me without remorse as I slip my hand away. “I don’t want to buy you. I don’t want to fuck you. Ask me why, Avery.”
I’m trembling, wondering what came over him. The water is hot, but I shiver anyway and look away. “No.” I can’t fathom why or what he wants. Not after everything we’ve been through. I want to cry. He doesn’t want me at all anymore? He just wants to cause me pain? I can’t deal with this.
“No?” He sounds shocked. “You can’t say no.”
“Yes, I can and I just did.” He’s looking at me like he wants to throw me through the wall. I plaster my arms across my nipples so he can’t make me say anything else I’ll regret.
Sean’s gaze drops for a moment. When he looks back up, his eyes flash. “If that’s the way you want it.”
I’ve won. He’s backing down. Sean turns around and opens the bathroom door. He’s leaving, but then he turns back and grins wolfishly before stepping into the shower with me. I screech as the water sprays everywhere. It streams down his cheeks and plasters his hair to his face, as Sean presses my back into the cold tile wall.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I try to move, but he pins me. “Ask me why.” His eyes search mine and I’m no longer sure what he’s going to say. “Ask me why I don’t want a fuck, or why I don’t want to buy you. Ask me why I don’t want to share you with Black or anyone else. Ask me why my dick is hard and I’m still wearing pants, pressing my body against the most beautiful woman in existence. Ask me why she’s naked and I’m not. Ask me, Avery. Ask me anything. I’m begging you.” There’s a soft plea in his voice that nearly breaks me, but I can’t bear to hear his answer.
I don’t want to talk and I’m afraid of what he has to say, I’m afraid it’s horrible and I can’t take more bad news without falling apart. I want him to take me in his arms and pull me against his chest. I want to sleep with him beside me and pretend that my life isn’t falling apart.
The question I ask eases the fear that’s strangling me. Looking up into his eyes, I press my lips together and say, “Can you hold me?”
Sean pulls me into his arms and holds on tight. The water continues to pour over us, and he stays like that with me, until I ask to move to the bed. We crawl under the covers, Sean in boxers, and me totally naked. He wraps his arms around me and lets me nuzzle against his chest. I’m in forbidden territory and I don’t know how I got here. Resisting the urge to touch, I close my eyes and try to sleep.
Something changed. I can feel it, I just don’t know what.
CHAPTER 7
Sean needs to head out to Long Island and I manage to talk him into returning me to my dorm for an hour or so. My argument for doing so was ironclad. I have no clothes. No, he can’t buy me more because I need some specific things—girl things for work—and they’re in my dorm. Plus, I need my books and all the crap I photocopied for my term project. That thing is due at the end of the week.
Sean hesitates when we finally pull up in front of the dorm. “I don’t like this Avery.”
I slip off the back of his bike and shuck my helmet. My hair is plastered to my head and I’m sure I have that greasy used car salesman thing going on. “Sean, I know you’re worried about me, but Mel is up there. And have you met Amber? Evil guys are afraid of hags. She’s vile. No one will mess with me while the two of them are there. It’s not like I’m walking down a dark alley alone, on Halloween, with an axe murderer on the loose. I’m not TSTL.”
“What does that mean?”
“Too stupid to live.” I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. “What, do you live in a cave?” I make a roaring sound and claw a pretend paw at him. His head tilts to the side and he’s ready to get off the bike. Pressing my hands to his, I add, “Seriously, Sean. Treat me like an adult even if I don’t sound like one. If I don’t take care of myself—at least a little bit—I’ll go crazy. This is so minor. It’s day time. It’s a freakin’ dorm.”
Sean glances up at the building again and back at me. “Fine, but I’ll come up with you.” He puts his kickstand down and starts to turn off the bike, but I stop him.
“No, you’re not. Sean, you have something to do. Go do it as fast as you can, and when you come back, I’ll be packed and ready. You said you’d be right down the street. I can call you if I need help. I promise.”
After a lot more groveling and pleading, Sean finally agrees to let me go inside by myself. He’ll be back in a heartbeat if I need him, and he makes me swear to call him if something isn’t right.
The truth is, nothing’s right. Last night I laid in bed with him and it was perfect, in a surreal sort of way. I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and it wasn’t weird. It didn’t feel forced. I didn’t care what I looked like. It was more about how I felt, and with Sean’s strong arms around me, I felt good. It makes my stomach churn to think of the desperation in his eyes when he wanted me to ask him why I was out of bounds. I don’t want to know. I can play make-believe a while longer, can’t I?
When does pretending become a mental illness? I’ve had to pretend day in and day out that I’m fine, that I’m not falling apart. How is this any different? Sean’s my friend. I can live with that. Sort of. It’s unfair for me to expect more from him. Sean’s the way he is for a reason. He isn’t asking me to leave my baggage behind, not that I could. Besides, it’s not really baggage. It’s more like scars. Those don’t go away no matter what kind of high priced goop you slather on them. Some people say scars build character, but I think they make weak points in my suit of armor and the more scars that appear over my heart, the more likely I am to skewer myself and never get up. There’s no way to get through the day without that suit. Some people call that suit sanity, others call it the ability to deal with life. Either way, I know mine has been etched away, as if acid has been placed over my heart for years on end. The piece that protects my heart is paper-thin and too weak to protect me from much more.