Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (33 page)

Calvin stared at the wound, biting his lower lip, debating how to answer the question.

“Is it what I think it is?” I asked, heart aching for him. I thought of the emptied trashcan and the razor inside the mirror. Tears stung my eyes as the truth became clear. He met my gaze, but didn’t speak. “Did you do this to yourself?”

He nodded, just once, and then dropped his eyes to his hands in his lap.

“Oh, Calvin,” I breathed. “Why?”

When he spoke, his voice was distant. “It started when I was young, when my dad went after my mom with the belt before he turned on me. When I first heard her scream, I was six. I was in my room, playing on the floor when I heard the yelping.
Please
, she begged,
please stop
. I’d never felt the pain I did that day, listening to her cry, knowing I was too small to stop it. As if someone had reached in my chest and grabbed hold of my heart, squeezing until I cried out too.

“It was a relief when he came after me. The pain felt good, something that finally authenticated the suffering. When I felt the burn of the belt across my shoulders, I couldn’t feel the pain in my heart, only the searing heat on my bare back.”

“So, you cut yourself after he hit you?” I asked.

“No.” Calvin shook his head. “I didn’t have to. It was only after I moved in with Donna that I discovered I needed to.”

“But your dad was in jail then,” I said, confused. “Didn’t you finally feel safe?”

Calvin choked out a mangled laugh. “Safe has a whole different meaning when your family is as fucked up as mine, Sabrina. I did feel safer, at first. But then, I found out, believe it or not, things that made it all even worse than it was.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a moment of silence, and when he spoke, his voice was flat, detached. “When I was eleven, Donna told me she thought I was old enough to know everything. She wouldn’t lie to me, she said, said I deserved to know what really happened.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She explained that my dad was married to her sister, Caroline. Caroline and Ray, my dad, had Rachel. Ray always loved his liquor, Donna told me, but he never laid a hand on Caroline or Rachel; he loved those girls with all his heart. But when Rachel was six, Caroline was diagnosed with breast cancer and was dead within six months of finding the lump.
Then, when Rachel was fifteen, she started wearing baggy clothes, started to swell up. She was six months pregnant before Donna realized what was happening.”

“You mean…”

“It was Rachel who was my mother, Sabrina,” he said.

“Wait,” I said, horrified. “You don’t mean that your dad…?”

Calvin nodded curtly. “Yes.”

“My God,” I whispered embracing him. “And this is why you cut yourself?”

“I haven’t done it in a while. But somehow, the physical pain made the emotional pain more bearable.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and I realized I was crying. “How awful!”

Calvin’s face was stony. “I could rationalize an alcoholic; I could rationalize the abuse, but the rape? How do you endure something like that? I mean, this man is my father. We share the same
blood
. How do you live with yourself?”

I shook my head, not knowing what to say.

“My mother lived with her rapist for eight years. Eight years she looked him in the face. For
me
.” He fell silent, and the only thing audible was the grinding of his teeth, jaw clenching furiously. “And God, when she looked at
my
face, Sabrina, she probably saw him then too.”

Finally, he spoke, but his eyes still stared forward. “Now, you know everything. What do you think of me now?”

My heart writhed in pain. “The same thing I’ve always thought,” I said softly. “That you’re the most resilient man I’ve ever met.” I put my hand to his face, cold to the touch. “I’m so sorry you went through that.” I swallowed. “Do you… do you wish Donna hadn’t told you?”

“No,” he said. “I needed to know. Needed to know what kind of man he was. I needed to know the truth,” he repeated. “I’m thankful she had the courage to tell me.” His shoulders sagged with the release of his secret. “And I would have found out. It was inevitable. I would have noticed a birth certificate of my mother’s sometime. Somewhere along the line. It was better to find out then, from Donna, than have it surprise me later in life.”

“You’re nothing like him,” I said urgently, realizing he wrestled with that uncertainty constantly.

“What if I am?” he asked, voice cracking, deepest fear etched into his face.

“You aren’t, Calvin. I promise you that.” I wiped away a tear from the corner of my eye.
How could he think that?

“I need to be alone right now,” he spoke softly, almost to himself.

“Calvin, I’m here for you.” I grabbed his arm. “Let me in; I want to help you through this.”

When he looked at me, I ached for him, desperate to erase his sadness. “I’m sorry, Sabrina. I just need to be by myself.”

He untangled his arm from my hand and stood, raking his fingers through his hair. Taking one look back at me, he attempted to smile, a heart-breaking, unsuccessful attempt. “I appreciate your concern. I really do.”

I watched him walk back toward the house, growing smaller and smaller, disappearing into the hazy mist. I exhaled, overwhelmed by his admission. I couldn’t stand my father, but the thought of learning he was a rapist was unfathomable. What would that be like, growing up knowing you were a product of an unspeakable act of violence? Dreading even the simplest question about your parents. Worrying that you too were capable of such unforgivable actions. No wonder he steeled himself from the world, barricaded himself behind an impassive mask of stoicism. He had to. He always had to.

A raindrop hit the tip of my nose, and I looked up, letting the water peck at my face. It began to rain in earnest, as if the clouds could no longer contain their sorrow. I pulled my knees to my chest as the droplets soaked through my shirt, chilling me to the bone. I stared into the black water, wishing I knew a way to ease his pain.

Chapter 20

Calvin looked at me, his eyes narrowed in thought. He wore a strange expression I’d never seen. Was he confused? I’d never seen him look confused, so I had no idea. There is a set of expressions regular people use, and then there were Calvin’s expressions. His expressions were an art form. He had clearly long since decided that the standard scowl and cruel smile were not up to his standards, and so he decided to improve them on the canvas of his face. For example, when a regular man scowls, he was making it clear that he was angry or annoyed. When my master scowled, there was no indication of how he felt. He was like a statue. You didn’t look at a statue to understand how the statue felt; you looked at it to see what it could tell you about yourself.

His entire body was like that—he seemed built to command. His arms didn’t need to hold me down to get me to stop resisting. One look at them warned that he could make me bend any way he chose. His smooth, muscular chest didn’t need a sign to tell you to caress and kiss it. It was meant to be touched. It was like a solid wall, and it was there for you to spread your fingers over. His cock was, of course, his most expressive part. If he had a weakness, a bit of him that betrayed his innermost feelings, it was the huge column between his legs. It twitched when you tickled it just right. It grew when you wrapped your lips around it tightly. Even still, it was like the rest of him—it trained you to obey his wants. What woman could ever resist seeing such a man’s cock jump at her touch? Once you learned a new trick for pleasing it, you felt the overwhelming need to perfect it on him.

I wormed my way closer to him on the bed. Neither of us was naked, and he hadn’t grabbed me or told me to do anything. In the absence of his orders, I decided to curl around him and rest my head on his chest. I let my hand spider crawl under his shirt, over his toned stomach, under his pants, and through the trimmed patch of hair over the softness of his half-erect cock. As soon as my hands slipped around his shaft, I felt life jump into its muscles.

“Master?”

“Sabrina?” he replied.
“Let’s forget what we just talked about and enjoy ourselves, okay?” His voice sounded calm, but quieter than usual. I slid my hand up the skin of his cock. The velvet softness of it was the sort that made you want to rub it against your cheek. It seemed a waste that such a magnificent part of him only ever touched four places on my body.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“For what?”

“Changing my life.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, but I could tell he was pleased. We were by our very nature dramatic. We played out scenes and said our safe word in lieu of a director yelling, “Cut!” We adopted personas; we played roles. Was it so dramatic to say that he had swept me off my feet and taken me somewhere I had never dreamed of? That wasn’t dramatic; it was just true. I pulled up his shirt and marveled at his perfect chest.

My lips spread over his nipple as he grew in my hand. I let my tongue dart over it, enjoying how he almost tried to turn away from it. No doubt, it felt as good for him as it always did for me. Still, I didn’t want to push my luck. If I didn’t do as I knew he wanted, I would find myself quickly pinned to the bed with something huge inside me. Much as I knew I’d love that, I wanted to try to please him without his doing a thing.

I let my lips kiss down his side, instead, and I slowly crawled backward kissing successively farther down him as I moved. I heard him breathe a bit harder, and I gave his cock a long, tight stroke with my hand. It twitched with pleasure. I kissed his hipbone. I felt a shiver run through his skin. My hand worked him again, and this time, when its grip caught under the flared head of his cock, I dropped my mouth over him and let my tongue lick the tip like a lollipop.

Soon, I was swept up in a bobbing rhythm. My fingers curled around his balls, teasing and cradling them roughly. My tongue pushed cruelly against the underside of his manhood with each stroke of my lips. I felt his thickness push my throat to its limits repeatedly, creating a feeling of warmth and fullness that was almost orgasmic in itself. There was nothing like sucking on my master’s cock. Knowing that it brought him pleasure, that
I
brought him pleasure, was a source of pride I couldn’t match anywhere else in my life. It was a strange feeling. I’d never considered myself all that perverted or lewd; yet, I knew that my place in the world was between this man’s legs. Regardless of where or when, whether he was dominating me or I was teasing him—this was where I wanted to be.

I moaned into the skin between my lips. The vibrations ran up his cock, and I felt his back curl. His hand reached for the back of my head, and I closed my eyes, feeling the fingers spread through my hair. It was like wearing my collar—it felt constricting and, paradoxically, liberating. In the end, its effect was only to make me fellate him faster. I teased his head, slid my tongue in swirls around it; I sucked on his balls and nipped at his skin. Despite his hold over my head, he did nothing to stop me. That, I think, made me proudest.

After a few minutes, though, he had enough. I could feel his skin growing warmer and warmer. I had hoped beyond hope that I could come close to finishing him with my mouth, but when his hand pulled me off him, I knew I had at least worked him up enough that he would reward me. I expected the rough treatment, and I took a deep breath to ready myself. Would he spank me before taking me? Or pull out some of his toys? No, he only used those in his dungeons. As I puzzled over what would happen to me next, he laid me down on my back. I began to remove my clothes for him, but he stopped me and put both my hands over my head. He wrapped my fingers around a bar on his headboard and looked me in the eyes.

“You are not to let go,” he ordered.

What rapture it was to know he cared enough about me to do little things like that. Beyond all the physicality of his dominance, the real beauty in him was in his considerate nature. He was a wildly dualistic man, at once obsessed with being served and serving. Only in a situation like ours could two disparate objectives intertwine so perfectly. Sex was the most beautiful thing because, with the right lover, pleasing yourself and pleasing your partner are the same. Calvin epitomized that in my life, and I loved that about him most of all.

“Yes, master.”

“And hold on tight,” he added.

With a powerful tug, he wrenched at my blouse, sending the material screaming as it tore under his powerful hands. I gasped as he threw the tattered remains of my top over his shoulder and wrenched off my bra. My breasts spilled in front of him, my pants still on. He dove his head between them and began to lick at my skin. Being bared before him so roughly was obscenely erotic. The one man who really could draw out the deepest, darkest parts of me deserved to disrobe me so fiercely. It just felt right. I moaned and tightened my grip on the bar as he pulled at my nipples with his lips. My eyes were half-lidded.

“My… pants,” I breathed. I wanted to be naked for him, but I couldn’t move my hands. He grabbed my crotch and began to stroke me through the fabric. I could feel him spreading my wetness over my skin, soiling my panties. I didn’t care. It felt amazing to have Calvin, my master, touch me with such lustful desire—there was nothing comparable. I bucked my hips desperately, trying to push him harder into me, trying to feel more of what he tried to give. Then, he kissed me.

It was strangely soft. Again, I felt off balance by how tender he was. The delicacy of his touch was as teasingly ticklish as anything I’d ever felt. I felt like a little girl kissing a boy for the first time, only without the awkwardness. Just when I thought Calvin had shown me all his quirks… His hands unbuttoned my jeans, and he roughly pulled them from my legs. I moaned in delight with each tug. The cruelty of his hands mocked the caress of his kiss, and I was so confused by the paradox that my only recourse was to lie back and take them both.

That’s what he did to me—he made me submit. I loved it. I craved it. The only problem before had been that there were no men worth submitting to. No longer. I had found my man. He was a muscle-bound god on Earth. He had magic in his fingertips. He made me want to jump and sit at the same time, and that constant struggle to obey and to take sent my mind into chaos that he abused in exactly the right ways.

My pants flew to the floor. I let my legs spread and blushed when I saw his wandering eyes. I had no desire to cover myself. I wanted this. I wanted him to know every inch of my flesh and claim it all for himself. I slid my hands over my skin and massaged my breasts, inviting him to play. I brushed my fingers over my pussy and moaned like a whore while he watched. I could see his cock bulging lewdly from his pants. I wanted it in me so badly.

“…
master
,” I whimpered. That did the trick. His eyes widened like an eagle’s about to dive for a kill. His clothes flew off his body. He bared that thick chest, those bulky arms, his tight abs, and his toned legs. His smile was like a demon’s, and his cock…well, it was flawless—a long, thick column of hard muscle straight as an arrow with a head that simply looked too big to fit. But it did fit.

I lifted my legs, and he threw them over his shoulders. His cock slid inside me with such little ado that I nearly screamed with delight. I felt myself widen to let him in, and the friction between us sent my back arching and my fingers digging for purchase on whatever bits of sheets they could curl. He leaned forward, and my legs bent back. Each thrust went deeper, opened me up wider, felt better, and made me wilder. Yet for all the intensity, I could not have called it rough. I looked up and noticed he was staring into my eyes. Only then, when I met his gaze, did I begin to feel truly exposed before him. I felt the room around us fade. Each thrust still felt brilliant, and I was still completely aroused, but another feeling began to take over, and I was confused at first as to what feeling it was.

His hand cupped my cheek. It was warm. Its palm and fingers slid up to my brow, threaded itself into my tousled hair, and stroked my head. His eyes never left mine. I realized that there was nothing left in the world, but the two of us—he atop, me below. This was how our lives were supposed to be. This was how we fit, like two parts of a whole person united by a single, long stare. I was lost, subsumed by that feeling of connection with him. He felt it too; I knew that as well as I knew my feelings. It was miraculous, magical, as though I could feel the neurons firing in his brain telling his hips to move and telling his cock to feel pleasure. I sensed his mood, his emotions, his need to dominate me, his need to control and pleasure, and his need to be adored. I fit him as well as he fit me. I was the piece he had been missing, and he knew I knew it.

He struggled to break our eye contact, and when he did, the entire world rushed back to me. I gasped for air and realized I’d been holding my breath. He pulled out of me and removed my hands from the headboard. His lips kissed down my stomach as he crawled back to let my legs fall from his shoulders. When his tongue found my clit, I was ready for him. I gently curled my hips as he began to feast on my skin. Each lick sent a spasm of sensation through my core, and I began to pant like a dog. He went fast, striking at my sensitive button repeatedly, nearly making me jump from the overwhelming assault. I curled up and grabbed his head, not to show dominance, but to hold on for dear life. I stared at the wall on the other side of his room blankly, gasping madly and grinding into his lips. He penetrated me with his tongue, and the feeling was just as good as his cock. It was so soft, so fast.

The orgasm came, and I nearly doubled over in pleasure. I felt myself bucking into his mouth, hard, and his tongue teased me so much that I was nearly in pain. I cried out, closing my eyes and losing myself in the waves of pleasure that shook my body. He licked my thighs clean as I collapsed back on to the bed, exhausted and glowing with warmth.

“Calvin,” I said, as he crawled up beside me and scooped me in a hug. “I want to feel you orgasm in me.” I could have said more, or differently, but I hadn’t. He deserved the truth. He’d earned it. He didn’t answer and only held me tighter. I didn’t care. I’d told him. He knew. That was all that mattered. If he chose to give me such a gift, I knew I would be the happiest of women. If he didn’t, I knew he had a good reason.

In his arms, I nodded off to sleep. How could I not? He was my comfort place. When I woke, who knows how many minutes or hours later, he was gone. I leaned up to look around the room, but nothing had been disturbed. I checked the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen. It wasn’t until I passed by a mirror that I realized I was naked. I blushed and scurried back to the bedroom, ducking under windows and steering away from as many doorways as possible. When I stepped into the bedroom, I saw a figure leaning over the bed and quickly covered myself. It was probably Calvin, but just in case…

“I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have something for you. I bought it for you, but I wasn’t sure when to give it. Here.”

He handed me a beautiful gown, black but almost completely sheer. I cradled it like a baby, admiring the smoothness of the silk. If felt so soft. I put it on and noticed the sides featured sexy slits, cuts along the fabric that reached halfway up my thighs. I slipped it on and looked demurely up at Calvin. He stared at me with a look of hunger I knew very well.

I stepped closer to him, rubbing the fabric against his still exposed chest. I let him feel my hard nipples, clearly visible underneath the fabric, slide over him, and I leaned in to nip at his ear.