Merciless

Chapter 6, Part 2

Austin

"Forced fantasies," she repeats slowly, as though trying to wrap her brain around it, and I have no doubt that's exactly what she's doing. It's probably the last thing she expected me to say, and now she doesn't know how to react.

I angle myself to better face her but make sure to keep my hands to myself. "It's not anything I need every time, or even most of the time, and normally I keep my urges in hard check unless I know the woman I'm with is into the same thing. But with you..." I take a breath and hope to Christ I'm not fucking this all up. "I don't know, it's like my defenses slipped and my urges crept in under the radar. I pinned you down harder, but as soon as I felt you push back I snapped out of it. That's why I needed to cool off a minute." She sits silently, the wheels turning behind her intelligent eyes. "Emi, say something. Please."

After a few painful moments, she says, "Would it be okay if I sat with you while we talked? I don't like this distance."

Relief rushes through me like a tidal wave. If she was disgusted by my confession, she wouldn't want to sit next to me, right? "I don't like it either. Come on." I lift my arm, expecting her to tuck into my side, but she bypasses that in favor of curling up on my lap like a kitten and lays her head against my shoulder. Wrapping my arms around her, I rest my cheek on the top of her head.

"I have a confession to make," she says, "and it's kind of embarrassing for a girl my age."

"You're in luck, because this is a judgement free zone. You can tell me anything you like, sweetheart. I won't think less of you, I promise."

She exhales, her warm breath fanning over my bare chest, and an image of us wrapped up in bed together pops into my mind. It's one I hope I get to experience for real someday, but I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch.

"I'm first-generation American. My mom was from France and my dad is from Italy, and they were complete opposites, making them a bit of an odd couple. But one thing they had in common was being raised in strict homes, and living in America didn't change those parts of them.

"I grew up extremely sheltered. I was home schooled, so my only socialization came from fellow dance students, cotillion classes where I learned how to be a lady, and attending charity balls with my parents. And sex was never discussed. Everything I learned came from health class and my partners over the years. Which is all to say, I know next to nothing when it comes to the world of kink."

Taking that all in, I rub two fingers over the beard growth on my chin. "Okay, let's do this: why don't you tell me what you do know, and I'll try to fill in any gaps."

"For the sake of argument, let's say I'm completely ignorant. Explain what forced fantasies means for you."

"It means that I get turned on by really rough sex, to the point of pretending that I'm forcing my partner."

She sits up so she can look at me. "Like rape?"

I wince. "Yeah, but I hate using that word. To me, that word is used exclusively for the real thing, when someone is assaulted in real life. I never use that word even for when I play, which is what I call when I'm acting out the fantasies with a woman."

She bites the corner of her lip, and her brows draw in. Already I've learned this is how she looks when she's thinking about something.

"Emi, I know it sounds extreme, but I would never, ever hurt or force a woman in real life. And there's no secret trauma in my past that explains why I'm into this stuff. I just am. It took me years to fully accept this about myself, so I don't expect you to necessarily be okay with it after five minutes, or ever. Like I said before, I don't need to have that kind of sex. I started to slip with you, but it won't happen again. We can stick to fast and frenzied."