Page 44 of Hurts So Good
“Bend over,” he says. Now he is all rock.
I fold like paper, waiting for his hand. Red ink on white skin, marking me, slicing me open, once again.
ALL IN THE WRIST
Alison Tyler
You throw like a girl,” Elijah said, sneering from over his bottle of beer.
“I am a girl.”
“But you don’t have to throw like one.”
I turned my head to give him my best fuck-you glare, which he ignored, his dark blue eyes focused instead on the way I stood facing the dartboard. He didn’t seem impressed. One last swallow from the dark green bottle, and then he slid off the leather bar stool and came to stand behind me. His arms snuck around my waist as if to embrace rather than to instruct. “See? Like this,” positioning my hand, pulling my elbow back. I shut my eyes as I felt his strong body against mine.
We hadn’t slept together yet.
For six long months, we’d been engaged in that push-me pull-you dance. His teasing, flirtatious glances kept me up at night as I replayed each moment of our meetings. Double-enten-dres drenched every conversation. I always felt off-balance in his presence, as if I couldn’t get proper footing. Now here he was, taking charge yet again.
“Some people aim from the ear,” he explained, “but I like to line the shot up from the nose.” His hand on my arm felt warm as he adjusted my stance. A tremor ran through me. “Now pull your arm back and throw.”
How could I? Not when his cock was pressed against my ass like that—why had I worn a dress this thin? Why had fuchsia G-string panties seemed like a good idea? Elijah’s chest pressed firmly into my back. I thought of the way he looked in his once-black jeans and crimson Sex Pistols T-shirt.
Forget God Save the Queen.
Who was going to save me?
When I opened my eyes, I caught our reflection in the window next to the dartboard: he looked like someone who knew how to play darts. But he also looked like someone who might steal your wallet if you left the bag open by his side. What had Trish said about him when he’d first walked through the door to our office?
“Hold onto your panties, honey. This boy’s trouble.”
I’d been typing a letter, focused on telling the little MacWindow icon to go fuck itself, and hadn’t turned to look at Elijah until he had draped himself over the counter in front of my desk, package for my boss in his hand, leather wrist cuffs right at my eye level.
The sight of those cuffs had made me wet, and I’d turned into a stuttering fool as I’d signed for the package, trying not to stare at the pounded leather yet wondering what the cuffs would feel like tight around my own wrists.
“Come on,” Elijah insisted now, words low in my ear. “You’ll hit the bull’s-eye if you shoot like I explained.”
I took a deep breath and felt a shudder work through me. “Move away,” I told him. “Let me have a little room.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “See? The proper positioning has given you attitude you didn’t have before.” He didn’t move, though. I could still feel his heat, bleeding through his clothes to me. “Now, remember. It’s all in the wrist.”
“So you said,” I snapped, feeling the way my body wanted to mold to his. The way I could have set the dart down, spun around, and let him lift me up, so that my legs would part automatically around his flat waist. I could see the position easily: His hands cradling my ass, holding me steady. But my submission was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That’s what he expected.
“Step back, Elijah,” I insisted. “I can’t throw when you’re breathing down my neck.” My competitive nature refused to allow me to buckle. I couldn’t let him win so easily.
“Like this?” his breath silky on my skin. Then his lips, pressed soft at the curve of my shoulder. Why had I worn a sundress on this date? I should have put on jeans and a turtleneck, covering up from neck to ankle. I’d seen the way he’d looked at me each time he dropped off a package, knew the way my body responded to those sultry glances.
“He’s into leather,” Trish had said, stating the obvious. “Did you see those cuffs?”
I’d swallowed hard and tried to act nonchalant, but all I’d been able to think of were the cuffs on his wrists, cuffs he might put on my wrists, snapped together, attaching the two.
“And you know what boys into leather are like.”
“What are they like?” I’d asked, staring at Elijah through the window to the street. Watching him straddle his bike.
“Kinky little fuckers,” Trish said smugly. “You can see what he wants to do to you. It’s all in the eyes.”
I hadn’t wanted to tell her she was wrong. It was all in the wrists. Once securely cuffed, I’d be his, wouldn’t I? His to do with whatever he desired.