Page 23 of Salt Kiss
It’s strange to me that Mark would have a submissive who’s nothere, but then again, he might have many at Lyonesse to play with in the meantime.
“This must be someone new,” Andrea continues, her tone musing. “But I’m glad he’s found a way to blow off steam. He’s too busy playing the king of the castle in the evenings to make use of our club subs, and now that Strassburg’s gone, I don’t know how he’s managing. Or how we’re going to manage in the long run because he’s a fucking nightmare when he’s not able to scene. Or screw.”
She looks up and sees me staring at her.
“So it’s true, then,” I say. “He and Strassburg...”
“Oh yes. Not publicly, because Strassburg was worried about how being a submissive would affect his reputation as a bodyguard. But for private needs, yes. Mark used him.”
Used him. The words nearly make my knees buckle. God, what is happening to me?
“I see,” I manage faintly.
Andrea eyes me for a moment, and I see the subtle twist of her mouth to the side, like she’s thinking of saying something. But then she just shakes her head and flips open the folder I brought her.
I’m clearly dismissed.
I go back to Mark’s office and post myself outside, knowing in ten minutes or so, Ms. Lim will lead up his first meeting of the day. But my thoughts are so tangled and troublesome that I can barely focus on the day’s schedule.
Does Mark want me to do for him what Strassburg did? Despite what he said to me the day after our kiss, would he want that if I offered it?
Do I want to offer it?
I’ve never done—that. Sex. But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t be good at it.
And I’d want to be good at it, just like I’ve been good at everything I’ve tried in my life. Singing, basketball, soldiering...this could be something else to add to the list.
As the day wears on, what I keep remembering is not the agonized pleasure of the Titian-haired submissive or even the way Mark gazed at me while he came.
Instead, I think of Arjun’s hands moving through Evander’s hair, petting and stroking and praising, and even as I prickle just thinking of it, my mind helpfully substitutes Mark for Arjun and puts me in Evander’s place.
Kneeling with long fingers toying possessively with my hair.
Kneeling for him.
I think I’m fucked.
Nine
It isan essential pain of my new job that there is time for my mind to wander. Even with preparing new security plans, even with cataloging every restaurant and office we visit, studying every person Mark meets with, there are too many moments of nothing, of waiting, of standing outside his office or behind his chair in the hall, my mind free to drift to its new, all-encompassing preoccupation.
Him.
Imagining myself tied to his desk in that woman’s place.
Kneeling next to him, his fingers in my hair.
It’s all I can think of, all I can dream. In the early hours of the morning after Mark has held court with his camarilla in the hall, I come back to my apartment and jerk off thinking of his hand on my head. In the morning when I wake, it’s the same.
I think of the scenes we see in the hall night after night—people tied down, held in place to be punished or outright used—and I have to accept that I found the sight of Evander kneeling that first night unsettling not because it was something I didn’t want but because it was something Ididwant.Something I hadn’t known I wanted until I saw it, and then even after I saw it, I was terrified of what it all meant.
Every time I masturbate, I sit on the edge of my bed afterward, trying to reconcile the Tristan of six weeks ago with the Tristan of right now.
The morning we’re set to leave for Singapore, my father calls again, and I make myself answer, since I’ve been dodging his calls for nearly a month now, responding to his voicemails via text.
Sorry I missed your call, it was a busy night.
Sorry I couldn’t talk, was on duty.
