Page 130 of Forbidden Fruit
I open my design app, forcing myself to focus on something, anything, to distract from the storm raging inside me. Designing Calvin’s outfits seems trivial now, but I need the distraction. My hands tremble as I sketch and my tears fall silently onto the screen.
After just two hours, I hear the door open, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s Calvin. Only the two of us have access to this room. The air changes the moment he enters, charged with an unspoken understanding.
“Hi,” he greets softly, his voice a low rumble as he moves closer to me.
I get up slowly, my heart racing, and drop to my knees in front of him. “Hi, Sir. Where would you like me?” My voice is a sultry whisper, laden with need.
“Blair?”
“Peach, just Peach,” I reply, the words tasting raw. “I was thinking we could play. I want to be punished, Sir.” I need it. I need him to tie me to the St. Andrew’s cross, to take the flogger in his hands, to make me feel something other than the storm of confusion and pain swirling inside of me.
I feel his hand rest gently on top of myhead, and I close my eyes, savoring the tenderness of the touch even though my insides scream for the opposite.
“On your feet, Peach,” he says.
But I shake my head, not because I want to defy him, but because I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I want to lose myself in him, in the pain, in the control. I just want him to take over, to erase everything that’s not him.
“You know I’m not in the habit of saying shit twice,” he says, his voice hardening. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Even though part of me wants to disobey, to provoke him into the punishment I’m craving, my body betrays me. I stand up, my knees shaking, but I keep my eyes fixed on the floor. I can’t bear to look at him. Not right now.
“Did you know?” I ask in a barely-there whisper, trembling with something unnamable.
“No.”
“Then there is nothing to talk about.” I feel my tears slipping silently down my cheeks, but I don’t move. I don’t want to face any of this.
I feel him walk away, but it’s only for a few seconds before he returns in front of me. His hands grasp my chin, gently yet firmly, lifting my face until our eyes meet. The weight of his gaze is heavy, and I feel my pulse quicken.
Quietly, he dresses me. Each movement is delicate, like I’m something precious and the smallest wrong move might break me entirely.
“Walk with me,” he says. Despite the gentleness of his voice, the command is clear. And it’s what I need right now. I don’t want to think, don’t want to make decisions. I need him to lead, to take control.
He takes my hand, and together, we leave my sanctuary.
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly. My voice barelyholds together, but I already know I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. I just want to disappear.
Calvin doesn’t answer. We stop in the living room, and the sight waiting for me knocks the air from my lungs. Abigail. My mom. My dad. All sitting on the couch like some kind of intervention I never agreed to.
Disappointment settles heavily in my chest. The last thing I want right now is to face them. I glance up at Calvin, silently begging for an out, for a look, a word, anything that sayswe can leave.
When it doesn’t come, I turn away, ready to walk back to the room, to anywhere that isn’there.
“Honey, please. Let’s talk,” my mom says, her voice trembling with something that sounds too much like hope.
I don’t answer. I just keep walking.
“Blair,” Calvin’s voice rings out, and my steps falter. Damn his dominant tone. It always gets to me, always makes me want to obey.
“Sit… please,” he commands, and despite everything, I find myself turning around. I walk back to the couch, sitting down without protest.
“I’ll let you talk. I’ll be in my office,” he announces.
“No, I want you here,” I say, almost pleading. I need him to stay. His presence is the only thing that grounds me, the only thing that can pull me from the chaos swirling in my mind.
He sits beside me, his presence radiating calm strength. He doesn’t need to speak or do anything more than sit there, and yet it’s enough to center me.
The room is suffocating with tension, each of us lost in our own turmoil. Abigail’s face is flushed with tears, her eyes wide and regretful.
