He got up and started clearing their breakfast dishes from the counter. While he moved around the kitchen, she thought about his secret fetish, and the fact that he felt so guilty about it. She didn’t like that at all. Lots of people were into rough sex, role-playing, even consensual non-consent.
“Does it turn you on when women cry?” she asked. “Because Jonathan and Ethan get turned on by that too.”
He stopped, leaning over the dishwasher. “Ruby, please.”
“Are you a sadist? Or you just like the excitement of a struggling woman?”
“I’m not a sadist like Jonathan, if that’s what you mean.”
Her mind was still turning. “I’m just thinking about sex with them, and levels of control. I mean, when I’m with Jonathan, everything is calm and ordered, and planned in advance. It’s all about submission and obedience and following these steps he wants. With Ethan, it’s controlled also, to an extent, because he’s so into rope and getting me tied up. But when I hear you’re into ‘rough sex,’ I think about things being wild and impulsive, and out of control.”
“Well, there’s control. There are lines I won’t cross.”
“But your desire for that wildness… Neither of the other guys is like that.”
He shrugged. “Are we similar in many other ways? Really, Rube, you should stop trying to compare us sexually, because we’ve all agreed to be respectful to you and not tell a bunch of stories about what goes on between you in the bedroom.”
“That’s fair. I won’t talk about Jon and Ethan anymore, but I’m still fascinated by you. Can you tell me how it feels when you get rough? Can you describe it for me? Is it the power—”
“No.”
“What then?”
He closed the dishwasher a little harder than necessary. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore, because you’ll just get me worked up, and that’s probably not a good idea since you’re stuck here until they dig us out of this blizzard.”
She poked one of her fuzzy toes into the floor. “I’m just curious. Sorry.”
He took a step or two forward and leaned against the counter. “You know what it is? The lack of inhibition. We’re so civilized in day-to-day life. We’re so locked into roles and outward appearances. I mean, look at our performances as the Gold Quartet. We sit up straight, we dress in formal clothes, we interact with clients politely. We hit every note perfectly right, balance every tone, hold every fermata… Doesn’t it make you want to let loose?”
“Yes,” she said, facing him. Wanting him. “It does.”
He held her gaze a moment, looked away, then looked back. She knew him so well. With all of them, she could read their glances, their eyebrows’ movements, the subtle tension in their lips. He wanted her. He wanted to be rough with her, but he was afraid he’d be too rough. He was desperate not to hurt her, not to hurt their close, comfortable friendship.
He moved in the direction of the living room. “Want to play some cards?”
“Not really. I mean, I guess you could make me play cards. You could make me do anything, because, like you said, I’m kind of trapped here…”
He caught her drift right away, and shook his head. “No. Do not.”
“Do not what? It’s the truth. I’m not strong enough to fight you, if you wanted to make me do something, force me to do something wanton and lurid…”
“Ruby, stop it. I swear to God.”
“But I want to see what it’s like, this lack of civilization.” She let out a frustrated sound. “I know you want me, and I find you really sexy, Steve. I’m not drunk now, I’m sober, and I’d still like to fuck you. But whatever. I know for sure I don’t want to play cards.” She turned her back on him and went into his bedroom, and flopped on his bed. “Come play the cello some more. Play something really low and deep that’s going to vibrate my lady parts.”
She hadn’t even heard him follow her. She wasn’t ready when he flipped her over and pinned her beneath him, his gaze searing into hers.
“I’ll vibrate your lady parts, you little tease. But listen…if you end up hating it, too bad.” He grabbed her chin. “You’ve pushed and you’ve pushed me, and now you’re going to get what you asked for whether you like it or not. And if you don’t like it, I might not fucking care. Understand?”
Her stomach flipped like a pancake even as the pressure of his body’s weight got her pussy humming. Sweet, fun Steve, about to rough-fuck her. Yes. That was a yes, please.
She nodded, staring up at him. “I understand.”
4.
Holy shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She could hardly breathe from his weight on top of her, but it was a good feeling, because it was just pretend. Pretend force, pretend power that felt wonderfully real. She pretended to struggle, even as she thrilled to the sensation of his hard cock outlined against her front.