The Experiment Pt 04

I didn't intend on writing so much more, but it's helped me immensely to focus on this, and to have something else to look forward to instead of my grief for my friend. Thank you for reading.

Part 4

Despite my lingering lustiness, I fell back asleep after Damian's late night phone call. I sleep in until 8:00 am, then find myself trying to patiently wait to see if he will contact me. We didn't exactly say we'd see each other today, and he did just see me yesterday. Normally, I would not expect a man to see me again after we'd just seen each other, or just spent the night together. But everything about this burgeoning relationship did not start normally. It started off as my experiment, then it became a compulsion, and then it became...this.

I know this is reciprocal now; I know that Damian wants me. The flowers say he wants me to know that he wants me. I like him, he likes me. Yet, I feel uneasy. A different uneasiness than the one I had before he came to my apartment that first night. I feel hungry for him, and then I feel this unsteadiness that doesn't know how to contain the hunger. Worried that my hunger is all-consuming, that it's consuming for the sake of consuming. Because I have been hungry for a long time. A hunger that didn't know I was starving until it tasted something that I'd been missing all these years.

My brain wants this to be practical and straightforward; the experiment. But my heart knows I've created trouble. I've created variables upon variables. The variable that cries when he leaves my apartment. The variable that feels a panic to consider what would happen if he hopped on his motorcycle and never came back, if he decided he didn't want me.

I water my flowers and try to talk myself through my anxiety. He'll text me, or he'll call. I know it because I know it in my heart. The irony that my logic must be supported by the least reliable data that is my emotional evidence.

My patience, and my logic, runs out at exactly 12:06 pm. I will text him a simple good morning. I debate the cloying and overused device of an emoji. Smiley faces are too cute, the winking face is too...obvious. I settle on the little white chef's hat.

Good morning + chef's hat.

12:08 pm he replies:

Good morning + pancake emoji. Are you hungry?

I smile so much my face hurts.

YES ;)

He shows up within the hour. The sun is shining brightly today, it feels like it might get above 60 degrees for a change. My lusty eagerness is changing its mind; it's thinking about doing something outside instead, something we can do together.

When he shows up on his shiny bike, I'm waiting outside sitting on the steps to my building. I'm wearing white capri leggings and a light gray tank top, covered with an unbuttoned long sleeved blouse in pale yellow. I've braided my straight, dark hair into one long plait to contain it in the wind. I wait till he's taken off his helmet, watch the confident sweep of his hand through his hair, and give him my most innocent smile.

"Can we go for a ride?"

He's just grinning at me as he extends a hand out, pulling me towards him. A quick but scorching kiss.

"I thought you were hungry?" he asks.

"I am," I answer, keeping my lips close to his. "But I can wait to eat. If you can?"

His eyes narrow, a twinkling mischief in his clear blue. "My appetite can wait, if you can wait for me to feed you something proper?"

Every word has another meaning so filthy that I hope my white leggings will not show how he affected me. I nod my head, biting my lip.

"I'll eat whatever you give me."

He squeezes me into him, a threatening fury as we kiss. I giggle as he groans with exaggeration, as if I am making him crazy. I love doing this so much, I love how he teases me and I get to tease back. I love how he stares at me, visually undressing me, but also with this sort of awe. And I feel the clutch in my chest again. But I try to ignore it, I try not to let it ruin my fun.

We make a trip to a store just south of downtown because he insists that I need my own helmet, which I do because his sleek black helmet is too big for me. The salesperson is a woman covered in tattoos, and he greets her in another language. She's older than me, but pretty in a hardened way with steely eyes that assess me skeptically. I smile at her and wonder how she knows Damian, if she was ever possibly a customer of his, and immediately try to push the nauseating thought out of my mind.

I pick out a smaller helmet in a shimmering midnight blue because it reminds of his dark blue shirt that he wore on the night he first kissed me. He insists on paying for the helmet which is just shy of $200 dollars. I try to offer to split the cost, but he won't hear of it. The saleswoman cracks a joke about him taking money from women, and Damian laughs heartily, but it makes me angry. She knows what he does. I don't like it and feel insanely jealous. A type of jealousy I've never felt before, the kind where you want to yank a woman's hair out by the roots and scratch her face up with your fingernails.

I try to forget her snide comment when we get back out to his bike. He helps me put on my new helmet, it's lighter than his was, but also a tighter fit. It doesn't quite match my outfit either. I like his form-fitting jacket in black leather with reflective gray patches. The idea of wearing leather has other purposes that I'm also now considering.

We climb back on the bike and he takes off towards the waterfront. He carefully makes his way through the narrow winding streets that get us down to the bay, then makes a tour along the pier, passing food stands and bait shops and all sorts of meandering pedestrians. He heads towards the narrow bridge that will curve us around the city and head back towards the hills that are home to my apartment. The bridge is steep and will give us a spectacular view, but it's also a busy highway.

Traffic forces us to go slowly at first, until the two lanes in each direction expands to four lanes. Damian breaks out of the procession and zips around cars, throttling up to what feels like the fastest I have ever gone on a motorized vehicle. He's leaning down and forward, and I cling on for dear life, turning my head to the side. It's a straight shot going up, except right after we reach the apex of the bridge, he zips around another car. The bike lurches dangerously over to one side and he corrects it with a quick jerk; my added weight isn't something he's used to when going that fast. I admonish him, yelling his name into the wind, and only feel the vibration of his chuckle.

Finally off the terrifying bridge, he slows down as he loops his way through a road that goes along the crest of the hillside. Another beautiful view that I can actually enjoy this time at a reasonable speed. My heart rate slows down and I snuggle into him out of affection instead of life-preserving necessity. I feel peaceful and free under the open blue sky with a limitless horizon, I feel happy.

He pulls up to my apartment and it feels like a different place. I feel like I've come to another version of the place I lived in; the same apartment and same building, just in another dimension. It feels different with Damian beside me. As if it wasn't really my home until he is there. I'm drifting up the steps in this surreal environment, carrying my new helmet in one hand, my other hand holding his hand.

Once my front door is closed, I squint into the darkness of the room compared to the bright sunlight we've just been in. I've drawn all my curtains closed because all my windows face the west and get warm from the afternoon sun, and I don't have any air conditioning. It's made my apartment this cozy cocoon, it's shadowed his face as he looks at me. I've set my helmet on my kitchen table, admiring the sparkly blue sheen of it when he comes up and kisses my cheek. I tell him it was too much; he disagrees with a shake of his head.

After the rush of our ride, it feels so still and quiet in my apartment. For once, he is as quiet as I am, perhaps a little fatigue from his late night working, or his breakneck riding. I notice he glances at the clock on my microwave; it's not quite 3:00 pm. I'm wondering if he needs to leave soon, while he stands beside me, a hand curled around my hip. Just the way he curled it around my hip the night at the Dungeon when he kissed me. Something wells up in my chest and feels ready to burst, but I just turn to him, and we kiss.

It's a soft, sweet kiss. A kiss of my gratitude. But it's not enough. His arms embrace me while we keep kissing, tender slow kisses. We barely separate, I can see him debating something as he gazes at me, tempted. And I want to tempt him.

"Do you need to leave soon?" I ask, with no intention of letting him leave.

He tips his head to the side, a slight look of guilt. "The restaurant opens at five."

I acknowledge this fact with another kiss, a kiss that he returns with no sense of urgency to end it. My hands are slowly unzipping his jacket, and he helpfully shrugs out of it. Freed from the heavy jacket, he brings both hands up to my face, holding me as he resumes our kiss. His lips stay on mine, long passes of nibbling, a twist of his chin as his mouth opens. I have never been kissed like this. A kiss so intense that my insides tighten as if he was stroking me. A kiss that takes my breath away.

I sway a bit when he ends the kiss, bracing myself against his chest. He curls an arm around my back, watching in amusement as I try to recover from this overwhelming kiss. I thought we were going to eat next, make some semblance of non-sex activity. Knowing that I am walking into the inevitable innuendo, I ask him if he still intends to feed me.

Damian says nothing, letting me read the answer on his face. Even in the dim room his blue eyes shine like a cat who's toying with its prey. He just leans down and kisses me with more devastating technique.

Just when I think he's done his utmost to undo me, his lips decide to travel. They plant kisses in a methodical rhythm from just below my ear, then under my jaw, down my neck, all the way to the collar of my shirt. He carefully pushes aside the cotton material, shoving it off my shoulder. He kisses the exposed crest, kissing around the straps of my tank top, only to pause so he can pull the strap aside to plant one more tiny kiss. My muted response is the result of the almost hypnotizing calm he's created, my mind dulled while my body has come alive.

I'm aware that he's using both hands to pull off my blouse, shoving it off my other shoulder, pulling it down my arms, freeing my hands from the cuffs. He smooths his fingers over my skin as his hands go back up to my shoulders. A kiss on my other shoulder, beside the strap of my tank top. He meets my eyes as he slowly yanks up on the cotton tank, revealing my white sports bra. A finger traces down my exposed cleavage, as his head dives in to kiss between my breasts, starting at the bottom and working back up to my jaw.

By the time he reaches my lips, I'm muttering his name, running my fingers through his hair. Rather than take off my very tight bra, he slides his fingers under the strap and tugs, pulling strap and cup down in one deft move. My nipple hardens from the sudden exposure, but is quickly warmed by his reassuring palm that is lifting me up to his lips. He swirls his hot tongue around my nipple, then suckles, pausing to grin when I gasp suddenly. He's almost made me come from nothing more than sucking my tits.

The world could be in the midst of nuclear war outside, the entire building could be on fire, and I would not care. Not when he's making me feel this way. Breathless and aching, my sex so wet and ready for whatever he would do to me that I would sell my soul to the devil. There's a quick pause when he pulls off the snug, long-sleeved t-shirt he's wearing in a stylish teal blue. The sound of him unzipping and unbuttoning, my dazed eyes watching expectantly. I'm slightly more aware when his fingers curl around the waistband of my leggings and begin to pull down. Even that is a sensual exploration, the way he flattens his palms out so that he rubs across my ass. My drenched panties come along with my leggings, too easily tangled with his fingers. He kneels down to free my feet, a vision that fills my chest with the sweetest ache. A pause to lock eyes with me, to make sure I see him worshiping me.

I go to pull him up, cupping his face in my hands, but he's already wrapping his arms around my hips, he's lifting my feet off the floor. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on while he carries me into the bedroom. He stops at the side of my bed, readjusting his hold on me so he can pull my legs around him. Somehow he manages to climb onto the bed with me in his arms, staying on his knees while centering me over his lap. More kisses as we shift, as he leans back, keeping me on top.

He kisses my ear, whispering my name. I'm so soothed and relaxed and lost in this tender embrace that I don't realize he's gently guiding my body, penetrating. His body connected to my body. I love the feel of him inside me, I love how he rocks into place, how it feels to take him deeper. He's urging my movements with his hands locked on my hips, encouraging me to set the rhythm of his thrusts. I'm enjoying an easy pace at first, warming up my tense walls, until I can get to a point that I sit up higher and take longer strokes. The kind of strokes that make him tilt his head back with a delicious groan, his eyes rolling back in his head.

I could go at a fiercer pace, but I need to have him close and hold him, locking my arms around his neck. He is caressing my back, kissing my neck, every touch so tender and loving that I cannot fathom that this is still Mr. Damian. This is who he has been the entire time, the one I want but I'm afraid to tell him. I'm afraid to tell this Damian how much I need him. How much I love him.

I have never told a man that I love him. I hardly say it to my own parents. I didn't know if I was capable of love, just as I doubted I could ever make my body respond to the touch of a lover.

The feeling is overpowering, but it clashes with my logic; it smacks of impetuous emotions that I don't have control of. It's far too soon, it's too much to admit, even to myself. I can only keep moving, to keep this orgasmic bond between our bodies.

The pleasure is steadily growing, building to an incredible apex that I know will be earthshaking. He's panting with our efforts, pushing into me, closer to the edge that I want to go over. I'm feeling the tightening squeeze, I think I'm ready to come. But I'm not sure if he will instruct me, if this Damian will tell me the way Mr. Damian would. And for a heartbeat I'm terrified perhaps I won't climax, that this small difference will disrupt the only way my body will cooperate with my brain. Panicked, I have to ask him.

Please, may I come?

He hears me, but pauses for consideration, or maybe it's a moment to savor my words. A kiss, then he answers.

Yes, baby, come for me. Come for daddy.

It's so sweet. It's so full of joy. He's smiling as I moan into his lips, a moan that ramps up into a harsh cry as I clamp down on his cock. I slither back and forth, rubbing my clit against him, feeling him tense up as he also begins to cry out. A bellow of relief, the sexiest grunt as he bursts inside me. I'm reveling in his sticky ownership that flows down my thighs, lavishing him with breathless praise. And I'm crying again. He chuckles at my minor hysterics, he wipes my tears away. He wants to know if I'll ever stop crying, he teases with a kiss.

No, I tease back, kissing him madly.

Secretly, I hope I won't ever stop feeling this way. That I'll always be overwhelmed by him in the best possible way. In a way that makes me so fucking happy.

We stay in bed, not quite sleeping, just resting as we lay on our sides facing each other. He's staring into my eyes, reading my unspoken thoughts. A lazy caress of my cheek, and I take his caressing hand.

"You called yourself Daddy," I state, wondering if I need to add this to my repertoire of commands. We chuckle together before he speaks.

"Did you think you must call me that?" he asks, teasing but not.

"I'll call you whatever you want," I try to joke, but I can see his eyes trying to glean the truth from me.

"Does Miss Siena want a Daddy?" He is serious now, thoughtfully waiting for my answer.

I remember from my previous D/s research there is a difference with the Daddy verbiage, but I'm not exactly sure. Feeling self-conscious about my ignorance, I go back to my sarcasm.

"I want whatever Mr. Damian wants for me."

He sees my embarrassment, and softens.

"Mr. Damian wants Miss Siena to have what she desires, what she needs," he states with a pointed look, "even if that meant you did not necessarily need Mr. Damian."

I wait for my voice to be steady, to tell him the truth. "No, I need him. I need him very much."

His eyes stay locked on mine, a deep breath in as he takes in my statement. For a second I regret my needy confession, his expression a mixture of something very serious, until he reaches out with his hand, a gentle caress of my face.

I'm trying not to cry again, but it's hard when his beautiful blue eyes keep gazing at me, smiling. I cannot think about what this is, other than my happiness, and his happiness. I cannot say the four letter word that means exactly what I feel. Even though I think that perhaps we both feel it, my brain doesn't trust the unreliable women's intuition.

Instead, we lean in for a kiss, a mutual and happy kiss where he curls an arm around me and pulls me into him, reigniting the lovemaking that isn't done proving the feelings we can't yet admit.

Eventually the shadowed curtains of my bedroom are getting darker, meaning it is almost evening, and time for him to go. Rolling out of bed is nearly impossible, but we manage it. We both need a shower, but I tell him to go first since he needs to get to work. He gives me a diabolical grin as he closes the door to the bathroom, knowing I'll be salivating as I imagine him wet and naked in my shower.

When he emerges, I'm slightly calmer, but also dreading his impending departure. I offer him some coffee and toast, I tell him we never ate food. He takes a bite of my whole wheat toast, then offers a bite to me and licks the butter off his thumb. I'm briefly distracted by this, until he sees my sad smile.

In a moment of sudden inspiration, he invites me to come along, offering to take me to his Uncle's restaurant. Come meet the family, have dinner, then he'll take me back home. The food is very good, he teases, because I know who's cooking it. He's staring at me hopefully; he'd really like me to come. I'm tempted, but I'm very apprehensive about meeting his family. How would I even tell them how we met?

He sees my hesitation when I lamely suggest we plan another time. I think he understands, but I can see disappointment in his eyes. I tell him how much I'll miss him while he puts his jacket on, gathering up his helmet. He nods, a detachment in his tepid kiss when we say goodbye. I watch him ride off on his bike and feel a painful ache in my chest. I am in love with this man, and I've already fucked it up.

<><>

In the span of 12 hours, I have gone from the highest of highs and greatest joy to glumly shuffling around my apartment. Why didn't I just go with him? Why couldn't I just do it and for once, for one goddamn time not overthink it. I consider texting an apology, to try to repair this. Or will I only make it worse?

Making dinner in my kitchen is a lonely enterprise that painfully reminds me of him. I can barely choke down the pedestrian stir fry, dumping most of it in the garbage. Sleep is even harder. Once you have slept in the arms of someone who makes you feel so completely safe and adored, sleeping alone is impossible. I give up after a few fitful hours and fall asleep on my couch with my tablet in my lap.