Red Roses Ch 02 White Roses

If you haven't read the first chapter, the motivations of these characters won't make a ton of sense. It's posted under Nonconsent/Reluctance, not Romance, but if NCR isn't your thing, don't worry; the first part both is and isn't a true NCR story. As always, all comments are welcome. And I apologize in advance; I am a poor copy editor, so some typos may have slipped through.

I stumbled through the front door, tossing it closed behind me. I know I should have taken care not to let it shut so hard. The old fart who lived two units down had already bitched me out over accidentally parking in his slot one day. No doubt, he was just looking for an excuse to complain to the condo owners association. A slamming door at three in the morning would give him a reason. But I was too far gone to care. I was bone-ass tired.

Or rather, I should say, I was tired from boning.

I paused long enough to pluck a beer from my fridge before I slumped onto the couch and kicked my shoes free without bothering to untie them. I ran a hand across my cheek. My fingers smelled like my best friend's pussy.

Of course they did.

I popped the tab of the beer, took a gulp, and considered what my life had become.

#

The second rose caught me off guard. Even though Trish kept the arrangement in place, I thought it was for form's sake and that nothing further would come of it. And even though I was dying for a repeat performance, I never expected to have the chance.

But there it was, the red rose taped to my door handle. I knew what it meant.

It meant my best friend Trish wanted me to mock-rape her for the second time.

She'd already told me that evening that she was going to be at the gym doing her new workout and when she got home, she was going to spend from about nine-thirty to ten in the shower.

So I waited, lurking in the darkness of her house. It helped that she'd left the back door unlocked for me. Again.

I watched from the depths of the closet as Trish shed her workout clothes, revealing her toned, tight body. I'd already seen it but I realized that I would never get tired of the vision before me. Her breasts weren't overly large but they were firm and high on her chest. Her flat stomach and slender legs were simply beautiful and her ass would give a dead man a hard-on—like the one I had straining at my sweatpants.

Trish unbound her wavy brown hair from her ponytail, shook it loose, and stepped into the bathroom. A moment later, she was inside her shower.

I eased from the bedroom closet and quickly dispensed of my sweats, sneakers, and socks, leaving myself naked save my ski mask.

I crept into her bathroom. Through the translucent glass, I could tell Trish had her head back and her eyes closed as she washed her hair. Though she had a girl-next-door cuteness, I never thought Trish was classically beautiful. But at that moment, she was a gorgeous water nymph straight out of Greek mythology, posing under a peaceful waterfall. My heart skipped a beat.

I waited until she had her face under the shower stream. I thrust back the shower door and hopped inside.

Trish squealed, though I think it was more from being startled than real fear. She thrust her hands against me, trying to push me away but I was ready for her move. I grabbed both wrists, spun her around, and slammed her chest against the wall. I pressed my body into hers, sandwiching her against the tiles. She tried to push me off but I had position and leverage. My erection ground into the small of her back.

I rested my mouth against her ear. "Good evening."

"What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed.

I clenched her wrists. "Whatever I want to, I think."

"Let go of me, you bastard!"

"Soon enough."

I raised her hands over her head and pinned them against the shower wall with my left hand. She let me.

Ridiculous. She could break that hold in half a second if she wanted to.

With my right hand, I reached around her torso and cupped her breast. I squeezed and pinched her nipple.

Trish groaned.

I groped my way down the taut muscles of her abdomen and between her legs. Her lips were already fiery and engorged with lust. My middle finger slid against her clit and she began to tremble. I grabbed my swollen cock, bent my knees slightly, and guided it between her magnificent ass cheeks.

Without me forcing her, Trish leaned into the wall and thrust her hips toward me. She moaned, "Oh no, please no."

She's not very convincing this time.

I found her sopping entrance and inched my dick inside. It was my turn to gasp; Trish's pussy was an inferno. She was so hot I almost came right away.

I thrust against her, slowly at first. I savored the sensation of her muscles gripping my rod each time I pierced her. I rested my right hand on her hip.

Trish turned her head and pressed her cheek against the shower wall. She closed her eyes and rocked with each contact of my hips against hers.

I increased my speed, lowered my left hand, and placed it on her other hip. My ten fingers dug into her skin. Within seconds, she was slamming her ass against me, matching each of my thrusts.

My cock swelled. I pounded her with all the strength I had—so much so that despite being in pretty good shape, a cramp flickered through my thighs. Trish shrieked and convulsed; moist warmth flooded over my dick and that was all it took. I ground my groin into her pelvis as jet after jet of spunk blasted into her. I must have come for a good twenty seconds. When it was over, it was all my complaining body could do to withdraw myself.

Trish slid down the wall to the floor of the tub. Water matted her hair on her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes were glazed and focused on nothing.

Despite my quivering leg muscles, I managed to extricate myself from the shower. I dressed and gave Trish one last glance in the shower.

She still sat where she'd collapsed. Her eyes met mine but her expression was unreadable.

I hurried out of there, locking her back door behind me.

That had been the second "encounter," as our written agreement called the meetings. It had been nothing like the first.

The first time I'd responded to a rose, Trish had fought and resisted the entire time. On my part, I'd been better prepared and had a game plan. The second time had been more hurried, more frantic. Sure, we'd both come and I had a great orgasm but it had been very brief.

As with the first time, I didn't know what to expect from Trish afterward but as before, nothing changed. She was as friendly and ebullient as ever. She still wanted to hang out, with me alone and in groups with friends. As before, she never let on about anything. Unlike after the first time, she didn't start dating anyone else.

I didn't either.

Things proceeded between us for weeks, in that weird new normal, until earlier this evening, when I received another rose.

I set the beer can on the table. I thought about getting another one but at that point, I didn't have the strength.

After the second encounter, I told myself that I would be better prepared should a third opportunity arise. I excused my lack of preparation for the second by the mere fact that I hadn't expected it. Once I knew Trish wanted to continue, I decided I would be ready.

When I saw the rose earlier, I sat on my couch for a good fifteen minutes, pondering my decision. I didn't have to respond to any particular rose invitation and I had missed a few for various reasons. The thing was, I wanted to go. Not just for the sex but because it was Trish. When I realized that, I had to think about what it meant. I finally arrived at the conclusion that it was merely because I was comfortable with our roleplay and since I wasn't dating anyone, it was a good chance to fuck a nice-looking girl with an incredible body.

I almost believed it.

Even so, I used a variant of our first encounter and waited until she was asleep before I entered the house. When I came into her bedroom, I thought I caught a gleam of awareness in her eye, as if she was faking sleep but in the semi-dark, I couldn't be sure. She was also naked.

I had known Trish for decades. She never slept naked.

Her resistance earlier that night had been even flimsier than during the shower. All I got was a couple of moaned protests of, "No, please," as I rolled her onto her belly and tied her arms to her headboard. I thought it was silly; at any time, she could have easily slipped out of my grasp, leaped out of that bed, and belted me in the face.

But she didn't even try. I guess the token protest was enough in her mind to tell herself she was being forced.

Once I had her secured, I proceeded to take my time. I undressed, laid beside her on the bed, and whispered in her ear some of the filthiest things I could think of. All the while, I stroked my hands between her legs, gliding over her pussy lips with my fore and middle fingers. I told her that I was going to fuck her for hours, that I was going to force her to stare in my eyes while she sucked me until I came, that I was going to fill her ass with my frothy white cum.

Of course, I had already done these things during our first encounter but hearing them must have been what Trish needed. Within moments, she was soaked.

When her juices started pooling on the bed. I moved behind her, shoved her legs apart, and entered her in one smooth motion. I placed my hands on her back and slammed into her body. She found the rhythm and shoved back against me. Trish orgasmed within moments and I was right behind her, coming like a freight train, just like I always had with her.

As I hunched over her, both of us panting for breath, I looked down at the smooth skin of her back, the delicate curve of her neck, and the soft waves of her chestnut brown hair. I had a momentary urge to roll her over so I could see her eyes.

I blinked; my shrinking cock was still snug in her tight, wet snatch and yet I all I could think of was her non-sexual beauty.

Suddenly, every last one of my carefully-crafted plans for the evening flew out the window.

I pulled out of her, quickly dressed, untied her from the headboard, and left as fast as I could.

#

I sat on the couch, staring at the beer can, and tried to figure out what had gone wrong.

I had an entire evening of activities planned for us, until one of us passed out. But for some reason, as I had laid on top of her and gazed down at her quivering post-orgasmic body, it all felt...inadequate.

Realizing I was nowhere near ready for sleep, despite the hour, I hauled myself off the couch and got another beer. I returned and fired up my Playstation, thinking that might distract me long enough that my overactive mind would allow my body to collapse in exhaustion. I played for a few minutes but I could not get my focus off the evening's events, so with a sigh, I put the controller down, sipped my beer, and stared into the distance.

I hoped Trish hadn't been disappointed. Our first night had been so perfect, so amazing. The last two had been quick events. I knew she'd had strong orgasms both times but I wondered if she was feeling cheated. I knew I wasn't. I'd just been happy to be with her, even briefly. I smiled at the thought, picturing her beaming face, her gentle laugh, and the soft touch of her skin.

And out of nowhere, it hit me like a thunderbolt between the eyes.

I was in love with my best friend.

"Fuck me."

All at once, my bafflement and confusion morphed to pain.

Trish had never expressed any sort of romantic love for me. We were friends—best friends—and had been since we were kids. She was a constant in my life, but as a buddy, a wing-woman, the sister I never had. But that was it. She loved me. She wasn't in love with me.

I was the only one she would ever trust with such a crazy scheme as we had. I knew it was because she trusted me to never, ever hurt her—and I never would.

Except in doing so, I'd now hurt myself, more than I thought possible. I had never experienced the sensation of desiring something so much and knowing it was out of my reach. It was pain—physical pain—to want that hard.

People in hell want ice water too, right? Doesn't mean they're going to get it.

If I did nothing to change the status quo, I could probably fuck Trish many more times. But I wanted us to make love.

I wanted us to

be

in love.

I half-reclined, half-fell against the back of the couch, and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

Sleep never came.

I saw Trish a few days later, at a small housewarming party with a group of our friends. She gave me her dimpled smile when she saw me come in and waved. I waved back and forced myself to smile.

"Hey, Justin." Todd appeared next to me, two beers in hand. He offered me one and gestured to the house. "What do you think?"

"Nice. You and Lettie did a great job decorating."

"Thanks. I have to give all the credit to her. Lettie's got an amazing sense of style."

"Todd?" Lettie's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure, babe, be right there," he called back. He winked at me. "The old ball and chain calls."

"Must be nice," I said, "to have someone to answer to."

"Ah, listen to you, a swinging single guy. Enjoy it while you can before some girl sinks her fangs into you." Todd laughed and strode to the kitchen.

I sighed. If he only knew.

I did my best to avoid Trish but it was a matter of time. Night had fallen, though even in muggy Atlanta, it was still sticky and warm. I stepped out on the patio for a few moments, to nurse my beer and just get away from the crowd for a few seconds.

"Justin? You okay?"

I'd never thought of Trish's voice much before. She had a mid-range tone for a woman. Not squeaky and not deep. But right that second, she sounded musical and alluring—the siren calling this sailor. I took a deep breath, pasted a smile on my face, and turned towards her. "Yeah, fine. Having fun?"

"Oh, sure." She came to stand next to me. She wore the jacket, blouse, and knee-length skirt I suspect she'd worn to work that day and I admit, she cut a fine figure. "Todd and Lettie are great. They did a wonderful job on the house."

"I thought so too."

Trish giggled. "They're so in love. It's cute."

It was all I could do to keep a straight face. "Yeah."

She cocked her head. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. It was a long day and I haven't slept too well for a few nights."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't ever have to be sorry with me, Trish."

I guess I gazed at her a little too long. Trish blushed and lowered her eyes.

I injected some cheer into my voice. "Got any plans for the rest of the week?"

"Just working. I'm sure I'll be up for something this weekend."

"I'm thinking about going hiking on Saturday. You're always welcome."

Her dimpled smile returned. "I'll let you know." She gave me a quick pat on the arm and returned to the party.

My shoulders slumped but I had interacted with her without disaster. I figured over time, it would get easier.

It did, sort of. I was able to compartmentalize my feelings and enjoy spending time with Trish. My love and desire for her didn't shrink. Both grew. But I was able to rationalize, much as I had before, that having her presence in my life was better than nothing. That's not to say that every wonderful smile, tinkling laugh, and touch on my arm didn't cut my soul but like any part of the body that is injured over and over, eventually the tissue grew numb to the abuse.

As long as we were only friends, I was able to handle it.

And then, two months to the day after the last one, another rose arrived.

For a good five minutes, all I could do was stare at it. It perched on my door handle, like Poe's Raven on his mantle, grimly casting judgment on my soul.

The temptation of touching Trish again beckoned. I closed my eyes. The instant I did, I could feel the heat of her body against mine. I could taste her sweat, smell the sweet nectar of the promise that lay in her...

I blinked my eyes open, driving away the thought. If it hadn't felt overly melodramatic, I would have slapped myself in the side of the head.

I was torn. I wanted to touch Trish, badly. But I didn't want to play anymore. I couldn't do what I had done before. My soul couldn't take it.

This time had to be different.

#

I waited in my car at the end of her rural driveway. As with our other encounters, I'd shut off my headlights before turning in her drive and inched towards her house. Though it was past eleven, light shone from behind several windows. Even as I set my transmission in park and killed the ignition, I caught a blur of shadow moving behind the living room curtain. I didn't know if Trish had stayed up, hoping to catch me coming inside or if it was just coincidence.

I checked my phone. There was no text from her, no use of the safe word, "Cincinnati."

I might have been relieved if there had been.

As I waited, my mind glided over my plan and I asked myself again if it was the right one. Yet again, I decided it was. Something was going to change, either way.

I waited almost an hour for the lights to go out. They finally did and I could almost track her progress through the house as she shut everything off in preparation for bed. What was she thinking? Was she disappointed I hadn't shown while she was still up? Was she giddy with anticipation, expecting me to be there after she lay down?

Fifteen minutes after the last light went out, I started the car again and crept towards her house. I parked, grabbed my bag as I got out, and strolled to the back door. I checked my phone one last time. No safe word.

My stomach quivered and I wiped my sweaty palms on my sweatpants. I was nervous, more so than I had been even the first time. I gulped in several lungs' worth of the cool evening air to settle myself.

The back door wasn't locked. I turned the knob, gave the door a gentle push, and stepped inside. Her house was quiet. I made my way to the bedroom. We'd had a full moon that first evening; with the big bay window in her bedroom, that had been all the light we'd needed. Tonight, the moon was only a sliver but Trish—evidently thinking ahead—had left the bathroom light on and pulled the door all but closed, so that a dim yellow glow leaked into the bedroom.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. It was obnoxious to think she'd left that on so I could see better, in order to ravage her properly, but there it was.

Trish herself lay on her left side, huddled under her blankets. Her right arm lay atop the covers and I could see her bare shoulder. She was sleeping naked again. The thought was terrifying and tantalizing.

I carefully stepped to the bed, taking care to be as quiet as I could, and set my bag down. I thought a small smile ghosted across her lips but I could have been seeing things. I took from the bag those handcuffs I'd used the first night and placed them on the nightstand. I also took out a black silk sleeping mask and a bottle of oil.

This time, I did not try to be subtle. I did not try to be sneaky. I simply snapped one cuff on her left wrist and raised her arm towards the iron weave of her headboard.

Trish's eyes opened. She started in with the, "What? Oh, no, no!" routine.

Compared to the ferocious resistance the first night, tonight she barely lifted a finger. I threaded the cuffs through the headboard and snapped the other loop on her right wrist. At no time did I exert pressure or force. I was direct but very gentle. When she was secure, I folded the covers away from her, exposing her wonderful body from hair to heel. I looped the sleeping mask around her head, covering her eyes. She didn't seem to mind.

From her linen closet in the bathroom, I fetched a couple of towels and a washcloth. I lifted her legs and torso, laying the towels between her and the bedsheets. She continued to wiggle and issue half-hearted protests.