Page 114 of Kingmakers, Graduation

I’m angry and I’m fucking frustrated. I want to be respected and I want to be worthy of respect, but I’m ruled by my temper and my emotions, and I don’t know how to stop.

I’m already starting to cum, crying out loud enough that Jasper will hear it upstairs, everyone will hear it. They’ll know I’m just a whore that likes to be fucked, bent over like a beast.

Adrik lets out a roar, giving one last thrust deep inside me. His hands shake, his fingers digging into my hips.

Then he lets go of me and takes a step back. His cock pulls out of me, his cum running down the inside of my thigh.

I pull up my jeans, my fingers trembling too much to do up the zipper.

I can’t look at him. I can’t meet his eye.

Maybe Adrik is embarrassed, too. He’s quiet, dressing quickly, finding my shirt and bringing it over to me. He pulls it over my head, dressing me like a child.

Still without speaking, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me upstairs.

I turn my head against his chest so I won’t have to see Jasper or anyone else.

Adrik carries me up to our room. He lays me on the bed. I hear the pipes shuddering as he runs water in the tub.

It takes several minutes for the tub to fill. I lay on my side on the bed, looking at the wall, trying not to think about anything. I wish I could shut my brain off like a computer. I wish I could wipe my memory.

When Adrik returns, he undresses me once more. He carries me to the huge old copper tub, much larger than a normal bath. He places me in water so warm that my skin immediately turns a rich, ruddy sienna.

Sometimes I feel like there are two people inside of me: one who’s relatively reasonable and one who’s completely insane. When the madness passes, all I can do is look around at the wreckage and wonder who that other Sabrina was. Where does she come from and where does she go? And which one of us is the real Sabrina?

I’m afraid it’s her. This person who sits in a bath, calm and lucid, is only an illusion. A mask I wear until the real Sabrina returns.

My arms float in the water like they don’t belong to me. I’m dissociated, watching while Adrik lathers a sponge and begins to wash me, starting at my feet, moving up my body. He washes every inch of my skin, gently and carefully.

When he’s done, he tilts up my chin and pours a little water over the crown of my head, letting it run backward around my ears.

He takes the shampoo from the shower, squirting a little into his palm. He begins to massage it into my scalp, with slow, deep circles. His hands are strong. The pressure is immensely relaxing. I lean my head back against the copper rim of the tub, eyes closed, hearing the seashell sound of his palms passing over my ears.

Adrik rinses off the shampoo, pouring the water over my hair from the glass he uses when he’s brushing his teeth. He scoops the water out of the tub, gently pours it over my head, keeping his hand pressed against my hairline so no water runs in my eyes.

When he’s done with the shampoo, without me asking, he retrieves the conditioner and runs it through the lower two-thirds of my hair. Even in my strangely distant state, I note how observant he is. He knows not to use the conditioner on the roots, not because I ever told him, but because he watches me in the shower. He watches how I treat my hair. He knows my habits and my preferences.

That’s what makes it so painful when he goes against what I want. It’s intentional. Adrik doesn’t do anything by accident.

He uses his fingers to separate the tangles, no easy task in hair as long as mine. Then he lets the conditioner sit for three minutes, gently stroking my head with his palm while we wait.

He rinses my hair once more, before lifting me from the tub and wrapping me in the biggest, fluffiest towel. He sits me on his lap, my head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Can you forgive me?”

I’m quiet for a moment, wondering how truthful I should be.

At last I admit, “I’d forgive much worse than that.”

It’s not good to write someone a license to treat you any way they please.

Yet I’m only telling him what we both already know. We’ve tested each other’s boundaries and found that they are far outside the norm. They hardly exist in some places.

What Adrik and I value, what we accept, is not like normal people. That’s what draws us together. But also what makes us so incendiary.

We’re a combination of elements that hasn’t been tested before. Will we create something revolutionary together? Or will it all blow up in our faces?

I don’t know. And I hardly feel that I have a choice. I can’t disengage from Adrik, even if I wanted to. Every day I’m pulled deeper and deeper.

---