“Leave the lights off.” My voice is demanding; bossy, even.
Jane doesn’t answer, her hand frozen on the light switch. I imagine her long fingers twitching against the plastic, the raised scar tissue a pale contrast to her olive skin. She is debating whether or not to obey me, knowing that if she does, she runs the risk of relinquishing control completely.
If there is one thing my lovely detective holds dear to her Italian-through-and-through heart, it’s the feeling of having complete control.
The notion of control is interesting, why are some people easily able to have full control over others, in either a professional or personal situation? Many people are benevolent when in control, others cruel and unkind. Perhaps there is a particular genome that determines the individual reaction to having control, being controlled, and feeling out of control. What is the most fascinating is to watch someone’s inner struggle over relinquishing control – do they give it freely? Or is it woven so tightly in their cellular memory that it has to be untangled from their very being, one thread at a time?
I will have to ask for control from Jane, and not demand it. She will be the most high-strung mount I’ve ever ridden, pun intended. Without the years of proper-upbringing-blue-blooded horsemanship lessons I’d never have ability to whisper to her. I wonder if this is what mummy and daddy thought how their little girl would be benefitting from the $140 dollar-an-hour instruction, once a week for ten years.
Her eyes flash in the dark, nostrils flaring. She is uncertain of my intentions, cautious of the unfamiliar situation, and deciding if she should bolt or stay. Her long, untamed mane of dark curls falls over one shoulder and her beauty rivals any of the hundred-thousand-dollar equines I’ve known throughout my life.
“We don’t have to do this.” I offer her a small amount of rein, and she takes it greedily. She lavishes the control, even the smallest amount. If she were truly equine, she’d be tossing her head and stamping her foot. I bite the corner of my mouth to keep from laughing at her predicament, and internally gloat over the power I have over her. While I could never be unkind to her, I know enough about myself to admit that I appreciate control just as much as she does, if not more. I am just willing to give it up easier than she is.
“No, I want this. I want you.” Her words come out rushed, her slight drawl wavering in pitch. She’s nervous. The lack of control is obviously getting to her, and I wouldn’t expect any less. The few times I’ve seen her without it have not been pretty sights.
I can still hear the alarm in her voice when she thought I had been kidnapped. Not the most brilliant move on my part, I will admit, letting my guard down and practically walking into my father’s hired van with his hired men. However, it almost was worth it when I was finally able to call her.
Jane shrieked; yes, she shrieked, “I’ll give you anything.” Little did she know that I wanted everything that she had to give. It was in that moment, that I knew it was possible to get exactly what I wanted from her.
“Come here.” I demand again, taking back the rein, and I can see from the flash in her eyes that I asked for too much, too quickly. I back off and try another tactic.
Lit only by a few candles on my nightstand, I know she enjoys seeing my body bathed in the soft light. I have planned this moment from our very first meeting. I’ve just been going about it all wrong.
Her eyes wary, she tries unsuccessfully to remove her gaze from my displayed cleavage.
“Maura, what are we doing?” She asks, her voice no louder than a whisper.
I remove one strap from my shoulder, allowing my pale skin to be enflamed by candlelight. She gasps, and I smile.
“What we should have done a long time ago.” I respond. “Come here.”
Again, too much too soon. She takes a step back; and I realize that she is the type of mount that needs to be pushed away until she is begging to come back. No gentle handling will sway her.
“You asked me to come over and talk.” She says, her voice back to its normal low pitch with the slight drawl that is so out of place for a Boston-bred but so incredibly arousing.
“I asked you to come over and fuck me.” I clarify, smiling at her. “You said that we should talk.” I shrug the strap of my satin camisole back onto my shoulder and see the disappointment register in her eyes. She is exactly where I want her, thinking as if she is the one in control, while in reality she’s now as easy to handle as a petting zoo pony. “You came over and before you even got in the door I kissed you. Then you followed me in here. Did you really expect us to start talking now?” I pull my robe over my shoulders and stand up, angrily fixing the covers on the bed.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know how to do this. We’re friends.” Jane mutters, her hands gesturing helplessly.
“We are so much more than friends. Everyone else can see that, so why are you so in the dark?” I know my face is bathed with anger, and while I hate myself for doing this to her, I know it’s the only way. “You’re the great detective, right? Too bad you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”
“Maura.” Jane pleads, but I ignore her.
“Just get out.” I tell her, my tone harsh. It breaks my heart to do this, but it is for her own good. Our own good, actually. If I don’t push her, she will never come back. Hinting, flirting, and chaste sleepovers haven’t worked. Setting her up on dates that will surely fail so she will come running to me in response hasn’t worked. Telling her how I feel about her in a roundabout fashion hasn’t worked. She’s exhausted my ability to connect with her on an honest level, and hopefully she’ll forgive me for doing this to her; for holding her control on a little line and dangling it above her head.
“Maura, come on.” She begs, her dark eyes becoming wet with tears. “Let’s try to figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” I tell her quietly. “Please leave.” I turn my back on her, partly because I can’t bear to see her flail helplessly on the line like a distraught fish. I begin to blow out the candles when I feel her behind me.
“I don’t want to go.” She admits quietly as she presses into me from behind and wraps her arms around my mid-section.
I sigh, embracing the dizzying sensation of her complete control transferring to my body. The adrenaline rush is no different than galloping across a field and I relish in it briefly before demanding more. I don’t know if I will ever get enough of Jane, but I certainly aim to try.
Turning around, I meet her mouth for the second time and we greet each other like old friends. I push her down on the bed and she falls willingly, content to obey my every whim like a good little pony. Crawling up the length of her, I prepare myself for the ride of my life.
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