Victorious(11)

Natalie appears, wearing my robe, which is huge on her. She’s like my conscience, putting me on notice that she’s not going to let this go.

I feel cornered, trapped, unable to escape from the mess I’ve created for myself. I’ve promised her the truth. But how do I give her that and still preserve our precious bond, which has been made fragile by my lies?

After pouring another half glass of whisky, I bring it with me into the living room, brushing past her as I leave the kitchen.

She follows me.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask her in defeat. There’s nowhere to run from her or this conversation she’s insisting we have, even if I’m certain it will ruin everything between us.

“Tell me about your dreams, the ones you had about me.”

I shudder as a chill runs through me, and the whisky threatens to come back up. Turning away from her, I focus on breathing my way through the nausea. “I don’t know if I can tell you.”

“Why not? They were about me, weren’t they? Don’t I have the right to know?”

I want to argue with her. No, she doesn’t have the right to my every private thought, just as I don’t have the right to all of hers. But I’m on a slippery slope here, well aware that despite our passionate reunion and her words of love, I still have a long way to go to fully repair the damage I’ve done.

“When I was married before,” I say reluctantly, as the thought of Valerie still infuriates me, “it took me two years to tell her what I really wanted. In bed… She… She said I was depraved and disgusting and sick. Then she cheated on me and made sure I caught them in the act so I’d know just how disgusting she found me. I had to threaten her with lawsuits up the ass to keep her from going public with what she’d found out about me. I’ve actually been afraid ever since that she would give in to temptation and tell the real story behind our split, and my career would be irreparably harmed by her version of the truth.”

Natalie comes to me and lays her hands on my chest, the heat of her hands warming the part of me that’s gone cold. “I would never, could never, will never tell anyone what goes on between us. Ever.”

“You say that now when you’re wildly in love with me. What happens if that changes? If you’re so turned off by me that you don’t love me anymore?”

“Flynn… I’m not Valerie. Even if everything were to go bad, and I can’t see that happening, I will never speak of our private life to anyone.”

“What about when I scare you so badly you feel like you don’t know me at all?”

“Even then.” She tips her head adorably. “You want me to sign something to that effect?”

“No.”

“Then how can I make you believe you can trust me with everything? Every single part of you?”

The same sweetness that has slayed me from the beginning brings me to my knees once again. I’m helpless to resist her, even when she’s asking me for things I never intended to give her. I recognize defeat when I’m staring into its sweet face.

“In my dream,” I begin haltingly, wishing for more liquid courage, “you’re not a rape survivor.”

“In my dreams, I’m not either.”

“Nat…”

“It’s okay,” she says with a wry smile. She takes me by the hand and brings me to sit next to her on the sofa, wrapping a cashmere throw around us.

I’d prefer to stand and pace the room for this conversation, but she’s craving the closeness, so I give her what she needs.

“We’re at Club Quantum in New York.”

“There’s a club?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, “here and in LA. In the basement of our office buildings.”

“So… all of you…”

“Yes, and that’s the part you can never talk about.”

“I swear to God, on the lives of my sisters, I never would.”

Because I know there’s no greater assurance she could give me, I force myself to continue. I’ve relived the dreams I had about her so many times that I know them by heart.

“In one dream, we’re going public for the first time, and you’re afraid. I like that you’re afraid. It turns me on. We’ve been working up to this moment for months, and everyone is there for your first public scene.” I want to look at her, to gauge her reaction, but I’m too afraid of what I might see. “I make you take off your robe, but you’re hesitant, shy, which is so unbearably sexy. Your hands tremble as you tug on the tie, but you do what I tell you to do because I’m in charge. You’ve ceded control of your pleasure to me. I have you sit on a table that’s in the center of a big room, and we talk about your safe word, which is still Fluff. I put your legs in stirrups and bring your bottom to the edge of the table. You ask me what I’m doing, and I tell you I’m going to shave you because I prefer you bare. We’ve talked about this before, but I haven’t told you I plan to do it tonight.”

She takes a deep breath that interrupts the cadence of my story.

I venture a glance at her and see that her cheeks are flush with color and her lips are parted. My story is turning her on, which gives me the confidence to continue. Every time I think about these dreams, I get so hard, I ache. This time is no exception.