I rest quietly on the small cushion that cradles my red, pulsating behind. I sit at the breakfast nook, doing my best to eat heartily the vegetable omelet and potatoes from my menu of food choices. There's only one day left here. Only one day left in paradise before this weekend of dramatic bliss is over and I must return to the dank, stingy life I lead.
Then five days of darkness before heaven returns.
He enters the kitchen in nothing but a towel and my eyes can't resist the magnetic appeal of his naked chest. To touch him just one more time. To feel the ripple of his muscles; the hardness of his pecks… surely the darkness would stay away forever if I could be with him just one more time before I must leave.
He barely glances at me, but sits nearby and mutters "Good girl". It pleases him when I eat breakfast. No matter how much my stomach resists, I must make him happy; follow his rules. It means everything.
He doesn't need to know that the food rarely stays down. I have no room for nourishment when I'm with him – I am already filled to the brim with every word, movement, and punishment that emanates from this Dominant I have given all for.
"Eggs and pancakes, please."
My skin tingles at the sound of his voice. This sound could loop on an endless playlist for the rest of my life and never lose its appeal.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. He grasps my hand.
Shivers run down my spine. My food has become a spot of black in my vision- all I see is the feel of him, the sound of him, the smell of him.
"Are you okay today?"
My eyes shoot open. Such an expression of concern has never been communicated before. I feel my bones warm under his gaze – can't I just look upon them? Just one time? Return his expression of love I'm so desperate to view this very moment?
But I can't. I can't chance it. My ass is already bruised and aching. I can't take anymore just yet; not even for him.
I slowly nod my head, choking back the tears of disappointment that flood my unrequited eyes. How can I go on like this? How can I continually experience love that will never be recognized?
He drops my hand. "Good".
Cold Mr. Grey – the Mr. Grey I know – is back. Much to my surprise, I relax. This is what I'm used to. This is what I know.
I excuse myself and walk over the kitchen counter where his iPod sits. I turn on "Crazy" by Beyonce. I glance at him but he is lost in his breakfast and no doubt thoughts of business matters that seem to constantly plague his psyche. I sing the words in my mind, hoping the desires of my heart can stretch across the vast, empty, deserted land that lies between my pure love and his depraved inner world.
"You got me crazy…you got me crazy in love…"
