Edging Obsession

15

M y head is still reeling from the accident. No, not accident, but attempted murder. The woman wanted Miles so badly she was willing to kill for him. Depression has inched its way into my psyche. Between learning I’m not my parents’ biological daughter, Miles being from Germany, and me wondering how many more women out there want me dead, I cry often when I’m alone. Depression is heavy and unaccommodating, luring me into foreboding trenches where I’m unable to decipher between reality or if my mind has become a trickster. I’m a ticking time bomb. One moment everything is fine, and the next, a leap or tumble toward a high or low. Miles’ patience allows me to hold on to some semblance of order.

In a short time, we’ve come a long way. Even after our secrets were revealed, he’s still with me. That has to mean something, right? While all my other relationships floated away like dust in the wind, our relationship seems to have fortified itself. Our sexual relationship is partly responsible for it. Miles and I are still working through the dynamics of BDSM, and more than me, he knows how far to push the pain and when to clip it off. And the aftercare is a perfect package, which Miles usually draws out longer than our scenes. But who wouldn’t be enthralled and want to submit to the strength and beauty of Miles? He's layered in skill and worldly beyond comprehension. When I’m doused in cynicism, he finds a way for me to come back. He won’t allow me to submerse myself in misery. With a hook, he yanks me into pain, pleasure, and/or into his arms.

To snap me out of my mood, he has invited my parents over today because he has some news to share. We’ve agreed not to mention the accident to them, unsure if they caught wind of it or not. In bed, Miles hugs me against his side, fingers lightly dragging up and down my arm. He’s grown into cuddles, something I craved at the beginning of our relationship, and there’s no other place I’d rather be. For no reason at all, tears drift down my face, onto his chest, but he doesn’t say a word. What’s the point? He knows my tear ducts explode at any given moment. They don’t require much coercion or anguish.

Miles rolls on top of me, brushing my hair back, and quells the tears. Each open-mouth kiss to my face offers a splinter of light until I’m glowing in its warmth. I return the favor, and then our mouths connect. The idleness of his tongue exploring my mouth dampens my core. The smooth, thick head of his erection lies against my hip. From his weight, I’m only able to budge my pelvis upward.

His mouth retreats. “My, my, Schatzi. You’re in a hurry.”

He rolls his hips, flirting with my clit, and I moan. Miles’ pelvis lifts until his cock is near my opening. When he returns to kissing me, he only slides in little by little, the slowness causing me to buck into him, yet he retracts. I’m panting, wanting him to fill me, pound me into oblivion.

Our eyes connect, and he says, “Pace, Schatzi.”

My head flings from side to side. “No. Slam into me. Gut my insides.”

He laughs and then grows serious. “For your defiance, I’m denying you an orgasm.”

“No!”

The head of his cock enters me. My hips angle upwards, pushing him in a bit more, but then he pulls out. I whimper and he smiles down at me. He’s a madman.

“Miles, you can’t deny me an orgasm. My parents are coming. I’ll be rubbing myself the whole time.”

His arms cage my upper body while his hands cup the sides of my head, thumbs drawing circles. It’s soothing yet stirs my desire. He’s everything. Good and bad. Pain and pleasure. Swift and slow. I want to be eviscerated by Miles.

“Jules.” I scrunch my eyebrows and crinkle my eyes for sympathy. “I love you.” He kisses the corners of my mouth.

“If you love me, you’ll allow me to come.”

He purrs. “Are you arguing with me?”

I look away and swallow a no .

Miles torpedoes into me in one thrust, knocking the breath out of me. My eyes meet his.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Mein Schatzi.” His cock withdraws and then he slams back in. “This one time, I’ll let you come because of everything going on. Just this once.” He does it again with his hips. “But you owe me.”

“Yes, Miles.”

He grabs my jaw. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mein Lieber.”

“That’s right.”

Miles ends the conversation and pistons into me. Fast, bruising pumps of his hips, snapping in, causing tears I welcome. The pain morphs into pleasure. My arms and legs wrap around him, allowing for deeper penetration. He’s a cheetah, running toward its prey, and I surrender. My energy consumption knots as I grip and then crash, but he keeps at it. He thickens from the fill, throbbing to break free and he tumbles not long after.

Once we regain our sanity, we shower and prepare for my parents’ arrival. As usual, they’re on time. We exchange hugs, handshakes, and move into the living area. The fireplace is lit while opera plays low in the background. Miles claims the chair and the rest of us huddle on the couch.

Miles doesn’t waste time when he says, “Thanks for coming.” My mom and dad nod. “After some digging, I discovered the woman’s name. The one who gave birth at the same time as Elise.”

My mother scoots forward on the couch. “You did? Is she back in Germany?”

“I’m assuming she is. I’ve only learned of her name, so I’m still researching.”

She claps her hands and gives Dad and I a glance over her shoulder. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

I take her hand. “It is, Mom.”

Miles stops our interaction by adding, “There’s something else I wanted to let you know, too.” When my parents remain quiet, he says, “I’m joining the band during the European tour, and Jules is coming along.”

Both my parents stand, talking over each other at Miles.

My dad places a hand on my mom’s arm, and says, “No, you’re not. She needs her medication and therapy.”

“She can get that while I’m touring.”

Mom breaks in and says, “It’s too much, Miles. She’s up and down, and with all the traveling, parties, and late nights…” She looks at me before turning back to him. “My baby is still on the mend. Sending her into unfamiliar territory while she’s trying to find stability will only put her off-balance.”

From the muscle tightening in his jaw to the narrowing of his eyes, Miles is losing his patience, especially since he’s gone out of his way to help us.

Now Miles stands and says, “I’m not asking you. I’m letting you know as a courtesy. Jules is a grown adult and doesn’t want to be left behind. She can handle the tour.”

Dad walks to the side of the table to get closer to Miles, and I do the same in case I need to step in. “Just a minute.” He jabs his finger at Miles. “Don’t you dare tell us about our daughter’s life. From food to clothing, you dictate Jules’ life, and I don’t like it.”

Miles steps into my father’s space. “I don’t give a shit.”

I slip in between them and press my hands against their chests. “Please, stop. I’m right here. Let me speak for myself.” Miles and Dad are in a staring contest. “Miles,” and his eyes flip to mine. “Let me talk.” I take my father’s arm and guide him back to the couch. When we both sit, I say to my mom and dad, “I love Miles. He’s done—”

My father cuts me off and says, “Love doesn’t—”

“Dad. I’m talking.” He closes his mouth, and I continue, “As I was saying, I love Miles, and he’s risked his life for me. When I was down, Miles stayed, he didn’t run. He moved me into his home, makes sure I receive my medication, and even hired a therapist to visit.” Holding both their hands in mine, I glance over at Miles. “I have no doubt I’ll be fine under his care, and if I’m not, Miles will handle it. He’ll figure out a way, like he always does to keep me safe and sane.” I smile at them. “Besides, it’s about time I get a stamp in my passport.”

Mom puts her other hand over mine. “If you are confident you’ll be all right, then I’m okay with you going, as long as you call daily.” I nod in agreement. Then she directs her attention to Miles. “Jules spoke, so I accept her decision. But don’t you ever dismiss our reservations. We’ve taken care of her since birth, which qualifies us to have a say in our daughter’s well-being.”

As I was talking to my parents, I could see Miles’ shoulders release their tension. I’m sticking up for him and he appreciates it, which is good, because I want them all to get along.

Miles lets out a heavy breath. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect. Jules and I had spoken about the tour and knew this wouldn’t sit well with either of you, so I strong-armed you into backing off.”

“Miles, we appreciate everything you’ve done for our daughter...and for us. But you and Jules are so new in this relationship, so of course we’re going to have some misgivings.”

“I assure you, Elise—” and regards my dad, “and Elliott. I won’t let any harm come to Jules.” As if an after-thought, he throws out, “While we’re talking about it, why don’t you come along?”

Once the words leave his mouth, I can see Miles already regrets it. He goes out of his way for my happiness, and this time, he spoke before thinking.

Mom and Dad look at each other, bewildered by his invite.

Since he’s said it, he continues, “I have a home in Germany, which also has a guesthouse. You’re more than welcome to stay there. If you want, you can attend our concerts, travel from there, or stay at the guesthouse for as long as you want. It’s up to you.”

Mom and Dad nod in unison.

My dad says, “I think we might take you up on that offer. It will make us feel better being close to Jules.”

Mom and I shout out, “Great!”

Dad’s sentiment doesn’t hold as much enthusiasm as ours when he echoes, “Great.”

The tension subsides. We enjoy another fabulous meal prepared by Anna and then my parents leave.

Miles is in his studio, practicing the drums while I wander the house bored. My mind replays the earlier scene of my father’s and Miles’ confrontation. Miles towers over him. His muscle mass alone would cause quite some damage to my dad, except I didn’t fear that kind of situation. Miles might appear intimidating in stature, but in my heart, I know he wouldn’t harm my family. He loves me too much. Inviting them to stay in his guesthouse is proof enough. The gesture moves me even though I think he regrets it. These actions burrow into my heart, reminding me in sullen times how loved I am. The love keeps me tethered to him.

I approach the control room closed off by a glass wall to the studio. Miles is jamming to one of The Coven’s songs and doesn’t notice me. There’s a couch behind the soundboard controls where he’ll get a full view. I tuck the back of my knee-high skirt under my legs and sit on the arm of the couch. Angling toward him, I slide my hands up and down my thighs, pushing the skirt higher up each time until it’s around my waist. By orders from Mein Lieber, undergarments are a no-go in the house, so I gift him my glistening pussy. With my eyes on Miles, I lick two fingers and glide them along my swollen lips. His head bobs in rhythm to the drums. My mind travels back to the memory of when he used a pair of drumsticks on me, so I dip a finger inside, eyes closing to slits. His arms flail, holding the sticks, striking them against the drums. My hand smacks against my pussy, and I dip a finger back in.

In and out. Smack . In and out. Smack . Miles’ strikes on the drums become erratic, but I keep a steady pace to avoid coming. His head lifts, eyes catch on me, and he stops playing. Resting the drumsticks on his thigh, he licks his lips, eyes drifting to my pussy. I ride my hand, except Miles shakes his head and summons me to him. Inside the studio, Miles unzips his pants, has me straddle him to where our fronts are flushed together, and thrusts inside me. We both let out a sighed groan.

“Keep the pace of the drums, Jules.”

Our eyes never waver from one another. I grip his shoulders as he lifts his leg to step on the pedal, striking the bass drum while hitting the snare drum with the sticks. It’s an even monotone beat, so I lift to the tip of his cock and swivel my pelvis front and back as I descend. Miles’ eyes darken and breaths quicken. We keep this going until he changes it into a jazzy rhythm by adding the ride cymbal. The intense stare has me panting faster. By this time, I’m sliding up and down, and when he strikes the cymbal, I roll my hips into him.

“Fuck, Schatzi!”

The drumbeats quicken. I’m bouncing on his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch. Quick beats. Boom . Bounce . Both our hair is sticking to our foreheads, gulps of air heating the other’s face, but our eyes remain locked. I’m climbing. Bounce. Strike . The edge is near. Boom . In sight. Juices drip between us and trickle onto his lap. A tinny sound tickles my clit. Boom . And I’m screaming Miles’ name. His arms strike the drum. Cymbal. Boom . One after the other, bringing him to his height. He drops the sticks, grabs my hips, and thrusts upwards, riding out the aftershocks.

My arms and head hang over his shoulders as I level out my breathing. Miles has me in a tight hug. His cock twitches while coming down from his orgasm.

His fingertips brush at the nape of my neck, and I whisper, “I love you, Miles.”

He kisses my temple, mouth against my ear, and says, “Right back atcha, Schatzi.”