Wanting Mr Black by Katy Hart

Author:Katy Hart [Hart, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

Art pulls me through a door off to the right and flicks on a light switch. A double bed with a navy checked bedspread stands against the back wall, facing a large bay window, which overlooks a slabbed patio area and long rear lawn. The carpet is dark blue, and there’s a run of integrated wardrobes on the other side of the room along with a door that I can see leads to the en suite. A selection of trophies and plaques of assorted shapes and sizes are on display on top of a dark wooden chest of drawers. The colour scheme and trophies scream teenage boy’s bedroom.

“This was my room,” he says, confirming my thoughts.

I wander over to the chest of drawers and peer at the trophies. “What did you win these for?”

“Football, rugby … you name it, I played it. I didn’t go to school much when I was younger, but when I came to live with Mum and Dad, I started to enjoy it. I joined nearly every sports club at school. That’s when I decided I wanted to do something in that line when I grew up.”

I pick up a mahogany plaque with a gold shield on the front, engraved with the words St Barnabas High School, Football Team, Man of the Tournament. Art’s name appears five consecutive years. He won the award every year he attended high school. I scan the inscriptions on the other trophies, noticing it’s the same story for each one.

“You were really good at sports,” I say, looking at him.

He stands at the foot of the bed and gives a dismissive shrug. “It gave me something to focus my energy on, I suppose. I was an angry kid, and sport was an outlet for it. Playing as part of a team made me feel like the other kids accepted me. I’d never felt that way before. Being good at sport meant they liked me. Everybody wanted me to play on their team. I felt as though I was finally in control of something, and I’d never had that before.”

More pieces of his past slide into place. I realise control is a fundamental need for him, like breathing.

“And as you got older, you sought control in other ways,” I probe. “Running your own businesses and kinky sex replaced sport.”

Art pushes his hands into his pockets and nods thoughtfully, as if it’s the first time he’s made the connection. “I suppose they do.”

In the bedroom, control and restraint go hand in hand for him, and I know there’s more to it than him just liking it.

“For a while, you stopped restraining me during sex,” I say, turning to face him. “But you’ve started doing it again.”

He looks at the floor. “I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do. It’s just … why? Why did you stop and then suddenly start again?”

“I’ve told you, it’s something that I enjoy.”

I’m pushing him, and he’s being his usual evasive self. Not this time.

“It’s more than that.”

He lifts his eyes to mine, and I can see him wrestling with himself to choose the right words.

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