SEAL'd Honor (Brotherhood of SEAL'd Hearts) by Gabi Moore (19)

Chapter 7

Myth: BDSM is all about pain

Reality: BDSM is all about pleasure. Pain is just one kind of pleasure

“Open your hand,” he said. I stared at him, tears in my eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just relax your fingers and open your hand.”

I looked down at my fist, the knuckles white from the effort. His green eyes looked at me, begging.

“I can’t.”

“What are you holding onto anyway? Just let it go, you don’t need it anymore,” he said, and gently held my fist, trying to stroke the tension away from my fingers. But they were almost glued shut, like nothing in the world could wrench them open.

I felt near hysterics.

He stared hard at me, and I realized we were both naked. His eyes in mine, he firmly pressed a finger into the knot of fingers and wriggled it in, trying to unball my fist, to dig out the treasure I was gripping so tightly. If I couldn’t give it to him, he’d have to take it from me.

“Open,” he said resolutely.

As he pulled hard on each of my fingers and peeled each one away, I began to lose control.

“Oh god …please…”

His strong hands pulled apart the next finger and then the next. I was at his mercy. A deep shudder ripped through me and before I knew it my eyesight blotted out and a big, juicy wave of pleasure washed over me, just as he eased open the last finger. My world dissolved, and the only thing left was his smiling voice.

“Oh god!” I whimpered.

“Good,” he growled.

I shot upright in bed.

Fuck. It was just a dream.

My hand shot down under the blankets and under the hem of my pajamas. I recoiled when I realized how dripping wet I was. Heart pounding, I wiped the sweat from my brow and tried to catch my bearings. It was 4 in the morning. Just a dream. I couldn’t remember what it was about. I just knew that it had rattled me, badly. And …something else.

I fell back down into bed and automatically touched myself. My clit was swollen hot and nearly bounced at my touch. Fuck, that felt good. Being half asleep made this feel so easy. Had I… come in my sleep? It was a thrilling thought. My fingertips tended to that trembling little nub and I closed my eyes and tried to recall whatever delicious thing had done this to my body while I was asleep. But I couldn’t remember any of it. And soon, that thick swell of pleasure seeped away and I lost it, and my body felt cold and ordinary again. I stopped stroking and got up, angrily tossing the covers off.

I hadn’t been myself lately. I never got upset about things, never had bad dreams or let people get to me. So what the fuck was going on?

As I stood, a deep ache radiated through my pelvis stopped me dead in my tracks. That was new. I felt raw. Hungry, but in my very cells somehow, like my limbs were starving. Maybe I was going crazy.

Something possessed me to throw off my pajamas and stand naked. The ache glowed a little warmer. I stretched up high and admired the dim reflection of my breasts in the mirror on the dresser. I turned my body this way and that way to examine my shape. I was as sexy as I always was (i.e. very) but this time it seemed to have a different effect on me. I wasn’t just the picture of something sexy, the sexiness was inside somehow. Just looking at the curve where my abdomen flowed into my hip and then thigh, and the neat triangle of fur where my thighs met… all of this made the ache deepen.

Had he seen what I was seeing now? Had he liked it? Was he thinking of me now?

I watched my reflection arch and twist before me, like it was posing for him, trying to beckon him. What turned him on? What was it that pushed a strong, capable man like that right off the edge …what had him moaning helplessly? Thinking about him made the ache burn so much it nearly hurt.

I went downstairs. Down the staircase I went in naked feet, in the dark, and pushed open the door of the dungeon.

The instruments sat there, mute. My heart thumped and to my astonishment, the ache in my pussy had reached fever pitch. In here? This was nothing more than an office. My 9 to 5 sweat shop, nothing sexy about this place, surely? But my body disagreed. I obeyed the ache and closed the door behind me. I dragged my hand across the tray of instruments. I picked up the whip. The throb subsided. I placed it down again. My fingers went to a pair of handcuffs. Without thinking, I looped the steel curve round my wrist. The ache intensified. I tore it off again, sent the cuffs clattering to the table and left, slamming the dungeon door behind me.

Do you want to know about a ‘day in the life of a dominatrix’? Ok, let me show you my typical schedule.

This morning, I woke up, did 30 minutes of yoga, had two cups of coffee and a banana, and scoured r/skincareaddiction. I then watched a video of a goat playing the keyboard. I showered while listening to Bellini’s Casta Diva. My outfit for the day was a white leopard print jumpsuit and silver heels, and I had chosen it to meet the reporter who would help me expose and humiliate one of the world’s wealthiest men in a sick bid to get revenge on him for what I was beginning to think was a sexual assault. Ok, so maybe that last part was not so typical.

I put my sunglasses on, grabbed my handbag and walked out to my car, practicing my speech. I had two home-printed photographs in my handbag and more where they came from, and I wasn’t going to budge an inch until he agreed to at least double what he had offered the last time we spoke. Plus, I’d make him buy my coffee, just to rub it in.

The first picture was of a middle-aged man standing in front of a thick tree, hip jutted out to the side like a runway model, trousers unzipped and halfway down his thighs, revealing a baby pink adult diaper with the word Princess emblazoned across the crotch. The man is clearly Jeff Cane, and behind him, out of focus but plain as day, sits the California State Capitol building in soft early morning mist.

The second picture was the real treat, though. In it Mr. Cane stared straight at the camera with a seductive smile. He was on his hands and knees, wearing a cheesy schoolboy shirt and cap, flaunting his bare ass. Or it looks bare until you stared a little more closely and realized that he was wearing a tight, glitzy purple thong.

Women are physically weaker than men, yes. The average man can easily overpower the average woman. But when you do the work I do, you see just how much power a woman can really have on a man. A man can kill a woman if he wants. But a woman can do one better: she can arouse a man.

“Miss, please.”

I spun around to find the source of the voice, my hand hovering on the car door. At first I didn’t see her, but a short woman was rapidly walking over to me from the street, a worried look all over her face. I clutched the bag to my body.

“Yes?”

“Are you Nora Smith?” she asked, a little out of breath.

I said nothing and watched as she approached me nervously.

“I know this is a little weird, but please can I speak to you for just a moment?”

She didn’t look like trouble. In fact, she was dressed even better than I was, which almost never happened. I kept my hand on the car door and watched as she nervously looked over her shoulder a few times.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. Please forgive the intrusion. I can’t talk for long, but I had to speak to you. I’m Elizabeth Cane…” she said and waited for me to respond.

Fuck. What the hell was it with this family? Was his great Uncle Joseph once removed going to spring out from the bushes? I took a step back.

“Please, I’m not angry, I haven’t come here looking for trouble,” she said, looking as though it was hard for her to get her words out. “But I have to ask you something. My husband comes to see you – please, it’s no problem,” she quickly added when she saw the panic on my face. “Please, I know and I’ve always known, and it’s fine, truly. In fact, I need you to keep seeing him. I can’t give you details, and I don’t know why you’ve dropped him, but I’d do anything for you to take him back,” she said, tripping over her words. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her eyes were wide.

I didn’t know what to say.

“I can pay you. Whatever you want, just please don’t stop seeing him. I know you understand him. You’re very important to him, I hope you understand,” here she looked over her shoulders again but this time I could make out something odd: a deep, angry purple bruise extended all along the side of her neck. She had smeared make up over the skin there, but it did little to conceal the marks.

“I… I’m sorry but your husband and I …I can’t see him again,” I said helplessly. It was as though I had slapped her.

“But why? Please, what would it take for you to reconsider?” she said, and all at once she was clasping my hands in hers.

Had he given her that bruise? My head spun. Her eyes darted to a car rolling by slowly in the street and she immediately dropped my hands.

“I have to go,” she said, voice heavy with despair.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” I said, and I meant it. She seemed so small, so frightened. She was shaking her head like me refusing her was out of the question.

“Please promise me you’ll see him again? Please? I’m afraid of what will happen if--” Again she was distracted by the car in the street and simply took off, not bothering to finish her sentence.

“If what? What will happen?” I yelled after her, but she was already gone. I tried to get a look at the car but it sped off.

My blood ran cold in my veins. What bizarre backwards land was I living in these days? Did I really just bump into the wife of client and have her begging for me to not stop seeing her husband? I quickly got into the car, strapped myself in and locked the door. I had entirely forgotten the speech I was going to give the reporter.

* * *

“I don’t understand, yesterday you swore up and down that you had pictures, and now this?”

“I do have the pictures. It’s just that… I can’t do the story anymore. At least not yet.”

“No? But you still haul me all the way out here and make me cough up $700? Fucking priceless,” he said and rubbed his tired face.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just …I have more information now and I just don’t want to risk anything.”

“Bullshit. You don’t have anything and you’re wasting my time,” he spat, and looked as though he was ready to up and leave.

“Wait,” I said.

He eyeballed my cleavage.

“Let me show you,” I continued. His expression changed and he sat down. I looked all around me, then slowly reached into my bag, pulled out the first photo and showed it to him. His eyes went wide. As he reached his hand out to grab the picture I snatched it back and stuffed it into my bag again.

“I want to publish these,” I said. “The plan is still the same. We just need to hold off for a little while, OK?”

He eyed me closely and then nodded slowly. I had to admit, they were shocking pictures.

“You have more?” he asked quietly.

“Lots more.”

He whistled low under his breath and smiled.

“Give them to me now and you get double.”

I cocked my eyebrow at him. Now he was talking. But still, it only convinced me that I should hold out and demand even more later, after I figured out what the hell was going on with his wife.

“Not yet,” I said calmly. He frowned, then we sat in silence for some time. This card would always be there when I was ready to play it, but that woman’s terrified face was still burnt in my mind and giving me the creeps. There was no harm in waiting.

He glanced at his watch and then me.

“You know, I paid for a half hour, and we’re only ten minutes in. Does that mean I get you for the other twenty?”

I looked at him the same way you look at an unidentifiable brown smear on the bottom of your shoe.

“You’ve got to be kidding…”

He looked again at my cleavage.

“I’m not,” he said, lowering his voice. “For interest sake, how much would it set me back to get a, uh, night with you, huh?”

I stood up and threw a bill on the table to pay for my coffee. “More than you have” I said coldly, and walked out. I knew he was watching my ass as I left. I couldn’t help that, and frankly I didn’t care. But I wanted him to understand the vast gulfs of money and prestige he’d have to cross to even get a chance at making such a crude suggestion to me. The oceans of difference between him and the sort of man I would even consider looking at twice were more immense than he could imagine. The café door tinkled as I walked back out to my car and left.

The sky was like it always is this time of year – blue, empty and light, even though everything down on the surface feels about ready to burn up and evaporate. As I drove, my mind inevitably wandered over to its new favorite obsession: Dean Cane. I kept returning to him like an unsolved puzzle, but every time I left feeling like I was no closing to understanding him and what he was after.

You, dear reader, probably think all of this is blindingly obvious. You can see all the signs, of course. It was plain as day: I was seriously attracted to him. But you have to understand, at the time, I was like a person seeing after being blind all my life – I just had no idea what I was looking at. People fall in love all the time, I know, and you’ve probably done it too, but for me? It was weird. Weirder than anything I’d ever done with a man before. Weirder even than the visit I’d had from that frightened woman this morning.

I set aside the question of whether to go ahead with my evil plan and instead put my thoughts onto something that felt more sumptuous: I had another appointment with Dean tomorrow.

And I had some planning to do.

Chapter 8

Myth: Dominatrix work is easy

Reality: Easy if you’re some kind of masochist

“Mistress has decided she needs a shopping trip to Milan this week and won’t be requiring your measly body to torture and humiliate,” I said.

You’ll laugh, but this wasn’t even the first time I had said this line today. I could almost hear the pouting on the other end of the line.

“Yes, Mistress. When can I expect her return?” came the response.

I sighed loudly.

“When you’re required again for my amusement I might consider contacting you, but not before. And don’t even think about contacting me and interrupting my trip, do you understand?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“My little toy. Have you been jerking off every night like I told you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Nasty little man. And have you been remembering to say my name when you come?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“Good.”

“I think I am in love with Mistress.”

“Well of course you are. That’s inevitable.”

“May I send Mistress a gift in Milan?”

“You may not. But you may send me a picture of you wearing your belt, every day, so I know you’re not disobeying me. How many hours are you on every week?”

“Three, Mistress.”

“How pathetic. Increase it to four.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I hung up. Then I looked down at my notepad and crossed off another name from my list. Three down and four more to go. There was no ‘trip to Milan’, of course, but screw it. I could afford to take a break whenever I wanted. And for whatever reason. In fact, I was enjoying blowing all my clients off so much I momentarily fantasized what it would be like to be done with all of them once and for all.

I looked around the room.

How much of everything in here was paid for by Mr. Cane, ultimately? That rug? That mirror? I looked down at my thigh high boots. Those were in fact a gift from him, almost two years ago now. And the woman inside the boots? Did he pay for her too?

I frowned and got back to my list.

I clearly needed a holiday, I was going strange in the head. I could never stop this work, not really. The money was too good, and what about Angie? She would need support for the rest of her life. I was all she had. I would be an idiot to throw it all away just because I’d had my feathers a little ruffled. I just needed a little time to shake this ugly Jeff business and business would be back to normal in no time.

I made a few more calls and then tossed the notebook aside, leaned back in my chair and plonked my heels up on the tabletop. I had no idea what to do during Dean’s appointment – which was in less than a half hour. He was the only client I didn’t have the heart to cancel on, seeing as we had just met and all. So sue me, I was intrigued. I had told him it was high time he came out with his preferences for how a session would play out. But he had been as mysterious as ever and replied: “I’m at your mercy.”

I mean, I could have dreamt up a whole universe of dirty things to make him do for my pleasure. I could have hooded him, leashed him like a dog and walked him naked around my backyard. I could have forced him to clean my kitchen in a Minnie Mouse costume with a slit down the front for his dick to poke through. I could have done unthinkable things to unmentionable parts of his anatomy with an electrified rod.

And yet…

None of that seemed like it fit him in the least.

He was at my mercy? Really? He was due to arrive in just a few minutes and I couldn’t stop my mind running all over the place. Maybe I wanted to kiss him. Maybe I wanted him to put that infuriating hand of his somewhere else.

It was against the rules.

It wasn’t BDSM play at all.

In fact, I didn’t know what kind of kink it was. What was it called when a man pinned you to the ground and took care of that maddening itch you had somewhere deep in your body that you were too afraid to admit to? What was the name for him teaching you, for him showing you exactly what to do to soothe that ravenous ache in you? What if I ordered him to stay for as long as it took? If I commanded him to stay with me until it was done, until he found exactly the way to bury down inside, to get at that soreness inside me that nobody else knew was there? What if I told him to kiss me, and fuck me as hard as he possibly could, and teach me?

Jesus, Nora, get a grip.

I was horny, clearly. That was all that was happening. I wasn’t going crazy, my hormones were just out of whack or something. It’d pass. And just at that moment, naturally, the doorbell rang.

He was here.

I had planned nothing for our session. It was our third meeting and we were one intense hand holding session in and I was about to lose my mind. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

We stood looking at one another in the doorway for a long time.

“Mistress,” he said finally.

I said nothing, just looked at him and gestured for him to come inside. Could he tell, just by looking at me? Could he see, somehow, through to the back of my eyes and at all the racy thoughts I was having about him? We sat in the living room again. The goosebumps under my clothing almost hurt.

“So, have you given some more thought to what it is you want to do?” I said nonchalantly. His expression was devilish.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I want to do precisely those things that would give my mistress most pleasure.”

God, not this again. I didn’t know if I was more irritated with him refusing to play by any of the rules or by the fact that I seemed to morph into a bitch in heat around him, no matter what the hell he did.

“The most pleasure, huh? Ok,” I said, and cracked my neck. “I want a gift.”

“Sure. What gift? You are welcome to anything I own.”

“Anything?” I said cynically.

“Yes. Anything.”

Fine, I’d call his bluff.

I gestured to his wrist.

“Give me your watch,” I said. He removed it and I could see that it was even more expensive than it had seemed from afar. I dropped it onto the floor, reached over to grab a Chinese vase from the side table, got to my knees and in a second brought it thudding down onto the watch, crushing it into fine pieces. I placed the vase back on the table, then stood so I could crunch the broken bits of watch even deeper into the carpet with the sole of my boot.

“Now can you see what a heartless bitch I am?”

It had to be at least a few grand, laying there in crumbles on my floor. I calmly sat again. But he was unmoved. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. The wind puffed right out of my sails.

“In any case, gifts don’t really mean anything to me. What do I care for gifts, when it’s so easy for you to buy any old trinket? I want the things that money can’t buy,” I blurted without thinking.

He cocked his head at me.

I hadn’t meant to say it. But it came out like a confession. I was almost starting to feel embarrassed when I noticed him smiling.

“You’re right. You’re worth more than that anyway,” he said plainly, and ignored the crushed watch. “So, if not money, then what can I give you?”

He seemed to be enjoying himself. At least we were getting somewhere. I don’t know where we were getting, but still…

“I want you to strip,” I said, also without thinking. My heart was pounding. I never came into a session without a script, or without a plan. Speaking impromptu like this felt so dangerous. But I liked it. He stood tall and looked down at me sitting before him.

“You can’t hide behind fancy clothes here,” I said. And it felt strange to say it. I had no idea if it’s what he wanted to hear, but I liked saying it. Then I realized: it was true. I did want him to strip. To take it all off.

The whole house, in fact the whole world could have come tumbling down around me at that point and I wouldn’t have noticed.

He started by gently sliding his finger into the knot of his tie and pulling it loose. I didn’t know if he meant to do it like that, or if it was just me, but the whole movement seemed so wildly suggestive. His hands were strong and large, but the way his fingers stroked gently over the silk of his tie as he unwound it from his neck and set it carefully aside was achingly delicate. It made me feel funny.

With the same slow, careful hands, he went to work loosening the buttons on his shirt one by one, each becoming a notch on a scale that seemed to measure the irresistible heat growing between my legs. By the time he had loosened the last button, I had seriously began to wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

You would swear I’d lost my mind. I had seen so many naked bodies in my life. So many men. There wasn’t a bulging, hairy, purple, freckled, bald, tanned, muscular, goosebumped, wrinkled, shaved, smooth, stubbled, naked part of a human male that I hadn’t had the misfortune of witnessing. And yet the thought of what this man had underneath his clothes was threatening to unhinge me.

“Keep going,” I said.

He spread his legs wide and moved his hands to his belt buckle, applying the same slow attention to sliding out the loop, pulling it back, then pulling it through his belt loops and laying it over the tie. Did he know that the slower he did this, the more it was turning me on?

His hands lingered on the zip, then pulled it down, and the soft sound his trousers made as they crumpled to the floor was the sound of my breath catching in my throat. He clumsily wedged off his shoes and kicked them aside, still bundled with his trousers. He then stood before me in tight cotton boxer shorts, and the contours of his crotch became a white-hot sun in my little universe – I knew it was there, it was all I could think of, and yet I was afraid to stare at it directly.

His hands rested calmly at his side. You wouldn’t think it was possible, but he looked even more powerful and commanding without his fancy executive suit and tie. He had the posture of a tribal chief, or an ancient Greek athlete on a vase, no more ashamed of his nakedness than an elk or a mountain lion would be of his. Look at me going about chiefs and mountain lions. Embarrassing, right? I was ready to compose an ode to him just then, let me tell you, that’s the kind of physical presence he had.

“All of it,” I said, thrilled that he seemed to be waiting for my instruction to remove that last scrap of cloth standing between us and his complete nakedness. They came off easily, and my heart skipped a beat to notice that he was already half erect, his cock thumping heavy against his leg as he bent over and stood straight again.

I gulped.

Now I’d done it.

My burning curiosity got the better of me and I stared at him now, all of him, relishing the fact that he was visibly as turned on as I felt. His cock was short and thick; a fat, violent-looking stump nestled in a sparse nest of blonde fuzz. Just to stare at that wide slab of meat sent a deep kick right through the center of me. It was too much. Too thick. Fucking him would be like the carnal equivalent of a giant nine course meal: completely over the top.

He smiled quietly at me as I examined him. It felt like a miracle that he could be so calm and composed when I felt like I was about to burst my own seams and explode there and then.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice husky.

I wanted to scream, yes oh god yes your body is like all my Christmases come at once, but I bit my tongue. I wasn’t about to show him what a quivering mess he’d made me.

“It’ll do,” I said with a cheeky smile and cocked my head at him.

Why wasn’t he doing anything? Was he waiting for me to tell him? And yet I was all out of orders. I didn’t want him to kiss my feet or say “yes, Mistress” or any of that other crap… but it was too dangerous to think of what I really wanted him to do.

With me.

To me.

He was the one without any clothes and yet I felt exposed.

“Tell me a secret,” I blurted. “It’s not enough for me that you’re naked.”

His eyes lit up.

“A secret? Any secret?”

I nodded. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else before. Something that makes you ashamed.” I had no idea where I was going with any of this. He thought for a few moments.

“You must swear never to tell a soul what I’m about to tell you,” he said. I pricked my ears.

“Of course.”

He took a deep breath and his eyes glazed over, like he was looking at something that only he could see.

“Deep down,” he said at last. “I know that I’m responsible for my mother’s death.”

What the fuck?

“I should have done more to protect her. Her passing is my fault entirely and I’ll carry that shame with me for the rest of my life.”

The mood in the room instantly dropped. Were you expecting him to confess to some dirty kink? Some sordid secret from his past about how he cheated or that he has a crush on his secretary or something?

Me too.

But the moment he spoke I instantly had a swell of respect for him. I had asked for a secret. And he had given me one. One look at his expression told me he was speaking from the heart.

I suddenly felt awful.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid, I didn’t mean to…”

He shot me a look.

“Don’t apologize. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted me to open up to you, to show you that I trusted you. Haven’t I done that?”

We had gone from zero to sixty in no time at all and all I could do was stare at him dumbfounded.

“Yes… yes, I guess that was what I wanted,” I said absentmindedly.

So, the scared woman who approached me wasn’t his mother after all. I wanted to know why his mother died, and what made him think he was to blame. But I already felt like I had demanded too much. For the first time in my life, hiding behind a bossy persona just felt …wrong.

Would he ask me to share a secret? What the hell were we even doing here anyway? This wasn’t sex. It wasn’t any kind of BDSM game, that was for sure. It felt more like two children playing a game of show-me-yours-and-I’ll-show-you-mine, in a strange world they’d temporarily made for each other.

Flustered, I gestured at his clothes and told him to dress again. I was embarrassed, but I didn’t know why. All my usual lines, all my fallback moves just didn’t seem appropriate for him. He dressed as quietly and carefully as he had undressed, and I sat opposite him, cheeks burning, trying to find somewhere to put my eyes.

He sat beside me when he was done, but it didn’t help much. I knew what he was, underneath all that.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable?” he said simply.

“Not at all. I’m just… I’m not sure what’s happening here.” And wasn’t that the god’s honest truth. He reached over to touch my cheek and I turned to catch his eye.

“I told you. I’m here to serve you. What’s happening here is precisely what you want to happen.”

I laughed.

“But that’s not …you’re turning everything inside out!” I said. “With my other clients I would make up punishments for them, and I’d take complete control over them and--”

“And what? Do you get any pleasure out of doing all that? What’s in it for you?”

I laughed again and gestured around my luxurious living room. The priceless Chinese vases. The expensive furniture. This room in this neighborhood that only celebrities and tech millionaires could afford.

“That’s all?” he said. He looked unimpressed. “You have these men, these powerful men at your disposal, you have their minds, their hearts, and all you ask of them is… money?”

My embarrassment felt like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

“Haven’t you ever thought of pushing that, and seeing where it goes? Isn’t there something else you’d really like from a man?”

“But what else is there? I get to feel like I’m in charge. Nothing compares to that.”

He shook his head and smiled, again, but this time he seemed genuinely disappointed in my answer.

“You sound just like my father,” he said quietly.

I snapped to attention. I had all but forgotten that I had had an evil plan at all. Dean was nothing like his father. And the fact that he thought I was like that horrible old man made me feel awful.

“I only meant… Oh God, this all feels so awkward. This is how I make my living, Dean. This is what my customers want. What we did here today, the stuff you’re talking about, I don’t even understand it, to be honest.”

“Would you like to?” he said, and moved in closer to me.

Yes, with all my heart, I wanted to say. But this was all too weird. I wasn’t sure if I trusted him. Being Mistress Morgan was the game I knew, and I was good at it. I didn’t want to play another game, if I couldn’t be sure that I’d win.

So I said nothing.

He stood to leave and I mutely followed him to the door. There were about four million different emotions swirling around me at that moment. If you know me and know what I think about emotions, you’ll understand why this constituted an extreme emergency. All the delicious electricity we had stirred up in the other room suddenly vanished. I felt stupid in front of him. Overdressed. A fraud.

“I hope I haven’t taken more than my fair share of appointment time again,” he said cheerfully.

“Don’t worry, I’ve cancelled all my other clients this week.” Oops. I shouldn’t have told him that. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“You cancelled them… but not me?”

I tried to avoid his gaze. He seemed pleased with this, nodded and turned to leave.

“If you want to,” he said, “I’d like to meet with you again tomorrow. To go a little further.”

My poor exhausted heart nearly leapt free from my chest.

“Of course,” I said quietly.

After he left, I threw myself on the sofa and tried to think.

Have you ever had your whole world blasted apart from the inside out? Have you ever had something happen to you that made you question everything you used to think, everything you used to be? If not, then try not to judge my melodramatics at that moment. It’s the people who make a show of looking tough that are actually the weakest among us. It’s those people who scoff at weakness that most wish they could relax into weakness themselves.

Ladies and gentlemen, I had a ‘crush’.

A fucking serious one.

Chapter 9

Myth: In the BDSM world, there are the Dominants, the submissives and a handful of switches. Oh, and everyone else is “vanilla.”

Reality: The boundaries are imaginary. The labels of each category are as arbitrary as using “pineapple” as your safe word. It might make you feel safe, but it doesn’t mean anything

“So, let me get this straight, you haven’t slept with the dude?”

“What? No way. I told you, that’s not how it works.”

“He hasn’t made you put him on a rack and flog him?”

“Of course not...”

“Hasn’t asked you to do anything to his nipples or told you to put in his pony butt plug?”

“Oh my god, Melissa I told you never to mention the butt plug thing ever again…”

“And you’ve seen him every single day this week but haven’t gone into the dungeon even once?”

I sighed.

“I know right? It’s bizarre. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Very weird.”

“What do you think’s going on?” I said.

She took a sip of her gin.

“Oh, it’s pretty obvious to me. You guys are dating,” she said breezily.

I slapped her arm.

“Oh come on, Melissa, don’t be ridiculous. He is …unusual. He’s not like any man I’ve met before. And the things we do together…”

Here Melissa chuckled and gave me one of her looks.

“No, no, I get it, Nora. It’s serious business. It’s a kink so extreme, even California’s most high profile Dominatrix is afraid of what she’s getting into.”

“Ok, now you’re making fun of me.”

“Am not. Besides, you’re right. Who knows, one day you two might even go to the malt shop and kiss afterwards. The craziness never ends with you, for real.”

I couldn’t help laughing now either, and she ducked out of the way as I tried to get her arm again.

I took a sip of my own drink and looked around the cocktail lounge, and all the well-dressed, slightly tipsy people milling around us.

Dating?

No way.

All the pick-up lines and rules about calling and restaurant etiquette and worrying about whether they like you and whether you should sleep with them or not and what to wear and what their text means? Nope. Dean and I were most certainly not doing any of that crap.

“On a serious note, though, he does have me worried. He keeps pushing, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like he keeps wanting to give me complete control over whatever happens, saying I can do whatever I want…”

“But… isn’t that how it always is?”

“I guess. It’s just different with him. It seems like every time we meet we break some new rules of mine that I never let clients break.”

“So then tell him to stop.”

“But… maybe I don’t want him to stop?”

She smiled mysteriously.

“Have I ever told you that you need a shrink, Nora?”

“Only every single time we meet,” I said and smiled back.

“So, when do you see him again?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Interesting. What’s the plan?”

I traced a finger round the rim of my glass.

“I… I’m not sure yet. But I’m excited.”

“God, I’m so jealous.”

“Of me?”

“Yes, of you. And it burns my ass you can’t tell me who he is, either.”

I smiled to myself.

“Oh my god, Melissa, if only you knew. He’s kind of a big deal.”

“So you say.”

* * *

The weather was hot the next morning, and so when he arrived, I led him to the patio area instead, offered him a drink before we both sat, staring out at the pool and watching the clouds roll across the sky.

I couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but we felt more familiar now, as if we had known one another for far longer than two weeks. Every encounter till now had been strange. And every time he left, he lingered in my mind for hours after, my still unsolved riddle, an impromptu actor who had stepped onto my perfect stage and ruined my whole play. I hadn’t seen another client in over a week. Not even poor Ralph.

“You look beautiful today,” he said, and nodded towards the silk kaftan belted over my white bikini.

“Thank you.”

He looked a little more casual today himself. His suit didn’t seem quite as razor sharp as it usually did, and I almost thought I detected the hint of stubble on his jaw. We sat in silence for a moment, which was something we did often, on these little visits of his. It felt easy to be quiet with him. There were a million irrelevant things I could think of to say at every moment, but none of them felt important enough to break that full, rich silence we grew between us.

Eventually, he turned in his seat to face me.

“I’ve told you that I like to play with boundaries, haven’t I, Mistress?”

“You have.”

“Well, I’d like to do more of that.”

“More? You’ve already broken almost all my boundaries, you know,” I said and gave him a teasing look.

“Have I? Which ones are those?”

“Well,” I said and sat up in my seat. The warmth of the sun beating down on the deck was making me feel sleepy. “I have lots of rules and regulations.” I held out my hand and began counting them on my fingers.

“One, I always stay in character during a session, unless the client says the safe word. Two, I always have a safe word in the first place, and three, I don’t form romantic relationships with my clients.”

I paused as I realized what I had just said. But he didn’t flinch. I looked over at him staring thoughtfully out at the pool, watching the play of light the ripples made on the ceiling of the patio.

“I’m the only one you break those rules with,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

If you had told me a month ago that I would be having this conversation I would have laughed in your face. And yet now it felt like the most natural thing in the world to me. Dean just did something to me. I always felt on the back foot with him. Always a little off balance. And most bizarre of all, this somehow felt to me like the ultimate safety.

“I think I just thought of something that I want,” I said, keeping with the theme of all our discussions this week.

“Wonderful. What is it?”

“You must promise to do it just as I say, nothing more, nothing less.”

“You have my word, Mistress.”

I took a breath to find my nerve and then stared out at the ripples with him.

“I think what I’d most like to do is get up, and come to your chair, and then lay down over you. I don’t want you to move at all. Only if I say so. But then, if I feel like it, I might decide to kiss you,” I said slowly. “If you deserve it, naturally,” I added.

“Naturally.”

Maybe you’re judging me right now. Maybe you think I’m pitiable because this little scrap of human affection seemed so mysterious to me, seemed so scary and strange and yes, completely prohibited. I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent woman in the world. But I hope you can see that even though it didn’t look like much, I was trying.

I got up, heart in my throat, sure my panties were about to melt right off me from the anticipation. As gracefully as I could, I lifted one leg high and then brought it down on the other side of his deck chair, so I straddled over him, legs spread wide. I watched his face like a hawk. But there was nothing there but calm curiosity. Nothing but sweet, kind attention. I lowered myself down. When my body touched his lap I felt a jolt of electricity zap right through me. He remained motionless, just as I told him to, but his eyes were alive, glued onto me, watching my every move.

I pressed that raging hot spot between my legs against him, first gently, then more firmly. The kaftan brushed lightly against his chest, concealing everything, but I could feel that he was growing stiff underneath me. Our eyes locked. I placed first one and then the other outstretched hand onto his chest and let a little more of my weight press down into him. His torso was strong and solid, so sure underneath my shaking fingers.

I hadn’t meant to, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. My hips tilted an inch and brought my swollen pussy grinding into him. And then, they moved on their own, rocking me back and forward against him. I quickly grabbed his hands and pressed them to my waist, and he obediently held me there, not guiding that delicious motion, but just feeling it, just watching each slow circle unfold.

Each little jolt of bliss that went shooting through me led me to lean in deeper, further onto him.

I didn’t know what I was doing or why. I just knew that that sweet feeling of his heft against me was the only thing that gave me any relief from the ache I felt whenever we were together. My mind threw up a delicious memory of his cock and I got a thrill thinking that I was so close to that now, that it was that outrageously meaty part of him that was touching me now, pressing up against me as his hands gently pulled me back down onto him.

“This is definitely breaking a rule,” I whispered, my breath threatening to leave me. I kept rocking, back and forward, back and forward. One of his hands slid over my stomach and came to land teasingly close to my pussy, just hovering there above that glorious spot where it was all happening.

“What about this, Mistress? Is this breaking a rule?” His voice alone was enough to make me squirm.

“It’s just my body,” I whimpered. “We can be sexual, but we can’t be …affectionate.”

He raised his eyebrow at me, but we both kept up the same slow, small rhythm. I couldn’t stop.

“Mistress, forgive me, but that doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t sex affection?”

“No. Sex is just sex. Just body. Affection is with …me.”

“But, Mistress, where does your body end and you start? How can you open your body without opening the rest of you?”

The glass was inching closer and closer to the floor again, threatening to break. I wanted to come more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. I was being tortured and there was only one thing that would soothe me, save me now: being able to come, once and for all, on this handsome stranger’s lap… Behind my eyes flickered deep, swirling images of color, the same intense swirls I had tried over and over to put onto paper, sure that if I could catch that feeling in acrylic and charcoal, I’d be closer to catching it for real, in my body. He had seen those paintings. He had liked them…

I stopped.

“Mistress?”

I awkwardly put my weight in my knees and leant away from him.

“I… I got a bit out of hand just there.”

“I see. Do you want to get out of hand?”

Goddamit with this guy.

And that’s when I kissed him.

I wanted him to stop talking. To stop asking questions I didn’t know yet how to answer. I leant forward, collapsed against him and let my lips fall into his. He responded to me easily, hungrily, devouring my lips in a kiss that was half sugary sweet, half laced with the taste of something truly devilish.

When I pulled away, his green eyes locked again with mine, and he smiled. It all felt too good to be true. He was too much. Too kind. Too sexy. I couldn’t let him get close and see how fucked up I really was. What if he needed me to be this total vixen? What if he lost interest when he realized what a neurotic mess I really was?

I hopped off his lap and straightened out my kaftan. Dean Cane made me feel constantly, unavoidably drunk. He was an intoxication, and when he was around, I simply couldn’t think clearly.

“Does Mistress need to be alone?” he asked timidly.

“Yes. Leave me now. You’ve proved yourself useful for today but I’m growing tired of you,” I said and gave him a haughty glare. He saw right through it. He knew I didn’t really mean it. That I just spoke like that because I didn’t know what else to say.

“Very well,” he said, and rose to leave.

“Let yourself out,” I said.

He looked a little hurt. I wanted to run up to him, to apologize, to kiss him again and press myself against the wall of his chest. But I sat there, icy, waiting for him to leave. He had scared me. I would have to be crazy to do shit like this. Soon I would come back from my ‘shopping trip’ and pick up all my old clients, and life would return to normal. As for the ache at the tip of my clit, I calmly told it to shut up.

I heard the front door close as he left and sat for a moment, getting acquainted to the sinking feeling in my chest. It didn’t feel good, but it did feel familiar. Whatever happened to his ‘complicated kink’ anyway? Was I going to land up in a ditch one day? No, clearly I had better get my head straight. I got up and went inside and to my office to look at the appointments I’d scheduled for the upcoming week.

I flopped into my swivel chair and took a pile of mail off the desk. Now there’s a nice head-clearing activity: opening bills. I got to work opening up envelopes and landed on a familiar looking one. I already knew what it was.

A letter from Jeff.

I frowned, opened my top desk drawer and was about to toss it in there with the others, all unopened. But something made me change my mind. I opened it.

There was nothing I could do about the many gifts that turned up at the house every day since that pig and I had our falling out. But these little letters felt like a can of worms I didn’t want to open. I didn’t care what he had to say. I just wanted him to go away. Besides, there was the obvious issue of me seeing his son now. The whole thing felt hideously unethical, and I just didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to tell either of them about the other.

I opened the letter and was surprised to see a wall of handwritten text.

Interesting.

Nora,

I understand why you’re ignoring me. And you have that right. I don’t mind how long you take to get over your anger at me. But what we experienced together the other night was no mistake, and I’m not prepared to let that go.

You want to humiliate me? Here’s the truth: you understand me. It’s frightening how much you understand me. I admit that I took that for granted. I need you in my life again, Nora. It’s more important than you know. Please reconsider.

J.

I dropped the letter like it had stung me. I was too afraid to see what the other dozen had said.

Was he mad?

I was the last person who understood him, and the thought of seeing him again made my stomach turn. I remembered the frightened woman again and groaned. Couldn’t he just go away? Hire another Dominatrix and fall in love with her instead? I stuffed the letter into my draw and slammed it shut.

Damn him for ruining everything.

Chapter 10

Myth: There was a recent study showing that people who engage in BDSM are more psychologically healthy and normal than those who don’t

Reality: The last thing you want to tell someone who engages in BDSM is that they’re “normal”

“Thanks for letting me come along today,” he said.

“Don’t thank me, it’s Angie who wanted you here,” I said and flashed him a naughty grin.

It was true. When Angie realized we were headed for the market fair that weekend, she had all but requested him to come along by name and kicked up a fuss until Maeve and I agreed to invite him. And now here we were: the heir to the biggest tech company in the world, an angsty Dominatrix in white Doc Martens and a sun dress, and a grown woman with a painted face and a handful of helium balloons. We weren’t exactly the traditional nuclear family, I know, but it felt cute, and we were having a good time.

California feels like the most generous place on the planet on days like this. The sky simply beats down blankets of warm, gorgeous sunshine, the air feels full and happy and the whole community comes alive. I had taken Angie to this fair every year since forever, but it was always just us two. Now as we weaved our way through the stalls, through the crowds of excited children and dogs wearing neckerchiefs and dancers and street magicians, I wondered if the fair was happier this year somehow, or if it was just me.

Angie was on her best behavior, making eyes at Dean at insisting she order the same flavor smoothie he did at the smoothie truck. For the first time I saw Dean wearing something other than an expensive couture suit. But he still seemed to be made of different stuff from everyone else. He still towered above us all, confident, calm, so that you almost felt the suit on him. With some amusement, I realized he hadn’t replaced the watch I’d smashed to smithereens.

“Well, what do you say?” he said. I looked to see Angie yanking him off towards a stall with a few bullseyes and an arc of enormous stuffed animals hanging overhead.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Come on, I bet you’re a good shot,” he said laughing, as Angie dragged him off to go and play. I followed, not quite believing we were about to do something so cheesy. I exchanged glances with Dean as Angie hurriedly paid the man a few dollars and he dutifully handed over two guns. I shook my head and so Dean took one of the rifles – it looked so tiny in his hands! – and shot a mischievous look at Angie. She squealed in delight.

“Play nicely, guys. I don’t feel like a trip to ER today, thank you,” I said. They both barely heard me.

We never did stuff like this, Angie and I, but they seemed to be having so much fun I didn’t have the heart to stop them. It wasn’t long before Angie had popped off a few rounds in all directions, missing the target but having so much fun that a small crowd gathered to watch and cheer her on. When she finished her round the crowd gave a good-natured clap and Angie beamed from ear to ear.

“Your turn, buster,” I said as the target fell backwards and lifted back up again. He made a big show of wiping the sweat from his brow and frowning, then gave Angie a wink.

“Oh, I don’t know. My friend over here is a pretty tough act to follow,” he said, and lifted the shotgun to peer through the sight. I couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. I had never seen Angie so captivated. Hell, even I was captivated.

Dean proceeded to pop off five shots, one briskly after the other, with the speed and precision of a sniper. The crowd fell silent as his fingers worked skillfully over the trigger, firing pellets into the dead center of the bull’s-eye. The crude toy gun in his hands transformed into a real rifle, and Dean, his green-grey eyes riveted on the target, looked like nothing other than a highly trained professional marksman. It was eerie how swift and accurate he had been.

He flicked his wrist to bring the rifle down, pretended to blow smoke off the barrel and then tilted his imaginary hat in my direction.

“Want to try?” he said, a naughty expression on his face. I was speechless, but I couldn’t help smile and grab the rifle from him.

“Show off!” I laughed, and grabbed some money from my purse to pay for my own round. “You’re not the only one who can hit a target, you know,” I said and tried to take aim. Angie squealed and laughed and clapped her hands together.

The noise of the fair disappeared from my focus, and I tried to line up the crosshairs with the black dot on the bullseye. I exhaled, steadied my hand and tried not to pay any attention to the fuzzy feeling I had all through me. He was so fucking charming. It was all so cheesy and yet I couldn’t help grinning, couldn’t stop those schoolgirl flutters in my belly.

I squeezed the trigger and a hole pinged in the center of the target. The crowd stirred. I took aim again, and popped another shot, this one a little off center but still squarely in the black. I followed with another one. Perhaps I had a secret talent after all. Perhaps this is what I was meant to do with my life: run off into the sunset to be a sexy assassin with Dean.

I had soon fired off four shots into the bull’s-eye and was aiming for the last. The thrill of this little competition had my cheeks warm and the smile still glued to my face. I took a deep breath.

“You’ll never make it,” he whispered into my ear.

“Stop trying to psyche me out!” I said, and wobbled on my aim.

“You’ve missed it already, you can’t compete with a pro like me, you know,” he said, doing his best evil villain voice. I giggled but maintained my aim. Just as I squeezed the trigger, his hand went quickly to my waist, I gasped and pulled the barrel to the left, releasing the last pellet into a helium balloon to the side, which rapidly deflated before my eyes.

“Dean!” I gasped, shooting him a dirty look. Angie was roaring with laughter. I looked down at the place he had touched me, just below my navel.

“You cheated!” I said, placing the gun down as the crowd around us began to chatter again and wander off.

“Cheat? Me? Never.”

“Right at the moment I pulled the trigger, you distracted me…”

“I think you distracted me by wearing that sexy little sundress,” he said without skipping a beat. I laughed and punched his arm.

“I can’t believe you,” I said, and I couldn’t.

“I should report you to the fairground police, actually, for foul play,” he said.

We three walked off, laughing and goofing around.

“This is so nice,” I said eventually, when Angie went off to pet a dog. “She’s really having such a good time.”

What I meant was that I was having a good time. This is what people did, I guess, when they were living an ordinary life. This is what it felt like to be normal. And happy. We strolled around, ate some cotton candy and watched a street juggler.

It was easy to imagine for a second that I belonged here, with these families and regular people. That I didn’t have a strange and embarrassing profession, that I could just walk in a crowd with good, ordinary civilians …and that this man wasn’t one of my clients but a friend. Maybe even a…

Ugh. But can you imagine? Me? Miss Susie Homemaker out on the weekend at a fair being all good and proper? Laughable. That ship had sailed. I was a freak, and even if I wanted to quit my job forever, it’s not like I had a transferable skill set.

Angie tugged on my sleeve and pointed to the long line for the Round Up ride.

“No, baby, that’ll make you sick,” I said.

“Please.”

I looked over at the garish pink and yellow metal whizzing high above our heads. The last thing I needed was for her to puke all over everyone.

“Are you sure, baby? Don’t you want to try another ride?”

“I’ll go with her, and we’ll be just fine, won’t we Angie?” Dean said with a twinkle in his eye. I looked over at him and didn’t know whether to throttle him or kiss him.

“Fine. But don’t come crying when you both feel sick later.”

“Go and hold a place for us, Angie, we’ll be there soon,” he said to her, and she ran off happily to join the line.

“What are you--”

Before I knew it, he had taken my hand and was pulling me through the crowd, till we were both standing between two brightly painted trailers. He had a giddy smile on his face as we both hid away from the flow of people, tucked off into the tiny alley made between the trailer walls.

“And just what are you doing?” I said giggling and trying to catch my breath. “You’re crazy,” I began to say but in an instant he had pressed his own smiling lips to mine and we tumbled into a long, juicy kiss that surprised us both. Soon he had pressed the full weight of his chest into me and pinned my body against the cool corrugated iron of the trailer wall, where it buckled a little under me. I yielded instantly, my legs buckling and the butterflies in my stomach bursting all the way through me.

His hands went everywhere. Again to the curve of my waist. To the warm crook of my neck where he tilted and anchored my chin to bend me deeper into a kiss. His tongue was soft and sweet and moved urgently over mine in a caress so passionate it felt like he had been waiting all day for it.

“Fuck, you’re all I think about, you know that?” he growled into my ear as he traced his kiss greedily over my cheek and down my neck.

I could still hear the sounds of the fair but they were happening somewhere far, far away now, somewhere away from this little hideaway he had pulled me into. His words were molten, and just hearing them burnt holes right through me. I loved the desperate edge to his voice, loved from how deep in his throat that sound seemed to come.

I could do nothing but whimper and kiss back, turning to jelly in his arms, a shock of pleasure zapping all through me and collecting in one gooey, tight spot right between my thighs.

“All I can think of is what I want to do this perfect little body of yours,” he said to my collarbone. His breath was hot against my skin. Far away, some kids screamed with glee as a ride spun them around and over.

“Dean…”

“I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you all day,” he continued and his broad hands were instantly squeezing the top of my thigh. It felt so good that a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. I could feel all of him, pressed firm against me, and then he started to kiss me again…

I pushed him away.

“Dean, what are we doing?” I gasped.

He blinked at me.

“What are we doing? I was kissing you and trying to get you to make that sound again. And you were enjoying it,” he said with a little sideways smile so naughty it should have been illegal.

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

My head spun.

“Is this… are we …Dean are we dating?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t know. Do you want to be?” he said, easy as can be. I couldn’t believe how calmly he was speaking, like he hadn’t just had his delicious tongue all over me. Like he hadn’t been turning my world upside down for two weeks now.

“But …where do you see any of this going? What happens now?” I suddenly became aware of the fact that we weren’t all that well hidden from the crowd.

“Now? Well, when I was done kissing you, I thought we should probably go line up for the Round Up ride before Angie notices we’re missing.”

I sighed and squirmed out of his grasp.

“Dean, I’m being serious…”

He took a step back, looked over his shoulder at the stream of people walking past the trailers and then back at me, with that look that lets you know there’s more going on than meets the eye.

“Ok, fine. Let’s be serious. You’re right. You wanna get married? Wanna have a few kids with me? Hell, if you wanted to carry on with your work, that’s cool too, I’ll help you. I didn’t get on the Fortune 500 list for nothing, you know, if you’ve got a business, then I’ve got some pointers. You wanna get a dog?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All I knew was that again, he was saying something I completely, utterly didn’t expect, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you making fun of me? This is serious. I’m a sex worker, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not a regular woman. Don’t be stupid. You could basically round me up to a prostitute.”

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Oh? Then why did you pay me $3000 for the pleasure of coming with me and my sister to the fair today?”

He cocked his head over to the side again.

“Ok, so you want me to stop paying you? Got it. Done,” he said and gave me a big goofy smile. But I was losing my temper.

“Oh my god, Dean, stop trying to give me what I want, dammit!” I snapped.

It was his turn to go serious. He didn’t have a witty comeback this time, or a silly smile.

“Dean, I just think at some point we’re going to have to be realistic and stop seeing each other like this…”

“So you don’t want to see me anymore,” he said quietly.

“I think so.”

My skin felt cold now on the place where he had been touching me only moments before. He was staring at the ground. I could tell he was thinking intently.

“What do you need? What can I do to change your mind? Tell me, anything…”

“I already told you, Dean, this is so weird…”

“But hear me out,” he said, and took my shoulders in his hands. “My job is to keep paying you, and your job is to keep giving me orders. Any orders. That’s it. No pressure. What happens here is purely up to you and you alone. Whatever you want. Let’s say if you tell me to do something and I truly can’t do it, then I’ll say goodbye and you’ll never hear from me again. Deal? If not, I get to keep seeing you. Call it a game,” he said quickly, his voice hushed and urgent.

“But Dean, maybe I’m tired of games. Maybe I don’t want to even do this line of work anyway…”

“Then don’t. Cancel all your clients, tomorrow. You don’t have to see another one ever again.”

“Oh yeah? And how am I supposed to pay my bills?”

“I’ll pay them for you. Done. All you have to do is tell me to do it, and I will, right?”

His hands were still wrapped firmly on my shoulders, his grey-green gaze staring straight through me. He was relentless. No matter what I said, he seemed to always know exactly the response that would disarm me.

“That’s crazy. In any case, don’t be dumb, you can’t possibly do everything I want.”

“Of course I can.”

“What if I make you do really crazy things, huh? What if--”

“Try me.”

The cool air between us seemed electrified. His hands against my skin felt cool and a little dangerous. Why the fuck was he doing any of this? What on earth could be in it for him? But I could still taste him on my lips. Still felt that magnetic pull between my tongue and his, and had to fight that dizzying temptation back in towards another kiss. Wasn’t this my actual job? Why was I so petrified about agreeing to what seemed like a setup so perfectly in my favor? I had nothing to lose. So why did I feel like I was about to embark on the most dangerous ‘game’ I’d ever played with a client?

“Anything I want?”

“If you really want it, then yes.”

“And if you can’t do it, then we call everything off?”

“No questions asked.”

“Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll play along. For now. But you’re crazy, and you’re going to see what a stupid idea this is.”

He smiled softly and leaned in a little closer to me, wrapping all of his tall, imposing figure around mine, reaching down to take my chin in his hand and trace a faint line with his thumb against my lower lip.

“I wasn’t expecting that, by the way,” he said.

“Expecting what?”

“For you to be such a good kisser.”

Just like every other day this week that I had spent semi-flirting with him, I was already so completely, desperately wet it was almost distracting. My body sure as hell didn’t seem conflicted about what was happening here. In fact, if he were to grab my wrists right now, turn me around, lift my sundress and fuck me right here, I’d be more than ready for it. The thought alone seemed to make the situation worse.

Did he know what effect he was having on me?

Is it what he wanted?

Is that what I wanted?

I was just about to tell him once more how crazy he was when he moistened his lips, smoothed down his shirt and stepped out of our little makeshift alley, holding his hand out behind him to invite me to follow.

I did.

We went back out into the light and noise and chaos of the crowd, towards the line to find Angie. I walked in silence behind him, my hand in his as he led us through the crowd with me trailing behind. I felt shaken. Like parts of me were still vibrating from being pushed up against that corrugated iron and kissed like that.

But I didn’t know how to do any of this. I didn’t know what to do with this wiggly, aching feeling inside me. With how wildly exposing it felt to want him this much. But fine. He said I could tell him to do anything I wanted? Then I would. But, oh, he’d see.

When we had found Angie in the queue again, she had sat herself down on the floor and was rocking a little, in her own world bobbing the balloons on their strings. I leaned over casually to him and spoke under my breath.

“The first thing you’re going to do for me is be 100% honest.”

“Ok.”

“Do I turn you on?” I said. I had meant it to sound seductive. Inviting. But it came out sounding like an insecure schoolgirl looking for validation.

“Immensely.”

“Do you want to fuck me?” My heart pounded furiously in my chest. He took a little longer to answer this time.

“So much it’s driving me crazy.”

The knot below tightened a little more.

“Ok, well, good. Now on to the next thing I want. I don’t want us to have sex yet.”

He turned to look at me.

Of course, now he’d try to rewrite the rules. Try to convince me, or seduce me. He’d backpedal, of course. Fucking men. Maybe that’s all he wanted out of me, and the ruse of a ‘game’ was just to get us where he wanted: sex. But to my surprise, he was smiling.

“Did you say ‘yet’? Well I certainly wasn’t expecting it, but I have to say, I like the way you think,” he said and smiled that naughty smile at me. I couldn’t resist a laugh.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to the front of this line, though?” he said, quickly changing the topic.

“You have somewhere to be?”

“Well, I had an important meeting this afternoon at around 4…” he said, gazing out over the endless queue snaking to the front of the ride.

“Cancel it,” I said.

He looked at me again.

“Cancel it?”

“Yeah. Call them to cancel and come home with me and Angie. I’ll drop her off and then we’ll spend the night together at your place.” I said the words quickly, before I lost my nerve.

“Home with you, huh? To not have sex?”

“Exactly. We can not have sex all night long. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said quickly.

I eyed him over to see what else he would say, to see how he’d wriggle out of it so I could catch him breaking the rules of our ‘game’ already and get to say I told him so. But he just stood there, smiling.

“You’re nuts,” I said, and reached down to grab his hand in mine. He took it and held it tight, and let me lean against him as we waited quietly in the line.

I like the color white because it’s clean. Because it’s empty and pure and easy. White is like opting out of a color, it’s safe and sane and yes, a little cold. My life was crisp and clean and neat at the edges. I had become an expert at bleaching everything out so that only the bare minimum remained. I had known Dean for only two weeks, and already he was like a bright, multicolored stain spreading right across the neutral, safe white of my life. Dean was like electric hot pink and neon green and bight, acid yellow blaring all over my tasteful minimalism. He was like paint splatters on my mind that I couldn’t clean up fast enough.

And yet, I couldn’t resist. Part of me was curious. More than curious.

I wanted to see just how far he would go…

Chapter 11

Myth: Proper kinky sex is about trust, safety, respectful boundaries and comfortable, mature exploration of the desires of mutually consenting adults

Reality: The most raw, bone-shatteringly good fucking always happens right at the edge of what you’re most afraid of. Good sex is dangerous. You SHOULD be a little uncomfortable.

“Your house is so… I expected it to be--”

“Bigger?” he said.

I smiled.

“I’m sorry, I’m being impolite, I just imagined you’d live in some kind of castle, I don’t know,” I said and followed him as we walked into his humble studio apartment.

“Oh, sure, I do. I just like to keep all my castles in Europe,” he laughed and gestured for me to sit down.

There was no denying it now. What little scrap of professional relationship we ever had was well and truly demolished.

I was at his house.

We had kissed.

And now… I had told him in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t sleep with him. Which of course meant it was all I could think of. Though I was sitting on his sofa, though I was so turned on it felt like I would burst if he looked at me funny, though he kept piercing me with those green eyes of his and that devilish smile, over and over… I had told him it wouldn’t happen. And now, the only way it would happen is if I told him it’s actually what I wanted.

Suddenly, the warbling sounds of a soprano’s voice burst into the room and snapped me from my daydreaming. I looked up at him walking towards me, a bottle of champagne in his hands.

“Il Trittico,” I whispered. “I haven’t heard this in ages.”

“I knew you’d appreciate that,” he said, smiling with satisfaction.

“Appreciate it? No question it’s Pucini’s most underrated--”

“Most underrated opera. I couldn’t agree more.”

“You… you know about opera?” I asked, taking the fluted glass he offered me and forcing myself to drag my ears away from the hypnotizing sounds and back to his voice, equally hypnotizing.

“No, I don’t know a damn thing about it, to be honest. I’m an uncultured buffoon, it’s part of my charm, you see. But I knew you’d like it,” he said, easily popped the champagne cork and began pouring frothy golden liquid into our glasses. The house may have been on the modest side, but the champagne must have cost the earth and the glassware looked like it belonged in a museum.

“So how did you know I liked it?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I told you. My job is to find out all the things that please you the most, then do those things, right?”

Of its own accord, my hand lifted the glass to his, we clinked then both took small sips of the sparkling liquid, eyes still glued together. Of course, I was tipsy long before I took that sip. I thoughtfully set my glass down and smoothed my hands over my lap.

“Right. And that’s part of your complicated kink, isn’t it?” I said and shot him quick look. His smile was as effervescent as the bubbles fading on my tongue.

“Well, yes, we’ll get to that later,” he said quietly.

One part of me wanted to run away and never have him look so deeply into my eyes again, and another part wanted to push him back onto this sofa and make him finish what he started earlier at the fair today. I ping ponged back and forward between these two so fast I felt I was going crazy. He leaned back in his seat; spread his arms wide and exhaled.

Compared to mine, his house was positively Bohemian. Everything was in a muted shade of dark blue or leather or black, and everything seemed designed exclusively to be lounged against. I had already seen him naked. Already seen him stripped bare and staring back at me, face open and with that little glint of mystery in his eye. And yet something about curling up here in his home with him, me over here with champagne in my head and him over there in his woolly sweater… it all seemed four billion times more erotic than anything I had ever thought about before.

I took another sip, leant back and exhaled like him, feeling the bubbles smoothing over the ragged edges of my breath.

“You’re my strangest client, you know that?” I said at last.

“Really? I don’t believe you. I bet you’ve met millions of more interesting men than me.”

“Oh, interesting, yes. But you’re strange,” I said, and he laughed.

“Tell me about them,” he said.

I took a deep breath and another sip. “Well, you wouldn’t believe the naughty things I’ve done,” I said, in a seductive voice I hadn’t quite decided yet was real or just pretend.

“No?”

“I used to be a bit wild, in my youth.”

“Wild?”

“Oh yes.”

“Tell me.”

This was fun. Despite everything, despite how dangerously close he was coming to seeing just how fucked up I was, I was actually enjoying myself.

“Well, since you like games so much, here’s a game. I tell you two stories, and you have to guess which one is a lie.”

This had his attention.

I loved the way he was looking at me. His face never stayed still for long. There was always something going on with it, under the surface, shifting subtly with every little change in expression. It excited me.

“Story one,” I said and took a deep breath, realizing how close he was sitting. “I once fucked a pilot in the cockpit on a jet flying to Spain. I sat in his lap and he fucked me really hard and the copilot watched us both and jerked off a little. We landed an hour later and I could still feel it.”

His eyes were wide and he had stopped smiling.

“Story number two. I was once at a fancy charity dinner, at a table with a really hot couple. I stroked the guy’s cock under the table with my foot until he caught my drift and we both got up to meet in the men’s restroom. When we were finished screwing, you know what he said? He said, ‘now go and call my wife’. And so I did. I never saw either of them again but I never did decide who was the better fuck.”

In the silence that followed, I drained my glass and felt myself relax a little deeper into the comfy sofa. He lifted his eyebrows and whistled low under his breath.

“Those are some …interesting stories,” he said.

“But which one is a lie?”

“The second one.”

I smiled.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Ok. Again,” he said, his face still serious.

“Another round?” I teased.

“Yeah.”

I cleared my throat and made a show of playing with the rolled edge of the sofa cushion.

“Story number one is that I was at a very exclusive, very fancy celebrity party once. Things got out of hand. Somebody dared me to strip, so I did. Before I knew it, they were all getting naked, too. I don’t remember how many men there were, but I fucked each of them. Many times each. They did things to me…” I said, trailing off for dramatic effect. “Story number two is that once this very wealthy English gentlemen took me on a horse ride, on his estate in Dorset, but when we were far out in the woods we dismounted, he tore my clothes off, put me against a tree and fucked me so hard my feet came off the ground. I had bark burns all along my back, so that night he had his maids rub me down with ointment. I think he liked that it burnt a little. I think he liked to watch my face as I winced...”

“Mmm that’s hot,” he whispered.

“Hot? So you’re not jealous?” I teased.

“Nope.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re one of those who gets off on his girlfriend sleeping with other men?”

Silence.

“No, not at all. I just know that none of your stories are true. But I am enjoying the idea that you thought of them at all. And that you think of yourself as my girlfriend.”

My cheeks burst into flame and I sorely wished I had more champagne to guzzle.

“Well, yes, fine, I made it all up,” I said and couldn’t help giggling. It was hard to feel embarrassed around him. How could I, when he kept giving me that warm, easy smile of his?

“Actually, the truth is, I’m a bit of a prude”. I pulled my legs up onto the sofa. It didn’t escape my attention that our legs were touching. He didn’t pull away.

“Now that I don’t believe,” he said.

“It’s true!”

“Can’t be.”

“It is. You want to know a secret? I’ve only had one proper relationship before.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

Again his face shifted and flickered as a new expression went over his face.

“And to make matters worse, he was a total asshole. Seriously. Just, the worst guy,” I said laughing. But he was serious again.

“Well, that’s just not right.”

“Ah, it’s OK, we broke up a long time ago, in fact when I was still in college…”

He looked at me hard. Shit. I was saying too much.

“So, you haven’t been with anyone since college?”

I knew what he was asking. What’s more embarrassing than having a bit of a slutty past? Being a sad loser who hasn’t had sex for years, that’s what. My mouth suddenly went dry.

“I’m sorry, this is all a bit too much information, isn’t it? I’ll shut up now,” I blurted, and pulled my knee away from his, but he immediately shot his hand out and touched me, on my thigh, as though to say, stay here. I looked at him.

“Is this what you really want, Nora? To be apologetic and shy and unsure? We can do that if you want, but I have a feeling we could spend our time some other way…” He lifted his hand and placed it gently to my cheek, stroking my jawline with his fingertips. Every cell in my body jolted awake at his touch.

What did I want?

More of that.

“You’re right. I’m just …nervous,” I breathed.

“Of what? There’s nothing to be afraid of. I already told you. The only things that happen here, with me now, is whatever you want to happen.”

But could I really ask him for what I wanted? Could I let go and trust this beguiling man, this stranger who was promising me something that just didn’t seem possible? Where was the catch? I had set up my entire life so that I could always be in control. And yet…

“So what if I told you that I wanted to have sex after all?”

“Then that’s what we’d do.”

I gulped and let that settle in. It was an unbelievable rush, knowing that I was just a word away from all that. From him. From that beautiful body I had seen not long ago and knew was waiting for me, under his clothes right now. He stroked my cheek again and pulled me a little closer, and I kissed him. There was no effort in it, no intention. In fact, it was only release, only giving up the tension, surrendering to what my body clearly wanted so badly.

I collapsed into him and got carried away in the kiss, till I didn’t know if I was letting him kiss me or he was letting me kiss him. I just knew that the longer my lips and tongue stayed caressing his, the further that delicious warmth spread over me, and the easier it was to press myself against the firmness resting just underneath that soft sweater. The only thing that seemed to stop me from melting into a puddle right there was his firm, steady hand cradling my neck and his other hand pressing down on my upper thigh.

“Dean, I…” I tried to speak between kisses, my voice coming in gasps. “Dean, I want…”

“Tell me what you want,” he said, kissing me hungrily.

“I want…” it felt like the words were so big they stuck in my throat. Too scary to say. “I want you to fuck me,” I said, spitting it out, more of a plea than an order.

“Then tell me. Tell me exactly how much you want it,” he growled, leaning deeper into me to kiss me a little more roughly. My entire body ignited. I had never been spoken to like that before. Say it again?

I grabbed his hand and pulled it further down, so that it rested between my legs, just inches away from that throbbing spot that he had turned on the very moment he had waltzed into my life. I could taste his smile.

“Good. Now say it. Say what you want,” he mumbled, his lips all over mine, our breath hot and desperate, his palm pressing hard against me through my clothes. I moaned.

“Please, Dean. I want you. I want to do this with you…”

“How badly? Tell me.”

He was teasing me. I couldn’t believe it. But the answer to how badly I wanted it was clear: very fucking much. So much that I felt ready to do anything just then so long as he’d stop teasing and just fucking touch me already…

“God you’re beautiful,” he mumbled as he slid his hands up under my sundress and pulled, revealing my pale skin underneath.

“Take it off,” I blurted. “I want you to take it all off” I said, my voice frantic with longing. This seemed to turn a switch in him. He set his jaw, got to his knees and rapidly got to work pulling off my dress, tugging my shoes off and pulling away my bra and panties. It took my breath away, the energy he put to work completely stripping me. He was possessed, and after I realized nothing would deter him, I let my head fall back and offered myself to him to be roughly undressed.

Only my panties remained. I squeezed shut my eyes knowing that when he peeled them off, he’d find ample, obvious evidence for how disgustingly turned on I really was. He slid the fabric down my thighs and paused a little, and I knew that he was taking me all in. Knew that my drenched thighs and soaked pussy had caught his attention. My heart pounded madly in my chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said in a throaty voice. “Keep talking.”

So I let go. Just a little. I held my breath as he slid the loop of my underwear off over my ankles, and then I was naked, and I let him look at me. Then I opened my mouth to speak, hoping the words would form.

“I want you to touch me,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady.

“Good. Tell me where,” he said, and brought his lips close to my neck. I shuddered at the sensation of his fully clothed body against my naked skin. I grabbed his wrist and urgently pressed his hand to that tender, dripping spot.

“Here,” I hissed into his ear. “Right here.”

He felt heavy against me, pinning me down with his broad chest. When a single finger dipped low into that aching slit I thought I would scream. He carried on, tracing a sinewy line down over that thumping knot of pleasure and further, further down into that secret pool…

“Oh fu--”

“I said don’t stop talking,” he ordered, and watched my face intently.

“That’s good,” I whimpered. And sweet fuck was it good. He seemed to know exactly where to stroke me, exactly how to touch me, exactly when to drag his fingertips away and tease me. Suddenly, what he had been telling me took on another, more exciting color. Maybe I should tell him exactly what I wanted. Maybe I could speak out loud all the dirtiest thoughts I’d been holding inside my whole life and dare him to make good on his word and please me, if that’s what he wanted so bad.

Images and ideas bubbled up irresistibly in my mind.

“Inside,” I breathed, and clawed at his back to anchor myself against the torturing bliss of having him stroke my clit like that.

“Inside?” he said with mischief in his voice, but before I could respond he had sunk his finger into that quivering pool, dipping into a whole world of pleasure stirring just an inch inside. He held me down as I wriggled against every inch he pressed in. His eyes were wild as he watched me.

“Another one,” I said. It was all I could manage. I was intoxicated, a bewitched mess, unable to speak properly anymore.

“You want another one?” he said and teased another finger at that tingling entrance.

“Yes,” I said, but the sound didn’t make its way fully out of my throat. I rolled and gyrated against his hand, twisting and snaking against him for more. But he took his time sliding in the next finger, so much time that I felt my whole body arching towards him, begging him to fill that hole.

Like a woman possessed, my tongue and lips spoke on their own. “And another one,” I gasped, and I felt him growl in approval. It was a delicious ladder, and each step took me higher and higher, closer to some gorgeous burning point deep inside me that I just wanted him to touch.

“You like that?” he breathed.

He was everywhere. His voice was in my ear, his arms were locked all around me, his strong body was on top of me, and down below, his fingers were stroking up a heat that felt so outrageously dirty I was certain I had soaked his hand and was dripping onto the sofa.

“I want…” I said, waiting for my body to speak for me again, for me to fill in that delicious blank and magic up the next blissful sensation. “I want…”

He leaned in closer, pressing a ridiculously hard cock square against my leg. He had me three thick fingers wedged deep inside me, each of them stroking me so expertly I couldn’t think straight, so deeply I felt my entire body swell and tense around him.

Didn’t I want that cock inside me? Didn’t I need that thick, juicy tool of his crammed far inside me, and wasn’t that the only thing that would satisfy me right now?

I gasped and pulled back away from his kiss.

“Dean I… I have to tell you something. It’s been …it’s been a really long time for me.” I didn’t know if I could handle all this. Handle …him. His body was so intimidating.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” I said, still rocking my hips over his fingers, stroking out my own delicious rhythm there, still not quite believing what this man could make me feel.

“Relax for me,” he said, and played with his fingers now, pulling them out, then slowly stuffing them all the way back in again. It was a brutal, filthy movement, but done so slowly it almost felt… romantic.

I knew I only had to give the word. Only had to say exactly where I wanted him to stick that beast of his and how deeply, and he would do it. I could tell him to bend me over now and fuck me savagely from behind, or order him to press my legs so far open that my knees went to my ears, so he could squeeze every last inch of that thing into me, right inside as far as he could reach, and fuck me hard till I couldn’t take it any more. I could tell him to grab my hair in his fist and force his cock all the way into my throat, and then…

“Stop,” I gasped.

He stopped.

“There’s something else,” I said, short of breath, struggling to maintain my composure when he had three fingers knuckle-deep into me, and there was no way he wasn’t feeling my overwhelmed body twitching and trembling with each delicious stretch, and release, and stretch, and release.

“Dean, I want to be honest. I want to tell you the truth… I’ve never had an orgasm before,” I said, and closed my eyes to wait for the fallout of such a confession. But his gorgeous fingers didn’t stop their caressing.

“So?”

“It’s just… I can’t…”

“Then don’t.”

Silence.

“Just don’t stop telling me what you want, Nora. That’s all you have to do. Come all the way out with me anyway, I don’t care.”

I whimpered, suddenly unsure if I was about to cry or laugh, or explode all over him. I had never had an orgasm. No, not one. Yes, I’m sure. And yes, I’ve tried everything. What did I want? For him to keep going. To keep doing that dirty thing with his fingers. It felt unreal, to be stretched, to be held open, to find myself happily accommodating him, my juicy body shaking violently around him yet welcoming him in deeper with every thrust in, then out, then in again.

“I want …this,” I said, reaching down to his cock and gasping at just how solid it felt in my hand. He pulled away briefly to remove his clothes, but kept his hazy eyes nailed to mine. When he came to lay down beside me again, his skin was warm and soft and smelt so good I couldn’t help but bury my face against it and draw a deep, indecent breath. With shaking hands, I again reached for that massive rod, and felt it swell in my hands.

I was scared.

I was thrilled.

I couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen. I kissed him, this time his tongue feeling like a language against mine, a language that said yes or like that or please don’t stop…

I can’t exactly tell you the series of events that led to his wide, stiff cock pressing me open. By that point, I was no longer myself, no longer ‘there’, but somewhere far away, somewhere in a world made only of the hot scent of his skin, and the delicious aching tear of having him climb all the way up inside me. And then it happened when I wasn’t thinking about it happening. It happened suddenly, and like a spell, like a hiccup, like tripping and falling.

“Tell me what you want, Nora.”

“I want this …oh fuck, I want it…”

“Tell me. Fucking say it!”

“Oh god… I want your cock, please…”

“You want what?”

“I want your fucking cock” I cried.

I peeled open my eyes to see him grinning down at me, his strong body curling brutally into mine, bringing down the full length of that immense cock slickly into my aching pussy, again and again and again… He bit his lower lip and gave me a cheeky kiss, even as he kept pounding into me below.

“You feel that, Nora?” he said, his breath hot in my ear.

I almost laughed out loud.

“You fucking feel that? Look how much you love it,” he said, and I gasped to try and answer him but I couldn’t speak anymore. I could only glance down and see his swollen, red cock pumping in and out of me, so wet it glistened. It was so outrageously hot to see I felt something break inside me. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I didn’t want to hold on any longer…

“Dean, I think I’m… Dean…”

My whimper turned into a slow, silent scream as a dam burst inside me and a wave of heat ripped all the way through me. I felt myself clenching hard down on him, but each spasm that met his thick cock only seemed to prolong the wave, only seemed to keep me at that quivering height even longer. I clawed at his shoulders but he only thrust deeper into me, like he knew exactly where I needed the head of his cock, and why…

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said and pulled me close to him, and I could feel my chest fluttering against him. Had I…? It couldn’t possibly be.

“Now what was that nonsense about not being able to come?” he said and gave me a naughty look.

“Dean, that was… I just…”

“Well shit, I see you’ve forgotten how to talk,” he said.

Waves of pleasure were still pumping through me, and with each one I was reminded that he was still inside me, all the way inside me, and though he was no longer slamming into me, all I had to do was draw a breath to feel how electrified I was all against his entire length, how ready I was to do …that again.

It happened.

I had had an orgasm.

And it was nothing like what I thought it would be.

It felt deep and dirty and wild and a little bit insane. It felt like he had dug deep inside me and rattled me loose, pressing hard on all those buttons inside that I never knew I had.

It felt more than good.

It felt bad.

I traced a shaking finger over his collarbone, now glistening with sweat. His face looked different to me now. He had known, somehow. Known what I had needed and given it to me, one dirty word, one heavy inch at a time. I only realized there were tears on my lashes when he leaned forward to kiss them away.

“Ok, you can stop talking now,” he teased, and carried on his kissing onto my cheeks. “Besides, now I already know what you want.”

He only needed to push in the slightest bit for me come alive again. I wanted more. I wanted another long tumble down that hill.

A dark, deep growl came from his chest as he started to gently, slowly roll his hips again into mine once more.

“Do you think you could come again …just for me…?” he said. I moaned.

He was thrusting slowly now, but deep, and every part of him was pressed up tightly against every part of me. Astonishingly, the answer was yes. A few deep, full strokes later, I cried out again as I came, but this time, I felt as his body instantly tightened around mine, his jaw clenched and deep inside I could feel him explode. We came together, easily, and it was messy, and hot, and so good it almost hurt.

We lay for a long while in each other’s arms, coming back to earth, cooling down, trying to unscramble our brains and untangle our limbs. But the orgasm was still in me somehow, still leftover and buzzing in every atom of my body; the whole world took on a hazy golden color and hummed. I had been unlocked. Switched on. The world was suddenly colorful.

Chapter 12

Myth: It’s all about power

Reality: Nobody knows what the hell it’s all about

“Dean, I never even knew shops like this existed,” I said and gawked at the dozens of chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceilings with velvet cord.

To even call it a ‘shop’ felt wrong. It wasn’t a boutique either. It was more like a shrine to only the most exclusive forms of consumerism, an altar where only the richest could come to worship, black Amexes in hand and the scent of complimentary martinis on their breath. Look, I love a bit of gloss and polish, but even I was overwhelmed.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a bit tacky. But they have pretty things, and I’m getting you something pretty, and that’s the end of it,” he said and dragged me through over the marble floors and to a little enclave ringed with mannequins who stared at each other’s reflections. Each wore something you’d see a celebrity wear to the Met gala, all haute couture ruffles and edgy cutouts.

“Pretty? Damn, I can’t believe a dress like this is legal,” I said and lifted the lace sleeve of something that can only be described as a jumpsuit for a renn fair street walker from the future. I was in the best mood. I always felt like this, after he’d fucked me – a little cheeky, a little defiant. Buzzing and full of sass… among other things. The last place I wanted to be right now was in this super fancy boutique. The first place? On his cock. Again.

“Well, I agree, that one’s a little …avant garde. Plus it wouldn’t show off your ass enough,” he said and gave my butt a playful slap. “Now pick something quick so I can take you home,” he said, devouring me with his eyes.

I loved that look he gave me. Two parts ravenous animal, one part sheer wonderment. I once saw a clip of the great Sergiu Celibidache conducting Mozart’s Requiem, and at the swell, the part where the chorus bursts into that painful, final few bars of the Lacrimosa, he had this look on his face, eyebrows tilted, mouth slightly open, like he had just been blessed with a vision of angels. Well, Dean looked like that. Except on top of everything the angels he saw were hot.

“But everything’s so damn colorful,” I said, weaving my way through the displays. “Besides, have you ever even shopped with a woman before? I need at least a few hours in here to pick something. Are you in some kind of rush?” I flashed him a goofy grin and rifled through a rack of gaudy sequined numbers.

“Rush? No rush. I told you. I blew off those investors this morning and told them I’d meet with them in the new week.”

“Blew them off? Again? Remind me how you make so much money when you’re trying to get into my pants 24/7?” I teased and waggled my ass at him, daring him to come get me. He straightened his tie and pulled a serious face.

“How? Well, personal assistants, of course. A gentleman makes time,” he said, then ducked as I playfully tossed a beaded clutch purse at him. He propped it up against one of the mannequins, tilted his head to admire the back end of the outfit and then looked at me.

“And you, Nora?”

“And me?”

“Any clients today?”

His face was suddenly more serious.

“Today? No.”

“What about tomorrow?”

I looked into his eyes.

Nobody could say a man like him didn’t belong in an ultra-exclusive place like this, where the frocks cost as much as a car each and the shop assistants where all ex Ukrainian models. His suit fit him perfectly, and he held himself like he owned the place, like there was no luxury on this planet that he wasn’t entitled to or indeed, a little bored of.

I saw all that.

But there was something else in him, something that didn’t fit. And it was in those cloudy green eyes of his, a little glint that told you that not everything was quite as it seemed, and the really good stuff was inside. This is what I looked at now. I forgot the glitz, the holidays, the extravagant shopping sprees. I even forget the heady evenings we spent together, and the obscene and wonderful things he knew how to do to my body. For a moment, I just looked at him, at that …something in his eyes.

“No. No clients at all,” I said plainly.

He nodded once and then flipped through the racks with me.

“Good. Now let’s pick out something sexy for you so you can drip deliciously off my arm tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, I’m taking you out. A very important party, just a bunch of stuck up old geezers I need to make nice with, but it is terribly important that everyone sees how drop dead gorgeous you are,” he said, raising a teasing eyebrow at me.

My skin went a little cold. A million possible situations raced through my mind, roughly half of them involving some embarrassment involving bumping into his father, who had mercifully not decided to ‘ruin’ me yet as he had threatened that awful day not so long ago.

I swallowed hard.

What an idiot I was. What did I expect, for it to never come up? It’s not that I was deliberately trying not to tell Dean. It was just that… I never found the right moment.

I smiled and kept looking at the rows of gowns and cocktail dresses, but my good mood was suddenly feeling a little thin.

“These are all nice, you know, but they have nothing in white…”

He came up behind me and gave me a flirtatious nibble on my neck while wrapping his strong arms round my waist.

“So help me, Nora, if you don’t pick something out then I will. One of us has to be pretty tonight, and if you’re not up to the task.”

I turned around to see that he had donned a massive bonnet, complete with exotic feathers and a piece of black netting hanging down into his eyes. I burst out laughing.

“Woah! Bellissima!” I said and kissed my fingertips, then went to grab a red scarf from a table. “But you just need a little bit of color round your neck, it’ll really make your stubble pop, you know?” I said, and laced the silk over his tie with a flourish.

He thrust his chest forward, pouted and got to work modelling up and down in front of the mirrors, hips jutting this way and that way. When he flicked his hair and did a little turn at the end, I was nearly folded double with laughter.

“Stop! Stop! They’ll throw us out!” I squealed, but he only swanned over to me with his best bedroom-eyes, wrist hanging limp out in front of him and the other hand on his hip.

“Throw us out? Dahling do you even know who I am?” he pouted. I couldn’t stop laughing. The beautiful blonde shop assistant a few feet away did indeed stop to peak over at us.

“Shhh! Yes, dahling, clearly, you’re hot stuff, just look at you,” I said through giggles.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’d tap that,” I said and gestured to his jutting hip. He tore off the hat and scarf and took a bold step towards me.

“Then do it,” he said, outrageously naughty smile still plastered all over his face.

“Dean! Oh my god you’re--”

“Come on, that changing room over there is open,” he said and pressed his tall frame against me, pulling me close. He pressed his lips to mine for a kiss but I still couldn’t stop giggling. I just knew the shop assistant was ogling us, but when I turned to glance at her she appeared to be on her phone, doing her best to ignore our shenanigans. I guess if you’re wealthy enough to shop in here, you get to do what you want without the shop assistants having an opinion about it.

“How long has it been since I’ve fucked you, hm?” he breathed into my ear. I loved it when he swore. On his tongue, the word ‘fuck’ somehow became a spell, a magic word that instantly melted me inside and had my legs feeling stupidly weak. I yielded to his kiss and let him breath and nibble his way down my collarbones.

“Probably a whopping two hours,” I said, fondly remembering back to this morning in the shower, and the way the water streamed off him and made little braided rivers over his chest.

“Two hours? Unacceptable. I think we need to do it again,” he whispered, and tugged me toward the plush changing room to the corner.

“Oh my god, Dean, you’re crazy,” I moaned, but it was hard to sound very convincing when I was already beginning to ache all over again, my poor body barely recovered from our last romp and yet twitching awake again now, knowing exactly what treatment lay in store for it now. He was all over me again, folding his chest around me in a way completely impossible to resist. He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the heavy drapes of the changing room.

“I can’t believe you’re serious,” I said, trying to hide my face.

“What? What’s your alternative, we do it out here? What a pervert.” His smile was so white-hot and delicious I could do nothing but follow along as he dragged me inside, laughing freely.

He had barely shut the drapes of the booth when he immediately started to tear off my dress with his other hand. In a minute I had lifted the hem and wriggled down my soaked panties. We did this so often I felt permanently turned on these days, permanently wet and ready, permanently turned on. He unzipped, released that solid lump from his trousers and turned me roughly to face the wall. His shoe nudged my feet a little wider apart and then he bent his knees to bring the already rock hard tip to my dripping little hole.

And once he had jammed that generous bulk all the way into me, it was suddenly like all the other times we had fucked, suddenly like that first time. My body needed no help remembering what to do, and raced ahead, still hot and sensitive from that steamy time in the shower, from the slow, sweet time by the fireplace, from that truly filthy time in bed that Sunday morning when we did it over and over and over, till our drained, sweaty bodies fell asleep on one another and then woke again at noon for naked croissants on the balcony.

I had discovered the trick to having good orgasms.

Dying a little.

Being completely willing to let it all go, and not giving a fuck, even if just for a few split seconds. It was a new skill I had learnt. And with him, I was getting really, really good at it.

With each easy, gooey thrust up into me, I felt him lift my weight a little and tilt me forward, making my hands spread wide against the mirror in front of me to balance. I loved seeing our reflection; him so much taller and bigger than me, me absorbing each strong plunge of his dominating hips. I loved that no matter how much we did this, no matter how used to him my little pussy became, I hoped that he would always hurt just a little, would always sting slightly like this. I loved that full, open feeing of holding all of him in me at the top of each thrust. But I also loved the resistance, loved the faint hint of pain, like I was always just slightly pushed, just strained further than what was strictly necessary.

When we were done, I buffed the steam off the mirror in front of me, pulled my panties up and gave him a delicious smile as he zipped up and straightened his tie. Fuck, he was a good-looking man. And knowing that I had just had his glorious cock hammering into me right to the hilt made me feel so giddy I had trouble keeping a straight face as he snapped open the drapes and stepped out into the boutique again.

How could I not grin like an idiot, knowing what his cock had just done to me? Knowing that as I walked out there in public I was literally brimful of his warm, thick cum?

If the shop assistant noticed anything, she didn’t let on. In fact, she was still on her phone. Slightly embarrassed, I pretended to be interested in a red dress off to the side and hoped she wouldn’t notice we hadn’t taken anything into the room with us. To my surprise, she came up to Dean, shyly waving her phone at him.

“I know this is going to sound strange, but since you’re here, can I ask you a question?” she said. I pricked my ears but pretended to examine the hem of the dress, still feeling the memory of that orgasm convulsing through me. He went over to talk to her. I wanted to leave already.

“It’s just, I’m trying to set up this new feature? This device flicking thing?” she said, and dragged her fingers over the screen of her phone. He took it from her and started to tap the screen quickly as she looked on.

“Yeah, what’s intuitive to the designers is not always intuitive to regular people like us,” he said warmly. He handed her the phone back, took her finger and dragged it over the screen, aiming the phone at a TV screen above one of the changing rooms. Instantly, the woman’s phone screen shot up on the TV screen. He flicked her finger down again and the TV went dark again. This new feature had lots of fans excited.

“Thanks!” she said. “You make it look so easy.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

“Well, thank you. I would never have figured it out on my own,” she said, and walked off again. He walked over to me again and looked down at the dress in my hands.

“Is that the one you want?” he said casually. “It’s nice.”

“It must be weird, right? Having the Portal creator as your father,” I said, and threw the dress over my arm. I didn’t want to try it on. We walked to the payment counter and he sighed.

“No, not weird at all. It’s just nothing. He doesn’t feature in my life at all.”

“At all? He’s like, a household name. Literally everyone has a Portal phone. He’s a billionaire. Come on, I’m sure he features a little.”

“He doesn’t,” he snapped, and guided me to the shop assistant who began to ring up the dress.

It was red.

I never wore red.

It was something Jessica Rabbit would wear. It looked slinky up top and tight down below, and had a long, red carpet-style train that the assistant had to wrap carefully in silk tissue and place in a big paper bag. The register showed the price: $ 7500.

I’d have to tell him eventually. It would be the most awkward conversation of my life, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I would die if I had to meet his father now, wearing this dress, at the side of his son. Literally, I wouldn’t survive the shame.

I watched him pay and decided to myself that I would tell him soon. Tonight even. Before this got even more out of control than it already was. I wasn’t imagining things though, it seemed like just the mention of Jeff Cane’s name had spoiled Dean’s mood, too, and I was dreading having to bring the topic up again.

He handed me the bag and smiled.

“Let’s get out of here, beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the bag.

It wasn’t gratitude for the dress. It was gratitude for him. For the fact that he had, in his own over-the-top way, quietly turned my life right around. A month ago I had been a dark, sad woman bent on petty revenge and today, I was giggly and goofy and, gasp, about to wear something that wasn’t white.

I want to defend myself and tell you, don’t jump to conclusions, I wasn’t falling for him, it was just a crush, just a bit of fun. I want to tell you that I wasn’t being a completely smitten girl in a whirlwind romance that had me forgetting every last thing from my old life. But I think I was. Honestly? I had no idea what was happening to me.

On the drive home, I placed my hand on his knee and stared at the road ahead.

“You seemed uncomfortable back then, when I mentioned your dad.”

His thigh tensed under my touch.

“I want you to tell me about him. What’s your relationship with him like?”

I had asked him for dozens of things so far. I had tested him in millions of ways, and he had complied with every request of mine, from the silly to the serious. But now he was silent.

“I’ll tell you about him one day. But not now,” he said, voice hard and strange.

It was the first time he had not given me what I wanted. My heart was in my throat. The old paranoia came back.

Did he know?

I removed my hand and we drove on in silence. I knew right then that something was wrong. But even I couldn’t have guessed at just how ‘complicated’ his kink really was.

A few sequins peaked out from the bag and cast tiny, metallic shimmers on the roof of the car.

Chapter 13

Myth: Men are naturally dominant, women are naturally submissive

Reality: Humans are naturally depraved – do the details even matter?

Before you ask…

No, I didn’t tell him.

And yes, I know I’m a complete and utter idiot.

But you have to understand, I just couldn’t. He was sweet that night as we relaxed in his library and later started to get ready for the evening. But something was still different. I knew I couldn’t ask. I could barely even mention his father, how was I going to confess that I knew him, and not only that, I had kept this information to myself for so long? My little dream with him would be smashed and over before it started. I had no idea what the protocol was. The rule was not to tell a soul about who I saw and why. But every second that went past and I said nothing felt like a lie.

But I said nothing.

It was a private function to celebrate the anniversary of the creation of one of his ‘pet projects’, as he called them, and the fact that he was happy to step out into that room of people with me at his side made the corkscrew of guilt in my gut twist in even deeper.

Mercifully, I never saw Jeff. Nobody mentioned him.

My mailbox at home was likely filling up with his creepy letters, and I often wondered if his wife still prowled around my home waiting to accost me and beg me to take her deviant husband off her hands. But for that night, I could pretend that none of that had ever happened. I could pretend that my brand new, weeks-long whirlwind relationship with Dean was all that ever was.

We pulled up to my driveway after the dinner was over but he said he was exhausted and had to have an early night. He wouldn’t come inside, but kissed me sweetly and told me to call him the next morning. I thought I saw something there in his eyes again, something that flashed away and disappeared the moment I looked closer for it. He simply smiled and waved, and then he was off again. Fair enough, we had seen each other nearly every day for ages now, and I understood he had business to get back to.

I stood for a moment, alone in my blood-red Jessica Rabbit dress in my driveway, feeling the cool night air play with my hair and float across my bare arms. In the stillness, it didn’t feel so outrageous to let go and let in a new feeling that had been trying to press its way in for days.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. Is this what it felt like, to trust someone? Could this actually be happening to me? This wiggly, warm, totally electrifying feeling I had whenever I thought of him …could he possibly feel the same for me?

Maybe I had been blessed with a second chance.

I stared out and down into the darkness, out into the night twinkling with distant lights and wisps of dark cloud. I felt the gravity of my old life behind me, back towards the house. ‘Mistress Morgan’ and everything she stood for felt like nothing more than a dead, shed skin lying around me. Turns out, this sparkling red dress was exactly my style. Turns out, I wasn’t broken, but deliciously, wonderfully, beautifully alive and still dizzy with learning all the amazing things my body and mind could do…

I turned to the house.

There was no question. The next time we met, I owed it to him to come clean.

I let myself into the house, kicked off my heels and padded barefoot into the kitchen, not bothering to turn the lights on. I made myself a bowl of cereal, then walked into the living room, thinking that what I needed right now was The Pearlfishers duet at high volume and to put my feet up for a second.

I screamed. The bowl went crashing to the ground. The shape of a human figure sat on the chair by the record player, watching me. I wanted to turn and run but my feet were nailed to the floor. An icy wave passed over me as I realized who it was. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

“Mistress,” came a thin voice from the shadow, and the sound made me want to throw up. That wasn’t my name. I was Nora. I was nobody’s fucking mistress. I tried my best to find words of my own.

“I’m calling the Police,” I said, and realized that the closest panic button in the house was in the kitchen where I had just come from. I quickly tried to calculate how long it would take me to run to it now. I didn’t even want to think of what would happen after I pressed it.

“Relax, Mistress. You seem afraid.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You broke into my home,” I whispered, astonishing myself that I was even standing here having this conversation at all. All I could think about was that ugly blue mark on his wife’s neck. And how it got there. And how suddenly the fact that I’d been ignoring all of that for weeks now seemed like the biggest, stupidest mistake I had ever made.

“Will you calm down? You wouldn’t see me.”

“You’re not my client anymore,” I said. I couldn’t make out the details of his face but I could just tell he was crawling his eyes all over my dress. All over me.

“You’re different,” he said. “You look different.”

Would he chase me? Would the police arrive before he…?

I had had four drinks this evening, and it was late, and I was tired and I could feel a splatter of spilt milk snaking its way down my ankle. It suddenly seemed clear as day to me. Having just spent a wonderful evening with Dean, all this crap from my past life seemed even more sordid than I remembered. I felt sickened.

“What do you want?” I said coldly.

“You know what I want. You. We were in the middle of something, Mistress, and you disappeared on me. We have unfinished business, you and I.”

He was crazy. That was the only explanation. If it seems naïve of me to never have thought this before, well, you can pity me. Something about being without any clients these last few weeks had made me realize just how crazy I myself must have been to ever get this involved with people this messed up.

“I’m telling you one more time, and then I’m calling the police,” I said calmly, trying to dig deep to find that bitchy Mistress Morgan voice I used to be so at home in. “You and I are done. Find someone else.”

“Name your price.”

“I don’t need money.”

“Who else is there? Drop them and I’ll pay you triple what they do.”

“I’m not even a Domme anymore. I quit that work.”

Here he stirred a little in his seat. Every tendon in my bare feet was coiled and ready to spring to action.

“Good, then nobody else can take your attention.”

“The answer is no.”

“I don’t understand. Do you know how many women would kill for this opportunity?” he said quietly. “You’re saying no because you’re scared, I get it. But I know you, Mistress. You know me and I know you. That’s what makes what we have so special. Give me one good reason why you’re running away from the best offer anyone will ever give you?”

I said nothing.

It all became so crystal clear to me, in that moment. I was no longer a tortured, sexually repressed woman who needed to play games and manipulate those who were only slightly more damaged than I was. I was different now, different enough to see that men like Jeff had nothing I wanted anymore, and whatever game I had thought I needed to play here, well, the prize just didn’t seem worth much anymore.

One good reason? I had a million. His poor wife was one. The fact that he had stalked and harassed me for weeks was another. And more than that, I was beginning to realize that I wanted something else. Something more. I wanted a life where I wasn’t just pretending to be in charge, but really was.

“I don’t need a reason, Jeff.”

“You don’t have one.”

I thought about the damning pictures I had of him. The plan to ruin him had been shelved and now it felt weird to think of it again, but would that be my silver bullet to kill this demon once and for all?

“See? You can’t think of anything,” he said. He stood up and my heart leapt.

“I’m seeing someone,” I blurted, wielding the words like a shield. He froze where he stood. I had no idea what possessed me to say it, but he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Who the hell would--”

“It’s Dean. It’s your son. I can’t see you anymore because I’m seeing him, and I love him,” I said, the words tumbling out, and once they were said, I was as shocked as he was to hear them.

Love him? Sure, why not. Isn’t that the word for the feeling I felt, wrapped in his arms and listening to his breath? Isn’t that what people called that feeling of wanting to burst at the thought of spending an afternoon with someone? Yes, dammit, it was love. Why couldn’t I be in love with Dean? I could. I was.

The silence around us felt treacherous. I still couldn’t make out his facial expression but I didn’t need to know that I had said something truly unexpected. I could feel him thinking. Would he come for me? Apologize and leave?

What he did was laugh. Quietly, cynically, like he had just caught me in a trap.

“I didn’t think you were this stupid, Nora.”

I hated the way he switched between names whenever it suited him.

“I don’t know what you--”

“Are you kidding me? Dean? That is fucking priceless,” he said, still chuckling.

“I should have told you, but I’m telling you now. I’m sorry, but it’s serious, and I’m done now with all this.” He took a few slow, menacing steps from out of the shadows and brought his sneering face into the light. It was no more human than it had been a moment ago, draped in darkness.

“Since you can’t figure it out, Nora, I’ll explain it to you. Like everyone in this dump of a town, Dean is trying his damndest to get a slice of my pie. What do you think a guy like that wants with someone like you, huh? Didn’t you think that was a bit suspicious?”

I wanted him to stop talking. To go away.

“You’re just trying to--”

“Think about it. What’s more likely, that he loves you, or that he specifically went after you to get at me?”

“But… how would…”

“Tell me, what do you even know about the guy, huh?” He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. “Fucking priceless. I should have known. He’ll stoop to any level, truly.”

“He’s… Dean…”

“Dean is even sicker than I am, you dumb slut. Ever since he was a kid he’s been trying to one-up me. Everything is a competition for him. You’re just the newest challenge.”

“Dean cares about me, he doesn’t even know that you were a client. He’s not even a client, he has nothing to do wi--”

“Wait so he’s not even paying you?” he said, and slapped his knee. “Wow, he really pulled a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Get out!” I snapped.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, stared at my bare feet for a moment, and then made for the door.

“Happily.”

The silence after the click of the door closing behind him was deafening. My dress suddenly felt too tight. Too stupidly red.

Could it actually be true?

I looked down to see a few milky drops clinging to the elaborate train. What did I know about Dean, really? That I had fallen in love with him like an idiot after knowing him for a little over a month? My mind spun, but trying to hold all of the last few weeks in my head all at once made me dizzy.

Chapter 14

Myth: Some strange people like to be restrained with chains and cuffs. They like to be hung up on hooks or spread helpless over crosses or metal beams and strapped in with buckles

Reality: Most people’s restraints are invisible

The sound was Verdi’s Requiem, Dies Irae, playing at eardrum-splitting volume all throughout the house. The shade of lipstick was Kat Von D’s “Lolita”, a murky mauve, applied thickly and sealed in with a layer plasticky gloss. The outfit was, for once, black. A full Lycra cat suit with a violent looking zip that ran all the way from the crotch to the high neck.

The mission was simple: get control over my circus of a life and make sure that Dean knew just how stupid he had been to underestimate me.

When the doorbell rang, I went to answer it as Mistress Morgan, ready to stab him immediately with a look so vicious I used to charge men for the thrill of getting to be on the other end of it. One glance at me and he was taken aback.

“Nora! Woah, look at you,” he said and smiled to come in.

I said nothing. But when I stepped aside and slammed the door behind him, he stopped smiling.

“Is everything--”

“Come to the sitting room,” I said, with a voice that made icicles seem warm and soft. He frowned but followed me, and we sat down. I drew out that moment as long as I could. He sat opposite me and waited for me to speak, but I wanted him to sweat it, wanted him to really feel that hideous tension before I cleared my throat and said, “We need to talk.”

I had never seen Dean nervous before, but the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat let me know that yes, it was possible to put such a man on the back foot.

“You know that I see your father,” I said slowly, and glared at him.

The silence around us whined as he tried to find his tongue.

“Don’t worry about all that, Nora, I don’t care, and besides, you’ve stopped seeing him, you’ve—”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not asking for your fucking forgiveness. He came to see me.”

“What do you mean?”

I cracked my knuckles and looked down at my manicure.

“He had some interesting things to say about you, Dean.”

The Adam’s apple bobbed up and then down again. It felt good to see him speechless. To see that look of panic on his face. But he didn’t rush to defend himself. In fact, the longer he sat there mute, the angrier I got.

“So, it’s all true then? That’s your complicated kink? You have some sick fantasy of seducing your father’s mistress?” I blurted. The cat suit was tight and constricting, but I still felt like I was about to boil over with rage.

“Please, Nora…”

“Yes or no, just answer me. Were you just using me to get a rise out of your father? I don’t care what sick game you were playing, but be honest with me, was anything we did together even real? Were you just using me?” I sucked in my breath and tried to remind myself not to get hysterical. Not to show him any weakness.

He frowned deeply and shook his head from side to side.

“Nora are you kidding? You used me,” he said low under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Admit that you’ve been trying to fish for info about my father all along. Are you sure you weren’t playing any of your own sick games?” he said and shot me a hard look.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was meant to be groveling now. Apologizing profusely for breaking my heart and begging my forgiveness.

“How dare you…”

“Seriously? Fine, I should have told you. But shit, when were you going to tell me?”

“You deceived me, you deliberately--”

“Oh please, Nora. Just don’t. Nobody forced you to do anything. Yes, I knew who you were. I knew you saw my father. It wasn’t personal, I just… I’m not proud of it, I guess I wanted to see if I could…”

“Could what? Was it a competition?’

“No, not a competition. But part of the appeal was…”

“I’m not a thing, Dean. I’m not a toy you can steal from somebody. I opened up to you.”

“I know, Nora. I’m sorry, but please try to understand.”

“You manipulated me. Who the hell are you even? Just a liar? You’re just like him!” The effect these words had was staggering. He immediately snapped to attention and scowled at me.

“Don’t you dare say that. That’s not true. How dare you call me a liar when …Jesus, Nora. You think you’re so dark and mysterious? You’re completely transparent, and you’re just looking for petty revenge, like me. If I’m a liar then so are you. You hide behind this little dominatrix routine because you’re shit scared of playing out in the real world with the rest of us.”

“How can you—”

“It’s true. Fuck, I know people pay you for this but admit that all you’ve done is found a way to monetize a mild personality disorder or something. You’re not some sex expert, you’re just self-absorbed.”

His words hit me so hard I think I stopped breathing. But I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t argue. He was absolutely right. My whole life was a shabby thing held together with tape and paint, just a cheap illusion. Not real, just a two-dimensional image of a confident, sexually free woman that I could hide behind and hope nobody ever came close enough to look and see what I really was. I wasn’t even angry. Just shocked.

The look on his face softened.

“Nora, I’m sorry. I don’t mean any of that. It’s just… I didn’t expect for things to pan out this way, to go this far. I was an idiot, it was never meant to be more than an ego boost, a dare. But I never expected to …feel things for you.”

“Bullshit,” I spat.

“It’s true,” he whispered. “You’re falling for me too. Admit it.”

I looked up to see him standing and walking slowly towards me. Would I kiss him? Would I cry and say sorry and beg him to hold me?

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“Are you still doing whatever I tell you to do?” I said, avoiding his eyes.

Silence.

“Of course. We had an agreement, didn’t we?” he said, his voice kind again. I stood up, straightened my hair and glowered at him.

“Then leave. And don’t come back.”

Chapter 15

Myth: Everyone is a little bit kinky. All of us have a little darkness in us, a little shame, a little secret desire that would mortify us to show the world

Reality: Actually, this one is one hundred percent true…

Kitchen scissors are probably not the best implement to use when cutting a designer sequinned couture frock into tiny pieces, but it would have to do the trick.

On my hands and knees, I worked with big, hulking chomps of the scissors and butchered that slinky number into smaller and smaller pieces. First I chopped the train off, then cut the whole thing into strips and then, still not satisfied, cut those strips even further into smaller scraps. I briefly tried to calculate how much each scrap was worth, but got bored and kept cutting until it no longer resembled anything but a pile of sparkly red innards.

I tossed the scissors aside, gathered the bundle in my arms and tossed it in the trash. I daubed on some fresh face powder, cracked my neck and got to work on the next task for the day. The landline phone flashed to indicate a message, but I ignored it. If that asshole wanted to apologize, he’d have to make about a million times more effort than that.

I sat down and used the other line to work through my client contact list. I began with Ralph, who nearly went into raptures to learn that his dog cage was once again vacant, and moved my way down the list till I had booked up a full schedule for the next two weeks. Provided there were no cancellations, it was easily almost $60 000 of income. I didn’t usually work that hard, but I was rearing to get back into things and forget about my recent little foray into trying to be a normal person.

Two hours had passed by the time I was finished. Finally, it was time for the last and most important task of the day.

I opened my bottom drawer and pulled out a plain manila envelope and stuffed it in my handbag. The time had come to finish what I started. I no longer cared how much that rat reporter offered me this time. I no longer cared about whether my reputation came into it.

Maybe Jeff was right and I was nothing but a whore. Maybe Dean was right and I was nothing but a big bluffing baby. Whatever the case, I still had my trump card, and this time when I played it, I would be getting two servings of revenge for the price of one. I forgave myself for making the error of dropping my guard, but I didn’t forgive them for having seen me so vulnerable.

I slipped on my heels, got in the car and headed into town. On the way, I pulled over at a gas station, filled up and then went inside to pay. It was one of those delightfully cheesy old California diners with everything done in mid-century turquoise and a little Cadillac in the logo. Not quite the backdrop for a femme fatale’s final devastating move, but it would do. I picked up a chocolate bar and a bottle of Evian and went to the high schooler behind the counter to pay. Her eyes were glued to the TV.

“So what do you think happened?” she said and gestured to the screen. I turned to look. It was the news. Some pulpy murder story or something. I plonked my items on the counter.

“Crazy people being crazy, huh? What’s new,” I said and pulled out my wallet.

“Yeah, I don’t know. This one seems like a pretty big deal. They say Portal’s stock price has already halved in just two hours,” she said, and turned the volume up.

Portal?

I spun around to look at the screen again.

“An unnamed source has confirmed that the leaked pictures are indeed of Jeff Cane but as of yet there is no indication whether these pictures are connected to last night’s murder…”

My wallet fell from my hands.

“Police have cordoned off the Portal founder’s multi-million dollar Californian home and investigations are now underway. Cane has declined to comment on what is proving to be a case that’s more bizarre by the hour. Details on this breaking story are still unclear but chief of Police Barry O’Neil has stated that the shocking homicide of Elizabeth Cane is a top priority for their department. ABC7’s Jenna Watson reports.”

Could this be real? The image on the screen was unbelievable: on one side, a censored, candid shot of a plush bedroom splattered with blood, and beside it, a humiliating picture of Jeff Cane – the same as the one I held in my handbag at that very moment.

I swallowed hard.

“Huh, this city is fucked, let me tell you. All kinds of stuff going on behind the scenes, you know. Just goes to show. You wanna know my theory? I think they were both, like, kinky swinger types, wife swapping and that kind of thing, and someone gets jealous, things get out of hand, then boom, some jilted lover kills the wife and leaks the pics for revenge on the husband,” the girl behind the counter said, then gave me a knowing wink and waited to see what I thought of her sleuthing skills.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I quickly paid and stumbled out of the diner, the sounds of the news story still in my head.

A murder.

He had killed her.

Her twisted, begging face was burned into my mind and all I could think about was the fact that she had come to me for help. And now he had actually killed her.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

Dizzy, I collapsed into my car seat and tried to think. Who the fuck had leaked those photos? Who else even had them? I hadn’t given anything to the reporter. Not only was my little revenge plot rapidly crumbling before my eyes, something more sinister was taking shape in its place. This was bigger than I knew. Somebody else had wanted to hurt Jeff Cane, and worse, somebody had killed his wife. I wanted to throw up.

I raced back home, locked the door, and holed myself up in the library. I needed to think, and fast. On a whim I noticed the flashing red light on the landline phone and pressed the button. Though I was still angry as hell with him, the thought of hearing Dean’s voice now was a strange comfort.

“Nora Smith, this is detective Brady of the California PD. I’m calling with regards to the Cane investigation. Call me back as soon as you can. You’ll need to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”