by Bea Paige
In private, I will only take this as far as Ivan is able to. I understand what’s at stake only too well. That’s why we have a safe word, once uttered everything stops. That’s the one rule that’s never broken, no matter what. Tonight, I will learn where his boundaries lie, where mine do. Over the coming weeks and months, I intend to test those boundaries with each of the men.
“And you’re certain he won’t hurt you?”
“I’m not certain of anything, but I have to trust my own judgement this time. The same applies to you. I’m taking a risk with you too.”
“I know that,” Anton sighs.
Ivan may have been dominant for all his adult life, yet the fact he submitted so easily, so willingly, tells me that this is his true self, the one he’s been running from. Anton has his own demons, though they’re not as obvious as Ivan’s or Erik’s, but I can sense them nevertheless.
“And what about Erik? Have you forgotten about him? He’s been asking after you.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten about him. How could I?”
“He was afraid you wouldn’t show today. He thought we’d driven you away, but I knew you’d return.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You see the devastation that surrounds us, you sense the dangerous nature in each of us, yet you don’t run,” he says, looking at me with his bottomless brown eyes. “Why?”
“You know why, Anton,” I respond softly. “Because I’m not so very different from you all.”
I cast my own gaze downwards. There’s a part of me that wants to submit to the dominance I feel in his gaze. I want to succumb to his scrutiny, but I can’t.
Not yet.
Not until Ivan and Erik agree to it first.
I refuse to be the person Ivan had been to the wife he betrayed. Because even though I’m drawn to all three men, their acceptance and agreement of me being with each of them is the only way I can move forward. If they can’t agree to that, I will have to walk away and never return. Just the thought makes my throat constrict in fear.
“You’re not afraid of him, are you?” Anton asks.
“No. I’m not afraid of any of you… I’m afraid of who I’ll be without you all,” I say before I can stop myself.
Anton steps closer. Even though I have heels on, he’s still a good head taller than me.
“And what would that Rose be like, without us?” he asks, gentler this time.
“Someone who would break in this life eventually. Someone who’s afraid of living.”
“Then I’m glad you’ve found us, Rose. I’m glad we’ve found you. Whatever happens between you and Ivan tonight, know that I’m okay with it.”
I cast my gaze downwards, somehow not able to confront the sudden ache in my chest at the thought that I may screw this all up. What if I’m doing the wrong thing? What if this won’t work, can’t? There are so many factors that could ruin it. Me being a huge one, the three men not agreeing to share, another.
Anton lifts my chin with his finger. “I see you doubting yourself, don’t. Don’t do that, Rose.”
“Why do you trust me?”
Even I realise what a strange question that seems. Anton doesn’t know about my past, neither does Ivan or Erik. They may suspect something has happened, but they don’t know about Roman or about my father and how I’d watched him die without even trying to help. They don’t know about the secrets my own childhood was filled with and the impact that’s had on me. A therapist might suggest that’s why I fell for Roman, and perhaps they’d be right. All I know is, secrets have a habit of carving open a person and ruining them eventually.
Anton regards me a moment. “Because you’re like us. Because you carry secrets too. Because within you I see myself. Because you’re here now about to walk into the room Ivan locks himself in with the intention of setting him free.”
“You know what happens in there?”
Anton smiles a little at that. “I’ve lived here with Ivan since Svetlana, of course I do. I understand the demon he holds inside, the guilt that’s been eating him alive for far too long. It’s time he let it go. I’m glad you’re the one who can do that for him. I’m hopeful you can ease the pain for Erik too.”
“You love them both very much, don’t you?” I ask.
“They’re my brothers in every way bar blood. So, yes. Yes, I do. Are you still willing to help Erik?”
“I will do whatever it takes.” I will submit to him wholly, but I don’t say that part out loud.
Anton nods his head sharply, his finger falling away.
“And me, do we still hold our agreement?” he asks gently.
Now it’s his turn to cast his gaze away.
“I will do everything I promised…” and more.
Anton opens his mouth, words trembling on his lips.
“What is it?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Have a good evening, Rose,” he says, then spins on his feet and walks back towards the door he appeared from. With one last assessing stare he pushes it open and disappears, the sound of the key turning in the lock, shutting me out for now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ivan
In the corner of the room sits the same nameless woman I’d invited to the house the first day I met Rose. That night I’d wanted to fuck her to get Rose out of my system, but it was only thoughts of Rose that had got me off.
She’s all I’ve thought about since.
In a couple of weeks, Rose has crawled under my skin and settled in my bones as though she was always meant to be there. In different circumstances I would be cautious. In business, I would never move so fast. There would be weeks of consideration, talks, contracts sent back and forward between the two parties. Yet, with Rose, none of that has happened.
I’ve dived in without thought. I’ve acted on instinct.
Pure instinct.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of trusting it.
I look at the woman before me, really look. She isn’t unattractive, but the usual excitement I feel isn’t there. I don’t want her.
I want Rose. Inexplicably, I want her.
My hand goes to the length of silk tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. I’ve carried it on me since she left earlier today, and I’ve been rock hard from that moment. I’ve had countless opportunities in the few hours she’s been gone to relieve myself, I could’ve already done so with this woman.
But I can’t do that. I won’t.
Rose is my Domina now and I’ve handed all control over to her. I almost laugh at how easily, how willingly I’ve given up that control. I’ve no desire to touch this woman. None. Yet she’s here because Rose wished it so.
She doesn’t even compare to Rose. Where Rose makes my pulse race every time I look at her, this woman barely raises it above normal. I just don’t feel the same about her, about any of the women I’ve fucked before. Those experiences pale into insignificance when it comes to Rose and the handful of times I’ve been in her company.
Despite all of that, I invited this woman anyway. When I looked through my book of names earlier it seemed fitting, somehow, that this woman would be the one I invited back. A small part of me feels guilty about the way I’d left her so unfulfilled the last time. The Ivan before Rose wouldn’t have given a shit.
But I’m not him anymore. I’m not even Luka.
I’m beginning to feel like somebody new.
Anne shifts in her chair, she’s been sitting waiting for almost an hour now. When I invited her personally, I made the point of asking her name. The question had concerned her enough to not respond immediately. She knows the rules well enough to understand that giving her name was probably the end to our meetings. But she told me eventually, and here she is now.
Anne is dressed as though in mourning, her knee length black skirt and matching shirt stark against her blond hair. She’s already grieving for what she’s about to lose. I can see that in the slump of her shoulders and the way her mouth turns
down in sadness.
She’s another woman I’ve broken, not through the Dom-Sub relationship, but through how I’ve treated her.
Me, Ivan.
“Fuck,” I say, the sound of my voice breaking the heavy anticipation in the room.
Anne’s head snaps up, her eyes resting on me. The sharp sound of my voice breaking through her submissive nature. I allow her to look at me, it’s the least I can do.
“You understand that this is the last time I will ever allow you into my home, yet you came anyway, why? Speak freely,” I add.
“Because you asked me to, Sir,” she replies.
She tips her head, a silent question on her lips. Despite understanding the finality of this evening, she doesn’t break the rules and ask the question I know she’s desperate to.
She wants to know why it’s the end, and as soon as Rose arrives, she’s going to find out.
Anne shifts again in her chair, a nervous kind of sigh releasing from her lips. She understands tonight is different, that the goalposts have shifted. That nervousness bleeds into the room, and into me as we both wait for something to happen.
She waits for release, I wait for freedom.
“Are you uncomfortable?” I ask. It’s a benign question, of course she isn’t comfortable. Nothing about this evening will be comfortable for her.
Her head remains lowered, she doesn’t answer. She won’t until I tell her, specifically, that she can. Such a good Sub. Normally that kind of behaviour would be rewarded, but the thought of touching her makes me feel numb.
My hands reach for the items in the back pocket of my jeans once more, to the length of red silk and the flick blade I always bring with me into this room.
Both are a source of comfort.
Holding up the length of silk to my face, I breathe in deeply, the alluring scent of Rose making my heart hammer loudly and my cock lengthen painfully. I hang the silk around my neck needing the constant reminder of her, not because I need it to distract me from fucking Anne, but because it soothes me. How ironic given that only a few days ago Rose’s presence in my company was far from soothing. I’d been driven mad with desire, with the need to claim her in the only way I knew how.
Now that’s all been upended, and whilst I still want Rose the same way, I don’t have to destroy me or her to get it. Pulling up my shirt sleeve, I look down at my arm, running my fingers over the old white scars, and the newer, more pinkish ones. All of them are there to remind me for all eternity what I did to my wife, what I’ve done to all the women I’ve fucked in this room since that fateful day. My eyes flick to the centre of the room and to the stained floor. Svetlana’s blood, her essence, forever captured in the dark wood of this house.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be free of the memory…
“Svetlana, I’m home,” I call from the entrance hall.
I’ve been away for a few days to audition for a new part, or at least that’s what I told Svetlana. It’s not a complete lie, I was auditioning, but I also spent my evenings fucking a nameless woman I met in the hotel bar the first night back in London.
Placing my weekend suitcase on the floor, I tuck away the guilt and push the memories of that woman deep down into the pits of my soul.
I love my wife. I do.
But I can’t fight the need I have. I’ve never been able to.
“Svetlana, where are you?”
Music filters from the open doorway leading to our studio, so I follow the sound, removing my jacket as I walk along the hallway. Reaching the door, I lay my jacket across the side table in the hall and loosen my tie. It’s red, made of the finest silk money can buy. For the briefest of moments, I imagine it tied around Svetlana’s wrists, her body bare and open for me. But that isn’t her. It never will be. I shred those thoughts as I push open the door.
“Svetlana, Ms Hadley told me you’ve been in here all day. It’s past midnight…”
The room is shrouded in darkness and as my eyes adjust to the feint moonlight that filters in from the high windows above, I see a figure curled up in the middle of the dancefloor.
“Svetlana?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Svetlana?!” I shout, running towards her.
I reach her side in seconds, my heart beating loudly in my ears. She doesn’t move as I kneel behind her curved back. She’s in the foetal position, her legs drawn up against her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around her body.
“Svetlana?” I whisper, understanding on a deeper level that something is terribly, desperately, wrong.
A low murmur releases from her lips and it’s all I need to fire me into action. I pull her body towards me, something clattering loudly to the floor as I do.
A flick-knife. My flick-knife.
The sharp end of the knife is covered in liquid… It’s covered in blood.
“Svetlana, what have you done?” I whisper, pulling her into my arms.
Her head lolls backwards, her jaw slack. I feel a wetness as I hold her, and I pull back my hand finding that it’s covered in blood too, just like her white dress. Red leaches into the white like a rose blooming in the snow.
Then I notice her wrist, the deep cut carved across the flesh and the blood that weeps from it still.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I cry, my hand closing over the wound.
I manoeuvre her body, trying to see if she’s cut the other wrist, relieved to see that she hasn’t. But it doesn’t matter, the floor is slick with her blood, I see it now in the dim light. There’s too much of it. How long has she been like this?
Laying her back on the floor, I pull my tie free and wrap it around her wrist tightly. I don’t want to leave her, but I need to get help. She needs help.
Getting up, I run blindly from the room and collide with Ms Hadley, almost knocking her over.
“Luka? What is it? What’s wrong?” she asks.
“It’s Svetlana… she’s, she’s,” I choke out, before throwing up the contents of my stomach.
Ms Hadley pushes past me and strides into the room. I hear the surprise in her voice, then the loud click of her heels as she rushes to help. I reach for my jacket, remembering I left my mobile phone in the pocket. With trembling hands, I attempt to call for help, but I’m shaking so much my fingers won’t do what my brain is asking it to.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I exclaim, trying to force myself to calm down.
Trying and failing.
My wife is dying. Dying! And I can’t even call for help.
Before me, Ms Hadley is leaning over Svetlana, her ear close to her parted mouth. She looks up at me and shakes her head.
“What? What?” My legs buckle beneath me, as the truth of Ms Hadley’s gaze trickles through my consciousness. I fall hard to the floor, my knees cracking on the wood.
“No. No! Do something! You have to do something, please,” I beg.
“I’m so sorry, Luka. She’s gone.” I watch as she leans over Svetlana and presses a kiss on her cheek. She’s saying goodbye, but I can’t seem to move from my spot on the floor as it tips on its axis, my brain trying to comprehend the truth before me.
“Why?” I cry, tears scoring hot tracks down my cheeks, mimicking the cuts being made in my heart.
It’s a futile question because I already know the answer.
She did it because of me.
“I’m sorry Svetlana. I’m sorry for everything.”
The moonlight from the window dances in front of my eyes as a pain unlike any other tears through my chest. I slam my fist into the wood floor over and over as a roar releases from my mouth. I hear the agony of it reverberate around the room as though it belongs to someone else…
My eyes refocus on the stain, the only reminder now of what happened that night. Every memory between that moment and Svetlana’s funeral is nothing but a haze of broken glimpses my mind still can’t quite put together. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.
I do remember stumbling from the room barely able to hold myself upright
. I remember running out onto the gravel drive and screaming until my voice was hoarse and my lungs were burning. Then I remember waking up in bed a few days later, Anton and Erik by my side. I remember the funeral and the months of emptiness that followed.
But what I remember most clearly was the vow I’d made that night, the vow to never dance again. I cut all ties to the person I once was. I left the room as Luka. Six months later I returned as Ivan.
Now, as I stand here remembering my wife’s last moments, I wait to see the man I will become.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rose
Ivan turns slowly on his feet as I enter the dimly lit room. He moves gracefully, the slide of his left foot kissing the floor as he faces me. I can see the echoes of his past in the way he holds himself. No matter how much he tries to rid himself of the dancer that lives within his soul, it will always linger in the movements of his body despite his efforts to distinguish it.
One day, I hope he will dance again. If not for me, then at least for himself.
Today is not that day.
“Good evening, Ivan.” I smile gently, moving into the room and closing the door behind me. Opposite, a row of mirrors line the wall, a wooden barre running along their length. This is the same room that Anton had sketched, this is where Ivan and Svetlana must have danced together. I can imagine it now, their bodies moulded together, Ivan’s strong arms lifting Svetlana in the air, her body arched, her toes pointed.
They were beautiful dancers separately, together they were astonishing.
A thread of insecurity runs through me. I will never be like her; perfect, flawless, untouchable.
“Rose,” he says softly, his accent more pronounced this evening.
His eyes graze over me, at the floaty red dress I’m wearing beneath my floor length coat. It seemed fitting that red would be the colour I wear this evening.
I can hear the nervousness he feels, and I’m surprised by it given this is his territory, his domain. I imagined he would be his usual arrogant self, predatory even. Right now, he’s neither. Right now, he’s just a man who’s baring the deepest, darkest parts of his soul. This is where he danced with his wife and this is where he brings the women he fucks. I can’t even begin to unravel that.