by Leigh Lennon
“Again, Molly, you look absolutely stunning.” He tips my head to his to lightly brush his lips against mine. It’s faint, but it doesn’t stop my body from reacting, the slightest of chills overtakes me, but it’s not because I’m cold.
He tugs me with him, making our way to his table, pulling the chair back from me. “Are your accommodations all right?”
“Oh, yes, of course. This is a lovely hotel.” He leans over me, brushing a kiss on my bare shoulder, moving quickly to the wine bucket, which houses two bottles.
“Would you like white or red?”
The Chardonnay is the first to catch my eye, and I point at it. “Ah, good choice, chéri.”
He pours it halfway as he grabs the red for himself. He pulls for his phone, he begins randomly texting. “I really didn’t want to be disturbed much tonight. Our server will bring our dinner and dessert. And except for those couple of things, it’s only you and me. I hope that’s okay?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I’m so stiff in my mannerisms right now. I’m not used to this formality. Not that I don’t love it, but to say I find it a bit intimidating would be an understatement.
“The choices are fennel and truffle grilled swordfish, rack of lamb in rosemary and burnt butter sauce, the roasted ten spice duck breast with foie gras mousse, or a filet mignon.”
Have I died? Am I in heaven? I don’t get these kinds of meals on a teacher’s salary, but with my super famous brother, he likes good food, and he knows the way to my heart. And I wonder with all the choices if the filet was an easy out if I found any of the other dinners less than stellar.
“Wow, Marcel, you know how to treat a lady.” It was meant as a compliment, but he blanches at my words. I answer as if I don’t notice. “I’ll have the duck breast, and thank you very much.”
He types fast and places his phone in his jacket pocket. A small grin reaches the blues of his eyes, and his attention is back on me.
“I can’t say I’ll answer all your questions, chéri, but I can tell you have many to ask. So go ahead.”
“It’s funny you bring it up. First, how in the world do you know my dress size, my shoe size, and the size of my unmentionables?”
His hearty laugh is music to my ears. “Okay, so this will sound a little stalkerish. I wanted to surprise you. Sure, I could have asked Gloria to get that information. Basically, my personal designer is a genius at anything he gets his hands on. Gloria was able to pull some pictures from your social media, and voilà, he was able to figure it out.” He winces. “Well, shit, as I say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous, but it was meant as a surprise.”
“No.” I wave him off, letting my brain catch up with my mouth. “It’s quite sweet.”
He peers at me over his glass of red. “You have more, so might as well get it out.”
“Um, my next one will be rather rude. You exude more wealth than…”
“You want to know more about my background? What I do for a living, it all?”
“I’d like to but…”
“Yeah, that’s one I won’t answer. Not saying I won’t ever answer it.”
I nod my head. “Yes, I can respect that.”
“I told you to ask, and I can understand. Anything else?”
Oh, hell, I have a million questions. “How long have you lived in the States? Your accent is very subtle. And I gotta say, I took four years of French and only remember a handful of words.”
“My mother married an American, and he moved us to Chicago. I was ten. I remember my papa, but he died a couple months earlier, and my mother’s new husband adopted me. I lost him five years ago. And I loved him, as if he was my biological father.”
“Was he French, too, with Lafitte?” I ask.
“No,” he simply replies, and when he offers nothing else on the subject, I leave it alone.
“Okay, one more for now,” I begin, and he motions with his hand to go ahead with his wineglass to his mouth.
“When I said you know how to treat a lady right, you winced at my words. Did I say something wrong?”
He flattens his lips, keeping his attention trained on me. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, but the honest truth, I don’t do this. I don’t date. I don’t take women out. You’re different. And though I can’t give you a commitment, I can give you an experience, a new outlook in life, and along the way, I’ll enjoy every fucking minute of it.”
Holy shit, can one get pregnant from words alone because hell, that would have just done it, if it were possible.
Chapter 8
Marcel
I don’t open up to women either, and I’ve been very reserved in my answers up to this last one she asked. Because she was right. I’d been shaken by her words. I don’t treat ladies right. I fuck them, I own them, and very rarely do I go back for seconds.
Molly is different, and if I were programmed with the need for companionship, I could see coming home after a busy day at the office and crawling into bed with her. But it’s not me. It’s not my way in life.
Sharing this little bit of myself would have felt like I’d given someone a key to my apartment. It’s how closed off I am, but I don’t feel like I gave a part of me away. Or maybe I want to give part of me to her. Who the hell knows.
On the other accounts, opening up about my father, both adopted and biological, is too hard, along with my mother. Those emotions are embedded deep within me, and I can’t give that part to anyone. As for my businesses, Molly is one of the few who see my real wealth, and because it’s part of my past and leads to more questions about my family, I skipped it. Sure, most see me with my Aston Martin and my beautiful house. Many think I’m just good with my money, which I am, but not in the way most believe. No one knows about Gloria or my need for a personal assistant or my many homes around the world. Again, I don’t share. I think I could open up to Molly. I’m so used to being closed off. And as the Americans say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
“Does that make sense? I hope I didn’t offend you.” Of course, I’m a person who cares for others, even the women I own for a night. I don’t just dump them after the encounter. I treasure them, making sure they’re able to come down from a sub drop appropriately. However, with Molly, I can’t have her, for one moment, doubting anything about herself in my care.
“Of course it does. But I’ve got to say…” A slight grin peeks out behind the beauty of her full lips. “You don’t have to do all of this, for me.”
I’m not going to articulate this to her, but I love spoiling her, so of course I would do this. “So, you’ve asked your questions about me. Now it’s my turn.”
As she sips her wine, she gives me a slight nod, telling me to go ahead. “What is it you do?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“You’re a teacher? Let me tell you, they are the unsung heroes in this world.” With my compliment, I’m rewarded with a blush, her eyes moving from me. “Anyway, what made you choose that profession?”
She moves her hand to her chin, giving it a little tap. “It’s funny. On my summer breaks, I’d bring home all the older workbooks, tearing out the pages and keeping them. I’d gather the neighborhood together and play school. All year, we wanted to get away, but then it’s all we played. I was always the teacher. And the first time one of my playmates wanted to be the teacher, I was so sad. It was my role, and from my realization, I understood I’d teach one day. And I love the innocence of the younger kids. I applied to my old elementary school and was offered kindergarten, second grade, and fifth grade. It was an easy choice.”
She’s so open, and I wonder if it’s how she’s programmed or if I bring it out in her, as she brings it out in me.
I had many more questions because I’d not expected her to be so open, but she’s answered every follow-up one. I have nothing else to ask and there’s an urgency to reach for her hand. The delicate long and lean fingers with a matching green polish are inviting. My mind overwrites what my heart wants. This isn’t p
ersonal. Holding hands is simply for couples, and I’ve been clear. Four weekends with Molly will have to be enough.
I’ll handle this as I do with all my business contracts. We’ve had an agreed amount of time together, and I’ll treasure her as I do with all the women I take under my wing.
“Okay, so I want to go over hard lines with you, so we can enjoy our time at the club tomorrow. Is that okay?”
I push over a piece of paper with the original hard lines I’d sent with her last week. My fingers continue to push the documents her way, but she doesn’t reach for them.
“Was there any item on there you aren’t happy about?”
The expression from her broad smile, just minutes ago, has changed, and I don’t know her well enough to predict what she’s thinking. But with her brows turned down in a V and her lips pursed together with her pinched appearance, I’d say she’s downright uncomfortable.
I start with item number one. “How about the first item—you will not see, date, or sleep with any other person while I’m training you? I, in turn, will not sleep with anyone else during this time,” I read from the list.
Her gaze falls on the paper. “All of them are acceptable.” In her tone, almost a whisper, and in the way her eyes won’t meet mine, something has gone wrong in a matter of minutes.
“Chéri, what is wrong?”
She shakes her head my way. I’m about to demand her to use her words, but she responds.
“Just remember, I’m not used to this. I’m not asking to be wined and dined, not that this isn’t wonderful.” She fans her hands at the room, with the lights and the background music and her dress. “But this is so informal. So stiff.”
“I don’t know how else to do it,” I admit. But is it because I’ve had to hold the control so much in my career that I won’t do it any differently? It’s quite possible, yet I don’t plan on changing.
Pushing the paperwork back at me, she changes her demeanor. “I guess if there’s an issue with this list, it’s exercising.” With this, the previous broad smile on her face returns.
I want to comfort her and probe deeper about why she’s pulled away from me. It’s not me. I put out the information. This is the time to negotiate. And I always lean toward my submissive’s desires.
I attempt to list the reasons in my head as to why my need to comfort her is high, and because I know this idea will eventually waver, I push it out of my mind, just in time when our dinner is served.
She pushes her duck away from her, after just ten minutes, moving her napkin from her lap, near her plate.
“Is it not good?” I ask.
“Oh, no. It’s wonderful. It’s just, I’m full. It was a lot of food.”
I thought the exact opposite. My swordfish is quite skinny, but of course, my appetite is different than a petite woman, maybe weighing in at a hundred and ten pounds.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to call it a night. Could you tell me when you’ll come get me tomorrow night?”
She pushes back in her chair, only for me to do the same. “Chéri, are you sure?”
What the hell has just happened?
I approach her, to lean in to kiss her cheek. She leans into me, allowing me to show her a little affection.
“Can I walk you to your room?”
Her tight smile gives me her answer before she does. “No, I can manage.”
With a turn of her body, she walks away from me, and I’m left only to wonder what the fuck has happened.
Chapter 9
Molly
I don’t want a relationship. Or so I keep telling myself this. However, I’ve had more affection and warmth from my GYN than Marcel. His mannerisms contradict our first magical night together. I wanted to copy the passion we shared on what I assume was a dirty floor of that bar. And I gave up what I normally have control of that night. But tonight wasn’t romantic or even fun.
I got less from tonight than a lecture on Algebraic formulas. And I hate math, yet that lecture would have caused me a lot more excitement than my night with Marcel.
I chose not to say anything because I don’t want to change him. I’m not here to transform the man, and I highly doubt at the age of forty-three, I could sway him. Yet my excitement plummeted at his sterile explanation.
With the key card in the door, I push the knob down, making my way into the room, only to discard the dress from me as soon as I can.
I cannot use sarcasm to describe how fast this date or whatever the fuck one can call it went downhill.
In front of the mirror, I search my face, feeling instantly dirty, but not in the deliciously dirty way.
My phone dings, and I pull it from the clutch. At the name on the screen, I programmed in last week, my heart plummets.
Silver: I forgot to tell you, I’ll pick you up at 7 p.m. tomorrow night. We’ll have supper, and then I’ll introduce you to my club.
Oh, great. I’m stuck in the hotel room for the entire day.
I’ve opened the message, having not formed the correct words to reply when another ding comes in.
Silver: Chéri, please don’t leave me on read.
With his last text, his last demand, I know this is not the type of life for me. I loved being owned, but to be told how to respond and when to, I don’t see myself changing.
I grab my clothes, the ones I’ve packed, and toss them in my suitcase. My Lyft app is pulled up, and I order one as I type in return flights to Vancouver or Portland. Pulling out my emergency credit card Kier has given me, swearing it comes with no questions asked, I book my flight home, leaving the dress from tonight on the floor. All I want to do is forget all of this. It felt wrong from the beginning with the paperwork and contract and shit. But now, it’s confirmed.
With a text sent to my mom, explaining the weekend hadn’t worked out, I arrive in Portland and arrange for another Lyft to take me over the river into Washington and home.
It’s a long night by the time I arrive at two in the morning, and I haven’t decided how I’ll handle the bossy asshole.
I’ve tried to straighten out in my mind what worked and didn’t and where it all went wrong. It’s simple. It’s hot being commanded in the bedroom. And I’m sure it works well for some women to be a full-time submissive, but fuck, it’s not me. I thought I could if it included all the passion I’d experienced from a couple of weeks ago.
I quietly turn the key and half expect my mom to be waiting for me. She’s as stubborn as the color of her hair is. I’m glad, though, because after this night of utterly plummeting disappointment, I’m ready to close my eyes and forget it.
I’m not expecting it, but to my surprise, I close my eyes and drift to sleep, but after an hour, I wake to a fitful unrest.
When something doesn’t sit right with me. I know it’s best to walk away, but more of me than I’m willing to admit wished I didn’t have to.
My phone is ringing off the hook. One eye opens, where the other is shut, hoping the incessant bell tone my cell is programmed with will simply just go away.
Searching my mobile, it’s Kier. I can handle him, but just not Marcel.
“Molly, you okay?” I can’t even answer him when Kier’s explosive voice overtakes the phone. “I got a notice that you used the emergency credit card I gave you.”
He’d wanted to set me up with everything I didn’t have that he worked hard for. He’d had this plan, complete with a condo downtown, of how he’d gift me the perfect life.
I didn’t want it. I wanted to make my own way in this world. He wore me down, I’ll admit. The Mercedes he had delivered on the night of my college graduation was pretty—a deep gray, almost black color. He claimed it was a gift, and I didn’t have it in me to refute it. He pledges to pay my student loans back, but I didn’t want that. And the only thing he insisted I take is an emergency credit card with a ten thousand max. No questions asked if I got in a situation I needed help to get out of.
“How did you know?” I’d planned to tell h
im, but I wasn’t expecting this.
He lets out a long chuckle when I hear it mixed with Leela’s voice. “Baby?” she asks.
“Go back to bed, baby. Just talking to Molly.” I’m so happy for Kier. He’s always loved her but never knew how to show it. “Molls, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I guess because it’s never been used, they called for fraudulent reasons. I won’t even ask why you needed a plane ticket from Seattle to Portland last night. And why you didn’t call me.”
In his statement, it’s his question, but with a technicality, he’s not really asking me. But I know my brother well enough.
“Thanks for that, Kieran.” I’m waiting for more, but he doesn’t press the subject. “Send me the bill, and I’ll pay for it.”
He lets out a long, deep, almost strangled breath. “Nope. And please, use it anytime you need it, Molly.”
I know my brother only cares for me, and for this reason, I won’t fight him. “I’ll let you get back to Leela,” I say, and we hang up. My body stills at the number of texts and phone calls from Marcel. I only look at the last text.
Silver: I’m not a possessive man, but I got a phone call from the hotel, sharing you’ve checked out. I’m simply worried.
I pull out my phone, understanding this isn’t a text situation. Hitting his number, he must be sitting on his phone.
“Chéri, where the hell are you?”
My hands begin to sweat at his forceful command, but I don’t miss the way his voice cracks. I’d almost guess I’ve worried the fuck out of him.
“Listen, I had this idea in my head that we’d have a couple of passionate nights, me giving you the control in the bedroom. And though I loved having a beautiful dress that made me feel pretty and wanted, toward the end of the night, I felt controlled and dirty. And I can’t do that. I didn’t say anything because you are you, and I don’t want you to change, but at the end of the day, I am me, and I need to be true to myself. We just aren’t compatible, even for four weekends of pure unbridled sex.” I pause, thinking he’ll cut me off at any time, the controlling son of a bitch he is, but when he doesn’t, I continue. “The problem is it was a dream really, and now giving in to us, I find that it’s sullied it.”