Leah was surprised to see me in the middle of the week but happily turned over the reins to Rose, the beautiful chestnut mare who whinnied and flicked her tail in greeting. I handed her a few sugar cubes, murmuring soft words of encouragement as she took them gently from my open palm.
We headed toward the ocean at a steady pace. Soon we were at the water’s edge, and I loosened the reins, giving Rose the signal to tear up the bare stretch of sand. She took off like a champ. I stopped thinking and acted on pure instinct, immersing myself in the joy of Rose’s unbridled energy. The sun beat down on my head, and the wind tore at my shirt. It was exhilarating, the perfect antidote for my tightly wound psyche. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to enjoy a few reckless moments without worrying about repercussions. Eventually, Rose got tired and she picked a spot behind the sand dunes to nibble on some tender greens. I hopped off and approached the water with a handful of pebbles I tossed in one by one.
Was there any point in talking to Cole again? His last-minute attempt to hold me in place had been a knee-jerk reaction, not an honest barometer of his feelings. Perhaps he’d regressed to the Cole I’d met years ago, the conflicted man who wanted me by his side but wasn’t willing to risk it all. Was he putting his father’s needs ahead of his own? I played with different scenarios in my head, trying to come up with a logical explanation for his erratic behavior, but I kept coming up with a big fat zero.
If I mentioned the indiscriminate sex, drugs, and alcohol that was a huge part of our industry and my consistent refusal to partake of any offers, would it prove he had nothing to fear or only add fuel to the fire? If he didn’t know by now, recounting the numbers of men who hurled themselves at me on a daily basis was unnecessary cruelty.
Cole was right about one thing though. He’d been my first love, the only serious relationship I’d ever embarked on. We’d rescued each other during our darkest moments. I didn’t understand his change of heart when we’d been doing so well. The man’s IQ was off the charts, and it was inconceivable that he couldn’t distinguish the truth from the lies. He was coming apart at the seams, aided and abetted by his domineering father, who’d hated me from the start. He was turning my Cole into an empty replica of the strong and decisive man I loved.
Trying to stamp out Ken’s influence was impossible without irrefutable facts to shore up my allegations. Cole would never turn his back on his father without them. I was getting angrier by the minute. I supposed it was better than feeling sorry for myself, because that was more destructive and usually ended up with me reaching for a blade. I glanced at my watch and noticed we’d been out almost two hours. Leah would be expecting us back soon. I got back on the saddle and we cantered toward the stables.
On my way home, I stopped at Munch Box, a small restaurant in town, to get an order of fried scallops and oysters to go. It came with a serving of french fries and a small cup of clam chowder. I was starving and almost certain there was nothing to eat in the Sub-Zero refrigerator. Max’s cleaning service had more than likely thrown out all the weekend leftovers.
When I pulled up to the house, I was surprised to see Max’s Land Rover parked in front. I hoped he hadn’t made the trip to lend support. I wanted to deal with this on my own and didn’t want an audience if I had a meltdown. I parked the Jeep inside the garage, discarded my muddy boots by the door, and made my way into the house in stocking feet. There were voices coming from the great room, and I walked into a meeting in progress.
“What’s going on?” I said, addressing the three men who were huddled around the coffee table. As I got closer, I realized they were examining a shiny display of whips in varying sizes and shapes.
Max smiled at me. “You remember Victor, don’t you, Sloan? And this,” he said, indicating the blond to his right, “is Trent.”
I remembered Victor, of course. He was a Dom of Max’s caliber and one of his best friends. Trent? I tried to recall where I’d seen him before. He looked vaguely familiar. “Have we met?”
He turned icy blue eyes on me and a half smile that brought out a dimple on his left cheek. As soon as I saw it, I remembered. “We met at the Esquire shoot last fall,” he replied in a husky baritone.
“You were a brunet at the time,” I pointed out.
“I can be anything they want me to be.”
“Trent is here for a mini-seminar with Vic,” Max interjected. “I’m sorry you had to walk in on this, but I didn’t know you’d be around. I only listened to my voice mail on the way out of the city, and by then, it was too late to turn around.”
“Max, don’t apologize, for God’s sake. This is your house. I’ll take my lunch in the kitchen, and you guys can do your thing.”
“You want to join us?” Trent asked.
“Why? Do you need a guinea pig for Domination 101? No thanks.”
Max laughed out loud. “Sloan isn’t into this lifestyle, Trent.”
“What a pity,” he replied, practically burning a hole into my crotch.
“Not so much,” I said dismissively, turning toward the kitchen. A room full of Doms in need of a submissive was the last thing I needed right then. I put thoughts of BDSM firmly aside and inhaled my food. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything substantial, and although I wasn’t a fan of fried food, scallops and oysters were hard to push away. Max strolled into the kitchen when I was halfway through my meal, scrounging around for something to drink.
“I’m sorry to fuck up your seminar.”
“You didn’t fuck up anything, darling. Do you want to tell me why you’re here?”
“Can it wait until they’re gone?”
“They’re spending the night.”
“Oh. Are you expecting more people?”
“Jason should be here any minute.”
“Is he the one who’ll be tied to your whipping post?”
“As a matter of fact, he is.”
“Could you tone down the screaming?”
“Jason doesn’t scream.”
I shook my head. “The thought of what your subs endure makes me want to puke.”
“Enduring is not a word I’d use in reference to a sub. They thrive on this, Sloan, believe it or not.”
“We’ve already had this conversation multiple times.”
“I know. We’ll let it go for now. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
“Seriously, Max. What are you guys doing here?”
“Trent has applied for a membership at Wilde, and Vic and I want to make sure he has enough experience.”
“Is he a Dom?”
“He says he is.”
“When did you become headmaster at Wilde?” It was a private BDSM club in Manhattan. Max had taken me there several years ago, but as far as I knew, he had nothing to do with the management.
“When I bought into it last year.”
“No kidding? How convenient. Now you don’t have to look too far when you’re in need of a sub.”
“Unfortunately, the person I want isn’t available,” Max said, piercing me with his most dominant glare.
I lowered my gaze and shoved a spoonful of chowder into my gaping mouth. I couldn’t deal with any of this right now. I was too vulnerable after being rejected at home, and the last thing I wanted, or needed, was to get embroiled in a relationship with Max. No, no, no….
“Relax, darling.” I felt Max kiss me on the nape of my neck. “You’re safe with me.”
“Thank you,” I said, still looking down at my food. I wondered how he’d react if I divulged this latest plot twist with Cole. Max returned to the living room with three bottles of mineral water but no booze, which I found surprising, but then I remembered his informational from way back. Responsible Doms never performed while intoxicated. I tossed the empty box of takeout and rinsed my glass.
I took the back stairs leading to the second level, determined to avoid the great room, now crowded with Max and his kinky friends.
My phone buzzed, and I sighed when I saw Cole’s
name on caller ID. Resentment continued to simmer close to the surface, but ultimately, years of training kicked in, and I hit the accept button.
“What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“In Montauk.”
“Please come home.”
“Nope.”
“Come on, Sloan. I’m sorry about the things I said.”
“Unfortunately, your hateful words can’t be deleted from my memory banks. Is Noriko there?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Putting her things away.”
“In the study?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wasn’t I clear enough? I don’t want her in our space.”
“I figured you were already pissed off, so what difference did it make?”
“The big-ass difference is now I’m fucking enraged. Stop asking me to come home. I won’t step foot in our apartment until she’s gone.”
“But—”
“I need to go.”
“Wait.”
I disconnected and shut down my phone.
Chapter 14
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was someone knocking on the door. There was barely any light filtering in through the slatted windows, and the illuminated hands of the clock on the nightstand confirmed it was early evening. I’d been asleep for probably an hour―my only way of escaping an impossible situation. Switching on the lamp, I went to see who was so persistent. I was fully prepared to tell Max to leave me alone, but when I yanked the door open, it was Trent. He was in a black turtleneck and a pair of distressed jeans that left little to the imagination. I couldn’t help but notice the respectable bulge. His pale blond hair was about four inches longer than mine, the attractive scruff a much darker shade, which led me to assume he was a natural brunet. His summer blue eyes were the perfect complement to the overall Nordic look, and his gaze raked over my face like a scanner. I was used to public scrutiny, but Trent made me feel exposed, like he was uncovering layers I normally kept under wraps. The guy was supremely confident and I lowered my gaze.
He lifted my chin with his forefinger and softly asked, “Would you like to join us for drinks and dinner?”
“Um…I guess.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“My partner?”
“Aren’t you the one who has the blind boyfriend?”
“You know Cole?”
“No, but I remember everything about you.”
I studied him closer and wondered where this was coming from. “I’m flattered.”
He shrugged. “I was drawn to you when we first met, but everyone, Max included, said you were devoted to your partner and never looked at anyone else. His warning only piqued my interest.”
“Do tell.”
“So where is he?”
“Cole is at home.”
Trent smiled. “Are you still together?”
“Very much so.”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I usually say what I mean and mean what I say.”
“Huh… I can tell you’re a Dom.”
“You know about our lifestyle?”
“Max and I have been friends for a long time.”
“Were you ever his sub?”
“Hell no.” I shook my head. “I’m nobody’s boy and definitely not into pain.”
“Submission isn’t all about pain,” Trent said, looking surprised. “Do you think every sub is a masochist?”
“Aren’t they?”
“No. The relationship between a Dom and his sub can be much more subtle than that.”
“Maybe you can enlighten me after I’ve had a few drinks.”
He sneered. “You need to be drunk to talk about BDSM?”
“It depends on who’s doing the talking.”
“I can pour any drink with a liberal hand and talk your head off while I’m doing it.”
“Good to know. Give me a sec to get ready.”
“Should I stay or leave?”
“Whatever turns you on.”
Trent grinned at me. “That’s an open-ended statement if I ever heard one.”
I felt a faint stirring in my groin. For the first time in years, I was paying attention to someone’s flirting. “Don’t get excited, Trent. It’s merely an expression.”
“Or not,” he quipped.
I gawked when he turned and left the room. What the heck? Did he seriously think he could get into my pants with his charming banter? Not only was he wasting his time, he was barking up the wrong tree. Even on the off chance I might be persuaded to cheat—and truth be told, I was so pissed at Cole right then, I figured I may as well commit the crime if I was being punished for it—except Trent’s brand of loving was like Max’s and so far out of my comfort zone he might as well have come from Mars. When I turned on my phone, I saw there were six missed calls from Cole. I wasn’t interested in more excuses. The point of our separation was to give me time to make a decision, and hearing him plead would only weaken my resolve. I’d end up back in our apartment and the arguments would start all over again. I’d hoped my PI had something to report; it had been a couple of days after all, but nothing so far. Meanwhile, I was going to dress for dinner and join the men downstairs. Why the hell not? At least I could enjoy the eye candy, if nothing else.
There were five of us at the table. I sat to Max’s right, and Trent was across from me beside Jason, the submissive who’d come to spend the night. Victor sat opposite Max, who’d had the food catered by Manucci’s, a year-round Italian restaurant in town. The ravioli, stuffed with Portobello mushrooms, was smothered in a spicy tomato sauce and served with garlic bread and a mixed-green salad. Dessert was tiramisu. We ended up taking our after-dinner drinks into the great room, sitting around the big fireplace. Although it was late spring, the temperature dropped at night, and the fire provided some welcome heat as well as a homey ambiance. The three Doms held brandy snifters in their hands while Jason and I had coffee. I observed this “perfect” submissive, as Max had called him. He was nothing like I expected. I’d always pictured subs as weak and pathetic creatures, yet this guy exuded strength and virility.
“What do you do in real life?” I asked, turning my attention to Jason.
“I’m in law enforcement.”
“A cop?” I was surprised.
“Close enough.”
“You’re not one of those mall rent-a-cops, are you?”
He glared at me. “Fuck no.”
“Oh. Sorry… I never thought a real cop would be a submissive.”
“You can’t be that naïve.”
“I’ve never met a submissive before. Perhaps you can clarify?”
The three Doms, who’d apparently been eavesdropping, dropped all pretense and turned their attention on Jason who continued to explain.
“The relationship between a Dominant and submissive is the perfect exchange of power, but it doesn’t necessarily mean one man is weaker than the other. It takes strength to submit. To hand over power to another individual and trust them to bring you to erotic heights you couldn’t achieve with anyone else, takes a lot more courage than you know.”
“But isn’t the dominant partner in charge? By definition, submission is to yield to the authority of another. Assuming one partner is stronger isn’t necessarily wrong or naïve. It’s difficult to understand the true dynamics of a D/s relationship since I’ve never been in that kind of relationship. I apologize if I insulted you. It wasn’t intentional.”
“Apology accepted,” Jason said with a smile.
“Are you in it for the pain or something else?”
“I get off on it, but there are many people who aren’t interested in that aspect of the scene. Some relationships are purely psychological, and oftentimes sexual, based on pleasing one another through discipline, sensation, and withholding of sexual favors until submission has b
een achieved. BDSM is as varied as the people who participate. The only common denominator is safety and the willingness to undertake a new challenge. Nobody should enter a scene against their will.”
“Give me an example of submission without pain.”
“If you can hold off your orgasm because your Dom demands it, despite doing everything in his power to stimulate you sexually, you are submitting. You’re handing over your feelings and trusting him with your body. When he allows you to cross the fine line between agony and ecstasy, you submit, and the resulting release is ten times greater than it would be if you had an ordinary sexual encounter.”
“It sounds much better when you explain it this way. My brief foray into your world was all about whips and nipple clamps.”
“I’ve been in relationships where the most physical restraint has been my Dom’s voice. Finding the right partnership takes trial and error, but when you find a good match between consenting adults who get off on the same thing, it can be amazing. And going back to your original question, the power in a D/s relationship is not in the hands of the dominant partner. It’s the submissive who calls the shots.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely,” Jason said, nodding. “The submissive sets the limits and decides what can or can’t be explored. He has the ability to end a scene if he’s pushed out of his comfort zone. It’s the Dominant’s job to stay within those limits until they change. And like most things in life, they evolve over time. The Dom, in essence, is a facilitator who creates a setting where a sexual fantasy can be explored. What most people don’t realize is that he’s in it to please his submissive as much as the submissive wants to please him. It’s completely symbiotic.”
“You’re painting a very different picture than the one I know.”
“My fault entirely,” Max interjected. “For reasons I won’t get into, I thought Sloan was a masochist. I should have been more perceptive.”
“Hey”—I smiled at Max—“you’d just met me. How could you have known?”
“Don’t make excuses for me, darling. I’m older and more experienced. I pride myself on being able to find the right combination to make a D/s relationship work. I failed with you.”
Vessel (Cutting Cords Series Book 2) Page 9