The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance

by Christina Thacher

  “That’s the one. That and pumps, Isabelle.”

  Luckily, she’d been able to park in front of his townhouse. She clicked open the locks, then maneuvered herself very gingerly into the driver’s seat. The street appeared empty of pedestrians, but if one of Sebastian’s white-haired neighbors happened to be looking out as she closed the drapes, Isabelle didn’t want to be flashing anything.

  Not surprisingly, Sebastian was laughing as he buckled his seat belt.

  When they got to her place—which, thankfully, had its own parking lot—she took a quick shower and pulled on sweatpants and a Northwestern Wildcats long-sleeved tee.

  As soon as she rejoined Sebastian, he slipped a hand up her shirt and down her pants, confirming that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He grinned as her eyebrows shot up.

  “I like having you loose and ready, that’s all.” With his dark eyes flashing and his hair untidy from the breeze, he looked like a pirate.

  Her pirate boyfriend…

  Isabelle caught herself. What the hell was she thinking? Sebastian wasn’t anyone’s idea of suitable boyfriend material. Plus, that was vanilla terminology. She didn’t do vanilla relationships, so why was she trying to pigeonhole this thing they had—all two weeks of it—into a high school classification system? Next thing she knew, she’d be asking Katie to leave a note for Mac asking if Sebastian planned to invite Isabelle to the prom.

  “I’ll make us some omelets, if that’s okay,” she mumbled before hiding herself in the kitchen.

  She had herself under control by the time the food was ready. They had a lovely dinner, and for dessert, Sebastian spread her out on the dining room table and feasted on her until she came. Thank the lord, he hadn’t insisted on silence this time.

  He spent the night, fucking her twice before they fell asleep. When she woke up before dawn, he fucked her again, slowly and from behind, playing with her clit until they both had sleepy orgasms.

  When she woke up much later, he was gone. He’d left a note, reminding her that he was still following the various international monetary policy changes, and he’d call her later. The S of his signature looked like a miniature whip.

  Isabelle tried to get back into her usual Sunday routine, but it was hard. She knew she was behaving like a freshman with her first big crush on a senior, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Finally she called Katie.

  “You don’t have Skinny Blonde Guy tied to the bed, do you?”

  Katie yawned. “Good morning to you too. Where have you been? I left you messages.”

  “Sorry. Haven’t checked my cell since Friday afternoon.”

  “Sebastian. Has he made you cry yet?”

  “What? No, of course not.” He’d only made her crazy in lust for him. The tears were probably coming later. “You want to go to brunch?”

  “Sure. I’ll have to let Skinny Blonde Guy out of the cage first, of course.”

  “Very funny. Firehook in an hour?”

  “You got it.” Katie hung up.

  Isabelle looked at the phone. She wanted to call Sebastian, but that was just more of her delusion that he was somehow hers. Her boyfriend. Her Dom. Her significant other.

  She dropped the phone into its recharger as if it was covered with fire ants. Time to shower and get dressed.

  It was a gorgeous day, so when they discovered all the seats in the window were taken, Katie suggested they get their food to go and eat near the fountain in Dupont Circle. The leaves were just starting to turn yellow in amongst the deep greens. A little boy in a striped shirt was trying to climb onto the ledge around the fountain while his father leaned in close to talk to him. Something about the dad’s body language—attention and tenderness—reminded Isabelle of Sebastian.

  “You have to shoot me,” she announced to Katie.

  “Okay. As we know, it’s not hard to buy a gun in D.C. Just tell me why I have to commit a felony on your behalf.”

  Isabelle sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right. I’ll have to shoot myself.”

  “Again, I ask—why?”

  “Because I’m starting to think that Sebastian would make a great dad.” Isabelle knew that would stop the conversation dead.

  Sure enough, Katie froze, a sandwich halfway to her open mouth. Finally she put the sandwich down. “You’re kidding me, right? This is an elaborate joke. Tell me this is not real.”

  “I wish I could.” Isabelle kept watching the father and son. She was insane, but maybe saying the words out loud would help cure her. “I know he’s the Asshole Dom. I know he makes subs cry. I know he’ll make me cry. It’s just a matter of time. I know all that.”

  Her lunch lay in her lap, still in its bag. The father had scooped his son up and placed him on his shoulders. The boy laced his hands around his dad’s forehead. Isabelle could imagine the father saying, “Hold on tight, buddy.” They walked around to the other side of the fountain, then they were gone.

  She felt chilled. “I know all that and still I look at him and think, ‘He’s mine.’”

  Katie put her hand on Isabelle’s knee. “It doesn’t have to go the way of tears. Just break it off with him. He really doesn’t have what it takes to be more than a sometimes-Dom. New guys cycle through The Club all the time. You’ll find a good one, like Bob.”

  Isabelle looked at Katie’s hand, then up at that elfin face. So eager to please, to fix everything. “I don’t think you get it. I’m in love with Sebastian.”

  Katie’s head swung slowly, side to side, then faster. Her face said it all—if she disagreed violently enough, she could make Isabelle’s statement untrue. “You’re not. You only think you are.”

  “What difference does that make?” Isabelle opened the wrapping on her sandwich and started throwing crumbs to the birds. It felt good to tear something to bits, even if it was only a piece of bread.

  “I don’t see how you can be in love with him. You barely know him.”

  It was true that Isabelle didn’t know everything, like why he couldn’t cook and why he didn’t drive, but she knew enough. “He’s an asshole, I’ll grant you, but he’s not been like that with me. He’s actually been really good with me.”

  Katie ate the rest of her sandwich, chewing methodically with a slight frown. After she’d finished, she carefully folded the wrapper and put it in the bag. She brushed off her fingers. “Let’s run down the list, shall we?”

  “Okay.” Whatever the hell the list was…

  “Has he yelled at you?”

  “No.”

  “Has he laughed at you?”

  “You mean at my expense? No, he hasn’t. We’ve laughed at each other, and we’ve both laughed at something silly I’ve done. But him just laughing at me? No.”

  Katie’s eyes were almost round. “Wait. You’ve laughed with Sebastian?”

  Isabelle lifted a shoulder. “Of course.”

  “With him? As in, both of you laughing at a shared joke?”

  “Yeah, I told you.” Now it was Isabelle’s turn to look confused. “What’s so surprising about that? He’s been fun.”

  “Hey, I don’t know him as well, but I’m not sure I’ve seen him crack a smile.”

  “Now you’re just messing with me.” Isabelle took a bite of what was left of her sandwich. She was suddenly very hungry. “Mmm, I don’t get it.” She wiped at the corner of her mouth. “Are you saying he’s grim all the time at The Club?”

  “From what I’ve heard, he’s grim all the time, period. Clearly, I’m the wrong person to ask, being a Domme.” Katie’s face brightened. “I know who’ll have more answers, though.”

  “Who?”

  “The Lawyer.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mac had brought no work home, for once. He had the Redskins’ game on TV, a fresh salsa chilling in the fridge, and a new microbrew to try. He’d even completed the Sunday crossword in record time.

  Call him cynical, but Mac knew this much free time was a recipe for disaster. Guaranteed he wouldn’t see
a minute of the football game. Which crisis would it be? Some client would call and say he’d been arrested? An associate would leave confidential papers on the Metro? Or would one of the Doms at The Club show up needing relationship advice?

  His money was on the client, but he lost his bet when Mistress Katie called to ask if she and Isabelle Peters could come over. They had Presidential Cookies from the Firehook, Katie assured him.

  At least women knew to come bearing gifts. Last spring it had been Cal and Sebastian storming in like a plague of locusts. When those two Doms had finally left him alone, Mac was out of beer. Nice to get some reward for being a BDSM relationship adviser.

  He made a fresh pot of coffee and moved an arrangement of chrysanthemums over to the coffee table in the TV room. Counseling women on their sex lives—well, it was a change of pace, to be sure. Although he hoped it wasn’t Katie needing help with the skinny blond sub. Mac happened to know what the skinny blond guy did for a living, and it didn’t feel like a good fit with Katie’s job as a statistician. Anyway, as soon as the skinny blond sub’s multiplatinum band went back on tour, he’d be gone.

  That left the redhead, Isabelle, and Sebastian. They seemed well matched. Certainly they looked gorgeous when they played at The Club. Mac had watched the poetry of Sebastian’s shibari work. There had been an intensity and grace to his movements as he wrapped Isabelle in black silk ropes. It was like Sebastian had been creating art and making love to a gorgeous sub, all at the same time. As rocky as the negotiation had been, Mac wasn’t surprised when they’d shown up again at The Club and had another scene, then left together.

  Still, this was Sebastian, not known for his sensitivity or tact. Mac sighed and picked up the magazine section of the paper. He’d find out soon enough what the problem was.

  * * *

  Isabelle couldn’t believe the house Katie took her to. Modern and elegant. Full-height windows flanking the front door allowed a view all the way through to…air. Autumnal foliage and air. When The Lawyer opened the door, Isabelle nearly skipped the social niceties so she could rush through and inspect his view over the Potomac.

  “Sorry, Mac. It’s her first time,” Katie said.

  “Not to worry. I’ve got some coffee going.” They started to wander off toward the right. “Isabelle, when you’ve seen everything, come join us.”

  “Thanks.” She went straight to the wall of glass overlooking a modern terrace and lap pool, closed now for the season. The fall colors were spectacular up here, away from the city. She glanced at the interior design on the way—sleek furniture, glossy floors, elegant art work—but it was a blur compared to the view. As she watched the breeze ruffle the leaves, she wondered what her mother, who dabbled in antiques, would think of both Sebastian’s and Mac’s houses.

  Right. Like that introduction would ever happen.

  Isabelle sighed and cast one last look at the view before following the sound of Katie’s and Mac’s voices. She found them in a large room between more of the view on the left and the kitchen on the right. A massive sectional sofa faced a wide-screen television in one direction and the kitchen in the other. The football pregame was winding up, the various former players and coaches talking. The TV had been muted, leaving the analysts looking silly as they waved their hands around.

  “Katie’s been filling me in on your progress with Sebastian.” Mac stood as she entered. “But first, may I get you some coffee?”

  “White, no sugar. Thanks.” Isabelle took the seat next to Katie. “What have you told him so far?”

  “Just that you and Sebastian have negotiated an open-ended relationship in which neither one of you plays with anyone else. For now.” Katie gave Isabelle a significant look at those last two words.

  “Katie thinks I just need to break it off.”

  Mac came back with her coffee. She thanked him and took a sip. It was perfect. She smiled her thanks.

  “Before you take any action to end it, may I ask some questions of a personal nature?”

  Isabelle had to laugh. “Sir, you’ve seen Sebastian fuck me. I think we’re okay on matters of ‘a personal nature.’”

  He slanted his head for a moment. “Perhaps so. Don’t tell me anything you’re uncomfortable telling me, that’s all.”

  “Okay.” Isabelle sipped her coffee.

  “Katie tells me you’ve spent two weekends together.”

  “Yes. The first one that I supposedly ‘won’ and Friday night, all of yesterday and last night. He left early this morning because of some international monetary crisis.”

  Mac leaned forward, cradling his coffee in both hands. “What do you know of Sebastian’s business?”

  “He’s a mini-Bloomberg. He looks at world events both politically and economically, figures out what’s going on, then writes up a daily newsletter that only goes out to private clients. Who, I gather, pay a lot to be on his mailing list.”

  Mac mentioned the amount that people paid annually to get Sebastian’s work. Both women gasped.

  “Well, that explains a lot,” Isabelle said finally. It particularly explained why he worked so hard on his analyses.

  “I mention it because when I first met him, nearly ten years ago, he made it clear to me that he had only two interests. His work and BDSM. Recently, though, it seems even BDSM became more about scratching an itch than something he was really invested in.”

  Katie cocked her head. “I’ve only been a member for less than two years. Is Sebastian different from how he was when he first joined The Club?”

  Mac smiled. “Oh, yes. He was quite the perfectionist back then. He learned all the best techniques, practiced them by himself for weeks, sometimes months, before he’d try them on a sub. Now—well, you’ve both seen him. He’s perfect, so he expects the sub to be perfect. And none of them is, with the exception of you, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle frowned as she digested this. “But he was so angry with me that first day. Remember? Katie and I were talking during his session with some sub or other. When he was done with her, he came over, red-hot with fury.”

  Mac’s gaze skewered her. Wow, if he looked that intense when arguing before the Supreme Court, no wonder he won so many cases. “Think about what you’ve just said. He was methodical and, yes, even a bit detached when he was flogging that sub. Then he stalks over to you, and he’s angry. He was alive in that moment. It had been a long time since anyone provoked him to feel any emotion at all, let alone anger.”

  Isabelle met Mac’s look and held it as though he’d solved a mystery of the universe she desperately needed to understand. Finally, she blurted out, “Why doesn’t he drive?”

  Mac looked away immediately. “I can’t answer that. You’ll have to ask Sebastian.”

  Isabelle leaped on that. “So it is important. I knew it had to be.”

  Katie had been watching the other two like they were tennis players, her head swiveling back and forth between Mac and Isabelle. Now she held up a hand. “Wait. What’s this about Sebastian not driving? Why’s that a big deal. Lots of people don’t bother to drive in D.C.”

  Isabelle turned to her. “It’s the way he talks about it. Or, rather, the way he doesn’t talk about it. Sure, if he’d said, ‘I don’t like to drive,’ or ‘I don’t own a car,’—you know, if he’d said it with a shrug—then I wouldn’t have thought twice.” She looked over at Mac.

  The Lawyer lifted his hands. “I don’t know the whole story. He clams up when the subject comes up. I do know he uses his passport in situations where you or I would use a driver’s license.”

  Katie gaped at Mac. “That’s nuts. Everyone has a driver’s license. Right?”

  Mac just shook his head.

  “Okay,” Katie said slowly. “I’ll agree, that’s weird.”

  “Mac, what can you tell me about him? About his past?”

  Mac started to shake his head again, then stopped. “Not much. He comes from a perfectly ordinary middle-class family, got a great education, discovered BDS
M and his work around the same time. I can tell you this much. I’ve noticed that both BDSM and the work Sebastian does keep him busy and somewhat isolated. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, even through The Club.”

  “Which is why his relationship with Isabelle has seemed so extraordinary.” Katie nodded vigorously, as though something finally made sense.

  “So what do I do?” Isabelle asked.

  “What do you want from him?” Mac countered.

  Everything, she realized. A relationship—a D/s relationship in the bedroom, certainly—friendship, living together, maybe marriage and even children?

  She didn’t have to say a word. Mac must have seen it in her eyes. He clapped his hands together, rubbed them, and announced, “Time to eat these delicious cookies, ladies.”

  * * *

  Sebastian survived the international monetary crisis—which, as usual, turned out to be more of a blip than an economic catastrophe—and even had time to sit down and read a book late on Sunday afternoon. At least, that’s what he would have done before Isabelle. Or he might have taken a walk. Or gone to The Club. Or something.

  Instead, he found himself back at her building, holding some wilting flowers he’d gotten from a store just as the owner was locking up. When she buzzed him in, he considered ditching the cellophane-wrapped bouquet. Nah. Maybe he’d get some thought-that-counts points to offset leaving her at an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning.

  She opened her apartment door. “Hey.”

  He reached to kiss her, but somehow the flowers got in the way. He pushed them at her. “These are for you. Well, obviously. And perhaps insultingly, as they look half-dead by now.” He looked at the sad blooms. “I should have tossed them in the trash can outside your building.”

  “No, they’re lovely.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, maybe not. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  They laughed, then Isabelle went off to find a vase, just in case the flowers had a miraculous recovery. “Do you want something to drink? I have some wine, I think. Or there’s beer.”