The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance

by Christina Thacher

“What’s wrong with you, you mean?”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Or something else about my childhood, my family, why I’m a near-recluse, and so on. All questions I can’t easily answer, and even if I could, she wouldn’t like the explanations. So either way, it would end again.”

  “Then why are you sitting here? Is it so important that you see her?”

  Sebastian glanced at Mac, surprised. Of course it was important to see Isabelle. He lived for this.

  He downed half his club soda. Even with the lime, it was vile stuff. “What else is there? I have no interest in any of the other subs, I get my work done while the band plays, so it costs me the cover, the inflated price of drinks and a generous tip. All of which I can easily afford.”

  “I hesitate to be overly dramatic, but I think it’s costing you your soul.”

  “Mac Lyon, you of all people should know better than to lecture on romantic matters.”

  Mac leaned back and folded his arms. “On the contrary, who better than me to lecture you. I too fell in love. I too saw how impossible it was. But I took what I could and when I lost her, I resolved to keep living.”

  “Please, you haven’t played with a sub in almost a year. I don’t even think you let them give you head anymore.”

  “D’you want to know why?” Mac leaned in close. “Because of Cal and Sara. They’re in love, for real. And, yes, because of you and Isabelle. True love is worth it. Maybe I’ll never meet another woman to love, and that would be sad. Even sadder, though, would be thinking that sex will fill that void.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes against the pain churned up by Mac’s words. He hadn’t even stated the obvious, namely that Sebastian hadn’t been back to The Club since negotiating the breakup with Isabelle. Because Mac was right—sex didn’t come close to filling the void. Sex with anyone else, that is.

  Now Mac was telling him that seeing Isabelle across a busy room—even that was more than Sebastian could have. He shook his head. He’d rejected the notion that he was stalking her. What he saw in Mac’s eyes suggested that stalking was precisely the right term for it.

  “Okay, Lyon, you win. I’ll leave.” Sebastian pulled a couple of twenties from his wallet and dropped them on the table. He didn’t wait for Mac, just threaded his way through the maze toward the front door. He was nearly there when someone pushed open the door, just missing Sebastian.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said automatically. She looked up. Isabelle. Isabelle, staring at him in his baseball cap and anonymous windbreaker. “Oh.”

  “I’m just leaving,” he assured her. Now he’d burned his bridges for sure. No more lousy Monday and Tuesday bands or watered-down drinks. He stared at her lovely mouth and gorgeous eyes. Isabelle, who didn’t know she carried his heart with her, unaware she’d have it forever.

  Then he pushed past her and out the door onto Connecticut Avenue.

  * * *

  Isabelle caught Mac’s look as he walked towards her. “Oh, were you and Sebastian meeting?” She’d been so stunned to see Sebastian, she hadn’t time to wonder why he had been there.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Mac replied. He looked down at her for a moment. “Come have a drink with me.”

  “Okay.” She was mystified, but then seeing Sebastian had made her head explode and her heart ache, so maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

  Mac led her to a table in a far corner. There were two glasses, one of which was nearly empty, and forty dollars lying in a ring of condensation.

  Sebastian’s money, which meant that was his drink. His lips had pressed against that glass.

  Get a grip, Peters.

  She gave her order to the waitress, then turned to Mac after the woman left with a chuckle. “What’s so funny about ordering a club soda?”

  Mac brushed away the question. “Look, I need to talk to you about Sebastian.”

  “Okay.” It was a relief, in a way. Everyone—even Katie—tiptoed around the subject. It wasn’t that Isabelle wanted to have long, exhausting conversations about Sebastian, but the awkward pauses and half-finished sentences were getting tedious.

  “He’s been sitting up here, waiting for you to pass by.” Mac gestured toward the bar. Isabelle looked over. Members of The Club stopped at the bar on their way downstairs, sometimes to have a drink, sometimes just to get the bartender’s chip that verified the member hadn’t had too much to drink. It was a rule that sex and alcohol didn’t mix.

  “He just sat here, watching for me?”

  Mac nodded.

  “But why?” She couldn’t imagine why he’d do that.

  “My guess? He’s in love with you.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  Mac lifted his hands, palms up. “Just my guess. I do know that he’s been here every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday since you guys negotiated the split of days. If you want, I’ll tell him that not going to The Club on your days means also not coming here, lingering in the street, or in any other way spying on you.”

  Isabelle barely heard him. “He’s in love with me?”

  Poor Mac. He clearly wanted to roll his eyes and demand if she’d been paying attention to what he’d said. Instead, he spoke to her in the sort of voice he’d use when dealing with a mentally deficient client. “He’s not happy. You make him happy. The problem is, he can’t sustain a real relationship. He refuses to explain his past. He’s afraid you can’t handle it, that the truth about him will freak you out.”

  Mac stared at his hands, then looked back at her. “I can’t tell you what Sebastian’s hiding. I did tell him you can handle anything.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  Mas shook his head.

  “Has Sebastian murdered someone in cold blood?” It was the only thing she could think of that would make it impossible to love Sebastian. Okay, there were a few more felonies she wouldn’t be able to forgive, but Mac knew what she was asking.

  “No. But he may think that he did.”

  Isabelle was out of her chair before he’d finished speaking. She kissed Mac’s cheek and rushed out as he started to stand.

  Twenty minutes later, she was leaning on Sebastian’s doorbell. She stopped buzzing and lifted the mail flap. She could hear his muttering.

  “All right, I’m coming. Jeez, there’d better be something on fire.”

  Isabelle was able to drop the brass flap and stand up straight a second before he opened the door. She didn’t bother saying hello, she just pushed her way in.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Isabelle. Would you like to come in?” Sebastian addressed the front step where she’d been standing.

  “Shut the door. We need to talk. Mac says you’ve been sitting in Roseann’s waiting for me.”

  “Mac has a big mouth.” He led the way back to his kitchen. He had on snug jeans and a long-sleeved tee pushed up his arms. His feet were bare.

  She wasn’t sure why, but his bare feet made her want to rip off her clothes, fall to her knees and shower his toes with kisses.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “You want something? I just brewed a pot of tea. Should still be warm.”

  She hated tea. “Sounds great.”

  “Milk? Lemon?”

  “Lovely, thanks.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “It’s an either-or question, little cat. Do you take your tea with milk or with lemon?” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you even drink tea?”

  “Water would be fine.” She tried to smile. Now that she was alone with him, all her courage seemed to have been left on the top step—or it had dribbled away on the walk over.

  He poured her a glass of water and put milk in his own tea. They walked back to the living room and sat on surprisingly comfortable furniture. She looked around with interest. They’d never played in here.

  Isabelle took several small sips of water, trying to figure out what to say. Finally, she went for it. “Mac says you’re in love with me.” At Sebastian’s furious expression, she added, “That was h
is guess, at least.”

  “Amazing that man has any clients at all.”

  Another sip of water. “Yes, well, that may be. I appreciated his lack of discretion. Otherwise I might never have had the courage to come over here.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing, Isabelle? Why did you come?”

  Another sip. It wasn’t preventing the dry-mouthed panic, she found. “I don’t know what you feel, really. Up until tonight, I imagined you sailing on, blithely unconcerned with me or our time together. I’d become another one of the hapless subs, sobbing in the ladies’ room because Master Sebastian had gotten bored with me.”

  “You’re nothing like those other subs, and you know it.”

  Isabelle lost her temper. “Do I? I’ll tell you what I know. I know that I love you, with all my heart.”

  He started to scoff. He had that patronizing, dismissive expression on his face. She held up a hand.

  “I know that seems sudden, that we don’t really know each other,” she said in a rush. “Only I persist in thinking that I got to see the real Sebastian. You’re strong, fair, powerful, generous, careful, and loving. Everything else, in my estimation, is just history. You think it matters, and maybe it does because it helps explain who you are, but it doesn’t change how I feel or what I want with you.”

  “You should go.” He sounded tired, and sad.

  She didn’t move.

  He lifted his chin. “What do you want?”

  “You. More of you. Enough so we both know if we can make it. It doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything, but it has to be more than you’ve shared before.”

  “Why? What good would it do to tell you?”

  The pain on Sebastian’s face nearly broke her. Isabelle squared her shoulders. She wasn’t giving up without a fight. “Trust me. Trust me to know you.” She tipped her head to one side. “Trust me to love you no matter what.”

  His eyes were bleak. “You want to know why I never drive.”

  “I suspect I do, yes.”

  He leaned his head against the back of the sofa. He seemed to be inspecting the antique chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly.

  “I had an older sister, Janie. My mother was a career diplomat, so we grew up in lots of places, although this house—” He waved a hand around the room. “This was our default home if we didn’t need to be anywhere else. When I turned sixteen, I got a learner’s permit, but before I could take driver’s ed in the fall with the rest of my class, Mom announced we’d be moving to Guatemala in September. Janie agreed to teach me that summer. That way I could take the test before we left D.C.

  “I was a good driver. Very safety conscious. One day Janie and I had a fight, a squabble really, like siblings do. She didn’t want to give me my lesson, but I insisted. Once in the car, I didn’t argue with her to put on her seat belt. She was a libertarian that summer, you know, reading Ayn Rand and talking about how her will should not be infringed by petty regulations.”

  Isabelle wanted to stop him, to spare him having to relive the accident she knew was coming. He had to say it, though, or he’d never believe that she really loved him. So she braced herself for his tragedy. It was going to rip her heart out, she knew that. She also knew it had ripped his heart out years before. She needed him to love again, so she had to do this.

  “We had a route mapped out. Residential streets, mostly, but there was one bad intersection in Bethesda. A four-way stop that should have had a traffic light. Hell, they put one in after what happened.” He dragged in a shuddering breath. “I’m pretty sure I stopped. I mean, I think I did. And I know no one was stopped to our right. All the same, I didn’t see it coming. A pickup truck. Drunk driver, no insurance, you know the type. Well, no, you probably don’t know the type. I sure didn’t.”

  Sebastian scrubbed his face with his hands. “I should have seen him. I should have seen his truck. It was white, so I really should have seen it and stopped in time. Instead, I pulled into the intersection, too slowly, the way student drivers do, and the guy slammed into the passenger side. Janie—” He cleared his throat. “Janie didn’t make it. I, of course, got off without a scratch.”

  She knew he was waiting for her to cry, and she was struggling not to. If she wanted them to make it as a couple, what she said in the next five minutes would have to put his demons to rest for the next few decades. She picked her words carefully.

  “Do you have the accident report?”

  His scowl was ferocious. “Of course not.”

  “Well, did you see it? Does it say the accident was your fault?”

  His fury tried to scorch her. “You don’t get it, do you? I was driving. I was responsible for her safety. I should have made her buckle up.”

  Isabelle kept her voice level. I’m fighting for our future. “How old was the car you were driving? Did it have side airbags?”

  Sebastian’s face flushed with emotion and he tugged on his long black hair, his eyes bugging out at her. She stared back as calmly as she could. His wrath wouldn’t kill her. Giving up…just might.

  He yelled at her, “What the fuck are you talking about? I was driving!”

  She lowered her voice even more. “I understand that you feel responsible. I’m trying to figure out if you actually were responsible. If my happiness has to die along with your sister, I at least want to understand why.”

  He got to his feet so he could yell at her louder. “What the fuck does your happiness have to do with this? I killed my sister.”

  She got up too, and yelled just as loud. “No, you didn’t. That drunk driver did. And you damned well know that. So stop denying yourself the love you deserve, the love I want to lavish on you, because your sister died.” Isabelle’s voice trailed off. She went and put her arms around his rigid body. “Sweetheart, you didn’t kill her. You know you weren’t even a little negligent. You were sixteen, she was stubborn—I’m guessing that’s a family trait, by the way—and the accident cost you more than anyone should have to pay. But it wasn’t your fault. And even though you prefer to believe you could have, you couldn’t have prevented Janie’s death.”

  “I could have insisted she buckle up,” he muttered.

  Isabelle dropped her chin and lifted a brow, as if to say, “Keep it real, bud.”

  Sebastian compressed his lips. He might be annoyed, but his arms rose to gather her in. She thought she heard him growl, just a little. His embrace tightened.

  Isabelle turned her head a little so she was speaking right over his heart. “Sebastian, do you suppose for one second that Janie would want you to live alone and miserable just because she died? If she were here now, wouldn’t she tell you to live enough for both of you?”

  He bent his head until his face was right up against her hair. “I can’t believe how wonderful you are. I know I don’t deserve you, but I’m holding on to you now. You’re mine.”

  She pulled back and locked on his gaze. “I’m yours. Forever.”

  Isabelle watched as the pain drained slowly from Sebastian’s night-dark eyes. He shook his head at her. “You’re so strong. I knew that about you, but I also missed it. I didn’t see how you could heal my heart.”

  She shook her head. “You’re the one healing it. It takes time. You just don’t have to do it alone.”

  His smile was sketchy, but better than the shattered look he’d had as he told her of the accident. “Janie would have loved you.”

  Isabelle blinked away the tears. “Later, tell me all about her.”

  “And my mother is going to love you.”

  Isabelle gaped at him. “Your mother is still alive? A career diplomat? What if she hates me?”

  Sebastian laughed. “I’ll protect you. After all, you’re mine now.”

  Isabelle nestled against his chest. “I’m yours,” she agreed. “And you’ll play only with me from now on.”

  He tugged on her chin. His eyes narrow
ed, awareness and arousal making them glow. “Dictating terms to your Master? That’s not what we agreed to, Isabelle.”

  “Do we need to get The Lawyer to negotiate a new agreement?” She silently dared him to go full-on sexy Dom with her.

  “If he did, I’d insist that your obedience was the first thing on the list.”

  She reached up as if to kiss him. When his lips were less than an inch from hers, she whispered, “I belong to you. And only you get to apply hot wax to remind me.”

  All the sadness was gone from Sebastian’s face. It would come back—it had to come back for him to mourn his sister properly—but for now it had been replaced with precisely the look of loving ownership she’d longed to see there.

  “Oh, my little cat. Know this well—I keep what is mine.”

  The End