Tulip Princess

by Liz Crowe

  Their relationship had sustained so much for so long. Lale wondered how they had managed to stick it out for nearly thirty years. Her parents had met as children, or in her father’s case, a young teenage boy, when her mother’s father had been stationed in Istanbul for the first time as a minor government flunkie. They’d gotten into all sorts of trouble together. The kind Lale could relate to. The kind she wished her mother would remember every now and then when she tsked over Lale’s behavior.

  Ten years later they met again, after her mother had returned to Istanbul to live with her father and his new wife and son. Apparently, it had been an epic case of love at second sight. They’d overcome objections of parents, cultures and class, and married. And, if Lale counted right, he’d knocked her mother up a little bit before the actual ceremony, resulting in the twin boys. Of which now, there lived only one. She sighed and started to stand.

  Her father’s next words shot straight to her soul.

  “You are going there, my dear.” He stared at her from his patriarch’s chair.

  “I’m what?”

  “In a few weeks, you will go to California, stay and help with the children. Emre has a nanny, but he wants some family around. He asked for you.”

  Lale stared at him, then at her mother. Their faces were grim. They didn’t want this at all, but would bow to their one remaining son’s request. She leapt to her feet. Why in the hell hadn’t she thought of this before? She ran a hand through her hair and tried not to whoop with joy.

  Her grandmother made the sign of the evil eye. “Don’t talk to any Greeks.” She spat, in the traditional response to the word. “America is full of the filthy goats.”

  Lale rolled her eyes, planted kisses on each adult in the room and ran upstairs. She had some serious packing to do.

  Chapter Two

  Andreas heaved a sigh and hit the delete button on his computer, consigning the latest bad publicity for his university’s athletic program to the trash bin. If only it were as easy to make it really go away. He leaned back in his huge leather chair, enjoying a moment’s peace before his assistant barreled in with the latest crisis. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he glanced at his inbox. The long unread list held an item at the top that wouldn’t be ignored.

  His ex-wife’s attorney had angled in for more alimony. He’d told his lawyer in no uncertain terms she could go fuck herself, a stunt he wouldn’t put past her. They were duking it out now, but he would win. Her lifestyle had spiraled out of control in the last couple of years. A couple of drug possession arrests and public intoxication citations were not going to be viewed kindly by any court. For the thousandth time, he thanked God they’d never had kids.

  Practically still a kid herself, they’d met at a party right after he’d graduated from college and headed straight for the NFL draft. He’d been already deep into his role as a Master. He frequented BDSM clubs and parties and within minutes, would have potential subs and slaves following him around, begging for his orders. It was a world he kept strictly separate from football, his family, and his teammates. Because sports and school took so much time, he didn’t get to participate in his preferred lifestyle as much as he liked, but when he did, he always guaranteed an epic experience for himself and his partner. By the time he met Shelley, nearly ten years his junior, he’d ached for his own sub, and she’d fit the bill nicely.

  His trip down memory lane came to a halt when his assistant appeared. The older woman was nothing if not predictable.

  “Okay, Andreas, you have a press conference at ten then you are to attend the kick-off dinner for the soccer team tonight. In between, I need you to....”

  He shut her voice out. He gazed at the photos of him in his glory at Arizona University then later, playing in Miami for the Dolphins. Luckily, as one of the exceptions to the student athlete rule, he’d actually graduated with a legit degree, figuring the whole professional football career thing offered a precarious career proposition. He’d been correct.

  He sucked down the dregs from his coffee cup and focused on the little woman who ran his life as Athletic Director for the University of Nevada Las Vegas. Not his dream job, especially since the football program had suffered the ultimate sanction, receiving the death penalty from the NCAA for major recruiting infractions. But it kept him in the realm he loved, the business of sports.

  By the time his stomach rumbled and reminded him his paltry lunch of banana and more coffee would not sustain him much longer, he heard the distinct blip of an incoming Skype message. He sighed. His sister, Connie, with her infernal meddling.

  Hey, brother. What’s up? Her words popped up next to a small icon of her favorite football team, the Dolphins. They usually didn’t bother with video when they chatted.

  Hey, yourself. Busy. Trying to sustain a legit athletic department in a town called Sin City is no easy task.

  Yeah, you’re up to it though. Gotta be better than getting smacked down by three hundred pound dudes, right?

  I did the smacking, remember? ‘Defensive Line?’

  Oh, yeah. Sorry.

  She went silent for a while. The mere calm before the proverbial sisterly storm. He kept studying the graduation rate sheets he’d printed from the NCAA, trying to figure out how to improve his. Deciding the simple matter of only signing athletes who had a snowball’s chance in hell of actually obtaining a degree would hold no water with his greedy alumni, he sighed.

  So, did you do it? He frowned at the screen when he realized what she meant.

  No. I do not need a blind date, especially one called ‘One Night Stand’. Jesus, Con, do I seem that desperate?

  Of course not. I think it would be fun. One of the teachers here did it and met the love of her life, so she claims. And everybody is talking about it. It’s legit!

  Whatever. No.

  C’mon, o adelfós mou…for me?

  No.

  You’re such an ass. But I still love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  Andreas rolled his eyes, but smiled at his sister’s predictability.

  The answer will still be no.

  At six-thirty when he strolled out and waved good-bye, the interns were still scurrying around, preparing press kits for the upcoming fall season. He gunned his Harley into Vegas traffic, hitting all his usual shortcuts to head out to the suburbs. Funny how you could completely avoid the strip every single day if you tried. America’s playground to him was merely another city, another job. He did a mental flip through his contacts list. It had been a month since he’d had a date. Longer than that since he’d had a solid fuck. He sighed, remembering the NFL days when he rarely went without two hours between said solid activity.

  Deciding not to skip the hassle at this point, he turned into the covered driveway, unlocked his door, and let Shelley’s stupid dog out. How he’d been granted custody of the damn mutt, he had no idea. But he liked to take care of things, so he took care of Rodney, the stupid Yorkshire terrier. He threw his keys on the table.

  Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he wandered down the hall toward his room, lingering by a locked door. He stopped, went back and got his keys. Driven by a strange compulsion that hadn’t struck him in years, he unlocked it, pushed the door open and flipped on the subtle lights that brought his dungeon into sharp focus.

  Holding the brown bottle between his fingers, he sipped while he walked around the St. Andrews Cross, the large bed with pre-installed cuffs at each corner. He ran a hand over the silky cover. The place smelled like leather, wax and light incense. The ghostly memory of sex wafted through the dark space. Andreas moaned when he realized his cock had grown instantly hard. He set the bottle down and lay back on the bed. It had been constructed to his exact specifications. Although the immature bitch had only lived there with him less than a year, they spent a lot of time there. She had earned lots of punishments with all the bullshit pouting about moving away from the glam life as the wife of an NFL star.

  He gazed up at the ceiling and unzip
ped his trousers, stroked his cock somewhat absently, as he pondered how his life had come to this point. He shifted his hips, got a better grip, and took it seriously a minute. Memories flooded in, of Shelley, of how pliant and amazing she’d been at first, how easily the whole Master/slave relationship had developed. Until she stopped posing. Then it got weird. Within a year of agreeing to marry her in his fourth year with the Dolphins, he got his third concussion and lost his position on the team, managed to land a great job as the AD at UNLV, and she decided not to be a sexual sub anymore.

  Sighing, he let go of himself. He’d questioned his own abilities as Master ever since and hadn’t really done anything in the scene for a couple of years. After two or three pretty intense club experiences right after she left, he’d simply given up on it, convinced of his inability to spot a poser. He’d had a few dates, had a couple of girls he could call friendly fucks, and had simply focused on work. He tucked his still-hard cock back into his dress slacks. He couldn’t justify the release—didn’t think he deserved it.

  He sat up with a groan, not convinced that the raging blue balls he developed were helping him any. But it didn’t feel right. He needed…something. Not a slave exactly, but some outlet for his Dominant energy. Yet the clubs were out of the question. They were crawling with frogs and posers and all sorts of voyeurs who had no idea what it meant to truly enjoy this lifestyle. His personality drew submissives to him like flies to honey in those places. Always had. But the experience with Shelley had left such a bad taste in his mouth, he’d given up.

  Fuck this. Why did I even come in here?

  He stomped out, taking time to heave the empty beer bottle against the St. Andrews Cross. It shattered in a satisfying fashion, hitting the discarded solid platinum collar Shelley had left behind. He’d hung it on the cross as a reminder to himself. Never again.

  Chapter Three

  By the time Lale arrived at LaGuardia, she had missed her connection to the west coast. Her father spared no expense and sent her first class, but that didn’t help get her on another plane any quicker. She argued with the desk agent for a while then threw up her hands, reverting to Turkish curse words before finding a bar to sit and pout. The delay didn’t allow for enough time to find a hotel and rest, merely enough to sit in the airport and get shit-faced drunk.

  She had alerted Emre about the delay. He’d sounded absolutely frazzled.

  “I hope you are ready to really help. Not just lie around and go out all night.”

  She’d bristled, but made herself remain calm. “Of course, dear brother. How is Elle doing?”

  He’d sighed. “She got home yesterday. I’ve had Aslan here for a week already, trying to get him to take formula. He won’t sleep. It’s…well, I’ll be glad to see you.”

  Lale ordered a gin and tonic and put her earbuds in her ears, determined to keep her temper in check for the next few hours. She buried her nose in a magazine. The pressure against her clit reminded her of the piercing she’d managed to fit in before leaving. It had taken closer to three weeks to get everything sorted out, including a temporary visa from the American embassy so she could stay longer than a tourist allotted two weeks. She managed to get an appointment for the hood piercing pretty quickly. It had hurt like hell, but she loved it now. The awareness of something always there, constantly pressed against her most sensitive area was just the distraction she needed.

  Her scalp prickled with a familiar I’m-being-watched sensation. She glanced up from the magazine. A traveling businessman appraised her. She smiled and looked down, crossed her legs, trying to send negative body language. But her skin had warmed. She did love the attention. The man suddenly materialized at her side.

  “Hello.” His deep voice and be-suited body tempted her sorely.

  “Do I know you?” She tried to keep the desire out of her cadence.

  “No, but I’d like to know you.” He sat. She moved away though her body responded automatically while her brain told her to disengage. Her body won.

  “Can I buy you another?” The man indicated the empty glass in front of her.

  “Sure.” She tossed back the remaining dregs of gin. “Thanks. I’m stuck here for a while.”

  The man laughed and signaled the waitress. “Yeah. Me, too.” He gave her a look over the rim of his beer mug. He was tall, a little thick around the middle under the suit, yet seemed eager and relaxed, his bright blue eyes compelling. He’d do. She shifted in her seat to make him respond. It came naturally to her. The small metal ball pressed into her clit, making her squirm in a combination of pain and titillation. Fish in a barrel....

  She frowned, remembering the conversation she’d overheard between her father and brother about a week before the visa had come through, allowing her to leave. Her father always forgot that audio Skype calls could be heard all over their cavernous home.

  “She’s out of control, Emre,” her father had claimed.

  “She’s young. Impulsive. Angry about Tarkan.” Her brother had soothed.

  “We’re all angry about Tarkan, son. It’s been long enough since…well…she is truly out of control. Drugs, tattoos, out until God knows what time. Anything we say to her is met with resistance and anger. I don’t know what to do.” Her father’s voice had broken then, had made Lale’s eyes prickle with tears. She’d known what he’d say next. “It’s like since Tarkan has gone, she has no anchor. Only he could temper her. Only he understood her from the very beginning.”

  “I know.” Emre had sighed. “He was special to many people. But she needs to get past it. Hopefully living here for a while will help her focus on something other than herself.”

  She’d bristled at that. Selfish? Her?

  “Can you help us, son? I can’t lose her. Please, do what you can for our beautiful tulip.”

  She glanced at the complete stranger with whom she would have sex and let the phantom conversation exit her brain. The man stared at her in a way she understood. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. He leaned over and put a hand on her knee. “You are incredibly beautiful, but I think you know that.” She tried to fight the impulse surging through her. The guy was not that great. What did she think she’d get out of it exactly? Her plans for America included trying to act more like a grown up, not like a horny slut. She sighed. His hand traveled up her thigh. She glared at him and he removed it.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know if we are on the same page here.” She tried on a look of sincere indignation. The man loomed over her once more.

  “I think we are.” The wedding ring did not escape her notice. She stood, grabbed her purse and carry-on, and started walking. He followed, caught up and clutched her arm.

  “I’m a member of the frequent flier lounge. Let me host you there.” He let go of her and smiled.

  She followed him then, mad at herself, wondering how in the hell coming to America was going to be “better” if she fucked another total stranger before even making it to the West Coast. Did she even bring condoms? She’d have a drink with him, that’s all. She squared her shoulders and let him lead her into the quiet lounge, past the receptionist, and into a semi-private room. He dropped his briefcase, turned and laid an amazing kiss on her. Her traitor body heated up and performed. At one point, while she bounced up and down on his lap, still orgasm-less, he groaned and clutched her hips. She sighed. Denied again. So much for feeling good while being bad.

  ***

  By the time her plane touched down in California, Lale was hot, exhausted, and utterly furious with herself. She’d bolted from the guy’s make-out room in the airport, given herself a quick wash-off in the bathroom, and plunked back down on the long line of seats in the main terminal. She hadn’t even bothered with a good-bye kiss. The new change of scenery had to help. She had to focus, help her brother and his wife and their kids. She’d be the epitome of perfect twenty-something helpful. Anything that got her out of Turkey had to be worth that.

  Emre held her tight when she emerged from baggage cla
im, which shocked her. He’d never been affectionate with her, merely tolerating her and Tarkan for the most part their whole lives. But she returned his embrace. She truly was glad to be there and grateful he’d arranged it.

  “You look great,” he said, studiously ignoring her lip piercing. She grinned.

  “Oh, spare me. I look like a gypsy to you with all this jewelry. I know it.”

  He put an arm around and took the luggage cart, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  “How is she?” Lale asked once they were situated in Emre’s SUV.

  Her brother clutched the steering wheel. “She’s okay. Not great. Doctors say she will recover, but it will take a while. She had a heart murmur apparently, but never had it diagnosed. The baby weighed too much by the time she hit thirty weeks, and her body simply couldn’t support him and her at the same time. It’s why her blood pressure shot up.” He blinked. Lale stared at him. Her big brother—the responsible, mature one, always in control—about to cry? She didn’t know what to do so she patted his leg. He hadn’t shed a tear during the Tarkan fallout, not even during the so-called funeral. She realized at that moment she hadn’t forgiven him for that, but maybe he had dealt with it the only way he know how—by being stoic while everyone around him fell to pieces.

  “Well, you didn’t know so...I mean, don’t feel guilty.”

  “It’s all I feel, frankly. We never should have tried for a second child. She wanted it so badly and I...well, shit.” They crept through LA traffic. “I should have said no. I knew it wasn’t safe.”

  “But Aslan is fine, right?”

  “Yes, he is perfect. No issues whatsoever.” Emre’s face broke into a smile. Lale sighed. Typical. Big Man make big son. This she could handle.

  “Good. How is Ayla?” She reached into her bag for a cigarette. Emre frowned at her.