“All wine is good wine,” she joked.
When he sat down, she was taken off guard. Rather than sit across from her, he sat directly beside her. “Have you ever dined in the dark? Tell me what you’d like to start with and I’ll assist you.”
She selected the chicken and he actually cut her meat. Her hand felt for the fork, her fingers traveling up the heavy stem until her fingers pressed into the identifiable tines.
As it turned out, eating blind was a lot harder than she’d expected. Without sight, she found it difficult to accurately locate her mouth. She hadn’t anticipated having so much trouble. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get food into her mouth. Her fingers knew where the hole was, but the fork was messing her up. She likely looked ridiculous, missing the target and chasing down food with her tongue.
“Let me help you, Scarlet,” he said, humor in his voice.
She placed the fork on the table. “It’s harder than you’d think.”
He chuckled. “Open. This is chicken.”
Feeling ridiculous, she parted her lips. The meat was warm and tender. Savory juice burst over her tongue as she chewed.
“How about a piece of broccoli?”
He fed her throughout the entire dinner. She felt infantile and sort of like a bird, but in the end, when it came time for dessert, things didn’t seem so juvenile.
“You’re lips are red from the strawberries, Ms. Farrow.”
The wine had gone to her head. Smiling she licked her lips and hummed. “I bet they taste like strawberries too. Wanna try?”
He chuckled. “In time. I want to discuss those deep dark desires of yours. Care to share one?”
There weren’t many, though the fantasies she used to entertain now paled in comparison to the ones including Mr. Stone. “Right now my biggest fantasy is kissing you.”
He tapped her nose with a berry. “Not yet. Let’s make this a bit easier. I’ll say a word and you tell me how it makes you feel in a word.”
“Sort of like the first night we talked.”
“Yes, but this will be like the childhood game Hot and Cold. You remember that game, right?”
She nodded.
“Very good. The first word is, kissing.”
“Hot.”
“Good.” He paused for a moment. “Breasts.”
“Mmm. Warm.”
“Pussy.”
“Wet.”
He tsked. “I’m sure, but you’re supposed to tell me the degree of the effect. How hot is your wet little pussy, Ms. Farrow?”
“Burning.” She giggled.
He grunted, the sound masculine and carnal. “Biting.”
Her head tipped as she thought about biting. No one had ever bit her. “Curiously warm.”
“Fair enough. Oral sex.”
“Who’s receiving?” she asked.
“You.”
“Hot.”
“Me.”
“Hotter.”
“Really?”
She lifted a shoulder and smirked. “Give me a green light at this point and I’m not sure you’re safe, Mr. Stone. No one’s ever made me want them this badly.”
He made a sound of understanding. “Next word. Fucking.”
“Steaming.”
“Spanking.”
“Burn.”
“Good burn or bad, Ms. Farrow?”
“Good.”
“Interesting. Hair pulling.”
Her mind filled with images of Mr. Stone behind her, fucking her hard, his nails scraping over her ass, rosy from his palm, as his other hand tightened in her hair, forcing her back to bow. She needed another sip of wine. “Scorching.”
“You have quite a kinky side to you, Ms. Farrow.”
She shook her head. There really wasn’t anything this man couldn’t do to her at this point. “That’s only because I’m imagining you doing all those things. With anyone else I’d be cold.”
His voice turned hoarse as though her words shocked him. “Is that true?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I think I’ve made it clear what you do to me.”
“What if I wanted to tie you up?”
Pausing, she analyzed the slight vulnerability hiding behind the question. He was honestly asking, no longer playing a game of Hot and Cold. She detected curiosity in his tone of voice.
“Do you want to tie me up, Mr. Stone?”
There was a moment of utter silence. When he didn’t answer she reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. She stilled, not sure why he was suddenly withdrawing.
“I know you like control,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I sort of like when you take it.”
“I think our evening’s come to an end, Ms. Farrow.”
She frowned. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I’ve confessed so much tonight. I’m not judging you.”
“I should get your coat.”
Lowering her head, she questioned why he was so uptight about some topics, when at other times he seemed almost shameless. “No.”
“Scarlet?”
“I…I want you to talk to me. I try to honestly answer everything you ask me, but a conversation takes two points of view. You agreed with that when I told you about the one-sided dates I had to suffer, but now you’re leaving me in the dark. Why can’t we just have a conversation about this?”
His clothing shifted as he lowered to his seat. “Fair enough. Go on.”
“Do you want to tie me up or do any of those things we just mentioned?”
He drew in an audible breath and hesitated. “I…don’t know.”
Blindly, she reached for his hand and squeezed. “I didn’t say no, Mr. Stone. I don’t know either. I know seeing you, looking into your eyes would help. It’s perfectly fine for two adults to discuss their desires. But when you push me away every time the tables turn and you get a little uncomfortable, I’m left exposed in the dark.”
His hand turned, his fingers lacing with hers as he squeezed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do that. I suppose it’s a reflex of mine I need to overcome.”
She smiled. “Look at me. I’m sitting here blindfolded—probably with food on my face. Who am I to judge?”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right. But it is getting late and you have school tomorrow.”
She grinned and released his hand. “Then I’ll take my coat now.”
He was very quiet as he guided her to the door and buttoned her coat. It occurred to her they had three nights left. Only three.
“When can we be together again?” she asked, fishing for reassurance, as he gently tucked her scarf around her throat.
“That depends on a few things. I may have to go out of town for a few days.”
“Oh.” This took her by surprise. She never knew where he was anyway, but always assumed he was nearby. “Where are you going?”
“Milan.”
“Tennessee?”
“Italy. Give me your hands. You can wear my gloves.”
Italy? Why was he going to Italy? Was he going alone? “Is anyone going with you?”
“My partner.”
She made a choking sound and stepped back. “Your…partner?”
“Business partner, Scarlet. It’s a business trip. We’re flying over, signing papers, and flying right back. It’s not a vacation.”
“Oh.”
Well, good, because the last vacation she went on was at some hokey campground in upstate Pennsylvania. If he was flitting off to Milan riding gondolas or whatever people did there, they clearly didn’t belong together. Business was different. She frowned, the vast difference in their social class once again made apparent.
“I’ll call you when I get back.”
She nodded.
“Good night, Scarlet.”
“Good night, Mr. Stone.”
On the ride home she worried that part of his reluctance to let her in had to do with her position as a simple middle school teacher. For all she knew, Mr. Stone could be some obscure version of Ameri
can royalty. The car Pennyworth drove was a very nice Mercedes Benz. She had no idea what a car like that cost, but it was probably more than her annual income.
As the Mercedes hummed quietly along the drive, she worried what he must have thought when he saw her sad, diminutive Ford. He was probably repulsed. “Has Mr. Stone ever been to my house, Pennyworth?”
“I don’t believe so. Has he ever left you a gift there?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t believe so.”
“Have you ever described it to him?”
“Yes.”
Her lips pursed. “How did you describe it?”
“I can’t remember my exact words, but I didn’t say anything negative, Ms. Farrow. You’re house is a lot nicer than mine.”
She grinned, liking Pennyworth more and more each time she talked to him. “I’m just being paranoid I guess.”
“I give you a lot of credit, Ms. Farrow. I don’t know if I could do what you’re doing—blindfolded and all. By the way, we’re almost to your house. You can take the blindfold off now. Mr. Stone left you something on the seat.”
She quickly removed the mask, wincing as the tie snagged in her hair. Her eyes blinked in the darkness, adjusting to the dim interior of the car. To her left, sat a gift bag, gold tissue fluffing out the top.
She smiled and snatched the bag, ripping the paper from the opening and rummaging until her fingers closed around something plush. She pulled the present from the bag and gasped. It was a sock monkey!
The brindle pattern was classic brown, his eyes little black buttons, his mouth vibrant red. She laughed quietly, knowing exactly where she’d keep him—right on her bed, next to her E.T. and Yoda doll, two of her most prized toys from when she was a child.
Sifting through the bag, she found what she was hoping for—a note. Breaking the seal, she quickly scanned the familiar handwriting.
He told me his name is Caesar. Treat him well.
~Mr. Stone
Caesar, appropriate and reminding her of the character from Planet of the Apes. Her hand ran over the stitched detail of the monkey, fondly admiring the gift.
With only a few blocks to her house, she returned her attention to Pennyworth, asking the question that had been weighing on her most of all. “Pennyworth?”
“Yes, Ms. Farrow?”
“Did something bad happen to Mr. Stone?”
The driver sighed. “I honestly can’t answer that.”
“Because you don’t know?”
“Yes.”
And if he did know, he wouldn’t be able to tell her anyway. She’d get to the bottom of it eventually, with or without his help.
****
Typically, Asher left the mansion soon after Scarlet, but tonight he needed to face some demons. Their conversation had been uncharted, leading him into some very dark realizations. When she’d so brazenly asked about his desires, the resounding yes ringing in his head shook him to the core. Incapable of answering, he’d tried to cut their evening short.
Finishing a bottle of wine, he breathed in the lingering scent of her perfume. His mind painted pictures of Scarlet’s naked body tied before him, not cowering, but full of pride.
But the question was, how far did he want to take his attention? Over the course of their relationship he’d researched various fetishes, never finding any specific proclivity overly appealing. However, when Scarlet posed the question of tying her up, the game changed. That idea held an unfathomable amount of appeal, none of which he was prepared or confident he could manage.
So many times he’d been restrained against his will and suffered pure terror. If she trusted him enough to voluntarily surrender to such limitation, without the fear he associated with restraint, it would be a true breakthrough, a testament to how far they’d come. It would also place him on the other side of the paradox, a position he’d never imagined.
He was coming to discover that control wasn’t always tied to abuse. Sometimes a restraint led to freedom. It could be a liberating experience for both of them.
He’d never been the authoritative type—per say—at least before meeting Scarlet again. Sure, he managed million dollar accounts and ran a fortune five hundred company, but those experiences were generic. Dealing with Scarlet was acutely unique.
Hoisting himself off the chair, he slowly walked the bottle to the trash. This new conundrum required more thought than he was able to give at the moment. There was no denying his desire to act out his surfacing fantasies. The allure was there. The question remained, would he be a good lover?
It seemed an enormous responsibility. He never wanted her to feel like he wasn’t enough to meet her needs—ever. As if the thought of mere sex wasn’t enough to worry him, great sex was creating new levels of anxiety. He needed to do more research. Never in his life had he studied something requiring more investigation than women—this woman in particular.
Chapter Sixteen
Gratification
Ms. Farrow,
I could not feel your heartbeat in Italy, which means youwere too far away. Looking forward to holding you in my arms again.
The choice is yours, Ms. Farrow. Should you choose to continue, it will be on my terms and your trust. If you consent, place the mask over your eyes and my chauffeur shall deliver you into my care. I hope to see you soon.
~Mr. Stone
A.R.
Tucking the note in her purse, she grinned at Pennyworth. “I’m ready when you are.”
Her eyes voluntarily shut as she placed the blindfold over her face, and gently tied the ends. Once the chauffeur assisted her into the car they were on their way.
“Did Mr. Stone have a nice trip?”
“You know the rules, Ms. Farrow. All personal questions go to the man in charge.”
“Did you enjoy your time off?”
“Actually, I went with him.”
“You did? He said it was only him and his partner going.”
“Elliot had a last minute change of plans.”
“Elliot?”
Silence filled the car. After a long moment passed, music came on. “No more talking, Ms. Farrow.”
Who was Elliot? Was Elliot his partner? Or was that Mr. Stone’s name? Elliot Stone. No, he didn’t strike her as a Elliot.
When they reached Mr. Stone’s place, she was still pondering who Elliot was. Pennyworth escorted her up the ten steps and the door opened.
“Good evening, Ms. Farrow.”
“Good evening…Elliot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Shit. “Never mind.”
“I’ll be in the car,” Pennyworth announced, making a fast retreat.
“Were you interrogating my driver, Ms. Farrow?”
“Just the usual small talk.”
“You talk to Pennyworth?” This seemed to strike him as odd.
“It gets lonely being shuttled around in the dark. I have to do something to keep myself occupied.”
“I see.”
“Who’s Elliot?”
“A colleague of mine.”
“Ahh. So this Elliot…what’s his last name?”
“Nice try. Let me help you with your coat.”
She giggled. “I missed you.”
His fingers stilled over the button. “I missed you too, Scarlet.”
As he removed her coat, scarf, and gloves, he made no comment about her not returning his gloves. He wasn’t getting them back. They were too big for her, but they smelled like him and she was just weird enough to hold onto them as a constant source of his scent. She may have even gotten carried away one night while he was away, sniffing the gloves with her eyes closed as she did bad things to herself. Thor hadn’t been able to look her in the eye in days, but it was worth it.
He escorted her past where they usually sat and into a room that echoed. “Is this the room with the bed?”
“Yes, but we’re not using the bed tonight.”
“Oh.”
He stepped close, hi
s finger dragging over her collarbone and down her back. “Does that disappoint you, Ms. Farrow?”
“I just assumed…your note said you’d be holding me in your arms tonight.”
“Correct. Stay here please.”
His steps echoed as he walked a distance away. Her body pulled to attention as the hum of soft strings filled the room. Music. She beamed.
He returned to her and lifted her hand. “We’re going to dance, Ms. Farrow.”
Her breath caught. Oh, dancing. She loved dancing, especially slow dancing.
The composition was lovely. Her mind worked to place the familiar melody as it picked up pace, but she grew distracted as Mr. Stone pulled her close.
Lifting her right hand, he fit his left hand to her hip and slowly led with evident experience she lacked in the dancing department. Her heart fluttered, so many girlie emotions coming to life inside of her, as vocals harmonized like angels softly in the background over the gentlest plinking of bells.
The orchestra tempo picked up and—why was she imagining snow? He spun her as the symphony peaked, vocalists taking her breath away as the masterpiece built. She was dizzy from the sensations provoked by the stunning compilation as much as she was dizzied by his competence as a dance partner. No men danced this well in her world.
Building and building, to the highest crescendo, he pulled her back to his front and she smiled from the thrill of being twirled around like she was in a fairytale world. It was perfect.
She knew this song. What was this beautiful song? It made her want to cry and at the same time she could not get the image of snow and ice out of her head. The melody slowed and she tried to place the piece one last time.
“Do you like dancing, Ms. Farrow?”
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “You’re a very competent partner. I’ve never danced to classical music like this before.”
“These are some of my favorites.”
The next song began, clarinets pitched low, their soft melody climbing then drawing back. Her brow crinkled under the blindfold. This one was familiar too. It triggered a sort of pent up euphoria inside of her leaving her with traces of longing and too much time gone by.
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