Not About That Life

by Vera Roberts

  “Sounds good,” I reply, “wanna go to Sentiment? I think Ian’s at 3121 tonight.”

  “Sure, let’s do that. I’ll take an Uber there since Gerald is watching the kids tonight.” She whispers in my ear. “I plan to get fucked up!” She walks away.

  I shake my head as I watch my class stretch and get ready for today’s lesson. I don’t know what I would do without Emma.

  ~~~~~~

  “So, I worked up a business plan,” Emma hands over a thick binder of paperwork, “this is just a rough outline of what you’ve talked about. I also took the liberty of expanding a lot of the points you touched on.”

  My eyes widen as I was in the middle of swallowing sweetbread. “I’m sorry?”

  Emma shrugs and looks almost embarrassed. “I was a business major at UCLA.”

  “Ah,” I wipe my mouth and open the folder, “that explains it.” I briefly glance through the documents and Emma really did her homework. She outlined the SWOT and everything. Damn, girl. Maybe she’s worth the thirteen percent she’s currently getting.

  “The goal is to make your line global. I know you’re catering to a black audience but I want you worldwide, Domi. There’s no reason why Becky in Ohio can’t also use the same line as Keisha in Watts.” I shoot her a look regarding the blatant stereotyping of ethnic names. “Oh, come on! How many Beckys do you know in Watts?”

  She has a point. “When should we have this line debut? I still have to look over this.”

  “It’s November now so I’m hoping sometime next year. It would be perfect and we can sell some at the studio.” She replies after a sip of wine, “we need to do a test run locally before we move onto other markets. I think it’ll be a hit.”

  “I hope so. Here’s hoping.” I set aside the folder. “What else do I need to do?”

  “Well, there is something I do want to talk to you about. It’s rather personal.” Emma looks around to see if we have the ultimate privacy. I hope she’s not about to spill any more Ferguson tea because I don’t think my body can withstand it. “First things first, Lula Jean’s birthday is approaching.” She takes a small breath. “Just to warn you, Ian might get into a funky mood.”

  Somehow, I don’t think she’s referring to Parliament Funkadelic. “Funky as in?”

  “Really moody and maybe emotional.” The last word is a surprise to me. Ian isn’t the type to get emotional so I wonder what that really looks like. I’ve seen him angry, annoyed, and even humorous.

  I’ve never seen him emotional and for some reason, that scares me.

  “He took Lula Jean’s death particularly hard because she was out to shop for his engagement party when she was killed. He has carried a strong burden of guilt for the past several years. I don’t think he’s ever properly mourned his mother.”

  I’ve never spent Christmas with Ian so this is news to me. I can recall him becoming maybe a little quiet and withdrawn and I already knew the connection to his mother’s birthday. I didn’t think about his mother’s death date just a few days later would also make the entire month a disaster for him.

  “I’ll handle it as well as I can,” I promise absolutely nothing but everything, “any advice on what I should expect?”

  “Well,” Emma takes another sip of wine, “He tends to close up during the month of December and only lets everyone back in around January.” She glances over to me.

  This is going to be a test in our relationship. I only wonder if Ian’s going to turn into a pumpkin on December first and return back to Prince Charming on January first.

  Oh dear.

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “That means hey Ian, how are you?” She greets him as he approaches our table.

  I turn around in surprise. Impeccably dressed in a dark navy suit with a white open collar, I feel my breath stolen and all he did was approach our table. I get a whiff of his citrusy cologne and suddenly I feel the urge to drop down on my knees and give him the ‘Domi Suck You Long Time’ special.

  When am I not horny?

  “I’m doing much better now that I’ve seen the most beautiful women in the restaurant here,” he smiles at us. He leans down and kisses me, gently sucking on my bottom lip. His beard brushes against my ear and I inwardly shudder.

  “Later, I’m going to tie you up and taste your cunt.” He promises before he stands up and addresses me and Emma like he didn’t just make me aroused to the point of no return and didn’t even blink twice.

  I turn to him and feel his relaxed body become slightly tense, his blue eyes turn cobalt, and his nostrils slightly flared. Suddenly, it felt the room had come to a standstill and it was just the two of us in the room, in the restaurant, in the entire universe.

  I feel the heat in my belly rise all the way up to my cheeks. Fuck him, fuck him, god yes, I want to fuck him.

  While I’m salivating in my seat like a dog in Palm Springs heat, Ian and Emma are having a casual conversation. What? I know my man didn’t just turn me all the way the fuck on, just to leave me hanging while he’s entertaining his sister-in-law?

  Ooh, I love and hate his smug ass.

  “Enjoy your dinner, ladies. If you need anything, please have someone come get me personally.” He left.

  Emma watches Ian leave before she addresses me again. “You need to be patient with Ian. I don’t know how he acts for sure but it might get ugly. But whatever happens, don’t take it personal. He never thought he would be in a position where he would be in a relationship and he’d deal with his mother’s death.”

  I’m trying to calm down my arousal while Emma is talking serious business with me. I shake my head to relieve the thoughts. “He’s avoided relationships because of that?”

  “Pretty much. He’s a bit of a loner but he does love you and wants you to be a part of his world. But if he acts funky for the entire month of December, remember he’s a pretty good guy the other eleven months.”

  Seems fair enough. I only hope I can handle it. “I’ll remember.”

  Ten

  You know you got it bad when you’re having a business dinner with your future sister-in-law and all you can think about is how quickly can this fucking dinner be over with so I can go home and blow my man?

  Hi, my name is Nymph Domi. Pleasure to meet you.

  I rushed home, mainly to shower and get myself mentally prepared. I know Ian wouldn’t show up until a couple of hours later. Still, I’ve been had some bondage done to me before and I liked it. But I think Sir wants to go further now.

  Am I ready for it? Can I actually handle this?

  I walk into the bedroom to undress for a bath when I see a note on the bed from Ian:

  Pet,

  I want you as you are when I arrive home. Do not wash yourself. Until then, here’s a set of tasks for you –

  Write down what you’re grateful for. Get into the habit of doing it every day.

  Beside this note is a key. It’ll lead you to the only locked door in this home besides the entry doors. Open it and explore. Write down any questions you may have.

  Sir

  I read the note no short of a dozen times before I held it against my mouth. I could still smell his faint cologne on it. I softly bit my lips and thought about what He had in store for me. There was only one way to find out.

  I took the key and began searching throughout our townhome for the mysterious room. I never wandered too much around here before. Not that I felt I was intruding on Ian’s life, I just never had that much curiosity other than the dance studio and our bedroom.

  Walking through the home, I finally got to see how understatedly luxurious it is. It looks like a home that belongs to a housewife or a family. Nothing about it stands out in ‘This is rich.’ Instead, I see the plushest sofas, the most comfortable beds with a thread-count I didn’t even know could go that high, and the softest cotton towels.

  Stepping into it, I wouldn’t think a member of the world’s richest families lived here.

  Emma’s
and Gerald’s home reads like a layout for Architectural Digest and I can see the effort they both put into it. A lot of the pieces they own are imported from Italy, China, and a lot of it from London.

  Ian must’ve shopped at the same interior designer because I can recall he’s done the same, but his home feels very different. It’s almost as if I can put my feet up on the expensive oak coffee table (I don’t) and relax while catching up on Love & Hip-Hop Hollywood (okay, that I do watch because I love me some messy drama).

  Like a maze, I go from room to room, trying to find the door to this mysterious key. Knowing there’s only the dance studio and the gym upstairs, there’s not point of going there to search for it. Instead, I stayed on the sprawling first floor, diving in and out of four bedrooms, and three bathrooms.

  Still, nothing.

  Exhausted, I made my way to Ian’s closet and pondered if I’d missed something. If I searched all of the rooms and couldn’t find anything what other room would I have…

  …another light bulb goes off…

  …what’s behind those curtains?

  His closet is roughly the size of a small trendy boutique one would find on Melrose. He has nothing but designer suits, jeans, sweaters, and whatever rich white men with all of the money in the world can afford. His underwear is neatly categorized in three piles – boxer briefs, boxers, and what Ian likes to call hipsters.

  His expensive watches – the variety that are worth a small four-door sedan – are in a clear glass case with a lock. All of his shoes are neatly arranged in a nice neat row. He doesn’t wear many colognes but the few bottles he chooses from are also in a neat row.

  A mannequin, I’m assuming is custom-made to Ian’s height and weight, is in front of a full-length mirror. The closet is air-conditioned and well ventilated. A small fire extinguisher in a nearby corner for reasons, I’m assuming, safety.

  Then there’s the curtain.

  I honestly never paid that curtain any mind. It’s not like I go into bae’s closet that often or even at all. It’s probably why his closet always look so nice and neat and mine looks like a clothes explosion happened in just that room (the maid is a doll and cleans it up for me once a week).

  I swallow my pride, dust my shoulders off a la Jay-Z, and waltz right over to those curtains. I hesitate before I open them. What’s really behind there? The souls of other virgins? Jimmy Hoffa? White people giving a fuck about black issues?

  I take a deep breath and slowly open the curtains only to find locked French doors. The room is so dark behind the doors, I honestly can’t see anything. I try to open the door and it’s locked. I remember I have the key with me and I don’t even hesitate trying to unlock it.

  It works.

  I gulped. I was lowkey hoping the door wouldn’t work and I would just be shit out of luck until Sir came home. But it perfectly works and now there’s only air and opportunity between me and the door.

  I slowly open the door and I feel a gush of air towards me. The room is surprisingly cold and I wonder why that is. In fact, I think it’s actually the coldest room in the entire house. Goosebumps from both the coldness and nervousness appear along my arms. I search the walls for a light switch and quickly find it.

  Once the soft light comes on, I’m floored.

  I stepped into another closet within this one. It’s more like a sex chamber. Most couples have a naughty drawer but Ian has a freakin’ naughty closet. It’s a sex toy store within its own.

  My legs seem to move on their own volition as I slowly walk around the room. The carpet in this room is softer than the other rooms. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, I guess, to somehow to distract from Sodom & Gomorrah I just entered.

  I see restraints in handcuffs, rope, ankle cuffs, and spreader bars. I see floggers, whips, paddles, and crops. I see some extreme shit like hoods, butt plugs, and I think those are chastity belts?

  I see numerous toys like different sized dildos, vibrators, and my old friend, the Hitachi. Blindfolds and scarves appear in different colors in another section. A sex swing with restraints casually hangs from the ceiling in a nearby corner.

  Finally, in the center of the room, is a long massage table. It’s bolted onto the floor and I run my fingers lightly over the table. Dare I say, the leather is the same quality of a Bentley, if not better.

  The room is giving me weird vibes. I feel it’s part seedy, run-down motel on the wrong side of town and I feel it’s a luxurious room at a five-star hotel. All of the sex toys and implements look like they’re of the best and finest quality, despite how they’ll be used.

  I thought I would be scared. I thought I would see everything and run far away from Ian and his freak-nastiness. I thought I would be horrified and questioned who in the hell is my fiancée.

  Instead, I’m aroused to the point of no return. I want to try everything. I want Sir to do what He wants with my body anytime He wants it. I want to be bound and gagged. I want to be fucked until I have to say red. I want to do little tasks for Him…

  Shit! I have a task to do!

  I find a notepad and pen and quickly begin to think about what I’m grateful for. There are so many things yet I only need to write down one for today. It’s a task harder than I thought it would be, yet I’m eager to do.

  Here goes nothing.

  Sir,

  I’m grateful to trust someone who is allowing me explore my sexuality on my terms.

  It doesn’t sound like a big deal and I’m sure to most women it’s not. But it’s a big deal to me. From the very beginning, Ian supported and encouraged my dreams. Even though I felt he cock-blocked me at every opportunity he had, I realized it was part of a Master plan.

  He wanted to prepare me to be his wife.

  I knew there was more to him than just Bentleys and bling. I knew deep down, he was a great guy who truly cared about the world and wanted to make a difference. I also knew he put up a public persona because the real him, no one wanted to know or understand.

  Now Sir wanted me to explore more about His life with me. Bananas is the only word that comes to mind.

  “Angel,” Sir’s voice startles me and I turn around to find Him at the doorway looking in. He’s still dressed in the business casual suit from before and I feel every fiber of my willpower fly out the fucking window as my legs magically open.

  Sir’s casually leaning against the doorway and holding a tumbler of brown liquid. I have a feeling I might be the one who would need that liquid courage. “You found it.”

  Book II – Dick Game Too Strong

  One

  Yeah, I found it, all right. Now I’m not sure I wish I had.

  Ian stares me down as he causally walks inside. His walk is of confidence, with a bit swagger. He stands tall, just over six feet, and has that quiet strength about him I have grown to love since I first saw him.

  His blue eyes sparkle with a bit of mischief and that quiet sensuality that makes me wonder what’s really in that brilliant mind of his. His drive and determination to be the best made me step up my game and create my own empire.

  In a short while, I’m going to be his wife. Just like now how I’m photographed on every society page and gossiped about, it’ll be turned on to eleven when the marriage does occur. I’m not scared by it; strangely, I’m looking forward to the challenge.

  Now, he was going to show me a different kind of power exchange. Just by looking at the room, I know it’s absolutely nothing I have seen and read. I just wonder if I can handle it.

  I wonder if I can handle Him.

  He briefly closes his eyes and sighs. “I love the smell of leather. So masculine and strong. It’s a very good tool to keep someone in their place.” He looks over at me and warmth immediately fills my panties. Maybe I’m not so scared, after all.

  He walks over to the bench and sits on it. He takes a sip of the brown liquid and turns to me. “Sit with me, angel.”

  My stomach cinches with nervousness and all Ian asked me to do was sit ne
xt to him. Am I already afraid? I take yes for 100, Alex.

  I walk over to Ian and I feel my legs tremble with each step. I sit right beside him and offer a grin. The freezing cold temperature is now obvious on my skin as numerous goosebumps appear. I’m starting to shiver and Ian takes off his jacket and covers me with it. “Cold or nervous?” He asks.

  I swallow. “Both.”

  “It’s okay to be nervous. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do here. You’re the one calling the shots, angel. I just facilitate every need you have.” I feel his eyes brush over me and somehow, inside me, and I shiver again.

  I have so many questions about this room and can’t decide which one to ask first. When did he know he was a Dom? Is he a Sadist? What will be our safeword? How many times would He expect this to occur? Would be it BDSM 24/7 or just a bedroom thing?

  So many questions and I have no clue where to start.

  Ian hands me the drink and grins. “It’s strong. Johnnie Walker.”

  I take a whiff of it and felt the hair burn off my head. I look back at him and he slightly nods. Here goes nothing. I guess I wouldn’t need to make that waxing session later this week.

  I took a sip of the brown liquid and felt my eyes bulge out of my sockets. My tongue was burning and my mouth was about to jump out and hit me. “Strong,” I manage to cough the word out.

  “Take another sip.” Ian insists and just as I’m about to show him the real meaning of ‘before I get ghetto in this motherfucker…’, He lifts the glass to my lips. “Swallow big this time.”

  I gulp the whiskey and I think it went down worse than the first time. As the liquor courses through my body, my entire being is on fire and I feel like Bruce Banner before he turned into Hulk. Now I can fuck shit up!

  Ian takes the glass back and examines how little of it is left. I damn near killed it. “Feel better?”