Twist Tied

by Guimond, Heather

  “Um, thank you?” I replied, the words coming out like a question. What was it with me? I could understand if I’d opened my big mouth and shown my bossy side, but I’d just sat there and listened.

  “I have to admit, I’m a little floored but pleased. All through the meeting, I had my eyes on you, but I imagined you in full leather regalia, wielding a bullwhip like a pro.”

  “Someone has a very vivid imagination,” I snickered.

  “So it seems. What attracts you to this lifestyle?” Ezekiel asked with genuine curiosity in his eyes.

  I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out the best way to explain myself to this obviously experienced man. All my efforts to express myself to Wyatt and Rae were in vain, neither of them understood where I was coming from. I didn’t want Ezekiel to get the wrong idea either.

  “I think it’s like you hear about with very powerful people. Sometimes you just want to take the backseat and let someone else do the driving. You know what I mean?”

  “I do. What else?”

  “Well, the kink factor is a bonus,” I said with a smile, making Ezekiel toss his head back and laugh.

  “Enjoy a little pain with your pleasure?” he said with a smirk.

  “Perhaps,” I replied, sounding coy.

  “I have a proposition for you, Clarisse, and by all means, feel free to say no at any time. I’d like to offer to be your personal mentor. I have sixteen years of experience in the BDSM lifestyle and am an avid student of the culture. I make an effort to learn new things every day. I also find you very attractive and would love to be your guide.”

  To my surprise, it was on the tip of my tongue to decline. Visions of Wyatt, the echo of his chuckles during our times of kinky play, memories of laughing with him, lying in his arms—all of it raced through my mind in a nanosecond. I felt a sense of unease when I thought about making myself helpless to someone else, no matter how gorgeous he was or how nice and reassuring he seemed. With a quick head shake, I squelched my initial reaction and nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yeah? That would be excellent,” I replied, reminding myself it wasn’t likely I’d find a more plumb opportunity. Jumping on Ezekiel’s offer was the best thing to do if I really wanted to approach my life as a submissive going forward.

  His responding smile was nearly blinding, showing an amazing number of even, white teeth. If I’d thought he was gorgeous before, he was an ebony god when he smiled. We exchanged numbers with him promising to call me the next day so we could meet for lunch and get to know each other better. I was relieved to know he didn’t want to just jump into playtime. If pressed to admit it, the idea of doing anything remotely sexual with someone other than Wyatt made my stomach turn.

  After a quick handshake goodbye, I made my way home, telling myself I was doing the right thing.

  I sat numbly in Stan’s bar, staring into my glass as though it held all the answers to my problems. I wasn’t the first person to seek wisdom from a glass of Tennessee whiskey, but I was still as clueless as those other motherfuckers had been. It had been more than a week since I stormed from Clarisse’s apartment, and with each passing day, my melancholy grew worse. I’d never been able to bring myself to leave Las Vegas, so I was currently staying at the Kingsley. It was fine for a day, then I decided I needed someone to talk to, so I flew Brock out to join me, hoping we could cut loose like the single, eligible bachelors we were. Only I didn’t consider myself one, so there I was moping like a sad sack.

  “You’re killing me, Wyatt,” Brock said as he sat next to me, sipping from a bottle of beer. “Just call her and get it over with. You’ll feel much better once you do.”

  “No way. You don’t know Clarisse. If I go crawling back to her after I made such a show of my temper, she’ll never respect me again. Even if she did forgive me, it doesn’t change things. Unless she’s gotten that screwed up notion of having a submissive lifestyle out of her head, we’re never going to work. Nope. She’s got to walk this path by herself.”

  “If she’s all you say she is, then it’s not going to take long for her to realize she’s wrong. She’ll be fighting every one of her natural instincts trying to be some schmoe’s sub.”

  “Ugh, please. Don’t even bring up someone else. It makes me want to hurl thinking of some deviant dickhead putting his mitts all over her.”

  “It won’t be just his mitts he’s putting on her, partner.”

  “You’re a shitty friend, Brock,” I muttered before putting my glass to my lips and taking a sip. I’d been sipping at the glass for almost an hour. I hadn’t really intended to get shit-faced. I’d done that twice in the last week with the only thing to show for it—a half-empty bottle of Advil.

  “Sorry, man. Just pointing out the obvious.”

  “Because the obvious always needs to be said,” I spat back. Brock was my go-to-guy, always there to lend a helping hand—or in this case, be my babysitter and therapist—but he could be denser than an igneous rock. He was still better company than my own, so I stayed in my seat.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes, while I massaged my temples with my eyes closed. Brock finished his beer, then ordered another. I raised my head, just to see Gage Blackstone come through the door with a taller guy in a suit. I recognized him as Kent Kingsley, the heir to the hotel we were currently taking up space in. I only briefly met him at the New Year’s Eve party, but he seemed like a good guy.

  Gage gave us a friendly wave before taking the stool next to me. Kent sat down on his other side and, after a quick introduction to the two of us, called out to the bartender.

  “Hey, Stan! How’s Lucretia doing?” he said, holding up two fingers.

  “Meh, you know my lady. Always planning new and unusual ways to murder me. I might have to fake my own death here in a few days. Youse guys know anyone who can get me new ID?” Stan asked, taking down a bottle of gin and pouring a healthy amount into a glass followed by tonic water and a slice of lime.

  “You’d never run out on your wife, Stan, even if she did finally poison you, and you managed to live through it,” Kent said, watching as Stan mixed his vodka concoction.

  “I’m convinced she’s already tried,” he said as he placed Kent’s drink in front of him. “I haven’t been feeling my usual self these days.”

  “I’m sure it’s just gas,” Kent said before Stan threw a handful of peanuts at him, making us all laugh—well, except me.

  “Hey,” Gage said, nudging me with his elbow. “What’s up with you? The last time I saw you, you were much friendlier.”

  “He’s got woman trouble,” Brock replied, tilting the neck of his bottle toward me. “He and his lady friend got in a fight, and he walked out on her.”

  “Would this lady friend happen to be about five feet tall with a mouth on her?” Gage asked, looking at me expectantly.

  “Yeah,” I replied glumly. “I lost my temper with her last week.”

  Both Gage and Kent winced.

  “You yelled at Clarisse?” Kent asked, astonished. “And you’re still here to tell the tale?”

  “Surprisingly, yes, but I didn’t exactly leave her time to react before I stormed out of her apartment.”

  Gage whistled while Kent just shook his head and took a drink from his glass.

  “Clarisse never told me you two were a couple, but after seeing you guys in Topeka, it was pretty obvious. You both looked so happy.”

  “We were. We still would be, except….”

  “For you losing your temper. I get it. She can push anyone’s buttons, given enough time.”

  “That’s for sure,” Kent joined in. “I have to give you credit for thinking you could handle her in the first place. She’s a little dynamo.”

  “I feel like I’m hearing about two different people,” Brock muttered. “Wyatt said she was headstrong, but if that’s the case, why does she think she should be someone’s submissive?”

  “She was serious about that?” Kent said, eyes bulging. “She mentione
d something about it on New Year’s Eve, but I thought it was just a joke. I even told her she was too bossy for that.”

  I straightened up on my stool, stretching my back which had started to ache from being slumped over my drink. Maybe Gage and Kent could help me understand Clarisse a little better.

  “She’s always been intrigued by the stories I write,” Gage said. “Yours too, from what she’s told me. I don’t think it’s too hard for someone to get confused by something that excites them so much. In my experience, they find it hard to pinpoint what it is about those themes that trigger their arousal.”

  “I think you’re right,” I replied, my posture automatically slouching again, only this time with my elbow on the bar and my chin in hand. “But with the way she is, she won’t consider anything other than what she’s convinced herself of.”

  “You sure you want her back?” Brock asked, puzzled. “She sounds like a lot of work if you all agree about how stubborn she is.”

  “Don’t get us wrong,” Gage answered. “Clarisse is a great person, and as far as an assistant goes, you couldn’t ask for better. She’s also a loyal and devoted friend, but as I said before, pushing buttons comes naturally to her. I know I’ve had my days where I wanted to throttle her. I’ve learned you just have to give her room to try things her way. Otherwise, she’ll never come around. The only person who can prove to her she’s wrong is herself.”

  “That can’t be much help, the idea of her out there somewhere, looking for some other guy to tie herself to,” Brock said, again pointing out things I already knew but didn’t need to hear out loud.

  “Maybe we should just head back to Santa Fe, buddy,” he continued, patting me on the back.

  “Come out with us. Kent and I were just about to hit the town since my wedding is coming up next weekend. We were going to keep things low-key, seeing as how we’re both off the market. It seems you still are too. How about you, Brock?”

  “I’ll be single forever, most likely. I’m still afraid of girls,” he replied, taking a long pull from his bottle. “I figure the longer I can’t understand them—they’re like these beautiful, magical creatures who hold the secrets to life in their hands but refuse to share them—the less likely my chances to ever find my match.”

  Every man shook his head, unable to argue with Brock. We three may have met our matches, but they were still mysterious beings.

  * * *

  Two hours later, we were seated at another bar, only this time it had girls dancing on it. If I’d thought my mood was bad before, I was close to suicidal. I didn’t need a bunch of half-dressed girls trying to seduce me. It didn’t dawn on me that prior to meeting Clarisse, I’d probably have been the rowdiest of our bunch—who by all standards were pretty subdued except Brock who was busy trying to discourage a blonde who wanted him to do body shots off her—but she’d changed me somehow. I wasn’t worried about exercising any self-control because I didn’t have to. These women, lovely though they were, were nothing but background scenery. I slowly sipped at yet another glass of whiskey while Gage, Kent, and I talked about Gage’s impending nuptials.

  “At this point, it’s almost like a formality. We’ve got Harry, and fatherhood is the biggest leap any man can take as far as I’m concerned,” Gage said, fidgeting with the lime on the rim of his glass.

  “I hear you, brother, Lizzy—that’s my daughter, Wyatt—has changed my life but marriage? I’m still scared stiff.”

  “That’s because you’re with Alexis. She’s enough to scare anyone,” I said, trying to be heard above the music. “I don’t even know her, and she frightens me.”

  Kent threw back his head and laughed heartily. A few seconds passed before he was able to speak again.

  “Brother, you don’t know the half of it. I used to wonder if she ate nails for breakfast. Sometimes, I still do.”

  I felt Brock nudge me on my left side. He was gradually inching his way off his seat to put some space between him and his ardent admirer. It was surreal to see someone who epitomized masculinity on a number of romance books shy away from someone who was clearly interested in him. Maybe he wasn’t kidding when he said he was afraid of girls. After making sure he wasn’t going to run away screaming, I turned back to Kent.

  “Look, Wyatt. It wasn’t too long ago I was the same sad sack crying into his glass. Alexis can be just as intractable as Clarisse if not more so, but I made a plan to get her back. Though we lose our tempers with each other all the time now, we both know neither one of us going anywhere. Hell, we recognized it was our own version of foreplay. Maybe it’s the same for you and Clarisse.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Pissing her off seems like a very bad idea. I mean, she’s probably out there with some douchebag Dom right now.”

  “Give her some credit,” Gage said. “I saw her face when you were together. She’s in love with you. I’ll bet you cash money she figures it all out sooner rather than later.”

  “You know her better than anyone else, Gage. Nothing is going to stop her once she has a bug up her ass. Until someone has tied her down, horsewhipped her, then found themselves on their knees at the other end of the whip after she tore it out of his hands, nothing is going to change her mind.”

  We all sat for a moment, picturing tiny little Clarisse ripping a flogger away from some big, brooding Dom and beating him senseless with it. We cracked up simultaneously, the picture far too realistic.

  “I think you’re right,” Kent said. “That’s exactly how it’s going to go.”

  “I can personally vouch for her skills with a paddle,” I mumbled.

  Gage and Kent both looked at me oddly, eyes skating over my face. When they realized I wasn’t kidding, I worried they’d both shit themselves with how hard they laughed at me, Kent miming bending someone over and spanking them. Motherfuckers.

  All our heads turned when Brock teetered on his barstool. The blonde was leaning over him and giggling, her eyes on Kent. She’d apparently heard what we’d said because she rubbed her hands together, eyes back on Brock.

  “If that’s how you like it, sexy, I can oblige. Bend over for mama.” Brock practically knocked me off my stool as he all but climbed in my lap to get away from her.

  “I guess it’s time for us to move along.” I motioned to the other guys, and we all stood just as the blonde looked like she was about to pounce. “Maybe we’ll go to the library tomorrow and find you a nice, quiet girl, Brock.”

  “Oh God, no! You know better than anyone that the girls who read are the most dangerous of them all!”

  The man had a point.

  My palms were sweating when I entered the little cafe where Ezekiel asked me to meet him. I wasn’t sure what to expect from an informal meeting. I guessed it was going to be something like an interview, to see if we were compatible enough to work as a… relationship? Ugh, no. In the back of my head, I felt I was still in a relationship with Wyatt. I tried pushing that thought from my mind, but he remained on the sidelines, reminding me he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I ignored it.

  Maybe my “thing” with Ezekiel was more like a partnership. I could live with that label. Or teacher/student. That seemed even better.

  He was waiting just inside the doors for me rather than at a table. The restaurant was busier than I expected it would be, but it was Sunday which usually meant the locals were all out for a late breakfast.

  “Hi, Clarisse,” Ezekiel said, putting his warm hand out for another shake. I’d worried this time he’d hug me hello and was relieved when he didn’t. We were still on that quasi-professional level of our friendship, and a hug just would have been weird. “I put our names in with the hostess, so it shouldn’t be long before our table is ready.”

  “Great. I’m famished,” I said even though my stomach was really in twisty knots. Wyatt waved at me inside my head, reminding me, yet again that he was there, stuck in my brain as well as under my skin.

  Once we were seated in a cozy little booth designed fo
r just two people, I instantly picked up my menu. I was nervous, not knowing what to expect from this meeting. I recalled my awkward first few discussions with Wyatt about beginning an alternative form of relationship with him. Even as unusual as it was, I still had a measure of comfort. After all, I was beyond attracted to him—the man made my mouth water. While I found Ezekiel attractive too, I wasn’t necessarily attracted to him. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was a stranger or because he seemed so untouchable or what. Once again, Wyatt peeked his head into my consciousness. I continued to ignore him, pushing those thoughts away for another time.

  Once we’d both ordered coffee and our meals—an omelet for me and a triple-decker roast beef sandwich for him, we settled back in our seats and appraised each other for a few minutes. I tried to imagine us in a myriad of scenes, and while I could envision them, they seemed so far out of reach. I soldiered on, however, telling myself it was only because he was a virtual stranger still.

  “So, Clarisse, tell me about your interest in the lifestyle, your goals if you will. Are you looking for a play partner only, or are you interested in twenty-four-seven set-up?” Ezekiel asked as he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me expectantly.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’ve been fantasizing about leading a life with a complete power exchange. One where I can… serve… someone, be their treasured... person while attending to their needs. As far as play time, I’d like to explore just about everything.”

  “Fantasy and reality are very different things,” Ezekiel said, raising one brow, while reaching forward to pick up his fork. He idly twirled it between the fingers of both hands, yet still focused on me.

  “Yes, well, isn’t that how everything begins? You hear about something that sparks an interest, then your mind takes you to new and exciting places, making you think thoughts you never considered before?”