by Lila Dubois
“Beautifully scientific, elegantly educational.” She laughed at her own alliteration. “And is our pretty Leona helping you?”
“She’s been great with the content. A pleasure to work with.” Brad’s voice was smooth and friendly, but with a hint of formality that wasn’t there when he talked to me.
“Wonderful. And we’ll see you at the gala?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Thank you.”
“Of course. Wayne recommended you so highly, and considering the donation you’re making we couldn’t live with ourselves if you didn’t attend.”
When I was sure Salli was gone I let my shock show on my face. “You’re attending the gala?”
Brad grinned and it was seriously sexy. “Of course. I told you, I was recommended for this job by one of the big donors—Wayne Clayton. Plus I’m giving LACMA a big discount and counting that as a donation to the museum.”
I went back to my chair feeling embarrassed and small.
“Leona? Why are you making that face?”
“I’m not making a face.”
“Yes you are.”
“I keep forgetting that you’re…”
“That I’m what?”
“You’re important, and apparently rich. You’re on the gala guest list. You drive a custom electric sports car…and you have a Poké Ball patch on your bag.”
“And that’s weird to you?”
“Yes…no. I don’t know. I just hate not knowing who people are or what they want.”
“I hear another story in there.”
“I’m not telling you about it.”
“Come on. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Are we?”
“Is that the problem? You don’t know what we are?”
Frustrated and flustered, I slammed the lid of my laptop shut. “You want a story? How about last year I didn’t book tickets home to see my grandparents for Thanksgiving because the guy I was sleeping with had mentioned that I could spend the holiday with his family in Orange County. I thought that meant we were getting serious. I find out on Wednesday night, the day before Thanksgiving, that he’s already at home, and when I text him he says that he wanted time just with his family.”
Remembered shame and embarrassment knotted my belly. “And that’s not the first time that’s happened. I don’t get people. How can you call someone your girlfriend and then abandon them? Or how can you get jealous of a girl going to a party with other people when you’ve explicitly said you didn’t want something serious?”
“I’m sorry, Leo.”
“I just wish…I wish everyone played by the same set of rules. It’s not like I’m desperate to be in a relationship or something. I’m very happy by myself, but when I am with someone I want to know what we’re doing, what the rules are.”
Brad was frowning. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something but didn’t.
I realized how what I’d said would sound to him and rushed to explain. “I wasn’t talking about you. I mean, when we texted it was like… But then when you emailed me there wasn’t…”
Hating myself for sounding utterly stupid, I opened my laptop and stared at the screen.
“Leo, I try and keep all business correspondences professional. What I said when I texted you… That is how I feel about you.”
I heard him get up but I didn’t react. My heartbeat was thrumming in my chest.
Brad pulled my chair out from the table and spun me around. I kept my gaze down, scared to look up.
His fingers stroked my cheek, lifting my chin until I relented and met his gaze. His eyes were a beautiful gold-green color.
Brad dipped his head and kissed me—firm but gentle. No tongue, no teeth, just his lips on mine. It was perfect. I wanted to be kissed. I needed to be kissed, and to kiss someone back.
I hooked one arm around his neck and gave myself over to the perfect moment. Brad’s hand settled on the curve of my waist, and the touch felt more intimate than anything Master Clay had done to me.
I jerked back, slapping my hand over my mouth. I’d forgotten about Master Clay.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Brad grabbed a chair and pulled it over, sitting so that we faced each other, our knees almost touching. “Why are you sorry? I’m not.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m not, not really, but I shouldn’t be… You deserve better than me.”
“Are you seriously trying an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”
I smiled despite the knot in my belly. “I am. And it’s true.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Complicated?”
I grimaced. “Very.”
“I’m pretty good at complicated.”
“I guess you’re pretty complicated yourself, but you could do better.”
“Leo, I’m not giving up on you.”
“What? Brad, I’m not… I can’t see you.”
“Let me make this not complicated. I like you. I think you’re smart and gorgeous and funny. Be my date to the gala.”
I opened my mouth to say no. I had no right to get involved with someone like Brad.
“Come on, Leo. Not complicated—be my date to a party. We’ll dance and drink.”
Warmth filled me. “I’d…I’d like that.”
Brad smiled and I fell a little in love.
Chapter Six
I was Cinderella dancing with the prince. The three glasses of Champagne I’d had were making me fanciful. As I swayed on the dance floor, my body pressed against Brad’s, I felt happier than I had in a long time. I was in a borrowed dress and shoes—the one my roommate had worn to her formal—but I still felt beautiful. The dress was a long black sheath, the heels glittery Jimmy Choos.
Brad looked like a sexy geek in his tuxedo, and despite the heels he was still a smudge taller than me. Our cheeks pressed together as we danced. The low-cut back of my dress meant that his palm was pressed against my bare skin and my whole body was alive with desire.
The song ended and I turned away from Brad to applaud. The quartet announced a break and the dance floor started to clear.
Brad’s fingers laced with mine. “Want another drink?”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
He grinned. “Two more glasses of Champagne coming up. Want to go outside?”
“I’ll meet you out there.”
As Brad queued up I made my way to the doors, stepping out into the courtyard. There were a variety of other well-dressed people milling around. The shoes, as gorgeous as they were, weren’t the most comfortable things, so I started walking in search of someplace to sit.
A dark-haired man in a black tuxedo turned and I froze. It was Master Clay. He started walking toward me, an elegant blonde on his arm and a bespectacled older gentleman walking beside him.
I smoothed my dress down, the Champagne making me brave. What would he think when he saw me looking so elegant and expensive?
As he passed I said, “Hello, Clay.”
His head whipped to the side and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of me. I expected his lips to curve in that little half smile of his but they didn’t. The blonde woman with him raised one brow.
He turned away without acknowledging me and my stomach dropped.
“Here you go.” Brad’s voice was like a warm salve on my bruised feelings. When I turned he examined me as if he were looking for something. I forced a smile and accepted the glass he held out.
“Thank you.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, my feet hurt.” I pulled up my dress to show him my sparkly shoes.
“Here.” He offered me his arm and guided me to a concrete bench. When I sat he dropped to one knee and grabbed my ankle.
“Brad, you don’t have to—”
He unbuckled my shoe and rubbed the ball of my foot. I moaned. He did the s
ame to the other foot.
“Now I really feel like Cinderella.”
“Does that make me a handsome prince?”
“Prince Charming. Cinderella’s guy is the technical Prince Charming.”
“Well then, Princess.” He slid my shoes back onto my feet. “Can I interest you in a dance?” He rose and bowed.
I stood and curtsied as best I could in the narrow skirt. “I would be honored, my prince.”
Brad led me back to the dancing and I put Master Clay and his cold greeting out of my mind.
* * * * *
My phone woke me at the ungodly hour of 9:00 a.m.
I dragged it off the nightstand, trying to muffle the ring as my roommate rolled over in bed. I’d been asleep for barely six hours. The gala had gone on until midnight last night, and Brad and I had ended the evening eating fries and drinking milkshakes at a diner, then making out in his car until 2:00 a.m. It had been very tempting to invite him up to my room, but I knew I didn’t have that right. I already wasn’t being fair to Brad.
“Hello?” I muttered.
“Is this Leona Thies?”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“I’m downstairs.”
I sat up. “Who is this?”
“This is Michael from executive limo. I’m your driver.”
“Uh, hold on please.”
I stumbled out of bed, my head swimming with the start of a horrible hangover, and stumbled to the desk. I had four messages from Master Clay waiting on Tumblr. The first two asked if I was still awake, the third and fourth told me that he wanted me at his house tomorrow and that the driver would come for me at 9:00.
“Shit. Shit.”
When my roommate rolled over again I grabbed my phone and slunk into the bathroom. After telling the driver I’d be right down I brushed my teeth, threw on the first clothes I could find and grabbed my bag. I dry swallowed some aspirin once I was in the car, my head now throbbing for real.
When the car pulled up at Master Clay’s house I found myself more reluctant to get out than I had been the first time. Between the session last time and the way he’d looked at me last night I didn’t really want to see Master Clay.
I got out of the car. I needed to be smart. Brad was…he was wonderful…but being with Master Clay had proved to me that I wasn’t normal enough to be with someone like Brad. It had been bitchy and selfish of me to go out with him last night, horrible of me to make out with him. Sexually I needed Master Clay, and though Brad had, for the most part, been straight with me about what he wanted, I knew that a relationship with him would eventually end up like all my other attempts at relationships had—messy and confusing. BDSM was what I needed. What I wanted.
I climbed out of the car and went to the front door. I rang the bell and waited, praying Master Clay wouldn’t answer—I was wearing leggings and a t-shirt I’d gotten for free at a basketball game. I didn’t have on any makeup, but I knew there was some in the bottom of my bag.
I opened the door and let myself in, making my way through the house and out the back without seeing Master Clay. Once in the dressing room I checked the drawer but there was nothing in it. I frowned. I’d left both sets of lingerie he’d gotten me in there, but now I didn’t see them.
Leave. Leave now.
The urge to run was humming through me, but that was ridiculous. Master Clay probably wanted to see me after last night. Maybe he’d seen me dancing with Brad and thought I’d slept with him. I’d tell him that I hadn’t, and admit that I’d kissed Brad if he asked. Master Clay wouldn’t care. After all, he’d never kissed me.
I frowned. I hadn’t realized until now that Master Clay had never kissed me. That was so strange—he’d touched me, used me, but never kissed me.
I stripped off my clothes and took a few minutes to apply some makeup. I’d taken a shower when I got back last night but hadn’t blow-dried my hair. There wasn’t much I could do about it, so I scrubbed my fingers through it, hoping for a tousled look.
Naked, I stepped into the Marquis’ Quarters.
“Leona.”
Master Clay was waiting for me. I jumped and looked at him before I remembered that I shouldn’t and dropped my eyes.
He grabbed my upper arm and marched me across the room.
“M-master Clay.” The greeting cracked and I was suddenly so nervous I felt sick.
“You were at the gala last night.” He pushed me up against the wooden post. “Arms up.”
I lifted my hands over my head, aware of how my hands were shaking. “Yes, Master.”
“You spoke with me.”
“I…I called you Clay, Master.”
“I told you that outside of this room I was Clay. Outside of my house you are never to address me. What you did showed an utter lack of judgment.” Master Clay put a hand on my back and forced me against the post, then wrapped a strap over my wrists, pressing them against the wood.
“I’m sorry, Master Clay. I thought…” I turned my head, my cheek against the smooth wood. He added a second strap around my waist.
“Clay and Master Clay are the names I use for BDSM. You risked exposing a part of my life I keep private by using it.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Put one foot on either side of the post.”
I adjusted my feet, spreading them just enough so that I was positioned the way he’d ordered. He added a third strap around my calves.
“Are you angry with me, Master?”
“I was angry, but now I’m disappointed.” Master Clay grabbed my hair, pulling my head back until we were looking at each other. “Oh Leona, someday you will be the kind of woman who could topple kingdoms—a modern-day courtesan. Your submission will one day be the most elegant gift a master could hope for. Right now you are young and foolish. You risked not only my privacy but your own. The man I was speaking with is on the LACMA board of directors. He didn’t hear you, but if he had you would have lost your internship.”
“I didn’t know. I was… I’m so sorry. Master, please.”
He released my hair. “I warned you that I do not take true punishments lightly. Your behavior last night was beyond the pale. You will be punished.”
I was scared. Truly scared of him and the situation I was in. I jerked against the straps. “Master, please, no.”
“This is what you need, Leona.”
“Then yellow,” I blurted out the word. “Red.”
“Leona, the stoplight safe word system is for sessions. Not for punishments.”
Horror filled me. That had been my way out. If I couldn’t use a safeword then I was truly trapped.
“Master…it was a mistake. Please. Red.”
I heard him walk away, heard doors opening and closing.
“You will feel pain but not be permanently damaged. What I do to you now will be something that perhaps in a few years after your pain tolerance has developed you would see as foreplay. For now it will be painful, and the experience of the punishment is both degrading and humiliating. You will not forget this, and in future you will use better judgment.”
There was no warning save a whistling noise before the first strike landed across my bare ass.
Shock insulated me, the thought “this can’t be happening” masking the pain for a moment. When the second blow fell I screamed, my whole body tensing. It felt as if he’d laid lines of fire across my ass.
“It hurts! Please stop.”
“Of course it hurts, Leona.”
I screamed as he continued to beat me. When my throat was raw I gave in and started sobbing. I couldn’t get away, couldn’t stop him.
When he released the straps I clung to the post and slid down to my knees. My ass throbbed and I was sure that there had to be blood dripping down my legs.
“Stand up, Leona.”
“No. I’m leaving.”
“You’re not. It would be irresponsible of me to let you go like this. You need time to come down from the punishment.”
Master Clay pulled me to my feet. My eyes were watery from crying and I could barely see where we were going. I struggled weakly when he cuffed my hands together. I didn’t have the strength to fight.
The cuffs were attached to a chain dangling from the ceiling, which was pulled until I was forced onto my toes, the muscles of my ass flexing, which sent fresh waves of pain through me.
My head dropped down between my arms.
“Take some time to think, Leona.”
With that Master Clay walked away, leaving me hanging there.
* * * * *
The driver dropped me off at 12:28. I could hardly believe it had been just over three hours since I’d woken up. It felt as though years had passed.
I stood on the walkway outside my building, emotionally numb. My whole body hurt, but my ass was on fire. The fabric of my tight leggings pressing against it was agony. It would be glorious to go upstairs, strip off my clothes and get into bed.
Yet I didn’t move.
“Leona. Leona.”
I wasn’t sure how long my roommate had been calling my name before I noticed and looked up. She was standing on the balcony to our suite, waving at me.
“Stay there, he’s coming down! I packed you a bag.”
What was she talking about?
A minute later Brad walked out the front door of my building.
A sob welled in my throat at the sight of him. The urge to run into his arms made me dig my fingernails into my palms.
“Hello, Princess.” He was grinning, but as he got closer his smile faded. “Are you okay?”
No. I’m not.
“Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about something else. What are you doing here?”
“I came to take you to lunch. When you didn’t answer your phone I thought I’d better check on you, so I wandered around until someone told me where you lived.”
“Good thing you’re not a stalker.” I struggled to pretend everything was normal and banter with him.
“At this point I think I am your stalker. Your roommates are nice. I said I was going to take you to lunch in Venice and they packed a beach bag for you.” He held up a striped tote. “If you don’t want to go that’s fine. I’ll text you later.”