by Regine Abel
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, finally understanding the depth of my distress. “I didn’t realize it had gotten this complicated. I asked Richard about the whole possession thing, and he said all his research and people he talked to came to the same conclusion that there’s no such thing.”
“But I saw him all wrapped around Kazan, lending him his strength during that fight,” I argued. “Sometimes, I could swear I’m seeing the Mistwalker almost like an aura around him.”
“You said it yourself, sweetie, he was wrapped around him, and lending him his strength. He wasn’t him. Maybe he’s just shadowing him, like an aura. Honestly, the only way to solve this is to ask him directly. You’ve always been the one telling me to just take the bull by the horns.”
Kicking my slippers off, I raised my feet, hugging my knees to my chest.
“If I’m wrong, he’ll think I’m crazy,” I said in a small voice. “Hey Kazan, are you possessed by the Mistwalker who’s stalking me and has been giving me crazy wet dreams?” I snorted again. “He’ll kick me out of his place, lock the doors, and get a restraining order on my ass.”
Laura chuckled. “There’s direct and then there’s direct, silly goose. You want to ease him into it. Come in through the backdoor. Find some analogy and get him to express his views on it. You’re the nerd. Surely there’s some sci-fi or paranormal movie where you have some human possessed by another creature or sharing his consciousness with some parasitic being. Ask him how he’d feel in that human’s shoes. If he’s ‘possessed’ by the Mistwalker, he’ll know exactly where you’re coming from. If he’s not, you save face by simply having a theoretical conversation.”
I remained speechless for a moment, blown away by the simplicity of the solution. This was not only perfect, I even knew which TV show and character to reference.
“When did you grow this wise?” I asked, pleasantly surprised and particularly grateful.
“My big sister’s endless speeches on getting my shit together are finally sinking in,” she said in a teasing, but affectionate, tone.
“I love you, you little brat.”
“I love you, too, old hag.”
* * *
Kazan showed up at my house five minutes early. I’d spent too much time talking with Laura as she updated me on the wild parties on campus, while reassuring me her studies still came first. Then I’d spent another ridiculous amount of time fixing both my toenails and fingernails. As a result, I was still scrambling to finish getting ready. Thankfully, Kazan had elected to lease a rental car for the month to see if it proved more convenient than a cab for our numerous activities. It also made better financial sense, which made me feel all the more guilty that he did all the spending whenever we went out. Although I didn’t live paycheck to paycheck, my tight budget only allowed me a handful of outings each month. According to Kazan, it was no burden for him, but I didn’t want him thinking me a gold-digger or social climber. I wanted a boyfriend, not a sugar daddy.
As per usual, he stood outside by the car waiting for me. I waved him in, my hair still not fully done. He hopped back into the car—a sleek, burnished silver Jaguar—to turn off the engine then sauntered up to the porch. Kazan stopped outside the door, giving me an intense stare as if needing me to confirm I truly wanted him to enter.
“Come in, babe,” I said, waving him in again. “I’m sorry for being late. Give me two minutes to finish drying my hair and put some shoes on.”
He stepped inside, pulled me into his embrace, and gave me a searing kiss that made me reconsider our plans to go shopping after all. Releasing me, his gaze roamed over the décor. It made me feel self-conscious. Despite the subdued colors of the off-white walls, with darker brown furniture, and some red and blue accents on the pillows and wall paintings—some of them my own—my house felt warm and welcoming, not cheap but nowhere near fancy.
“Please make yourself at home,” I said tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear. “Feel free to look around. The kitchen is right there if you want something to drink. My office studio is in the back. I won’t be long.”
He nodded with a smile, and I raced up the stairs to the bathroom where I made quick work of drying my hair, letting it cascade over my white crop top. I applied some nude lip gloss, and stuffed my feet into comfortable, white sneakers. I usually wore medium heels with the black leggings I had on, but it wasn’t a good idea for pounding the pavement while shopping.
I came downstairs and found Kazan walking slowly into my office. He examined every single nook and cranny of the house as if trying to memorize every inch of it or seeking the answer to a lifelong mystery. There was something solemn in the way in which he gazed upon everything.
It’s like he’s just entered a sacred shrine.
Which made absolutely no sense. Many things about Kazan didn’t quite make sense, but I considered them endearing little quirks. I observed him quietly while he completed his tour. Beneath his veneer of class and elegance, everything about him screamed virility, strength, and even a slight sense of danger. Yet, he projected such a powerful aura of innocence. Even now, as he turned to face me, his eyes shone with the wonder of a child presented with the best toy he had ever dreamed of. My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t put into words.
“Your house is the perfect reflection of you. Complex in its simplicity, beautiful, warm, inviting with a treasure trove of exciting stories to tell. I love it.”
“I’m glad you do,” I said, deeply moved. “I have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time here in the future. You’re welcome anytime.”
Drawing me once more into his embrace, he kissed me, this time with none of the lustful passion from when he first arrived. It was tender, loving, and almost reverent. It brought tears to my eyes. After he broke the kiss, he held me tight. I buried my face in his neck, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the moment. Something settled in my chest, even as the tingle of the Mistwalker timidly manifested itself at the back of my nape.
Kazan released me only to take my hand and lead me out of the house. Always the gentleman, he held the door for me while I got into the Jag and closed it for me before going around to the driver’s seat. He buckled his seatbelt, started the car, checked his blind spot, then took off. I bit back a smile. As much as his art pushed the boundaries of monster erotica, he handled everything else in his life by the book.
He let go of the steering wheel with one hand to grab mine and put it on his lap. I loved it when he placed his hand on my own thigh. Something about the possessiveness of the gesture, this reassertion of his claim did wondrous things to me. But I loved even more that he’d placed my hand on his thigh, which translated to me as a reminder that he had freely given himself to me; he was mine.
Kazan didn’t turn on the radio. I couldn’t recall ever hearing him play any music. It didn’t actually bother me, but it added yet another layer of mystery to my man. Although we did exchange snippets of conversation, we mostly remained in an amicable silence, each of us lost in thought. The ride almost felt too short as we pulled up to the shopping mall. As expected on an early Friday evening, the place was packed. Ever the gentleman, Kazan dropped me in front of the door while he went on the hunt for a parking spot. He’d catch up with me in the lingerie store.
As his car turned into one of the parking rows, I noticed a suspiciously familiar black car following in his wake. It sounded paranoid, but I could swear I’d been seeing that same car quite often lately while on my way to or from work, while doing the grocery shopping or even lurking around in my neighborhood. It didn’t make any sense though. Who could possibly want to stalk me and for what purpose?
Dismissing the somber thoughts, I entered the mall and made a beeline for Victoria’s Secret. Laura had been right about her cobweb comment. I hadn’t refreshed my sexy outfit collection in over three years. Things would—hopefully—soon move on to the next stage with Kazan. I didn’t want to be caught in granny panties when we finally got around to bumping uglies.
As I browsed through the naughtily divine pieces, the nagging feeling of being observed returned in earnest. Lifting my head, I looked around but didn’t find anyone staring. Yet, even as I shrugged it off, the sensation didn’t fade. The third time I gazed up, I spotted a familiar-looking man turning away. I couldn’t swear he was the same person, but I’d been noticing someone eerily similar in random crowds around me as I went about my business these last couple of weeks. He was always clad in dark clothes, usually wearing some kind of a hat from baseball cap to beanie, often with sunglasses. This man wore a flat cap and regular glasses.
Good God! I’m totally losing it.
In his late twenties, early thirties, a bit of a hipster style, he was probably hunting some gift for his wife or girlfriend. Dismissing him from my thoughts, I forced myself to ignore my unease and grabbed a few pieces before hurrying to the cash register. I didn’t want Kazan to see them until I modeled them for him. Having already bought from the same lines previously, I didn’t doubt they would fit.
The cashier did quick work of wrapping up the thongs, including a very naughty maid set. The bra had zero fabric over the breasts, only lacy frills circling them, with a white lace choker and a barely there, black and white, transparent mini-skirt. I had considered buying a similar set, S&M themed, in the last days of my relationship with Patrick in an ultimate, desperate effort to rekindle the flame between us, but I’d thought better of it. You couldn’t keep a man with sex alone, even less so if his heart already belonged to another.
Kazan walked up to me and slipped his arm around my waist, his thumb caressing the exposed skin below my crop top.
“What did you get?” he asked, trying to peer into the bag after the cashier handed it over to me.
I hid it behind my back, giving him a falsely stern look. “All in due time… Assuming I even let you see them.”
“What?” he exclaimed, looking at me like I’d just stolen his favorite toy.
“If you’re a good boy, I might consider it.”
“I’m always good,” he mumbled, leading me out of the shop.
We headed to the basement of the mall, which gave access to a tiny parking lot where only two shops operated: the shoe repair store and on the opposite side, mostly hidden by the escalator, the erotic boutique Dungeon Mistress. Before meeting Kazan, I’d never set foot inside that place, being far too shy and self-conscious. But now, I sauntered right in without any shame. Having Kazan by my side made me bolder and more confident. I couldn’t explain why, but I loved it.
It was my third trip here and my eyes still popped at all the kinky paraphernalia, from dominatrix leather outfits to edible underwear, floggers to whips, canes to paddles, ropes and chains. The owner dedicated a full wall to shackles and bonding devices, another with the craziest collection of dildos and vibrators, and numerous shelves and displays near the cashier offered everything else including massaging oils, lubricants, batteries, and erotic literature and movies. A back room contained larger apparatus and bondage furniture like a Saint Andrew’s Cross, bondage benches, spanking horses, and even a gynecological chair.
Kazan informed me that the owner, a plump older lady who looked like anyone’s eccentric aunt, had told him he could come in any time with a model to take pictures or sketch using the erotic furniture. The look in his eyes when he said it hinted he had such plans for me in the not too distant future. That got me instantly hot and bothered.
Without hesitation, Kazan made a beeline for the chains, choosing a dark-grey one with thick chain links. He looked at different metal collars, clasping them around my neck to find the perfect one, then did the same with wrist and ankle shackles. To my surprise, I found myself putting on a show for the other patrons whenever I caught them spying on us, quite a few of them with undisguised interest in Kazan.
He’s all mine, bitches. Keep drooling.
He selected one smaller chain then a few leather bustiers and thongs, and a couple sets of erotic lingerie that qualified more as strings than clothing. The owner, Lorna, oohed and aahed at the items Kazan laid out on the counter. She gave him a very suggestive once over, not hiding her appreciation in the least. Instead of offending me, it made me laugh. Lorna winked at me before scanning our items. As she placed the last one in the bag, she reached for a colorful little box next to the cash register.
“Want some cherry flavored condoms?” she asked, waving the box before us. “They’re on sale.”
I gaped at her before casting a sideways glance at Kazan. He once again had that blank look he often got when asked questions he had no clear answers for. It troubled me. Sometimes, I wondered if he suffered from some mild form of a condition like Asperger or if something else was the cause.
Looking back at the box, I hesitated. We hadn’t had sex yet, but I firmly believed that would be rectified within the next couple of days. My contraceptive implant had another six months or so left on it, but I’d been considering replacing it early to avoid any surprises. I was clean and felt certain that Kazan was as well. But being extra cautious couldn’t hurt.
“They’re magnum,” Lorna added, wiggling her brows at Kazan.
I snorted, grabbed the box from her hand, and tossed it into our bag. She chuckled, grabbed a second box, scanned it then tossed it in the bag as well.
“It’s two for the price of one with total purchases of over fifty dollars,” she said with a grin. “The edible underwear will be on sale next week. You can grab some when you come back to restock on the condoms.”
I burst out laughing and grabbed the bag she was extending towards us.
“Thanks, Lorna,” I said, dragging Kazan after me.
Two packs of twelve… Twenty-four condoms in one week… As if…
And yet, that’d be three times a day for eight days. The first time we’d have sex, I expected to go through at least five rounds with him.
Maybe we will need them after all!
I chuckled inwardly at my naughty thoughts as we stepped onto the escalator. Turning to face him, the intensity of his stare threw me. His stormy eyes had darkened, and his expression reminded me of that of a predator… a hungry predator.
“They were on sale,” I said with a playful shrug to ease the tension.
Kazan didn’t respond. Instead, he slipped his hand behind my nape and drew my face to his before kissing me with a possessiveness and passion that left me weak in the knees.
Oh yeah, we’d be using these soon.
He seemed as frustrated as I felt that we still had his shopping to do, both of our minds having taken a deep dive into the gutter. With his usual chivalrous ways, Kazan carried all of our bags as we strolled around the mall on our way to Shay & Vincent, a posh men’s wear boutique with extremely varied merchandise. Once again, Kazan headed straight to a specific section of the store which contained the fancy version of biker wear, yet I didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on completely different sections of the store containing the same kind of clothes that had seemed to draw his attention from other shops on our way here.
Kazan browsed through the clothes with an indifference that baffled me. Whatever I said looked nice, he would immediately look for one in his size even though he, personally, didn’t seem particularly taken with that piece or any other for that matter. To my dismay, I realized that my man’s godly body proved quite the nightmare when it came to buying off the rack. His broad shoulders and muscular arms made it nearly impossible to find anything that wouldn’t look on the verge of bursting on him. Sure, it made him look ridiculously sexy the way the clothes molded his sculpted body, but it had to be uncomfortable.
When I dragged him over to the gypsy, retro punk section, his face lit up. He tried to hide his sudden enthusiasm but failed miserably. It proved a painstaking process nonetheless, finding a few pieces that fit him properly and looked sexy on him. The hardest part was not to burst out laughing when some shirts, too short at the hem or in the sleeves made him resemble a dressed gorilla. He started mak
ing a game of it, deliberately grabbing things that would make himself look ridiculous and acting falsely outraged when I failed to hide my hilarity. He actually had me roaring with laughter and begging for mercy before he stopped being a goober. I walked out of the shop with a newfound respect for the plight of muscular men, right up there with big breasted women who couldn’t wear a single blouse without the buttons all but popping open.
While I liked the biker, bad boy style Kazan usually wore, I had to admit the bohemian style fit him beautifully. The low necks or open shirts and leather necklaces with the pendant resting on his muscular chest was beyond sexy. But above all, it made him feel good.
On our way back to the car, the sense of being watched hit me with renewed vigor. Stopping dead in my tracks, I turned around abruptly to look behind us. Kazan, both hands burdened with our purchases, stopped as well and looked at me questioningly before following my gaze. The same man with the flat cap was hastily walking away. I knew he’d been staring at us.
“Who is he?” Kazan asked, a sliver of tension in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “But I think he’s been following me. He was looking at me in the lingerie shop, and when you went off to park the car, I saw a black car following you that resembles one I’ve been seeing pretty often lately. I guess the driver dropped him off so he could spy on me while he looked for a parking spot, too.” Kazan’s expression hardened with each of my words. “Do you know who he is?”
“I don’t know them,” he said after a beat. “The next time you see them following you, I want you to go to the most public place in the vicinity and call me immediately.”