The Berkeley Method

by JS Taylor

  That’s what he thinks. Then another issue suggests itself to me.

  “Why has the movie been rescheduled?” I ask.

  James looks up at me. “Because of Natalie,” he says. For a moment I can see the jet lag on his face. I wonder how long it’s been since he slept.

  “I am concerned that if we delay filming any longer, she’ll be exposed to temptation over in LA and succumb to her drug problems again.”

  I feel a wild stab of jealousy, as though someone has taken my heart and squeezed it. I’ve seen Natalie Ennis in pictures. Everyone has. She’s a size zero with huge childlike eyes and long dark hair. Every man on the planet wants to bed her, and James can’t be the exception.

  I stare down at my plate of food, feeling suddenly sick.

  “Have you had a relationship with Natalie?” I ask, unable to look at him.

  I hear him make a little sound of disbelief.

  “Is that what you’re worried about?”

  I look up to see him wide-eyed in shock. My temper rallies.

  “Yes,” I say, the volume of my voice rising. “You disappear for four days without telling me where you’re going. Then I discover you’ve flown halfway across the world to see another woman. After that, you announce you’re turning my life upside-down to fit around her requirements. So yes. Since you ask, James, that is what I’m worried about.”

  I am so angry, I know I’m not being reasonable, but I don’t care.

  “I want you to answer the question,” I continue, glaring at him. “Have you had sex with her?”

  I am holding my fork like a weapon. And to my disbelief, James breaks into a warm laugh.

  Then he reaches across the table, gently removes the fork from my fingers and takes both my hands in his.

  “How could I even look at another woman when I have a tiny chance of having someone as maddening and mystifying as you?” he says.

  I stare back at him, some of the anger sliding away. How does he always say the right thing?

  “My relationship with Natalie has and always will be a professional one,” he says, “and I’ve told you before, I don’t sleep with my actresses.”

  My actresses. A stab of pain strikes my heart.

  “You are such a lovely thing, Isabella,” he says. “I even rather like you when you’re in a silly temper. And I know for a fact, I don’t deserve you.”

  He pauses for a moment, as if wondering if he should continue. “If you had any idea,” he says carefully, “what I want to do to you for running into that alley, you’d run for the hills.”

  He stares at his martini glass for a moment, and then his eyes return to my face.

  The atmosphere between us has shifted, suddenly.

  “What is it you want to do to me?” I whisper. My mouth is dry.

  He keeps his eyes locked on mine.

  “Your behaviour today was unforgivable,” he says. “My job is to keep you safe. To protect you. Your role is to make my work as easy as possible. Old-fashioned, I know. But, simple. I cannot have you venturing alone into dangerous backstreets.”

  His voice is cool. For some reason I find it impossible to look away.

  “What I would like to do to you,” he says carefully, measuring every word, “is take you back to my apartment and bend you over a certain desk I have there.”

  I swallow, feeling my face and body growing hot.

  “Then I would like to pull up that rather ordinary skirt which you look so extraordinary in.”

  He pauses to take another sip of his martini, and I find myself leaning forward slightly, mesmerised by his words.

  “After that, I would hold you firmly down so you couldn’t move and tug off your panties,” he continues. “Then I would remove my belt.”

  I feel the breath tighten in my chest.

  “And I would give you six good lashes with it,” he concludes, taking his martini glass and draining the last dregs.

  I am sat almost open-mouthed opposite him. Can he really be saying those things? Worse – can they really be having the effect that they’re having? Because undeniably, his words have stirred a dark lust deep inside of me.

  I know without any shadow of a doubt that the last few seconds have made me completely ready for him. And from his face, I think he knows it too.

  James raises his eyebrow just a fraction.

  “How does that sound?” he asks.

  I pick up my martini glass and take a solid gulp.

  How does it sound? If I’m honest, it sounds pretty damn hot. But is this the kind of thing I want to get myself into? A man who wants to beat me with a belt?

  I pause for a moment, thinking things over, and I notice a subtle tension creep into him, as though a lot rests on my answer.

  “I think it probably sounds better than it would feel,” I admit.

  He cocks his head, thinking about this.

  “But you do concede that you should be punished for your behaviour.”

  He says it like it isn’t a question, which is a relief, because the truth is I don’t want to answer. I don’t know what my honest answer would be.

  “Let me take you home, Isabella,” he says, and his voice has dipped low. “I will show you how good it can be to submit to a punishment at my hands.”

  I swallow again, feeling trapped by my own lust.

  Part of my mind is in tumult. But over-arcing everything, I am so happy to be back in his company.

  Better than happy, in fact. I feel awake, alive.

  James is watching my face carefully.

  “Come home with me,” he says.

  I have so many different emotions running through me. I catch onto a memory from earlier this evening. I wanted to be dangerous.

  “You can set your own rules,” adds James.

  Ok. My own rules. Can I handle this? I start speaking, hardly knowing what will come out.

  “No belts,” I manage weakly.

  What am I saying?

  James nods slowly. “If that is what you wish.” Without taking his eyes off me, he signals for the cheque.

  “Oh, Isabella,” he says, his eyes lighting wickedly. “You don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.”

  Chapter 7

  James’s apartment is dark as we crash through the door, bound in heavy mutual desire. Our journey in the car back was strange, stilted almost, as though James had journeyed to another place in his mind.

  Sat next to him, I had been tossed from fantasising about ripping his clothes off, to a cold terror about what I had just agreed to. But, as he pushes me against the wall of his apartment, every thought but having him is thrown out of my head.

  James lifts me into his arms and carries me to the other side of the apartment.

  Then I see the desk he was referring to, and feel my courage falter.

  Held in his arms, I feel something more tender in him, and he looks down into my face.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

  I stare up at him, trying to read him, but I see nothing. Everything I know about him turns in my head. He’s troubled. He’s difficult. Can I bring him into the light?

  “Would it make you happy,” I whisper, “to… to do the things you want to do?”

  “Yes,” he murmurs, “it would make me very happy. And I think you would like it too, Isabella. Though you may not know it yet.”

  “Then I agree,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.

  He places me gently back on my feet.

  “No belts,” he says, looking carefully into my face.

  “No belts,” I agree.

  He nods curtly, and his whole manner seems to change.

  “You put me through hell today, Isabella,” he growls. “Now bend over that desk.”

  I hesitate for a moment, and he takes hold of me, forcing me roughly over the desk.

  Whoa. He’s serious about this stuff.

  I feel his hand pressing firmly on the small of my back, holding me down. I twist experimenta
lly, finding myself pinned under his strong grip. For some reason the restraint feels good.

  “Don’t move,” he growls.

  I feel him push up my skirt, and then there is a tantalising pause as he sweeps his hand over my panties.

  Every part of me is begging him to continue, though I have no idea what he plans to do.

  “I think we’ll start you off,” he murmurs, “with a little spanking. To show you how to behave.”

  He slides down my panties and lets them fall.

  “If you attempt to move again,” he warns, “I will spank you harder. Do you understand?”

  I make a tiny sound to signal that I do. And suddenly, the flat of his hand slams hard into my behind.

  Wow. I feel my body shunted forward by the force of it. Then his hand comes again, a hard painful slap on my bare behind. When he does it a third time, I let out a stifled whimper.

  “Is it too much?” His hand returns to stroking now.

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, baffled by the myriad of feelings running through me.

  “Do you want me to spank you again?” he whispers.

  I do, I really do. Can I admit it? It’s such a shameful thing to want.

  “I won’t do it again until you ask me,” he says.

  I lie silent for a moment, imprisoned by my own whirling feelings.

  “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks. His tone is dangerous.

  Bent over the desk, I feel the pressure of his hand on my back, forcing me to lie still. He allows his other hand to roam softly against the bare skin of my behind. It’s tantalising, teasing, but somehow not enough.

  James leans down very close so his mouth is against my ear.

  “Tell me you want me to do it again,” he whispers, “and I’ll give you three more before I fuck you.”

  The thought of him inside of me is so insanely compelling that I can’t help myself.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my face pressed against the desk.

  “Yes what?”

  “I want you to do it again.”

  “Harder?”

  “No, not harder. The same.” I screw my eyes shut. “Please. Do it again.”

  His answer comes hard against my behind. His palm slams against me. My skin is tingling and my mind is racing with the sensation of it all. How can it be that I like this?

  “I want you to remember this,” says James, “for putting yourself in danger today.”

  The flat of his hand strikes hard again, for a third and final time.

  I lay still, breathing heavily, absorbing the powerful sensations in my body.

  Then I hear him undo his jeans, and he grabs my hips roughly with both hands, angling me towards him. There is a ripping sound as he pulls out a condom and rolls it onto himself.

  “I’ve been wanting to spank you since I met you,” he murmurs, and then I feel him press his erection between my legs.

  I tense, waiting for the next sensation, and then he thrusts into me from behind with a groan.

  I feel my body pressed tight against the desk as the force of him slams into me. The unexpected roughness of it takes me by surprise. I thought we’d had fast and heavy sex before. Now I realise he was holding back.

  I let out a strangled moan as he alternates between hard thrusting and deeper, more measured movements.

  Then he slides his hands around to cup my breasts, gripping them hard as I let out another pleasure-wracked groan.

  “The first part was for my pleasure, Isabella,” he growls, slamming forcefully into me, “and now this second part is for yours.”

  He slows his pace and pulls my body slightly away from the desk. Then he slides his hand around the front of me and begins expertly working my clitoris. The sensation of his hand there is almost too much, and then he adjusts his angle, pushing deeper inside of me.

  “Oh God, Isabella, I’m close,” he moans, and the words fire a final spurt of desire straight to my groin.

  My knees weaken, and the molten charge of my orgasm wracks through my entire body, taking every inch of me in gasping, glorious pleasure.

  I hear James gasp as he feels me shuddering around him.

  “I cannot believe how good it feels to be inside you,” he moans, and then with a final thrust, I feel him exploding inside of me.

  He rests forward on top of me, moving his hand to stroke my hair. Then he covers the side of my face with gentle kisses.

  “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers. “Having you bent over like this. I could hardly control myself.”

  I give a little smile of acknowledgement as his lips move over my face, and then he slides out of me carefully and lifts me up and around to face him.

  We’re stood, staring into each other’s eyes, panting in the aftermath of what we’ve just done. But there’s a sadness about James’s face now.

  “What is it?” I whisper.

  He smiles slightly.

  “I have strong feelings for you, Isabella,” he says.

  I feel my heart make a little flip of joy.

  “And I can’t believe that someone as sweet as you is brave enough to try a relationship with me.”

  A relationship? I inwardly hug myself.

  “I can’t keep away from you,” he says, “but I need to know that I’m not damaging you. I couldn’t bear to think I was taking you to somewhere dark.”

  What is he asking from me? I try to assess.

  “Are you worried that you’re demeaning me?” I say, after a moment.

  His face fills with pain, and he makes a tight little nod.

  I consider this. Do I feel demeaned? Bent over his desk? Having him spank me as a punishment? I certainly should.

  “I don’t feel like that,” I say slowly. “I don’t feel debased.”

  “Then how do you feel?” his eyes are searching my face urgently. “How do I make you feel, Isabella?”

  How does he make me feel? Like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years and I’ve just woken up.

  “Liberated,” I settle upon, “excited, adventurous, vulnerable.”

  He gives a shy smile. “I make you feel all that?”

  And so much more.

  “Yes, you do. It’s not a bad feeling. At least I don’t think so.” I frown, remembering how bad I felt when he went away.

  “I want you to understand that I would never wish to demean you by my actions,” he says. His voice is thick with sincerity.

  This is a little puzzling. What does he want?

  He senses my confusion.

  “It isn’t about making you my subordinate,” he clarifies.

  “Then what is it about?” I push, maximising this sudden surge of honesty.

  “Owning you,” he says, his eyes taking on a bright intensity, “making you completely mine.”

  His hand slides across the length of my body.

  “Taking you in this way is about me having control over you. I want you to give total trust over to me.”

  I frown. I’m not sure I like that.

  “I don’t know if I could surrender control to you,” I admit. “I know you’re old-fashioned. But I’m not. I’m a modern girl.”

  “Yes, you are,” he says with a little smile. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  “But you do want me another way,” I press. “You want me to submit to you.”

  James gives a little sigh. “I think there is a greater desire in you for submission than you realise. And perhaps you have a different idea of what is meant by giving yourself to me.”

  He closes his eyes and opens them again.

  “I want to give you the world, Isabella,” he says, gazing into my face. “You only have to say what you want, and I’ll give it.”

  I think about this.

  “I like what you do to me,” I admit. My eyes are searching his. “But I want you to let me in. To know more about you.”

  To love you.

  He pauses for a moment, and then his expression changes.

&nb
sp; “That could be difficult,” he says.

  “Will you agree to try at least?” I press.

  “What is it you want?”

  I try to put it into words.

  “Romance,” I say finally, “tenderness.”

  He gives a pained smile.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a yacht. Or a diamond ring?” he asks.

  I laugh.

  “It would be easier, you know,” he admits.

  “I know,” I say softly. “But that isn’t what I want. Your money isn’t important to me.”

  “You want my heart?” He looks inexplicably pained by this idea.

  I nod. “It’s more valuable than your money.”

  “You might be wrong about that, Isabella.”

  I stare into his cool green eyes.

  “I’m not,” I say firmly. “I know I’m not.”

  He sighs. “You do something to me which no one has ever done,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s enough to change me. But for you, Isabella, I will try. And please understand how special you must be to me to hear those words.”

  I lean forward and kiss his mouth gently. “I do,” I say, “I do understand.”

  “I think you might find things even more difficult on set,” he adds.

  “Why is that?” I ask warily.

  “For one thing, we can’t be open about our relationship,” he says. “Since I’m still technically married to Madison, it would be unprofessional.”

  Madison. His wife. Ouch.

  “And for another, I tend to become engrossed in my work.”

  Oh. I consider this. Perhaps I’ll be able to entice him away.

  “You told me that you were making plans to officially separate from Madison,” I remind him.

  “Yes,” he nods. “I am. But it can’t happen overnight. That would be devastating to Madison’s public image.”

  “Ok,” I concede. “We’ll see how things go.”

  James nods and kisses my mouth.

  “Yes, we will,” he agrees. “But for now, I’m going to enjoy every moment of having you back.” He scoops me up in his arms and plants a lingering kiss on my mouth. “I hope you’re ready for this, Isabella,” he says with a grin, “because you’re not going to be getting much sleep tonight.”

  Chapter 8

  I wake in the dawn light, knowing it’s still early. Although I fell asleep wrapped tight in James arms, he’s no longer in the bed.