by Cecilia Tan
The proposal would rate two sentences in the story in Entertainment Weekly that bore the headline: LORD LIGHTNING UNMASKS! The article read, “The theme of finding one’s soul mate that runs throughout LL’s previous work even spurred two backup dancers to get engaged onstage at the Vegas publicity gala. Whether they had a Vegas wedding afterward is unknown.”
Epilogue
Two hours before opening night I had the worst case of butterflies in my stomach ever. James calmed them completely by blindfolding me in a folding chair in the middle of the green room. He put his hands on my shoulders, standing behind me, and gave me one order. “Breathe.”
I don’t know how long I sat that way, but it worked. I calmed down immediately. I concentrated on my breathing and I could hear every conversation going on around the room. Someone was looking for Roland, found him, and delivered some flowers. A theater manager came in asking for Ferrara and was told she’d had to return suddenly to England on urgent business. Yes, the urgent business of keeping her promise to us that she would stay away from James. I heard James remark to Chandra that she had better order extra security for Pascual, and her reply was that she already had. “You can be less of a control freak now, can’t you?” she complained. “Pascual’s my boss now, not you.”
From a bit further away I heard Pascual add, “More like you’re my boss, Chandra!”
“I merely state my advice to you as a friend,” James told her. “Speaking of which, did you get that place on Central Park you wanted? That will make it easy to drop in on me and Karina for dinner.”
“Tsk. I would never ‘drop in’ on you two. I’m too likely to find you swinging from the ceiling buck naked. I’ll call first.”
In another corner, Mandinka was giving Annika advice on how to treat a cracked callus on her foot. Alicia was chiding Ben for letting Pascual get the prime gig. Ben was saying he much preferred it this way. “Let him be the one to dodge teenyboppers in the streets! I’d rather collect my paycheck and go home. The couple of times I played the part of limo diversion were scary enough.”
I could hear Pascual then, as Chandra quizzed him in a practice interview, getting him ready for a quick on-camera segment with Entertainment Tonight.
“What gave you the idea for Bonded?”
Pascual cleared his throat. “Um, well, as you know, my private life is closely guarded, but I have some familiarity with the worlds of bondage and discipline, and the storyline grew from there.”
It was amazing how he adopted James’s formal way of speaking. He went into character.
“And you don’t have a problem with the subjugation of women in the BDSM lifestyle?”
“BDSM, contrary to some beliefs, is about empowering both partners, and who said the women are always on the bottom? That’s certainly not true in any BDSM club I’ve been to.”
“Eh, that might be a bit too wordy and too close to opening a personal can of worms.” Chandra advised. “Think about it: You’ve been to a BDSM club?”
Pascual dropped into his regular voice. “Ah, I see what you mean. Yeah. That’s saying a little too much.”
“Try another one: And how do you feel about commercializing your sexuality for the sake of the almighty entertainment dollar?”
Pascual cleared his throat and delivered a drop-dead droll James line. “My dear, that’s rock and roll.”
Chandra laughed. I’d never heard her laugh before.
I don’t know how long I sat like that, but when James took the blindfold off and told me to get warmed up, the painful edge of the anticipation was gone. From then, time flew and I knew I would be fine once the performance began. It was the waiting that had been difficult to get through. The performance went by so fast I barely had time to worry. I barely had a moment to glance into the audience, up at the side balcony boxes where our mothers sat together. Jill was there, too. Earlier today she told me she had finally talked to Troy and he would be showing up later in the week. His band had gigs all weekend. They were getting some local notoriety in the Bay Area. Well, I could introduce him to some people in the record business.
The only person whose face I could actually make out when I glanced up at the box, though, was Becky’s, because she sat forward in her chair, hanging on the railing, her chin perched on her knuckles, her eyes wide as she took in the spectacle.
James and I met at the center of the stage and then dropped through the trapdoor to quickly get into our flying rig. We had exactly forty-four seconds to do it. We had gotten it down to twenty seconds in rehearsal, though. This time as I stepped into the harness, his hand slid over my buttocks.
He unsnapped the three tiny snaps in the crotch of my bodysuit. I grinned back at him, not at all surprised by this turn of events. His cool smile and the glint in his eye told me all I needed to know. He was getting off on the fact that he was about to fuck me in front of our families and thousands of paying spectators. And none of them would be the wiser.
He didn’t have to do much beyond give me that look for me to go wet for him, and in another few seconds he was seated deep inside me. Another few seconds and all buckles were snapped into place. He tested the lines above our heads and gave Barnaby the high sign, and up we went slowly at first until we cleared the parts of the set that didn’t move. We hung there, waiting for the musical cue that would send us soaring out over the audience.
“How does that feel?” he asked, his hands on my hips as I stretched out into a full spread eagle.
“Mmm, fantastic. Is this just for tonight? Or every night?”
“Glad you asked. You know, the angle is not quite perfect like this. It would work much better with my cock seated in your ass.”
“Oh, would it now?”
“Definitely. Good thing we have ten shows. I know a fabulous technique for stretching out orifices. I bet it’ll only take five days until you’re ready to take me.”
“We’ll need lube.”
“I’m certain we can get that.”
We started to rise again, now only ten seconds from our cue and hidden from the audience only by a small curtain and billows of dry ice mist.
“Hey,” I said, in the moment we had left before we were visible to the crowd, “do you think we should have a Vegas wedding?”
He rocked his hips, driving his cock deeper and sending sparks of pleasure through me. “Sweetness, this is our Vegas wedding. And the whole world are our witnesses.”
The curtain dropped and out we flew, as weightless as if we were floating on our shared joy.
About the Author
Cecilia Tan is a writer, editor, and sexuality activist. She is the author of Mind Games, The Hot Streak, White Flames, Edge Plays, Black Feathers, The Velderet, and Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords, as well as the Magic University series of paranormal erotic romances. She has the distinction of being perhaps the only writer to have erotic fiction published in both Penthouse and Ms. magazine, as well as in scores of other magazines and anthologies including Asimov’s, Best American Erotica, and Nerve. She is the founder and editor of Circlet Press, publishers of erotic science fiction and fantasy. Her novel Slow Surrender won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Erotic Romance of 2013.
You can learn more at:
CeciliaTan.com
Twitter @ceciliatan
Facebook.com/thececiliatan
ALSO BY CECILIA TAN
Slow Surrender
Slow Seduction
Black Feathers
Daron’s Guitar Chronicles
The Incubus and the Angel
Mind Games
The Poet and the Prophecy
The Prince’s Boy
The Siren and the Sword
Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords
The Tower and the Tears
The Velderet
White Flames
Praise for
the Novels of Cecilia Tan
SLOW SEDUCTION
“Tan returns to incredibly hot and kinky sex… Damon is the l
ight to ex-flame James’s dark. Ready for a bit of fun, he presses Karina to give up on James. The sex scenes here are once again as hot as they are imaginative.”
—RT Book Reviews
“5 Stars! Slow Seduction was a tasty treat to say the least. I cannot wait to get my hands on book three. If you are looking for erotica, stop whatever you are doing and get this book.”
—DivasDailyBookblog.wordpress.com
SLOW SURRENDER
“4½ stars! This is the BDSM novel all the other millionaire dom heroes want to star in. Tan takes an overused trope and turns it into a dreamy, erotic fantasy that draws the reader down the rabbit hole along with Karina. The sex scenes are lush and erotic… Readers will be clamoring for the next book in the series.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Move over, E L James. Cecilia Tan’s Slow Surrender is sinfully sweet and sublimely erotic. As with sipping a superb single-malt scotch served neat, you’ll savor the slow burn as it builds to a deliciously unanticipated… climax.”
—Hope Tarr, award-winning author
“Loved, loved Slow Surrender and am waiting on pins and needles for book two… Another brilliant outing from Cecilia Tan… Her characters are full of life and emotion, and so believable. Definitely a keeper!”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“If you are a fan of the billionaire dom, you should not miss Slow Surrender. Cecilia Tan weaves a compelling and red-hot tale that will have readers eager for more.”
—RomanceNovelNews.com
From the moment she meets him in a New York bar, waitress Karina knows James is different. Awakened by his touch, Karina discovers a wild side she hadn’t known existed—and nothing is off-limits.
See where it all began…
Please see the next page for
a preview of Slow Surrender.
One
Out of the Blue
The night of Lord Lightning’s good-bye concert was a crazy night to say the least. I was doing one last waitress shift at the bar my sister managed in Midtown, the concert having taken place at Madison Square Garden, just a few blocks away. The bar was packed with “Lord’s Ladies,” who were inconsolable and tearing their hair out (or wigs, actually) while smearing their face paint with tears. My roommate Becky was at home crying about the same thing. Me? I couldn’t care less what some self-absorbed rock-star asshole was doing as his latest publicity stunt, but it was all over the big-screen TVs: his masked face projected sixty inches wide along with footage of the screaming fans at his supposedly last public performance. The whole city was turned upside down, and I remember so clearly the Lord’s Ladies because they were such a royal pain in the arse! Ordering as little as possible, taking up the best tables all night long, and I could already tell they were going to be lousy tippers.
I’d even had one table dine-and-dash on me. I didn’t think the night could get any worse until I got to the hostess station and caught a glimpse of my thesis advisor walking through the front door. The same advisor I’d told I couldn’t meet tonight because I was “too sick to leave my apartment, cough cough” when my sister, Jill, had convinced me she was desperate and needed me to work. She had promised a great night for cash tips, which was the only reason I’d agreed to this madness. Even worse, on top of it all was the fact that he’d come in with the man I’d had a job interview with that afternoon, a project manager at a design firm where I hoped to work as soon as I graduated, if not sooner. Theo Renault’s approval of my thesis was the main thing standing between me and graduation, and I knew from department talk he wasn’t one who would casually accept being lied to.
In other words, I was fucked, and all because I was doing Jill a favor. I forced myself to stop looking at Renault and the guy—Philip Hale was his name—as they fought their way through the crowded room toward the bar. Maybe they would have a quick nightcap and get out of here. I tried to focus on the customer stepping up to the stand now, a tall man in a hat and a bittersweet-chocolate-brown suit that was clearly tailored to perfectly fit his lean frame, like something out of a fashion magazine.
Not the kind of guy who was alone, usually, but I hurried to seat him. If I took him upstairs, maybe Renault wouldn’t see me. “Table for one?” I chirped as I thought, Please don’t be waiting for someone.
“Yes, plea—”
“Great! Follow me!” I practically grabbed him by the arm and led him quickly to the stairs. “Kind of a busy night in here. It’s a bit quieter on the second floor. I’ll get you away from these crazies.” I waved the menu in the general direction of the Lord’s Ladies, who were starting a group sing-along of some kind.
“I’d like that,” he said, his voice deep. He sounded faintly amused.
Probably because I was acting so flustered. “It’s not always like this in here,” I assured him, as if it mattered. The second floor, unlike the crowded, chaotic first floor, was devoid of both TVs and singing fans and had only a few customers scattered throughout. A group of four women in one corner had already cashed out but had been lingering for an hour. A couple sat near the top of the stairs.
I led him all the way to a table by the windows, overlooking the street, desperate to kill as much time as possible. I had the funny urge to pull out his chair for him, as if this were a white-tablecloth kind of place, but I hung back until he seated himself. He had a topcoat folded over his arm, and he hung it over the back of his chair, put his hat on the wide sill of the window, then sat. I set the menu down in front of him.
“The kitchen is already closed,” I said, going into my automatic “after 10:00 p.m.” patter, “but the full list of cocktails is of course available, as are the selections on the dessert menu.” I turned the menu over to the list of desserts. “Today’s sorbet is passion fruit.”
“Passion fruit?” he asked, one eyebrow raised like he was skeptical of it.
“Nah,” I joked. “That’s the name of my Lord Lightning cover band.”
That made him laugh. In the streetlamps that shone through the window, I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, blue, hazel, green? The light from outside was stark and bluish compared to the soft amber lights in the bar, making his cheekbones look impossibly sharp. His hair was dangerously blond, almost white, and cropped close to his head. His age was impossible to gauge; he could’ve been a young forty or a haunted twenty. He was gorgeous and striking and his voice had a slight British tinge to it as he said, “Oh, just try to work it into every conversation, do you?”
“Yes, exactly.” I grinned. Normally, flirting while waitressing was asking for trouble and I avoided it at all costs. I didn’t like men thinking just because I was female it was okay to treat me like something on the menu. But I was on a mission to waste as much time as I could. Besides, he was quite attractive and that was an understatement. “Actually, I think the sorbet is lemon with a little orange food color. It all tastes the same.”
He chuckled. “So, you don’t recommend the sorbet?”
I chewed my lip a moment. “I lied,” I said. “I’ve never actually had it.”
“Well, at least one of us should embrace new experiences,” he said. “Bring me a dish of the sorbet, and a bourbon. Something better than Maker’s Mark.” His eyes were on me, very intent, as if he had no intention of actually opening the menu.
I collected it from him.
“Coming right up.” I couldn’t resist making a fake little curtsy and then hurrying away.
That worked out perfectly, I thought. I punched in the drink order from the upstairs server station, then went down to the kitchen to dish the sorbet myself, completely out of the view of Renault and his friend. I picked up the bourbon from the back station, added it to the round tray with the sorbet, and headed right back upstairs.
“Here you are,” I said as I set down the napkin and the drink, then the small metal dish of sorbet and a spoon.
“Thank you,” he said, and sounded sincere about it.
I busied myself for a little while, refillin
g the water glasses for the four-top and checking that the couple didn’t want a round of dessert. They didn’t, which was just as well, because the sugary sweetness coming from the two of them cooing at each other was enough to hospitalize a diabetic. I guess they were having each other for dessert. It was hard not to feel bitter watching them when I’d never met a guy who could act like that and actually mean it. While I wiped down some of the empty tables, I glanced over at my solo customer. He was sipping the whisky very slowly and looking out the window. Maybe it was that a man drinking alone always looks melancholy, but I got the feeling he was a little sad about something. Wistful, maybe.
I also noticed he wasn’t eating the sorbet. I went back to his table. “Was it not to your liking? I can take it away and bring you something else you might like.”
He settled back in his chair and gave me a thoughtful look. “Actually, there is something I’d like.”
“Name it.” I gave him my waitress smile.
“I’d like you to try the sorbet.” He picked up the spoon, which was still resting exactly where I’d left it, and cut into the perfect scoop that had clearly been untouched.
“Me?” I asked, as if he could have meant anyone else. “Why? To make sure it’s okay?”
“No, no. Because you said you hadn’t had it before. I thought, what a shame. She works so hard in a place like this, and she’s never tasted the sweetness right in front of her?” He held up the spoon, waving it enticingly.
I glanced behind me to make sure Jill or some other server wasn’t watching. Normally one didn’t do this sort of thing with customers, but I wanted to see what would happen if I did. “All right.”
He held the spoon still, then up toward my chin. I leaned forward, my hands on my apron, and I slowly closed my mouth over it. The spoon was cold and the sorbet tart at first, then sweet as it melted in my mouth. “Mmmm.”