San Francisco Lost: San Francisco Trilogy: Part Two

by Lila Dubois

  James took a seat on the coffee table, then leaned forward, brushing the lock of hair that had escaped her bun away from her face. “If I had known it was your first time, I would have done it differently.”

  “Then I’m glad you didn’t know, because it was perfect.”

  He kept stroking her hair, checking his watch periodically. When five minutes had passed, he moved the ice pack from one leg to the other, turning it over to make sure it was cold enough to help.

  He looked at her abused backside. It looked worse, but he knew that was because the cold made skin pink, so the few parts of her that might have been unmarked were now also flushed.

  “Is this something you want?” he asked.

  “This? Well, no, I don’t think I will do this again.” She spoke in that wry tone that was unique to her.

  “Not the barbarity you experienced last night, but submission. Do you want to submit? To have a Dom?”

  “I thought so.”

  “But what happened to you last night changed your mind.”

  “What happened last night made me realize that what I want is what you and I had.”

  He’d been looking pensively at her bruises, but now focused on her face.

  Her eyes widened and then she lowered her lids. “I mean the way you did it. I… I don’t know enough to know how to explain.” There was a pause, and then she spoke slowly, the slight hesitation between each word telling him that she was probably considering each one carefully. “When I submitted with you, it felt good. Even the things that hurt. Even the things that were scary. When you told me to do something, I never hesitated.”

  She’d hesitated, but it was interesting to hear that in her mind she thought she hadn’t.

  “When I was with Dino and he ordered me to do something, I… I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself.”

  Dino. The man’s name was Dino. Stupid name.

  “Being a Dominant is about more than just giving orders.”

  Christiana raised her lashes, looking at him again.

  “And being a submissive should be very safe, because there are certain rules that most people who practice adhere to. I’m not one for too many rules, but if you want to scene, as a sub, you should know the rules and demand they be followed.”

  “I made sure he knew my safe word, and I wouldn’t get naked.” She seemed defensive.

  The idea of Christiana naked for someone like this Dino had his back teeth aching once more.

  She was his. He’d claimed her the last time he was in this city, and her …circumstances… didn’t change that. This whole thing would be simpler if she was a member of the Orchid Club, but that wasn’t the case. Still, that didn’t mean he had to walk away.

  “I’d like to train you.”

  Christiana’s brows drew together. “Train me?”

  “Yes. If you want to be a submissive, you should be trained. I’ll teach you the rules so you can protect yourself, and so you’ll know what you want when it comes time to negotiate with others.”

  “You’ll train me… so I know how to be with other men.”

  No, damn it, he wanted her all to himself, but that wasn’t fair to her. He’d had an intuitive feeling that Christiana would be the sort of submissive who needed a collar and commitment—after all, that’s why he’d had the collar waiting in Luxembourg. Given the revelations of the past forty-eight hours he knew that he shouldn’t give her that. Any offer he made, even a “permanent” collar, would have an expiration date. Christiana would want, and deserve, better. Still, he’d asked her for honesty, and he’d give her the same.

  “What I said before still stands.” He stroked her hair. “I hate the idea of another man touching you, now more than ever. But I will train you, so you can keep yourself safe.”

  “You’ll have sex with me for my own good?” The joke was a bit forced, and he smiled quickly to show he understood she’d been teasing.

  “I’m a humanitarian.”

  “Billionaire humanitarian. Of course.”

  “Prince,” he said seriously. “Billionaire humanitarian prince.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a prince!”

  “Technically, I’m not, but you’re fun when you’re outraged.”

  “Humph.” She pressed her lips together as if holding something in and then started to smile.

  It was an enchanting expression, and James couldn’t help but smile in return. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Not at all, your highness.”

  “I’m not really a prince,” he whispered, as if it were a secret. “My mother is a cousin to the prince, not sibling.”

  “Of course not, your excellency.”

  “I think that’s for an emperor.”

  “My apologies, your grace. Wait, that’s for a duke. What is the proper address for the son of the cousin of a prince?” Her smile lit up her whole face.

  Silence settled over them, and it was a more relaxed silence than they’d had before. He checked his watch, then lifted the ice, returning the package of peas to the freezer. When he came back, Christiana was sitting up, reclined on one hip, the heel of her hand braced on the couch cushion beside her.

  James resumed his seat on the coffee table so he was across from her. “I realize you might think that you have to agree to this, due to the situation around your presence at the San Francisco event, but that’s not the case. I’ll take care of that, either way, including having one of my lawyers present to help walk you through whatever you may have to sign.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to refuse, since I know signing something I don’t understand is a terrible idea.”

  “It is. We’ll consider that point closed.”

  “On to the next agenda item?”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry, this is too much for you. Based on what you’ve said, you’ve had a long day and—”

  “Please don’t leave.”

  James had started to rise, but sank back down. There was something soft and vulnerable in her posture, but her gaze was unwavering. This was how she’d looked at him that first night—wary but interested.

  “What would training mean?”

  “You joked about sex, but there wouldn’t be any sex.”

  “No sex?”

  “No, many D/s relationships don’t have a sexual element.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re disappointed.”

  “Yes. I’m not sure… I’m not sure I like submitting without the sex part.”

  He inclined his head. “Understandable, and it is that way for some people, but I’d like to clarify. I didn’t say no orgasms, no touching, no pleasure. Just no penetrative sex, beyond oral.”

  “Oh.”

  “It would be like what we did at the club.”

  He worked hard to make sure he didn’t show how very disagreeable he found this bargain. He’d been looking forward to sliding inside her, but it wouldn’t be fair to her to include that level of intimacy in her training.

  “When?” she asked.

  “We’d start now. I’d like to spend two weeks training.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, two weeks?”

  “A fortnight, fourteen consecutive days, roughly half a month…”

  “Ha. Ha.” She rolled her eyes, but was smiling. “I have to work.”

  “Just reschedule your meetings.”

  “That’s… that’s not how jobs work. You show up, they pay you.”

  Oh. She was serious. “Could you take vacation?”

  “Maybe, but not two straight weeks with no notice.”

  James thought for a moment, considering his options. “Could you work half days?”

  “Partial vacation? I could probably do that for the first week, then take full vacation the week after.”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’m not sure… I’ll have to talk to my boss.”

  “Call him right now.”

  “I don’t have his number.”
<
br />   “What’s your boss’s name? I’ll get the number.”

  “What? How?”

  “The same way I found you.”

  “Yeah, we might need to talk about that…”

  “And we will.” Now that an agreement had been reached, he was itching to start. James pushed to his feet. “Are you able to handle another car ride?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a hotel.”

  “Oh, right, you’re not staying here.”

  Had he just insulted her? “I’m sorry, I assumed you’d prefer a hotel, but if you’d feel more comfortable here…”

  “No, a hotel would be better. Let me pack.” She started to slide off the couch, and he reached out to help her rise.

  They were squeezed together, in the space between the couch and coffee table. James rested his hands on her waist. “I need you to say it,” he told her softly. “I need to hear you say you want this.”

  Want me.

  She licked her lips, then wrapped one arm around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. He let her do it—he wasn’t training her right now. She tasted sweet and bitter, like the best chocolate.

  She ended the kiss, just as she’d started it. “Please,” she whispered, “train me to submit to you.”

  After the rollercoaster of emotions of the past month and, in particular, the last twenty-four hours, Christiana had expected to feel conflicted about leaving with James, but she didn’t. She was calm, almost content. He held the gym bag she’d packed as she locked her apartment door. He offered her his arm, and she took it. They didn’t talk, but that didn’t feel strange or uncomfortable. It was an easy silence.

  There was a black town car waiting at the curb. The driver took her bag and put it in the trunk while James opened the door for her. She slid in, not bothering to hide her wince. She’d changed into a long maxi dress that was her go-to summer outfit for those times she needed to look cute, but given the cool Bay Area temperatures, she’d layered a long black cardigan on top of the red-and-white floral-print dress. She was well aware that her outfit looked cheap in comparison to James’s shirt and slacks, but strangely, she didn’t care. Now that James knew the truth about her, she didn’t have to worry about looking like something she wasn’t.

  James climbed in the driver’s side rear door, his attention on her. “Sitting like that must be painful.”

  “It’s not too bad.”

  “I’m sorry they didn’t have a limo on short notice.”

  “I’m sure they are, too—I heard how much you offered them over the phone.”

  One brow went up. “Does that bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Honesty, please, Christiana.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. More like it… puzzles me.”

  “What part of it puzzles you?”

  “It’s such a waste of money.”

  “Isn’t the purpose of money to buy what you want?”

  She stared at him, working the inside of her cheek with her teeth for a moment. “We are very different people.”

  He stiffened. “You’re making an assumption.”

  “No, I formed a working theory based on the evidence at hand.”

  He blinked in surprise.

  “Don’t argue with a scientist,” she advised.

  “I thought you were an engineer?”

  “Engineering is a science. The most practical science. Well, maybe medicine is more practical.”

  He relaxed. “Do you enjoy it? Being an engineer?”

  “Sometimes. It’s hard.”

  “The work is difficult?”

  “The work is great. It’s the other stuff that can be hard.”

  “Other stuff?”

  “I’m the only woman in my department. Engineering is sort of a boys’ club. That can be difficult. It’s not so bad now, but at the beginning, the first couple of years, it was like every day I had to prove myself.”

  “Exhausting.”

  She nodded, glad he understood. She wasn’t sure he would. She doubted anyone had ever made him prove himself.

  “What about you?” she asked. “You know everything about me.”

  “I thought you knew everything about me. You did say you Googled me.”

  “Tell me something I didn’t find on Google.”

  He hummed, then said, “If you know about my mother, then you know my father died when I was young.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry—that must have been hard.”

  “It might have been, but I was raised by my au pair, not my parents.”

  “Not even your mom?”

  “No. Sorena, my au pair, was my parent, in every meaningful sense of the word. That’s something you couldn’t find on Google. The name of my real parent.”

  “So, do you spend holidays and stuff with her? With Sorena?”

  “Holidays?”

  “Christmas, Easter… oh. Those are Christian holidays. I shouldn’t assume.”

  “I’m not religious, though at boarding school in England, we celebrated both. When I visit my mother’s family, we observe the Muslim holidays.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  Christiana tried to imagine her mother’s reaction if she acted that nonchalant about a religious holiday. She could practically feel the chancla smacking her just from the thought.

  They continued to chat as they crossed the bay, returning to San Francisco. After twenty minutes in traffic they pulled up outside a small Victorian. She peered out the window. “This is a hotel?”

  “As close as I could manage on short notice. The place I normally stay was booked. This is an executive lease property.”

  “We’re in Pacific Heights,” she all but stammered.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Did you know that if Pacific Heights had its own zip code, it would be the most expensive place to live in the country?”

  “I was not aware of that.” James got out of the car and came around to her door, opening it and holding out his hand. For a moment she experienced déjà vu. Dino had done the same thing. Christiana put her hand in James’s. His hand was cool and smooth. She gripped his fingers, stepping out onto the sidewalk. The driver took her cheap duffle and handed it to James.

  They were standing on the sidewalk in front of the lovely house, painted a pale blue, that sat on the corner of two quiet streets. Like any good Bay Area resident, Christiana knew a fair amount about architecture. This house, which was large enough that it was probably classified as a mansion per the standards of the time it was built, was a standalone building, and unique because of that. It had both Queen Anne and Beaux Arts features, and the paint looked new, each detail carefully highlighted by the trim colors of white, gray, and a medium blue.

  “What’s an executive lease property?” she asked

  “Someplace for business executives to stay when they don’t want to stay in a hotel.”

  “I guess that makes sense if you travel a lot and get tired of hotel beds.”

  “And for people who cook, having access to a kitchen is important.” He gestured for her to precede him up the steps to the sapphire front door.

  Christiana started up. “Do you cook?”

  “No, that’s not one of my skills. Do you?”

  “Nothing fancy. At least not on a daily basis.”

  The only thing marring the pristine antique look of the door was a keypad lock. James took his phone from his pocket, checked something and then tapped in a long code. The door clicked. He pressed the lever, then pushed it open.

  “I’ve stayed here before.” James followed her in, closing the door behind him. “On an occasion when I needed a place to host a business dinner and wanted more privacy than a restaurant or hotel offered. It’s a nice facility, and there’s cleaning and room service handled by the Hotel Drisco down the street.”

  Christiana stopped listening to him. She was busy gawking at the interior. The foyer had lovely high ceilings, and directly across from the door was a be
autiful wood staircase that gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. To the right was a small circular room with curved glass windows that looked out onto the quiet intersection. The deep built-in seating that ringed the room, just under the windows, made her want to curl up with a book and stay all day.

  She’d get the book from the small wood-paneled library on the opposite side of the foyer. Hallways flanked the stairs, leading farther back into the house. She trailed her fingers over the carved pineapple post on the stair rail. It felt glossy and cool under her fingers.

  “Christiana?”

  “This is beautiful. Wonderful. I wish I had my camera.”

  “Ah, then you are the artist.”

  That made her turn. “Artist?”

  “Who took those pictures hanging on the wall in your flat. Apartment,” he corrected himself.

  “Those aren’t art. They’re just my… weird hobby.”

  “I would argue that they are art.”

  Her face felt hot, and she turned away from him, wandering into the circular room. She looked out the windows. Because the house was on the corner, and due to Pacific Heights’s elevation, there were nearly panoramic views of the Marina District, and even a glimpse of the Golden Gate.

  She felt rather than heard James come up behind her.

  His hands settled on her shoulders, gathering the edges of her sweater in his fingers until he held bunched fistfuls of knit fabric. He pulled it down and off, leaving her standing there in her thin-strapped sundress. She wasn’t wearing a bra. The only thing she had on under the dress was the same small black thong she’d worn earlier.

  “It’s time to talk,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Talk?”

  He slid one strap off her shoulder. “About your training.”

  “O-okay.”

  He slid the other strap off. The dress clung to her breasts and she tried not to breathe.

  James walked his fingers along the top of her shoulder, then down the front of her chest to the edge of the dress. He flicked his fingers and the fabric gave up its tenuous hold, sliding off her breasts and pooling on the floor.

  Christiana slapped her palms over her breasts. “I’m standing near a window! Someone will see.”

  “First lesson. You have to trust me.”

  “But there could be kids walking by or something and—”