Slow Surrender

by Cecilia Tan

  “Yes, definitely,” I said, lots of questions fluttering up in my mind, about Mandinka, Stefan, money, and nicknames. “Why did you leave the envelope made out to ‘Ashley’ instead of ‘Karina’? Even Mandinka had ‘Ashley’ in her appointment book.”

  His other hand joined the first, kneading and massaging my leg. “I wasn’t sure if you would want your real name being used.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “In case you were embarrassed about something, or changed your mind, or some other privacy concern came up,” he said, very nonchalant. “You never know. Maybe you have a cousin I don’t know about who works at that store, and if she saw your name you’d have to answer a lot of nosy questions. Using a name that only you and I know protects you from anything like that. It makes it your choice whether to tell people or not.”

  “You did it to protect me.” I suddenly wondered what name he had made the reservation at the restaurant in. Did he use an alias for that? He must have.

  “Yes. Now tell me about this dress you bought. I admit I wasn’t expecting that.” He moved his hands to my wrist, massaging it gently where the ropes had been.

  “What were you expecting? Wasn’t the whole point that you’d find out what I picked?”

  He chuckled. “True. You’re right.”

  “And you said in the note to get something I wouldn’t usually buy for myself.”

  “But you like the dress? You didn’t buy it because you thought I would like it?”

  I raised my head to look at his face. “I don’t know what came over me. I just fell in love as soon as I saw it.”

  He smiled. “Good. I was going to ask why you picked it, but it sounds like you didn’t think it over very much.”

  I rested my head again as he switched to my other wrist. “No, I didn’t think at all. Though thinking about it now, I guess I kind of had Cinderella on my mind.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. My roommate was telling me the horror story of her high school prom, plus I told you my fantasy, and talking about that painting, which keeps coming up.” Even after I’d bought the dress. “Hmm, I just thought of something—there’s a bit about anonymity and names in Cinderella, too. In the story, she knows who the prince is, but he doesn’t know who she is.”

  “Yet he falls for her anyway,” James said, lifting my hand to his mouth and kissing the underside of my wrist. “The version of the story I know is it’s something like her pureness of heart that captivates him.”

  “Well, of course, she wasn’t part of his world of royalty, which you figure was all politics and the backbiting of the court, right? It was the kind of place where the wicked stepmother would cut off her own daughters’ feet for a chance at it. And she came from outside all that.”

  “You have a point,” he said. I hadn’t been intending it as a big metaphor for him and me, but, well, I was the one from outside his world. He drew a deep breath and said, “Let me ask you something.”

  My ears pricked up at that. Anyone else saying it wouldn’t have caught my attention so much, but as I was learning, he took issues of permission and boundaries quite seriously. “What is it?”

  “Would you say you have an exhibitionist streak?”

  “Come up here if you’re going to ask me questions like that.” I have no idea where I got the guts to be that sassy. When a man tells you you’re gorgeous and looks at you all misty-eyed, though, it’s probably a help.

  “All right.” He shifted to sit closer to the headboard, where he could comb the hair back from my face with his fingertips. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  He grinned as his hand slid behind my neck and gripped not forcefully but firmly. “Would you say you have an exhibitionist streak?”

  “If you asked me that a few weeks ago, I would have said no. Now I’m not so sure.”

  His thumb caressed the soft spot under my ear as he listened. In the dim light, his eyes looked dark amber.

  “There’s something very exciting about the possibility of being seen. Or heard. Doesn’t everyone feel that way?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And then there’s being seen, but people not knowing what they’re seeing.” Like in the restaurant. “When people say exhibitionism, don’t they usually mean being seen?”

  He bent a little closer. “How would you feel about that? Actually being seen?”

  I felt a thrill run through me, and the spot between my legs began to warm, even though I was spent. “It might depend,” I said. “I wouldn’t want people on the street to recognize me, you know?”

  He nodded slowly. “You wouldn’t want someone who saw you exhibit yourself to walk into the bar and leer at you when you were at work, for example.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, imagine this, exhibiting your body but not your face.”

  “It might depend on who was doing the looking but…well, if there’s really no chance of anyone seeing my face, then maybe it doesn’t depend on who’s looking.” I caught hold of his hand with mine suddenly. “You’d be there, right?”

  “Of course.” He touched his forehead to mine lovingly. “You’re leaping ahead a bit, but I would never put you on display without watching you carefully. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss a moment.”

  “Then the answer to your question is yes, I have developed an exhibitionist streak, but only for you. I have no interest in doing it for the general thrill.” I turned one finger in a sarcastic “whoop whoop” gesture.

  He kissed the spot where our foreheads had touched. “You’re excellent. And I’m a mess. I’m going to get in the shower.”

  He drew away as if to leave me lying there, but I kept hold of his hand. “Am I excellent enough to, um…to…”

  There was that eyebrow again, exhorting me to finish my damn sentence.

  “To wash you the way you washed me?” I finished with a slight squeak.

  He took my other hand and pulled me to my feet, coils of loose ropes pooling around my ankles. “Yes,” he said simply. He fastened the pearls around my neck, the long strand hanging low between my breasts, and led me into the bathroom.

  The bathroom attached to the suite wasn’t huge, but it was lavish, with marble everywhere. The shower was a large, glassed-in stall with ample room for two.

  I faced him, standing on the soft, thick bath mat, and had an idea. I put my hands at the button of his jeans. “If the king would allow this beggar maid?” I said as I sank to my knees.

  His voice came out a bit breathless. “Of course.”

  I wasn’t quite as deft at getting his fly open as I would have liked, but it was good enough. As I eased his jeans off his sharp hips, I could see the tremendous wet spot in his shorts. He wore dark blue briefs, somewhat silky. I lowered the briefs to his ankles, keeping my eyes down as I helped him step out of his clothes. His feet were more slender than I expected, and on a whim I bent down and kissed them.

  His breath caught. I kissed one, planting a short line of kisses from his toes toward his ankle, and then went down the other instep from ankle to toes.

  I raised my head slowly then, letting my eyes travel up his legs to his…and then my breath caught. He was rampant, his cock jutting out from his pubic hair. Having his feet kissed aroused him that much? I looked up at him as I pressed one almost-chaste peck on the tip of it and saw that he was biting his lip.

  “Stay here,” I said, and went to the sink to soak a washcloth with warm water. I watched him in the mirror as I did, and he watched me the same way.

  When I returned to kneel at his feet again, he was no longer chewing his lip, but his eyes were dark with lust.

  I bent to my task, sopping and wiping the come from his pubic hair and gently washing his balls before turning my attention to the shaft. I got a second cloth to do the shaft and head.

  His entire body was long and muscled like a dancer’s, matching the impressive length of his cock, every inch of him sculpted and firm. I squeezed the washcloth, d
ribbling warm water over the shaft, then set to trying to scrub it gently. I worried I was being too rough, but every time I glanced up, he was looking down intently.

  Until the time I looked up and saw he had closed his eyes. He reached out a hand and steadied himself against the tiled wall. I took that as a sign to keep going.

  You’ve heard that expression “to have someone by the short and curlies”? I’d always pictured it as one person having grabbed a fistful. But now I wondered. I was the one on my knees. I was the one who had been tied up. He was the one in charge.

  Yet right now, I had him, literally, by the short and curlies. He was clean now, and my attentions continued for the sheer pleasure of it. I loved seeing him so captured.

  I had a feeling that if I sucked him into my mouth right now, I might get him to give in. And then I thought about what Stefan had said and wondered if that was what I actually wanted. Would that be the final move? I wasn’t ready for this game to end.

  I patted him dry with a towel and kissed his balls the way he had kissed me when he’d untied me. Then I sat back on my heels. “I hope the king is pleased with his maid.”

  His eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath, but didn’t seem ready to speak.

  I decided I had to let him make the next move, if there was going to be one. That was how this dance went, how this game was played. “Is there anything else I can do for…” What were the right words? Your Majesty? Your Highness? It turned out I couldn’t say either with a straight face and I had to try to hide a laugh, which of course failed completely and made him laugh, too.

  He pulled me up into a kiss, chuckling against my mouth. “Ha, Your Majesty.” He released me with a light swat upon my shoulder. “Isn’t it about time for your check-in?”

  “Is it?”

  “I think so. And I have another appointment.”

  “On a Saturday night?” I squeaked out before I realized I sounded jealous.

  “I assure you, sweetness, it will be a far more tiresome meeting than ours was.” He pulled me close again and planted a kiss on the top of my hair. “Now, enough. Go tell your friend all is well.”

  As I went back into the bedroom, I heard the sound of the shower turning on.

  I found my old phone and sure enough, it was almost eight-thirty. I called Becky.

  “Wow, you were serious about calling me,” she said. I could hear music in the background, one of the Lord Lightning songs she played often.

  “Are you at home?”

  “Yeah. How was it?”

  “Awesome. Oh my God, I really mean that.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And now he’s in the shower and I guess I’m about to head back downtown.”

  “Well, good, then you can tell me all about it when you get home.”

  “What’s to tell?”

  “You just said it was awesome! Are you really going to leave me hanging with no details at all? Rina, that’s so unfair.”

  “Well, you know, the details are kind of intimate.”

  She made an exasperated noise. “Seriously, Karina, how am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you won’t give me the details?”

  That made me laugh, but then I said, “Wait. Are you joking or serious?”

  “Both. See you at home.”

  She was crazy, but I was really starting to like her as a friend, not just a roommate.

  I looked up to see him toweling his hair in the doorway of the bathroom. He was wearing a bathrobe with the hotel’s crest embroidered on it.

  “That was quick,” I said.

  “Years of practice. I might be close to the Guinness World Record for fastest shower, in fact,” he joked. He hung the towel over his neck and gestured toward the shower. “Your turn?”

  “Probably a good idea.” I went up to him and ran my hands up and down the softness of the luxurious robe covering his chest. “You’ll be gone by the time I get out, won’t you,” I said, making my guess a statement, not a question.

  “You’re learning my ways,” he said, and pressed a kiss to my head. “Feel free to order room service if you’re hungry.”

  “I doubt I will. No matter how good the food is, it’s not much fun to eat alone.”

  “Well, the offer is there, in case you get hungry. Oh, and here’s the number to summon Stefan to take you back downtown.” He moved past me and picked up his phone, which was the twin of the one he had given me. A few moments later I heard it chime.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Stefan won’t be busy with you?”

  “He’ll be available shortly.” He pulled open the closet door and I saw he had a clean shirt and a suit hanging there.

  I turned to go into the bathroom, but he stopped me with my name.

  “Karina. One more thing. What are you doing Friday?”

  “Nothing right now, why?”

  “There is…a private gallery show. Modern art. Your presence would enliven things considerably.”

  “Well, then I would be honored to accompany you, Your Grace.” I made an exaggerated bow.

  He covered his eyes as he laughed. “I think Your Grace is for clergy, my sweet, the way Your Honor is for judges.”

  “Great,” I said. “I can pretend you’re the Pope.” I ducked into the bathroom then, laughing, as he threw the towel at me.

  I got into the shower. There was a small array of bath products on a glass shelf. At first I thought they were the hotel’s, but some of them were unlabeled bottles. Here was another mystery about him. He clearly lived in the city somewhere, but he didn’t live here. Then why was he in this room? It wasn’t only to have sex with me, I didn’t think. The meeting with Reginald Martindale? Who else was he hiding his identity from?

  A sudden idea struck me. What if he was some kind of royalty? He was obviously well off and had a chauffeur bodyguard with a kind of fanatical loyalty about him.

  I opened one of the bottles and sniffed it, then felt a sudden rush of desire. Yes, that was how his skin smelled. The only thing missing was the masculine musk that was uniquely his. I washed with it, which meant when I got out of the shower my skin was still steaming with that gorgeous scent. Friday? That was almost a whole week to go without seeing him.

  After I dried off my body and the pearls and combed my hair, I snooped around the room a bit. There wasn’t much to find. An extra pair of socks sat in one drawer. He really was here for only one night, it seemed.

  As I left the room, I noticed one thing out of place. The glass sculpture that had sat on the table where we’d shared the wine with Martindale was gone.

  I pondered that and other mysteries—like how much trouble our discussion of exhibitionism was going to get me in, and when I was going to get a chance to wear the ball gown—while I waited just inside the front entrance for Stefan to pick me up. I could feel the string of pearls next to my skin under my shirt. He hadn’t said so, but I had to assume they were a gift, too. Certainly I couldn’t imagine another woman wearing them after what we’d done with them. And he’d fastened the necklace on me. That seemed definitive.

  When the car came, the bellman held an umbrella over my head, opened the rear passenger door, and then closed it behind me. Stefan was completely silent as he drove down the side street, though the window separating us was open.

  I leaned forward. “Can I move up front?”

  He seemed startled at the sound of my voice. “Oh, do you want to? I’m sorry. I apologize for my behavior earlier. I was terribly rude to you.”

  “Stefan, seriously, you don’t have to be all manners and politeness. You’re not my driver.”

  We stopped at a red light and he turned to look at me. “I don’t know what to think of you,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What you are to me depends on what you are to him,” he said. “Are you more like me? Or are you more like him?”

  I’m the beggar maid who is being exalted, I realized. No wonder it’s confusing. “I don’t know,�
� I said. “I think we’re still figuring that out.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “In that case, just to be on the safe side, I should probably treat you like a princess.”

  “I’d rather you treated me like a friend, though.”

  “Ha! All right.” He looked behind us. There was no one. Even though the light turned green, he said, “Then get your ass up here.”

  I hopped out into the rain and jumped into the front seat.

  “Just don’t tell the boss,” he said as he turned the limo onto the avenue.

  * * *

  Stefan dropped me off in front of my apartment and waited until I had gone inside to pull away. Becky was in the shower. I laid out the dress on the futon couch and put the tiara on, then sat down next to it to play with my new phone. It only occurred to me as I set up my e-mail that although he had given me the phone, he hadn’t said a word about who was paying for the monthly charges. Part of me wanted to keep it as a special phone that was only for us. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that wasn’t merely a romantic notion. I didn’t want to give my mother or my sister the number.

  An ear-piercing squeal made me forget the phone for a moment. Becky stood in the door to the bathroom looking at the dress, her hair still soaking wet and coming loose from the towel she had wrapped around her head

  “Oh my goodness, it’s so beautiful!” She was practically jumping up and down from excitement. “Did he buy you this? I thought you said you were doing some kind of bondage scene!”

  “That was later,” I said. “This was what was in the mystery package.” I held up the phone. “I went on a treasure hunt today. One of the places I went to was a clothing shop where he left a gift certificate for me.”

  “Oh, wow.” She sat down carefully on the edge of the couch, coiling the towel again so that it would stay on her head. She had on a short bathrobe. “I think when most guys buy clothes for the girls they’re sleeping with, it’s usually lingerie and stuff.”

  “I think he wanted me to pick something as a way of learning about me,” I said. “Also, by doing it this way he wouldn’t have picked the wrong thing or the wrong size. Besides, I had fun shopping and texting him pictures from the dressing room.”