by Andra Lake
I frowned. That sounded a lot like a complicated way of saying he was into pain.
“Can I take your order?” The server asked, a young man that looked barely out of puberty. He seemed so normal, standing there holding his notepad and smiling at me expectantly, that I wanted to hug him.
I hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu, but Dallon stepped in, ordering for both of us. “We’ll start with the clam chowder and then the lobster tails.”
“They have amazing chowder here,” he then said to me.
I pursed my lips as the server walked away. We had more important issues.
Dallon made a gesture to smooth his non-existent tie, a habit from days of wearing suits, and cleared his throat. “Though you have some sexual experience, Amy, I can say with certainty that you are still very innocent.”
Okay, so he was annoyed I’d accused him of being a sadist. I sat back and crossed my arms. “Then enlighten me.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Right now. In a restaurant full of people.”
I nodded, arms still crossed.
“Oh, Amy—a lesson like this can only truly be learned in the privacy of one’s own home. It requires a demonstration.”
I glared at him. “You don’t need to demonstrate anything. I saw the pictures.”
Dallon’s eyes flicked to my full glass of wine. “You’re getting braver.”
I ignored him. “You claim you don’t enjoy inflicting pain, yet you enjoyed spanking me.”
He smirked. “In that case, I enjoyed proving to you that I was right. The opposite could be said about you: that you’re a masochist because you enjoyed a spanking. I don’t believe that.”
“I guess that’s true,” I relented.
“For the most part, I enjoy delivering a spanking when it feels like it is deserved. It serves a purpose in that it gives me a feeling of power. It is not intended to be cruel.”
“Okay, so you’re not into whipping people,” I said to clarify.
“No. As I said, I’m not into pain. Spanking is as far as I’ll go.”
I took a sip of my wine while I considered this. “And what about tying up those women?”
Dallon sighed again. “I dislike labels, but if you must label me as something, I suppose you could call me a Dominant. As you know, I enjoy being in control. Bondage is a means of helping me achieve it.”
“Because the girl can’t do anything to stop you,” I said, trying to make him uncomfortable.
He studied me for a moment. “I think you’re trying to convince yourself that I’m a bad guy, Miss Clair. And here I thought we’d come so far.”
“Two chowders,” the server announced, interrupting our stare down. He placed the steaming bowls in front of us before asking if we wanted any ground pepper. Dallon allowed me to decline before accepting. When the server had left us alone again, I tried a spoonful of soup. It was delicious.
“See?” Dallon smiled. “You should trust me. Relationships are built on trust.”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I’d stated eating. I supposed I’d worked up an appetite at the gym. I continued to eat my soup, aware of Dallon’s eyes on me. I glanced up and our eyes met, and I saw him focus on my lips as I slowly pulled the spoon from my mouth.
“I could watch you eat and feel fully satiated,” he said softly, his own soup untouched.
I flushed, embarrassed by both his words and his meaning. Memories of the night before flashed through my mind.
“While we’re on this subject, though, have you ever considered that the women I photographed actually enjoyed themselves?”
I almost snorted. “I doubt that.”
He picked up his glass of wine, rotating it slowly while he studied me. “Do you still deny that you enjoyed being spanked?”
I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth.
“Well?”
“No,” I said, placing my full spoon back into my soup. “But I think that some of them might have self-esteem issues.”
Dallon groaned. “See this is what I hate: people being afraid to admit what they like because it means there must be something wrong with them.”
“I meant some of them could have pretended for your benefit.”
Dallon cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think I’m worth that.”
“You might be,” I said to my soup.
He leaned forward and touched my arm. “And you’re worth more than that. Amy, tell me what you’re thinking. Enough dancing around it; you know what you want to know.”
I took a deep breath, held it. What I really wanted to know was why he was the way he was. I could only imagine what my feministic mother would say about him. Misogynist would be on the list.
“I want you to explain what exactly it is that you want. You said you know what you want with me and you’re afraid I’ll run. Why? You said you want me to submit to you. How? You said I’m different than the other women, yet you want the same things from me.”
Dallon made a low whistle. “Okay, there are a few things to touch on there, but I’ll start with the last one. I want something very different from you. I was involved with those women for short periods of time. We didn’t have time to develop any kind of relationship. As I told you, it was unfulfilling. As for submitting to me, I do not receive sexual gratification from a woman’s pain, but when she surrenders control to me. In turn, I aim to satisfy all her desires.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, eating our soup. When he was finished, he carefully placed his spoon on the plate under his bowl and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers again.
“The benefit of an arrangement like this for someone like me is that it fulfills my greatest need: the control I so desperately crave. The benefit for you would be the relief you’ll feel when you give yourself to me. Do you remember how it felt to be a child and know that you are protected and safe?”
I nodded.
“In the same way, you would trust me to make decisions and would no longer have to worry. That’s why people enjoy the flip role—it’s a huge weight off their shoulders.”
That did sound tempting, especially since it felt like all I’d been doing since graduation was worry.
He pushed my glass of wine toward me with long fingers.
“Trying to get me drunk again?” I was only half-teasing. I took a sip.
He sighed. “You tend to over- analyze everything, Amy. Life isn’t something you can categorize and easily fit into a box. Like I said, I dislike labels immensely, and your sexual desires can’t be explained. They are what they are.”
“And you think that you know mine.”
“I know that I know yours. I’ve known since the day we met.”
I took another sip of my wine and closed my eyes. I was suddenly tired—tired of trying to deny my feelings for him and the way he made me feel. He was right. We’d both known it since the photo session. It was what drew us to each other.
The server returned to clear our plates and gave us each a warm cup of butter, heated with a tea light candle. Another server, a petite female, appeared carrying our lobster tails and placed them in front of us with a flourish before asking if we’d like more wine.
“Please,” Dallon responded with a wink.
I frowned as I picked up my cutlery, digging into my meal. Again, Dallon was correct; it was amazing. Everything about the restaurant was amazing, from the view of the water to the flickering candles on white tablecloths.
“So what made you interested in that… lifestyle?” I asked carefully.
He smiled before placing a small piece of lobster into his mouth. “Back on the subject, I see.”
I took a gulp of my wine. “I know what you want—I just want to know why it’s what you want.”
Dallon cut a piece of broccoli in half, his arms against his sides in a sophisticated display of table manners.
“I don’t think there is any reason for it, Amy. If there was, then we could naturally assume t
here is a cure, like therapy. I’m not angry or hateful of women, far from it—I just like the feeling that someone might need me.”
Worded like that, it didn’t sound all that bad. “Your need for control might have come from somewhere,” I pointed out, stopping myself from going one step further and citing my Introduction to Psychology class.
“You are a tenacious one, Miss Clair, and I can see how you might have once considered law,” he smiled, but it was his sad smile. “If you are correct and there is some underlying reason, for my need for control, perhaps it is as simple as the fact that my mother left my father and me.”
He took a sip of his wine and glanced away for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue.
“She didn’t just leave us once. The first time was a few months after I was born. She’d never wanted a child and I was holding her back from doing the things she wanted to do, like travel. I can’t even remember all the places my father said she went—mostly Europe. He was left with a baby and a job. She’d come back, claiming to miss him, but in the end she’d always leave again.” He laughed bitterly. “When I was young, I wondered if it was me that made her leave. She came back for him and left because of me.”
My throat constricted at this words and I reached out to put a hand on his arm. “It wasn’t you, it was her. She was…”
“Selfish? Undoubtedly. I saw my friends’ families and they weren’t perfect either. Many were divorced. But those few that were still intact really stuck with me. I was jealous of every boy whose mother dropped him off at school and kissed him goodbye. I became a bully, picking on those kids and calling them a Momma’s Boy or other shit boys say. I was a complete ass and I do regret that. Looking back, I know it had nothing to do with me, but at the time I wondered what it was about me—was I defective?”
“No!” I exclaimed loudly and then repeated again quietly. “No. You were a kid.”
He moved his arm, a gesture that he did not want my pity, and then shrugged. “My father was absent, so I basically raised myself and learned how to be independent at an early age. I made it my aim to make something of myself so that I would never have to feel that way again.”
I nodded. “So you think you might control women so that they don’t leave you?”
Dallon laughed. “I’ve never wanted a woman to stay before, Amy, so I have no idea. I just thought I’d give you something to work with, seeing as you’re so intent on figuring me out.” He leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands. “What about you? Do you have any dark secrets from your past?”
I glanced away. “I think we’ve all felt different than other people at some point in our lives. I had a very good upbringing: loving parents and enough money that we were comfortable.” I bit my lip before continuing. “I think my biggest complaint about my parents would be that they were… controlling.”
Dallon laughed loudly. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? I’m controlling, and you like to resist being controlled. What fun we’ll have.”
He took a sip of his drink, his eyes twinkling above the rim.
Chapter Eighteen
After a long lunch, I turned down Dallon’s suggestion that we go to The Met or take a stroll in Central Park. Our conversation and earlier workout had taken a lot out of me. I needed time alone to clear my mind after the whirlwind week we’d had, and I didn’t think clearly around Dallon King.
He took my hand as we exited the restaurant and walked to the car. It was the first time we’d held hands as a couple and the contact caused the hairs on my arms to stand on end, the pull between us so strong that I knew he must feel it too. No matter how much time I had alone to think, or how afraid of Dallon I tried to make myself, I was always going to be affected by him like I’d never been affected by anyone else. I was in deep and I knew it.
“I’d really like to go home and take a long bath,” I confessed as he opened the passenger door for me to climb in.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he said, grinning wickedly.
I shifted uncomfortably. “I was hoping to read a book.”
Disappointment flashed across his features. “Very well.” He closed the door and I smoothed my skirt nervously as he made his way to the driver’s side.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, the car phone rang, the name Brendan appearing on the screen. I assumed it must be a work call until I heard Brendan speak.
“Hey buddy,” Dallon said. “Are we still shooting hoops tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” came the reply, in a voice that was trying to appear nonchalant but could barely contain its excitement. The voice of a teenaged boy.
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the park at 6. Bring it.”
Brendan laughed. “Yeah, man. See ya.”
Dallon pressed the button on the wheel again and the call ended. He continued to drive, flipping through Sirius stations so quickly, I didn’t know how he could tell what had been playing.
“Who was that?” I asked eventually. Did Dallon have a younger brother or a sibling with kids? I’d always assumed he was an only child like me.
“That was Brendan.”
I rolled my eyes. “I got that much. Who is Brendan?”
He frowned at my tone. “I’m like a big brother to him, but it’s not through an organization or anything.”
I waited for him to expand, but he didn’t. I was about to ask how they’d met when my own phone began to vibrate in my purse. I pulled it out, noting that it was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Amy Clair speaking.”
“Hi Amy,” a friendly female voice greeted me. “My name is Becky Platt. I’m calling from J. Houston Oilfield Services in regards to the Administrative Assistant position you applied for.”
“Oh, yes, how are you?” I pointed at my phone and grinned at Dallon, who gave me a thumbs-up.
Becky laughed kindly. “Great, thanks. We were wondering if you would be available to come in tomorrow for an interview.”
“Definitely!”
“Would 2 p.m. work for you?
“Yes, that works,” I said, trying to contain my excitement.
“Perfect. I’ll email you with more information, but you will be meeting with myself and Ren Helding, Chief Operating Officer. In the email I will also provide the address.”
“Thanks, and see you tomorrow!” I hung up and turned to Dallon, now grinning like an idiot. “I got an interview!”
When we got home, Dallon insisted that I take a bath in his bathroom. “I have a Jacuzzi tub. I’ll run it for you while you call your mom.”
I shook my head. “No way. She’ll get too excited. Better to wait until I have a job in hand.”
He laughed. “All right, well grab your book then.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and I heard water running. I quickly texted Sam about my interview and then practically skipped to my room, changed into my robe and grabbed my book, and then skipped back into Dallon’s bathroom.
The tub was already half-full with large, vanilla scented bubbles. He was in the midst of lighting a large candle at the side of the tub and glanced up, the light dancing across his features. The sight took my breath away for a moment, and I paused in the doorjamb uncertainly.
Dallon put the match to his lips and blew.
“Thanks,” I said, gesturing at the bath.
He smiled and sauntered toward me slowly. With deft fingers, he undid my robe, letting it fall to the floor. I instinctively moved to cover myself, but his eyes hardened. He gently took a hold of my chin and tilted my face to look up at his.
“I love your body. Don’t hide from me.”
I kept my eyes locked on his, grateful that he wasn’t looking down.
After a moment, he sighed resignedly. “You want to get into the bath, don’t you?”
I nodded and he released me. Gratefully, I sunk into the bubbles, the warmth enveloping me. Dallon perched on the side of the tub.
“It amazes me you thought you could be a model with s
uch insecurity about your body.”
“I know.” I shook my head, smiling. “I just really needed a job, and I thought I could overcome it.”
“You still can,” he said, dipping a washcloth into the water before rubbing it over my back in slow, relaxing circles. “I’ll help you.”
I laughed. “Of course you will.”
He grinned back at me, moving the washcloth over my shoulders and onto my chest. I leaned back in the tub and tried to look comfortable with it. My fingers were knotted on my stomach and I released them, letting them float to the sides of my body.
Dallon frowned and wrung out the washcloth, hung it on the bath faucet. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, pausing as if trying to decide how to proceed.
“Seeing as today has been all about getting to know each other, why don’t we talk about you for a bit. Growing up you must have had tons of young men telling you you’re beautiful.”
I sat up and drew my legs to my chest. “Not really, actually. I was always kind of gawky and nerdy. I had braces and glasses most of my life and was super skinny. It wasn’t until University that guys actually asked me out.”
“And by then you already believed you weren’t.”
I shrugged, trying to catch a bubble that floated past. “I guess so.”
“I think there’s more to it.”
I lifted my head. Now who was the one being tenacious?
“When I was in University, I started drinking beer and eating bad food, partially because I was living in residence and that’s what we all did, and partially because I actually wanted to have breasts. It backfired, though—my boyfriend commented on my weight gain. I guess I’ve never felt like my body was good enough.”
“This boyfriend…”
“Michael.”
“Michael. How long did you date for?”
I continued to play with the bubbles as I responded. “Too long. I met him in first year and just recently broke it off with him. I used to think he loved me, but now I don’t think he even cared about me.” I took a deep breath. “I walked in on him cheating on me.”