Played

by Tasha Fawkes

  Fifteen

  Daniel

  I sit at the kitchen table across from my mom, asking myself for the tenth time since I arrived what the hell I’m doing here. All I can think of is Ashley and the fun we had down in my playroom. I can't get her out of my mind, and I can't figure out why. Yes, she’s different and yes she’s fresh, and I do enjoy being her teacher, her Dom, but it’s more than that. This relationship between us is turning out to be more than just sex and that's what confuses the hell out of me.

  I’ve never had this happen to me before. I've never got to the point where I felt personally connected to my subs. Is it because I knew Ashley from work before we developed this relationship, or is it because of her? Ashley. No pretenses with her. No fake persona. No trying to impress me because of who I am. No, Ashley is just Ashley. I’ve watched her interactions with others in the most innocuous of places; smiling to someone crossing the street in front of the car, the genuine kindness and skill with which she counsels our authors, the way she speaks to clients or peers in person or on the phone. She’s nice. She doesn't look down her nose at those less fortunate.

  "Are you listening to me, dear?"

  I glance at my mom, watching me with an odd expression, her head slightly tilted to the side. "I'm sorry, my mind wandered."

  "Your mind has been wondering quite a bit frequently," she says, frowning. "Are you concerned that your wedding date is fast approaching?"

  Karen. I'd been to a New Year’s Eve party with her the night before. I’m not much for New Year's Eve partying, more preferring to stay at home. It isn’t that I mind the social interactions, but to me, people make a way bigger deal over the new year than I think necessary. It’s just another holiday, right? All this crap about new beginnings, new dreams, new resolutions. Most of them recycle from the year before. It’s foolishness. It’s a day just like any other, just marked differently on a calendar.

  "No, Mother, I'm not."

  "Then what is it? What has you so distracted? Is there something going on at your publishing house?"

  "No, everything is fine there, actually. Everything is perfect." That isn't a lie. All is good in the world of Pen & Quill. And with one of my new favorite employees. I almost smile.

  "Then what's going on? What's the matter with you? You seem so distant lately. More distant than usual."

  I smile then. I can imagine what she would say if she knew what really has me distracted lately. And I know where she’s heading with her line of inquiry. Karen wanted me to spend the night with her last night after the party; wanted to ring in the New Year with a romp in bed, but I couldn't do it. I demurred, blaming it on having had too much to drink, coupled with a headache and an upset stomach. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say because then she'd wanted to nurse me back to health.

  Karen is beautiful. She’s a catch by any man's standards. But I can't help comparing her to Ashley. I’ve told myself to stop it, that doing so is pointless, but there it is.

  "Daniel, talk to me. What's gotten over you this past week? You're just not acting like yourself."

  Acting like myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can act like myself, at least with Ashley. No pressure. No pretending. When I’m with Ashley, I’m not a billionaire. I’m not the CEO of a huge company, nor even the owner and managing editor of a publishing company. I’m her Dom. We’re sex partners. I’m her mentor, introducing her into a world that I have a feeling she’s wondered about for quite a while. Her manuscript is proof.

  We’ve enjoyed two visits to my basement playroom since that first time. She’s a natural. She didn't try to overplay her role, as some other subs did. She didn't exaggerate. She didn't act like she was an actress performing for the camera. Her little gasps of surprise delighted me, so much more than the fake screams and desperate pleading of Crystal or another one of my subs. She obeyed but at the same time, and for the first time, I also wanted to make sure that she gained just as much pleasure from the experience as I did. Another first.

  "Daniel, you're doing it again!"

  I look at mother, staring at me, her fingers lightly clasping her silver-plated fork, poised over spinach quiche. I notice the untouched glass of orange juice in front of her; the tablecloth white and spotless, her posture perfect, her earrings and bracelets matching the highlights in her gray cashmere sweater with its oriental style and gold-embossed collar and cuffs. Everything about her perfect. No hair out of place. Makeup exquisitely applied. She doesn't go around like one of those older women with powdered faces that don't match the color tone of their neck. No, not my mother. She always makes sure that she’s presentable. Perfect.

  Though Karen takes great care in her appearance, and spends hours on it, she doesn't have quite the same sense of style that my mother has. She works too hard at it. And Ashley? I barely hold back a smile. She’s a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, which is actually quite refreshing. And she doesn't care, which makes her confidence even more appealing.

  "Daniel, you tell me right now what's going on," she orders.

  A spot of color appears on her cheeks beneath the pinker shade of her blush. She lowers her voice and inhales, calming herself. Order restored.

  "You had better not spoil this, Daniel. You need to put your priorities in order. Don't forget you have responsibilities—"

  "I know that," I say. "Nothing is sliding. I'm on top of things."

  "Then I ask again, what has gotten into you? Why on earth have you grown so distant these past few days? Not only with Karen, but with me?"

  She places her fork on the plate and folds her hands underneath her chin, her perfectly manicured fire engine red fingernails rounded just so, contrasting with her pale skin. Here it comes.

  "Karen told me that you two were at a New Year's Eve party last night and you refused to take her home. That doesn't sound like you. Did you two have an argument? I know how stubborn you can be, especially—"

  "Mother," I say as patiently as I can, “Karen and I didn't get into an argument."

  "Then why didn't you—"

  "Mother, I'm not going to discuss my sex life with you."

  "She's worried about you, honey. You know that you can always talk to me, right?"

  I nod. Sure I can, if I want every word I say to get back to Karen, which I don't. For the moment, I merely need to mollify her concerns. "I had too much to drink last night. I just wanted to go home and go to bed, all right? It doesn't mean that anything is wrong."

  I haven't touched my food. I reach for my fork, hoping to end the conversation. It don't work.

  "Don't mess this up, Daniel. Karen's a wonderful match for you. You know that, don't you?"

  I say nothing. I can't deny that my mother is quite fond of Karen. At first, that was somewhat of a relief. Now I’m not so sure. Most of the time I feel like it’s two against one. I know that at some point I need to put my foot down, but sometimes it’s just easier to go with the flow.

  "You need to focus on your responsibilities. That's all I'm trying to tell you."

  I stab my quiche. "Mother, I'm thirty-five-years-old. Karen will turn twenty-five this year." I sigh, as if worried. Mainly to see if she'll back me up or Karen. "Sometimes it just seems that my head is in a different place than hers. That's all. I've got a lot on my plate, and I didn't feel like partying. I had too much to drink, and all I wanted to do was go home. By myself. If Karen wanted to stay out and party, I wasn't going to stop her."

  Her response is expected; still, it lets me down.

  "I realize the age difference can cause some problems, dear," she says, lifting her fork again. "But do what you can to keep her happy, will you? She's adorable, and I like her very much. Yes, she has some growing up to do, but with her social status, her upbringing, and her family connections, this is a good thing."

  I’ve lost my appetite before I've taken one bite and place my fork back on the plate. "Mother, I understand how business connections work. Family ties and all that. But to be bruta
lly honest, Karen cares more about the materialistic things than—"

  "You have to be patient," she interrupts. "Yes, she's younger than you, but she'll mature. You just have to give her time."

  Time. Time will not change Karen. Time will only make her worse; more condescending, more demanding, more annoying. Ashley is only a couple of years older than Karen, but she has her shit together. She has a job that requires not only skill, but the ability to work under pressure, under deadlines. She just doesn't edit for the sake of making sure that all the Ts are crossed and the Is dotted. Ashley works hard with every author to make their books the best they can be. She cares. She’s invested.

  Come to think of it, I’ve never even asked Karen what she wants to do with her life. What does she want two years, five years, or ten years down the line? Where does she want to be? She comes from prestigious ancestry, from old family money. Unfortunately, I quickly learned, from my mother no less, that her family money had just about been depleted, which is why Karen's parents’ approached my mother. To make a deal, throwing the family back into the seventeenth century with what my mother called a "merger marriage". I called it something different. A marriage without emotion or affection and disregard of faults. With this marriage, Karen's family will get the money they need, and my mother and the family company will get the political connections that my mother feels we need to move up.

  That's what Karen wants. To move up. But move up to where? I have no political aspirations—but maybe she and my mother feel that’s where the 'up' is. As far as I know, my mother hasn't dabbled in politics. Ever. So what is the ultimate goal? It has to be the money. Karen probably bleeds green for all I know. I shake my head. I have to remember that I don't have to love Karen. I can still have my secrets. My subs.

  I didn’t refuse my mother's request for me to marry Karen. Why? I still can’t understand it. Is it some pseudo-psychological need in me to finally do something that pleases her, that will convince me that she loves me, or—

  I grunt and turn to look out the window. What the hell? I didn’t really care all that much about the entire deal until now. And why is that? Because I read Ashley's manuscript. Saw in her… what? A kindred soul? What a sack full of shit. Still, there it is. The two women are as different as night and day.

  When I met Karen for the first time, she had regaled me ad nauseum about the years she attended boarding school in France, her world travels, and her family's ancestry. Supposedly they came over on the Mayflower. Trying to impress me. She tried too hard, and I saw right through it. She was all shiny on the surface and more than easy on the eyes, but I had yet to find any real substance underneath. Sometimes when we went to a function or a dinner, she even spoke with a French accent to fool people, or so she said. To me it came across like she was just trying to lord it over them. Yes, Karen is beautiful, but she is a drama queen; she can be quite pretentious; and to make matters worse, she’s a manipulator. She pouts to get her way with me. With others, she orders, and if she doesn't get what she wants, she makes their lives hell.

  When we met, I hinted that I'd had sexual relationships with women in the past. That was to be expected, she'd said, automatically assuming that since we'd met, my dabbling days were over. She merely shrugged and intimated that such was to be expected of men, but after we were married, my dabbling would of course cease immediately. About a week after that, she backtracked slightly and, in not so many words, intimated that she didn't care if I dabbled once in a while, as long as it was kept secret and I didn't develop any kind of a serious relationship with the woman in question.

  Once the agreement of our match was settled by our respective parents, she came right out and told me that it didn't really matter to her what I did. But I had already begun to believe that she viewed me as a possession. One to hold but not to cherish. As far as she was concerned, appearances were essential. I know she doesn't love me, any more than I feel anything for her. What I do get from her is that I’m "hers". Basically, if she can't have me, no one else will either.

  What the hell did I agreed to? And how in the hell can I tell that to my mother? If I back out now, she'll be humiliated, a subject of gossip, and believe me, I know how fast and ugly gossip travels in this town.

  Karen puts on such a good front when we’re around our respective parents. Actually, Karen's parents as well as my mom honestly believe that Karen is head over heels in love with me. She isn't being cruel to my mother. She actually likes my mother a great deal. She said they are two birds of a feather. I believe it.

  So, there is the question again. Why did I allow myself to be talked into this? At first, I didn't think it really mattered. My mother would get the political clout she seemed to think we needed—that our company needed—along with another network of potential partners, clients, and associates. She can't possibly think she’s actually doing me a favor… finding me a wife, a partner? I sigh. If she only knew…

  "You'll think about it, won't you, Daniel?"

  I glance up, not even bothering to ask what she was talking about. I totally spaced out. I nod, offering a small smile. "Of course, I will." That seems to calm her, whatever was talking about, and we both finish breakfast; she with a self-satisfied smile, and me just going through the motions with only one thought in my head.

  When will I see Ashley again?

  Sixteen

  Ashley

  I’m back at work, trying desperately to concentrate on my job. I think I've read the same manuscript page five times but my mind keeps wandering. The holidays are over. Time to get back to work. After taking several days off over the holiday season, I’m woefully behind.

  Unfortunately, I’m so distracted it seems impossible to focus on editing. I read the words on the computer screen, dotted with red font that substitutes for my red editor's pen, but all I can see in my mind's eye is Daniel. Great. It was bad enough when I had a one-sided crush on him, admiring him from afar. Now? Did I just drop into a rabbit hole? Am I destined to make my life miserable because of my growing attraction to him? Even at that moment, trying to concentrate, I know what is happening.

  The newness of our secret relationship is not solely to blame. For me, spending time with Daniel is exquisite. It isn't just the sex either, which, after a few experiments, I found far less intimidating and much more invigorating than I ever imagined. That basement of his…

  "Stop it," I whisper, once again forcing my attention back to the manuscript. I can't allow myself to grow attached to Daniel. Impossible. I’m good at keeping my feelings to myself, or at least I am unless I put them down on paper. As in my manuscript, where all my inner feelings have been allowed to see the light of day. On my laptop. If I hadn't left my laptop open, if he hadn't read my manuscript, if we hadn't "indulged" in his basement playroom several times already, I wouldn't be in this position.

  I’m not sure which was worse. Admiring him in secret or growing fonder of him with every moment we spend together. Even though I know that my attachment to him won’t be reciprocated, at least not in the way I would like, it’s still better. Being with him is better. He’s fascinating. Handsome with a gorgeous, hard body. But oh, so much more than that. I want to know everything there is to know about Daniel Stone. Not his resume. The person. At the same time, I know doing so is fruitless.

  Daniel made no promises. Nothing of the sort. I know that he isn't just mentoring me so that I can write better. I also know I’m not his only sex partner. It’s obvious by his experience and confidence in that underground world that he belongs to, and apparently has, for quite some time. And along with that world comes a multitude of sexual partners and subs. I understand that. At the same time…

  "Ashley!"

  I glance up at Tory's hiss, her eyes wide and one hand, hidden from view by others in the room in front of her chest. Her index finger pointing down the hallway, at the end of which is Daniel's office. My eyes widen when I see him standing near the end of the hallway opening into our large office space divided
into cubicles, frowning.

  "Didn't you hear him? He's asked for you twice!"

  I shake my head to clear my mind, nod in his direction as I stand, ignoring the curious gazes from not only Tory, but two other editors as I cross the main room and approach Daniel, straightening my skirt as I go. Rather proud of my performance, I smile as I approach.

  "I'm sorry, Mister Stone, I was embroiled in a manuscript-"

  "If you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you about the Jespersen manuscript you edited last week."

  "Of course," I say, following him down the short hallway to his office. His expression appears harsh. Am I in trouble? Did he change his mind about us? My mind jumps from one worry to another. Is he going to curtail our secret relationship, or even worse, fire me? I shake my head. Don't be stupid. Nothing is wrong. Our interactions at the office have to continue as they always have. Pure business. I’m quite proud of the work I’d done on the Jespersen manuscript. I can only wait and see what he wants.

  I follow him into the office. He shuts the door, locks it, and then practically body-blocks me from entering the room. My back bumps against the door and he raises both hands and places them on either side of my shoulders, effectively trapping me. I stare up into his green eyes, uncertain. Why is—

  "Take your clothes off," he growls.

  I stare up at him, startled as a flush of heat rises in my chest and travels up my neck until my cheeks flame with heat as well. "Here?" I gasp. "You want me to take my—"

  One hand moves quickly, grabbing a handful of my hair. He takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. My scalp tingles. His other hand leaves the door and gropes my breast. I immediately feel a surge of wetness between my legs and my nipples tingle. He wants to—

  "I said to take your clothes off. If you don't obey, you're going to pay for your lack of obedience."