by Lila Dubois
What he’d meant when he said he’d redecorated.
Christiana looked around, her heart thudding and then sliding down into the pit of her stomach, even as her blood began to burn with arousal.
“Ah, let me turn on the lights.” It took a moment, but James found the switch.
It was a BDSM playroom.
Like Dino’s. Up on the third floor. A place out of the way where he can keep you and hurt you.
There was a spanking bench, a leather-covered twin bed, and a small dog cage to her left. On her right was a person-sized upright cage, a straight-backed chair, and a large ottoman. Eyebolts had been screwed into the ceiling at various points.
James walked around, inspecting the items. “Most of this is readymade, since there wasn’t time for custom. I’ll customize it as we go.”
“As we go.”
He shook his head. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Christiana felt sick and needy. An unholy mix of emotions. “Dinner,” she said. “We should go out to dinner.”
He waved a hand, quickly and easily dismissing their date. “I’ll order something to be delivered.”
Her heart broke.
James stopped by the dog cage. “I didn’t request this. I want you to know I have no intention of putting you in this thing.”
Christiana glanced at the other cage.
James laughed softly. “Now, that one? I think you’ll look lovely naked and chained up in there, waiting for me to use you.”
His voice had dropped to a sensual note, but it was as if her heart and mind were encased in plastic; the words didn’t resonate with her the way they would have only hours ago. Yes, her body wanted him, but it was a purely physical response.
“You bought this house…for this?” she asked.
He took her hands, drawing her deeper into the room. He guided her to sit on the ottoman, then knelt in front of her. “Christiana, my sweet. I have something I want to ask you.”
He’d said that before.
“Yes?”
He dug in his pocket, then pulled out a necklace. It glittered in the light, gold and diamonds. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen.
She blinked in confusion. What was going on? He’d bought a house and installed a BDSM playroom, and now he was offering her jewelry?
“I don’t understand,” she said slowly.
He displayed the necklace across his palms. “I had this made for you. I had it made before the event in Luxembourg. I knew then that I wanted to collar you.” His gaze met hers. “This is a collar, Christiana. My collar. It’s designed to look like jewelry so you can wear it always. Only you and I will know what it really means. That you belong to me.”
She swallowed hard. “You bought this house…for me?”
“For us. So we have someplace to play.”
“Are you moving here?”
Now he frowned. “Pardon?”
No. Of course he wasn’t moving here. He didn’t want to date her. He didn’t love her. He wanted to fuck her and play with her.
You are nothing more than his plaything.
That wasn’t fair, to either of them. There was more between them than just sex. She was sure of that.
She had been sure of that.
She touched the necklace. “You had it made for me. Bought the house for me.”
He touched her cheek. “Yes, my sweet.”
But you won’t date me.
When she didn’t say anything else, he set down the necklace and cupped her face in both hands. “If you want to move into the house, you’re welcome to do so, for the duration of our relationship.”
“The duration of our relationship.”
Now he looked uncomfortable. “Yes. I want to be clear the collar is a commitment to be each other’s exclusive BDSM partners until such a time as one or the other of us chooses to end the relationship.”
She heard what he didn’t say—until I’m done with you.
“But I can live in the house until the end of the relationship.” She was speaking mostly to herself, but he answered her.
“Yes. It’s ours. I don’t plan to rent it out or anything of that sort.”
“How often will you come?” she asked softly.
“Every month, if I can,” he promised.
Once a month, if she was lucky, she would come to this room, and get a chance to touch and be touched by the man she loved.
This arrangement would mean she wouldn’t lose herself to being his submissive. She’d been worried, so worried about that. It wouldn’t be a problem if she saw him only once a month.
That didn’t make her feel any better.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked and they fell, trailing down her cheeks onto his hands.
“Christiana?”
“It would be so easy to say yes.” She swiped at her tears, pushing his hands away as she did so. “Being your submissive is…it’s been the most exciting thing in my life. And I could do it. I could focus on work when you’re not here. I’m good at that—focusing on work, being alone. I could live for the times you come to visit. I should have been horrified about what we did on that island. But I wasn’t. I’m not. I like it. I want more of it.”
“Christiana, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes, marshaling her thoughts. “My life might not seem like much to you—”
“I never said that, and I don’t think that,” he insisted.
“—but it’s mine, and I fought hard for what I have.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t wear your collar.”
James sat back, his gaze flickering over her face. “You’re…insulted by the offer.”
“A bit, yes. You’re basically asking me to be your side chick.”
He frowned.
“Your mistress.”
“No, I’m asking you if you’d like to be in a mutually enjoyable BDSM relationship. I’m offering you a collar.”
“I know, but it’s…it’s not enough.”
James pushed to his feet, shoulders set. “What do you want?”
“I want to go out to dinner.”
He frowned. “You’re mad I said we’d order in?”
“This. This right here. Arguing about dinner. This is couple stuff.”
He was starting to look at her like she’d lost her mind. His tone was soothing and gentle now. “We’ll go out, and finish this discussion when we come back.”
Christiana started to cry in earnest. “No, James. It’s not about dinner. I want more. I want to go on a date. I want to date you.”
His face was hard, and he seemed like a stranger. “I think it’s best that we be clear—what we’re discussing is not a romantic relationship. It’s a BDSM relationship.”
Couldn’t he see he was ripping out her heart?
“That’s all you’re offering, to be my Master.” She spit out the word. “To come here once a month, fuck me, and leave. No relationship.”
“I would not fuck you and leave. Don’t insult me or misconstrue what we’ve shared this past week.” He leaned toward her. “You like submitting to me. It will be like that for…”
She caught the hesitation. “For how long?”
He didn’t say anything, but he lifted the collar again, offering it to her. She pushed his hand away, and the necklace clacked as it fell to the floor.
“I can’t. I like being your sub. No, I more than like it. I love it. If I did this, if I took your collar, that’s what I would become.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Putting on the collar would mean being my submissive.”
She was explaining this all wrong. “To you, I would be your sub. But for me you’d be…you’d be my everything.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“It’s too late.” Her throat was tight, but she pushed out the words. “I love you. I know you don’t love me, but I love you, and if I take that collar, then I’ll keep loving you, eve
n when you’re away, because in my mind, my heart, we aren’t just Master and sub. We’re…we’re a couple. I want that collar. But I want you too. Not just as a Master.” She stooped down, scooped up the fallen necklace, and held it out to him.
James reared back as if she’d offered him a snake.
“I’m sorry, James. I wish I could, but I have to protect myself.” She placed the necklace on the ottoman and walked to the door.
She paused, waiting for him to say something. To call her back.
James said nothing.
Christiana walked down the first flight of stairs. She took her time, looking around the house. The house he’d bought for her. It was the most amazing, grandest thing any man would ever do for her, she was sure of that, but for James it was just a practicality, and that was the problem.
She stopped in the foyer, looked around, then walked out.
Chapter 8
James stared at the structural engineer’s report that he was supposed to be reading. It made him think of Christiana.
Everything made him think of Christiana.
He was at his office in Paris, and the report was in French. He was fluent in the language, but he had to concentrate in order to read it, and concentration was in short supply lately.
He gave up and pushed the report away, leaning back in his chair. His office was small, since he wasn’t here often, and he had a rather uninspiring view of the building across the street, but the building wasn’t totally horrible viewing, with classically French iron balconies and an elegant roofline.
He wondered what Christiana would think of it.
This was getting ridiculous. It had been a week, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not just about the sex, or having her as his sub, but about her smile, and the way she interrogated people in her quest to understand the world and how things worked.
At least once a day he’d started making plans to go back. To show up on her doorstep and sweep her into his arms. One thing stopped him.
She’d said she loved him.
He had a funny feeling he loved her, too. But that didn’t mean he should go to her like a fairytale prince.
Love meant permanence, it meant long-term. That was something he dared not give her, because in the end he would break her heart.
He picked up the report, determined to focus, stared at the same sentence for five minutes, then put it down again.
Something had to change. He couldn’t go on like this, stumbling through each day distracted and out of sorts. He’d almost made several major errors. If not for his assistants and various vice presidents, he would have potentially lost quite a bit of money thanks to his relationship dilemma. His uncle, the current company president, would have his head if he knew.
He needed to talk to someone.
One thing he’d learned in addiction recovery was to talk. He picked up the phone, planning to call Jun, but paused. Jun had seen them together those first nights but didn’t know the whole story. James didn’t want to get into the issue of her sneaking into the club.
Solomon. He could call Solomon. Though Solomon was a member of the society, he rarely attended and hadn’t been at the San Francisco event. He only knew Christiana as James’s sub, and more importantly, had seen them together during those final magical nights. Maybe Solomon could tell him if he was going mad because he couldn’t get Christiana out of his head, even after she’d rejected him.
He didn’t have the other man’s phone number, only the email he used to coordinate parties, but that was hooked to a video call service. James opened up the program on his tablet, then tapped on Solomon’s email. It rang a few times before chiming to indicate the call had connected. James was treated to a view of a rumpled bed and a naked woman’s ass before the picture whirled dizzily as Solomon picked up his device.
The other man’s face came into view. “James?”
“Solomon.”
Solomon rubbed his face with one hand, then peered around. It was midmorning in Paris, which meant it was rather early in the Bahamas. James probably should have checked the time before calling.
“What’s wrong?” Solomon asked.
“Nothing. Well, it’s Christiana.”
Solomon cursed. “If she broke your dick, go to a doctor.”
“She didn’t break my dick. She left me.”
Solomon bared his teeth. “You called me at the crack of dawn for relationship advice?”
“You’re the only one I can call. The only one who saw us together. I need to know if I’m…if I’m wrong.”
“You’re willing to admit to being wrong?” Solomon snorted. “You must be in love.”
James cleared his throat.
Solomon whistled. “Oh, shit. You are in love.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been in love.”
“Do you love her?”
“I just said I’ve never been in love. How would I know?”
Solomon sighed. “Do you think about her all the time? Worry if she’s had breakfast? Wonder if she slept okay? Do you see things and think about how you’d describe them to her?”
“Yes. All of that. And more.”
“Then you love her. Congratulations. Bye.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“Damn it, man. What?”
“I offered her a collar.”
Solomon humphed. “And that’s when she left you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said she loved me, and that she liked being my sub, but wanted more.”
Solomon paused, as if to consider. “Look at it from her perspective. She’s fallen in love with you, and you offer her occasional sex instead of a relationship. And if she said she loves you, it probably meant she considered taking the offer. Even if, from her position, it was a bad deal.”
Solomon was speaking in terms James could understand. He nodded for the other man to continue.
“She considered taking the one-sided deal—love for a collar—but something inside her won’t let her make such a bad bargain.”
Damn it. Now that scene in the attic room made sense. “What do I do?”
“Easy. Tell her you love her. Marry her.”
“Marry her?” James practically shouted.
“Okay, or date her. Whatever. You both love each other. Great. Problem solved. I’m going back to bed.”
“I can’t. I can’t tell her I love her, even if I do.”
Solomon hung his head in disgust, his next words muffled. “And why not?”
“I get bored.”
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me, Nolen.”
“I know I sound like an ass, but nothing, no one, holds my attention for long. That’s not fair, but that’s who I am.”
It hadn’t been long ago that he’d been sitting in a town car on the way to the San Francisco event, the world seeming gray and lifeless. Then he’d seen Christiana and everything had changed. But he’d been through this cycle before. Enthusiasm, dedication, waning interest, then boredom. It had happened with various substances when he was in his twenties. It had happened with business ventures until his uncle pulled the plug on the funding for his endless projects and forced him into his current position.
And it had happened with relationships. Admittedly no woman had ever made him feel the way Christiana did.
“I would fall out of love with her eventually, and that would hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her. At least with a collar, it’s…it’s structured.”
Solomon paused, considering him. “It’s not your decision to make.”
“What do you mean?”
“Christiana has the right to decide if she wants to sign up for a relationship that might not have a future. It should be her choice. Maybe she’s the one who gets bored. Hey, maybe you should give her my number.”
James stared at the tablet, then shifted his gaze to the window. He ignored Solomon’s barb, and focused on the first part of what he’d said. It
should be her choice.
As her Master, her Dom, he got to make decisions for her in a scene, but it was never only his choice. The cornerstone of BDSM was communication and understanding. They hadn’t communicated, hadn’t understood what the other wanted or was saying during that final fateful conversation.
“It should be her choice,” he said quietly.
“If only I’d said that…”
“Thank you,” James said absently, then hung up on his friend.
He stared out at the sky above Paris. It was a hazy blue today. That’s how he’d describe it to Christiana.
No, he wouldn’t describe it to her. He’d show her. He’d bring her to Paris.
He wanted to walk the streets with her, not just of this city, but every city. He’d walk them with her while she wore nipple clamps and a plug, and while she wore nothing sexual in nature at all.
It was time to face a hard, terrifying truth.
He loved her.
James jumped out of his chair, yanked his jacket off the hanger on the back of the door, and hustled out of his office. Every one of the dozens of plans to go back to her that he made and dismissed since he last saw her was a viable option. Which to execute?
He could keep it simple—show up at her apartment.
He could expand on that and arrange for a bouquet to be delivered every hour and then show up holding one final, massive vase of blooms.
He could send a car to bring her to a secret location—maybe someplace in Napa.
He had his head down, looking at flight options on his phone as he walked out of the lobby door. He smacked into someone.
“Pardon,” he muttered, not bothering with anything more than that, in true Parisian fashion.
“James.”
He froze. It couldn’t be.
Christiana was standing on the sidewalk, hands clasped together in front of her. She wore jeans and a lightweight coat, backpack straps on her shoulders. With her hair up in a ponytail and sneakers on her feet, she looked like the classic American tourist.