“Right,” he says. “I got a sitter coming for Cole, by the way. So don’t worry about that.”
I feel a jolt of shame that I wasn’t worried about that. I’m sure it would’ve occurred to me once I wasn’t staring at Tristan and all of his distractingly gorgeous features, but it still should’ve been the first thing on my mind. In truth, I was more worried about how I was going to survive a date—whether he calls it that or not—without letting things get out of hand.
10
Tristan
I help Stephanie to sit across from me at our table, which is on the outer deck of the boat. Space heaters are set up at regular intervals to protect us from the chill of the night out on the river, and glass guards are positioned along the railings to block out most of the wind. We’re far enough out from the city that the stars overhead are nearly blinding. The boat is a two hundred foot yacht with a full-sized professional chef’s kitchen and permanent staff. But the food isn’t why I invited Stephanie here. I want to show her the party that takes place after dinner. The party below decks.
“How have I never heard of this?” Stephanie asks, looking around the deck at the dozens of tables and well-dressed guests. She’s wearing a dark blue dress with some kind of jewel pattern at the collar and a wide open back that shows off her smooth, milky skin.
I’m honestly impressed she was able to get herself put together and look so amazing in the thirty minutes I gave her, but to my untrained male eye, it doesn’t look like she cut any corners. Then again, I’m starting to think I might be a little biased when it comes to her. She could probably show up without makeup wearing just a t-shirt and I’d still have trouble controlling my urges.
“It’s a well-kept secret,” I say. “This is actually an invite-only club. The members fees pay for the boat and the staff.”
“Wow,” she says. “Those must be some fees.”
“I suppose they are, yeah,” I say. I lean back in my chair, feeling myself in an unusually relaxed and loose mood. “To tell the truth, I haven’t come here in years.”
She lowers her eyebrows suspiciously. “But you’re still paying the fees? What happened?”
Loose and relaxed or not, I definitely hadn’t planned on talking about Alice, especially not to Stephanie. But I meant what I said about this being a peace offering. I tried keeping Stephanie at arm’s length back at my house. I felt myself getting too close even on the first day she stayed with me, so I tried my hardest to shut her out. All it did was make me want her more. I don’t know what will come next, but what I do know is I need one more taste. One more fucking taste of her and maybe I can fight off my reckless urges long enough to get us through this adoption.
“Alice happened,” I say. “I told you on our first night that I don’t do relationships. Alice was a member of the club, and she was used to being the one who got to say when it ended. She… took it badly when I broke things off.”
“Was she the woman at the auction? The one you wanted to make sure didn’t win.”
I nod. “That was the one.”
“Was it worth what it cost you then?” she asks with a mischievous curl of her lips.
“I would’ve paid more if I knew how much I was going to enjoy the night of the auction.”
She clears her throat, cheeks turning a beautiful shade of red as she seems to struggle with any kind of response. A waiter saves her the embarrassment as he arrives with an offering of sparkling waters, wines, and appetizer menus.
I’m surprised by how easily we fall into a pleasant pattern of conversation from small talk to her updating me about Cole and his case. By the time we’re finishing desert, it almost feels like a real date, or at least what I imagine a real date would feel like.
“You know,” I say, setting my spoon down. “I’ve never wined and dined a woman before. That makes you special.”
She smiles. “You make it sound more like a date than a peace offering.”
“Well,” I say, spreading my hands. My eyes catch movement as many of the couples get up to leave their tables and start heading below decks for the real party—and the real reason they all pay their monthly member fees. “I may have had more than just peace talks in mind, if I’m being entirely honest. I wanted you to enjoy tonight.”
“Mission accomplished,” says Stephanie. “I’ll admit it.”
I grin. “This was just the appetizer, treasure.”
Her fork actually clatters abruptly against her plate when I use the pet name I haven’t used since our first night together, no doubt calling up all kinds of images of what we did together. She says nothing, only staring at me with those gorgeous eyes from across the table as I wait.
“Come on,” I say, standing an extending a hand toward her. “I want to take you to the lower decks and show you what this private club is all about.”
“I feel like I should be scared,” she says cautiously, but still taking my hand and letting me help her up all the same.
“Only if you’re afraid of a good time,” I say.
As I lead her down the stairs, I have a brief moment of doubt flash across my mind like a lightning bolt. What the fuck am I planning? What is the endgame here? Am I just going to lead her on and break her heart? I clench my fist tighter around the railing as we descend because I don’t know the answers. All I know is no matter what I try and intend to do around this woman, I can’t control myself—not forever. I can try to resist her. I can try to ignore the way I feel when I think about her. I can try to remind myself why I don’t do relationships in the first place. But in the end, none of it makes any difference. I just keep coming back like a fucking addict.
I don’t know if what’s between us changes after tonight. I don’t even know how far I plan to take things tonight. There’s only one thing I do know. No woman has ever made me forget my past until Stephanie, and when I’m with her it’s like a clean slate, like I have to force myself to remember why I feel so fucked up in the first place. I guess the real question is how I expect to let go of that when Cole’s adoption gets finalized and this is all over.
11
Stephanie
My head is buzzing from the wine by the time we get below the deck of the ship, but I don’t think the way my head is spinning has much to do with the booze. Four months ago, I let my guard down for a night and Tristan gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I tried to convince myself it was a mistake or that I only had such a huge lapse in judgment because of the circumstances surrounding that night.
All of that might be true, but I know something else is true as well. Life has felt gray and bleak ever since I walked out of his house that night after the auction. I let him give me something beautiful and strange and scary, but that wasn’t my mistake. Maybe my mistake was trying so hard to convince myself it was something to be ashamed of. But whether I’m ashamed about sleeping with him or not, I can’t ignore the way he treated me when the night was over. He was ready to discard me without so much as a second thought. How do I know he won’t do exactly the same thing again when he’s had his fill of me?
The only answer is that I can’t know. I just have to decide if I’m willing to risk the shame of walking into heartbreak again. Though if tonight has been any indication, I’m not the only one who has been thinking about our night together, and maybe he’s even regretting the way things ended. The sensible thing to do would be to take things slow. If Tristan really thinks there’s a chance of us being more than just a business arrangement or a one-time fling, why shouldn’t we take it slow and get to know each other?
Why not? Because every step we take deeper into the bowels of the ship feels like a descent into some private, primitive space, like a space where inhibitions and the outside world don’t matter. Even the thumping beat of some distant music starts to pound through the walls of the boat and vibrate inside my chest, pulling me farther into his world. There is no taking it slow with a man like Tristan, I realize. He’s like an icy lake or a scorching hot tub. Dipping your
toe in will only terrify you and convince you to run.
The only way is to jump in. To close my eyes, let go, and dive in.
So I squeeze his hand tighter and let him lead me ever-downwards. I don’t think about my past or my father or even my little brother. For a rare moment in my life, I submerge myself in the here and now, drinking deep.
We pass through a series of rooms, where the dress of guests starts to shift from the formal wear I saw upstairs to leather bikinis, skin-tight spandex, and some garments that are hardly concealing enough to qualify as clothes at all. I give Tristan a questioning look, but he only puts his hand to the small of my back and leads me into a room and closes the door behind us.
We’re alone in a room with a large closet that takes up the majority of the wall, a leather table with straps and restraints, a rack on the wall holding whips, chains, and ropes, and a few other objects I couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of. I take a half step deeper into the room and then start to inch toward the door, shaking my head. “Tristan,” I say carefully. “I don’t know what you expected, but…”
He raises a palm to stop me mid-sentence. “Relax. I just brought you here so you could pick out something to wear while we’re in the club. There’s a dress code for women, and they won’t let you through the door in this,” he says, reaching to pluck at my dress. “Not even for me.”
“This boat is some secret BDSM club?” I ask, even though I’ve already gathered as much with my eyes over the last minute.
“More or less. Yes. It’s a safe place for doms to bring their subs or for doms and subs to meet new partners. There’s even an office where official contracts can be drafted for first-timers.”
“Romantic,” I say with biting sarcasm.
He shrugs. “I’ve never used a contract with a woman before, but for some doms it’s the best way to make sure everyone gets what they expect. No nasty surprises.”
“Look, I know I let you…” I clear my throat and fidget with my hair as I search for and fail to find a delicate way to put it. I settle for lowering my voice, like that will make a difference. “I know I let you spank me with a paddle and tie me up, but that doesn’t mean I am into all this BDSM stuff.”
“No?” he asks, an amused smile playing across his lips. “You’ve tried it then? Beyond our night together, I mean?”
“I haven’t. But I mean, I’ve seen enough in movies to know it’s not for me. Men wearing leather bikinis while women in spandex stomp on their fingers? It’s just not my thing.”
He takes me carefully by the shoulders and guides me to sit on a small couch by the door, taking the spot beside me. I’m momentarily distracted by the way he lets his legs splay, which presses his thigh against my knee. Such an innocent bit of contact should be nothing after what I’ve done with this man, but it’s all I can do to rip my mind from it to the words coming from his mouth. Focus, Steph.
“I could lecture you on what BDSM is and isn’t, but I don’t think that would get the message across. How about this. You put on this dress,” he says, motioning to a nearly transparent white dress hanging in the closet. “You can leave your underwear on if you like. But put the dress on and come with me into the club. There are no expectations or obligations. Understand? All I ask is that you come with me and see for yourself. If you really feel like the lifestyle doesn’t suit you, then we can leave and never speak of it again.”
I look at the dress for a long time. “That’s the most conservative thing I can wear?” I ask.
“Trust me, if you go much more conservative than that, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb in there. If you want to blend in, this is your best bet.”
I sigh. “I’ll do it. But you have to promise not to let anything weird happen to me. Okay?”
He nods. “Go on then, put on the dress.”
I wait a second for him to leave, but he doesn’t move from the couch. “Are you at least going to cover your eyes?”
“Only if you make me,” he says with a grin.
I shake my head at myself as I walk toward the closet, not understanding how he brings this side out of me but knowing it’s there all the same. I pause a long moment with my back to him, building up the courage to do what I know I’m about to do. He’s seen me completely naked. He’s slept with me. Why should I feel like I’m doing something monumental by letting him see me in my underwear?
I slide out of the straps of my dress and wiggle free in a way I hope is at least a little sexy. I grab the transparent dress from the hanger and slide into it like it’s going to provide any real concealment and then turn to face him, face burning with embarrassment. I do my best to make my voice sound confident when I speak, though. “I’m ready if you are.”
He’s biting his lower lip when I turn around, eyes drinking in every inch of me in that same way I remember, like I’m the most amazing thing he has ever laid his eyes on.
“Keep looking at a girl like that and you might just go and boost her confidence,” I say.
“Keep looking like that and I’ll keep looking,” he says. “Come on. We don’t want to miss the party.”
“I’m still not sure about that,” I say, taking his hand.
Outside, he shows me through a crowded hallway where we pass into a large lounge area in what must be the belly of the boat. The music isn’t as loud as I would’ve expected, which allows the sounds of moaning women and the distant slap of leather on skin reach my ears from somewhere not too far away. Everywhere I look, men and women move about the room with cocktails and drinks in hand. The women are scantily clad and sometimes led on leashes while the men get to keep their suits on for some reason.
“Why is it that the men don’t have to wear see-through dresses?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I think the goal is for this place to have a sexy atmosphere. Tell me. Would it feel sexier to you if the men were wearing transparent dresses?”
I smirk. “Fair point.” Despite how much I’m trying to look like I’m taking the scene in stride, I’m truthfully just too overwhelmed to do anything but keep moving beside Tristan. It feels like I’m in an entirely different world. I would’ve expected a place like this to terrify me, but all I feel is an electric sense of excitement that has me wanting to see more.
“Want to see the auction?” he asks. He extends his arm toward a side room sectioned off by a red curtain. “For old time’s sake.”
I let him guide me into the area, where a few dozen people are seated at tables scattered around a stage like I’d expect to see in a dinner theater. A beautiful young woman in a sequined gold dress stands on stage while a man wearing a suit and a masquerade style mask speaks into a microphone.
“Two point five,” he says, pointing a gloved finger toward someone at a table in the corner who holds up a red card.
The bidding continues as Tristan leads me to a table at the back.
“Three?” asks the man with the microphone. “Going once. Going twice. Sold for two point five million to Mr. Fowler.”
I nearly choke on air at the number. “Is he serious?” I ask. “Is that just for a night with her?”
“No,” says Tristan. “These women put themselves up for auction. Potential bidders would’ve been given the details prior to the bidding, but for that figure I imagine she offered herself as a trial submissive. That would usually give the bidder several weeks to enjoy her. At the end of the trial it would be up to her and the bidder to decide if they wanted to continue the relationship or not.”
I watch with a mixture of fascination and horror as the woman heads backstage and the man with the microphone follows after her. “How is this legal?”
“Strictly speaking, it’s probably not. But the members of this club are some of the most powerful men and women in the country. There are significant steps taken to keep the things that happen here private.”
“What if he takes advantage of her or tries to hurt her?”
“She’s not exposing herself to any more risk than if she wer
e to go home with a stranger she met in a bar. There will be an exit interview with one of the club managers who will make sure both parties agree on the deal before it’s finalized, too.” He leans forward with a grin. “I forget how sheltered you are. You should see the look on your face.”
I consciously force my features into a more neutral expression. “Okay, I might be sheltered, but I’m going to go ahead and bet that the majority of normal people would be a little surprised to see what I just saw. Women don’t normally put themselves up for auction.”
“You bought me at an auction,” he says.
I glare at him. “A charity auction. And that was an auction for a date. Not for sex.”
“Not all of these auctions are for sex, either. BDSM doesn’t have to involve sex. For some it’s just the power dynamic that gets them off with or without touching.”
“What about it gets you off?” I ask, wincing when I realize I actually just asked him that. “Sorry,” I say, covering my eyes with my hand like it will do any good to shield me from my embarrassment. “I don’t know where my head is right now. This is all so much to take in, it’s just—”
“It’s fine. And it’s okay for you to ask.” He leans forward with both elbows on the table and a dark expression on his face. “Control gets me off. When I think about you giving me control and submitting, that’s all I really need. All the other bells and whistles of the lifestyle, those are just tools. Sometimes a paddle might help you remember to surrender your ego and let me take command. Other times you might need to be bound and gagged. A blindfold might keep you focused on exactly what I want you to focus on.”
I swallow hard, throat feeling suddenly tight. “I see.”
“You know the strange part?” he asks. “Until you, I always thought I just needed to wrestle control from a woman one time. I thought the drug for me was that single shift of power. But for some reason I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”
The Dom's Bride: A BDSM Romance Page 8