Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  What was I going to do? There was no point in talking to Cole again. No amount of reassurance on my part would change his mind. He was positive I’d walk or look elsewhere. I couldn’t begin to tell him how often I’d pushed someone away. And why even mention the temptations I faced on a daily basis? To prove I was faithful? If he didn’t know that by now, telling him about the men who hurled themselves at me was pointless. And there had been many.

  Yet I’d never been tempted, which said a lot about my feelings for Cole. He was my first serious relationship, and I suppose, my first love. He’d rescued me from myself, and I had been there for him throughout his slide into the dark world of the blind. We were good for each other for a very long time. It was inconceivable that he didn’t appreciate how great we were together. The man’s IQ was off the charts, but he wasn’t using any of his brains right now. He was adrift, aided and abetted by his asshole of a father, who’d hated me from the start. Instead of reassuring Cole, he was turning him into an empty replica of the strong and decisive man I knew. Feeding him ideas that I was going to cheat, or I was being deprived somehow, was certainly a buzzkill, no matter how you looked at it.

  I was starting to get angrier. I suppose it was better than feeling sorry for myself, because that was more destructive and usually ended up with me reaching for a blade. I glanced at my watch and saw that I’d been out almost two hours. Leah would be expecting me back soon, and Rose was probably hungry for more than grass. I hauled myself back on the saddle and let her gallop toward the stables.

  ON THE way home, I stopped at Munch Box, a small restaurant in town, to get an order of fried scallops and oysters to go. It came with a serving of French fries and a small cup of clam chowder. I was starving, and I was pretty sure there was nothing to eat in the Sub-Zero refrigerator. Max’s cleaning service was nothing but efficient, and they’d probably thrown out all the weekend leftovers. I’d worry about dinner later on.

  When I pulled up to the house, I was surprised to see Max’s Land Rover parked in front. I hoped he hadn’t made the trip just to talk to me and give me support. I wanted to deal with this on my own and didn’t relish the idea of having an audience if I had a meltdown. I parked the Jeep and discarded my boots, making my way into the house in stocking feet. There were voices coming from the great room, and I walked into a meeting in progress.

  “What’s going on?” I said, addressing the three men who were huddled around the coffee table. As I got closer, I realized they were examining a shiny display of whips in varying sizes and shapes. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

  Max smiled at me. “You remember Victor, don’t you, Sloan? And this,” he said, indicating the blond to his right, “is Trent.”

  I remembered Victor, of course. He was a Dom of Max’s caliber and one of his best friends. Trent? I tried to recall where I’d seen him before. He looked vaguely familiar. “Have we met?”

  He turned icy blue eyes on me and a half-smile that brought out a dimple on his left cheek. As soon as I saw it, I remembered. “We met at the Esquire shoot last fall,” he replied in a deep voice.

  “You were a brunet at the time,” I pointed out.

  “I can be anything they want me to be.”

  “Trent is here for a mini-seminar with Vic,” Max interjected. “I’m sorry you had to walk in on this, but I didn’t know you’d be here. I only listened to my voice mail on the way out of the city, and by then it was too late to turn around.”

  “Max, don’t apologize, for God’s sake. This is your house. I’ll just take my lunch in the kitchen, and you guys can do your thing.”

  “You want to join us?” Trent asked.

  “Why, do you need a guinea pig for Domination 101? No thanks.”

  Max laughed out loud. “Sloan isn’t into this lifestyle, Trent.”

  “What a pity,” he replied, practically burning a hole into my crotch.

  “Not so much,” I said lightly, picking up my lunch box and heading back toward the kitchen. Great! That’s all I needed right now. A room full of crazy Doms looking for a submissive. I put thoughts of them aside and plowed into my lunch. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything substantial, and although I wasn’t a big fan of fried food, fresh scallops and oysters were hard to push away. Max strolled into the kitchen when I was halfway through my meal, scrounging around for something to drink.

  “I’m sorry to fuck up your seminar.”

  “You didn’t fuck up anything, darling. Do you want to tell me why you’re here?”

  “Can it wait until they’re gone?”

  “They’re spending the night.”

  “Oh. Are you expecting more people?”

  “Jason should be here any minute.”

  “Is he the whipping post?”

  “As a matter of fact, he is.”

  “Could you keep the screaming down to a controlled level?”

  “Jason’s the best in the business. He doesn’t scream.”

  “Christ! The thought of what your subs endure makes me want to puke.”

  “Enduring is not a word I’d use in reference to a sub. They thrive on this, Sloan, believe it or not.”

  “We’ve already had this conversation multiple times.”

  “I know. We’ll let it go for now. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

  “Seriously, Max. What are you guys doing?”

  “Trent has applied for a membership at Wilde, and Vic and I want to make sure he knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  “Is he a Dom?”

  “He says he is.”

  “When did you become headmaster at Wilde?” It was a private BDSM club in Manhattan. Max had taken me there several years ago, but as far as I knew, he had nothing to do with the management.

  “When I bought into it last year.”

  “No kidding? How convenient. Now you don’t have to look too far when you’re in need of a sub.”

  “Unfortunately, the person I want isn’t available,” Max said, piercing me with his most dominant glare.

  I bent down and shoved a spoonful of oysters into my mouth. I couldn’t deal with any of this right now. I knew I was vulnerable after being rejected at home, and the last thing I wanted, or needed, was to get embroiled in another relationship with Max. No, no, no….

  “Relax, darling.” I felt Max kiss me on the nape of my neck. “You’re safe with me.”

  “Thank you,” I said, still looking down at my food. I wondered what he’d do after I divulged this latest twist with Cole. He left with three bottles of mineral water. No booze, which I found surprising, but then I remembered he told me once that Doms never performed while intoxicated. It was a big no-no. I tossed the empty box of takeout and rinsed the glass I’d used.

  There were stairs in the kitchen that would take me up to my bedroom without having to cross through the great room. I opted for that instead of interrupting what could only be an uncomfortable situation for me. I still didn’t get the appeal of Max’s kink and probably never would, so the best thing was to stay away.

  My phone buzzed, and I saw that it was Cole on caller ID. I debated on whether or not to answer, but ultimately, years of worrying kicked in, and I hit the accept button.

  “What’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Out in Montauk.”

  “Come home.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Sloan. I’m sorry about the things I said.”

  “That may be true, but unfortunately the words can’t be deleted from my memory. Is Noriko there?”

  “Er… yes.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Putting her things away.”

  “In the study?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wasn’t I clear enough? I don’t want her in our space.”

  “I figured you were already pissed off, so what difference did it make?”

  “The difference is now I’m beyond pissed off! I’m fucking enraged, and you can stop calling
to try and get me to come home. I won’t step foot in our apartment until she’s gone.”

  “Sloan, please stop fighting me on this.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Wait.”

  I disconnected and threw the phone on the carpet.

  Chapter 14

  I MUST have dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was someone knocking on the door. There was barely any light filtering in through the slatted windows, and the illuminated hands of the clock on the nightstand confirmed that it was early evening. I’d been asleep for probably an hour―my only way of escaping an impossible situation. Switching on the lamp, I went to see who was so persistent. I was fully prepared to tell Max to leave me alone, but when I yanked the door open, it was Trent. He was in a black turtleneck, and a pair of distressed jeans that left little to the imagination. I couldn’t help but notice the respectable bulge since the denim hugged his hips like a girdle. It was quite obvious that he dressed to the right. His hair was a soft blond and about four inches longer than mine. The day-old scruff was several shades darker than his hair, almost brown, which led me to assume he was a natural brunet. However, his blue eyes were the perfect complement to the overall Nordic look. He made a kick-ass blond, and he knew it too. He carried himself with supreme confidence.

  “Would you like to join us for drinks and dinner?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Where’s your partner?”

  “My partner?”

  “Aren’t you the one who has the blind boyfriend?”

  “You remember?”

  “I remember everything about you.”

  I studied him closer and wondered if he was flirting or if he was sincere. “I’m flattered.”

  He shrugged. “I was drawn to you when we first met, but everyone, Max included, said you were devoted to your partner and never looked at anyone else. All that did was fire up my curiosity and my interest,” he said, smiling.

  “Is that right?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Cole is at home.”

  “Are you still together?”

  “Very much so.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  I laughed. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “I usually say what I mean and mean what I say.”

  “Huh… I can tell you’re a Dom.”

  “You know about our lifestyle?”

  “Max and I have been friends for a long time.”

  “Were you ever his sub?”

  “Hell no. I’m nobody’s boy and definitely not into pain.”

  “Submission isn’t all about pain,” he said, looking surprised. “Do you think every sub is a masochist?”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “No. The relationship between a Dom and his sub can be much more subtle than that.”

  “Maybe you can enlighten me after I’ve had a few drinks.”

  “You need to be drunk to talk about BDSM?”

  I laughed, embarrassed by his frankness. “No, getting drunk isn’t necessary, but a little loopy helps.”

  “I can pour any drink with a liberal hand.”

  “Give me a sec to get ready.”

  “Should I stay or leave?”

  “Whatever turns you on.”

  Trent grinned at me. “That’s an open-ended statement if I ever heard one.”

  I stared at that dimple and felt a faint stirring in my groin. For the first time in years, I was paying attention to someone’s flirting. “Don’t get excited, Trent. It’s merely an expression.”

  “Or not,” he quipped.

  I gawked when he turned and left the room. What the heck? Did he seriously think he had a chance in hell to get me into his bed? Not only was he wasting his time, he was barking up the wrong tree. Even on the off chance that I might be persuaded to cheat—and truth be told, I was so pissed at Cole right now I figured I may as well commit the crime if I was being punished for it—except Trent’s brand of loving was like Max’s and not my cup of tea. My phone was still on the carpet where I’d thrown it earlier, and when I picked it up, I saw there were six missed calls from Cole. I didn’t really want to listen to anything he had to say. I wanted this time away from him to make a decision, and hearing him plead would weaken my resolve. I’d end up back in our apartment and the arguments would start all over again. I’d hoped that the detective had something to report; it had been a couple of days, but nothing so far. Meanwhile, I was going to dress for dinner and join the men downstairs. Why the hell not? At least I could enjoy the eye candy, if nothing else.

  There were five of us at the table. I sat to Max’s right, and Trent was across from me beside Jason, the submissive/guinea pig who’d come to spend the night. Victor sat opposite Max, who’d had the food catered by Manucci’s, an Italian restaurant in town that was open year-round. A lot of the other establishments weren’t open for business until May, when the official season began. The ravioli, stuffed with Portobello mushrooms, was smothered in a spicy tomato sauce and served with garlic bread and a mixed-green salad. Dessert was tiramisu. We ended up taking our after-dinner drinks into the great room, sitting around the fire Max had started. Although it was late spring, the temperature dropped at night. The fire provided some welcome heat as well as a homey ambiance. The three Doms held brandy snifters in their hands while Jason and I had coffee. I observed this “perfect” submissive, as Max had called him. He was nothing like I expected. I’d always pictured subs as weak and pathetic creatures, yet this guy exuded strength and virility.

  “What do you do in real life?” I asked, turning my attention to Jason.

  “I’m in law enforcement.”

  “A cop?” I was surprised.

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re not one of those rent-a-cops who walk up and down the malls, are you?”

  He glared at me. “Fuck no.”

  “Oh. Sorry… I just didn’t think a real cop would be a submissive.”

  “You can’t be that naïve.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Being submissive doesn’t make me weak or any less a man than you.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  The three Doms laughed at my statement while Jason continued to explain. “The D/s relationship is the perfect exchange of power, but it doesn’t necessarily mean one man is weak and the other strong. It takes strength to submit. To hand over the power to another individual and trust them to bring you to erotic heights you couldn’t achieve with anyone else, takes a lot more strength than you know.”

  “I thought it was all about the pain.”

  “Many subs get off on physical pain, as do their Doms, but there are those in the world of BDSM who aren’t interested in receiving or inflicting pain. Some relationships are purely psychological and based on wanting to please one another through discipline, sensation, and withholding of sexual favors until submission has been achieved. BDSM is as varied as the people who participate. The only common ground between players is that it’s safe and consensual.”

  “Give me an example of submission that doesn’t involve pain.”

  “If you can hold off your orgasm because your Dom demands it, despite doing everything in his power to stimulate you sexually, you are submitting. You’re handing over your feelings and trusting him with your body. When he allows you to cross that fine line between agony and ecstasy, you submit, and the resulting release is ten times greater than it would be if you had an ordinary sexual encounter.”

  “It sounds much better when you explain it this way. My brief foray into your world was all about whips and nipple clamps.”

  “That can be a part of it. Still, I’ve been in relationships where the most physical restraint has been my Dom’s voice. Finding the right partnership with someone who enjoys submitting to a strong and dominant personality takes time and patience, but when you find the right combination between two consenting adults who get off on the same thing, it can be amazing. And contrary
to popular belief, the power in a D/s relationship is not in the hands of the dominant partner. It’s the submissive who calls the shots.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Jason said, nodding. “The submissive sets the limits and decides what can or can’t be explored. He has the ability to put a stop to anything that pushes him out of his comfort zone. It’s the Dominant’s job to stay within those limits until they change. And like most things in life, they evolve and change over time. The Dom, in essence, is a facilitator who creates a setting where a sexual fantasy can be explored. What most people don’t realize is that he’s in it to please his submissive as much as the submissive wants to please him. It’s completely symbiotic.”

  “You’re painting a very different picture than the one I know.”

  “My fault entirely,” Max interjected. “For reasons I won’t get into, I thought Sloan was into pain. I should have been more perceptive.”

  “Hey,”—I smiled at Max—“you’d just met me. How could you have known?”

  “Sloan, I’m older and more experienced. I pride myself on being able to find the right combination to make a D/s relationship work. I failed with you.”

  “Max,” I said, shaking my head. “Let’s not even go there.”

  “When was this?” Trent asked.

  “Five years ago.”

  “Before you were with Cole?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm….”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. Trent acted like he could have done better when I knew damn well that it wasn’t so much Max’s failure but my love for Cole that prevented us from having any sort of relationship, whips notwithstanding.”