Cards of Love: Page of Swords

by Booth, Ainsley

  “That’s fantastic. And have a good time tonight. I know a few people who are going, it sounds like it’s quite the hot ticket event.”

  * * *

  Max wasn’t wrong. By the time I wake up from the world’s longest post-call sleep, dusk is setting on Duke Street and there’s a decent amount of noise coming from street-level. I wrap myself in my blanket and crawl over to the window to check it out.

  I immediately smile, because Bas is in the middle of it all, a giant among men. Extra giant right now, because he’s wearing some kind of fur vest that makes his already significant shoulders look positively massive as he points people in various directions.

  When he turns around, I realize he’s got a sword hanging off a thick leather belt, and are his pants leather, too?

  I scramble higher on my knees, pressing my nose against the glass. No, they’re black cargo pants, maybe. More practical, but still perfect for his sexy Viking costume.

  I need to see his outfit up close. Which means I need to get dressed myself. Leotard first, then the garter belt and fishnet stockings, the ballet-styled boots, following by the tutu and finally the corset. A dirty, gritty ballerina. I twist my hair into a sophisticated twist with curls falling out of it, add a couple of sparkly spiders I found in the hospital gift shop, and swipe on a bit of lipgloss and mascara.

  The last thing I want at the end of the night is to worry about taking off makeup before I bury my face in Bas’s pillows. Or something.

  Any answer to that hypothetical something is contraindicated for a full painted face. Sweat, happy tears, other bodily fluids…

  I blush at myself in the mirror, add another dash of gloss, then make the spiders in my hair dance with a little wiggle.

  I’m fully prepared to freeze my nipples off, because the corset just barely covers them—and without the leotard, that would be super dirty. But when I get downstairs and step outside, the super cool end-of-October air only nips at my nose for a second before I get a waft of something warmer.

  “Bas thought of everything, didn’t he?” Tessa asks, appearing from nowhere with a latte, which she hands over before waving at the portable heaters that are taking the chill off the air. “Including this coffee for you, by the way. He said I should keep an eye out for you while he’s fixing something down at the other end.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t miss her twinkling smile, but I’m not ready to answer any questions about Bas just yet, so I ignore that bit of her nosy neighour routine and admire her costume instead. “This is an awesome thing,” I say, gesturing at her Wild West steampunk get-up. “Is your stall all set up?”

  She curtsies. “Good to go, ready for people to arrive soon.”

  I crane my head to the side, but I can’t see the big clock on Main Street.

  Tessa reads my mind. “Half an hour to go until doors open. But all the stalls are set up, if you want to roam now before it gets busy.”

  “It’s already busy,” I murmur, taking a grateful sip of hot coffee.

  “Go on,” she urges.

  I nod. I will. And then I realize—I’m nervous. “I will,” I say out loud, more definitive now than it had sounded in my head. “I’ll just take a minute to let it all soak in first.”

  She accepts that and turns away, bustling back across the road to the outdoor version of her shop.

  At the far end of the street, I see Bas moving confidently. Solving problems. My breath catches in my throat as I take a first step, then a second, in his direction.

  A vendor halfway down the street catches my eye. “Wicked boots,” she says as I slow down to admire her chainmail work. Dragon scale gloves and heavy chain jewellery are unexpected additions to the table, and I slide my fingers over a dark blue metal choker. She grins. “That’s a favourite with the kinky crowd.”

  My head jerks up. Does she mean me? How does she know? But she points behind me, and I turn around.

  Bas wasn’t kidding when he said it was going to dirty. There’s a woman bent over a wooden structure. And since there’s a guy lazily paddling her bottom, there’s no other way to describe—that’s a spanking bench.

  So. Cool.

  I turn back, grateful that it’s gotten dark enough to hide my hot cheeks. “Pretty fun,” I murmur.

  “Oh yeah.” She says it knowingly.

  Bas is getting a grilling as soon as we’re alone tonight. A thorough, filthy grilling, maybe with me over his lap and him giving me permission to quiz him point by point.

  “How much for the choker?”

  “Thirty.”

  I pull two twenties from the curve of my corset and hand them over. She makes change, then picks up the choker. “Do you want this packaged up, or are you adding it to your costume?”

  “I’ll wear it now, yeah.” I take it from with thanks, but I don’t put it on right away. I step into the street, looking for Bas. When I don’t find him immediately, I make my way across the way to the booth for the Filthy Ottawa Social Club, as their sign proclaims.

  The Spanking Bench Club, I call them in my head.

  Or, the Tell Me More Club. Provided they have the same privacy rules as Fight Club.

  Which reminds me that the prime minister’s wife is going to arrive at some point, so until that happens, I can’t distract my Viking.

  Too much.

  So I’ll keep myself occupied.

  “Are you interested in social nudity?” The man who’d previously been spanking his partner asked.

  My mouth falls open.

  He winks. “That’s the official justification for our club. That and the creative artistic value inherent in roleplay.”

  “Oh. And the…unofficial justification?”

  The soft bristle of fur slides against my skin as big, strong, arms wrap around me from behind, and Bas’s voice growls in my ear. “Spanking, bondage, whipping. All manner of terrible things.”

  “Hi,” I whisper, twisting around to see him.

  He kisses me gently on the mouth. Then not-so-gently. “You found this booth.”

  “I did.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say at first, but that’s not true. “Yes. It’s…overwhelming but cool.”

  “Don’t let Oliver scare you.”

  “I’m not scared.” I turn back. “Hi Oliver. I’m Meadow.”

  Oliver holds out his hand. “A pleasure.” Then he turns to greet someone new, and Bas guides me over to the spanking bench.

  “Do you have one of these?” I ask, breathlessly.

  He laughs. “No. I don’t have any kinky furniture, but if you like it, I’ll build you one by morning.”

  “I was…” I get as close to him as I can get and tip my head back to look at him. “I was thinking I’d like to be over your lap.”

  He growls and flexes his hands against my back. “Yes.”

  “How kinky are you?”

  “As kinky as you want me to be? I want you to get off, I want to enjoy getting you off, I want to make you squirm, and control you a bit—if you’d like that.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Have you ever played like this?”

  “Not really. But I’m curious.” I turn around to take it all in again, and the choker clatters in my hand. “Oh!” I hold it up. “I bought this. Just now.”

  One of his eyebrows curves high on his brow. “That’s pretty kinky. And hot.”

  “Would you put it on me?”

  He exhales and nods. “Absolutely.”

  After turning me around, he brushes a kiss on the top of my spine, then reaches around me and settles the chain against the fluttering pulse-point at the base of my neck. His fingers rub against my skin as he does up the latch, then settle on my shoulders.

  “You look phenomenal,” he murmurs in my ear, curving over my body. I can feel his gaze on the chain, on my chest and the curve of skin at the top of the leotard, even though I can’t see his face. “I will be watching you all night, my sexy little ballerina. My go
rgeous little one.”

  My heart swells as he turns me around.

  “How does that sound?” he asks as he touches his fingertips to my chin.

  I nod, wordlessly.

  He shakes his head. “Tell me, Meadow.”

  “I like that,” I whisper.

  But before we can get into it further, there’s a flurry of activity at the gates, and the Halloween street party is officially open.

  I push up higher on my toes and kiss his jaw. “Find me later,” I say, grinning broadly. I want this to be a roaring success for him. “I’m going to talk up the special brew at Duke & Main to everyone who looks thirsty.”

  “Meadow—” He grabs for me, but I’m out of reach now. Just for a few more hours. Then I’ll be his little one until dawn.

  “Go,” I say, wiggling my fingers at him. “I bet Ellie Strong is going to be here any minute. Rumour has it she’s hell on wheels. Better go and make sure she’s well taken care of.”

  10

  Ellie

  Yes, that Ellie! From Prime Minister!

  This is the first girls’ night I have had in forever, and maximum fun depends on maintaining a low profile. My bodyguard, Corinne, found a minivan in the RCMP fleet—not something Gavin and I usually get transported in, although maybe we’ll use it more as our family grows. It’s perfect for traveling incognito, and surprisingly spacious and comfortable inside.

  After some negotiation—where I told Gavin I would be fine with just Corinne and one more female officer—I agreed to a discreet back-up detail parked nearby.

  My husband wasn’t swayed by my suggestion that the bustling metropolis of Metcalfe might be perfectly safe for me to visit without any security at all. And then he played the “mother of my children” card and I capitulated. So when we park behind the bakery in town, Corinne tells me the other detail will be stationed on the other side of the street party, behind a bar called Duke & Main.

  The back door of the bakery opens, and Corinne hustles us from the van and inside where she makes introductions.

  “Ellie, this is Bas Absolom, the event organizer. Bas, Ellie Strong,”

  I shake his outstretched hand. “Lovely to meet you, Bas. I appreciate the effort you’ve gone to so that my friends and I can blow off a little steam. I’d like you to meet Sasha, Beth, and Violet.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” he says with a wide grin.

  “There are goodies at all the stalls, so you’ll need these,” Bas says as he hands us each a small cotton bag with Duke Street Trick or Treat printed on them. “It’s been lovely meeting you. I need to get back to the party. Enjoy yourselves and if there’s anything you need, Corinne will let me know and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you,” we all say in chorus, then dissolve into laughter. We all needed this, for sure.

  Once we’re alone, I take a good look at how my friends have dressed up. I was the last to be picked up, and the inside of the van was too dark to see much.

  My best friend and former roommate has gone with a sexy twist on history. “Sasha, that costume is positively decadent. Cleopatra?”

  “In the flesh. Left the snake at home, though.”

  “You really shouldn’t talk about poor Tate, like that,” Violet says with a wink. Then she shrugs out of her jacket, revealing more her costume. Not that there’s much to see.

  Sasha purrs. “Does Max know you’re dressed up like a naughty little cheerleader?”

  “He picked it out,” Violet says. “Speaking of which…” She leans in. “Bas did a good job of pretending he doesn’t know me, but within our cone of silence—“ She wiggles her finger at us. We all know the drill.

  Max and Violet are super kinky. We all are, in different ways, but they’re the most free about it.

  They get to be free about it.

  “Cone of silence,” I say breathlessly. I love kinky secrets.

  Violet grins. “We’ve seen him at events. Max says he’s a great Dom, really nice, excellent teacher.”

  Beth makes a happy sigh, and we all turn towards her.

  She shrugs. “What? He has big hands. It’s good to hear he knows how to use them. Don’t worry, I’m happily taken with my sexy men.”

  Beth fell in love with two Mounties. And they both fell for her—and each other. They’re adorable together.

  As if she can read my mind, her cheeks turn pink, and she tugs the face part of her costume up and over her head, hiding her sweet embarrassment. “Enough of that,” she says through the bright blue nylon.

  “What exactly is your costume, anyway?” Violet asks. “I thought we were all doing the dirty thing.” She tugs at the tiny cheer skirt.

  Beth wiggles in the bright blue body stocking. “I’m not wearing anything underneath it, ladies. This is practically like streaking, in public, with my boss's wife by my side. And what could be dirtier than having your men cut their way in for some playtime to finish off the evening?”

  “I take it back. That’s wicked dirty. Ellie, meanwhile just looks all classy dressed up like a flapper.”

  “Hey,” I protest in mock indignation. We all know I can’t be photographed in bunny ears and a furry tail, as much as I might like that. There are rules one must follow when one is married to the prime minister. “Flappers can be dirty and classy.”

  Corinne is standing off to the side dressed like a sexy western sheriff—an excellent costume to include a very real weapon on her hip. She’s obviously trying to hold in her amusement. She makes it easy for me to relax and just be me, and puts real effort into blending in without injecting herself into the situation. I appreciate that more than she can possibly know.

  “Come on,” Sasha says. “As much as it would be lovely to stand here and gab, there’s a whole party waiting out there.”

  We make our way through the bakery, trick or treat bags firmly in hand. The other security officer is at the door waiting for us. She nods and heads out first, while Corinne brings up the rear.

  The street is crowded, but it’s not a complete crush. Not yet, anyway.

  “Let’s work our way up this side of the street, then come back down the other so we can stop for a drink or two before heading home,” I suggest.

  Everyone voices their agreement and we start off at the baker’s stall. She’s adorable in her steampunk outfit. Violet and I buy a muffin to eat on the way home and we move on.

  “I want to check out the books,” Violet says as we near the stall.

  We stop to have a look, and Beth catches my eye and lifts a brow in question as we both notice there’s a whole section on kink. I shake my head at her slightly. It’s one thing to be here, but I can only imagine the fuss if it got out that the prime minister’s wife and his assistant bought kinky sex books.

  She nods and we go back to perusing the tamer offerings before continuing to the next stall. Here a local musician is selling CDs, and I happily buy one for us to listen to on the drive home. He recognizes me, which I expected, and we take a quick picture together.

  “Do me a favour and don’t post that to social media until I leave, okay?” I wink at him, and I think it’ll work. Everyone likes a conspiratorial whisper and being in on a secret with a VIP.

  It’s still hard to think of myself as that, even after two years of being in Gavin’s life and more than a year of marriage. Most of the time, I’m still Ellie Montague, a PhD student constantly negotiating another six months for her dissertation.

  But then there’s a red carpet event, or an important announcement, or—shudder—an election, like the one coming next year. And then I’m very much Mrs. Gavin Strong, a part of his public image and entirely up for critique.

  We collect candy at a few more stalls. My favourite is a costume shop stall. They have the most incredible masks, and the proprietor is wearing an ornate plague mask with an elongated beak nose.

  As part of his stall he has a gorgeous human-sized birdcage, at least ten feet tall, with creaky door that swings easily on its hinges
when I touch it. “Would you like to try it out?” the man in the plague mask says, and oh, yes, I would.

  But I can’t.

  Always aware of the optics.

  “Maybe Sasha?” I suggest, turning to my friends. My bestie happily complies, dancing her way into the cage. We howl as I close her in, the creak of the door adding to the whole ambience.

  Beth snaps our picture with my phone, then another further away. “For your personal reference, should you want to have a cage made,” she whispers when she hands it back.

  I adore my friends. I whisper my thanks back.

  Then it’s on to the next stall, and the one after that. “Trick or treat!” we call out, collecting candy in our bags.

  It takes more than an hour to complete the loop. When we pass the Filthy Ottawa Social Club, Beth and I leave Sasha and Violet to play on the spanking bench together, and we go on ahead to the bar.

  “Did you have fun?” I ask Sasha when they finally join us. “We ordered a round of the signature cocktails, they should be here soon.”

  “Oh yeah, spanking was amazing.”

  Violet’s cheeks are pink. “She’s a natural. Maybe Tate’s bottom doesn’t know what’s coming?”

  “Maybe,” Sasha murmurs. “Although Tate’s bottom likes most things that I do to it, so…he’ll be game.”

  “You mean…” I clear my throat and look around. “Not here.”

  From behind me, Corinne is laughing. I don’t blame her.

  “No, not here,” Beth says smoothly. “But in the van.”

  I nod. “Oh yes. In the van. One hundred percent.”

  Sasha beams. Of course she wants to show off her I-know-where-my-man’s-prostate-is skills. She’s a freak.

  We all are.

  It’s wonderful.

  “Ladies,” a booming voice says above us. “I have your drinks.”

  We look up as one at Bas, who serves us four shimmering drinks, each one a slightly different opalescence. Pinks, blues, oranges, and reds all swirl together with some kind of edible sparkle dust scattered over the surface.