by Marian Tee
My Lane.
He thought of her as his.
She bit her lip and tried not to be gauche with her thoughts, but it was impossible.
My Lane, he had said.
Gosh.
“I will never force or coerce you to say or do anything that you don’t want to. Nor should you see it as something that would change who you are, because it doesn’t. It’s not something that defines you—” He paused meaningfully. “Just like your clothes do not define who you are.”
A nervous giggle escaped her. “Is that a jibe about my taste in fashion?”
“Those are your words,” he pointed out smoothly, “not mine.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Any more questions, my Lane?”
Right. Her mind went back to la-la land at the endearment. She should have more questions, she knew, but now all she could think of was she wanted to hear him say that again and again. That she was his—
“Maybe if you look away,” she suggested hesitantly, “I could maybe think of more questions.”
“Or maybe deep down inside you already know there’s nothing to question.” The smile he gave her was pure iniquity, almost like it was telling her to simply seize the day and forget about worrying.
Trust me, that immorally beautiful smile said. You will love being a masochist because I’ll be the one to torture you.
His smoldering gaze roamed her body, as if he was already thinking of ways to make her cry out—
Lane hastily took a sip of her milkshake. Gosh. Why did it feel like the place had suddenly become hot? She focused on the swirls of liquid in her drink, and without his heated gaze to distract Lane, the question she most needed to ask slowly came back.
“Does being a masochist really mean I’d be whipped and, well, be on the receiving end of pain?” When Angelo didn’t answer right away, she couldn’t help looking up—
His lips curved, as if he had only been silent to make her worry.
Oh!
Her toes curled at the sight even as she protested, “Stop teasing me, I’m being serious!” Lane wasn’t sure whom she was more irritated at – Angelo for always wanting to keep her on her toes, or at herself for actually feeling like that smile of his had been a reward.
“But I am being serious, too, tesoro. That was my way of making you realize the kind of masochist you are.” Before she could answer him, he had reached for her hand across the table, and she nearly jumped in shock.
“Most of them think it’s all about the physical pain, but it’s not.”
“Umm…” Lane could barely understand him. She was too busy trying not to swoon at the feel of his fingers twining with hers.
“A few of them are…different.” Angelo continued playing with her hand, alternating between stroking her knuckles and tracing random lines on the back of her hand.
She strove hard to concentrate on his words, but it was impossible. Gosh. Oh gosh. Her body was on fire, and her pulse was leaping madly at every leisurely stroke of his long, graceful fingers.
“Like you.”
His gaze cast a spell over her, and completely enthralled, she could only whisper dumbly, “Like me?”
The barest hint of a wicked smile slashed his lips. “Yes, my Lane. You’re different from most. You’re the kind who crave emotional torment, the kind who like being made to beg, forced, and blackmailed.”
When he finished speaking, weaving a spell so much darker and harder to resist, she could only surrender to it, saying dreamily, “Yes, I’m…”
No, wait.
What had he said?
Lane instinctively jerked her hand out of his hold, stiffening in her seat. “What did you say?”
He leaned back with a smirk. “You heard me.”
Most times she wanted to kiss him, but at that moment she had a surprising urge to slap his smirk off his too-beautiful face. She said fiercely, “I’m not an abuse victim waiting to happen!”
“I know that.” His smirk disappeared, but his voice remained calm as he continued, “And it’s where you’re wrong. Masochism isn’t about abuse at all. That’s just how people who don’t understand it twist things. It’s like what I said earlier, tesoro. Sadism and masochism is merely a form of pleasure, a specific way of making one feel good. And for masochists—” He shrugged. “Pain is the stimulus for pleasure.”
That was it? She gazed him uneasily. “You make it sound so simple—”
“Because it is.” Again, he caught her off guard, leaning forward as he reached for her face. “And you believe me, don’t you?” His gaze captured hers as he ran his knuckles on her cheek.
Every cell of her body came alive at the contact, and Lane’s eyes involuntarily drifted close to savor the feel of his touch. “Yes…” And then she realized what was happening. Her eyes flew open, and she said accusingly, “You’re making me say things again!”
He pulled away with a shrug, a gesture that was infuriatingly and effortlessly sexy at the same time. “Mi dispiace, tesoro, but is it my fault if it’s in you to obey me?”
She turned red and tried to hide her dismay behind a glare, sputtering, “So now I’m not just a weird masochist but a Sub, too?”
Another shrug. “Usually, those two come hand in hand, yes.”
The urge to hit him returned with a vengeance, but it was also accompanied by an equally strong urge to bang her head against the table. Dear God, was she really a masochist and a Sub combined?
She looked at Angelo, and the words were out before she could stop them. “Are you telling me the truth? Am I really both?” She expected Angelo to make a joke out of it, but instead his gaze became inscrutable.
“Do you trust me to tell you the truth?”
“I…guess.”
“Then…do you also see that by trusting me, you’re acting like a Sub entrusting herself to a Dom?”
Her eyes widened.
He said gently, “And that’s your answer.”
Lane’s mouth opened and closed.
She reached for her milkshake and saw that her hands were shaking.
Gosh. Oh…gosh.
She was not just a masochist but a Sub, too.
Lane looked down at the table.
Angelo’s gaze narrowed at the way Lane was suddenly staring at the table with utter fascination. Surely she wouldn’t—
Lane took a deep breath. If she banged her head against it, did that mean she would like the feel—
She heard Angelo say in a distinctly clear voice, “Don’t be an imbecile, my Lane.”
Her head jerked up. “Did you just call me an imbecile?” But she was only pretending to be mad because, horrible masochist that she was, she liked the way he was teasing her.
Lane had a silly urge to cry.
Oh. My. GOSH.
She was really a masochist.
Angelo knew a nicer man would have felt dismayed at the look of agony on her face, but he was not like all nice men.
He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and Lane’s tormented expression gave him nothing but sadistic pleasure.
Even so, he tried to be nice, managing to murmur, “I’m sorry this has become such a shock.”
“You don’t sound sorry though,” she couldn’t help pointing out in a mumble.
He shrugged. “Well…if you wish me to be honest, no. I don’t. But then you understand why, don’t you?”
She nodded glumly.
“And you like me this way, don’t you?”
She turned red.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
She glared at him, but since what he said was true—
“Then tesoro, what is the problem?”
“Everything,” she cried out.
“Be more specific.”
“I’m not even halfway to understanding what being a masochist means, and now you’re telling me I’m a slave—”
“I beg to differ,” he countered. “I said you were a Sub, or a Sub in the making—”
“And Subs are slaves, aren’t they?” she demanded. Breathing hard, she closed her eyes for a moment so she could control her emotions, which felt like they were about to burst any moment. When she opened her eyes, she almost screamed at finding Angelo had silently leaned forward, and his face just an inch away from hers.
He pulled away, eyes gleaming with amusement, and she knew he had done it again.
“Sadist!” But her toes curled even as she threw the word at him like a curse.
He smiled beautifully at her just before saying, “Masochist.”
And her toes curled anew, as if to drive the point home.
“This, my Lane—” His hands moved in an expressive gesture that was so typically Italian she almost smiled. “—is how it will be between us. Forget what you’ve heard about other Subs and masochists. For us two, it will always be this good.”
He held her hand, taking her by surprise once more, and she froze when he brought it to his lips.
“Angelo,” she began uneasily.
“Between the two of us, it will be like…” He nipped her index finger, saying, “Master.” He nipped her third finger. “And.” He moved to the fourth, and by now she was ready to swoon. “Beloved.” Her body jerked as he moved to her pinky. “Pet.”
“Okay.” She was ready to give him anything by now, she just wanted him to make her feel good again.
He smiled at her.
She smiled back at him.
But then her mind started to work, and she choked out, “Excuse me? Did you just say I’m going to be like your pet?”
“A beloved pet,” he corrected.
“But it’s still a pet!”
“It’s a good thing,” he promised. “Trust me.”
“I don’t.”
“You’ll love being my pet.”
His voice had become an intoxicating mix of commanding and enticing, and oh gosh, she felt herself melting at the sound. Lane grimaced. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “Maybe I will.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Good girl.”
He leaned away, and the sudden distance between them was like having a bucket of ice water thrown at her. And he probably knew that, too, she thought glumly.
He really was a sadist, a beautiful, fallen angel who refused to go to heaven because he was having too much fun torturing naïve mortals like her.
It was a terrifyingly sexy truth, and even more terrifying was that she really did like being tortured.
The silence that followed wasn’t exactly tense, but it wasn’t comfortable either.
“Would your parents mind if you don’t go home for spring break?”
Surprised at the question, she blurted out, “Are you saying you want me to stay?”
His gaze bored through her. “You already know the answer to that.”
Oh. She swallowed. Gosh. He wanted her to stay in town for spring break.
“T-they won’t mind,” she heard herself say.
“Good.” His tone was filled with satisfaction, and his smoldering gaze promised her a reward for giving him the answer he wanted.
Her toes curled. Was it bad that she was excited about the reward, even if it meant being tortured again?
“Do you have a place to stay here?”
Lane hesitated, thinking about her flat, which she had unfortunately sublet to a friend for spring break.
“Tesoro?”
A crazy idea occurred to her, and Lane heard herself say, “Well…I can think of a place.”
“I can take you there.” Angelo raised his cup to take another sip. “Where is it?”
“Wherever your place is.”
Chapter Six
Angelo choked on his coffee and quickly set it down. Whatever happened to his shy and old-fashioned Lane? When he saw that she was serious, he said flatly, “That’s not possible.”
She frowned unhappily. “Why not?”
His gaze narrowed. “Is it not enough that I said so?”
“Maybe,” she said slowly, “in other cases it would be, but not this. So why not?” And Lane held her breath, wondering if he was going to spring some awful surprise on her, like maybe he had a secret girlfriend hidden somewhere, and that she was just the rebound—
Angelo leaned forward and nipped her lip.
Oh!
When he pulled away, he murmured, “Punishment for thinking silly thoughts.”
Oh.
Gosh.
Was it bad if she was already thinking of ways to get punished again? Then she saw the way he was smirking, and she knew he had read her thoughts. She blushed, he laughed, and she sighed, muttering, “You’re such a sadist.”
He only smiled. “When you say that, my Lane, I know you only mean to say, I am everything you want.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. “So thank you for the words.”
His arrogance left her speechless, but eventually amusement won, and she said helplessly, “You’ll always have the last word, won’t you?”
“Naturally. It is how things should be between us—”
An idea occurred to her, and she said carefully, “Because you like torturing me?”
He eyed her curiously. “Is this a trick question?”
“You do, right?”
“If I say yes?”
“Then…” She took a deep breath and said cunningly, “If you let me stay in your place, just think about it! You can always torture me—”
Angelo laughed. “Tempting, my Lane, but no.”
“But think of the endless opportunities,” she insisted.
“It’s heartbreaking to say no, but…no.”
“But—”
“I’m saying no for your sake,” he said bluntly. “The kind of lifestyle I lead is not for someone like you, tesoro.”
“Are you talking about…that?”
She paled. “Are you talking about being…that?”
His eyes bored through hers. “You can’t even say it, and yet you want to live with me, the embodiment of…that?” He mimicked her tone with the last word.
She didn’t hesitate, saying in a rush, “Sadist, masochist, sadist, masochist, sadist, masochist,” and practically turning them into a tongue twister. “There, I’ve said it. Now can I stay with you?”
He shook his head.
“Please.”
Ah. Angelo crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her broodingly. She might not be knowledgeable about the ways of a Sub, but she was already doing just fine. No master could resist that kind of look coming from his Sub, and clearly, his Lane instinctively knew this.
“May I say make something clear first?”
She nodded slowly, his courteous tone putting her on guard.
“You do understand, tesoro, that although I intend to be your lover, and we will be exclusive while we are together, it does not mean you are my girlfriend?”
Oh.
She could only think of one thing to say. “Ouch.”
His face remained inscrutable. “And now that you are aware of this, do you still want to stay at my place?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”
“I see.” His gaze turned contemplative.
“Did you…expect me to say no?”
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin. “Well, sorry, but I don’t give up so easily.”
His lips twitched. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“And what you don’t want to give up on is – me?”
“Umm…” Now this was embarrassing. She didn’t meet his gaze as she said, “Yes.”
“And are you willing to do anything to prove this, my Lane?”
Uh oh. What had his sadistic mind conjured this time?
She said warily, “Yes.”
“Alright then, let’s see you prove it.”
Here we go, she thought.
“First is that if you do stay with me, you must promise to obey my every command.”
She choked out, “Every comman
d?”
Instead of answering her, Angelo reached for his phone in his pocket and made a few swipes on the screen before handing it to her.
Lane blinked when she realized what she was staring at. “A lease contract?”
His lips twitched. “Not exactly.”
Wondering what he found so amusing, she adjusted the glasses on her nose and squinted.
The first few lines were the usual, but then—
Oh.
“Is this a joke?” she blurted out.
“No.” He gestured to the phone. “Go on, read it. This contract is nothing like what you’ve probably seen in movies or read in books. It’s pretty straightforward, nothing kinky. It’s merely a way to protect us both as well as give you the assurance that nothing I command you to do will ever be harmful.”
“I see.” But she was starting to feel bothered about something else. “Do you have all your partners sign this?”
“No.” Angelo’s smile was humorless as he thought about the women who had signed the contract, which was practically everyone who had spent more than a few nights in his bed, and the one woman in his life who had not even known the contract existed.
The one woman, he thought sardonically, who had shared his life for the longest time without knowing the truth about him.
He glanced back at Lane, who was already signing the contract electronically. When she handed his phone back to him, he commented lightly, “You didn’t take much time thinking about this, tesoro.”
“I didn’t have to.”
“You are certain?”
She nodded.
“Are you ready to hear about the second condition?”
“How many conditions are there?” It was a lame attempt at joking, but Angelo laughed anyway, and her heart tripped over itself when she heard the sound of his laughter.
It reminded Lane of that first day, reminded her why he was so special to her.
Angelo Valencia was her fallen angel.
Just like Laura was.
When she thought about it that way, there was really no need to worry about anything.
This, whatever it was between them, deserved a chance.
“Tesoro?”
She blinked. “Sorry, I was just, umm, preparing myself for your next condition.”
“Just one last,” he said solemnly, “and I’m all yours.”
She turned red. “Angelo!” Gosh. How did he always know what to say to make her blush?