Walk on the Wild Side

by Suz deMello

  “Ah, but you’re boinking the most infamous whoremaster in the city.” He winked.

  “I thought that was Derrick Galway. You’re a legitimate businessman.”

  “Lesson learned. Well done, slave.”

  When they reached James’s apartment, Liza noticed subtle changes that told her that his staff had been in to tidy up. In his bedroom, the bed had been made, and steam billowed from the bathroom door.

  “I called ahead to have the tub filled for us.” He removed his jacket and hung it up in one of the wardrobes.

  She followed suit, handing her dress to James, who hung it in a different wardrobe, next to the lace blouse and leather skirt she’d worn on Friday night. He put her shoes on the wardrobe’s floor with her black leather pumps. She set her new bracelet atop one of the bedside tables.

  A sense of unreality stole over her. She had possessions in a closet in James Li’s flat. How had that happened? She’d been seeing Tom Hardwick for four months, and not even a hairpin she owned was at his place.

  “There’re face creams in the bathroom,” James told her while he was taking off his trousers. He took her panties out of the pocket, smiled at her, and tucked them in his bedside drawer. “You should be able to find something to take off your makeup. I imagine you’ll also want to wash your hair. That style took a lot of spray.”

  “It did,” she said. “Bobby basically glued my hair to the top of my head.”

  He grinned and loosened his tie. While he finished undressing, Liza went into the bathroom, found cleansing cream and a washcloth, and carefully took off what remained of her elaborate makeup before stepping into the big bathtub. Full of very hot water, it was like nirvana on earth. She let herself drop to the bottom of the tub, holding her breath when her head sank beneath the surface. She rubbed her scalp until she could feel the hot water penetrate to her skin, then came up, found shampoo and set to briskly washing her hair.

  Without warning, strong fingers dug into her scalp, massaging. “Aaahhhh ... James, do you want me to fall in love with you? Massaging my head will do it, you know.”

  “Oh, so that’s the secret.”

  “Seamas thinks the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach, but he’s wrong. For me, it’s massage. Rub my head or feet and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  “You just love to be touched. I told you, you’re a very sensual woman. We’re a match, since I love to touch you. Rinse.”

  Eyes closed, she dunked her head, before leaning against the tub’s rim. A cool glop of something dropped onto her scalp; conditioner, she guessed. It carried a flowery scent. Jasmine, perhaps.

  He slicked it through her hair, rubbing so the conditioner reached the ends. “You could let that stay on for a few minutes.” He climbed into the tub and sat next to her. “The steam will really get it to soak in.”

  “It’s amazing how much you know about women.”

  “Like I said, comes with the territory. Plus, my family is really, umm, how can I put it? Full of strong women. My dad isn’t a pushover, but we’re outnumbered. Didn’t I mention I have two sisters?”

  She sighed. “It’s been a long time since I was able to take so much time to pamper myself.”

  “I told you, you work too hard. Stick with me, baby, and I’ll show you how to live.”

  Opening her eyes, she grinned at him. “I bet you could.” But how could she make their relationship work?

  Heaven only knew what would happen Monday morning.

  She cast questions out of her mind and let herself drift. Fifteen minutes later, happily boneless after the long soak in hot water, she dragged herself out of the tub to wrap her body and hair in thick, warm towels. James wasn’t there, but she could see through the half-open bathroom door that he was reading in bed, with round, wire-framed glasses giving him an almost nerdy look.

  She sat on the side of the bed. “I like the round rims. You look like an Asian Harry Potter.”

  He put aside his copy of Forbes magazine. “You think I look like Harry? That’s cool. I love Harry Potter. I can hardly wait to read the next book.”

  “Me too. I already preordered it online.”

  “I like to go to pick it up. I want it the first day.”

  “Last time, my copy came the first day,” she said.

  “I like to go to one of the bookstore’s Harry Potter parties.”

  “I’ve never done that,” Liza said, intrigued. “Is it fun?”

  He nodded vigorously.

  “I should take off work and do that.”

  He stretched his legs out beneath the duvet. “Everyone here is so into Harry Potter that the last time a book came out, I had to close this house at eleven-thirty. Everyone wanted to go to a midnight Potter party.”

  “You could have one here.”

  “I’ve thought about that. I took wagers on the identity of the half-blood prince and on who would be cast as Lord Voldemort in the movies.”

  Laughing, she rubbed her hair with the towel. “That’s so cool. You know, for the first time I’m seeing what you do as, well, really fun.”

  “It is. I’m selling fun and good times, so I hire and rent to only fun people, folks with a sense of humor. Ready for bed?” He drew back the comforter invitingly.

  “I have to comb out my hair.”

  “Bring a comb and I’ll do it. And get dry towels.”

  Surprised, she cast him a startled glance. “Okay.” She found towels and the same large-toothed comb she’d used before and returned to his side.

  Now who’s the slave? she wondered as James began to comb out her hair. He was gentle, too, carefully working out any snarls he encountered.

  “I guess that leaving the conditioner on for a while was a good idea,” she said. “I’m surprised that there aren’t more knots.”

  “Does your hair get real tangled?” Finished, he dropped the comb onto his bedside table, then turned out the light. The room was now illuminated only by a soft glow seeping through the half-drawn curtains. The darkness urged Liza toward slumber.

  She yawned. “Yeah, it’s somewhere between wavy and kinky.”

  “You have beautiful hair. Come here and get under the covers.” He pulled her down by his side and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. “Mmmm.”

  She gave a tired chuckle and fell asleep.

  She woke up sometime in the night with James caressing her breasts. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

  “Now I am.”

  “Good.” His hand strayed down her body to her pussy. She parted her legs for him, and he delved in a finger. “Umm, nice and wet.”

  “I didn’t think I had anything left.”

  “I want to make love to you again, Liza. But only if you want to.” His voice was soft.

  “I want to.”

  He rolled on top of her and she spread her legs wider, so his hips could rest between her thighs. He set his hands on either side of her face and kissed her. Long and slow, the kiss was meant to arouse, seduce, even though she’d already given her permission. But why? She was his slave for the weekend. He didn’t have to ask, but he did. What did that mean?

  With James’s kiss growing more languorous, more sensual, she couldn’t keep her mind on the questions. He was right. Tomorrow was Sunday and soon enough for questions.

  She stroked down his back to his lean buns, running a hesitant nail along his furrow. His hardening cock pressing against her clit told her that he liked it and might be open to more.

  “Bend your knees, sweetheart, so I can get inside you.”

  She did, and he stuck one hand beneath her right thigh, drawing her knee up so her pussy was accessible. He rocked his hips back and forth, rubbing the hard ridge of his shaft across her cunt before he slid inside. She sighed from pure joy at his long, slow, steady thrusts.

  It was good but she didn’t want to come yet, not while she had him exactly where she wanted him. She licked her finger and reached for his ass, searching for his back door. A quick slid
e down his crack, and she found it: a tight, wrinkled rosette.

  She put in her finger hesitantly, not knowing how he’d react.

  “Oh, God, Liza, that’s so hot.” James moaned and bucked harder, finding the back of her vagina.

  She tightened around his cock, while fumbling inside him for his prostate. She’d read in a women’s magazine that you could stroke it from the inside, and that some uninhibited men adored it. Since she couldn’t think of anything that repulsed James, she wanted to try.

  She gloried in the new, strange feeling of being inside his ass. The tight clench of his narrow sheath on her finger was mind-blowing, erotic, giving her a sense of what it must be like for James to buttfuck her. She understood why he’d opened her, since his ass’s grip on her finger threatened to cut off her circulation. Wiggling her fingertip, she found his prostate, a hard walnut at the bottom of his anus.

  “OhGodohGodohGod ...” James’s moans echoed in her ears as he came, his body convulsing, out of control.

  He sprawled atop her in complete relaxation. In a few moments, his deep, even breathing told her he’d passed out.

  She’d done it. He’d surrendered to her the way she gave herself completely to him.

  Chapter Ten

  Late the next morning, they dressed in robes. James led Liza into the living room, where a small round dining table had been set up with breakfast and the Sunday S.F. Chronicle. She smelled coffee, fried eggs, potatoes ... Her belly rumbled.

  “The call of the wild?” He laughed and gestured her to a chair. It was wooden, with a caned bottom and sides.

  “Umm, are there any cushions I can use? My butt’s still a little sore.”

  “There are cushions, but are you sure you want to use them?”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t see how I can ever forget what we’ve shared.” She sat gingerly, leaning to minimize contact between the chair and the tender areas of her ass.

  “Me, either.” His dark gaze was serious. “I didn’t enjoy whipping you, but you seemed to want it.”

  She hesitated. “After reading O, the idea intrigued me. But it wasn’t fun, and I don’t want a repeat.”

  “At least the marks will heal.” He sat.

  “I don’t mind being marked by you, but not with a whip.”

  He leaned back in his chair and fondled his nipple ring, his eyes on her chest, partially visible through the half-open robe. Lashed by his scrutiny, her breasts swelled and tingled at the tips.

  “Would you wear my mark?” he asked.

  “What is that charm?” Liza left her chair and came closer to look, kneeling by his side. The position put her head on a level with James’s groin. She glanced at his crotch, inhaling his male scent, before lifting her gaze to his admirable pecs.

  He put one finger beneath his nipple jewelry, which consisted of a gold D ring with a charm attached, a tiny flat square of jade caged in gold filigree. “This side is my family name, and on the back is a character meaning happiness.”

  She beamed at him. “You and happiness work for me. But do you want me to pierce my nipple?” Eek.

  “Yes, I do, but this isn’t an order. I want you to make this choice, freely and for yourself, not for me. One other thing -- you don’t have to decide now.” He stroked her hair. “Now sit down, and let’s have some breakfast.”

  He uncovered serving dishes to reveal lox benedict with sides of home fried potatoes and fresh fruit.

  Remembering last night’s feast, she sighed. “You have a naturally fast metabolism, right?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  Popping a cork, he opened a bottle of Domaine Chandon Napa Valley Brut.

  “This is great,” she said. “It’s my favorite.”

  “I know.” He poured for them both. Picking up his glass, he said, “To a mellow Sunday.”

  “Yeah, baby.” She clinked her glass to his and drank.

  As they ate, she was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all. She was eating Sunday brunch in James Li’s penthouse flat after giving herself to him for the weekend. But between Friday night and Sunday morning, their relationship had changed, from captor and slave to equals, freely giving each other pleasure.

  She liked that.

  “What part of the paper do you want?” he asked.

  “The Sporting Green, the pink section, and the comics first, then the front section. Then everything else except the ads.” She served herself more fruit.

  His brow wrinkled. “Hmm. You read the paper in the same order as I do.”

  “Ouch. Our first real conflict as a couple.” She eyed the Sporting Green covetously before meeting James’s gaze. She winked. “How can we resolve this fair and square?”

  “What if we gamble for the right to read the Sporting Green first?” He raised innocent eyes to her.

  “Gamble against the owner of several card rooms? I must look stupid this morning.”

  “How about a different game, say, Trivial Pursuit or Scrabble?”

  “Okay.” She was good at both.

  “All right, then.” He set the Sporting Green aside and extended his hand across the table. They shook on the deal.

  * * * * *

  After breakfast, they poured more coffee and took their mugs over to the Scrabble board, a three-by-three square table with a swiveling top and an inset game board. It was not the Scrabble board of an ordinary player; custom made mostly out of onyx and white marble, all of the special squares like double letter score and triple word score were carved out of semiprecious stones: turquoise, lapis and carnelian.

  It was not merely nice, it was exquisite, and for the first time Liza wondered if she was being conned. She remembered seeing it Friday night when she’d arrived. Was James a Scrabble expert? And if so, why hadn’t her extensive investigation revealed this fact?

  But as the game progressed, she regained her confidence. They were neck and neck at 254 and 253 when James began to falter. Perhaps he’d drunk too much champagne, because she pulled ahead and won, 266-257.

  She triumphantly snatched the Sporting Green and started to read about the basketball playoffs.

  “Sweetheart?” He gave her a guileless smile. “How about if we raise the stakes?”

  Uh-oh. She’d come to distrust that smile. It often meant he was hatching some diabolical plan. “What kind of stakes?” she asked.

  “Hmm ...” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “Next week I have to go to a Chamber of Commerce banquet. How about coming as my date?”

  She stared back. “That would be a public declaration.”

  “Yes, from both of us.”

  “That we’re together.”

  “Yes. It’s only fair to tell you that your boss, the police chief, will probably be there.”

  “That’s risky for me.”

  He smiled. “Raising the stakes involves risk. So how about it?” He tossed a couple of tiles from one hand to the other. “You gonna go for it or wimp out?”

  She clenched her jaw, then remembered she’d beaten him. “I’ll go for it.”

  He dropped the remaining tiles into their velvet bag and shook it. “Pick to see who goes first.”

  She picked a K and he an F, but going first didn’t matter much. The game went downhill from there.

  * * * * *

  “Ip is not a word.”

  “Is so.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is too.” James picked up and waved his Scrabble Dictionary at her. “If it’s in here, it’s a word.”

  Liza scowled. She had come to detest that book. With it, he’d wormed in obscurities like wyn, jabiru, and ennead. And now, ip. On top of that, he wanted to put the P on a red square. She couldn’t allow that. “What the hell is an ip?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. As long as it’s a word, it’s good to go.”

  “But those are your last two letters!”

  He shrugg
ed.

  He was trouncing her 235-167, and she couldn’t stand it. Okay, she found stupid men boring, but now she’d discovered that too smart was just that: too smart.

  She bet he’d allowed her to win the first game. She hated being patronized.

  Damn it, she’d been conned by a master. Oh well. At least she’d read the Sporting Green first for the rest of her life.

  The rest of her life.

  When had she begun to think of her relationship with James as something that would last beyond this weekend? Before he’d challenged her to play Scrabble for the Sporting Green, that was for sure.

  Maybe when she’d discussed him with her mother. Maybe when she’d told him she wanted to wear his mark and was seriously considering getting her nipple pierced like his. The tacit understanding behind much of what had happened, now that she thought about it, was that they’d be seeing each other.

  And now, she’d accompany him to a very public event -- a Chamber of Commerce dinner -- as his date.

  She was about to lose the game anyhow ... maybe she could distract James, and he’d forget their deal. “Is it time for our talk yet?” she asked.

  “Sure. Umm, do I get ip?”

  “Okay, if you promise not to get mad.”

  He eyed her. “O-kay. Uh, what am I agreeing to?”

  “Just ... don’t get mad, whatever you hear, okay? Please?” She took a deep breath. She didn’t know quite how to broach the subject, considering that her relationship with James had grown far beyond detective and suspect. She didn’t want to risk the odd new love she’d found with him, but she had to do her job, didn’t she?

  She figured she should just bull ahead as best she could. “Where is Sindie Keller?”

  “Who?” With a satisfied smile, he totted up his score for ip and added it to the score sheet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t focus on your question. I’m too busy figuring out how badly I beat you.” He smirked at her.

  She persisted. “You don’t know anyone named Sindie Keller? A twenty-one-year-old, white blonde?”

  He crinkled his brow. “There’s at least one or two women renting rooms from me with that description, but I don’t know a Sindie Keller.”

  “How long have they been your tenants?”