by Corgan, Sky
“Acceptable, yes. Classy, no.”
“And when did you become such an expert on table etiquette?” Amusement is plain in his voice.
“When my mother beat it into my head as a small child.” I glance at the one waiter who seems to be serving all of the tables. “I certainly hope the food is better than the service here.”
“They're short-staffed.” Lucian cocks his head to the side apologetically.
“Well, I'd like some water ASAP. My throat feels like the Sahara.” I briefly stick out my tongue as if it will help him to see how dry it is.
“Want me to spit down it?”
“No. That's gross.” I cringe away from him, but I can't help but chuckle at how playful he's being. Everything feels so natural between us. I hate to ruin things by bringing up work.
“They'll bring us water when they bring our wine.” He nods at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Going to get me drunk and take advantage of me? Is that your big game plan for the night.”
“It wasn't until I saw you in that dress.” His eyes fall to my cleavage, and it makes me want to cover myself though that would look awkward. Instead, I blush like mad. “I think you'd like me to take advantage of you.”
“Maybe.” I can't deny that I'm already horny just from being in his company.
If things go well tonight, I'd love to drag him back to my apartment for sex. Nothing BDSM this time. Just regular, boring sex in my little bed. It would be nice to have a change of scenery, to do things on my turf instead of his.
“See, you didn't have to wait too long.” Lucian turns to look at the waiter, who is balancing two wine glasses of water on a serving tray as he walks towards us.
“Oh, thank God.” I pull mine off of the table the second that he sets it in front of me and gulp down half of it before glancing over at Lucian. “Tell him I want a refill.”
Lucian's lips split into a huge smile. “Tell him yourself. He speaks English.”
Embarrassment makes my chest tighten as I realize what an idiot I just sounded like. My body shrinks in the chair and I look up at the waiter apologetically. “Can I get a refill whenever you get a chance?”
“Of course, mademoiselle,” he tells me before speaking to Lucian in French.
It takes everything to keep my anger at bay until the waiter leaves. When he's out of earshot, I grip the side of the table with both hands, digging my fingers into the red tablecloth. “Why didn't you tell me that people here speak English? If they speak English, then why are you speaking French?”
My discontent doesn't seem to phase Lucian one bit. “Because it's easier for them to understand French. And because I was trying to impress you.” He lifts his glass and offers me cheers before taking a sip.
I hate it that I can't stay mad at him for more than a few seconds. Especially when he's being so honest and goofy.
“Thanks for taking me out like this.” I turn my gaze to the floor, abashed by the feelings swirling inside of me.
“It's my pleasure.”
“This is the first time I feel like we've been on an actual date.” I make circles on the tablecloth with my fingernail.
“Is that what this is?” he quips.
“Lucian.” My eyes flit up to meet his, my expression telling him that I'm being serious. Now he's the one who seems uncomfortable. Maybe I was wrong to say what I did about this being a date.
“Oh look, the wine is here.” His face brightens as he notices the waiter coming our way again.
I try not to frown while the waiter sets our glasses and an ice bucket in front of us and then works on uncorking the bottle of wine. Did I misinterpret Lucian's intentions for bringing me here? It doesn't seem likely. This is a date. A guy doesn't take a woman to a fancy restaurant and it not be a date. At least, poor guys don't do that. Maybe this is just a casual dinner for the wealthy.
Lucian picks up his wine glass after the waiter fills it and gives the deep red liquid within a swirl before sniffing it and taking a sip. I mirror his actions, feeling a bit silly. He nods to the waiter, and the waiter leaves. I'm beginning to wonder when we're going to get to order.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Lucian takes another sip of his wine before setting down his glass and looking across the table at me.
“Maybe you should go first.” I wrinkle my nose.
We definitely don't have the same taste in wine. Lucian seems to prefer dry reds while I like sweet Moscato. Still, alcohol is alcohol, and I'm going to need liquid courage to get through this conversation.
“I'd rather save mine for last.”
“Why?” I swallow hard, feeling the warmth that the wine causes in my chest. There's no doubt that it will be going to my head shortly if I don't get some food in me.
“Because it's very personal in nature,” he leans in and whispers as if it's some big secret.
“So is mine, kinda.” I pick up my glass and swirl the wine, more to distract myself than anything else.
“You go. I'm interested in what you have to say.”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath before setting my glass down. There's no tasteful way to approach the subject, so I just go for it. “I need you to speed things up on your interior design project.”
“Why?” His expression turns suspicious.
“Because my boss is putting pressure on me, wondering why it's been so long since we've had contact with you. I mean, you haven't even been answering the emails I've sent you.” I glance away, trying not to seem upset, though stress is apparent in my voice.
“I'm the client.” Lucian's head bobs slightly in arrogance. “It's your company's job to please me.”
“My company has been trying to please you for a month now. Hell, it might be even longer than that. This is the longest project in this history of Environ Design. We've done huge office buildings that have only taken a fraction of the time.”
“I'm special.” He lifts his glass again and takes another drink.
“You're stubborn.” I narrow my eyes at him. “We both know that you don't need to see every piece of furniture in person. It doesn't look any different from the catalog.”
“It's not the way it looks but the way it feels. I'm a very picky man. You should know this by now.”
“Infuriatingly so,” I mutter.
I see the waiter approaching in my peripheral vision with two plates. I expect him to divert to another table, but instead he stops in front of us, serving us both. I stare down at my plate with my mouth agape. It looks like some kind of meat in a stew of vegetables with a side of green beans and what appears to be mashed potatoes. Lucian's dish is different than mine, but even more unrecognizable. A mix of meat and herbs and mushy black things.
“You ordered for me?” I ask as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.
“Mhm.” Lucian grabs his fork, acting like it's no big deal.
“This place doesn't have menus?”
“It does. I just took the liberty of ordering for you.” He stabs at a bite-sized piece of meat.
Never before has a man ordered for me. This is stuff I've only read about in books and seen in movies. It's just not normal or right. How does he know I'll even like this?
Gingerly, I pick up my knife and fork to cut into the meat, identifying it as chicken. “What is this anyway?”
“It's a healthy version of Coq au Vin.”
“What in the heck is that?” I scowl at my plate before taking a small taste of the sauce. It has a rich, savory flavor. Not bad, but probably not what I would have ordered had I seen the menu.
“It's chicken and vegetable stew cooked in red wine. I picked green beans and mashed cauliflower for your sides. Cauliflower is healthier than mashed potatoes.”
A shiver of anger rolls down my spine. What if I wanted mashed potatoes instead of cauliflower? What if I wanted something else entirely? How dare he order for me?
“Do you not like it?” He swallows the bite of food he was chewing and looks at me exp
ectantly.
My jaw tightens as I remember how important it is not to upset him tonight. He can still pull out of the interior design contract if he wants. It pisses me off that we're back to this again, that he has so much power over me right now.
“It's fine.” I stab at the chicken like I want to kill it a second time.
“Good.” He obviously doesn't believe me, but he says nothing more.
The next several minutes are spent in silence while I force the food down and try to temper my anger. The food is actually pretty good, but that's beyond the point. It feels like he's trying to control me, and I don't want to be controlled. We're a couple, not Dominant and submissive. I don't like being treated like a submissive, especially when we're out in public.
I finish a little less than half of my food before my appetite wanes due to stress. For as much as I keep telling myself to forget about him ordering for me, it has me really agitated. What if I want dessert? I'd bet a hundred dollars that he won't let me order it. If he wouldn't even let me have real mashed potatoes, then I doubt he'll let me have diabetes on a plate.
It doesn't bother me that he likes eating healthy. In fact, that's a good thing. He wouldn't be chiseled like a Greek God if he didn't. But I like my fats and carbs and sugar. Maybe I could stand to lose a few pounds but...Oh God, is this his way of silently telling me that I'm fat? Is that why he ordered for me, because he doesn't want me to gain any more weight? Suddenly, I'm feeling a lot less sexy in my little black dress.
“Are you alright?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah, why?” I pick up my glass of wine and drain it. At least he doesn't care if I get drunk.
“You're awfully quiet.”
“I just feel a little out of my element is all.” It's not exactly a lie. This whole dinner now feels strange to me.
“You'll get more in your element later when I take that dress off of you.” He looks at me over his glass of wine, his eyes going dark with lust.
“Maybe I will.” I blush, feeling the wine going to work enhancing my desire.
“But first I suppose I should tell you what I wanted to say.” He drops his gaze before unbuttoning his suit jacket.
To be honest, I'd been stewing over him ordered for me so much that I had practically forgotten he wanted to tell me something.
“You wanted me to stop working at Flesh,” he says as he fishes for something inside his suit jacket.
My heart skips a beat at the very prospect of what he's grabbing for. Even more so that he mentioned leaving Flesh. It must mean that he really is serious about us.
“I'd like that more than anything,” I reply, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.
“Then here's my offer.” He takes a folded up paper out of his pocket and hands it across to me. Several folded up pieces of paper, actually.
“What is this?” I ask, my expression sulking as I unfold the papers. When I read the capitalized heading, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
It says CONTRACT OF SUBMISSION.
CHAPTER TWO
If there was a button I could press to magically teleport back to my apartment, I would be slamming my fist down on it. It's taking everything in me to keep my hand from shaking. This isn't what I want at all. This was never what I wanted. The fact that he thought this would make me happy shows just how little he understands me.
Lucian pushes his plate to the side and steeples his hands on the table as he waits for me to read through the contract. I'm so speechless and numb that all I can do is flip through the pages to keep from throwing them in his face.
The contract is very extensive and strict. The rules of my submission are neatly typed out. It looks legal though I know it's not.
My eyes scan the list of things he would require of me, and the more I read, the more pissed off I become. There's a section about what I would eat from this point on, which cuts out almost all carbohydrates and sugar. It's so specific that he added percentages to how much protein, vegetables, and fruit I'm allowed to have at each meal.
There's also a section on the vitamins I would be required to take, along with an exercise regimen of weight lifting three days a week and cardio three days a week with one day off. After reading that, I glance up at him over the papers. Do I fucking look like I workout?
To make things worse, he expects me to document everything. Food, fluids, vitamins, exercise. And that's just when I'm not with him. When I'm with him, his list of expectations is a mile long. If I agreed to this, I would pretty much become his slave.
By the time I get to the end of the contract, I'm wondering how red my face is. The pressure building up in my neck makes me feel like my head could pop right off of my shoulders.
“I brought a pen if you're ready to sign.” He reaches back into his pocket to pull out an expensive looking fountain pen.
I drop the contract onto the table in front of me, my hands frozen in place with my fingers spread. I'm desperately afraid of opening my mouth because something horribly vicious might come out.
I swallow and close my eyes, my mind going about a million miles per hour. The act of searching for non-dramatic words is a lot harder than I thought it ever could be.
“I must respectfully decline,” I manage to say between clenched teeth.
“You...decline?” I don't think he could sound any more confused if he tried. “I thought you wanted a relationship with me.”
“I do want a relationship with you, Lucian, but not like this.” I tap the contract with the back of my hand. “Never like this.”
“I don't understand.” He shakes his head. “I thought we were on the same page about this. I thought that everything we had going on was building up to this.”
“Oh my God, I'm so fucking stupid.” I draw my hand up to my face, my eyes going wide as I'm struck by an epiphany. “You never wanted a relationship with me. You never wanted to stop being a Dom. You only wanted this.”
“Of course this is what I wanted.” He quirks his head back, and I can tell that he's getting upset as well. “What did you think I wanted?”
It feels like my blood is boiling. There's a hard lump in my throat that's threatening to choke me to death. Every moment spent in his presence feels excruciating. The way the mood has shifted from happy to incredibly tense in almost the blink of an eye is way too much for me to bear.
I reach into my purse to take out my phone, trying to still my angry trembling long enough to call a taxi.
“What are you doing?” Lucian furrows his brows at me.
“What's the name of this place?” I can hardly stand to look at him right now.
“Amy, put down the phone.” He rolls his eyes, which only pisses me off more.
“Yes, I need a taxi to come pick me up,” I say as soon as someone picks up on the other end of the line.
“Amy, put down the phone,” Lucian repeats, his words clipped with aggravation.
I choose to ignore him. Because he doesn't own me. Because he never will. “I'm at...” I search the room for anything with the restaurant's name on it. Oddly, it's nowhere to be found. My frustration builds as I realize that the universe has decided to make escaping Lucian incredibly difficult for me. I'm not going to let it win though. I stand and take long strides out of the restaurant to look at the name on the building, then blurt it out into the phone the best that I can.
By the time the operator tells me that they'll send a cab right over, Lucian has come out of the restaurant as well. He looks tense, but I could not care less. All I want to do is get away from him and stew in peace.
“Amy, come back inside.” He holds the door open for me.
“No. My cab will be here shortly.” I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to turn to him.
“I'll take you home. Come back inside so we can talk about this first though.” He nods towards the building.
“I don't want to talk right now Lucian, I just want to...I just need space.” I hug myself tighter.
H
e sighs, “This isn't how I thought this would turn out.”
“Me neither, obviously.”
“Well, I need to go inside and pay our bill. I'll come back out when I'm done.” He leaves, and I listen to the soft whoosh of the door slowly closing behind him. Everything in me prays that the taxi will arrive before he has a chance to return. I'm so emotionally frazzled that I can feel tears beginning to work their way towards my eyes. Crying is the last thing I want to do right now. At least not when I'm in public.
A hiccup rolls up from my throat, bringing the first line of wetness to my eyes. I feel played. All of those times that I thought Lucian and I were in sync, that we were making progress towards normalcy—it was all bullshit. I was blind to what he really wanted, and he thought he had successfully manipulated me into being what he wanted me to be. We're so mismatched it's not even funny. Why couldn't I see it until now? Truly see it.
The door to the restaurant opens, and I cringe as Lucian approaches out of my peripheral vision. He has that damned contract in his hand, and I half expect him to offer it to me again. Instead, he steps up beside me and slides it back into his coat pocket, looking every bit as awkward as I feel.
“So I guess I really screwed up?” He shifts his weight, pivoting back and forth on his heels a few times before stopping.
“I screwed up too.” I run my tongue over my teeth, trying to relieve some of the tension in my jaw. My face feels like marble.
“How so?” He turns to look at me.
“For being naive enough to think you might have eventually wanted more than...” my voice trails off as I search for words.
“More than what?”
“I don't even know anymore.” I shake my head. Melancholy is starting to take over with the realization that I wasted my time with him. I wasted both of our time. This was never meant to be.
I feel his hand touch my back, and it sends an unpleasant shiver rolling down my spine. I want to jerk away, but I don't. Somehow, I feel like this might be the last time he ever touches me. My body still wants to savor it despite my heart bleeding in my chest.