It was more than my bratty nature. There was something about the idea of signing the contract that made me feel like we were taking a step backward. We’d moved past that point in our relationship; I thought I’d shown him that in the last few days. If he was already talking about it, and we had four days left, then he had every intention of bringing it up again.
Did he want to take a step back? I’d imagined Mr. No-Relationships probably did, but I wasn’t prepared to do that. I cared about him, I cared about him deeply, and I wanted this to go further. Maybe not marriage, kids, and a home in the Hamptons kind of further, not right now, but definitely a let’s only fuck each other and agree that we sleep together at night without a contract, kind of further.
I didn’t need Dylan to tell me he loved me and declare his undying devotion, but no more talks about contracts would be nice. Just a normal relationship. Even if that wasn't what I’d said I’d wanted all those weeks ago.
Dylan had shown me far more than the fact that my body loved sex; he’d shown me that I’d had an emptiness in my life. An emptiness that I suspected only he could fill. I drove to his place with urgency, making me impatient. My body did love sex with the man after all.
“Hi, babe. Do you want to go out for dinner, or shall we cook?” he asked as I stepped into the apartment. He’d just come out of the shower. Mmm.
Wet, hot skin, just out of the shower was one of my favorite things. “I think, mmm, yes. Right there.”
I backed him up against the wall and slid down to my knees. I caught a sparkle from my new nails and grinned as I opened the robe. Those things were going to be distracting, but not as distracting as that.
I took his already hard cock in my hand and took him as far as I could take him, until he throbbed in my mouth. I loved those pulses that signaled his blood was pumping through him hard and fast. Dylan just let me do as I pleased and dug his hands into my hair to steady himself.
“That’s so good, Stephanie.” That was something else. He’d stopped calling me pet as often as he used to. Oh, he would say my name, but he rarely did when we were having sex.
I liked it when he called me pet, but when he growled my name, even my fake name, it was so much sexier. I could die happy, if the last thing I ever heard was him saying my name like that. Even if it wasn’t my real name.
That was something else that ate away at me. He still didn’t know who I was. It was a huge omission on my part, and one I knew I was bound to pay for sooner or later. I was the forgotten Thompson, though, and I could hope that he’d forgive me, once he found out.
I didn’t slow my attentions, but for a moment longer, I was distracted. How could I say I wanted a real relationship with him, if he didn’t even know my name? I looked up and saw his eyes were on my face as I worked on him. I winked at him, and he had my whole attention once more.
With a practiced technique, one that he’d taught me, I got him close to the edge and backed off. He groaned in frustration, but he didn’t protest. He just waited on me to finish my slow tease of his dick with my hand and patiently took what I offered.
“You’re going to kill me one day.” He gasped when I finally took him in my mouth again.
“I hope not,” I whispered before I went down on him, all the way. This time, he took over and started to fuck my throat as I did the best I could to breathe around him.
There was a moment when I wondered if this was wrong, if maybe I shouldn’t use sex as a tool to avoid that talk, but I dismissed it. It didn’t matter, not right now.
I swallowed around him, and that finally did it. He went over the edge. I took everything he had to give me, and when he was done, I stood up with a happy grin. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
I kissed him, went into the kitchen, got a glass of wine, and looked in the freezer. “Do you want to order something, Dylan? There’s not a lot in here.”
I turned to see him standing in the kitchen, against the wall. The panels of his bathrobe were back together now, and he had a satisfied look on his face. “I liked that.”
“What?” I asked, my head tilted to the side a little.
“That hi honey part. That was … nice.” He seemed embarrassed and looked away. “It’s not something I’ve ever heard real people say.”
“Not even your adoptive parents?” I held my breath. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
He looked uncomfortable for a minute, but then he relaxed. “No, not even them. Only you.”
“Well, then, that makes it special.” I walked up and pressed myself to him, then gave him a wine-flavored kiss. “What shall we eat? I’m starving.”
“What do you want?” His hands were on my waist, and I couldn’t help but feel like this was one of those moments when I showed him what our life could be like without a contract.
“I’d like whatever you want, Dylan. I’m not picky for once.”
“Well, if we order Italian, I have time to take you to bed before it gets here. If not, I won’t have time for anything but maybe a nice warmup to the night’s events.”
“Oh my, that is a choice.” I made my eyes go wide and then grinned. “But if we eat first, and I have a shower, then we can call the night done, and just go to bed.”
“That sounds like the winning plan.” A strange look came over his face for a minute, but it passed.
I saw it, a look I’d seen before, but he always carried on, as if nothing happened, so I assumed it was some pain he didn’t want to talk about. It seemed to be happening more frequently, though, and that concerned me now.
“Are you alright, Dylan?” I asked as he went to get his phone.
“I’m fine, just a twinge in my back. No big deal. Do you want the lasagna meal for two or something different?”
“That sounds fine.” I let the question go and headed for his shower.
I didn’t like the fact that he was in pain, but if he could keep it under control, then I shouldn’t worry too much, I guessed. I went to the shower, cleaned myself up, and came out with wet hair and no makeup. The poor man knew what I looked like with a naked face, and that was something people rarely got to see from me.
I’d been putting on makeup, expertly, since I was thirteen years old, and my mom had sent me to an expert to show me how to apply it. I’d updated the look as the years changed, but it wasn’t so different really. Oddly enough, Dylan preferred me without it anyway. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t like when I had it on, because he did. It just wasn’t important to him that I keep it on.
I went into the living room, and he turned on the television. There was a new show we wanted to watch, and when our food finally arrived, he went down to get it, so I didn’t have to get dressed. The elevator would open onto a parking garage, so it wasn’t like anyone would see him except the delivery driver.
After that, we ate, and once the show had gone off, Dylan led me into his play room. I grinned, because I knew it was going to be a long night, if he was taking me in there. A night where no contracts would be mentioned, because he would be too busy driving me to orgasm, only to pull me away until I would come uncontrollably. It was always a good night with him, no matter what we did. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.
Dylan
I stared at myself in the mirror the next morning. After a swipe to remove steam from my shower, I saw my own reflection and grimaced. I was smiling. Damn it.
I reached for a towel to smear more of the steam from the mirror and found I was still smiling. I looked closer and saw my gray eyes were happy too. Even when a twinge of pain made me grimace, my eyes were still happy. What the fuck was wrong with me?
It was Stephanie that was what it was. Even without a contract, the woman just made me happy, and that was just, well … it was kind of gross. At least to the man I was before I’d met her. He would have hated that look on my face, and he’d have run far, far away.
I didn’t want to run away from her now, which was a big problem. It was one I was trying to come to terms with. It was br
and new to me, this need to have someone there when I came home, but not just anyone. I also found I slept a lot better when she was by my side at night. When I could wrap myself around her, protect her, I could sleep.
That I could understand. The need to protect was something I knew well. I could deal with that. This need, though? That was freaking me out.
“You’ve got to snap out of this, Dylan. You aren’t that kind of man. She deserves better than you. She deserves someone who can love her properly.” That finally brought a stony glare to my face that hid the sadness those words actually made me feel.
I had some business to deal with today, a meeting at the bank to make sure the money could be transferred once the current owner of the resort finally cleared everything and got the papers back to my lawyer, and I’d be gone most of the day. I didn’t even want to leave her for a few hours; that was how bad this was.
I knew when I had to walk away from that jewelry store in New Orleans that I was in some serious trouble. I’d force some time apart if we hadn’t done that already. I’d have snapped if she hadn’t come to me. I’d have gone to her, and I knew now I didn’t want to give her up again. How could I deal with this?
The contract. That would keep a wall between us. A business transaction, I had to get it back to that, and then, perhaps, my head would clear. I kept that thought in my head as I finished my shave, got dressed, and left Stephanie in bed asleep. There was a note on the bedside table, and I’d give her a call later.
As I drove out to the bank, I found my thoughts kept drifting back to her. I wondered if she had a passport. If she’d loved New Orleans, she’d really love Paris. Which made me wonder if she spoke any other languages. I’d have to ask her tonight.
I’d learned a very simple version of Spanish and had spent some time learning Dutch. I’d even spent a summer in Amsterdam after I graduated from high school. I hadn’t used the Dutch in years, but the Spanish had been useful. I didn’t mind it, and I felt that the practice of using a different language helped to keep the brain healthy.
I bet she’d learned French in high school. Most of the girls I’d met back then had taken it instead of other languages. I wasn’t quite sure what was so romantic about it, but then I got strange looks when I said Dutch was a beautiful language. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel and eased the car into moving as the light changed to green, distracted by the need to pay attention to the road now.
Of course, once I got to the bank, the person I was supposed to be meeting with hadn’t arrived yet. I took out a notepad I kept in my briefcase and started to write out a new contract. This one talked less about payments and duties, and more about what I’d like to see happen.
My needs had changed as I’d come to know Stephanie a little better. I no longer wanted a pure sub, a woman who was totally submissive to me in all things. I wanted that fire that Stephanie had found in her time with me. She’d gone from a scared little mouse to a confidant young woman who demanded her due. I loved that about her and was more than a little proud that I’d brought that out in her.
That didn’t mean I would stop our games or empty out the play room. It just meant I couldn’t give her that kind of relationship where I beat her. I’d never had that kind of relationship with her anyway, but she’d wanted it at the beginning.
I checked my watch, saw the manager was a half hour late now, and continued to write. It wasn’t necessarily a contract, but a letter. It was a proposal of sorts. Live with me, be my mistress, and I will reward you for that. Hmm, perhaps that wasn’t an offer I should make.
Maybe I should have just done what I knew she wanted and let the whole thing go? No, I decided as the manager finally walked in, an apology already falling from his lips. I was a businessman. It was what I was good at. Love wasn’t my area. I’d work on the contract tonight. There had to be one. I needed that wall up between us, and I needed it up now.
I’d be in a whole lot of trouble otherwise.
I’D DECIDED to take her out by the time I got home. There was a great little place that played some of the more sensual songs from the 1960s on certain nights and all the people would come out, young and old, to do some of the classic dances from that time. I didn’t exactly know them, but it had been obvious that both Stephanie and I knew a few dance steps. We could figure it out.
“Do you have a dress you can dance in?” I asked with a gleam in my eye as I walked into the penthouse, and she came to hug me.
“Of course, I do. What kind of woman do you take me for?” She grinned.
“The kind who deserves everything she’s ever wanted. What’s that I smell?” I planted a kiss on her nose and followed my own into the kitchen. I found a pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove. Very yummy. Stephanie was also a very good cook.
A woman with many talents, she never failed to impress me.
“Where are we going?” she asked as we finished dinner, and she put the dishes in the sink.
“Well, why don’t you go fancy yourself up, babe, and I’ll wash these dishes up? Then, I’ll show you where we’re going.” I smiled as she grunted and stomped off. I’d seen that pleased smile on her face before she left.
A half hour later she came out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up in something I thought was called a French twist, and her face was made up. She wore a pink dress with a frilly skirt and a plunging neckline. Sheer fabric covered her arms, down to her wrists where satin formed the wristband. It was sexy but oddly virginal. Just like my Stephanie.
The dress wasn’t so over the top that she wouldn’t fit in, but she’d definitely catch an eye or two. Couples came dressed in suits and ties, with formal dresses, while others came in jeans and sweaters. It was just one of those places where you could spend the night dressed however you wanted to.
She was nearly bouncing with curiosity by the time I pulled into the parking lot. I heard the strains of Lloyd Price’s version of Stagger Lee pumping from the place. The shagging was in full swing then. We walked in, and I heard a gasp from Stephanie.
“What are they doing?” she asked, her eyes glued to the dancers on the floor.
“Well, that, my dear, is called shagging around these parts.” The dancers twisted, swung, and grooved along the floor, in a style totally unique to each dancer. “It’s kind of based on the old swing dance styles, but the people around here gave it their own twist.”
“Wow, look at the couple.” She pointed at two people who were really getting into it, and I smiled.
“Yeah, it can get pretty, um…dirty.” I looked down and could almost see the lightbulb going off in her head.
“Oh! Kind of like Dirty Dancing, the movie?”
“Kind of. I think there’s a movie from the 1980s about it, maybe it was called the same thing; I can’t remember now.” I found us an empty table, and we sat.
“I just can’t, wow! I can’t understand how they can do that. It’s so quick!” She was obviously enamored with the dancing, and I ordered us both a glass of beer from the waitress who came to our table.
“I want to know how to do that. It’s amazing!” She turned to me, and I could see she was serious.
“I thought you were from the area?” It was a little confusing, but then, sometimes, Stephanie was. It almost seemed like she’d lived in a bubble.
Then I remembered all the signs that said she’d lived a very sheltered, but rich life. Her manners, the way she carried herself, the fact that she knew how to dance modern dance moves, but also ball room dances. I knew she came from a rich family, one that was very privileged. And perhaps she’d escaped from that.
“I’ve lived quite a few places, actually. Myrtle Beach has just always been my favorite.” I remembered how she’d once said she wanted to go to Iceland. She’d mentioned some of the places she’d been to, but she suddenly seemed saddened when she spoke about them.
“Do you speak any other languages?”
“Huh?” she asked with a surprised smile. “Well, I speak a
smattering of Mandarin Chinese, some Italian, Spanish, and German.”
“Whoa. All of that? You didn’t have time for French?” I thought that was funny, but I knew she wouldn’t understand why.
“No, it never really interested me. I was too busy studying the other ones and never really liked it. Oh, a song we can dance to!”
“Shall we?” I asked and held my hand out. She took it with a grin, and we went out on the floor.
“What is this song?” she asked when I pulled her into my arms after a rather dramatic twirl.
“She’s Like the Wind,” I said against her ear as I pulled her close. “Patrick Swayze sang it in Dirty Dancing.”
“Oh yeah! I remember now! I can’t believe I forgot about that song.” She swayed, our steps in time, perfectly matched, as if we’d practiced for the dance.
I brought her back into my arms, placed a kiss on her neck, and thought that Stephanie embodied that song. Maybe I was stupid to think that I could take this further, and she deserved so much better than me. I had a feeling I’d lose my mind too, if she left me again.
“You are magic, do you know that?” A slow smile spread over her face, and her arms wound around my neck.
“So are you, Dylan. You’re a fool if you think you don’t have anything I need. You have it all, right here.” That admission came with her hand softly over my heart.
For a moment, the rest of the dancers disappeared, and I brought her up in my arms to kiss her as I twirled us on the dance floor. There was only us and a kiss that I didn’t want to end. The loud cheers of the other dancers and whistles caught my attention finally, and I let her down on the floor.
I was embarrassed that I’d brought us so much attention, but at the same time, proud. Stephanie deserved that kind of admiration and attention. She was every inch a woman, and I had to find a way to hang on to her. Even if I’d be trying to build a wall between us in the next half hour.
It was starting to tire me, this constant battle with myself. Stephanie was mine, and I could have her forever. In the back of my mind was my mother and the way she’d sneer if I ever asked her to do anything with me.
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