Intense 2

by Hebert, Cambria

  "I thought you were a Dom."

  "I am, but that doesn’t mean I like dumb women," I replied. "So you get a bit loose-lipped when you drink? That tells me that you usually hold your true opinion close to the vest and only let out your honest thoughts and emotions when under the influence of some kind of mind-altering substance. Alcohol. Serotonin. Dopamine…" I said, my voice trailing off. "I'll keep that in mind in the future."

  She frowned at that, no doubt disliking the fact that I was assuming we even had a future, and that I was planning on using alcohol or some other substance to loosen her up.

  Which I most definitely was planning to do.

  She was uptight. Wound up and in need of release. I’d be only too happy to provide that release. Nothing, and I mean nothing freed a woman to respond with abandon like restraints. Specifically, a pair of leather cuffs lined with lambs wool attached to a headboard. And a blindfold.

  Unable to see anything, all her other senses would be enhanced and she’d respond even more fully to touch, scent and taste. Unable to move or escape, she’d be free to respond to everything I did without guilt. Her pleasure and her orgasm would be mine, not hers. My responsibility, not hers.

  The very fact she would come – hard – while restrained and blindfolded would make everything even more intense because it would be our secret. Sharing a secret, especially one around sexuality, would cement our bond even more firmly.

  All this passed through my mind as I watched her pour herself a glass of soda with a squeeze of lime. Finally, she turned to me, avoiding my eyes.

  "How come you're here? You weren't on my father's guest list."

  "I'm one of your fathers biggest supporters,” I said. “We met in the health club the other day and I offered my support for his candidacy for the House. He said he wanted to repay me after I looked after your injuries at the fundraiser. When I heard you were going to be in attendance tonight, I was only too happy to accept."

  She frowned at that. "If you think this changes things, you're wrong."

  I made a face of mock confusion. "Changes what, Ms. Bennet?"

  She finally glanced at me. "The whole business with the research agreement."

  "That's entirely up to you,” I said, trying my best to look serious. “I'm still all yours, if you want me." I emphasized the ‘yours’ to drive home the point and said nothing for a moment to let it sink in.

  “Kate, I’m so glad your father invited me. I've wanted to meet you ever since I met your father and he started talking about you, but he never brought you anywhere in public. I think I was a bit infatuated with you just from his description of you." She frowned, but said nothing so I pressed on. "You took photographs while you were in Africa? I'd love to see them. See into that mind of yours and what makes you tick."

  "I don't know what my father meant by that,” she said, frowning. “What makes me tick. They're just photos." She started off down the hallway, her steps stiff, her back straight as if she were steeling herself. "They're in the study."

  I followed her, wondering why she was so uptight about showing me her photos. Once we were inside the study, I closed the door behind us and took her arm, turning her around gently to face me.

  She stared at my hand on her arm and I finally let go.

  "I'm sorry if you're unhappy that I'm here," I said and stepped closer to her. I wanted a moment of intimacy between us to break down her walls, overcome her shyness. Break the ice. "Your father wanted me to come early so that you and I could get to know each other. I'm glad he did."

  "Why would he want us to get to know each other?"

  "I guess because I said I thought you were a lovely young woman and wanted to get to know you better."

  Her cheeks flushed. "I thought you weren't the kind of man someone like me should get involved with."

  "You won't let me live that down, will you?" I said and laughed softly. Me and my big mouth, warning her off like an infatuated badboy in love with the girl from the right side of the tracks.

  "It's just that it would have been nice if I knew he invited you beforehand."

  I stepped closer and pinned her against the huge mahogany desk. She held her glass of soda between us as if she could use it to protect herself from my advances. I could easily take the glass out of her hand and kiss her right now, and part of me wanted to for I suspected that if I did, she would be totally confused and upset, but at the same time, would most likely kiss me back. But just in case she responded differently, I held back.

  I intended to kiss her tonight.

  Now just wasn’t the right time.

  "Would you have found some excuse not to attend?"

  She was quiet, turning her face away. "I would have liked the choice," she said. "But of course, my father always has to have things his way."

  "He's quite a dominant man himself."

  She looked up at me, finally, but avoided my eyes. Oh, Kate...

  "I can't seem to escape them.”

  "Maybe that's because you don't want to."

  That made her back stiffen. Perhaps I’d gone a bit too far, touched a raw nerve.

  "I left home to get away from him. Listen," she said, pointing a finger at me, focusing on a button on my suit jacket instead of my eyes. "I can't have anything to do with you, do you understand? I'm writing my research paper about climate change so unless you know something about that, you and I have nothing to talk about."

  I clucked my tongue. "You're trying too hard, Kate.”

  I took her finger in mine and turned it away. Then, I took her hand and stroked her palm, wanting her to imagine me stroking her body.

  "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much and that you do, in fact, want to have something to do with me."

  She pulled her hand away and blushed profusely. "I don't like being around you," she said, her voice low.

  "I think you do. You like me. You don’t like the fact that you like me. You don't want to like me but you can't help it."

  "I don’t believe you," she said with affront. "You're …" She clenched her fists. "You're awfully certain of yourself."

  Then, she tried to escape me, but I took her arm once more and leaned in close so that my face was just inches from hers. Her perfume wafted up into my nose and I breathed in deeply. It sent a jolt of lust right to my dick.

  "Yes. I know what I want."

  "Well, so do I. And it's not you."

  She pulled her arm out of my hand and turned to the door.

  As if to save the day, and with impeccable timing, Ethan entered. He saw us and smiled.

  "There you two are." He rubbed his hands together. "Has she shown you her photographs of Africa yet?"

  I cleared my throat, still affected by her nearness. "No, she hasn't."

  "Come on, Kate. Show Drake your photos. I know he's interested. He's been there many times with Doctors Without Borders. You two have a lot in common." He took Kate’s hand and then he laid a hand on my shoulder, pulling us both towards the wall where all Kate’s photos were hung.

  Then Peter, Ethan’s chief of staff entered the room. "Judge? There's a call for you."

  Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Duty calls. I have to take that, but you two stay here. Kate, show him your photographs. I'll be back when my call is finished."

  When he was gone, I turned to Kate but she refused to look at me. She stood silent, her glass of soda clutched in her hands like a some magic amulet to ward me off.

  "You're not really going to make me tell you about my trip to Africa are you?"

  "I most certainly am," I said, my voice soft. "I'm truly interested. I've been to Africa many times. Besides, I want to see into you, Kate. Right inside. Please, tell me." I waved at the wall and watched her, not giving an inch.

  "Nothing's going to happen between us," she said, her voice low in warning. "The meeting was a mistake so you might as well forget it. There's no reason for you to see 'right inside' me. We're opposites. You vote Republican. I'm a Democrat."

  I
smiled inwardly but forced my voice to be serious. "None of that matters, Kate, when we fuck. All that matters is that we both need what each other has to offer."

  "We're not going to… fuck," she said, whispering.

  "Whatever you say." I couldn’t stop my smile, but turned to face the photos so she wouldn’t see it. "I still want you to tell me about these photos. Your father is really proud."

  I heard her sigh heavily in resignation. "There are a lot of painful memories in them."

  "Just the happy ones, then."

  She pointed to a large picture of her with Nigel. I leaned closer, wondering about her friendship with Nigel, who I already knew was into BDSM, having seen him several times over the past few years at private dungeon parties.

  "That's us, the day we arrived in Niger. Our driver took it. Nigel had been there before but I had no idea what to expect and so I was excited."

  I peered at the pictures and listened as she told me about her trip. She talked about working for the UN program to provide food and medical care to new mothers. The photos captured the camps, filled with refugees who were desperate to escape the horrors of war.

  She studiously avoided talking about one picture in particular, so that was the one I focused on.

  "What's this one?" I pointed to one depicting two figures alone in the vast emptiness of the African desert.

  She covered her mouth and shook her head.

  "I can't."

  I tried to turn her face gently towards me but she fought and turned away. I decided not to force her, and instead, merely touched her arm to show that I recognized she was upset.

  Then Nigel himself walked into the study.

  Damn… Just when things were starting to open up between us…

  "Kate, my dear." Nigel pushed into the study and bent down to Kate, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "Your father let slip that Dr. Morgan was coming a bit early, and so I thought I'd be chivalrous and offer my services…"

  I bristled at that. Did he imagine he was somehow protecting Kate from me?

  Nigel hugged and kissed Kate on both cheeks and on her part, Kate looked relieved, as if she’d been rescued.

  "Can I get you a drink?" she asked.

  "Please." Nigel smiled at me but I could tell he wasn’t pleased to see me. "My usual."

  Kate left us standing in front of the wall of photographs.

  “Look here,” he said, wasting no time in speaking to me as soon as the door to the study had closed. “Kate is a very delicate young woman, who has suffered quite a bit of trauma in the past couple of years.”

  My back stiffened at his tone. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

  “I’m telling you this because she’s not for you,” Nigel said, moving a bit closer to me, staring down at me the way a headmaster does his students. “Kate is not your usual kind of woman.”

  “And my usual kind of woman would be…?”

  “You know very well what I mean. I’ve known Kate for years and she is not your type, Dr. Morgan,” he said, emphasizing the Dr. “Kate is not the kind of girl to be trifled with.”

  I smiled. Almost my exact words to Dave the night I drove Kate home from the fundraiser.

  “I assure you that I don’t intend to ‘trifle’ with Kate. Quite the contrary. And perhaps you don’t know Kate as well as you think.” I stepped away, not willing to have him intimidate me with his larger physical presence any longer.

  “If you hurt her, there will be repercussions,” he said, stepping closer to me once more.

  The door opened to admit Kate carrying a glass of red wine for Nigel. Nigel raised his eyebrows at me before turning to Kate and smiling once more, the happy lovable big brother.

  Kate turned to me without meeting my eyes. "How is your drink, Dr. Morgan?"

  "Please, call me Drake." I bent down and tried to catch her eye. "Considering. And it's still fine, thank you."

  When I stood back up, Nigel gave me a look that said ‘back off’ but there was no way in hell I was backing anywhere from Kate.

  Full steam ahead was more like it.

  As much as I tried to stay by Kate’s side over the next half hour, Peter pulled me around the room to introduce me to the other high rollers who were in attendance. Ethan himself was still busy on a conference call and couldn’t join us right away, so he’d asked Peter to take over and introduce me to his group of financial supporters.

  Every time I got within three feet of Kate, Nigel stepped in between us and tried to keep me away from her. It was almost comedic at first as the two of us jostled for position, but after a while, it became tedious.

  Finally, about half an hour later, Ethan entered the room and pulled Nigel and Kate together, urging me and a few of the other guests to follow. I followed in their wake, only slightly peeved that it was Nigel, and not me, in Ethan’s grasp.

  "Kate has some wonderful photographs from her trip to Africa. Come dear," he said to Kate, "and talk about your trip."

  Kate seemed quite unhappy that she was being forced to perform and frowned as her father pulled her down the hallway.

  "Go ahead, dear," Ethan said to Kate once we were all in the study. "Tell us about your trip. Start here, with this one."

  Kate spoke about her trip to Africa, going through each photograph, talking about the relief camp. When she came to the one photo that she avoided with me, Ethan wouldn’t let her off the hook.

  "Tell them about Alika and Chinua," Ethan said, turning to the rest of us who were gazing at the photos. "A couple and their baby that Kate and Nigel rescued from the desert."

  Kate looked as if she wished a hole would open up in the floor and she could disappear, but I saw her steel herself, taking in a deep breath. The story was quite emotional – of she and Nigel finding a young couple with a newborn who were lost on the road to the relief camp, wandering in the middle of nowhere. Kate was overwhelmed at one point and had to stop. Nigel took over and told the rest of the story.

  Then Kate picked back up again, her voice shaky, but she was trying.

  "He crawled like a crab because his knees were bloody," she said, her voice barely audible. "Alika was carrying her baby. They hadn't named him yet because they weren't even sure if he would live. I thought he was a newborn because he was so small, but he was three months old and starving. Her breasts," she said, shaking her head, her voice almost inaudible. "She had no milk left. They were like deflated balloons."

  Kate had to stop speaking, and covered her mouth with a hand, tears in her eyes. Nigel stepped up to the plate and finished the story of how they had saved the trio, but the husband died once they got back to the camp and he knew his wife and baby were safe.

  I remembered Kate’s articles in the Columbia Journalism Review and how impressed I was with them, how well-written and objective they were. From speaking with Ethan, I knew that a few months after returning to Manhattan, Kate had a breakdown. She hadn’t properly mourned her mother’s death and then, the trauma of the camps proved too much. Sympathy for her filled me. She was brave to take on such a harrowing ordeal so soon after a personal loss.

  I was impressed.

  Ethan stood watching Kate, his eyes filled with emotion, tears visible in them as he listened to his daughter speak.

  "Excuse me," Kate said left the rest of us behind, closing the study door quietly behind her.

  Nigel turned to follow her, but Ethan took his arm and stopped him.

  “Let her go. She gets very emotional when she talks about the camps. It was very hard on her. She was very brave.”

  Nigel nodded and turned back to the wall of photos, talking to someone who asked him to describe one of the photos that showed Kate and Nigel together. I took that as my cue to leave and follow Kate, wanting to be with her when she was especially vulnerable.

  I quietly opened the door to the study, hoping Nigel didn’t see me. He was occupied, but Ethan saw me and smiled as if he approved.

  God, he was making this so easy…
<
br />   I closed the door and went down the hallway, peering in each room to see if Kate was there. I found her in a small bedroom at the back of the apartment, which looked as if it had been hers for the furniture was feminine and a bit girly, French Provincial, white with gilded detailing and ornate. There was a cork-board on the wall over a small student desk with a half-dozen ribbons of blue and red – the kind you won in school for sports or for academic achievement. I wanted to check everything out, curious about this woman I was planning to seduce and dominate, but I held back. She needed my attention by the looks of her, sitting on the side of the bed, a tissue clutched in her hand, daubing her eyes.

  When I entered the room completely, she glared at me and then turned away.

  "I'd like to be alone."

  I sat beside her and nudged her with my knee, bumping my shoulder against hers. "Being alone is the last thing you need right now." I purposely sat a bit too close to her, wanting our bodies to touch, make a connection. I rested my elbows on my knees and craned my head so I could look her in the eye. "I'm sorry. Your father doesn't seem to understand how upset Africa still makes you."

  She frowned. "He always sees everything, every event, every word, for its strategic purpose. How it can aggrandize him and our family – or hurt us. He doesn’t really pay attention to people,” she said, her voice petulant, still emotional. “What he said about those photographs being key to what makes me tick? He thinks it means I'm some great humanitarian – some angel of mercy – but really, I was just a student looking for a topic for my honors thesis. I had no idea what I got myself into."

  I was a bit taken aback at her confession. "You didn't like Africa?"

  She said nothing for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself. She was very emotional, almost childlike in her response to her father. Part of me was surprised, for she was twenty-four but part of me completely and totally understood. How many times had I cried as a boy over my own father’s neglect? How often did I see fathers and sons together, deep in conversation as two adults, and ache to have my father still alive and treating me as a real son?

  He never did. I never had that kind of relationship with him. Even now, it hurt.