by Lulu Astor
Club members are allowed to bring guests, however, so around the bar there are usually fresh faces. Guests don’t generally wander too far afield their first night there and aren’t allowed in some restricted areas of the club.
“Ian!” A pretty dark-haired woman runs up to him, leaping into his arms.
“Juanita?” He looks at her admiringly, assessing the woman from head to foot. “What’s different?”
The young woman laughs. “Oh, about twenty pounds and a new set of boobs.” She swivels from right to left, sticking her chest up. “You like?”
Laughing, he nods in assent. “Very much. Though I liked them well enough before, too.”
She pats his cheek. “You’re so sweet. It’s so good to see you back here. Are you topping anyone tonight?”
“I just arrived a minute ago.” He winks. “I think I might have a drink first.”
“Okay, well find me if you’re interested. I’ll be on the dance floor showing off my new cleavage.”
“Will do. Jackson, a drink first?”
“Sure, why not? I want to see if I can scope out that redhead again.”
The two men walk over to the bar. “Ah, thar she blows.”
Ian arches his brow. “I don’t think any woman would appreciate your using that reference about her.”
Jackson’s grin is rueful. “No wonder I never get laid.” He tosses his head back with a spurt of laughter. “I never know whether being seen with you is an asset or liability. Either I might bask in your reflected glory having your stupidly handsome face by my side or I might wither in comparison. But since I’m a loyal friend, I’ll err on the side of camaraderie.”
“Much appreciate it.”
“Ian?”
He turns to see a tall, slender blonde strolling toward him. “Kim.” He leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “God, it’s good to see you. How’s everything?”
“Much better, thank you. It is so great to see you, too, Ian. I never had the chance to properly thank you.”
He smiles. “Can I buy you a drink? We were just heading to the bar. Jackson, do you know Kim?” He almost forgot and tacked on her last name—club etiquette dictated that surnames not be used.
Jackson is too busy gaping at the blond woman for intelligent conversation. Ian understands: utterly beautiful, Kim attracts attention wherever she goes. Even more appealing than her incredible physical beauty is her genuinely kind personality. Kim is an absolute sweetheart.
Ian slings his arm protectively around Kim as they continue to the bar. While Kim and Jackson converse, Ian glances up and directly into a pair of very determined, very surprised, perhaps even angry blue eyes.
Ella? Here?
Chapter 10
I’d been rehearsing what I was going to say to Ian when I called him back the next day to give him my answer, when Stephen’s call came in. My nerves were so on edge that I jumped when Aretha started singing. I grabbed for the phone to quiet it.
“Yes?”
“Ella, Stephen. Incredible, great, fantastic news. Blackmon dropped the lawsuit.”
“What? Just like that?”
“Just like that. I just got off the phone with his attorney. He said as far as his client is concerned the matter is closed.”
“Wow. I’m… confused… happy, but confused. It doesn’t seem like him to just change direction like that with no explanation.”
“I think Blackmon realized he was going to go down in flames so he cut his losses. He’s a smart man, Ella, and he couldn’t win this one. I was really surprised he tried at all but after getting to know you a bit, I may understand his motives.”
I laugh nervously; Stephen has never said anything untoward to me so I wasn’t expecting that compliment. “Well, thanks for letting me know. Do I need to do anything now?”
“Anything? You mean like send him a thank-you note?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Is there a proper etiquette for situations like these?”
His responding laugh is sharp and loud. “No, Ella, not really. My advice is to do nothing, just go on with your life as if this upsetting little event never happened—unless you want to celebrate your win over the big, bad Ian Blackmon, for it is a win. In fact, why don’t I take you out for a celebratory dinner?”
“Oh, thanks, but no, Stephen. I think I’m going to head back to L.A. sooner than later. But thank you… for everything. Really.”
“No thanks necessary, Ella. I’m taking a vacay on your dime, after all. Take care and please let me know if you need me for anything.”
“Yes, thanks, Stephen. Oh, and enjoy your vacation.” I disconnect quickly, horrified that he was hitting on me. Or was he? I don’t trust my own judgment these days. Do I even want to go back to L.A.? I have some thinking to do now that the lawsuit’s been dropped. Even though I know I should feel elated, somehow I don’t. In fact, I feel let down in some way. How odd.
That night I have dinner with Mariah. I haven’t told anyone what’s been going on for to do so, would be to further infringe on the CA. It would be great to have a friend with whom to commiserate but it is what it is, as Stephen would say.
“So,” she says between bites of a plate of enchilada mole, “how long will you be staying in Portland?”
I shrug, eyes scanning the crowded restaurant. I find myself doing that every time I leave my hotel room. Who or what I’m looking for, I don’t know. “Not sure, honestly. If the whole crazy book thing never happened, right now I’d be applying to doctoral programs and looking for an interesting internship. Having all money worries removed is liberating to be sure, but it also makes goals less clear, if you know what I mean.”
“Mmm, wish I did, Ella, but, no. I’m still a working stiff. I do have your old bedroom still vacant and I could use the extra rent if you’re interested in hanging around for a while?”
“Hmm, maybe. Let me mull it over tonight and I’ll let you know tomorrow. Good enough?”
“Absolutely. Mmm, you have to taste this, here,” and holds a forkful out to me.
We spend the rest of dinner stuffing our faces while Mariah gives me all the details on her recent trip to San Francisco.
A week later I move into her spare bedroom, to Mariah’s relief. I’ve decided to stay in Portland for a month while I decide what to do with my life. After, I’m going to visit my parents, and then maybe make a quick trip to New York to meet with my agent and visit some museums. I’ve decided to put my real estate search on hold until I make decisions on my immediate future—it would be silly to do otherwise.
I never called Ian and he hasn’t made any effort to contact me. I know I should be happy; I know I should feel nothing but relief… but I don’t. I mean, I’m definitely relieved about the lawsuit going away and there was never any real chance that I’d actually become his submissive. But if I’m brutally honest with myself, I’m also massively disappointed. I’m sort of crushed that I won’t see him again. I’ve been pining for the man for the entire past year and I have to remind myself of the reason why I wrote the book in the first place: I missed him.
How can I possibly have fallen in love with a man after knowing him less than a month? But then I think, who wouldn’t fall in love with him? Even with his deviant predilections, he’s an amazing man. He’s wickedly intelligent, incredibly competent in so many ways… he’s funny, gorgeous, generous with his money if not himself, and he treated me very well—apart from the little matter of the whipping.
But I agreed to it. It wasn’t as if he forced me into it. I was curious about the whole thing and I never expected he would strike me that hard. Why did he? That’s what I don’t get.
I’ve been reading up on BDSM and I understand it a little better than I did back then… but understanding intellectually is not the same as living it. I’ve always been able to see how erotic it can be… but I’m not certain I’m wired for it. And I take exception to the fact that Ian called me a natural submissive. I’m not. I’m strong and capable and independ
ent—I don’t plan on submitting anything to anyone. So there, Ian Blackmon. Have a nice life.
The intercom rings one Friday afternoon. Mariah’s not home from work yet and she didn’t mention she was expecting anyone. I pick up the intercom. “Yes?”
“Yes, Ms. Strong. I have a Naomi Lewis here to see Mariah?”
Naomi Lewis? Yes, Mariah mentioned she might be hanging with us this weekend; she just didn’t say to expect her. “Oh. Okay, send her up.”
“You must be Ella,” the redheaded woman shouts, as I open the door and she flings herself into my arms. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
“Good things, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, Very good things. You are Ella, aren’t you?”
Laughing, I admit it’s me. “Naomi, it’s nice to meet you. Mariah speaks highly of you, too.”
“Now you’re just lying,” she chuckles. “Mariah thinks I’m completely insane. And I am, FYI. But it’s a fun insane, not a dangerous, creepy insane.”
I like her instantly. Still giggling, I go into the kitchen to get us some wine. “White or red?”
“Ooh, definitely red. What do you have?”
“Is Cabernet okay?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
I pour out two glasses and we bring them into the living room. Digging out my iPod from my oversized bag, I park it in the dock and put on some Chili Peppers.
“So,” Naomi says, leaning back into the sofa. “Has Mariah mentioned what we’re planning for tonight?”
I swallow a sip of wine. “Planning? No, she hasn’t said anything.”
“Really? Hmm, I wonder why. Okay, well I’ll wait until she gets here to explain.”
“That sounds mysterious. What’s in the bag?” I gesture to a large silver shopping bag she’s parked at her feet.
“Weeeell,” she says, stretching out the syllable, “that’s part of what we’re doing tonight.”
“Okay, well, now the suspense is killing me. Spill your guts, Naomi.”
At that precise moment, the key turns in the door and in struts Mariah. When she sees Naomi, she drops her coat and bag and makes a beeline for the woman. “You made it! I was sure you’d bail on me yet again. I never get to see you anymore.”
“My job has taken over my life… but I’m all yours tonight and Ella here was just about to extort our plans for the evening out of me. How come you didn’t tell her?”
Mariah shrugs. “Nothing nefarious afoot; I just wanted it to be a fun surprise.”
My eyes volley back and forth, feeling as if I’m watching tennis. “What, damn it?”
“We’re going to my club tonight.”
“Your club? That’s the surprise?”
“It’s a very special club, Ella. Isn’t it, Mariah?”
“Oh, yes. Mucho special.”
“Really?” I ask. “What’s so special about it?”
The look on Naomi’s face has me worried. “Well, considering the racy book you wrote, you may not find it all that unusual, but it’s a private BDSM club and I’m taking you and Mariah as my very important guests.”
“You are?” I look helplessly at Mariah. “We are?”
Mariah nods slyly. “I thought it would be fun—and educational—to see a real club after reading your imaginative novel. C’mon, Ella, it will be epic.”
Naomi jumps in. “And trust me, there are hunky men always lurking about there—always. Beautiful men, both Dom and sub, whatever trips your trigger. What do you think, ladies? Are you all in?”
I take a big swig of wine, gulping it like water. “So what’s in the bag?”
Shrugging again, Naomi casually says, “Oh, some fetwear, and some plain but sexy clothes—things for you and Mariah to pick through and try on. I have mine on already.” She stands and removes the tunic-type sweater she’s wearing and underneath she has on a very short, very tight black latex dress that zips up in front from bottom to plunging neckline.
“Oh. Wow. Okay, let me think about this idea for a second.” I try to clear my head but the wine is already causing my brain to buzz. “Are we allowed to just sit at the bar and observe? I mean, we don’t have to do anything, right?”
“Noooo, but you very well might want to, once you get an eyeful of some of those men. Sometimes members even bring guests who aren’t into this particular thing so you can meet conventional people there every so often. You know, normal men.”
Mariah claps her hands. “Oh, no, I want to meet the abnormal ones! Normal is boring.”
I look at both of their eager faces and shrug my shoulders. “Oh, what the hell? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Famous last words. Didn’t Napoleon say that ere he saw Elba? Or was it Anne Boleyn? General Custer?”
I laugh. “Okay, Mariah, I take back the fate-tempting words. Sorry.”
Mariah leaps to her feet and grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s go try on some bad-girl clothes.”
Two hours and two glasses of wine each later, we’re dressed for the night out. Mariah is wearing a black leather corset that makes her body look killer—she can’t breathe but it’s worth it. A short black leather skirt—so short it’s almost not there—completes the outfit. Her shiny reddish-blond hair is piled high on her head and she’s doubled down on the eyeliner.
I opt for a black leather bra that happens to fit me as if it were made for me personally. Over that I’m wearing a sheer white see-through long-sleeved top. It has a vee-neck that plunges down low enough to allow the top of the bra to peek out. Naomi wraps a pewter choker around my throat—slave chic, I suppose. Since I wasn’t about to wear the ridiculous skirts she brought for us (they looked like broccoli rubber bands), I slide into—and slide is the operative word—a pair of super tight Lycra jeans-style pants, and my black stiletto shoes. I leave my hair down and put on some extra make-up.
“Excellent!” Naomi exclaims when she sees us. “We all look so hot we’re gonna set the place on fire. It’s just about seven-thirty now. Should we grab a bite on the way there? The club usually doesn’t start hopping until about nine.”
“Are we really going to go into a restaurant dressed like this? I don’t think so—unless you let me wear a fake nose and mustache to disguise myself.”
Laughing, both Naomi and Mariah roll their eyes and Mariah says, “Ella, I swear I don’t know how you wrote that dirty novel of yours. You’re such a prude—a babe but a prude.”
I stick out my tongue at her. “Am not,” I huff. “Just sensible and slightly dignified. Ever so slightly,” I add.
Naomi solves the problem for us. “How about we go to the diner on the same block as the club? They’re used to seeing it all.”
“Okay,” I say in defeat. I have a strong feeling I’m going to be overruled in everything we do tonight. I have to admit, though, I’m having fun for the first time in… well, since I can remember.
We get to the club at nine on the dot. Naomi signs us in and we have to show ID and sign disclaimers relieving the club from any liability for insult or injury—not the most reassuring thing in the world. As soon as we enter the room, my blood pressure rockets up: it’s scary. Everyone is in various stages of undress and/or outlandish clothing. There are very big, scary men dressed in black leather, strolling around, coiled whips and handcuffs dangling from their belts. One even smiles at me—an evil smile—and I get icy shivers sprinting up and down my spine. He sees my reaction and his grin gets wider. I reach for Mariah’s hand and clutch it for dear life. All of a sudden this is not so fun anymore.
“Naomi,” I shout over the din of the loud music, “dumb question: do you know most of the people here?”
“I know many of them by face, not name. I’ve been a member for about two years already so, yeah. But there are always new faces cropping up.”
I notice an older blond man checking out Naomi and she looks back at him with interest. Maybe she’ll go a separate way tonight? And that thought leads me to a chilling one: what if Mariah and Naomi both hoo
k up and I’m left by myself? No, they wouldn’t do that to me. Would they?
“Come on,” Naomi shouts into my ear, “let’s go to the restroom and freshen up.” I nod and the three of us head over to the ladies’ room line. It take us nearly twenty minutes to make it to the front, use the facilities and wend our way back to the bar. Phew. I think I’ve already seen enough and that was just from the ladies’ room queue alone. I need a strong drink and soon.
Somehow, we manage to snag three bar stools, moving them into a contiguous row, and order drinks. Naomi is looking around and speaking to Mariah. I hear her say, “Oh my God, it’s Ian! He hasn’t been here in ages.” My head jolts up when I hear the name and I see the man she’s referring to right away.
It’s my Ian.
Well, it’s Ian Blackmon. Shit!
He hasn’t spotted us yet so I watch as first a brunette throws herself at him and then a gorgeous blonde. Ian seems happy to see them. In fact, I’ve never seen him so relaxed and smiling as he is now. I feel a hot rush of jealousy surge through me when the woman touches his chest. Why is he carefree with her and all stern and dominant with me? Does he consider me beneath him or something? I have to wonder. Naomi turns and catches me staring.”
“You like?”
“Ian?”
“Yes, he’s gorgeous, I know. But be warned: you and every female in the world like him. And he’s très picky.”
“I know him,” I say, my heart pounding so hard and fast, it seems to eclipse the volume of the blaring music.
“You do? By the look on your face, it’s not a good memory. You look terrified, Ella. Are you okay?”
I nod weakly.
“Huh. Have to say, I’m surprised to see him here—he hasn’t been at the club in, oh, it has to be a year or more. I assumed he got married or moved away or something.”
I close my eyes and try to think. Should I leave now or wait until he spots me? I want to see him so badly but I know I shouldn’t. For whatever reason, all logic flees me when the equation contains Ian Blackmon as a variable. Right now I can’t think at all. I down the rest of my drink in one big swallow and nearly choke at the burn. I don’t want to look at him again but I can’t help myself. And just as I look up at him, I see another woman rush in and grab at him, kiss him, and white-hot anger infuses my system. What is wrong with me? He’s not mine and I have no right to be jealous. But I am—so fucking jealous.