by Lulu Astor
His fingertips brush across my cheek lightly and he takes my hand and kisses it. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
Life is truly a theatre for the absurd, Ian thinks, as he floors the accelerator once he merges onto the highway. There he was, scheming and conniving every which way to get Ella back into his life and he failed miserably. Miserably. And then all it took was a chance encounter where she happened to see him with other interested women and she asks to come home with him. He shakes his head.
Jealousy. No one is immune to it, man or woman. All one has to do is read a little Shakespeare to see how even the high and mighty fall upon its sharp and sometimes double-edged sword, eyes wide open. Why it didn’t occur to him to use it to his advantage was the real mystery. He’d known Ella had a robust streak of the green-eyed monster right from the start. Their first night out together, he’d run into a female acquaintance. When the woman put her hands on him, he’d glanced at Ella and saw her eyes simmering at the proprietary insult. He’d seen no reason to tell her that he didn’t even like the woman—Ella’s reaction had amused him at the time because they’d just met and had no claims on each other. Not that they ever did… but he would like to now. Very much.
In the club, she’d looked angry at first, too. He had his arm around Kim—perhaps that was why. Seeing Ella there, against a backdrop of a multitude of beautiful women, all dressed—or undressed— to look their hottest, it was patently obvious to him that Ella left them all in the dust. The girl is seriously beautiful—and the thing he might love most about her is that she genuinely doesn’t appear to be aware of her beauty. Or if she is, she doesn’t take it too seriously.
He almost can’t believe that events happened as they did, but a quick glance over at the passenger seat and there she is, in all her auburn glory. She catches his eye and he smiles, reaching for her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze—he can tell she’s nervous. How many other men has she been with since she left him last year? He’s burning to know but he’s too polite to ask and she probably won’t offer the information. After all, it isn’t really his business, is it?
Would she be surprised to know he hadn’t been with a single woman since her? He wonders.
“Aren’t we going to your place?”
He looks over at her, smiles enigmatically, and nods.
“Didn’t we just pass your exit?”
“I don’t live in the glass house anymore, Ella. I moved out last week.”
“Oh? Where?”
“You’ll see. We’re almost there.”
“What prompted you to move?”
“I bought the new place a year ago but I’ve been having it remodeled. The renovations were just finished a little over a week ago so I moved in and put the other house up for sale.”
“A year ago? Seems a lot of things happened with you last year.”
He keeps his focus trained on the road ahead, choosing not to acknowledge her observation. It must be so obvious that I fell apart when she disappeared, he thinks. But I won’t confirm it—that would give her too much sway over me and I simply cannot allow that to occur. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
As he turns his little black Lexus sports car into the marina parking lot, Ella’s head whips over to look at him. “No way! You bought a houseboat?”
Smiling, he nods. “I needed a change and I love the water. I have to say, I’m really loving it—I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” He parks the car in his designated space and quickly jumps out to open Ella’s door. She waits, remembering that he has these ingrained manners and expects her to abide by them.
Once outside the car, Ella jumps up with excitement, clapping her hands. “I’m impressed, Ian, so impressed. I would never expect you to live on a houseboat—but I love it!”
Laughing, he cocks his head in that way she loves. “Why? Wouldn’t you expect it?”
One corner of her mouth turns up in a crooked grin; she seems elated at the prospect of visiting a houseboat. “Not luxurious or formal enough for you. I don’t know, Ian, but you seem different to me now—much more relaxed about life, more inclined to enjoy it. Am I mistaken?”
She takes his extended hand, both of them reveling in this one small touch after so long apart, and they walk toward his boat. He doesn’t answer right away; instead his eyes scan the dark water, lights from the row of houseboats shimmering on its surface. “Perhaps not,” he says after a pregnant pause, “I suppose I went through a bit of a personal crisis last year, Ella.” That’s as much as he plans to admit to her. He could tell she’s dying to ask questions but he doesn’t encourage them. There’s only so far he’s willing to open himself up to her. No, he has to be careful, never relax his vigilance. He’d learned his lesson quite well. Five years ago. So fucking well. But no, he thinks, shaking off the old demons; he refuses to conjure the ghost of Natasha tonight.
“Here we are.”
Ella stops dead in her tracks and gapes at the house. “Oh my God, Ian, it’s… magnificent. Just, like, drop-dead gorgeous.”
It looks like a villa one would see on the banks of the Grand Canal in Venice. The house has two stories and a roof deck on top, with glass panels wrapped around the perimeter of the roof for safety without obstructing the view. The façade is a textured plaster in Tuscan Gold and all the windows, both arched and square, are floor to ceiling height and wrap around the entire house. Ionic columns enclose the first floor to form a portico extending around the entire house while the second story has four columns in front from roof to ground that harbor a balcony within. The same glass panels protect the entire second floor, whether a Juliet balcony or the larger terrace in front. There are huge pots of colorful flowers anchoring the roof on all four corners.
“Can I assume you like it then?”
“It’s all right, I guess,” she says, affecting a nonchalant tone, her eyes glowing with delight. “I’ll bet it’s even prettier by daylight.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. The light shimmering off the water makes it pretty special, don’t you think?’
“Mmm. This was such an excellent choice, Ian. I’m jealous.”
Smiling, he unlocks the door and steps aside. “After you. Would you like a formal tour or would you prefer to just wander around and acquaint yourself with the premises?”
“I’ll wander.”
“Okay, then I’ll go get us some wine. Unless you’d prefer something else?”
“No,” she shakes her head with a rueful smile, “wine is perfect. Perhaps just half a glass for me, though. I drank a bit too much already today.”
“Good enough. Feel free to look around and make yourself at home, Ariel.” He tilts his head back. “You look good in this house.”
Her voice drops in volume, sounds strangled even, as she replies, “I feel good in this house,” and then quickly turns away.
Ian’s own equilibrium shatters at that point and he realizes with a start that he’s nervous again, too. When was the last time he was nervous around a woman before meeting Ella? Fourteen years ago when he was fifteen, probably. But Ella frequently made him nervous, especially now, when he’d spent so many months missing her, thinking her lost to him forever. Tonight was his chance to win her back. Feeling a lot is riding on tonight is what is making his heart pound. It’s an alien sensation and he doesn’t like it. Not in the least.
Returning with the wine, he finds her sitting at one end of the sofa. Ian considers trapping her there by placing himself in the middle, thus invading her personal space, but instead decides to go slowly, so he seats himself at the other end, after handing her the glass. It feels relaxing to quietly sit and listen to the soft music and sip the wine—not at all how he’d originally envisioned his evening. Still, he couldn’t say he was disappointed. Quite the contrary.
After a few minutes, he looks at her and pats the cushion next to his lap. “Come here, Ella.”
After a slight hesitation, she rises to her feet and walks over to stand in front of him. H
e watches, waiting to see what she’ll do. Moving closer to him, she straddles his legs, sits on his lap, sets her hands on his shoulders… and then leans in to kiss him. Bold move.
He’d forgotten how soft her lips were… are. While she’s occupied with his tongue, he reaches his hands under the loose white shirt and up to her breasts, exploring with his fingers and then yanking her bra down to expose her breasts. A small moan is her only response. When she pulls her mouth away from his, he slides his hands to her waist and lifts her body as he stands—an impressive display of strength. “Wrap your long, sexy legs around me, sweetheart.”
As she complies, he carries her upstairs. As he walks, he talks. “Allow me to give you the abbreviated tour. This is the staircase to the second story. This is the hallway. Here’s the master bedroom,” he says as he enters the room and then drops her gently on the bed so that she’s lying across the width. “And here’s the bed. You have too many clothes on.”
He leans over her and pushes her arms up, sliding the shirt up and off; the leather bra, already half off, follows quickly. “By the way, I like the bra on you… but I like it better off.” He grins wickedly and then hooks his fingers in her waistband, unbuttoning, unzipping, and yanking off the pants. He leaves on her panties.
His eyes are focused intently on her, appraising her body up and down. “You’ve lost weight,” he notes. “Intentional?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re beautiful, Ariel,” he says as he leans back in to start kissing her, “I’ve missed seeing and touching you.” Beginning at her throat, he works his way down, kissing and nipping. By the time he reaches her hips, he could see her skin is glistening with sweat, as she squirms underneath him—but he won’t let that hurry him. He takes his time: he’s waited a very long year for the privilege.
As he kisses, touches, licks, and rediscovers her body, a possessive instinct washes over him and he wants desperately to ask her if she’s been with other men… but he can’t… he won’t.
No. It would be wrong. But he wants to know…needs to know.
But why? Would it make any difference? No, it really wouldn’t.
He won’t ask.
“Have you been with other men since we parted?”
He fucking asked! Stupid.
“No… have you? Been with other women? I probably don’t want to know how many, right?”
“No, Ella. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he admits and before he can watch her eyes reflect the dawning comprehension of what those words mean, he quickly dives down, kissing her between her legs, getting her mind off the exchange they should never have just had… but that he’s so glad they did.
She hasn’t been with anyone else. There was room for hope.
He’ll reward her for her fealty with an outstanding orgasm. The piece of lacy fabric between her clit and his tongue serves only to drive her frustration ever higher as it prevents a complete connection. Her body burns hotter, so hot it’s nearly on fire. When he thinks she’s had enough teasing, he slides the panties down her legs, gripping her thighs so there’s no room for her to move, no outlet for the tension, and his relentless tongue sends her into a screaming climax. He looks up to watch; he can’t remember ever being as hard as he is right now, seeing her come undone. When her breath returns, she looks at him with glazed eyes. “Why am I naked and you still have all your clothes on?”
He points to the top of the bed. “Move up, baby. My clothes are coming off.”
She sidles up to the top and center of the mattress as he sheds his clothes quickly and efficiently and unfurls a condom. Lying on top of her, he takes her hands and brings them over her head, wrapping her fingers around the iron posts of the headboard. “Keep them there, no matter what I do. Can you do that?”
She nods. He chuckles—she’d probably agree to anything right now.
“Open your legs. Wider.” She complies and he leans back to bend her knees, pushing her legs up as far as they’ll comfortably go. “Leave them in that position; don’t move them an inch.”
She nods again and licks her lips. “No cuffs or ropes?”
“I don’t need them—you’re bound by my will. Just as effective. Do you like it, Ella?”
“Yes. What happens if I move?”
“Torment.”
“No whips, right?”
Her question stings him. “No. Of course not.”
“So,” she says hurriedly, as if anxious to move past the moment, “torment.” She smiles sweetly. “Don’t move. Got it.”
“We’ll see,” he says, an evil smile animating his face as he moves in toward her.
Two hours in bed with Ella—Ian definitely considers it a night well spent. An entire year of wanting her and missing her, of monkish celibacy… but tonight all of the suffering seems worth it. He looks down at her, dozing in the crook of his arm and thinks that maybe, possibly, he could marry this one, make a life with her. But how would that ever happen if he were afraid to let her know how he felt about her? He just can’t do it.
She sleeps for about a half hour and when she wakes, he wraps her in a silk kimono and throws on his jeans and they go to scare up some food. They take the laden plates with them into the living room and he turns on the television.
“Well, you spent a lot of time in the UK. Want to watch Little Britain?”
“How did you know I did? I don’t recall mentioning it.”
“How did I know? Hmmm.” His grin is downright devilish. “I don’t suppose you’re aware of my superior stalking skills, Madame.”
“So you knew where I was then?”
“That time I actually had to hire a professional. You certainly covered your bases quite well.”
“If you went to the trouble of locating me, why didn’t you contact me?”
“Not that I’m avoiding it, but do you suppose we can table this conversation until next time? I’m not feeling up for it right now.”
“Okay,” she shrugs slightly and grins happily at him. “I feel agreeable tonight—for some strange reason.”
“Do you? I wonder why, Ms. Strong. Could it be the gentle waves lapping at the houseboat that are lulling you into a good mood?”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it. Definitely. Okay, so Little Britain it is.”
Inching closer to her on the sofa, Ian flicks on the show with the remote and then angles his body so he could look at Ella.
“So now that you’ve had time to process it, what do you think about what you saw in the club?”
She shakes her head. “Still horrified. I just don’t understand why people put themselves through such humiliation and pain. The whole public aspect of it probably bothers me the most. Some things should be private—always.”
“Hmm, for some people, yes. Not for others.”
“Why did that girl let them hurt her like that? That’s just plain crazy.”
“When a person joins the club, he or she agrees to certain conditions. Discipline is one of them.”
“Doms, too?”
“To a lesser extent, but yes. Everyone needs to respect the rules of the club. They’re there to keep it safe and enjoyable for all.”
“If it’s such a serious transgression to ignore a safe word, why’d they let that Dom continue?”
“It was a complicated situation but normally a person doing that would automatically be kicked out. To ignore a safe word… well, it amounts to a criminal assault and the sub could have reported it to the police and brought the house down on the club. But he chose not to.”
“He? The sub was a he?”
“Mmmhmm. From what I gather, the Dom in question had a long-time sub—his girlfriend—to whom he was very much attached. The male sub somehow connived to get the girl to leave her Dom—I don’t know the exact details. Needless to say, the Dom was pissed off, to say the least. He ran into the male sub one evening at the club, told him he deserved a whipping, and the male sub agreed to take one. I suppose it began as more of a negotiate
d scene than an assault. When it started getting rough, the sub used his safe word and instead of stopping everything, the Dom gagged him and kept going. It took a while for someone to hear him using the safe-word signal for a gagged sub.
“What the male sub did, getting between a Dom and his sub, was rather inexcusable and since the male sub didn’t care to pursue it, the club owners gave Jared—that’s the Dom’s name—the choice. He opted for the whipping.”
“Must have been horrible. Was it done at the club?”
“Oh, yes. They scheduled it for a Thursday, so the club wouldn’t be full but when the news went out, everyone and his brother showed up for the spectacle. It was packed to capacity, so I hear. Not only that, my friend told me it was the first time in his experience that all other play stopped so everyone could watch the whipping. Had to be intense.”
“Why would they all want to watch it? Does everyone dislike Jared?”
“Not at all. He’s popular at the club.” He pauses. “To answer your question, it probably drew a crowd because it was a Dom getting whipped, as opposed to a sub. It’s unusual enough to make a stir. Plus, whippings never happen without a safe word so that made it highly unusual.”
“Were there any rules?”
“Probably just the common sense ones that there should be no permanent scarring and obviously it had to stop short of the mark of requiring a hospital visit or medical intervention of any kind.”
Ella shudders. “I thought the pony was disgusting. What diseased mind thought that one up?”
“Actually that one, with variations, has been around since the Roman Empire—of course the one they used ended up being fatal, with limbs being dislocated and that sort of thing. Our Roman friends were a bloodthirsty bunch—lead in the water will do that. Then a similar device was popular during the Inquisition. There was one used doing the Colonial War. They called it riding the rail. Another one used in the Civil War was employed in conjunction with weights to increase the fun. The one in the club is fairly mild in that the sharp edge is just the narrow part of the wood, rather than an actual point, the way the torture was originally intended.” He glances at her. “Still must be rather unpleasant, no doubt.”