by Lulu Astor
“It’s okay,” she manages to get out, her respiration drawing down.
Sweat is pouring out of him, dripping off his chin, running in rivulets down his chest; it’s strenuous work staving off ejaculation. Especially with the toy: it’s a much tighter fit when a plug occupies so much space. Ian knows he can’t hold out too much longer so it’s time to finally give Ella her well-earned orgasm.
“Let me know if there’s a problem, Ella. I’m going to go hard and fast now. Baby? Are you with me?”
“Mmmhmm. Do it.”
Grabbing the one part of her body he’d carefully avoided until now while she did everything she could think of to direct him, hand or mouth, to it, he pinches hard as he thrusts his hips forward almost violently. Her scream is worth everything he did to elicit it. “That’s my girl,” he says softly and he finally lets himself come on the heels of her satisfying wail.
Chapter 26
I open my eyes and the room is pitch dark. For a moment I have no idea where I am but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I begin to make out the room and remember I’m in a New York City hotel with Ian. My hand reaches out for him but comes up empty. Sitting up, I look over but the other side of the bed is empty. It makes me feel empty too… so I go look for him.
He’s in the sitting room of the suite, reading some paperwork directly under a soft lamp. Soft music plays from the iPod dock on the table. He looks as melancholy as I feel right now.
“Ian?”
Glancing up, he stares at me for a long moment and then gives me a megawatt smile, lighting up the room for me. “Did I wake you, Ella?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so; I don’t know what woke me.”
He holds out his big, wonderful arms. “Come here, baby. I need to touch you.”
I walk quickly to him and fold myself into those warm, hard, protective arms, feeling for the thousandth time that there’s no better place to be.
“Is everything okay, Ian?” I mumble into his chest while staring into space.
“Everything’s fine, Ella. Just a lot of work to do always… and I’m tired.” He pulls his head back to examine me from a distance. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“Fun?”
“When we played? Do you like it when I take control of you, Ella?”
I shake my head. I don’t know why exactly, but I feel like crying. He’s not going to let it go, though. If he did, he wouldn’t be Ian Blackmon.
“Ella?” His voice is silky but determined. “Yes? No? Talk to me.”
“Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel about it, Ian… but I do notice that when you’re stressed about work, you come at me in full-on Dom mode.” I crane my neck to look up at him.
He just gazes back, his face impassive, eyes inscrutable.
“Why were you so cold?”
A weighty sigh escapes from him. “Cold?” he asks. I don’t answer and a protracted pause ensues, the quiet of the night closing in around us. Though we’re physically close to each other, a yawning distance begins to emerge, grow. It’s weird but I can actually feel him emotionally pulling away from me. I wait, barely breathing lest I push him even farther into the darkness.
A few minutes later, his cool voice perforates the wall between us. “I didn’t like the way you looked at Butler yesterday, Ella. I was reacting to that, I suppose.”
My head whips up, taken aback. What? Shit! I thought he’d forgotten but I should have known better. “I…”
“I’ve told you before and I’ll keep reminding you, Ella. I don’t share and I’m jealous when it comes to you. You’re mine and I would appreciate it if you remembered that when meeting handsome men.”
“But ugly men are okay to gape at then?”
He doesn’t laugh. Oh, for God’s sake, this man is too fucking much.
“Regardless. You had an intense orgasm. Isn’t that good?”
I feel a scalding heat rush up my neck to my face. “Yeah, well. It’s not the dominance I was reacting to, necessarily.”
“No? What then?”
“You. You turn me on, Ian: your body, your gait, your eyes, your voice. Do you need any further elaboration?”
“Maybe just one more noun.” He gives me a wicked smile. “That’s nice to know, Ella. But tell me,” he leans closer and his voice gets rougher, darker, “doesn’t it make the experience better when you’re restrained, open, and completely at my mercy? You trust me, don’t you?”
I nod. Where’s he going with this?
“That’s all you need, we need, is trust. You trust me to do what I think best and so I will. That way we can both enjoy ourselves. Stop obsessing about semantics, anyway. It’s just the word and its implications that bother you, isn’t it? Submissive?”
This subject is tiresome already but he won’t give it up, will he? He wants what he wants but I’m a bit obstinate myself. I envisage a future of push and pull between us. Could be worse, I suppose.
“Perhaps. Yes, probably. If you were a member of a group that’s been subjugated by almost every society from ancient history to the present, you’d be a tad touchy when someone tried to do it again, even in the name of sexual gratification. Don’t you think?”
“Good point, as always, Ella.” His eyes shine with an unholy light. “But that’s not going to stop me from tying you down and having my wicked way with you, baby. Never. You’re my sexy girl, my lo…” He broke off.
What was he going to say? My love, perchance? Damn it.
“You’re mine, Ella, all mine. Make me jealous and I’ll make you pay… one way or another.” He tightens his embrace. “I’m getting very fond of holding you. Do you know that?”
“Me, too.”
“Mmm.” He kisses the top of my head and that’s probably the only apology I’ll get for his boorish behavior earlier. I hate to admit and will never tell him, but I kinda like it when he’s a bit nasty. Scary yes, but he makes me wet. There, I said it.
“So… you don’t think you like playing the submissive, then?”
“Ian, I’m not comfortable talking about these things but… I don’t think I’m submissive.”
“No? Would you want to tie me up and take charge in our next encounter?”
I squirm. He’s backed me up against the wall: if I say yes, then I might have to do it and it doesn’t appeal to me in the least. If I say no, he’ll say that means I’m a sexual submissive and I don’t like that label either. I try to avoid answering but of course he won’t allow that either.
“Well?”
“Let’s just go back to bed, Daniel… I mean, Ian.” I try to keep a straight face when I see the look I put on his, but I can’t and burst out laughing. To his credit, he manages to maintain a stern expression but I see his lips twitch despite himself. I grab his big, beautiful hand and lead him back to bed: I feel an attack of my oral fixation coming on.
Ian leaves the hotel early the next morning, promising to be back to take me to lunch but has to call to cancel. Dinner then. I’ve a feeling he’s going to have to return to Portland before I can go and the thought depresses me; I’m getting too used to having him around.
To cheer myself up, I decide to go hunting for new clothes—in what better place than the concrete retail jungle that is New York City? I head downtown to Soho to seek out some edgy boots and maybe a sweater or two. By the end of the afternoon, my arms are laden with high-end boutique bags. Um, I bought a few more things than I anticipated.
It’s always strange to go shopping now that I have real money in my bank account—I get a little shock every time I realize I don’t have to shop by price tag anymore. Often I even feel guilty, as if I didn’t really earn that money. The way it came to me, so much of it, so quickly, so unexpectedly, I feel like a fraud or a thief.
Then I think of all the women who have written to me in the last year, swearing I’ve saved their marriages and sex lives, telling me about the babies conceived because of my book… and bone-deep satisfaction washes through me. I can pull ou
t that credit card with a bit more confidence, knowing I inadvertently helped a lot of people with my sexy little book and it makes me feel empowered. I didn’t find a cure for cancer or end world hunger… but every little step toward reaching self-actualization helps, right?
Picturing Ian’s face when he sees my new lingerie hastens my step in hurrying back to him. It’s the sexiest I’ve ever purchased for myself: a bustier and a matching—and skimpy—thong. Harlot red is the actual name of the color. The bustier pushes up my girls so I look even chestier than I am, and the thong… well, it’s a thong.
The dress I purchase to wear for dinner tonight is alluring but elegant: navy blue and tight, with a square-cut but revealing neckline, size 4. Can I say that again? Size 4! All this travel has helped me lose weight, not to mention being around exercise-mad Ian Blackmon. I also treated myself to a new pair of shoes to go with the dress. Ian likes stilettos—I guess every man with a pulse does. I never do find the right boots, though. The quest for the perfect boots must continue another day.
While I’m shopping I duck into an Armani shop and choose a beautiful cashmere sweater for Ian. I’d admired the one Daniel was wearing a few days ago and thought Ian would look great in it. I opt for a soft charcoal to set off his light eyes. Yes. He’ll look downright scrumptious in it: I can’t wait to get back to the hotel.
But he’s not there when I return. I lie down on the bed to wait for him but when I wake up almost two hours later, the room is dark and I’m still all alone in the suite. My pulse picks up as alarm settles over me like a mist: it’s not like Ian to be late without calling. Where is he?
I check my phone: three messages. Whew. When I play them my heart sinks: he had to go back to Portland today. No! I feel the ache in my gut instantly as I start missing him already.
I can’t call him because he’ll be in the air so I text him my unhappiness and decide to try to get some work done. Pulling out my laptop, I hunker over it, wondering if I should just order room service when my cell vibrates. I grab for it hopefully. Ian? No.
Lucien.
“Hey, Lucien. How are you?”
“Very well, Ella. It’s good to hear your voice. Is all well?”
“I’m still waiting to hear from the attorney. Nothing’s moved on it since last we spoke. Are you in Paris?”
“No.”
He pauses and I wonder why. For a moment, I think the call has dropped. “Hello?”
“I’m still here. I’m in New York, Ella. I just got in a little while ago.”
“Oh? So does that mean you’ll take over handling the legal issue?”
“Yes, I will. But before you head back to Portland, I thought we could meet with the editor and start making some preliminary edits with the footage we’ve already shot. We do have more than half the film in the can, so to speak. What are your plans for the next two days?”
“Um, well, Ian had to go back to Portland today… unexpectedly. So…”
“Oh? Well, then, why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?”
Is it my imagination or does his voice suddenly sound more upbeat? No, I chastise myself. Looks like I’m starting to buy into my own press clippings and thinking no man can resist me, or some such nonsense. Lucien’s just being nice and I’m actually happy to speak to him. I’m so depressed that Ian left without time for even a goodbye that distracting myself with Lucien and work sounds like a good idea. “Yes. I’d like that. Where and when?”
“I’ll pick you up at your hotel and we’ll decide from there. Weekdays are usually doable without reservations. Text me your hotel info, Ella, and I’ll be there at seven. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, absolutely. See you then, Lucien.”
I disconnect the call, my mind racing a hundred miles a minute. I know Ian wouldn’t be pleased to know I’m having dinner with Lucien but he is my boss or colleague or whatever we are. And Ian’s not here. Justified or not, I feel abandoned and dinner with Lucien seems a far better choice than the pity party I’d planned for myself, complete with Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream… and straight-up tequila. I’ve done it before certainly and I can’t recommend it. Not only do you feel disgustingly slothful the next day, but you also have a killer hangover, and hair of the dog never works with tequila. I go back to my laptop but I can’t concentrate because I miss my Ian so much, it actually hurts. Oh, boy, am I in trouble.
At precisely seven, Lucien appears in the lobby of my midtown hotel. Hmmm. I have to admit I’d forgotten just how attractive the man is. His blond hair has gotten longer since first I met him and again he has it neatly tucked behind his ears but he’s grown a goatee in the last week or so since I’ve seen him, lending him a slightly sinister look… sinister but likeably so. He’s wearing dark blue jeans, a dark silk shirt, and a black leather car coat—very much the young urban hipsterish whatever. Or perhaps some would uncharitably call it the Euro-trash look?
“Ella!” He steps over to greet me, kissing me on both cheeks. “You look great. How was Tokyo?”
“Really…” I reach for the right word, “fascinating; I just wish we’d had more time to explore. Any updates for me?”
“None since we last communicated. Everything’s going according to our timetable. A few blips, here and there, but those are to be expected. I have some news, however, but let’s scout out a restaurant first.”
He takes my arm and links it through his. I know if Ian saw him do that, he’d have a coronary, but I’m unsure how I personally feel about it. Do I tend to overreact about these kinds of things?
If I asked Mariah, she’d roll her eyes and tell me to get over it, that he’s just being friendly. If I asked my childhood friend Carrie, she’d say it was definitely inappropriate, overreaching is how she’d put it. I’m somewhere in the middle: it wouldn’t overly bother me if it weren’t for the fact that I know it would massively piss off Ian. But he’s not here now… so I smile and say nothing.
Walking outside, I shiver and pull up the collar of my jacket. The air has a biting chill, a definite promise of the winter fast approaching. We walk a few blocks uptown, ending up at a small Japanese restaurant famous for its soba noodle dishes. The ambiance is perfect: small, intimate even, yet not romantic. The lighting is high and the tables are situated close together, inhibiting any PDAs among diners. As soon as we’re seated, my phone starts singing. I don’t even have to check to know who it is and as usual, his timing is perfect.
“Excuse me for a moment, Lucien,” I say, getting up to take the call privately. I answer right before I reach the front door and step outside into the frosty air, shivering.
I’m elated to speak to him so I feel like acting silly. “Hey there, handsome. How’s it hanging?”
“Did I get the wrong number?”
I laugh.
“It’s hanging low because you’re so far away. Baby, I’m so sorry I had to take off without telling you. It happened so fast: we had an emergency arise quickly here and I had to get back ASAP—fires to put out, people to slap around. You weren’t answering your phone so I texted you from the airport. I left some of my clothes in the room so please check the closet before you check out.”
“Okay.”
“Ella? Are you okay?”
I’m choked up just hearing his voice and I don’t want to even examine my feelings for him right now—they’re so overwhelming, it’s scaring me. I clear my throat, stalling for a few moments to collect myself. “Yes. I… um… I miss you so much.”
“And I you. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“I was probably in the subway when you called. No reception underground.”
“Why you take the subway is beyond me, Ella. It’s a disgusting ordeal.”
Giggling at the face he’s surely making when he says that, I shrug. “I like the immediacy of it. It’s like life: pulsating, smelly, crowded, loud… you name the adjective and it suits. I bought you a present.”
“Did you now? Well, I can’t wait
to get it. When are you coming home?”
Home.
Is Portland my home? Or is it that Ian himself is? That’s the million-dollar question these days. “As soon as I can. Lucien called me today… as a matter of fact, I’m having dinner with him right now. He wants me to work on some editing with him before I leave.” I say the words really fast hoping it lessens their impact.
“Does he now?” His tone is acidic. “Ella, please get home as soon as you can. I miss you, too, baby.”
“I will, Ian. I’ll try to fly back day after tomorrow. Okay?”
Sigh. “It will have to be, I suppose. Keep your guard up around Phillips. My instincts say he wants more than just your professional acumen, Ella. Trust me on this matter and be cautious.”
“I promise I will, Ian. I’ll ring you when I get back to my room. Okay?”
Mollified, I think, his voice changes timber. “Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting.”
“I won’t forget. Talk to you later.” I disconnect before I can say too much, before I can tell him I love him.
Chapter 27
The intercom on the massive glass and steel desk chimes elegantly.
“Yes, Claudia?”
“Everyone is assembled in conference room B, awaiting your arrival, Mr. Blackmon.”
“I’m on my way.”
Plucking his navy suit jacket from the chair where he’d flung it earlier, he shrugs into it and tightens his copper raw-silk tie, a gift from Ella and recently used to tether her wrists to the bedframe so he could play without her interruption. Shaking off the bolt of lust that arrived with the thought, he trains his focus on what’s immediately ahead: close eyes, inhale deeply, visualize triumph in all things—ready. Striding purposefully into the outer office to ring for the elevator, Ian realizes he’s far too impatient, and instead takes the stairs one flight up to the tenth floor, long legs scaling three steps at a time.