by Lulu Astor
My first order of business is to call Mariah. My second is to make an appointment at an exclusive bridal salon.
So that’s what I do, hoping that Mariah could come with me. She is my maid of honor, and I’d like us to pick out her dress together. My mother will probably want to come, too. Ian and I are telling the mothers this weekend. When I finish in the bathroom, I go out to the bedroom to find him already asleep. Poor thing, he’s exhausted, probably mentally and physically. Tiptoeing over to his side of the bed, I pull the covers around him, kiss his forehead gently, and slip into the other side of the bed, trying my best not to disturb him. Problem is, he’s like a magnet, drawing me ever closer so I give in and cuddle him from behind, falling asleep holding onto him as a drowning person clutches fast to a lifeboat.
“Ella, just tell me what day you want to go and I’ll call in sick, for heaven’s sake. Your wedding gown is more important than making more money for my greedy boss.” Mariah sounds exasperated, her usual reaction to me.
“Okay. I’ll make the appointment at the salon and get right back to you. What time do you take lunch?”
“Whatever time I can sneak out of here. Sir Frederick is such a pain in the ass these days that I might just have to find a new job. Can you meet me for lunch?”
“Um… possibly. I may have to take Mason again.”
“Please do. I have more gossip for him to memorize.” An unholy cackle came echoing across the line, so infectious it gets me laughing even though it’s barely ten a.m. and I’m generally cranky in the morning.
“When is this wedding taking place, anyway?”
“Ian wants late spring or early summer. We still need to pick the actual date. Tonight we’ll call my mom and tell her the news and then tomorrow, we’re headed to Ian’s mother to share with her. We should have a date by the end of the weekend if all goes well.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
I shrug, though she can’t see me, unsure if I want to share my neurotic worries with her. She’ll dismiss them as idiotic.
“Ella, why wouldn’t it? Is his mother an unpleasant sort?”
“No! I mean, I’ve never met her but I doubt it. It’s just that stupid book I wrote… and those stupid friends who spread it the world over.”
“Let’s not forget the stupid millions it earned you. Yeah, my heart bleeds, darling. Look: Ian’s mother, and father for that matter, will love you as much as I do, book or no book.”
“Now you have me really worried,” I laugh.
“No, really, Ella. You’re very lovable and they won’t hold the book against you. Just don’t let them read it, whatever you do, or they’ll worry about their son’s virtue.”
“Ha. As if he had any left.”
“Oh? Do you two try some of the shenanigans you wrote about in your dirty novel?”
Okay, now she’s getting into dangerous territory. I have to change the subject quickly. Mariah’s smart; it’s almost a miracle she hasn’t figured out the truth already. Thank God for big favors.
“Oops, I have to go, Mariah. I’ll let you know when I have a date for our first appointment. Talk soon.” I disconnect.
What happens when she figures it out and she will? I know now the CA was not really to keep the kinky sex private; it was to protect his company’s intellectual assets… despite the fact it is naïve to think that someone who is intent on stealing will worry over violating a contract. Ian wasn’t thinking clearly when he crafted the legal protection.
Would Ian freak if Mariah or someone else figured it out? What if it did get out in public? What would be his reaction?
I’d like to believe that our love is much more important than anything else. As far as money goes, between Ian’s assets and my literary windfall, we have enough to live our entire lives in comfort, so there’s that. Who cares if people know we’re kinky?
I do.
And Ian no doubt does too. So we have to tread lightly where the book is concerned.
The next morning before we call my mother to tell her the news, we realize we need to set the date first. Ian has a beautiful calendar on the wall of his home office so we head there with our brimming mugs of coffee to look it over.
“How about the second Saturday in June?”
“Fine with me,” I reply. “One Saturday is as good an another. What date will we have for our anniversary?”
“June twelfth?”
“Hmm. So, that’s 6-12-14? The tenth would work better numerically but that would put us on a Thursday. Not good, is it? Okay, the twelfth it is. Let’s call my mom.”
I place my coffee down on his desk and go in search of my phone, finding it in my bag in the entrance hall closet. Making my way back to Ian, I see he’s on his laptop and whatever he’s reading has his complete interest. I clear my throat loudly and he looks up.
“What’s so interesting?”
“Not too much, just reading through my emails.”
“Any news you want to share?”
“No, nothing yet.” He looks up, bright-eyed. “Let’s call your mom.”
So I punch in her number and wait. It rings five times before she finally answers then promptly drops the phone. There’s a bunch of noises that follow that sound like chairs scraping across the floor and then her chipper voice again. “Sorry. Hello?”
“Mom? It’s Ella.”
“Ella! My love, it’s so nice to hear your voice.”
“Mom, I’m here with Ian and I’m putting you on speaker phone so we can both talk to you. Okay?”
“Okay, honey.”
I switch it to speaker. “Okay, here we are. Mom, Ian has something to tell you.”
I look at him with a gleeful expression and his mouth drops open but his face is filled with amusement. “Brat!” he whispers. “Hello, Ella’s mom, Ian here.”
“Hello, Ian. Ella has told her father and I all about you and we’re both very anxious to meet you.”
“The feeling is mutual. As it happens, we have a perfect occasion for that to occur since Ella has agreed to marry me.”
“Marry? Already? Isn’t that awfully fast?”
I jump in. “Mom, we’ve been dating for well over a year,” I lie. It’s sort of true if you count when we met and discount the year we were apart.
“Really.” She says it like an emphatic statement, not an interrogative. I know she knows I’m bullshitting her. Takes one to know one.
“Mom, it’s true. We did have a period when we took a break to evaluate our relationship but now here we are, back together, and we’re getting married on the twelfth of June. I’d love for you to help me pull it together.”
“Of course I will, Ella. You two just took me by surprise. Hold on while I get your father on the phone. Mark!!!!!!” she screams in our ears. “Ella’s on the phone.”
We hear footsteps and then his voice speaking to her. “She has her phone on speaker because she’s with Ian. “Okay. Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Dad! So Ian and I called to let you and Mom know that we’re getting married in June. I want to be sure that you’ll be able to travel to Portland to attend.”
“Married? Wow. That’s a surprise. Of course we’ll attend, sweetheart; I’ll mark it on the calendar right now. What’s the date?”
“The twelfth, Dad.”
“Mr. Strong?” Ian pipes up.
“Ian?”
“Yes, sir. I just wanted to let you know that I would have called you first to ask for her hand but she wouldn’t give me the number.”
“It’s true, Dad. He can be ridiculously old-fashioned at times.”
“Well, I like that about Ian. You have my blessing, young man, but I hope you two aren’t rushing things… or do you need to?”
“Dad! Of course not. Sheesh, it’s a sad day when a girl can’t even call her parents with good news without them thinking something terrible.”
“Hey, a shotgun wedding ain’t so terrible,” my father says happily. He’s referring, of course, to his own wedding since
my mom was already pregnant with me when they married.
“Okay, well, glad your calendar is marked. If Mom can come out earlier to help plan it, I would be ever so grateful.”
“Have you two told Ian’s parents yet?”
Ian answers, “We’re heading over there today to deliver the good news in person.”
“Oh? Good. Ella, I’ll put your mother back on now. All my love, sweetheart, and congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Ella? Dad just handed me back the phone. So… I’ll try to come to Portland next month. That will give us two months to have everything in place. Will you wait for me to shop for your dress?”
“Mariah and I are going to start this week but if you’d like, I won’t make any decisions until you get here, Mom.”
“If you find the right dress, you can snap it up, Ella. There’s always the other dresses I can help you select.”
“True. Okay, Mom. We’ll talk soon. Love you.”
“We love you, too, baby. Have fun and give your Ian a big hug from us. I can’t wait to meet him.”
I smile, hoping it goes through the line. “Bye, Mom.”
From behind me, Ian starts kissing me up and down my neck, and tickling me all over. “Haven’t I ever mentioned that I hate to be tickled?” I shout between bouts of hysterical laughter.
“I’m sorry but I can’t hear you over all the din. Noisy fiancée, you know. What did you say?”
I’m laughing so hard I begin to choke. “Stop right this minute or I won’t marry you, Ian.”
He spins me around and we kiss, long and deep. “Mmm, want to have a tryst in the bedroom?”
I look into his smoldering eyes, wondering if mine are as easy to read as his silvery beauties are. “A tryst sounds perfect. Should we shower first?”
“How about we have a tryst in the shower? Multitask, you know.”
“I love multitasking,” I breathe, barely audible. “When will you call your parents?”
“Afterward. I’m big on priorities, you should know.”
“Oh. Thank you for the edification: information is always helpful.”
As we conduct this silly conversation, he is propelling me backward toward the bedroom. When we get inside, he kicks the door closed and pushes me down onto the bed. “Straight or kinky?” he asks, a devious gleam in his eyes now.
“Let’s see, last time it was pretty straight… so I do believe it’s time for kinky.”
He disappears into the closet for a few moments and comes swaggering out with cuffs. “Let’s try something new, shall we?”
“In here? Or in the dungeon?
“Are you ready to go back in there again?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Last time it was fun.”
His eyes spark as he sweeps his arm open and says, “Then, by all means, lead the way.”
When we enter the room, he turns around to lock the doors and barks a command at me: “Strip.”
It’s only one little word but it does insane things to my body because of the promise it holds. I instantly begin to obey him, removing my clothes but I take my time. He shouldn’t have everything so easy, should he?
Once the clothes are gone, he has me kneel and he leaves the room. I’m supposed to keep my eyes down when in this position but I don’t, of course. I’ve never been completely obedient in my whole life—why start now? I watch for him to return. It seems to take forever but it’s probably about four minutes before the door opens again and my eyes dart down to the floor.
Footsteps. Then I see his shoes in front of me. He lifts me from under my arms and places me under a big hook hanging down from the ceiling on a chain.
Cuffing my wrists with padded leather cuffs, he attaches an O-ring to one cuff and clips it to the other. Then he suspends the O-ring to the hook. I dangle with my feet just barely touching the ground. Either I have to stand on my tiptoes or put pressure on my arms and shoulders. It’s not painful but it’s slightly uncomfortable. Ian explains that it’s a position designed to increase nervous anticipation but that I should tell him if it gets painful. “Okay,” I whisper, deciding the position is doing an admirable job of making me nervous.
“I’m going to take away your sight and sound, Ella, so all you’ll have left of your senses is to feel and taste. Okay?”
“Taste?” I ask, breathless now.
“Yes, taste. And here I thought my enunciation was superb.”
“I’m just not used to taste being something we… explore… in this room.”
“Oh, Ella, there’s so much you’re not used to doing in here, but we have lots and lots of time ahead of us, hopefully.”
“Can you promise that I won’t be, uh, tasting anything disgusting?”
He laughs. “Promise. Now close your eyes; the blindfold is going on.”
He wraps a black satin blindfold around my head. His voice is suddenly in my ear, whispering loudly, “Now your ears,” and I feel earphones descend over my head, covering my ears so fully that I cannot hear a thing. In the past we used earphones once, but there was music playing.
It’s amazing how being sensory-deprived makes you feel so differently, so quickly. The moment he takes away my hearing, I feel bereft—so lonely and so vulnerable that I almost begin to cry. But Ian doesn’t allow me time to sink; he immediately starts the tactile sensations.
Things touch my bare skin: soft, hard, cold, hot. He rubs something against my lips, urging me to open them. The level of trust this entails is titanic but I now have deep wells of it for him so I part my lips and he inserts something for me to bite. The texture is bumpy and cool and when I bite into it, I immediately identify the food: a fresh strawberry. I can feel the juice running down my chin but instead of feeling messy, it feels decadent because I’m naked. I feel his tongue licking the juice off my chin; the sensation makes me very hot.
He must know that for the next thing I feel is cool, something soft and cool right on my breasts. It doesn’t stay on long for his tongue once again begins to lap it off. Then I feel his lips on mine and when I open to him, his tongue invades and I get a mouthful of… whipped cream. Mmm.
Back to tactile, he uses feathers, silk, a rough fabric, an ice cube, something hot, perhaps a heating pad, something akin to long fingernails skates down my back, down my legs, and then up the front of my body. When it reaches my breasts, his mouth closes over one and he bites down softly. I can feel the vibrations of my moan, I can hear it echo inside my head, but I can’t judge the volume—these earphones are impenetrable.
Back to the food: a chilled cucumber, a salty almond, a kiwi, a piece of dark chocolate and… suddenly something ice cold and wet runs down the front of my body. He begins to lick it off. Is he going to use his tongue on my entire body? Well, the short answer is yes.
He begins to lick then stops and kisses me. I taste the sharp tang of lime and tequila. Damn, was it a margarita? I would much rather guzzle it than have it poured over my body. He gives me a sip from the glass and I could taste the salt around the rim.
He licks more off… and then gives me another sip. And so on. When he’s through, he takes out the toys: something sharp and vibrating crosses over my breasts and stomach. A slippery dildo slides into me and then a smaller one goes up the other way. Both are vibrating erratically. First slow then fast then slow again. I can’t sink into a rhythm and I’m sure that’s his intention. My shoulders and calves are beginning to ache because I’ve been alternating between them, trying to shift my weight back and forth.
He must sense my fatigue for I’m suddenly lowered to the floor and he scoops up my ankles so I keep going down. When the chain stops, I’m sitting on the floor, and he presses himself against my mouth. I open for him and when he slides his erection in I taste chocolate: melted chocolate. Mmm. I lick every drop of it.
After a few minutes, he pulls out of me, unhooks my cuffs and I feel myself go weightless: he’s carrying me. He places me on a padded bench, stomach resting
on it but my head and upper body dangle over the other side. He gets behind me and slowly removes the dildo, replacing it with himself. I can feel the vibrations from the other one and I know he can too. He slips something under my front and it begins to vibrate too, a maddeningly staccato rhythm that begins to drive me crazy. When I let myself whine, he changes the rhythm to a steady one and it doesn’t take me long to reach the top.
Boom! My orgasm is like an explosion that I can’t hear. I try to bear down my muscles hard to take him with me but I fail and he keeps going. And going. He flips me over and I wrap my legs around him and he starts up again—the man has staying power! I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow. He’s waiting for me to come again, and despite my exhaustion, I feel the pressure building. He must see it too because just as I think that, his fingers touch the vibrator on my clit and it goes into overdrive. He rips off the blindfold and earphones and I see his face, slick with sweat, eyes on fire, and… his hotness pushes me over, bringing him with me. We both moan in unison and I collapse back, feeling as boneless as any filet.
“Ella?” his voice is hoarse, even a bit raspy.
“Mmm?”
“We have to go to my mother’s now.”
“Now? Shouldn’t we get dressed first?”
He grasps my thigh and, turning it, slaps my butt hard.
“Ow!”
“Let’s go. We’ll shower and dress quickly. My parents are expecting us in an hour.” He grins. “We might be a little late.”
Chapter 49
What is taking Ella so long? They’d showered together and then he left her in the bathroom to do her hair and make-up and he’d dressed and gone into the office to get some work done.
He looks at his watch. Almost an hour had passed since he left her in there and they were due at his parents’ house in less than a half hour. He gets up to check on her.
The bedroom door is closed so he eases it open, finding her sprawled on the bed, tears running down her face.