by Poppy Flynn
Too often, Micah or Trinity had to deal with any difficulties on their own since they were usually all so far away. Though Jake guessed it would be easier when Joel got back from his honeymoon and was available full time.
Hanging up, Jake crept back into the bedroom, only to find Charlotte stretching and regarding him with heavy lidded eyes.
"Wha's 'matter?" she yawned.
"Just going to lend Micah a bit of moral support at the club," Jake whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. "Go back to sleep."
Charlotte blinked at him, then frowned. "Trouble?"
"Nothing new," Jake sighed. "Reporters again. I'll take your keys and let myself back in later. Okay?"
Charlotte closed her eyes and nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly in a contented half smile as Jake brushed his lips across hers before walking out of the room.
In her drowsy mind, her thoughts flittered, vaguely, and landed briefly on why it was Jake who was getting up in the night to go to the club. He was Micah's friend but…
Her thoughts floated away in her half dreams, replaced by thoughts of reporters. Someone really ought to write an informative, favourable piece about the lifestyle. It would do far more to keep the wolves from the door than leaving them to believe there was a story to sniff out by repeatedly denying them. Maybe she should just write it herself…
The thought drifted away as she relaxed back into slumber.
Still, the idea tugged at her mind over the days to come. Jake had crawled back into bed, tired and irritable, at five on Sunday morning, muttering and cursing, and had woken up later that morning with dark shadows under his eyes, an almost fixed frown marring his usually relaxed features and his normally cheerful temperament sadly absent.
Charlotte took it all in her stride. It was good to know all the facets of the person you were becoming involved with. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny her disappointment at his stark refusal to play, either at home or at the club, saying he wasn't in the right frame of mind and didn't want to risk her wellbeing by scening when he was angry.
Privately, Charlotte thought he was being more than just a little bit melodramatic. If there was anything that Jake could truly benefit from at that moment, then it was a mind-blowing release to relieve his tension and lighten his irritation.
Racking her brain over the conventions and the nuances of D/s relationships, Charlotte came to the conclusion that if one of her roles as a sub was to serve then—albeit her own interpretation—she should take it upon herself to ease his troubles.
After plying him with a delicious home cooked meal and a glass of red wine, she'd sent him off for a shower then waylaid him when he'd finished and insisted on massaging his tight, knotted shoulders and neck.
Satisfaction had energised her as she felt him relax and unwind, his muscles yielding and loosening beneath her busy fingers.
Finally, with the scent of sandalwood and vanilla teasing the air from the oil she'd used, Charlotte cajoled him to lie on his back under the pretext of giving him a foot rub. In truth, her efforts in that department were rather half-hearted, her attention diverted instead to the growing bulge in the underwear he'd insisted on wearing—stupid man, like that was going to stop her!
She held back as long as she could, but as she watched the soft jersey of his boxers tent in an effort to contain his erection, she found her mouth-watering in anticipation.
Jake lay, seemingly relaxed, with his eyes closed despite the obvious rigidity in certain parts of his anatomy. After licking her lips for maybe the fifth time, Charlotte could restrain herself no longer. In one swift movement, she surged forward, dragged away the offensive covering, grasped his balls in her oil slicked fingers and sucked his cock into her hot, wet mouth, gobbling him down till the tip hit the back of her throat. When Jake bucked involuntarily, a harsh groan wrenching from deep within as he instinctively ploughed his fingers into her hair, fisting it tightly in a move that had her moaning around his sensitive flesh and causing him to exhale loudly while a shudder ripped through his leanly muscled frame as the vibrations titillated his senses.
He leaned up on his elbows and looked down to where his rock-hard shaft disappeared behind her soft pink lips, the visual alone almost enough to send him over the edge. "You know this is topping from the bottom, don't you?" he demanded roughly once he'd regained a fragment of composure.
Charlotte looked up the length of his smoothly sculpted chest, slowly lifting her head until his dick left her mouth with a defined pop.
"Do you want me to stop?" she asked with wide eyed innocence.
Jake sagged back on the bed, his chest quaking with the low chuckle that rumbled through him, and Charlotte privately thrilled at her success in lifting his wretched spirits.
"Suck me good, wench!" Jake demanded instead, and she hid a secret smile as she did just that and felt a warmth in her chest at having lightened his mood, which had nothing at all to do with sex.
The following weeks were…promising. Sure, they engaged in a lot of totally mind-blowing sex but more importantly—to her, at least—they managed to spend some quality time together—meeting up for lunch, going out to dinner, chilling with a glass of wine or a cold beer. Laughing, talking, getting to know each other, building the foundations of something durable and resilient. Or so she thought.
But what she knew without any doubt was that, each day, he stole away another little piece of her heart until there were no more left to give and he held it all. Charlotte could only pray he'd keep it safe. She didn't want to consider the devastation otherwise.
They hadn't discussed the future or the fact that Jake would eventually go back home. It was early days still, but Charlotte already knew she wouldn't put any roadblocks in the way of pursuing their relationship, and if that meant pulling up her roots here and following him to the South Coast, then so be it.
The issue of a possible pregnancy hadn't been brought up again, except for Charlotte to assure Jake that she was not showing any signs that she might be. In truth, her periods had never been that regular, so she probably couldn't rely on those as any kind of indicator, but there was no nausea or tiredness, either. In fact, physically, Charlotte felt no different from usual, and coupled with the fact that her body stubbornly refused to yield up an egg for fertilisation every month, she thought the chances were probably slim to non-existent and she tried not to be disappointed in that reality. It was far more likely that she'd be one of those poor women who had to battle to conceive, and once that likelihood rooted in her brain, she had to try not to get depressed at the idea. Like she'd insisted to Jake, there was no point in borrowing trouble. Those kinds of decisions were still a long way away. Somewhere way along this road they had started travelling, past the two of them consenting to a committed relationship, agreeing on how to further that relationship given their current distance and deciding what form their relationship would take. It was entirely possible that all Jake wanted was a long-distance D/s alliance which was governed by a contract. She tried not to let that idea disappoint her. She was getting far too emotional; that was for sure. They needed to take things one day at a time and see where they led, and as much as the idea of even an unplanned pregnancy secretly appealed to her, at this stage, it really would only serve to muddy the already murky waters.
In the meantime, Charlotte's thoughts turned more and more towards writing a balanced, constructive article suitable for one of the more prominent and well-respected publications. Something progressive and reformist and as far away as possible from the sensationalised garbage that had gotten blown out of proportion by the gutter press. Someone needed to explode the myths behind BDSM and provide the public with the responsible and conscientious reality of the lifestyle and thereby shatter the dramatized, hysterical and often abusive hype that often got bandied about by those ignorant to the truth.
And the more she thought about it, the more she was certain that person should be her. She had the knowledge and the contacts an
d, most of all, the genuine inclination to set the record straight.
Charlotte wondered if she could get Luanna Morgan on board. She knew the other woman had been working with Logan Thornton on a series of photographs highlighting the art of Japanese rope bondage like Shibari or Kinbaku and Hojojutsu. Charlotte had seen some of the photographs and they were extraordinarily beautiful. Moreover, Shibari promoted bondage as an art form and would be the perfect accompaniment for the type of article she wanted to write. She definitely needed to approach Luanna and see if Desi's finance manager would agree to any of her photos being used in the article. Buoyed by how well the idea was coming together, Charlotte set about making notes on the content and composition of the piece and decided to fire off a few emails to see what sort of response she got from some of the potential high-end publishers.
She'd run the idea past Desi when she returned from her honeymoon, but knowing how Jake felt about reporters, Charlotte decided it was probably best if she presented him with the finished article. After the recent run-ins Micah'd had with reporters trying to gain illegal access to Club Risqué, Jake could be ever so slightly—okay, absolutely and completely—biased against journalists who took an interest in the club.
Still, he was a mature and open-minded man; once he read her work, he would understand the benefit of a well composed piece that flattered the lifestyle and exploded the popular myths surrounding BDSM.
Chapter 14
Charlotte felt exhilarated. She had met with Luanna for lunch and, to her delight, found the other woman to be completely supportive of the kind of appraisal she wanted to write.
It seemed that during her blossoming relationship with the Blackwood lawyer, Logan Thornton, she had occasion to be aware of the difficulties facing the club, due to the rash of unscrupulous reporters trying to gain access, since Logan had provided legal advice on more than one occasion.
Moreover, she was happy to provide several photographs demonstrating the artistic beauty of various forms of Shibari to tie in with the article, and in return, Charlotte had agreed to let Luanna review the piece before it went to press to ensure that there was no disillusion between actuality and expectation.
Plus, the wholehearted encouragement from someone with an understanding of the practices and also of the challenges and discrimination faced within the lifestyle increased Charlotte's certainty that she was doing the right thing.
And the icing on the cake? The lush, creamy, vanilla frosted icing with real chocolate sprinkles? That was the response she'd had from several of her publishing contacts. It seemed that, since the recent success of a certain D/s book, the interest in the lifestyle was phenomenal and a prime focus for serious, informative articles.
As Charlotte did a little more online digging and research, she realised three things. First, that all kinds of quiet kink enthusiasts were coming out of the closet in droves. Second, that, as a result, the public was hungry for genuine information, not scandal. And third, reporters were falling over themselves to get the scoop, but the kink community was either oblivious to the new trend or had been driven too far underground to trust the integrity of the kind of reporters who had done little more than slam and scandalise the lifestyle in the past and were now trying to infiltrate the scene by clandestine means. Or maybe it was a little of both.
She also seemed to have inadvertently involved herself in a bidding war. She had been honest and upfront with her various contacts in saying that she was considering the article and had approached several publications with the idea to find out which, if any, were interested. The result was that they had each started to offer her increasingly generous fees as long as she could substantiate her testimonies so when she had offered the photographs as part of the deal, the amounts had literally doubled.
Charlotte was astounded at the figures that were being proposed. She made a more than comfortable living in her line of work, but in all her years, she had never been offered so much money for a single article. In truth, she felt somewhat uncomfortable in profiting so substantially from the proposal when her objective had simply been to shatter the myths and misconceptions behind the BDSM lifestyle.
On the other hand, she couldn't afford to waive her fee, or no value would ever be placed on any of her future concepts and she'd end up working for free and never be able to support herself. No, that would be journalistic suicide. Perhaps she could donate the fee to a suitable charity. The more Charlotte considered this option, the more it appealed. She didn't want to compromise the club or any of her new friends and acquaintances by pinpointing a local establishment that would give away their location, but maybe she could find a national organisation. A body which supported battered spouses perhaps. Yes. As the idea took shape in her head, she decided something like that would be the perfect recipient of her unexpected providence. The ultimate gesture in highlighting the distinction between consensual sadomasochism and unacceptable abuse which invoked the very foundation of the message she wanted to convey and the fundamental difference between the two.
Charlotte was excited at how well it was all coming together and busied herself investigating suitable charities in between negotiating a deal with what she felt was the most respected publication, rather than the one that offered the biggest fee, and meticulously filling out the bones of her article. She had to be careful and succinct with her wording to ensure the highest degree of clarity. It was important that there was no ambiguity or misinterpretation. She was writing this in order to challenge the misconceptions, not add to them, so her attention to detail was crucial. It was absolutely imperative that everything came over in the right way and was reflected in the very best light.
Add to that how well things were going between herself and the very luscious Jake Blackwood, and her life was more perfect than it had ever felt before. She had made new friends, good friends. She felt a soul deep sense of rightness and satisfaction with the BDSM lifestyle. Like she had finally found something that she had been searching for her entire life, but which was so elusive that she hadn't even known what it was.
She wanted to share that newfound knowledge with the rest of the world so that they could make their own discoveries. She wanted to make sure they all knew how to find a reliable club and a responsible Dom and how to avoid the unscrupulous. She wanted people to understand the beauty of the true lifestyle and how it deepened the parameters of a relationship with its depth of trust and care.
The only thing that could make life any better, right now, would be knowing exactly where her relationship with Jake was heading.
Truthfully, she understood that it was still early on. It had only been a matter of weeks, too soon even to describe themselves as a couple. Heck, she didn't even have a proper D/s contract with him, just the verbal agreement that he had assumed the responsibility of her arrangement with Micah. But they'd gotten so close and shared so much that it seemed almost impossible that things between them weren't heading somewhere important…somewhere permanent. The knowledge filled her with joy.
For the first time since the death of her father, almost twenty years ago, she felt like she was truly whole and not that defenceless, petrified teenager, groping about in the unfamiliar, trying to make sense of a world that she had never properly been a part of, since she was almost too young to remember. She'd been thrown out into the deep, dark unknown and left to fend for herself against the sharks and other bottom crawlers. She'd been tossed—or maybe she had jumped—overboard, into a sink or swim situation, and although she'd somehow managed not to drown, it felt like, for all these years, she'd just been treading water…and now she had finally learned to swim.
Jake felt utterly exhausted. Who'd have guessed that when he came here to oversee things at Blackwood, he would end up spending most of his time dodging journalistic bullets at Club Risqué. The situation was getting ridiculous. Not a week went past when someone wasn't trying to gain unauthorised access, and he couldn't help wondering how long it would be before someone actually manag
ed to slip through. Every weekend, it was the same old story. Last weekend, there had even been more than one attempt, and what worried him the most was that after the first reporter had been caught trying to sneak in, the second had almost been missed because everyone's guard had been down, thinking they had averted the night's crisis. It had been a bitter learning curve but ultimately had taught them to be on their guard and that caution needed to be exercised at all times, even when they thought the worst was behind them.
Jake also couldn't help but wonder if his own presence here made things worse. Ever since that first article, despite it being over a decade ago, trouble seemed to follow him, but he was damn sure it had never been quite as bad as it was right now, and for the life of him, he couldn't work out what had changed to cause the current level of interest.
Jake dumped his suit jacket, slumped into a chair in Charlotte's comfortable lounge, loosened his tie, and rubbed both hands over his face as he rested his head on the back of the couch and relaxed for a moment. Then he straightened up, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed noisily.
"Here." Jake felt a small smile twitch at the corner of his lips as a tumbler with a couple of fingers of scotch appeared over his right shoulder.
Taking it, he grabbed Charlotte's hand before she withdrew and kissed the inside of her wrist.
A moment later, those same hands settled on his shoulders and her clever fingers started kneading away at the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders. He felt a certain peace settle over him.
"Rough day?" Charlotte enquired as Jake felt the tension start to melt away under her ministrations.
"Urgh! Same old," he muttered, but suddenly, in the light of quiet understanding, warm fingers tending him and the warmth of the scotch slipping down his throat, things didn't seem quite so bad.