Laska stuck out her tongue. “Can’t have a druggie for my bestie. You need to stay sober, my bitch.”
“Whatevs.”
The two sat in companionable silence for a few seconds, then Laska looked at her watch. “I have to get going. Derek and I are going to dinner at a new Thai café tonight. It’s been so long since we did something like that.” She smiled, but it faded, and she bit her lip.
“And then you’ll go home and get kinky?” Cleo couldn’t resist.
“Maybe, and maybe not. Maybe we’ll try out the new toys we got last week. And maybe he’ll lick whipped cream off critical parts of my anatomy while I’m tied up. But a good girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” Laska picked up her trash. “Walk out together?”
“No, I’ll sit and think for a while. Veg.”
“Enjoy.”
“No, you enjoy. Clearly you have the better plans for tonight!”
Laska bent down to give Cleo a quick one-armed hug, then left, her brisk stride making Cleo smile. Her smile faded as she thought about Axel, the play, their interchanges. What if Axel did want to initiate her into the exotic world of pleasure and pain, dominance and submission? She was positive he’d be a fantastic tutor… and master in the bedroom. But if he did—would it be only because he wanted her to really ‘get’ his play, and not because he would have wanted her anyway? Did that matter, if she chose to accept, since he didn’t do long term?
She didn’t want to be given a courtesy fuck to teach her a lesson, even if it was a pleasurable lesson indeed. She wanted to be chosen and sought out, chased, begged, treated like the one and only woman who could bring him to elation. That’s what she wanted.
Now obviously, that’s not how the world worked, necessarily. There was nothing morally wrong with hookups, and if you waited for the best sex of your life, you’d maybe never have any. But even so, something about setting up a sexual liaison as a business contract seemed unnecessarily cold. Although she didn’t enter every relationship thinking it would end in true love forever, Disneyfied into a glorious perfect future to be sung about by bards, she still liked to leave a little wiggle room for that option. Entering a dead-end relationship, even for pleasure, seemed almost pointless. She believed in seizing the moment as much as anyone, but for her, the moments still strung together in a chain leading to the future. She’d never be able to turn off that desire to make things last.
Of course, he hadn’t even asked. So all of her mental machinations were pointless.
Sighing, she stood up and debated whether to finish the coffee in the car. There was less than a quarter of the liquid remaining in the paper cup and it was lukewarm now, the flavors separating into bitter over-roasted beans and old cream, and it felt thick on her tongue. She liked her coffee hot and steamy—so hot it almost burned, with steam coming out and sending sinuous trails to the ceiling, like smoke signals of poetry, words about love and art, words whispered to you on the lips of a passing lover who disappeared into the night, leaving just a memory behind.
In the end, she took the coffee with her, daydreaming about Axel while she drove home.
Chapter Five
“Cleo. Meet me in my office, five minutes?” Axel phrased it like a question, but it felt more like a command, and her stomach fluttered.
“Sure,” she said, giving the thumbs-up sign.
“Everyone, great job today! This is coming together perfectly.” Axel’s voice was pleased. “When we open next week, we’re going to be ready. I’m proud of you all. Enjoy your evenings, take tomorrow off—no practice at all tomorrow. We’ll meet again Monday and kick it up one more level. Excellent job.”
People scattered quickly; no need to linger when it was the weekend, and everyone was eager to sink back into their lives, soak up their loves and families, douse themselves in a weekend of relaxation or debauchery or whatever they liked, as long as it was not this play, these words, this stage.
Even Laska headed out with just a quick wave, and a furtive ‘I’m watching you watching me’ pointing-to-her-eyes motion at Cleo, which made her smile. Part of her wondered if Laska was going to get all sexy with her husband tonight.
Now that she knew about Laska’s sexy secrets, she imagined her friend over Derek’s lap, naked. Her mind shunted the image away, though, because she wasn’t attracted to her friend and found it sort of strange, disloyal even, to imagine her in a state of arousal; it was uncomfortable, like spying in a really gross way, looking in on something not meant for her. She certainly hoped her bestie had a great sex life, but envisioning it was sort of squeamy. It was better, she decided, to use Laska’s stories and imagine it was her, Cleo, as the protagonist, and Axel as the stern but sexy dominant figure.
How would it work? She imagined being over his lap, him lecturing. “You’ve been a very bad girl, and I’m going to have to punish you now.” She shivered with a mixture of fear and arousal, that heady concoction that had driven her wild in the forest.
But when she headed back to Axel’s office, she found him shutting the door, backpack on one shoulder and phone to his ear. He nodded at her, mouthed “Just one minute,” and turned his attention to his call. “Oh, really? Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there in about an hour, then. Thanks for letting me know.”
He slid the phone into his pocket. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I wanted to spend some time going over the final spanking scene with you, but we can do that tomorrow.”
“I thought we all had tomorrow off,” she said immediately, even though she wanted nothing more than to spend time alone with him.
“Everyone else has time off,” he corrected. “Unfortunately for you, that doesn’t apply to the lead role in the play. Remember, you set the tone for everyone. Trickle-down perfection, right? Like the economy’s supposed to function.”
“Oh, because that works so well,” she snorted.
He laughed and squeezed her arm for a second; not hard, but it felt possessive, and she liked it. “But it does work in acting. The better you are, the better the rest of them will be, too.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And so you’ve seen, yes?”
She nodded. “I agree with you. But you didn’t ask if I had plans.”
“I know your plans,” he rejoined. “This play is your plans.”
It was, of course; when she was initially hired, he’d made it clear that her extracurricular life would revolve around practice, performances. The play would be number one. It would be her baby, her child, her patient. It would be her drunk call to a sober driver. She’d be on call at all hours, ready to drop everything for this. She was the first responder, the National Guard, the doctor without borders, and the play was the thing she was going to nurture and protect and grow.
“Still, you could at least go through the motions.” She rolled her eyes.
“I direct. You go through the motions.” He smirked. His eyes were bright and bold in the low light of the hallway, and his hand was warm on her arm.
“I bet I’d be a good director, too,” she said, sliding her arm until his hand was on her hand. He took it, loose but a definite hold, and her heart hammered. “I bet I’d do a great job directing you, Axel.” Her voice was sultry. “Just like Anna, in the play? She takes over sometimes and tells her husband what to do, and he likes that.”
“Oh, really?” He lowered his voice and stepped in. “I’d like to see you try, Cleo.”
The challenge made her catch her breath. She didn’t know if he was challenging her to do it because it was right for the role, or because he wanted her personally, and at this moment, she didn’t care. Both things were wrapped up into one and she just wanted to go with the flow.
“I don’t know if you could handle it,” she murmured.
He dropped the backpack to the floor with a thump. He stepped in and took her other hand.
He raised one eyebrow. “Tell me what you want me to do, Cleo. Let’s see how well I obey. Roleplay again.” His words were so suggestive that she felt m
oisture surge between her thighs and almost whimpered in desire. It was nearly line for line something that Martin’s character said in the play, but right now, it felt real. It was for her, just her.
“But you’re the one who likes to give commands,” she said lightly. “How could I be sure you’d comply with my demands?”
“Oh, I have a feeling,” he stated, touching her cheek with one finger, making her burn, “that I’d be willing to give it a try.” He put one hand on her neck, not squeezing, just a hold. “And maybe you’d be surprised to find that your first demand would be…”
“What?” she whispered, caught up in his eyes.
“To have me take over and start making the demands,” he said into her ear. “Because you’d want nothing more than to have me run the show. You’d fucking love that.”
“I think you’d fucking love that,” she corrected. “And you’d probably want to spank me, too.”
“Oh, I’d definitely want to spank you,” he said, with a laugh. “And the best part is that you’d want it, too. And if I didn’t, you’d ask. Even beg.”
“I wouldn’t.” But her tone was unconvincing.
“Because you want to know how it feels to be over my lap, naked, bared for my correction. You’d let me punish you because you deserved it, and we both know you deserve it, and then—if you took it well—I’d reward you beyond your wildest imagination.” He paused. “Just like Anna.”
Disappointment filled her. “Like in the play. Of course.” She nodded. “That’s what you meant.”
A frown crossed his face before he smiled and stepped back. “Yes, and you’re getting into the role more perfectly each time. Today, on stage, you really had me convinced that you were dying with passion for Martin, and that each time he slapped your ass through that pad, that you were really feeling each spank, each touch, and getting more aroused with each one. That you were angry at him, that you hated it and loved it at the same time, that you wanted more.”
“Well, good. That’s what I was going for.” She bit her lip. “So, good!”
“Good.”
“I mean, I’m sorry I was being self-centered and a diva and that I wasn’t honest with you about how I felt about the role. I’m glad I’m really getting into it now. I want this play to be a huge success.” She felt the desperate urge to show him that she knew exactly what he wanted and needed for this role; he hadn’t made a mistake in hiring her, a relative newbie. That he could trust her with this part.
“It will. I’m sure of it.” He locked eyes with her. “You don’t need to apologize again, Cleo. It’s over. Just keep moving forward, like we are.”
She nodded, holding his gaze.
The stayed for a moment, looking at each other, then he picked up his pack. “I have a favor to ask. A local high school wants to partner with our company to mentor talented kids who are participating in the Chicago youth playwriting competition—let them attend some practices, even try some lines. For a future play of course; one that’s age-appropriate. Our next one will work. Would you want to come with me to meet with the teacher in charge? I thought having our top actor there would be a bonus.”
“Sure! Is that our practice for tomorrow?” She wrinkled her brow.
He smiled. “In addition. We’ll practice your lines here on stage, then drive to the school. Deal? I can pick you up.”
“It’s a date,” she said, then blushed.
* * *
It never ceased to amaze her how one voice could fill a room; how the sound dynamics had been engineered to let her vocal cords master a space vaster than her entire home. That was her, brushing each corner and touching the ceiling. It was her pushing against the back doors, her swelling to make the room expand and push against the limits of its confines.
Perhaps because the theater was empty but for her and Axel, it felt more noticeable than usual. She found that his voice, even the murmurs and chuckles, came to her with no effort at all, weaving around her in a sensual embrace, sliding sinuously along her body before disappearing into the ether with her own words.
She’d always known that part of the attraction of live theater was just this intimacy, the real voices coming to you differently each time. Physical bodies you could touch, although you couldn’t, tantalizing you with their proximity and strength and reality. People living out another life in front of you so close you could reach out your fingertips and grab them, maybe get onto stage with them and live in this alternative life, escape your own for a time in a way that was impossible in even the most advanced movie theater. People craved people; they were all just magnets helplessly drawn to each other, needing that fix to survive, and yet they also needed escape from each other and their own sardine-packed lives. Live theater delivered a punch of both at once, so potent that it filled your veins with a drug intoxicating enough to drive away everything else for forty minutes at a stretch.
It was a privilege and an honor to be part of such an effort. People who didn’t care for live acting talked about overacting and ridiculous pomposity, the excess of gestures and inflections. But other people had understood it from the earliest times, the Greeks for sure, and even other proto-civilizations, understanding that it was the excess alone, the entire theatrical overindulgence itself, that provided the vehicle of escape while at the same time bonding people to each other in something essentially human. The search for meaning, played out in front of you, with others surrounding you, tied the cast and audience together in a way so intimate that once you tried it, you never wanted to do anything else, ever again.
“So let’s try the pivotal scene over Aaron’s lap,” suggested Axel. “You killed it last night in practice with Martin. Make sure it’s embedded in your soul, so you can take it back out again and again each night at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath, pressed her hands against her upper thighs for strength. She and Martin had developed an uncanny partnership. She’d never ice-skated, let alone done pairs dancing on blades, but she knew how it felt to have such trust in a partner to hold you, support you, and never drop you. She got what it meant to be part of a dance like that, a give and take on the edge of a blade, when you could so easily fall and shatter, but knew you would not.
They had that, she and Martin. They’d learned the characters separately, and that was good, and then they’d built the characters into a couple. And nobody else who did the play would ever do it the way she and Martin did. When she was Anna, she had a way of smiling up at Martin and nestling into his shoulder, and they’d learned the right way to come together without effort, as if they’d done it for a lifetime. She liked the way Aaron smirked and quirked his eyebrow at Anna; she responded with her blush and head tilt. These were things they developed together; it wouldn’t work if Martin worked with Chelsea, because they had to build their own routine from scratch. Axel’s words were just the skeleton of the thing, and it was their gestures and expressions, how they interacted as a symbiotic organism, that made the play come alive.
And with Axel, although she felt the mastery of his acting prowess, she didn’t have that same bond; not yet. So when she acted with him being Aaron, it was a different beast. She was being Anna-without-Martin-as-Aaron, maybe being Anna in a reverie or a dream; trying out Anna for size on a new person and hoping to learn something she could bring back to Anna-with-Martin. And yet she was also Cleo, enjoying the feel and touch of Axel himself. It was so complicated that she could barely tease the various strands of desire and rote and acting and reality from each other, and maybe she shouldn’t; she considered that it was the very mix that made her a better actor, added that air of enigma that people wrote about her performances. Her essential special thing, the magic realism she brought to each role.
“I want to hear your voice during their discussion, that tone of mixed fear and arousal. Show me.”
His voice was firm, although his mouth twisted into a smile, and then suddenly he wasn’t Axel anymore; he was Aaron.
“Anna,” he said, standing and putting his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you have anything to say to me?”
She slid into her role, like letting the water of a still lake close over her head. Drifting in the currentless depths, she felt a moment of panic before remembering she could breathe under this water.
“Something to say to you? How was your day?” She raised an eyebrow and put down an imaginary purse, the props not necessary for this run through. She was Anna; a busy lawyer. Anna, a woman who enjoyed a complicated relationship of kink and discipline with her husband, Aaron. She’d done something to displease him and knew he was going to spank her for it; this was at once thrilling and unacceptable, just as it was each and every time it happened.
“Maybe something about the car?” he suggested, stepping closer, a stern look on his face.
“The car,” she mused, feeling her heartbeat speed up. Doing this with Martin was different. Because with Martin, although she summoned up the right feelings of arousal and panic, it didn’t feel as real as with Axel. She could almost believe that with his dark eyes blazing, softly stalking her like a cat, he was really intending to punish her bare ass until she cried out for mercy.
Back to Anna—stay in the role. “My day was great, thanks for asking,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I thought we could order from that Asian fusion place on Madison—the new one? It’s supposed to be awesome. I had a deposition and it was crazy, so no time to cook.”
“Dinner can wait, Anna.” His voice was silky. “And maybe once we finish our conversation, you won’t be so cavalier about answering my questions.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t—Aaron, what exactly are you talking about? I’ve had a long day and I don’t have time for games.”
“Take a guess, Anna.” He stepped closer yet. “I’m not sure I’d call our car insurance a game.”
She let her face fall, as if just remembering something awful. “Shit! Oh, Aaron, I’m sorry! I totally forgot.” She shot him a pleading look, but also defensive. “You know how busy I’ve been this month with the Cooper trial and the new interns to train. It’s been a nightmare at the office. It wasn’t the first thing on my mind.”
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