“And your idea of perfect is this?” I ask, looking down at myself, not seeing what he sees.
“Yes,” he says without flinching.
He’s either a good liar, or he’s crazy, but he’s already making me wonder if I misjudged him. If there’s even a chance, I owe it to him--and our baby--to give him a fair chance. “Then why don’t you take me out somewhere? I’ll enjoy proving you wrong.”
“About what?” he asks.
“My ‘perfection.’”
He chuckles. “Just one problem. I have an obligation tonight. So if you’re going to come out with me, you’re going to need a costume.”
“A costume?”
“Halloween,” he says with a grin.
“Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I could always pick something out for you, if it’s a problem.”
I give him my best I don’t need your help to pick out a stupid costume glare, but his grin only broadens. “Is there a particular theme?” I ask.
“Maids and masters,” he says.
I feel more than a little silly standing outside my apartment later that night in my costume. It’s a big, old school maid’s skirt and it’s way heavier than I thought it’d be. I found a specialty shop that rents out costumes, so I’ve got it on loan for the night and it only cost me thirty dollars. Not a bad deal. I’m even wearing a bonnet and holding a feather duster to complete the look. It may be a little dorky, but I used to go to renaissance fairs with my mom and we’d dress up in medieval dresses, so I’m used to wearing stuff like this. It also gives me a pleasant jolt of nostalgia to think of the happier times with my mom when all our conversations weren’t tinged with the knowledge that time is finite.
A sleek black car pulls up to the curb in front of me. The windows are tinted so black I’m not sure they’re legal, and the car is shiny enough to give me a mirror-like reflection of myself. Leo steps out of the car a moment later in a suit with a tophat and cane. He’s looking at me with a confused expression as he walks around his car and steps up on the curb.
Once he gets closer, I realize he’s barely holding back laughter.
“What?” I demand, planting my fists on my hips. Even as I ask him, my stupid mistake starts to sink in.
“It’s just--” he says, putting a fist to his mouth and stifling a bout of laughter. He clears his throat and makes a comical effort to smooth the amusement from his features. “You look stunning,” he says, but he only manages to keep from laughing for a few seconds.
“Is it my costume?” I ask, even though I know the answer. “Was it supposed to be slutty maid, not historically accurate maid?”
“I mean, you did dress as a maid,” he says, then starts laughing again.
“Great,” I say sarcastically. “I’ll leave you here to your amusement while I go upstairs and wait for this lethal dose of embarrassment to settle in. Maybe if I’m lucky it’ll drop me before I even make it inside.”
He steps in close and puts his hands on my waist. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re going to be the only woman there dressed like Mary Poppins instead of a slutty maid, and you’re still going to be the sexiest thing there.”
“Mary Poppins didn’t dress like this,” I say with equal parts sulkiness and amusement. “Not exactly, at least.”
“Can you sit in that?” he asks with a smirk.
I slap his shoulder playfully. “Yes. Thank you, very much.” But when Leo opens the passenger door for me, I learn the hard way that I can sit, but only kind of. It feels like I’m sitting on top of a folded up comforter with how many layers there are to the pleats in my dress.
Once he’s in the driver's seat he looks over at me and how I’m all stuffed into my side of the car like a puff of fabric with a head. He chuckles. “You really thought I meant that kind of maid?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I think if I had spent two seconds actually thinking about it, I’d have guessed not. But I got excited. I knew the perfect little shop to get--well, this,” I say, plucking at the dress. Every passing second makes me feel like more and more of an idiot. The real truth I’m not about to tell Leo is that I was so preoccupied with the idea of going on a date with him I couldn’t think straight. Ninety-nine percent of my brain power was distracted by the red flashing lights and sirens wailing in my brain, leaving a measly one percent left to figure out that billionaire’s probably don’t throw frumpy, historically accurate, hand-crafted maid costume parties.
The worst part is that I’m trapped in my embarrassment. I have to wear this stupid thing all night.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”
I give him an odd look, but he only grins in a way that doesn’t make me feel entirely comfortable as he pulls the car away from the curb and starts to drive.
There’s an awkward weight in the air. Leo shows no sign of feeling it, but I do. I keep replaying the way he spoke to me at the hospital and the things he said. It was like he professed his undying love to me, and in that precise moment, I believed him. Now that a few hours have passed, I’m not so sure. It’s as if his physical presence carries some kind of mind-numbing agent that makes me gullible and naive, like I can only fully start to function above a first-grade level when I’m away from him.
But he doesn’t have to know that. So I opt for the safest route and sit in complete silence, which frustratingly seems to suit him just fine. He drives us outside the city and down a residential street, where we take a turn on a hidden driveway that winds down a long, expensively landscaped path. The house we pull up to is a gorgeous continental style mansion with seemingly endless gardens of flowers lit by discreetly placed lighting and tall, perfectly trimmed bushes. Cars are parked neatly on the side of a huge roundabout that circles through the garden and is paved in cobblestones. I see a large group of men and women under the outdoor lights who are talking and laughing by the side of the house, which seems to be where the main body of the party is.
My silly little costume error suddenly feels a lot more embarrassing, if that’s possible. I knew there’d be other women here, but I didn’t know they’d all be so sickeningly perfect. I catch sight of a thin little thing walking in with a tall man. She’s wearing a puffy maid’s skirt so high I can see her ass, and she’s actually one of the more conservatively dressed women I see.
Leo gets out and comes to my side of the car to help me. He extends his hand to me and waits.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do it. I’m really sorry. I appreciate you inviting me, but I just can’t do it.”
“You’re worried about your costume?” he asks.
I make a face. Yes, of course I’m worried about my costume, but not just that.
“Come here,” he says, pushing his hand a little closer. “Trust me,” he says when I still don’t take it.
For some reason, I put my hand in his and let him close his fingers around my hand, which feels so small in his grip. He leads me to the trunk and pops it with a click of his keys. There’s a leather case in the back with what look like emergency supplies in the event of a breakdown. He pulls out a small retractable knife and clicks out the blade, holding it up for me to see.
“Oh good,” I say sarcastically. “You’ve got a tool to end my misery even faster. Are you going for the jugular or the heart?”
He chuckles, then grips a handful of my puffy dress. “I was thinking of going for upper thigh, actually.” With a quick jerk of his hand, he strips away a handful of fabric from my dress.
I gasp, frantically feeling at the shredded fabric. “Hey!” I whisper-yell, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than I have to from the beautiful couples passing by on their way into the party. “This was a rental.”
Leo sniffs dismissively. “So bill me,” he says, reaching around behind me to shred another huge piece of my dress away.
I have no choice but to stand still while he hacks away more and more of my costume. I briefly consider swatting at him, but dismiss the idea becau
se I’d rather not make him stab me by mistake.
When he’s done, I’m showing half my boobs and my skirt stops just below my ass. He raises his eyebrows as he steps back to take a good look at his work. “Much, much, better.”
“Somehow I don’t think the people I rented this from will agree.” My discomfort at being so exposed is muted by the fact that Leo’s alterations to my costume will actually help me blend in at this party, as hard as that is to believe.
He chuckles. “What’s done is done. Come,” he says, extending a hand toward me.
I look at his hand and I’m overcome by the sensation that once I take his proffered hand, there will be no turning back. I put my palm to my belly, as if the gesture can somehow protect my unborn child from what feels like a reckless, selfish decision, before I reach for his hand. Please forgive me if I’m making a mistake.
Once he has my hand, he uses it to pull me closer, where he wraps an arm around my back possessively and holds me to his side as we walk. It’s such a casual but intimate gesture that I’m sure anyone who saw us would assume we’ve been together for years. I have to admit it feels amazing to be held like this, like I’m something precious he wants to show off and brag about. It even makes me feel a little less self-conscious about my now-scandalously revealing costume.
The inside of the house is just as impressive as I expected. Every last detail is exquisitely cared for and crafted, from the polished wood accents on the walls to the antique furniture--the whole place feels like stepping back in time to the 1800s and crashing a party thrown for the upper-class.
There’s actually live music, too. A band plays tasteful classical music on a platform that looks like it was built to display the grand piano, which is currently being put to use beautifully.
I can’t help biting my lip and smiling up at Leo. “This is so cool,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So what do we even do?” I ask. I regret the question as soon as it comes out, because it’s a stupid one. It should be obvious, but I’ve never been a party goer. I’ve always found excuses to avoid them, but I didn’t have to embarrassingly broadcast that to Leo.
“To be honest,” he says, shooting me a conspiratorial look and glancing over his shoulder like he’s afraid someone might overhear us. “I usually just make my way around the party to scout out the best food and drinks.”
I grin, looking his body up and down once more like I’m going to find some evidence of his guilty pleasure that I missed before. “I didn’t take you for a foodie.”
“Foodie is giving me too much credit. I just like to eat,” he says.
“Finally, something we have in common.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s the only thing we have in common.” His green eyes twinkle with mischief as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “We both seemed to like it when you submitted to me.”
I’m blushing furiously when he pulls back. I clear my throat. “That wasn’t me,” I say quickly. “I mean,” I sigh with frustration. “It wasn’t how I normally act. I’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”
Leo frowns. He takes my arm and moves me away from the groups of nearby partygoers so we have some privacy in our own little corner of the room. “That wasn’t you?” he asks. “I don’t think you understand, Lysa. That was the most you there is. All this shit we do to fit in and look right for everyone else? That’s not us. We’re what’s underneath the mask. The desires, the urges, the basic drive to need and to take what we want.”
“No,” I say. “That’s just instinct you’re talking about. The only thing that makes us different is how we react to our instincts and how we control them.”
“That doesn’t explain why your instincts drove you straight to me like a magnet, and why mine won’t let me stop thinking about you.”
I look down. “That’s just simple attraction.”
He presses me against the wall with enough force that I nearly bump my head. One of his hands is on my shoulder and the other is on my hip. I can see the barely controlled emotions on his face--lust, frustration. “You feel that?” he asks through gritted teeth. His hand roams down my leg and then up my skirt, where he grips a handful of my ass.
I squirm against his touch, breath hitching. “People will see,” I gasp. I feel what he’s talking about though, as much as I hate to admit it. My body reacts to him like like I’ve been an addict for years and I’m just getting my first taste after a long dry-spell. The impulse to surrender to his touch is as overwhelming as the instinct to pull my hand away from something hot or else be burned. “Stop,” I whisper.
“That’s not the magic word,” he says, sliding his hand under my panties to take a handful of my bare ass.
I close my eyes. Red and Yellow. Those were the words he told me about two months ago. The safe words.
“Ye-” I start to say, but he kisses my neck, practically mauling me in front of anyone who cares to see.
My throat feels like it’s squeezed tight, unable to take in air. His touch sends little bursts of white-hot pleasure through my body that pools between my legs in the form of molten heat. He’s intoxicating. Addicting. Dangerous.
“Yellow,” I manage to say.
He pulls back, not taking his hands away from me but removing his mouth from my neck, which allows me to think straight--at least a little.
“I guess you remember the safe words, then. Damn,” he says with a half-smile. “I’m going to have my work cut out for me if a little P.D.A. just got me safe-worded.”
I chew the inside of my lip, searching for words to express what I’m feeling. “I feel out of control when I’m near you. I’m always in control. I always think things through--I make the smart decisions. I mean, I’m twenty-one, nearly broke, and I even put away a little money for retirement every month. All I’m saying is I don’t like…” I take a deep breath, trying to force some of the nervousness from my voice. “I don’t like feeling out of control, or like I’m being reckless.”
“It frightens you?” he asks in his deep voice.
He’s not feeling me up anymore, and I don’t remember noticing his hands move, but he holds me now, tenderly. His head is tilted down so he can look me in the eyes, and he holds me by the small of my back.
“Maybe. Okay. Yes,” I admit. “It scares me. My mom is sick and she has been for years. I’ve got classes to pass and a job to hold down. I’ve got this baby to think about now, too. If I can’t trust myself to be in control, I can’t keep all that working. I can’t take care of my mom if I’m at some crazy party with you or--well,” I lower my voice. “Or screwing you in laundry room.”
I expect him to blow off my concerns, but he’s watching me with intense interest, like his life could depend on every word I’m saying. I’ve never had someone listen to me like that, and it’s oddly flattering and comforting to know he’s placing so much importance on my words. “I understand,” he says finally. “But your fear of losing control is exactly why you need to learn to do it.”
I laugh a little. “I don’t think that actually makes sense.”
“No? Think of it this way. You could be like everyone else. You could go through life with your greatest fear hanging over you--holding you down. You could be a slave to your fear and live with the knowledge that one day it will catch up to you. One day you’ll slip, and that thing you’re so afraid of will come out of the darkness and take hold of you.”
“Or?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
He smirks. “Or you could learn to master your fear. Learn to embrace the loss of control. Learn to enjoy submission. Maybe even learn how good it can feel to unload some of your burden.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Besides, my mom is the only family I have left, and she can’t really help me with any of my problems.”
“I could. If you let me,” he says.
I watch him for a long time, not sure if he’s being serious or if he’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear. A chill
runs across my skin when I realize I believe him. He really does want to help me, but his idea of help is probably just writing a huge check and dusting his hands off after he’s had his wicked way with me. I’d feel too dirty to accept that kind of help. “You barely know me,” I say.
I jump with surprise when he slams his palm into the wall behind me, face contorting with frustration. “You keep saying that,” he growls. “Let me make something perfectly clear, Lysa.”
I shrink back a little, feeling an odd mixture of fear and arousal from the way he’s so dominant and so uncaring of anything else going on around us. He doesn’t care if half the party is watching or if no one is watching. He is who he is, regardless, and there’s something inexplicably powerful in that.
“Maybe I couldn’t say where you were born or whether you prefer soda or iced tea. I might not know how many boyfriends you’ve had or whether you were a cheerleader in high school or one of the band kids. But if you think any of that is going to have the slightest effect on what I feel right here?” he asks, slamming his hand into his chest with a deep thud. “Then you’re kidding yourself. You can take all the time you need to decide about me, but don’t think for a second that I don’t already know how right you are for me.”
Leo leans in closer, voice low and full of untold emotion. “You’re mine, whether you want to admit it or not. You know it deep down, I already know it, and I’m not going to be satisfied until--” He stops short, biting his lip as if he’s forcing himself not to say what was going to come next.
I’m too taken aback to speak. All I can do is stand here, mouth gaping like an idiot. God, he’s so fucking intense. I can never catch my breath my breath around him, like I’m only ever a step away from losing control, of plunging headlong into his grip.
The part that surprises me is how much I like it.
I may be afraid to let go of my control, but it’s only because I’m so certain my life will come crashing down around me if I do. But when I’m with Leo, I can almost feel his presence like a protective bubble, as if he can bear the weight of it all while I let go. He can be my shield. My release. All I need to do is submit to him. He hasn’t said as much out loud, but I can sense it. He’s not a man who wants a normal relationship where a quick peck on the cheek before work and a card on birthday’s is enough. He wants more. He demands it. I just wish I could say how I felt so sure I was right about that.
Knocked Up by the Master: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance Page 5