Love So Dark: Billionaire Romance Duet

by Stasia Black

  My eye catches on the black one with the tags still on at the very back. I bought all of these online, too embarrassed to go into an actual store and try anything so revealing on. The black one was an especially daring buy—it’s a faux leather strapless mini-dress. I tried it on when it came and it suckered to my body like a glove. But even for me, it seemed too… much. Too loud, even though it’s just black and not an in-your-face red.

  It’s a dress that you don’t just wear, you have to own it. You have to have presence to pull off a dress like that. It’s the dress that men should bow down before.

  I feel a spike in my heart rate.

  I aimed straight for my closet because it was habit. I didn’t have a particular plan in mind when I told Shannon I was going out. Loosely, that I was headed out to the clubs, I guess.

  Then Jackson’s voice rings in my head:

  Safe. Sane. Consensual.

  I can’t do what I’ve been doing. My jaw tics again. But I can’t just sit here cooped up in this apartment eating fucking lasagna and watching whatever crime show Shannon will inevitably want to watch either. I’ve got the itch. I need this tonight. And now I know there’s another way.

  I drape the black dress over one arm and head toward my purse to grab my phone. I scroll through my contacts in my thumb hovers over Jackson’s name.

  The ride home the other day was… awkward. At least for me. Jackson didn’t seem uncomfortable in the least. He wanted to talk about the session and go over some of the other things we’d seen. During the scene, I thought I’d want that too.

  But when it finally came time, all I could give him were monosyllables in response. Everything we’d gone through in the club had hit a little too deep for me to want to dig any further.

  Jackson let us continue to drive in silence for a long while before speaking up again. “Control is central to what this is all about. My life felt out of control for several years and this was a way for me to find a center again.”

  He looked at me and for a second, I allowed the intensity of his dark blue eyes to capture mine. “I found this lifestyle at the point when I really needed it and I guess I hope I can give that to other people.”

  I scoffed as I looked away out the window. Night was just falling. “BDSM as therapy?” I tried to joke. “Is that what this is?”

  “Do you need therapy?” His tone was completely serious.

  The question struck a little too close to home. “Are you one of those people who always answers a question with a question?”

  “I don’t know, am I?” A smile tilted the edge of his lips.

  “Ha ha.” I was glad he let it go. Maybe he sensed pushing me further wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Then at the end he told me the ball was in my court. Where it’s been sitting untouched all week.

  My fingers drum on my thigh as I stare down at the phone. I’ve been looking at it for so long, the screen goes black. I make an annoyed noise and click it back to life. Jackson’s name shines at me from the screen.

  That’s the problem with Jackson, though. He always sees too much. It’s too intense between us, always has been. He’ll just look at me and know something’s wrong. And everything he said on Monday about how BDSM is supposed to be about trust and openness between partners…

  I click to exit my contacts and grab my purse again. There. In the inner pocket, just where I remember shoving it—the card Daniel gave me.

  I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s six-thirty. Is that a good or bad time of day to call a sculptor to make a date? And God, my hand goes to my temple, is that even what I’m asking for? It’s not like I want to go out for dinner and drinks. More like, I want to tie you up and… A blush rises on my cheeks as I try to imagine what I even want to do.

  My mind skitters across all the things I saw in the club but nope, brain overload. Even the… dildo thing… oh my God, my neck is turning red in embarrassment just thinking about it. Yeah. Probably not that either for tonight.

  Spanking, though. That I can do.

  Just that image, having a man bent over in that position of submission like Mistress Nightblood had her slave—it sends a wave of, I can’t even describe it, it’s like I can take a full breath again for the first time since I saw Gentry’s fucking text this morning. I focus on the image, imagining the powerful back of a muscled man, his wrists cuffed in chains, completely at my mercy. My heartbeat, which has been erratic all day, slows.

  Yes. God, yes.

  I type the numbers from the card into the phone and save the contact. Then I debate between texting and calling. But a text seems too passive. It’s not the tone I want to set.

  So I take a deep breath and push call.

  It only rings twice before a deep voice answers, “Yes?”

  “Is this Daniel?”

  “Yes?” He sounds uncertain. Then again, he picked up when an unknown number flashed across the screen. Everybody else I know just ignores those kinds of calls.

  “This is Mistress Calliope.”

  I hear the expulsion of breath on the other end. “How may I serve you, Mistress?” His voice has dropped several tones and become intimate in a way it wasn’t before.

  I bite my lip but keep my voice confident. Commanding. “You will clear your schedule. Make yourself available for me tonight.”

  There’s not even a moment of hesitation before he replies, “Yes, Mistress. Where would Mistress like to meet?”

  Oh. Shit. I should have thought that one through better. We can’t exactly meet at my place with Shannon in the other room. And the club, well, Jackson obviously had a membership and signed me in as a guest. Then I brighten. Obviously Daniel has a membership as well.

  “Perhaps Mistress would like to come over to my condo,” Daniel says. “I have a dungeon with everything that Mistress might need.”

  Oh. He has a dungeon. Um. Damn. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

  “A dungeon is just what we in the community call our playrooms,” Daniel offers when I’ve apparently been quiet for too long. “The room we played in the other day was also called a dungeon.”

  Oh. Does that make it better? Am I really ready to go over to some stranger’s house and head into his dungeon? Willingly? I bite my lip again. Then again, Jackson seemed to know this guy pretty well. The way they talked, they seemed to have been acquaintances for years.

  “Perhaps Mistress would feel more secure if she called a friend and let her know my address? Several of my female friends in the scene do this and arrange a second call at some point in the night.”

  Of course. Lydia and I have actually done this for each other before. Well, she’s texted me when she’s hooked up with people. I’ve never done it because I’ve always kept my… activities… well, semi-public.

  Daniel’s still talking. “I’ll also chain myself even before you arrive and toss the key out of my reach. I want you to feel completely safe.”

  My mouth drops open. Whoa. This dude is serious. “Why would you do that? You barely know me.”

  “I enjoyed our scene the other day very much. And Jackson obviously trusts you.” His voice has taken on that intimate quality again. “It would be a privilege for me to have the opportunity to help you explore your dominant nature.”

  My mouth dries and I quietly suck in a deep breath. “Text me your address. Be ready at eight- fifteen.” I hang up before waiting for his response.

  I clutch the phone to my chest, breathing hard. Holy shit. Am I really doing this? The phone vibrates only seconds later and I look down to see Daniel’s address. He lives in San Leandro. That’s about an hour away by public transit. I look to the ceiling again, then down at the dress in my arms.

  I own you now.

  Fuck that. No one owns me. My jaw tightens. Hell yes I’m doing this.

  I’m the only one in control of my life.

  It starts now.

  Nine

  CALLIE

  Daniel’s place is a townhouse in a nice enough part of San Lean
dro. It’s no mansion in the hills like Jackson has, but all real estate in the Bay Area is insane. I wonder if he’s renting or if he actually makes enough as an artist to own a place like this. The building is painted a bright white with pale green accent shutters and window boxes with rows of potted plants along the front. It gives off a very homey vibe.

  My phone beeps three times signaling a text right as I’m about to ring the bell.

  DANIEL: Key is under the flower box by the front window. Box velcro’d on front left.

  Oh. I reach under the window box bursting with flowers and yep, I feel what seems to be a small hide-a-key box secured on the corner closest to me. I tug at it and hear the familiar noise of velcro being pulled apart and the little box comes off in my hand. I slide one side up and then upend it, dropping the key into my palm.

  I stare at it for a second. Should I really be doing this? I mean, did he actually handcuff himself in there? And then he’s cool telling me, a relative stranger, how to find the key to his house? What if I was a crazy person intent on hurting him? I mean, yeah, sure, Jackson introduced us, but it’s not like he gave us full background checks on one another. Doesn’t all this violate the safe part of safe, sane, and consensual?

  More beeps come from my phone and I look down. It’s a facetime request from Daniel. I click to accept. Daniel’s face comes into view but at an awkward angle. I can’t see much behind him except light from the ceiling.

  “Mistress, I’m so glad you came.” His tone is easy-going but his features don’t quite match. He looks tense. Maybe with anxiety, maybe with excitement. I can’t tell.

  “If you come in, the first door on your left leads to the basement. I’m here waiting.”

  I hesitate for another moment. Because the same thing that’s true for Daniel is true for me. I don’t know him at all either. This isn’t safe. Just because Jackson knows him doesn’t mean Daniel doesn’t have some secret life. What if he just plays at being a submissive so that he can lure women to his house in some kind of trap?

  I take several steps back from the door. Shit. What am I even doing here? Why am I risking this?

  But as if he sees my retreat on my face or in the shutter of the camera as I step back, Daniel’s eyes go wide with panic.

  “It’s safe, I promise. Look.” The camera shifts from his face to a close up of his wrists. They are handcuffed to what looks like some kind of large wooden post centered in a well-lit room. Fingers fumble with a small key.

  “I trust you,” comes Daniel’s voice from off-screen. One of his hands jerk forward and the camera shakes, but catches the trajectory of the key as it sails to the ground halfway across the room. Then the camera focuses back on the handcuffs at an awkward close-up angle since he’s holding the camera in one of his bound hands. The handcuffs shake and rattle to show that his wrists are indeed secured tightly.

  “I’m locked up. You’re in complete control. And here, I’ll show you the room so you can see that we’re the only ones here.” The camera jostles crazily again before steadying and doing a slow three-sixty panorama of the room.

  In spite of the unsteady cam, I get the picture. It’s a bright, clean room and the walls aren’t a garish red or anything. From the little I can make out, the cream-colored walls are perfectly plain except for two sections where well-organized implements hang like tools in a garage. Other than that, the room’s empty except for the wooden post and a few larger pieces of furniture placed around the room, similar to things I saw at the club.

  At the same time, none of it is large enough to obscure anyone’s form. Daniel’s telling the truth. There’s no one else there.

  At least not in that room. But what if he has friends hiding just outside the door, waiting until I let my defenses down? A big part of me wants to turn back. Go home where it’s safe.

  “Please, Mistress,” Daniel suddenly abandons his façade of charm. He’s turned the phone back to his face and his eyes plead with me. “I need a session tonight as much as I suspect you do. Your call felt like a gift from God.”

  In any other situation, that line would’ve sounded too cheesy to believe. But there’s something about the sincerity in Daniel’s face, a certain need haunting his eyes.

  Christ. I bite my lip. What was he even thinking, throwing away the keys like that? What if I decided to turn and leave? He’d just be stuck there for… how long? I guess he still has his phone, but damn. It’s reckless. A little insane.

  I know the feeling.

  Isn’t it the same need that drove me to ride the train for over an hour to a stranger’s house on a whim?

  And I keep thinking stranger, but that’s not exactly true. It’s not like he’s just some dude I hooked up with over the internet or at a club—which is something people do all the time. Jackson has spent time with this guy. They have mutual acquaintances and talked like they’d known each other for a while.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I go to the text I already composed to Lydia with Daniel’s address and a message about sending in the cavalry if I don’t call in three hours. Then I put the key in the lock, turn it, and open the door. It opens easily and then I’m inside the tiled foyer of the townhouse. I close the door behind me and set the key on a side table in the entryway.

  It’s quiet in here. I look around, my nerves jettisoning my heart rate. Hardwood floors. The place is styled in cool tones. Slate gray walls, white accent trim. Very classic.

  There’s a stairway to the left and a small hallway to the right leading to the rest of the house. A quick glance shows the door cut into the wall underneath the stairs. No doubt that’s the one Daniel was talking about that leads down to the basement. It makes sense. The two stairwells are most likely stacked parallel on top of one another. Slowly I move forward. Instead of opening the door to the basement, I pass it by.

  I bend over and slip my hunting knife out of my steel-toed boot as I continue creeping forward. Yes, I’m wearing the mini-dress with my kick-ass combat boots. I actually like the message it sends. I fuck with you, not the other way around.

  The hallway opens into a dining room. Framed modern art hangs tastefully on the walls—bright splashes of color that don’t form recognizable shapes but draw the eye nonetheless. I take all this in, but not with an appreciative eye. I’m scoping out the territory. Assessing threats. Other than the walls, the house is sparsely furnished.

  I check out the whole house to make sure Daniel was telling the truth and no one’s hiding and waiting to jump out at me. It all checks out.

  I don’t put the knife back in my boot, though. Not until I open the door to the basement and head down the stairs. The room at the bottom is just as well lit as it was in the video, and bigger than I expected. It’s a full basement, equal to the size of the house.

  And there in the center is the large wooden post, thick as a telephone pole, which Daniel has indeed handcuffed himself to. Oh, and he’s naked, ass toward me. Considering this is how I’ve spent most of my time with the guy, it’s not as startling as I would have thought.

  A quick glance around shows me that there’s no one else here, either. No tricks. No traps.

  Daniel actually chained himself to a post and has been waiting for me to show up. Daniel’s watching me over his shoulder and his eyes immediately zero in on the knife in my hand. His eyebrows go up and his mouth drops open slightly.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, immediately bending and stuffing the knife back into its sheath in my boot. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Of course,” he says. When I look up again, I see his eyes are on my left boot where I sheathed the knife. “You don’t know me. Safety’s the first rule in the lifestyle, after all.”

  I can’t help arching an eyebrow at him. “Exactly. So how is restraining yourself and giving a stranger the key to your house safe?”

  His eyes finally come up and lock on mine. “I’m good at reading people. I knew you were someone I could trust. I felt it when we first met.”

 
It’s a good sentiment and I can’t deny it makes a little something twinge in my chest. I still keep my voice stern when I say, “It’s still stupid and reckless. You shouldn’t do it.”

  Daniel casts his eyes down. “Mistress is correct. I was very foolish. I deserve to be punished.” His eyes flick hopefully back up at me before returning to the ground.

  I look to the wall. All kinds of things hang there. Wooden paddles of all shapes and sizes. Leather paddles too, studded with metal bits. Floggers with thin little leather strips and others with wide leather pieces. Some of the flogger strips are knotted at the end, a few even with little bits of metal tied into the knots. And then there are the whips. Whips of all lengths, material, braids and tassels.

  Suddenly I feel like exactly the newbie that I am.

  “What does Mistress require of me tonight?” Daniel asks.

  Uh, is there some sort of script I’m supposed to be following? Probably so. At the same time, Jackson did say that it’s supposed to be a learning process. Daniel knows I’m inexperienced and he gave me his card anyway. I step closer to him.

  “You know that I’m new. I need to be in control. I like it when you’re tied up.” I reach out and give a tug on his bound wrists. It jerks his whole body even closer toward the pole and I smile.

  Having him immobilized like this, knowing I can step away and he can’t follow… Oh yes, I like that very much. “It made me hot when we spanked you. What about you?” I tilt my head at him. “What do you like? What do you need?”

  He’s been looking at the floor, but his eyes come back to mine and as I watch, they dilate.

  “Pain. I like pain.”

  Yes. I remember that. Pain and humiliation. I nod and paste on my most confident smile. This is all a little weird still, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m judging him.

  “All right then. So, the paddle?” I look over to the wall at the assortment of instruments. The wooden paddle is the only one I’ve used before.