BOUND: Together

by Cynthia Dane

  The day was surreal. Not because I was wearing dresses in the fitting room or having French women I never met before measuring the size of my breasts, but because I was allowed to, I don’t know, have an interest in the contents of the store?

  Yeah. Surreal.

  It helped that Natalie was cooler about the ordeal than Brooke, who was in personal assistant mode the whole time. Somebody had to be. Natalie was my girlfriend from dawn to dusk while we were in Paris, and she had no problem holding up dresses to her own body and asking me what I thought.

  She was beautiful, of course. Yet she wouldn’t let me relish in the relieving sight of my girlfriend dressing up in pretty clothes. Natalie was gradually pulling from me what I was attracted to and might want to try on. I wasn’t brave enough to approach something and say, This one. I needed her to be the authority. If I suggested navy blue was more attractive than crimson, then Natalie gathered up every blue dress she could find and added it to the pile.

  Two hours of fussing later, I suppose I came more out of my shell.

  Nevertheless, I was glad to leave the boutique, dressed in my familiar trousers and binder. The women flanked me down the sidewalk while Nick stayed two paces behind. While I enjoyed the fresh air and Natalie and Brooke debated about where to go next, my attention was caught by one of the most recent bags to come out of Chanel.

  Turned out we had passed the local Chanel branch. Long ago, when I was a curious teenager flipping through magazines, the very first bag I fell in love with was a classic black Chanel shoulder bag.

  Turns out they haven’t changed their style much.

  “Uh oh.” Natalie had stopped a few steps away. “Think I know where we’ve gotta go next.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “You’re the queen of Chanel around here.” I will never forget that orange vision she brought to my office one day.

  Natalie stood with me in front of the window. “You’re going to need a bag, right? Even better if it’s one I’ll want to borrow.”

  After only buying one dress at the boutique, I was more than willing to go into the Chanel store and buy a handbag. I pretended that I was buying it for my girlfriend. Said girlfriend strung it across my chest the moment we were in the back of my car.

  ***

  Back at the hotel, I tried on the sheath dress Brooke insisted I see at the boutique. Everyone had told me it was perfect for my body and my professional, no-fuss style. I had bought it to shut them up. Now, as I stood in front of the bedroom mirror and cinched the turquoise belt around my waist, I realized Brooke and Natalie had been right.

  It was perfect for me.

  Nothing was spilling out. The shape of the sheath dress concealed most of my form while still asserting that I had a female body that made me proud. Why wouldn’t it? My arms were the most prominent body parts showing outside of my muscular calves. I hadn’t realized how trim and toned my arms were until I wore a dress. Natalie’s arms weren’t like mine. They were soft. Kissable. But that didn’t mean mine were unflattering. Or unfeminine.

  To this day, I’m still not used to being feminine.

  It’s the sort of thing a woman like me keeps tucked away in her fantasies. Wearing dresses and styling my hair as anything but a man’s is for the corner of my dark bedroom when nobody but maybe Sherman is looking. (And he did look. Too much, I realize now.) Dresses exposed the scariest parts of myself. The forbidden places. The concealed truths people risked everything to discover.

  The thought I would expose myself was terrifying.

  I caught a glimpse of Natalie’s reflection in the mirror. She wore the commonest clothing of all: pajamas. She tells me I’m feminine wearing whatever I please, but has a woman ever looked as defiantly docile as her in cotton shirts and shorts?

  That’s right. No matter how we dressed, we would always have our personal dynamics. And Natalie had fallen in love with her dominant, sexually aggressive boss. I couldn’t very well forget that, regardless of what I wore or how I used my voice.

  I marched up to her where she sat at a table. She was on her phone and paying me no mind until I practically thrust myself upon her. The look on her blushing visage was priceless, and I know a thing or two about priceless treasures.

  “Ms. Chen,” I purred into her ear, “how about you and I discuss my current state elsewhere?”

  She gingerly placed her phone on the table. “Where do you propose we discuss whatever’s going on here?”

  I could’ve kissed her. Instead, I channeled my sexual energy into surrounding her in her sweet little chair. The heat exploding between us made me glad for my exposed skin. “Bed. Now.”

  If I was going to wear dresses like these out there in the world, let alone to charity dinners and business meetings, then I would damn well break them in the best way I knew how.

  I only hoped Natalie appreciated the matching lingerie set I wore beneath. I wasn’t yet used to having my breasts pushed up and my pussy rubbing against lace. Every step toward the bed was like having my body caressed by more than my burgeoning confidence.

  It reminded me of what I’d wanted from the day Natalie first walked into my office.

  Not so long ago, I had told her that my fantasies about her went in multiple directions. I let her assume that every fantasy showcased me in the dominant, masculine position. Why wouldn’t they? That’s who I was, wasn’t I? My sex life revolved around bringing pleasure to other women and gleaning my own pleasure from theirs. Being touched directly was unfathomable. One of the reasons I had trouble facing what I once did with Sherman was because he was one of few to touch me so intimately. It had to be done, with that kind of lovemaking.

  But Natalie was different from the beginning. My fantasies about her weren’t merely about exploring her body and discovering how she reacted to my touch. They weren’t always about spoiling her.

  Sometimes, they were about her spoiling me.

  The more our relationship evolved, the closer she came to touching me in ways I reserved for my dreams.

  I gave her what I wanted her to give me. My fingers indulged in Natalie’s body and my lips kissed hers, over and over, until I could taste her moans of climax before they hit her tongue. This was what I wanted. My lover’s touch. Her love pouring into me and bringing out that vulnerability I protected with every last drop of my energy. It’s strange to think that the clothes I wore might have something to do with it. That somehow wearing a dress and fancy underwear made me more open to directing Natalie’s hand to my thighs.

  No. It wasn’t the clothes. It wasn’t what name I went by. It wasn’t the people who had broken my heart or the ones who tried to expose me for their own financial and reputational gain.

  It was me. The parts of me begging to be released.

  “Are you sure?” Natalie whispered, her euphoric tone speaking for both her own pleasure and the kind she wanted to give me. “We don’t have to.”

  “Yes,” I said, opening my legs to her. “We do. I do.”

  I wanted her to touch me however she desired. Her fingers. Her lips. Her tongue that always clashed against mine when I kissed her. For once, I’d let her set the tone and pace.

  Giving up that kind of control was electrifying. It also went against everything I once thought about myself. Like how I always imagined this moment happening through grit and will, my arms bound above my head, so I couldn’t run away even if I changed my mind.

  It shouldn’t have happened that way. It should’ve been natural, and because it was what I truly wanted.

  When Natalie shared a coy look on her descent to my thighs… when I felt that first pulse of pleasure from a flick of her tongue… nothing was more natural than that.

  The fact my hands were unbound and free to touch myself and my lover only made it better.

  Chapter 58

  NATALIE

  Erica stretched a bondage rope between her hands. It was taut enough to propel my heart into outer space, but I was also too tired to say as much. After an hour of end
less lovemaking in our pretty Parisian suite, my travel-weary body begged for some rest. Or more sex. I was in that ephemeral state where I could go for both.

  “I almost asked you to tie me up with this,” she said. “Like I’ve tied you up before.”

  My eyes snapped open and my hand wiped the sweat off my forehead. “I don’t know how to do that stuff like you do.”

  “I could teach you.”

  I chuckled. “You’re the expert knot person. I would make a mess of it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s about the fantasy it creates, anyway.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me to do it, then?”

  “Because.” She let the rope coil in her lap. “I wanted to know that I could let you do those things while I was unrestrained.”

  The sour taste in my mouth had nothing to do with sex. “I wouldn’t want to do something like that for the first time while you were restrained anyway.”

  “You don’t get it.” A tight knot formed between Erica’s crossed legs. “That’s how I always imagined it would have to go down. I didn’t think I could experience that part of sex without forcing myself.”

  “C’mon…”

  Erica studied the knot she tied while contemplating what to say next. The muscles beneath her naked skin worked in unison, and it was like watching a masterpiece come to life in my own personal gallery. “That’s how it’s always felt. Like that part of me was tied up deep inside struggling to come out. The persona I put on was this thing right here.” When she pulled on the rope again, the new knot threatened to come undone. “Bound and gagged. Like a prisoner. I was kidnapped when I was five years old.”

  I wrapped my hand around her thigh. “That’s over now.”

  “Yes.” Her meek smile gave me hope. “Thanks to you.”

  I blushed. “Not entirely thanks to me.”

  “A good part of it is because of you. Every day I think about how lucky I am to have someone who understands me as well as you do, Natalie.”

  “You may not think it, but you get me quite well too. For one, you understand my need to work my ass off.” I gently tugged on the rope in her hands. “If I need a little restraint so I’m forced to finally relax? You’re good enough at making that happen. Can’t think of a better person to entrust with my need to be constantly overwhelmed.”

  “Yeah, you seem to really like being ‘overwhelmed.’”

  “By your body, of course.”

  Erica looked down at her pooching stomach and her breasts sagging toward her lap. “You like it, huh? My body, that is.”

  “I was devouring your pussy half an hour ago. I’d say I fucking love your body. Give me more of it.” A yawn escaped me. “Later.”

  Erica continued to study the knot in the middle of her rope. Two seconds later, she had undone it and allowed the whole thing to slip off the edge of the bed.

  “I love you.”

  I opened my eyes again and found hers gazing back down at me. “I love you, too.”

  She lowered her lips to mine. “How did I get so lucky meeting a girl like you?”

  “You didn’t get lucky.” My arm wrapped around her neck and brought her back down on top of me. If nothing else, I was falling asleep wrapped in her embrace. “You did what any good businessman would do. You hired the best candidate. Me.”

  Her laughter rejuvenated me. Possibly enough to make love one more time. “You sure are confident, aren’t you?”

  “Like you’re not?”

  “We’ll either be the most indestructible couple to ever hit the world, or we’ll collapse in two seconds.”

  “I don’t half-ass anything, hon. I’m a stubborn ass who gets whatever she wants.”

  “What’s that?”

  My grin bloomed against her cheek. “You. And your Lambo.”

  “I knew the Lambo would win you over again.”

  “Babe,” I sighed, “you never lost me.”

  We were far from well-rested by the time we boarded our flight home, but that meant the journey across the Atlantic really flew by as we slept in each other’s arms. When we deplaned, we were far from the same couple who separated on that soil over a month before. We were better.

  Chapter 59

  NATALIE

  We approached the doors with not a trace of trepidation. Even if Erica faltered – and she didn’t – I would have simply projected more confidence and urged her to feed on it. Some might say that having such a symbiotic relationship wasn’t good for us, but those same somebodies would never understand the bond continuously flowing between us.

  If she needed more confidence – and she didn’t – I would have been happy to give her more of mine. Since we’ve gone officially public with our relationship, I may have had a surge in confidence. Because, well, look at her!

  The manager of Blithedale threw open the doors to the large waiting room, already populated by representatives of five different publications. I was the one who suggested Erica once more rent out the location after she proved she could do it whenever she pleased. She was the one who decided to invite in more somewhat trustworthy periodicals instead of giving Aiden and his city newspaper the ultimate scoop.

  Everyone else had agreed it was an excellent idea. After the bait was cast and the numerous NDAs were signed, we arrived at eleven in the morning, dressed in our Saturday business casual best.

  For me, that was the orange Chanel dress and a black coat that gave hints of the Thanksgiving season without looking tacky. For Erica, that was an echo of what she wore on our first date after I learned her true identity.

  The looks around the room as we entered and offered to shake hands ranged from shocked to pleasantly pleased that they had guessed right all along. The only one showing no positive response was Aiden Webb, who pouted that he had lost the scoop. After Brooke and Erica decided on who to contact, each representative was told that they could interview Eric Mann about his deep, dark secret that he was willing to share with the world. Whoever wrote the most approvable article would be granted the first rights. Anyone who wrote something unfavorable? Erica had enough connections to make sure it never made it to print.

  Aiden may have been unimpressed with Erica’s feminine ensemble, but there was one woman whose jaw dropped to see cleavage sticking out of Erica’s metallic blue blouse and a womanly physique strutting in skinny jeans. In case anyone was still confused, I had convinced Erica to leave Mann Manor wearing a pair of navy blue heels. The only change she had yet to make was to her hair. She had an appointment with the best stylist in the city the following week. “It’s about time I change my damn hair,” Erica had told me a few nights before. “I’m tired of looking like my brother.”

  She didn’t look like Eric right now, and that’s what had one woman stuttering in disbelief.

  “Erica Mann,” my girlfriend said when she finished shaking the woman’s hand. “You must be Heather Lang.”

  “No, I must be crazy, because when I was told that Eric Mann…”

  “First things first,” Erica interrupted. “There is no Eric Mann. There never was.”

  The confusion in the room only grew worse.

  “Let’s have a seat, everyone.” Brooke gestured to the circle of sofas and chairs. “We’ll make sure everyone has some refreshments before we proceed. No pictures until the end of the interview.”

  I sat down beside Erica. No one else in the room would know that she slightly trembled, but that’s okay. It was my job to know. My job to put my hand on hers and let her know that I would be there for her should she become overwhelmed and needed to take a break. After all, this was about Erica Mann making her official debut in the world. A world that thought she had died twenty-five years ago.

  It would be an adjustment for all of us. But until the adjustment was made, I would assure her that nothing, and I meant nothing, would hurt her as long as I was around. I may have fallen in love with a man named Eric, but it didn’t take me long to fall for a woman named Erica. I wanted the worl
d to know the truth as much as she did. Isn’t it natural for a woman to want to show her lover off to the world?

  Apparently, because Erica couldn’t talk about herself for five minutes before referring to me or insisting that I answer something in her stead. The five publication representatives listened with rapt attention. Whoever had the privilege of revealing Erica’s existence to the world would only receive that honor if they included every fine detail.

  In the end, Heather Lang of publications such as City Financial and Out & Proud won the bid with only a few minor adjustments requested. One month later, on a chilly December morning when the air was full of pine and pumpkin, I stepped out of my house to find copies of both City Financial and Out & Proud on my porch.

  Whether she was dressed for work in her tailored suits and slicked back hair, speaking of international economics and the legacy her family commanded, or dressed in a flowing red blouse with cut jeans and strappy sandals, Erica Mann was without a doubt the most striking woman in the world.

  The articles declaring her as such blew up the internet within two hours. When I asked if she was okay with the public collectively calling her The Most Badass Undercover Lesbian, she laughed and asked if I was okay with dating someone of that moniker.

  Have I ever stuttered? As long as the person I’m with is the most something, I’m quite content, thank you. There’s a lot to learn from someone who is the most anything, and I’m in the business of learning as much as possible.

  Even if that means becoming the second most badass. Not all of us can hope to achieve the #1 spot. Sometimes it’s best to settle for #2, as long as the person who is #1 is within one hand’s reach.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE YEARS LATER

  The silent halls of my family’s rural ranch home have never welcomed me. When I was a child, this was where my soul came to die. It certainly was where I, Erica, came to die both in name and body that fateful day when my brother and I were only five.