Bad Girl (Les Pétales)

by Samuels, Kailee

  His name was Luca.

  Our love affair we held so dearly.

  Jake couldn’t handle the passion in Luca and me, so he encouraged my staying with Wil. He didn’t need to watch me running to the arms of his boss and best friend while dying, like pouring the salt into the hemorrhaging wound.

  If I had returned home earlier, it would’ve been an unfair move on my part and what occurred wouldn’t have been my fault. The restrained love neither Luca nor I could ever sway. We were magnetic in our attraction. But Jake and I had hurt one another enough, so I agreed to the truce of staying across the pond because if I was stateside, we all knew what would happen.

  Luca would seize control of his crying girl.

  The pony girls were two weeks away from their first international exhibition performance in Japan when I went home to Texas and stood vigil over Jake’s final days.

  “Are you calling Luca?” he asked, holding my hand. “He asks about you every day.”

  Knowing how they both loved me, I lightly giggled. “No, I’m going to Japan.”

  “You do it,” Jake softly muttered. “You go do it all, baby girl.”

  Two days later, the intruder—my former kidnapper and my biggest fan— passed away holding my hand. Three hours later, I ran away, but not before I called Luca and broke down.

  With tears streaming down my cheeks, I boarded a plane bound for Tokyo. I didn’t stay for the funeral.

  Or Luca’s arrival.

  * * *

  After arriving in Tokyo, I went to meet Keishi Nakamura at his home. He had a lovely wife named, Aki, and a darling ten-year-old boy named, Raiko. We chatted over matcha and noodles. Hours later, the sake flowed as Keishi and I had our first heart to heart, and I confessed everything—the abduction, the affair, the love of three, and the hope I had to leave a mark. It would not be our last intimate conversation, but the first of many.

  With my best showgirl mask, I welcomed his thrusts and his wooden paddle with a string of ooh’s and ahh’s. And then, he placed a string of real pearls around my neck. His generosity was a gift.

  “You will heal, Anna,” he said as we sat in his study behind screened doors. “You must find your spirit and seek enlightenment in all things. Stop thinking about the transgressions committed against you and those you delivered. What have you learned?”

  His questions provoked a deep self-inquiry as I struggled to stay afloat in the churning seas. I loved Jake, but his lies were toxic. I clung to Luca—a dangerous man I couldn’t have—because I had absolute faith he would provide.

  I asked tough questions of Keishi. “Did you want to kill me in Hawaii?”

  He confirmed what I already knew. Jake lied about the whole thing to kidnap me. Both Lotus and Gennaro wanted Jake Ballister dead, but I was never the target. We spent years overseas because Jake was hiding. He wasn’t keeping me safe; he was keeping me contained.

  “You ain’t nothing but a bruiser,” I remembered saying on our first meeting. My intuition was right, and I foolishly ignored her. “I play with whoever is paying, same as you.”

  Jake only protected Luca because I informed him of what I was doing. He copied my strategy and negotiated the deal to work permanently for Luca. Maybe he did it to have me. Maybe he did it to force his control on someone. I’ll never know.

  I tried to not blame Luca for his ability to play us both; he did it so seamlessly, I don't think we ever stood a chance of survival against the future King. After all, Luca Raniero was part of The Suits, and we were just his playthings.

  I proposed a long term deal between Lotus and Raniero that would serve both parties equally for years to come. Those deals, which brought weapons and drugs to Luca, were my idea. I owed Luca that much for keeping me safe.

  Keishi promised to leave my property and assets alone, and I swore to come and revisit him. We bowed, and I departed with a renewed vigor.

  I headed south to Kyoto, the flower and willow world of the geisha and tea houses, for our pony girl expedition at the new fetish school, Thread. Everyone was talking about it. They were different, specializing in bondage and serving masochists and contortionists. With their love of shibari, Japanese rope bondage, and other silken rope arts, they elevated themselves as the school to beat with their invitation-only practice.

  Between the changes at Highlandale Hawthorne and the exciting concepts posed at Thread, my ideas blossomed out of nowhere. I scribbled in dozens of books over the weeks I spent in Kyoto.

  I routinely called and checked in on Chance. We were slowly coming back together after several years of distance. I didn’t expect him to understand, but I also knew I wasn’t fit to raise him daily. It was a hard, bitter pill to swallow. Something so natural as motherhood proved to be completely unnatural for me. I kept in contact with Jocelyn as she continued to fulfill the role of nanny, and if she needed backup, Cattleya was ever present.

  With his dedicated resolve, Mullins helped oversee our girls. I adored working with him. We were always on the same wavelength. Quietly, I offered him a permanent position in Texas should I decide to act on my dreams.

  I was uncertain until we were in the dining hall after the performances. Across the room, I saw an old friend, Ryu Ho. He was older with gray hair and tiny wire-rim glasses, but I could never forget his odd walk or peculiar body language.

  Mullins was going over our notes when I spotted him with a gasp. I covered my mouth and watched from afar before I finally said, “Pardon me for one second.”

  Rather than running away, I dodged through the crowded room for a chance to say hello.

  “… Ryu?” I said as he spoke with a good looking man close to my age.

  “Anna!” Ryu boomed, embracing me. “What are you doing here?”

  “The pony girl presentations are mine,” I informed with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyes lit up as he proudly said, “This school belongs to my son! William! Come here! This is Anna Ford.”

  With his broad chest and a gleaming smile, William rushed over in his loose slacks and taut t-shirt, stretching overloads of glorious caramel muscles. Tall with long black silken bangs and soft eyes, he was drool-worthy eye candy. I was smitten.

  “Hi,” he gently said with barely a whisper. “You are the Anna Ford?”

  “… I am,” I gushed, not knowing how he knew me. “Did your father talk about me?”

  “No, Wilma Manley and Phillipe Kerris did. I was actually at Les Pétales when you visited. I brought you coffee one morning in the library.”

  My mouth dropped open as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You were a student at L’Académie… I vaguely remember you.”

  “I was graduating,” he mentioned as some of his fangirls stopped by.

  I called them fangirls because he was famous for what he could do with rope. It was my first encounter with the strange phenomenon. He was a decadent, brilliant Master and he had fangirls. Thoughts flourished in my mind like an overgrown garden in the spring as I saw the dollar signs floating in Luca’s eyes.

  Masters had fangirls.

  If I could find the right males…

  They departed with a hug as he continued, “Sorry about that. Anyway, I was graduating and coming home to start Thread with my father’s assistance,” he said as more people came to talk to him. “I’d love the chance to talk to you later.” He winked. “When it’s quiet…”

  As it turned out, William’s idea of talking was tying me up. With smooth turquoise rope, he looped them – round and round in a trance like the beats of in and out – meticulously weaving like a spider.

  He was making new love to me, not with the intense thunderous drumbeats of the whip, but with the gentle brush of coaxing threads, tightening and winding and holding. Tethering my soul close enough to his to keep me from ever running, he worshipped every inch of my flesh with his intoxicating and hypnotic touch. And in his studio, I found my voice as he allowed me to get lost within him.

  I have said it man
y times over the years. People cannot truly understand the art of sadomasochism unless it is experienced firsthand. When it is properly done, and balance is achieved, there is no greater form of trust or love.

  I found everything my little masochist ever needed in William Ho. Paddle and whips would never grace my flesh again. His persuasive tenderness caused an abrupt, sudden change in me. I had all these skills in my toolbox—old school French, pony girl technique, and even some high protocol, but the one I lacked—bondage—was the one I needed the most. It took years to discover this about myself. My frustrating early lessons of patience suddenly became invaluable resources on which I could rely.

  Laying in his bed hours later, I was high on the scene and William as he rubbed the imprints of rope on my skin. I was blissfully marked and finding happiness as his love dripped from his fingertips and eased between my thighs.

  “You are incredible, William.”

  Beneath his wispy bangs, he calmly said, “… What would it take to have you?”

  “I'm collared,” I lied, shielding my heart and understanding how it would be forever taken by one. “But I'm willing to play if you can help me get my school up and running.”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  In the spring of 1975, I traveled home to Texas after six months. Wearing the string of pearls from Keishi, I bid a tearful farewell to Japan in my navy blue pantsuit and a loose chiffon blouse. I had given myself the time to heal and the opportunity to recover.

  In Mullins, I had an eager sub waiting to assist me from afar. He decided to stay in Japan and train at Thread. In a serene and peaceful place, I had a grounding Dominant and a teacher in William Ho. There was only one missing piece of the puzzle.

  I needed my investor.

  Picking my car up from the airport lot, I drove to Sugargrove. In town, I noticed we were getting an Italian restaurant, Mario’s. I shook my head and giggled knowing why.

  While I enjoyed my sabbatical, it felt good to be home, and as I meandered the backroads, I realized I had been busy since 1955. I ran away to find freedom and found it at thirty-five.

  Patience was my best friend.

  Arriving at the property, I noticed my gate open and the muddy tire tracks covering the paved driveway. I sped down to the estate only to find a small crane hovering between my buildings.

  Getting out of the car, I slammed my door and angrily yelled at the filthy workers, “What the hell is going on?”

  From behind the crane, a raven-haired man in sunglasses, a white dress shirt, and black slacks showed himself. His perfect white grin stole my breath away as his eyebrow arched onto his forehead, and he opened his arms to me.

  Shouting over the engine of the crane, I asked, “What are you doing, Luca?”

  Out of the enormous wooden shipping crate, the beautiful sculpture of a naked woman surrounded by butterflies took my breath away. I gasped as tears flecked over my cheeks.

  “I’m checking up on my investment.” He winked.

  “Luca,” I gushed as we kissed passionately. I was in love—for better or worse—with a man I believed I could never have. But I was wrong, so very wrong. I really didn’t want another human being with me twenty-four seven.

  Peeling off my jacket, I placed it in his arms as my blouse billowed open and revealed a hint of lace. His emerald eyes grazed over my skin as he privately confided, “God, I want you.”

  I needed freedom.

  Removing the strand of pearls from my neck, I embraced the emancipation from the oppressive shackles of the last twenty years as I dropped them into his hand. He lowered his shades to the tip of his nose. “What is this?”

  “Consider it a return investment,” I seductively whispered, stealing his sunglasses. “Nakamura will be contacting you. This is his measure of good faith. They’re worth several million. Expect good things, Luca.”

  Turning away, I put on his shades and walked along the path towards Scarlet House. I smirked and giggled and waited. I needed to prove my old showgirl still had the skills to make a man swoon over my… business acumen… but this time, I was doing it without influence on my own two high-heeled feet.

  Strutting proudly, I whispered, “5, 4, 3, 2…”

  “Wait!” Luca yelled, chasing after me. “Stop.”

  Stopping, I blushed. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who still had it in me. Pulling a blindfold out of his pocket, he swiped his sunglasses off of my face and tied the fabric gently around my head.

  “Come with me. Don't peek!”

  “I know how this works,” I flirtatiously chided as he tucked my arm around his elbow.

  “I was starting to think you were never going to come back and all this work would have been for not.”

  I smiled as we strolled through the grounds. “I couldn’t stay gone forever. I love this place too much.”

  “Would it matter if I said I worried?”

  “Probably,” I charmed. His lips washed over mine. “But most things matter if they come from you.”

  “I know we are flawed.”

  “No,” I corrected with a mature manner. “Imperfectly perfect, Luca.”

  “Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me. I always knew something—good or bad—was about to happen because he would never let me fall.

  He tugged the fabric away from my eyes as I gasped at the beautiful mirrored lake reflecting the clouds and the brimming colorful garden beds I had sketched in my book. “Oh my god! You heard me when I mentioned the lake…”

  “Of course I did,” he said, kissing my cheeks as I cried. “And now, you must come up with a name.”

  Luca Raniero was never a man to do anything small. He was full of grandiose, loving gestures. Such as it was when he produced the diamond necklace in front of my eyes. With a nuzzle to my ear, he muttered, “I love you, Stellina.”

  I twirled in his arms. “What is this?”

  He secured this necklace to me. “Please do not ever think of this as a collar or a weight around your neck. You owe me nothing. This is a gift of my love to you.”

  “I owe you everything,” I breathed, crying. It wasn’t a collar, but it was without a doubt a commitment. I leaped up into his arms and latched my legs around his stocky frame. “God, I want you.”

  “That was just what I was waiting for…”

  In the afternoon light of the upstairs bedroom, I gave Luca a warm place to hide in my shelter. We made love for hours without rules or boundaries. I let him baptize every orifice of mine with his holy water. And you can judge me for that, but with everything I had been through, loving Luca was the only thing that truly mattered.

  I could never have done any of it without him. Before I returned home from the Orient, I had accepted our limitations, but those limitations weren’t any different from the discipline I had been brought up to expect. I could abide by all of his rules as a mafia boss and still be me. He wanted to keep me safe. He needed to shelter me, the same way I sheltered him.

  I gave him a place to run to—in my heart and between my thighs. And that was so precious to him; he would never have risked hurting me because love shouldn’t hurt.

  Love shouldn’t hurt.

  Our kinky sex games might sting and bite, but love shouldn’t. And when I learned the difference between sex and love, my entire life changed for the better.

  With Luca dozing in bed, I wandered barefoot to the fountain in his white shirt. The landscape surrounding the fountain was rough with mud clobbers and pieces of the old fountain. The mess wasn’t beautiful, but the naked woman with her little butterflies was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  I sat on the edge amid the chaos and clutter and found the confidence I lost. I didn’t need to run away anymore. I was home.

  “… What are you doing?” Luca said in his slacks. I noted his bare feet and smiled. He knew. I got the message. He understood.

  “Admiring a naked woman…”

  “That’s what I was doing.�
��

  Standing up on the edge of the fountain, I swatted playfully at his bicep. “You were sleeping.”

  Kissing my lips, he skimmed his tongue along my mouth. “You make me happy.”

  “You make me happy!”

  He turned around and dipped down. “Jump.”

  Leaping onto his back, I questioned, “… Piggyback ride, really?”

  “Ya,” he muttered as I looked at what we were creating. I was the showgirl riding on the wings of the mob boss. He was my gatekeeper, my guardian, and my lover.

  Playful and light, I laughed, “I love you, Master.”

  “I know.”

  We reached the back porch when I noticed the moon reflecting in the lake. In the grass, he lowered my butt down to the deck, squatted down, and tapped his shoulders. “Come on. We’re going up!”

  Hoisting me up onto his shoulders—higher and higher—he said, “I love you, Little Butterfly!”

  I yelled, “Go go!”

  He ran us—barefoot—down the hill to the lake, not stopping until he was knee-high in the water. Spinning around, I stared with awe at the shadows of my dreams.

  We were a beautiful, unstoppable magic that was meant to be.

  “Luca, you are my Romeo.”

  “I’m your safeword?” he muttered quizzically, splashing the cool water on my feet. It felt amazing, and so did he. “I only wanted to be yours.”

  “Let go,” I requested, dropping back and sinking into the water. I swam around, undid his trousers, and pumped his cock in my hand. Wrapping my lips around his shaft, I savored every delicious inch and everything we were.

  His hand reached for me. The moment I stood up, he picked me up to straddle him. I felt his hand guiding his cock inside of me as we thrust against one another with slow and purposeful strokes. My damp hair clung to his chest as his hands held my bottom secure.

  “The gray clouds have parted, and you are beautiful in the glow of diamonds at midnight.” Deep inside of me, he turned ever so slight and whispered, “You are still going to have to come up with a name, Miss Ford.”