Dark Secret Love (9 page)

“And you got the dress code down,” she said, nodding her approval. “Do you have any questions?”

I shook my head.

“Really,” she insisted. “Ask me anything.”

I paused. We were alone, for the moment, so I took a risk. “Anyone to watch out for?”

She laughed. “You’ve got a beehive of pissy hairstylists. Half of them will love you. The rest will try to stab you in the back.”

That was reassuring.

“This place has its own atmosphere. It might be sunny and ninety degrees outside, but if KC—” he was the owner— “is in a bad mood, then it’s raining in here. There are constant soap operas. We don’t have an official rule about employees dating, so you’ll witness plenty of
romantic dramas. But all in all, I’m sure you’re going to love it.”

I was sure, too.

The day flew. There was never down time. The phones rang all day long, and the clients came in a steady stream. By six o’clock, I was whipped. At least, that’s what I thought, until I headed to my car and remembered Nate and what he’d said. I amended the statement in my head.

I wasn’t whipped—yet.

When I got home, Lois was waiting for me with a surprise. She’d landed a part in an off-Broadway play in New York and was flying out in a few days. But more importantly, she thought she’d stay out there. She had friends from college in Brooklyn and Manhattan, and she was tired of working ceaselessly only to land commercials. Yeah, they paid well, but the most recent one was for an embarrassing medication, and she didn’t have it in her to continue. Her life’s ambition wasn’t to pitch STI medicine.

“So,” she said. “No more couch life for you.”

“Really?”

“Sure, I talked with the boys. They’re thrilled to have you as a permanent roommate. You can move into my room, and keep the bed—it was the previous tenant’s anyway. And if you pack up my stuff and ship it for me, I’ll let you have the rest of the month’s rent. You don’t have to start paying until the start of April.”

I was thrilled. Job? Check. Place to stay? Check. Nate peeked in from the living room and waved at me, and a fresh flutter of nerves ran through my body. Dominant roommate to fuck with my head?

Check.

“You’ve never been to a club?”

“Yes, I have,” I told him. I’d been reviewing clubs for the alternative weekly since my freshman year in college. Coconut Teasers. The Whiskey. The Roxy.

“A club-club,” he demanded. “A bondage club.”

“No.” I tried to imagine going to one with Byron, and the image put a smile on my face. But when I looked at Nate, the grin instantly faded.

“Great,” he said, once again placing his hand on the hollow of my throat, applying just enough pressure that the weight made it difficult for me to swallow. He pulled me close to him. “You liked Garrett watching the other night?”

I nodded.

“You’re going to be on display again tonight.”

And now I sucked in my breath, visualizing the scene as he described it.

“You and me and two hundred of our closest friends.”

He faced me straight on then, moving his hand up my throat to tilt my face towards his. “You’re going to have to behave right tonight, Samantha,” he said, in that soft voice, the one I found most menacing. “I know it’s going to be tough for you. But I want you to try really hard for me. Can you do that, Sam?”

I nodded and he immediately slapped my face, catching me off balance, then gripped my arms and stood me steadily before him again. The look in his dark eyes was fierce.

“Can you, Sam?” he asked again, more frightening than ever.

“Yes, Nate,” I whispered.

“Better,” he nodded. “That’s better.”

Nate had been working on an independent for the first part of the day, and then had gone to his gym in West Hollywood. He told me to get ready for our “date” while he took a shower. But I didn’t follow his command. Instead, I sat in the living room with a jelly glass of Jack Daniels, flipping the channels on the TV but not seeing a thing. My cheek stung from where Nate had slapped me, and I had one hand against the side of my face, my fingers tripping up and down over the hot spot.

The JD in my glass got lower as the final rays of sunlight faded from the room, but I didn’t get up to turn on the overhead or refill my drink. When Nate entered the room, clad all in black, he practically disappeared into the gloom. I felt him staring at me, but I didn’t turn to face him. The glow of the silent TV was the only light.

Without a word, Nate sat at my side. He took the remote from my hand and set it down on the coffee table. I’d landed on some old black-and-white movie, and I stared at
the screen rather than looking to my left. I pretended that I was deeply interested in the action onscreen, although none of the drama was registering in my head. None of the movie drama, anyway.

“You’re scared.”

I nodded. Tears were already streaming my face. I felt as if I hadn’t taken a breath since leaving Byron. I’d moved from one situation to the next, always trying to keep my balance. The thought of what Nate wanted me to do tonight had finally slowed me down. And I was terrified.

He took my hand down from my face and traced the tracks from my silent tears.

“We won’t go tonight.”

I looked at him, at the brightness in his dark eyes shining even in the gray light, at the serious look on his striking face. I wondered why he was taking so much time with me. I’d only known him a short period, but I’d thought I had nailed him. A man who got what he wanted and moved on. Had he simply not finished with me? Or did he see something in me that held his interest longer than usual?

I know my eyes were pleading when I stared at him. I wanted to please him, but my whole body was shaking.

“We’ll get there,” he said, nodding, more to himself than to me. “Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll get there.”

Now the tears came faster. I was letting him down. Visions of what he’d promised me paraded through my mind: Nate displaying me. Cropping me in front of an audience. Hurting me. And while I wanted every single image that he’d described, I was so worried that I’d let him down, fail him in some way, embarrass him. That fear immobilized me.

“You make me want to move fast,” he said, now
bringing me up so that my legs were over his lap, cradled in the safe embrace of his strong arms. “You make me want to do everything at once.” Again I felt as if he were speaking more to himself than to me, as if explaining the situation out loud might help him to process exactly what was going on. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook tonight.”

Had I started to relax? Had I let the whiskey work through me, the fire of it calming me?

“Garrett’s out until four, at least. Lois’s over at her boyfriend’s. It’s you and me, and I promised you I’d take care of you tonight. I don’t ever go back on my promises, Samantha. Do you understand that?”

I hadn’t spoken in so long that my voice was hoarse. “Yes, Nate.”

“Tonight I’m ‘Daddy.’ Can you do that?”

Had I thought he was letting me off easy? I closed my eyes as a fresh wave of fear spread through me. “Yes, Daddy.”

“All right, girl. Go get your nightgown on and meet me back here.”

I dressed quickly. Taking off my work clothes. Slipping into a silky short blue-and-white-checked pajama set. I didn’t stop to look at my reflection, didn’t pause to guess what Nate had in mind. I hurried back to the living room, and then stood at the side of the sofa, waiting for my next instruction.

“Come here, Samantha,” he said, and there was no trace of a smile on his face or in his eyes. He’d turned the television off and lit the tall ivory candles that stood on the mantle. There were enough of the towering tapers to create more light than the TV had, but the room was still dim and cavelike.

“Over my lap.”

I didn’t look at his face again, simply crawled into position, knowing somehow that no matter what he’d said, he was disappointed I’d let him down tonight. This was why he was punishing me. Or soon would be.

Nate’s fingers caught the waistband of my pajama shorts and black cotton panties and pulled both down my thighs. I thought he was going to start spanking me. My body was tensed for the first blow. But he didn’t.

“Now, angel, I want you to tell me one of your fantasies. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Your favorite fantasy. One that you’ve never told anyone before, because you’re embarrassed by it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered again, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I tried to think what to say. In my silence, Nate ran his hand over my naked rear, and then right when I was about to start speaking, he tripped his fingertips down the crack of my ass, softly touching my asshole.

“Now.”

Oh, Jesus. He was going to be doing things to me while I spoke. I got that now. I did my best to tell him. It wasn’t difficult for me to think of something to say. Confessing fantasies was what I did every night on Lois’s old typewriter. “I’m in a school,” I said, “like a private school.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Nate murmured, and now he had my cheeks spread apart, and I could feel him simply looking down at me, inspecting me. I wanted to hide, to burrow into the cushions of the sofa, but I held myself as still as possible and continued.

“And I’ve done something wrong—”

“Of course you have.”

“Each time it’s different. Smoking behind the building.
Making out with another girl. Drinking beer in a car in the parking lot.”

“What is it this time?”

“Reading dirty stories in a book that’s banned on campus.”

Nate had licked his fingertips and was slowly slipping one, then two, inside of me, gently finger-fucking my asshole. The pleasure was immediate, but I could feel my cheeks flaming at the same time. Shame floored me.

“And what happens to you?” Nate coaxed.

I tried to be offhand. I was sure he could see where I was going. “You know, I’m sent to the principal’s office—”

“Wearing what?”

“Schoolgirl skirt, white socks, patent leather shoes. White shirt, black cardigan.” I could say this fast, because the outfit was the same every time.

“What does the principal look like?”

“You.”

Nate removed his hand and spanked me five times in a row. He’d caught the flippancy in my voice. But I explained quickly. “Different each time,” I explained quickly. “I’ll see someone at a store, or in a movie, or driving next to me, and I’ll cast that person the next time I do this—”

“Do what?” He knew. But he wanted to hear me say the words.

“Fantasize. Touch myself.”

“Go on,” Nate instructed, but before I could, I felt something wet against my asshole, and realized that while I’d been dressing, Nate had gotten out a bag of toys. He slowly lubed me up, his fingertips skating around and around. I tried to continue.

“He says all the usual things, you know. I’ve been caught. Could be expelled. Whatever. Something clichéd,
I know. But I don’t hear a word, because on the desk is this wicked-looking paddle. Wooden, with holes in it. And I know from experience what that’s going to feel like, how much it’s going to hurt, how loudly I’m going to cry. And I understand that I ought to be paying attention to the lecture, but all I see is that paddle, and all I hear are my own impending sobs.”

Slowly, Nate began to slide something inside of me, and I stopped speaking. They were balls, on a string, and I found myself shaking my head. He was touching me so gently, taking care of me, and I wondered how he knew that I’d like this sort of thing. Was I that transparent? Still, as if I had to pay for the pleasure, embarrassment, guilt, and shame built up inside me. I felt so exposed—revealing this fantasy while Nate was playing with me, teasing me.

“Don’t stop, Samantha. Keep talking. No matter what I’m doing.”

“Yes, Nate,” I said, and then quickly, “Yes, Daddy.” I tried my best to focus. “He puts me over his lap and lifts up my skirt. He takes my panties down to my ankles, and then he spanks me, as hard as I’ve ever been spanked, with that cruel paddle. And I’m crying from the very start—”

Nate slipped another ball inside me.

“—and he says he’s sorry he has to be so strict with me—with all of us girls—but that we have to understand that he truly does have our best interests at heart. He knows not to stop a punishment session at the first sob. Because girls can fake their tears. He knows how to make a real impression, how to take us beyond our limits. Or where we think our limits are.”

“And where are your limits, Samantha?”

He wasn’t letting me get away with anything. If I
could focus on the story, I could forget that Nate was sliding these balls inside my asshole, one after the other. But when he spoke, I was right back in the living room, upended over his lap, my pussy a lake of sex juices. My cheeks cherry-hued.

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly.

“In your story.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, trying to stay on topic, to please Nate. “It changes. Always changes. Sometimes, I put my hands back to stop him, and he has to bend me over the desk, get something else to use. A cane. A crop. His belt. It depends on what I need.”

Nate lifted me off his lap now, surprising me, and pulled my panties and shorts all the way off. Then he bent me over the arm of the black leather sofa and got behind me. I heard the sound of his buckle, and then felt the warmth of his cock against my skin. “What do you need now?”