Her Master's Kiss 5 (7 page)

“Maybe I would be better off if you turned the damned car around and drove me back to the club. I’m sure I look good enough to attract the interest of another Master. Maybe then I’ll get the kind of sex I need,” Renee spat. “I can ride home with Tink and Peter after I’m finished – and after I am finally satisfied.”

Stefan ignored her and drove on, simmering and on the brink of fury. He turned the car into the estate, the tyres screaming through a haze of blue smoking rubber, and braked hard in the driveway.

Before the engine was off, Renee had flung her car door open. She stalked inside, choking back tears as she went.

In the bedroom she sank down on the mattress and a violent wave of reaction swept over her. She began to shake, wildly and uncontrollably. Waves of humiliation and despondency swept over her, like a storm-driven surf eroding the sand of a beach, until finally she began to cry the thick heavy tears of her heartache.

Stefan came through the front door just in time to hear the bedroom door slamming shut with a sound like a gunshot. A framed photo in the hallway shook and then fell to the floor. Stefan went down the hall and picked up the frame. The glass had shattered, tearing into the image and scattering glass across the carpet. The image in the frame had been a photo of Stefan and Renee on their wedding day.

Stefan took the photo into the kitchen and left it on the table. Then he stood at the bar and unscrewed the cap off a bottle of scotch. He didn’t stop drinking until he passed out on the cold leather surface of the sofa.

Fourteen.

Stefan woke to the realization that the weather had changed overnight. Rain was hammering loudly on the roof, pouring into the gutters and drumming against the bay window. He sat up on the sofa, fully dressed, and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. He felt confused and disoriented, and the edge of his mind seemed dulled. He was vaguely aware of a sense of remorse and regret.

There was a loud rumble of thunder overhead, and then suddenly Jeffrey came bounding from his basket in the laundry and leaped onto the sofa. The dog was trembling.

Stefan reached out for the lamp and switched it on. A soft glow filled the living room, spreading in a circle of light that was wide enough to show the empty bottle on the floor and an upended glass atop the bar counter. Stefan shook his head and blinked himself awake. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was 3.30 in the morning.

He got up from the sofa and picked up the empty bottle, then stopped to listen for the sounds of Renee sleeping in the bedroom. He could hear nothing over the noise of the storm. He began to pace the carpet, and suddenly realized he was lonely. The thought stopped him in mid stride. He was lonely – and he was completely alone. The divide between himself and Renee had widened to a chasm, and from where he stood, it seemed almost impossible to breach the gap.

Being alone had never disturbed Stefan before. He had been a loner for much of his life. Apart from the brief years of joy with his first wife, much of his journey through life had been made as a solitary man. But the sudden sense of feeling
lonely
troubled him deeply. He wanted to share his life. He wanted to share his successes and failures, triumphs and tragedies with Renee. And so he stood in the middle of the floor, with the storm crashing all around him, and for the first time in a very long time, Stefan felt a sense of true fear sweep over him.

Losing Renee now would be worse than losing his first wife. When Tiffany had died, he had been helpless.

He began to pace the living room floor again but he pulled up short when he saw his reflection in the bay window. It was a ghostly shape of himself, distorted by rivuletted rain against the glass. He saw the hard edge of his jaw, the firm line of his mouth and the dark anger in his eyes and he stared at the image for long desolate seconds, imagining his life without Renee; imaging a lonely life.

He thought about his conviction then. Why was he resisting Renee’s insistence they return to a BDSM lifestyle? What was it about the change that he truly objected to? Was he too old fashioned?

Stefan believed the opportunity for true success came to every man just twice in life. It was up to each man to recognize the opportunities when they presented themselves, and to seize them before they escaped their grasp like mist.

For some men, the opportunities came as business and wealth; rare chances to make their fortunes that were either seized, or regretted for a lifetime. A man could miss one, but to miss both was a waste of a life’s potential.

He thought about his own life then. His waves of success had not come through business or wealth – such things had never interested him greatly enough to pursue them. No, Stefan’s two cresting waves were with women. The first wave he had caught, and it was only God’s cruel hand that had swept him back into the crashing turmoil of loneliness. Now, he realized Renee was his second great wave – his second and final chance to rise above himself, and to make his life a success, and a life worth living. It was Renee.

Was he simply too stubborn?

Renee was so passionate and so committed to her beliefs. She believed with all her heart that their way forward together could only come with the BDSM lifestyle that had drawn them together as their foundation.

Why was he so resisting?

He was old fashioned. He knew that. He was a traditional man in so many of his beliefs. The distinction between his wife and a submissive was such a clear one to him that he realized his resistance had always been reactive rather than reasonable. But were his moral values outdated… or was he outdated?

Could he ever set aside his love and tender care for Renee’s happiness to look at her objectively as a woman for his pleasure? Could he ever forget all of the tragedy and heartache they had endured as a couple long enough to look at her with the dispassionate intensity needed to inflict discipline?

Was BDSM what they
needed
in their lives… or merely what Renee wanted?

Could he change?

How could he not?

What did his instincts tell him?

He thought about that for a long time. He had always been a man of clear conviction and determination; once he knew what was needed he was unfaltering in his determination. But right now his instincts were chaotic and confused. He didn’t have Renee’s passion or belief – he was reacting without being rational.

Stefan turned away from his reflection and stood in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes in despair.

“Please, God…”

The answer struck Stefan like a fist – like a physical blow that drove the wind from him so he staggered. He slumped to the sofa, suddenly bloodless and cold.

He wasn’t old fashioned. He was living in the past.

He had imposed the morals and beliefs of his marriage with Tiffany onto his relationship with Renee. He saw it then, with sickening clarity. He had wanted to treat Renee in the same way he had treated his first wife – even though that marriage had been borne out of youthful innocence and inexperience, and not the fires of passion and BDSM that had first kindled his romance with Renee.

Stefan lowered his head to his hands, the enormity of his mistake stark and terrifying.

“I have been wrong,” Stefan said softly, almost shamefully. “I have been so very wrong.”

On a sudden impulse he went down the darkened hallway and stood outside the closed bedroom door. His hand reached out for the knob, and then he suddenly hesitated. Would Renee be asleep?

Should he wake her and tell her he had been mistaken? Should he ask her to forgive him? Could he explain it all yet – everything he suddenly understood – when he had only just made sense of it all himself?

Stefan let go of the knob and dropped his hand to his side. He stood in the darkness for a very long time, and then trudged back to the sofa.

Fifteen.

When Stefan woke again he was laying, curled and cramped, on the sofa. The house was light, and there was a patch of bright sunlight on the carpet. He sat up and rubbed away the last traces of sleep, feeling the rasping stubble of new beard under his fingers. Then he looked at his watch and was appalled when he realized it was after 10am.

He swung his legs off the sofa and went urgently to the hallway. The bedroom door was open, but the house seemed strangely silent. He stepped to the door. The bed was made, the curtains opened, and warm sunlight streamed into the room.

Stefan turned on his heel frowning, but in the kitchen was a note. Renee had left it resting on top of the damaged photograph that had fallen from the wall.

Gone shopping for the day.

I think we both need time apart.

Stefan read the note once more, and then went quickly to the bathroom. He spent two minutes washing his face and combing his hair, and decided any more time was too precious to waste on shaving. He glanced at his watch again, realizing now that every minute would matter.

He snatched his keys from the kitchen counter and ran for the car.

Sixteen.

The overnight storm had made the road slippery, and the morning sun had yet to rise high enough above the dense trees to dry the tarmac. Stefan drove with concentrated purpose. He drove quickly, but not beyond the limitations of the road – and the miles sped by.

Two miles outside of Drakesburg, Stefan slowed the car when he saw the familiar shape of the mailbox set back from the shoulder of the road; an old metal drum that had been painted red, nailed to a post. Stefan braked to a crawl until the turnoff appeared and then nosed the car off the highway and down a long bumpy road that was muddied and rutted by the rains.

Peter’s farm was like a scene from a picture postcard. The rolling fields around the homestead were lush and green, and the sun beyond the distant mountain ranges had cast the grounds in glorious golden light.

Stefan parked behind Peter’s car and climbed out from behind the wheel stiffly. It had been an hour’s drive on slippery roads. He stood by the car for a moment and inhaled the fresh country air while the engine pinged and ticked and cooled.

There was a thin grey tendril of smoke rising from the chimney into the still air, but apart from that the farmstead seemed abandoned. Stefan walked to the back door and rapped hard.

For several minutes he heard nothing. Then, when he knocked a second time, he finally heard the commotion of shuffling feet. He stood back from the door and waited. He heard a chain being unlatched and then Peter stood in the opening.

“You look like I got you out of bed,” Stefan said. Peter’s hair was tousled and he was bare-chested. His jaw was shadowed with stubble.

“Got me out of bed? Yes. But you didn’t wake me,” he said simply. And then he frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Stefan shrugged. “Why don’t you invite me in and I’ll tell you.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, pushed the screen door open wide and stepped back.

The kitchen was warm. Peter pulled a chair away from the table and dropped onto it. Stefan sat across from him and dropped his car-keys onto the table.

“Coffee? You look like you need it.”

Stefan nodded.

Peter was about to put the kettle on when Tink’s head appeared in the doorway. She was smiling – a sleepy, contented smile – but her eyes widened with alarm when she saw Stefan.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Stefan said. “I’ve just come to talk with Peter for a while.”

Tink frowned. She wasn’t fully awake, but she was alert enough to understand the implications of Stefan’s answer. She nodded thoughtfully and crossed to the kitchen bench to make coffee. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung down to her thighs, and nothing else. The pointed firm peaks of her breasts jutted out through the thin fabric, and when she reached up to fetch cups from the overhead cupboard, the tail of the shirt rose so high up the back so her legs that Stefan could see the firm rounded shape of her bottom. He glanced away.

Peter was staring at him, studying the smudges of fatigue under his eyes and his unshaven face. He noticed the frayed lines of concern at the corners of his eyes, and the creases in his shirt.

“You don’t look so good,” Peter said in mild understatement.

Stefan nodded. “I don’t feel so good either.”

He was about to continue when he heard the sound of the shower. He paused, and glanced sideways at Peter. The man smiled. “We brought the girl from the club home with us last night,” Peter explained matter-of-factly. “I’ve got to drive her into Bishop’s Bridge at lunchtime.”

Stefan nodded.

Tink was fussing about with the coffee cups, deliberately turning the making of coffee into an art form in the hope of lingering long enough to gain a sense of Stefan’s purpose. She scooped sugar and coffee, measuring each part with the precision of a chemist, until Peter finally turned to her with a pointed expression on his face. “Thanks, Tink,” he said. “We can take it from here. Why don’t you go and check on Mandy.”

Tink paused for just a reluctant second – and then she lowered her eyes and nodded obediently. “Yes, Master,” she said softly.

Stefan waited until he was sure Tink had gone to the bathroom. He heard the sound of the shower become louder and then fade again as the bathroom door was closed once more.

Peter poured the water into the cups and brought them across to the table and the two men sat in awkward silence for long moments until finally Peter leaned close across to Stefan and looked at him expectantly.

“Say something,” he urged. “What can I do to help? What do you need?”

Stefan leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He cast his eyes to the ceiling and then looked to Peter, his gaze rock steady, and his expression grim but determined.

“Can I borrow some of my BDSM equipment back?”