The Art of Control (27 page)

“No!” I blurt out, startl
ing Dylan.

“
No
what
?” he asks, bewildered.

“I’m
not going back with you,” I say, doing my best to sound imposing.

I turn and run
, making it only several dozen feet. Dylan is quick on my heels and his strong arms reach out before I can escape, his large hand gripping onto my upper arm and pulling me back roughly. I try to free myself from his clutches, but my strength is no match for him.

“I’ll scream if you don’t let me go! These people don’
t take kindly to forceful Americans!” I huff at him out of breath, trying to fight him off.

Taking a deep breath and readying myself to scream bloody murder, Dylan’s mouth crushes dow
n onto mine, stifling my shrieks. He has one hand wrapped possessively around my waist and the other twisted into my hair at the back of my neck. I struggle to fight him off, but when his tongue slips past my lips, all of my strength leaves my body and I go limp in his arms.
God, how I’ve missed this.
He kisses me violently, taking complete control of my mouth, biting and nibbling my lips and sucking at my tongue harshly.

“Oh, Master…” I moan into his mouth.

His brutal kisses instantly turn passionate and gentle, his fiery tongue gently caressing the interior surfaces of my mouth. He tastes so good, just like I remember - like Dylan with a hint of mint.

“
I own you…” he breathes into my mouth and my body responds to his words as if no time has passed between us.

He backs me up, pressing my body up against a cold brick wall in the shade. He releases my hair and his hand glides down my body, over my breasts, squeezing, and then
down to my jeans. He pops the button and pushes his hand into my pants and past my panties. His mouth moves to my neck, sucking ruthlessly against my sensitive and neglected flesh, his hips pinning me against the wall and his arousal pressing into me. Dylan’s long fingers find their way as he eases them in and out slowly. I’m soaking wet and the juicy sounds are sexy and sinful.
I want him inside of me.

No,
I can’t go back with him. I love him, but he’s safer without me, I repeat for the umpteenth time. Not wanting to resist his sensual touches, I force myself to push away from him.

“I can’t,” I cry. “I love you, but I can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“If you think by staying away from me you’re keeping me safe, you’re wrong, pussycat. If being with you means physical death, then I welcome it because I’m dead inside without you,” he tells me and the desperate look on his face tears my heart in two.

He brings his still glistening fingertips to his mouth and sucks at them, his eyes rolling back
in his head and closing tightly.

“
God, how I’ve missed your taste.”

When his eyes open, they’re blue hot like the color of a gaslight flame. His starburst irises move up and down my body and finally rest on my heaving chest as I try and get control of my raging and out of control libido.

“You’re perfect, Isabel Young, absolutely fucking perfect. You belong to me and I’m not leaving here without you.
I’m not
.”

His voice is fierce, his dominanc
e undeniable and his resolve indomitable.

“
If I have to carry you out of here kicking and screaming, I will. And if I have to leash you to get you under control, I won’t hesitate to do that, either,” he adds, narrowing his possessive eyes at me.

This man is impossible
. “Like leashing me is a threat? That’s more like a reward, but that’s neither here nor there.
Who do you think you are
?” I ask.

He smiles cunningly to my remark and responds,
“Your Master and your owner, but more importantly, your husband and the man who
can’t
and
won’t
live without you.”

Without hesitation, Dylan takes complete charge over me, grabs my hand
and leads me back towards where Sawyer is. I pause, pulling my hand out of his to button my jeans. Looking up at Sawyer, my cheeks warm when he sees me putting myself back together. Dylan crookedly grins at me and Sawyer rolls his eyes at us, his face turning red as well.

“I’m glad to see you two have worked things out,” he says
ironically.

“I wouldn’t say that. Apparently I don’t have a say in this matter,” I reply.

Dylan’s eyebrows raise and he looks me up and down. “Isabel is under the impression that her opinion means something to me right now.”

I
throw him a mean look and he chuckles.

“
You’ve had your say in this matter for the last three months. Now it’s my turn,” he states with hurt in his eyes.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I say in my defense, thinking about the threats my father voiced.

Dylan takes my hand
again and we walk back to my apartment. When we get inside, he sits me on the bed and kneels in front of me, holding my hands.

“
I hate that you were forced to live like this. You deserve so much better, my precious angel. Now tell me everything.”

This is a bad idea. We shouldn’t be here and I know it. I can feel Simons
’ presence. Standing, I move towards the window, looking out and trying to spy his ugly mug.

“Who are
you looking for?” Sawyer asks, moving to the window alongside of me and peering out.

What’s with these two?
“You, too?” I ask, turning to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Are the both of you psychics or what?”

Poor Sawyer looks thoroughly confused and shakes his head
at me. Dylan moves next to me and cups my chin.

“It’s not a matter of being psychic, Isabel. It’s a matter of
knowing how to read body language. We’ve both learned it well in our line of work, though some of us are better at it than others,” he says, looking over at Sawyer, his eyebrows arched condescendingly.

Sawyer rol
ls his eyes again at Dylan and snorts.

“So who are you looking for?” Dylan asks.

“The man who brought me here.”

“Your
father didn’t bring you here himself?”

“God, no.
My father never does his own dirty work; he’s too cowardly for that. He pays people to do that for him.”

Dylan
suddenly looks self-conscious and rubs the back of his neck tensely.

“Yes, well…” he sighs.

Sawyer quickly steps up to Dylan’s defense. “There’s nothing wrong with having other people do your dirty work, especially when the dirty work is a necessary evil and you have a reputation to protect.”

“What are we t
alking about here?” I ask them, bewildered by their reactions to my statement.

“Nothing,” Dylan blurts out.
“So who was the man?”

“The same man who tried to stab you. His name is Simons. He’s an albino looking asshole. He came to get me the night that… you asked for the collar back, after Sawyer left.”

The memory makes my eyes water and I turn away from both Dylan and Sawyer, and anxiously pace the room.

Dylan remains silent for a few moments and finally asks, “What did your father tell you when he called you the day you left?”

“You knew about that?” I ask, shocked.

He nods
yes
and I slump onto the bed. Why did he let me leave if he knew? Why did he ask for the collar back and make me sign those annulment papers? Why did…

“Love, I didn’t find out until after the f
act. The course of actions I took never would have transpired had I known. Christ, Isa, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Why?
Because my father came dangerously close to killing you twice in the time span of two weeks. You were laying there dying right in front of me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I had no control over anything - not you, not myself and not my father. He ruined your reputation, cost you God knows how much money by sabotaging your plane and damn-near killing you.”

All of my father
’s ruthless words come back to me…

“
Your husband is proving to be one hard man to kill. Stay with him, Isabel, and I promise I’ll make him die a slow and painful death like your mother did, and I’ll make you watch the light go out of his eyes, you little whore. If you resist me, if you try to get in contact with him, his blood will be on your hands.”

I break down and tell Dylan and Sawyer
about the way Simons dragged me to my father’s plane with nothing but the clothes on my back and the phone in my pocket. I tell them about the way I was forced to live hand-to-mouth with the small amount of money Papa provided me and forced me to live in this horrible place, not knowing anyone and barely knowing the language, and never being able to see the man I love again.

“Did Simons hurt you?” Dylan as
ks, holding me close against his body.

“Only with his wor
ds. After I kicked his butt he never laid another hand on me.”

Dylan pulls me back and smiles down at me proudly, “My little fighter.”

“Oh, sugar, I
can’t
go back with you. My father will stop at nothing to kill you.”

“We’ve been through this. I’m not afraid of him. He took you away from me, your mother away from you, and he will pay. He can try…”

I raise my hand to slap his mouth again but he catches my wrist.

“No more of that,” he says sternly. “Now let’s go home.”

Dylan

The plane ride is long, but this time I welcome the solitude and the hours ticking by slowly. Up in the air
amongst the clouds, my angel and I are safe. I finally have her back and it seems surreal. She’s been gone for so long, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the idea that she’s sitting here next to me. Holding onto her hand tightly during takeoff, we stare into each other’s eyes. Her nerves are bubbling to the surface as she fidgets endlessly with her ring and her hair. The only thing missing from the equation – her tongue ring is gone.

“What happened to your tongue piercing?” I ask.

“It reminded me of you, so I took it out,” she replies.

M
y blood buzzes with the liveliness that I’ve missed during her absence - the energy of feeling alive again - the vigor of feeling loved again.

“When did you get a new jet?” she asks.

“After you left.”

“It’s much smaller than Sally II.”

“Yes, I like small,” I answer, kissing the palm of her hand.

I look straight ahead, recalling everyt
hing Isa told me and trying to come to terms with the fact that her father wants me dead. He sabotaged Sally costing me hundreds of thousands of dollars, and came dangerously close to accomplishing his goal. Mr. Ibanez isn’t the first man to want me dead, but because he has deadly secrets to hide, he’s much more persistent and what’s more troubling is the fact that he has the means to make it happen. As for Simons - he kidnapped my wife and attempted to physically assault her. I’ll deal with him first.

I look over at Sawyer who is
frantically typing on his computer. He stares up at me and nods in agreement of what I’m thinking.

Wondering about something, I ask Isa, “Why did you turn your phone on if you didn’t want to be found?”

“Because I wanted to see my beautiful Master for my birthday,” she replies sleepily. “I forgot to turn it back off after Simons brought the photos of you.”

“How fucking kind of him to do that on your birthday. Of course, he didn’t bother to elaborate and tell you the real reason that woman was
photographed with me or why your paintings were being sold, did he?”

Isa
ignores my statement and abruptly sits up on the edge of her seat. “Simons - he’ll know I’m gone and he’ll tell Papa. He usually stays around a few days after he shows up… Dylan…”

I unbuckle my belt and hers
, and pull her into my lap.

“Hush, pussycat. I’m done talking about that. I don’t want to hear
his name on your lips again. The only things I want to hear are the sounds of joy and passionate cries coming from your beautiful mouth.”

When s
he grabs my hand and kisses it, she sees her name emblazoned on my inner right wrist and looks up at me dazed.

“When did you do this?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Were you drunk wh
en you did it?” she asks worriedly.

“Perhaps a little, but I wasn’t drunk when I made the decision to have it done.”

She lets out a sigh of relief and smiles sadly. “After I left you, you still did this? I don’t understand,” she tears up.

“I love you. Nothing will ever
change that; not anyone or anything.”

“But
what about the photo of you with the blonde…”

“I tried to tell you s
he wasn’t my date - she was a representative for the Abused Children’s Fund. I donated your paintings to their charity auction because seeing them every day was just a reminder of having lost you. It was sheer torment. They were the only ones I felt were worthy of receiving the proceeds. I hope you’re not angry.”

“
Of course not, it was a wonderful thing for you to do. You’re too good to be true. I thought my birthday would be spent alone and that I would never see you again, but you came back for me. How could I be angry with you?” she tells me, biting into my neck.

Reaching underneath her and into my
pants pocket, I pull out her collar. “Happy birthday, pussycat.”

She gasps when she sees it and her eyes wet, a sing
le tear running down her cheek, “No, sugar, I don’t deserve to wear that. Not after leaving you in the hospital that day. You needed me and I left you.” she sniffs, pushing it away.

“You thought you didn’t have a choice. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did and said to you that day in the hotel or for asking for this back and making you sign those damned papers. I’ve been torturing myself for the last three months thinking about that day
and about how I left you alone and looking so fragile. I knew you were hurting, but I wanted to punish you. Christ, pussycat… you ruined me when you left. My work has suffered and so have my professional relationships. Sawyer, Jesus… poor Sawyer; he’s put up with so much. I don’t deserve either of you. Please, put it back on. You look so naked without it.”

She eyes i
t lovingly and touches it, skimming her fingertips over the metal buckle. “I lied to you that day. I won’t ever do that again. I’d rather tell the truth and accept my punishment than to lie and suffer the consequences like I have been for the last three months.”

“Tell me,” I prompt
, caressing her cheek.

“When I said we were better off apart, it was a bold-faced lie. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ever lie to you again.”

“I lied, too, when I said you weren’t worth the effort and by agreeing with you. We’ve both acted heinously and we’ve both suffered for it. Let’s just try to move past this. I’m not letting you out of my sight until your father has been dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” she asks, sitting up and looking fearful.

“No more about that. Present yourself for collaring,” I command and without hesitation, my submissive wife gets off my lap, turns and kneels in front of me.

S
he gracefully tucks her feet beneath her, places her hands in her lap and lowers her head. I suppress a sob at seeing her look so exquisite and compliant. Twice now I’ve had the privilege of seeing her like this and for the second time, I have the honor of collaring her. I place the choker around her frail neck, moving her unruly halo to the side and I secure it snugly onto her. Her left hand comes up and she touches it, gliding her fingers over the diamonds and leather.

Barely audible, s
he whispers, “Thank you, Master.”

***

Sawyer

Watching Isabel kneel in front of
Young while he places the collar necklace on her is the strangest and most erotic thing I’ve ever seen play out before my eyes. Their relationship is something I’ve never experienced – it’s intensity, obsession, and the sheer love they have for each other is like nothing I’ve ever known.
What is this bond they share?
I’ve loved before, twice now, in fact, but to share the kind of connection they have is something foreign to me.

I saw the
ir videos and just thought they were engaging in strange kinky sex, but seeing the way they’re interacting with each other right now, so intimate and tender, the scenes take on a whole new meaning. Young could’ve had that kind of sex with any woman he wanted, but he chose to marry this woman here in his arms, he chose to spend the rest of his life with her and be true to her despite her having left him. What they share is more than physical, I can see that very clearly now. They have trust and honesty, and open communication. The way Isabel confessed to Young about lying and never wanting to do it again… I need to know more about this lifestyle that they live.
I need to know.

Isabel rises from her knees and seats herself back in his lap and Young rocks her and whispers things in her ear, kissing her face and petting her hair, and Isabel doesn’t look helpless acc
epting his affection. Quite the opposite - she looks content in allowing Young to act in such a caring manner.

Feeling
like a jerk as I sit here gawking at them like a creeper wanting to know their secrets, I force myself to focus on the task at hand and locate Simons’ whereabouts. He’s still in Antofagasta and I regret having left before dealing with his worthless ass. I’ll keep a close eye on his movements and when he arrives back in the states, I’ll pay him a
friendly
little visit.

I grab the seat next to Young
and pull my fingers through Isabel’s messy, sun-bleached hair without even thinking. When I realize what I’ve done, I half expect Young to haul off and punch me in the mouth. I glance at him uncertainly and though he’s watching me ardently, there’s not an ounce of jealousy in his eyes.

“What you two did was the most
fascinating thing I’ve ever seen,” I say to him, feeling the need to tell him.

Young looks
perplexed by my statement.

“The collaring.
I’ve never seen anything like that. It was…” I stop myself, not wanting to sound like a pervert.

“Go on,” he insists.

“Erotic and beautiful.”

Young scans my face for several seconds, one side of his m
outh lifting in a lop-sided grin.

“Tell me something, Morrison: Do you know anything about what it is Isa and I do?”

“No, I don’t, and it’s not my place to ask.”

“I wish you wou
ld. You seem genuinely curious,” he counters, his eyes moving up and down my body.

Shit, here he goes again reading my body language.
Feeling uncomfortable with our exchange, I attempt to stand but Young reaches up, grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

“Sit. Let’s talk.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I tell him.

“If I thought you were prying, I’d tell you. So?”

“So
what?
”

“Do yo
u know anything about BDSM?”

“Just that there’s a lot
of weird equipment involved, freaky sex and pain.”

Young laughs
wholeheartedly and I can’t help but smile at his contentment. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this.

“Oh, Sawyer, there’s so much more to it
than that,” he beams, looking down at Isabel and touching her necklace.

“Go on t
hen, tell me.”

Young smiles widely and proceeds to educate me about things I n
ever knew were possible. He talks on and on about BDSM, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

 
He explains how Isabel submitting to him and allowing him to be her Dom was a gift. He goes on to say that clear and honest communication between a Dominant and a submissive who have discussed their needs and limits is of the utmost importance.  Deep down, I know this is how all relationships
should
be, but in the real world, very rarely are they. 

He
enlightens me about how contracts and negotiations work and the difference between a D/s relationship versus a sexual slave arrangement. Then he rationalizes his sadistic tendencies by tempering it with the fact that he would never hurt Isabel, or anyone, more than what they could handle or go beyond their limits, and that includes Erika.

It’s all fascinating and strange to think there’s a whole other world living this lifestyle and no one
really talks about it openly. I had no idea Young was so knowledgeable in this subject. I mean, hell, I know he’s a genius, but he’s always acted so juvenile and cocky, it’s been hard to get past those traits of his personality and imagine him as a responsible and caring person, let alone a Dom and husband.

Isabel wak
es up about half-way through the conversation and watches our verbal exchange earnestly, never interrupting.

“Isabel,
I’d like your input in all of this, as well,” I say to her.

She looks back to Young and he nods his approval.

“For me, submission was a personal choice, Sawyer. There was always something inside of me that wanted to submit, but not to just anyone, I wanted to submit to Dylan. Maybe he’s not the right Dominant for everyone, but he’s the right one for
me
. He knows my wants and desires before I speak them, and he holds my needs close to his heart. For those reasons, I take great pride in pleasing and satisfying him. I also take pleasure in the pain and punishment he gives me because I know he enjoys giving it to me and that he needs it. He’ll never admit it, but he’s also a very kind and generous Dom. But there’s no mistaking that he also takes his role very seriously. His hand is firm when necessary. I love Dylan and I accept that he is my Master, and I need and cherish the discipline that he gives me. His punishment is never done out of anger, Sawyer.
Never
. That night at the hotel, he had the opportunity to punish me in the most horrible of ways and I would’ve deserved it, too, but he didn’t. He’s such a good man,” Isabel gushes with glassy eyes.

“You’ve made me into a good man,”
he whispers, kissing the top of her hand and blushing.

I u
sed to get annoyed at the way Young seemingly bossed Isabel around, taking control over her and the way she allowed herself to be stepped on, but it all makes sense now. Isabel is no pushover; she’s a submissive, as well as being a strong and independent woman.