Three and a Half Weeks (24 page)

Ella looks up at him, startled. “What—”

“Take off your clothing. All of it. Now,” he orders.

Her eyes open a bit wider as she leans over, slowly easing her satchel onto the floor, without taking her eyes off his; she’s prey, avoiding motion so a predator won’t strike. “May I go into the bedroom first?”

“No.” His voice was cold, brooking no argument whatsoever. “Do it here; do it now. No discussion, no hesitation.”

He could see the wheels turning in her head. With Ella, it’s hard to shut off that overactive brain of hers but he manages as long as he gives her something to worry about, focus on. Right now, he shows her his iron will to claim her full attention.

“What’s this all about, Ian?” Almost inaudible.

“I want more time with you. Starting right now.”

She forces out a feeble laugh. “We’ve been together, just about 24/7 for over a week now. How much more do you want?”

“More time but more…
everything
. I need to dominate you. I need to see your eyes dilate and your muscles give out as you surrender to me. I need to hear you scream from the fury of your orgasm.” His voice drops to a soft whisper. “What do
you
need, Ella?”

After t
he briefest hesitation, she answers, “The same will do.”

“Begging the question,
Will you?
Will you accept your nature, finally, and submit to me, Ella? Or will you continue to struggle against it for all you are worth?” His hands are on her now, helping her to disrobe. Hers are fumbling, inefficient; his are not. He strips her in less than a minute. “Come.”

Once in the bedroom, he points to the foot of the bed. “Sit on the end of the bed, in the middle.”

She complies as he reaches into his bag to get a pair of ankle cuffs. “You didn’t answer my question, Ella,” he says softly, as he buckles the cuffs onto each ankle. “Will you embrace your sexuality or will you continue to deny it?”

Her voice husky with arousal, she gives him a long, hard stare. “Why are you so sure it
is
my nature, Ian? How can you be so certain of me when I myself am not?”

“Experience,” he replies confidently as he attaches wrist cuffs. “I’ve been dominating women for enough years to be able to spot a submissive. I can usually identify submissive males as well, without too much trouble. They all respond in similar f
ashion to a sharp command by a Dominant, even without sexual tension. Any other questions?”

She shakes her head, chewing over what he just told her probably. “Good. You may not speak at this point unless you need to say your safe word. Do you understand?”

No answer.

“Ella, I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

She grumbles out an affirmative. He hides his smile.

After attaching her wrist cuffs to the ones on her ankles, he flips her over, gently pushing her head down onto the bed. When he spreads her legs wider, she is precariously balanced on her knees, having little or no control over her body in this position. “We talked about
anal sex. I’ve used a fairly large plug on you, in you, I should say. We’ll use another tonight so that next time, you will be ready to take me in. Yes?”

“Am I allowed to answer?”

“If you’re asked a question, Ella. Of course. I expect an answer.”

“It scares me.”

“A little fear is welcome. But it needs to be tempered with arousal, of course.” He hand moves between her legs and he laughs quietly. “And yes, you’re aroused by the idea, Ella. Does the thought of being taken that way excite you?”

A pause. “No, I told you: it frightens me.”

“Your mouth can lie, Ella, but your body betrays you every time. You’re very wet.” He thrusts a finger inside. “Are you sure you’re not excited by the idea of being taken from behind? Picture it, Ella. Your ass high in the air, your wrists cuffed at the small of your back and me firmly behind you, not allowing you to retreat, thrusting, filling, wakening all those dark sensations.” He laughs when she clenches tightly around his finger. “Told you so,” he whispers, kissing the base of her spine as his hands continue to make her body rev up.

When she moans, he replaces his finger with himself, after sheathing his erection in a condom. She has to passively take whatever he gives her because in her current position, she has no leverage, no purchase with which to move. He pushes out her legs even wider, balancing her so tenuously she must just accept his pace, his whims. Ian proceeds to tease her, keeping his rhythm erratic so she can’t move too close to a climax—it’s always inches out of reach… and her frustration mounts as palpably as the layer of sweat forming on her body. How long will she tolerate the burn before she loses her temper? Not very long, he’d wager.

As he feels her muscles coil, moving into orgasm, he pulls out and stops, waiting for her body to calm. Her tension is building, like guitar strings tightened too much and threatening to pop. He begins again, and repeats the same cycle. And again. On the third time around, her willpower gives up the game and she whines her frustration.

Ian gets up and removes the plug and lube from his bag, returning to her when it’s ready to insert. “Take a deep breath, baby,” he says, “now exhale,” and giving her no time to think about it, presses it in against her natural resistance. “If you push against the invasion, it makes it easier and less uncomfortable, Ella. Try to remember that for next time.” Once it’s in place, he waits a few moments before moving. “How does that feel, baby? Is it okay?”

“It’s okay,” she manages to get out, her respiration drawing down.

Sweat is pouring out of him, dripping off his chin, running in rivulets down his chest; it’s strenuous work staving off ejaculation. Especially with the toy: it’s a much tighter fit when a plug occupies so much space. Ian knows he can’t hold out too much longer so it’s time to finally give Ella her well-earned orgasm.

“Let me know if there’s a problem, Ella. I’m going to go hard and fast now. Baby? Are you with me?”

“Mmmhmm. Do it.”

Grabbing the one part of her body he’d carefully avoided until now while she did everything she could think of to direct him, hand or mouth, to it, he pinches hard as he thrusts his hips forward almost violently. Her scream is worth everything he did to elicit it. “That’s my girl,” he says softly and he finally lets himself come on the heels of her satisfying wail.

I open my eyes and the room is pitch dark. For a moment I have no idea where I am but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I begin to make out the room and remember I’m in a New York City hotel with Ian. My hand reaches out for him but comes up empty. Sitting up, I look over but the other side of the bed is empty. It makes me feel empty too… so I go look for him.

He’s in the sitting room of the suite, reading some paperwork directly under a soft lamp. Soft music plays from the iPod dock on the table. He looks as melancholy as I feel right now.

“Ian?”

Glancing up, he stares at me for a long moment and then gives me a megawatt smile, lighting up the room for me. “Did I wake you, Ella?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so; I don’t know what woke me.”

He holds out his big, wonderful arms. “Come here, baby. I need to touch you.”

I walk quickly to him and fold myself into those warm, hard, protective arms, feeling for the thousandth time that there’s no better place to be.

“Is everything okay, Ian?” I mumble into his chest while staring into space.

“Everything’s fine, Ella. Just a lot of work to do always… and I’m tired.” He pulls his head back to examine me from a distance. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Fun?”

“When we played? Do you like it when I take control of you, Ella?”

I shake my head. I don’t know why exactly, but I feel like crying. He’s not going to let it go, though. If he did, he wouldn’t be Ian Blackmon.

“Ella?” His voice is silky but determined. “Yes? No? Talk to me.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel about it, Ian… but I do notice that when you’re stressed about w
ork, you come at me in full-on Dom mode.” I crane my neck to look up at him.

He just gazes back, his face impassive, eyes inscrutable.

“Why were you so cold?”

A weighty sigh escapes from him. “Cold?” he asks. I don’t answer and a protracted pause ensues, the quiet of the night closing in around us. Though we’re physically close to each other, a yawning distance begins to emerge, grow. It’s weird but I can actually feel him emotionally pulling away from me. I wait, barely breathing lest I push him even farther into the darkness.

A few minutes later, his cool voice perforates the wall between us. “I didn’t like the way you looked at Butler yesterday, Ella. I was reacting to that, I suppose.”

My head whips up, taken aback. What? Shit! I thought he’d forgotten but I should have known better. “I…”

“I’ve told you before and I’ll keep reminding you, Ella. I don’t share and I’m jealous when it comes to you. You’re mine and I would appreciate it if you remembered that when meeting handsome men.”

“But ugly men are okay to gape at then?”

He doesn’t laugh. Oh, for God’s sake, this man is too fucking much.

“Regardless. You had an intense orgasm. Isn’t that good?”

I feel a scalding heat rush up my neck to my face. “Yeah, well. It’s not the dominance I was reacting to, necessarily.”

“No?
What then?”

“You. You turn me on, Ian: your body, your gait, your eyes, your voice. Do you need any further elaboration?”

“Maybe just one more noun.” He gives me a wicked smile. “That’s nice to know, Ella. But tell me,” he leans closer and his voice gets rougher, darker, “doesn’t it make the experience better when you’re restrained, open, and completely at my mercy? You trust me, don’t you?”

I nod. Where’s he going with this?

“That’s all you need,
we need
, is trust. You trust me to do what I think best and so I will. That way we can both enjoy ourselves. Stop obsessing about semantics, anyway. It’s just the word and its implications that bother you, isn’t it? Submissive?”

This subject is tiresome already but he won’t give it up, will he? He wants what he wants but I’m a bit obstinate myself. I envisage a future of push and pull between us. Could be worse, I suppose.

“Perhaps. Yes, probably. If you were a member of a group that’s been subjugated by almost every society from ancient history to the present, you’d be a tad touchy when someone tried to do it again, even in the name of sexual gratification. Don’t you think?”

“Good point, a
s always, Ella.” His eyes shine with an unholy light. “But that’s not going to stop me from tying you down and having my wicked way with you, baby. Never. You’re my sexy girl, my lo…” He broke off.

What was he going to say? My love, perchance? Damn it.

“You’re mine, Ella, all mine. Make me jealous and I’ll make you pay… one way or another.” He tightens his embrace. “I’m getting very fond of holding you. Do you know that?”

“Me, too.”

“Mmm.” He kisses the top of my head and that’s probably the only apology I’ll get for his boorish behavior earlier. I hate to admit and will never tell him, but I kinda like it when he’s a bit nasty. Scary yes, but he makes me wet. There, I said it.

“So… you don’t think you like playing the submissive, then?”

“Ian, I’m not comfortable talking about these things but… I don’t think I’m submissive.”

“No? Would you want to tie me up and take charge in our next encounter?”

I squirm. He’s backed me up against the wall: if I say yes, then I might have to do it and it doesn’t appeal to me in the least. If I say no, he’ll say that means I’m a sexual submissive and I don’t like that label either. I try to avoid answering but of course he won’t allow that either.

“Well?”

“Let’s just go back to bed, Daniel… I mean, Ian.” I try to keep a straight face when I see the look I put on his, but I can’t and burst out laughing. To his credit, he manages to maintain a stern expression but I see his lips twitch despite himself. I grab his big, beautiful hand and lead him back to bed: I feel an attack of my oral fixation coming on.

Ian leaves the hotel early the next morning, promising to be back to take me to lunch but has to call to cancel. Dinner then. I’ve a feeling he’s going to have to return to Portland before I can go and the thought depresses me; I’m getting too used to having him around.

To cheer myself up, I decide to go hunting for new clothes—in what better place than the concrete retail jungle that is New York City? I head downtown to Soho to seek out some edgy boots and maybe a sweater or two. By the end of the afternoon, my arms are laden with high-end boutique bags. Um, I bought a few more things than I anticipated.

It’s always strange to go shopping now that I have real money in my bank account—I get a little shock every time I realize I don’t have to shop by price tag anymore. Often I even feel guilty, as if I didn’t really earn that money. The way it came to me, so much of it, so quickly, so unexpectedly, I feel like a fraud or a thief.

Then I think of all the women who have written to me in the last year, swearing I’ve saved their marriages and sex lives, telling me about the babies conceived because of my book… and bone-deep satisfaction washes through me. I can pull out that credit card with a bit more confidence, knowing I inadvertently helped a lot of people with my sexy little book and it makes me feel empowered. I didn’t find a cure for cancer or end world hunger… but every little step toward reaching self-actualization helps, right?

Picturing Ian’s face when he sees my new lingerie hastens my step in hurrying back to him. It’s the sexiest I’ve ever purchased for myself: a bustier and a matching—and skimpy—thong. Harlot red is the actual name of the color. The bustier pushes up my girls so I look even chestier than I am, and the thong… well, it’s a thong.

The dress I purchase to wear for dinner tonight is alluring but elegant: navy blue and tight, with a square-cut but revealing neckline, size 4. Can I say that again? Size 4! All this travel has helped me lose weight, not to mention being around exercise-mad Ian Blackmon. I also treated myself to a new pair of shoes to go with the dress. Ian likes stilettos—I guess every man with a pulse does. I never do find the right boots, though. The quest for the perfect boots must continue another day.

While I’m shopping I duck into an Armani shop and choose a beautiful cashmere sweater for Ian. I’d admired the one Daniel was wearing a few days ago and thought Ian would look great in it. I opt for a soft charcoal to set off his light eyes. Yes. He’ll look downright scrumptious in it: I can’t wait to get back to the hotel.

But he’s not there when I return. I lie down on the bed to wait for him but when I wake up almost two hours later, the room is dark and I’m still all alone in the suite. My pulse picks up as alarm settles over me like a mist: it’s not like Ian to be late without calling. Where is he?

I check my phone: three messages. Whew. When I play them my heart sinks: he had to go back to Portland today. No! I feel the ache in my gut instantly as I start missing him already.

I can’t call him because he’ll be in the air so I text him my unhappiness and decide to try to get some work done. Pulling out my laptop, I hunker over it, wondering if I should just order room service when my cell vibrates. I grab for it hopefully. Ian? No.

Lucien.

“Hey, Lucien. How are you?”

“Very well, Ella. It’s good to hear your voice. Is all well?”

“I’m still waiting to hear from the attorney. Nothing’s moved on it since last we spoke. Are you in Paris?”

“No.”

He pauses and I wonder why. For a moment, I think the call has dropped. “Hello?”

“I’m still here. I’m in New York, Ella. I just got in a little while ago.”

“Oh? So does that mean you’ll take over handling the legal issue?”

“Yes, I will. But before you head back to Portland, I thought we could meet with the editor and start making some preliminary edits with the footage we’ve already shot. We do have more than half the film in the can, so to speak. What are your plans for the next two days?”

“Um, well, Ian had to go back to Portland today… unexpectedly. So…”

“Oh? Well, then, why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?”

Is it my imagination or does his voice suddenly sound more upbeat? No, I chastise myself. Looks like I’m starting to buy into my own press clippings and thinking no man can resist me, or some such nonsense. Lucien’s just being nice and I’m actually happy to speak to him. I’m so depressed that Ian left without time for even a goodbye that distracting myself with Lucien and work sounds like a good idea. “Yes. I’d like that. Where and when?”

“I’ll pick you up at your hotel and we’ll decide from there. Weekdays are usually doable without reservations. Text me your hotel info, Ella, and I’ll be there at seven. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, absolutely. See you then, Lucien.”

I disconnect the call, my mind racing a hundred miles a minute. I know Ian wouldn’t be pleased to know I’m having dinner with Lucien but he is my boss or colleague or whatever we are. And Ian’s not here. Justified or not, I feel abandoned and dinner with Lucien seems a far better choice than the pity party I’d planned for myself, complete with
Ben & Jerry’s
New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream… and straight-up tequila. I’ve done it before certainly and I can’t recommend it. Not only do you feel disgustingly slothful the next day, but you also have a killer hangover, and hair of the dog never works with tequila. I go back to my laptop but I can’t concentrate because I miss my Ian so much, it actually hurts. Oh, boy, am I in trouble.

At precisely seven, Lucien appears in the lobby of my midtown hotel. Hmmm. I have to admit I’d forgotten just how attractive the man is. His blond hair has gotten longer since first I met him and again he has it neatly tucked behind his ears but he’s grown a goatee in the last week or so since I’ve seen him, lending him a slightly sinister look… sinister but likeably so. He’s wearing dark blue jeans, a dark silk shirt, and a black leather car coat—very much the young urban hipsterish
whatever
. Or perhaps some would uncharitably call it the Euro-trash look?

“Ella!” He steps over to greet me, kissing me on both cheeks. “You look great. How was Tokyo?”

“Really…” I reach for the right word, “fascinating; I just wish we’d had more time to explore. Any updates for me?”

“None since we last communicated. Everything’s going according to our timetable. A few blips, here and there, but those are to be expected. I have some news, however, but let’s scout out a restaurant first.”

He takes my arm and links it through his. I know if Ian saw him do that, he’d have a coronary, but I’m unsure how I personally feel about it. Do I tend to overreact about these kinds of things?

If I asked Mariah, she’d roll her eyes and tell me to get over it, that he’s just being friendly. If I asked my childhood friend Carrie, she’d say it was definitely inappropriate,
overreaching
is how she’d put it. I’m somewhere in the middle: it wouldn’t overly bother me if it weren’t for the fact that I know it would massively piss off Ian. But he’s not here now… so I smile and say nothing.

Walking outside, I shiver and pull up the collar of my jacket. The air has a biting chill, a definite promise of the winter fast approaching. We walk a few blocks uptown, ending up at a small Japanese restaurant famous for its soba noodle dishes. The ambiance is perfect: small, intimate even, yet not romantic. The lighting is high and the tables are situated close together, inhibiting any PDAs among diners. As soon as we’re seated, my phone starts singing. I don’t even have to check to know who it is and as usual, his timing is perfect.