Three and a Half Weeks (32 page)

“What? You must be crazy if you think I’ll thank you for hitting me, Ian.”

Before she can get another word out, he yanks down her panties without ceremony. Now she’s standing in her black sleeveless sweater, and high-heeled boots, her skirt in a heap on the floor. Seeing her in nothing but those sexy boots does things to Ian and he gets so hard it hurts. He may not last through her spanking, but he’ll do his best.

“Tell me why I’m spanking you.”

“Because you’re an asshole,” she says so sweetly.

Smiling, he swings his hand back and slaps her right cheek hard, stinging his hand.

“Ow!”

“Try again. Why?”

“Because you think you’re God?”

He swats her left side.

“Hey, that hurt!” she whines.

“That’s the point, isn’t it? One more time and then I’m just going to let loose on you, Ella. Why am I spanking you?”

“Because I didn’t run away from Lucien. I acted like a mature adult with a modicum of compassion and let him attempt to explain what happened to me on that very scary day and night.”

Now he gives into his fear for her safety and whales on her backside. She yells out
just once after quite a few nasty swats.

“Shall
I stop?” he asks politely.

She doesn’t answer but her hips sway so he
takes that as tacit approval. Her mind and body are at war when it comes to his domination but her body usually wins. He gives her three more swats with a lighter touch and then yanks her up, spins her around, and kisses her with abandon. She won’t open her mouth to him so he nips and licks her lips. Still, Ella keeps her mouth tightly closed so he moves to her neck and his hot mouth latches on, sucking hard and then biting down.

“What’s wrong with you?” she says sharply as she attempts to pull back. “That really fucking hurt!”

“Yes, I’m aware—again, that was the point. You wouldn’t kiss me. Are you mad at me?”

“Damned straight. If you stick your tongue in my mouth, Ian, I promise you I’ll bite it off.”

“Really? Do you know that you’re sending me mixed signals, Ella? Your face and mouth are telegraphing anger but your body is screaming for more. My money says you’re dripping wet with want. Care to make a bet?” He could hear the hunger in his own voice as he speaks to her. Can she?

“Fuck you, Ian. You’re not checking.”

“Oh, I’m checking, baby.” Tangling his fingers in her glossy hair, he slides his other hand between her legs and his fingers slip effortlessly past the outer to the inner. “His broad grin is triumphant as he whispers into her ear, “Told you so.”

She glares at him but says nothing.

“Now… say thank you to me for caring enough to punish you, Ella.”

Her startled eyes could not open any wider; she simply is unable to believe the things coming out of his mouth. “Dream on.”

He grinds his hips against her, smiling wickedly because he knows Ella’s frustration is mounting and feeling his hard-on is making her hotter. Her fingers begin to unbutton his pants but he pulls back out of her reach, his hands weaving through her hair, massaging her scalp. “I’m waiting for the thank-you, baby.”

“Ian, you’re not getting one, not today. I did what I thought was right. Sometimes you’re going to have to bite the bullet and trust other people’s judgment, particularly mine. I know it’s difficult for you but if you stay with me, you’ll learn. Now forget the
thank-you and just do me already.”

He turns her around and pushes her down on her knees with her chest resting on the bed,
one hand still holding her hair. He doesn’t want to let go: he wants her to feel the unbroken connection until she comes, so he fumbles with his fly with his free hand, jerking his pants down only far enough to liberate his rock-hard erection. He reaches around and finds her breast, massaging it and tugging her nipple just to the point of gentle pain, as he uses his knee to spread her legs wider. “Don’t move, Ella. Stay perfectly still,” he orders as he thrusts inside her. He reaches around to massage her in front in counterpoint to his thrusts, kissing her neck up and down.

“Don’t come.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Ian, I can’t.”

“If you come, I’ll spank you again.”

He flips Ella around to watch her face as she struggles to stave off her orgasm but ultimately she can’t hold it any more and with a throaty scream, she climaxes.

“Oh, Ella, you disobeyed me.” He lifts her leg and swiftly swats her sore backside once and then thrusts into her ferociously and she comes again, a look of utter astonishment on her face. At that point, he lets himself go too, unable to hold back a moment longer, and collapses, spent, on top of her.

“Will you marry me, Ariel?”

“You have got to be kidding me, Ian,” she says breathlessly. “Ask me again when we’re dressed and you’re on bended knee and I’ll consider it.”

She pushes him off her and rolls over on the bed, pulling the coverlet back and scooting underneath. Her back now to him, she turns her head enough for him to hear her next words. “Until then, I’m taking a nap. You can wake me when you get home from work.”

When no response comes
, she turns around and sees him standing there, his clothes now set to rights, just staring at her. She can’t read the emotion swirling around in the depths. Is it confusion? She just can’t tell.

She rises to her knees, crawls over and circles her arms around his neck, kissing him gently. The kiss speaks volumes: he knows in his bones that she loves him as much as he loves her.

When I wake from my nap, it’s dark out and the room is shrouded in dusky shadows. At first I panic, disoriented. Familiarity breeds comfort and I soon realize I’m in Ian’s bedroom. Instantly I calm, and check the time. Six thirty. Is Ian home yet? I asked him to wake me when he got home.

Stretching my body as far as I can, I feel so good: boneless—all sinew and muscle. Sex with Ian has that opiate effect on me. True, he went all Neanderthal on my ass—literally—and I allowed him to. It’s only taken me a year and change but I think I’ve finally figured him out: I now understand that when he’s stressed out and/or having problems at work, his dominance emerges big time.

When I first met him and he showed me his dungeon, I was horrified and intrigued in equal measure. Horrified because… well, that reaction probably doesn’t need
explanation. Intrigued, because I’ve always been adventurous and since I kept my sexuality bridled for so long, it was almost inevitable that I’d become a wild child, at least for a little bit, when I finally let loose.

But with Ian and his proclivities, I assumed it was part of his innate sexuality, an alpha-male need to dominate everyone around him, and a raging libido that required exotic measures to quiet. Perhaps that got my back up a bit, at least in the beginning, especially when he took a whip to me.

Now? Now I realize it’s not his innate sexuality, per se. He’s cultivated this kind of sexual behavior to make sense of his world and his place in it. It’s as if he uses sexual dominance to bring order to his world when his control is slipping in other areas of his life. In essence, he uses it as a coping mechanism. That revelation has allowed me to indulge him a little bit more, to feel less guilty that I’m caving in to his violent and macho tendencies.

I’ve also realized something about myself too and it was a difficult
revelation to swallow: I definitely do get highly aroused when he sexually dominates me—
sexually
being the operative word. It seems a strange disposition for someone like me because I think of myself as a strong and even forceful personality at times. Despite my strength of character or perhaps because of it, I enjoy relinquishing control to Ian when we are intimate. It’s the ultimate fantasy of the strong male stealing and carrying off the female to ravage—a kind of Bedouin harem fantasy thing—and Ian never forces it on me, always checking to ensure that I want him to continue. It’s a game, a dance almost, where he leads and I can choose to either follow or not.

The spanking? Confusing. On the one hand, it’s painful and he generally delivers it in anger—never a good combination. On the other hand, it is like a pressure valve for me: the whole ordeal with Lucien brought volatile emotions to the surface and then Ian and I had a very emotional reunion. Being spanked today allowed me to let off steam—he always says it will make me feel better. I used to laugh at him but he was right, as much as I truly fucking hate to admit it, damn it. I do feel better afterward, calmer and relaxed. Go figure. I suppose he feels better too, having vented his frustration on my backside. Win-win?

Then Lucien pops into my head. I try to banish him but he won’t quit me. Alright, I’ll give him his quarter through contemplation. Here’s the thing: his story was so unbelievable but they say truth is stranger than fiction… and in my case, it usually is—witness my runaway bestseller. Lucien’s body language seemed honest enough; I watched his every move. Growing up, my best friend’s father was a detective and he taught us interrogation techniques and how to tell if someone is lying. I used some of them on Lucien and no red flags came up. Still…

Even if his story is one-hundred-percent true, he still is not without culpability. Even if he didn’t know I was drugged—and the jury is still out on that one—he still touched me without my permission. I was in no shape to give consent so legally he sexually assaulted me. Further, even if his kidnapping story was true, why have thugs hanging around? Why not pay them off and get them out? It takes a thug to know one.

I won’t forgive him… but I probably won’t press charges either. Earlier I received a text saying my blood test results were ready and being mailed to me. I couldn’t call because it was too late in New York but first thing in the morning I’ll check.

But I already know; I know I was drugged. And it makes me scared. It makes me realize how safety is really just an il
lusion, a lie we tell ourselves. It’s something so tenuous that someone can come along at any time and drug or Taser you and that’s it—that’s all it takes to overpower another person. You wake up and you’ve been immobilized and you’re at the mercy of a crazy person, just like that. It’s that idea and the underlying terror it engenders in me that is pushing me to begin therapy. Soon.

The sound of an outer door closing interrupts my stream of consciousness and a few seconds later, the bedroom door opens. Ian steps in quietly, peering over at me to see if I’m still asleep: he looks anxious and I think I know why. He’s afraid of the aftermath of what transpired earlier. I’m not angry with him because I know his reaction stemmed from a good place, a loving place, so I smile and he returns it with a heart-stopping full-teeth beauty, causing my
innards to seesaw. The man is one of the wonders of the world—I guess the eighth one.

“How are you, Ella?” his voice is soft, like silk rustling on bare skin.

“Fine. Can we talk? Do you have time?”

“Yes, of course. I was planning on taking you out for dinner. Are you up to it?”

“Um. Maybe. Come here.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and I crawl over to him, snuggling under his arm. Mmm, he smells so good: soap and cologne and his own special scent. I inhale deeply.

“I like the way you smell too, you know,” he says with a shy smile.

Returning his smile, I reach up and caress his face: I love this man so much that my chest feels tight, so full it’s nea
r to bursting. I don’t want to break this small communion between us but I need to talk to him about this afternoon, share it with him so he can get past any residual anger. Hesitantly, I broach the topic. “Ian, about my conversation with Lucien…”

“Yes?”

“I just want to tell you what he said. Will you hear it?”

He nods but I can see the new look in his eyes, the very pissed-off look.

“Okay, so here’s his explanation…” I say, and launch into the whole saga and how he came to have the thugs in his employ.

“The kidnapping story sounds like utter bullshit to me.”

“Does it? To me it seems too farfetched to make up…” I choose my words carefully. “It could be true.”

“The royalty connection is a fact, however. I checked.”

“You checked? How did you even know about it?”

“Daniel. There’s something up with Daniel…” he hesitates, as if searching for the right words, “he seems to know things he shouldn’t. If he weren’t helping me so much, he’d be suspect. I think… oh, never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

“No, it will sound too crazy.”

“I love crazy! I’m dating
you
.”

He smiles and mirth makes his eyes extra shiny. “I think he may have… extra sensory abilities.”

“Like… mindreading?”

“Exactly like it. Yes. He seems to know everything, even before it happens. Anyway, he told me to take another look at the report I had run on Phillips. It wasn’t complete so I fired the security firm I was using and hired a new one. The new report was much more detailed and comprehensive. Remember that woman you interviewed in Venice?”

“Maya St. Sauveur. She’s his half-sister.”

“How did you know?”

“Lucien told me. It explains why she was so antagonistic toward him. According to Lucien, their father left his whole estate to Lucien and not her or her mother or his mother, for that matter. Sounds like a charmer.”

“Yes, well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?”

“Hmm. I’m getting the results of the blood test tomorrow—I’m already certain I was drugged. I have a history of severe reactions to drugs—I think I told you how I once suffered hallucinations from cold medicine. If someone slipped me something strong like Rohypnol, I don’t doubt that I’d have a bad reaction. Maybe all those things I remembered happening were in fact hallucinations.” I look up at him but he makes no comment and his face is devoid of expression. “Do you think?”

Shrugging, he pulls me closer to his chest and kisses my head. “Perhaps, but I’m not inclined to give Phillips any benefit of the doubt. I hold him responsible for everything that happened to you that night, even hallucinations. He should face legal redress, and would, if I had my way.”

“It is weird how he told me his whole life story by way of explaining his hoodlum bodyguards.”

“He’s trying to gain your sympathy, Ella, pure and simple. He admitted to me that he always had an ulterior motive.”

My head swings up so fast I nearly get whiplash. “What was his ulterior motive?”

Arching his brows, he says, “Can’t you guess?”

“Just tell me, for God’s sake.”

“He was interested in you, Ella. Romantically. He said every time he tried to get you alone, I’d foil his plans.” He grins wickedly. “Told you so.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I certainly believe it might be true, since you are rather irresistible. But as for whether or not it was his true motivation… I’m not certain yet. But I will be
, once I have all the information to put the puzzle together.”

“I’m surprised Lucien even talked to you considering how you artfully rearranged his face.”

“Yes, our Mr. Phillips was in a loquacious mood today, wasn’t he? Too bad he’s such a filthy liar.”

“Well, I’m done with him so there’s no further need to worry.” I stroke his face, hoping he can feel my love through touch—and I think he can. His eyes drift shut and he hums in appreciation. Reaching closer, I kiss his lips softly.

“I believe you mentioned that you want to go out for dinner?”

“Yes,” he says, shaking his head to recover his equilibrium, I suppose. “So get your lazy ass up and dressed so I can wine and dine you, Ms. Strong. I’ll be awaiting your divine presence in the living room.” He gets up and strides out of the room.

I take my time getting ready—I hadn’t forgotten that Ian asked me to marry him in our post-coital ecstasy. Was he serious? I wondered if he was going to do it properly tonight and what I would say.

Do I want to marry him? I look in the mirror and roll my eyes. Oh, for God’s sake, who am I kidding? Of course I do. I love the man and I’m only truly happy when we’re together. The positives far outweigh the negatives when it comes to Ian and I think I can make him happy, too. He just needs to ease up a bit on the dominance—
but not in bed
. That I like. If he’s willing to compromise, so am I.

Okay, make-up: I reach for the mineral foundation powder and puff on the barest amount. A little eyeliner and mascara, lip pencil and tinted gloss. That’s it.

Then I add a double diamond stud to each ear and pull my hair back in a loose knot. Perfect. See, Mariah? I can clean up pretty nicely. The specter of Mariah as fashion police reminds me I have to call her and let her know I’m back in Portland. We need some face time together.

I pull on a tight navy cashmere vee-neck sweater over a very short navy skirt. The sweater covers almost all of the skirt so it kind of looks like I have nothing on underneath. Going for the monochromatic look, I pull on navy tights and black leather ankle boot that have straps with big pewter buckles. I stand back and examine myself in the mirror.

No. I look like a coed on the first day of the fall semester, not a woman going out for dinner with her rich, gorgeous boyfriend who may or may not propose marriage to her. I quickly strip off the clothes I just put on and begin again.

First I don a black satin shelf bra that pushes me up so my cleavage is way more impressive—with the added advantage of ventilation for my nips. Going to Ian’s closet, I scan the side where I’ve left some of my clothes. This time I select a slinky vee-neck Merlot-red dress; it hugs my body as if it were tailor-made for it. I choose the diamond pendant Ian gave to me—it looks perfect showcased in the plunging vee of the neckline, dangling right at the start of said cleavage, and I slip on sheer stockings and four-inch black heels. The shoes are Ian’s favorites as they are not only stilettos, but they show just the barest hint of toe cleavage, which he finds sexy. I wrap a black pashmina scarf around my throat three times and tie it, and don a black coat the exact length of the dress, which I leave hanging open so the dress plays peekaboo. Now when I check the mirror, I nod in satisfaction. Perfect.

When I walk into the living room, Ian is on his laptop looking grim but he glances up at me as I enter and his eyes begin to shine.

“Beautiful, Ella.” Closing the computer, he stands and takes my hand, kisses it, and leads me to the hall where he grabs his coat from the closet. We go into the entrance hall to wait for the elevator.

The restaurant is housed in what used to be a crumbling old mansion, Ian informs me. Rather than knock down walls to make a large dining room on each floor, the owners of
Oscar’s
took that approach with the main floor only. On the upper floors, they left all the bedrooms intact and instead created private dining rooms, each decorated with a different Academy Award-winning film in mind. There is a room dedicated to
The Sting
, a
Gone with the Wind
room, my favorite and the one I want is the
Casablanca
room. They have
West Side Story
,
Mutiny on the Bounty
,
Amadeus
,
Lord of the Rings
,
Titanic
, and more. There are fifteen theme dining rooms, all told.