Single White Submissive

by Madeleine Oh

  “I call that a memory,” he answered softly.

  She hadn’t asked, but he removed his gloves as well. His right hand, which she’d seen holding his razor, was as beautiful and graceful as she recalled. His left hand, though, was covered with a mix of thin white scars and shiny patches of scar tissue, especially across the palm.

  “When the truck exploded, I instinctively threw my arm up across my eyes. It probably would have killed me if I hadn’t. But that limited the third-degree burns to my cheek, instead of my entire face. And my arm. I also got shards of glass in my arm. They were so busy making sure I didn’t bleed to death, lose my hand, or lose my eye, they didn’t have time to worry about cosmetics.”

  He spoke in a toneless, matter-of-fact voice. Yet she could feel his pain and terror, the agony of being engulfed in a fireball, followed by the pain of recovery. Absently, she massaged her aching left hand.

  His gaze tracked her motion, and a wry smile twisted his lips. “Sorry.”

  Abruptly, the sensations stopped.

  She fumbled behind herself, searching for the edge of the counter to grip, scattering obscenely cheerful ducks in her blind quest for something stable and real to hold onto. “You did that. You made me feel…what you felt?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. It’s this thing I’ve been able to do since the accident. I picture something in my mind, and when I speak, people see it in their minds, too. For some reason, you seem to pick up on things even when I’m not trying to send them.”

  As he calmed down, the scar on his cheek faded to a dull pink, barely darker than his natural skin tone.

  She frowned. Was it fading because he was growing calmer, or had it faded because he was no longer transmitting a mental image of what he believed his scar looked like?

  This was insane. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering his explanation. And yet, it explained so many things she hadn’t even thought to question. If the accident had happened the way she’d felt it…

  She shook her head, and stared at him. If she believed him, that she’d experienced what he’d experienced, then he’d been driving alone in that car.

  “Who was with you when the accident happened?”

  “No one.”

  “But when we were rehearsing ‘Not a Day Goes By’, you said you’d lost your girlfriend in the accident.”

  “Actually, I think I said I lost my love.” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Gayle instinctively braced herself for whatever further revelation he was about to toss her way.

  “I was a jazz pianist. An interpretive singer and songwriter. That’s all I ever wanted to be, since I started taking piano lessons when I was three years old. I performed at music festivals around the world, and was just starting to build a real name for myself. My first CD had been released, to critical acclaim and decent sales, and I’d started working on a second one. I was sure I was one step away from success beyond my wildest dreams.”

  He swallowed audibly, and lifted his left hand, closing and opening it.

  “I can’t play anymore.”

  Gayle shook her head. “I heard your recording for Amanda Tiegg.”

  “Track after track of one note at a time, layered on top of each other. It takes forever, but when it’s done, you can’t tell they weren’t played together. I build the bass that way, then play the treble against it, and record the words last. You must have noticed I only play the right hand line when we rehearsed your songs.”

  “Well, your left is usually occupied.” She blushed. “I Googled you, and nothing came up about a CD.”

  “It was under Richard, not Rikard. The marketing gurus thought that would sell better. If I’d known it was going to be my only CD, I’d have insisted on my own name.”

  “Oh.” Quickly, she changed the topic. “What’s the other mask for?”

  “I had to wear it for two years after the accident, pressing against the skin of my face so that it wouldn’t grow back all knobby and gross.”

  “Didn’t that hurt?”

  “Compared to burning the skin off in the first place? No. Eventually, I found it comforting. The same with the gloves. It started as a pressure glove. When I no longer had to wear it, I found I wanted to wear a glove.”

  He didn’t say it, but she could hear the unspoken end to that thought. He wanted to hide his scars, from the world, but more importantly, from himself.

  She took a deep breath. “So that’s why you didn’t want to go out?”

  He nodded. “I knew wearing that mask would be lying to you. And that’s the real reason I didn’t want you to go with me on my trip. I knew you’d notice it, confined to a car for eight hours. You almost spotted it on our first date, when the latex adhesive started to come loose.”

  “Your lip wasn’t peeling.”

  “No. The mask was separating. The hot coffee, the steam, or both loosened the adhesive on the lip.”

  “Swear to me that that’s the only thing you’ve lied about.”

  Rikard blinked. “What?”

  “You lied about not being scarred. Did you lie about anything else?”

  He frowned, thinking hard. “No. Just about that, or anything that touched on that, like not being able to play the piano anymore.”

  “And since the secret came out, everything you’ve told me is one hundred percent true?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

  Was this the secret he’d tried so many times to tell her after they made love? Or had it been this lie that kept him silent?

  “Do you love me?”

  He blinked again. “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Do you love me?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged his shoulders and stared at his feet. “But I understand—”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “What?”

  She smiled, and captured his hands in hers. Both hands, the one clutching the safety and security of his black leather mask, and the one revealed in all the scars of reality.

  “If you don’t stop saying ‘What?’ I’m going to think that accident affected your hearing.”

  His mouth moved, but he stopped the word before he actually spoke it.

  “As I was saying, you don’t understand. I love you, too. Or I’m pretty sure I could, if you let me close enough to find out. Will you do that?”

  His eyes widened. Without his mask in the way, she could see that the scar pulled down the corner of his eye, which was why his left eye wouldn’t open as wide as the right one. “But I lied to you.”

  “Yes. You did. Are you going to do it again?”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay, then.”

  He blinked rapidly. “You’re not leaving?”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  She released his hands, stepped forward, and cradled his face in her palms. He stiffened, eyes wide in panicked alarm that slowly changed to wonder as he realized she was not reacting with horror to the touch of his scarred flesh.

  Leaning in, she brushed his lips lightly with her own, sealing her pledge.

  “Now, can I finally get to spend time with just Rikard, instead of Master Rikard?”

  “Whatever you want.” He held out the mask to her. “I don’t have to wear this if you’d prefer.”

  “Keep it. I think it’s kind of sexy. Just don’t wear it when we’re not actually playing.”

  “You really don’t mind…?” He gestured weakly toward his cheek.

  “Honestly, it’s not as bad as you think it is. When you’re not upset, it’s hardly even noticeable. And even when it is, it’s no worse than a birthmark would be.”

  “You’re amazing. You have no idea. What can I do for you to show you how much this means to me?”

  “Well, I am kind of hungry. And breakfast smelled delicious.”

  “Shit!”

  That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Before he could elaborate, the strident bleep of the smoke alarm made his explanation for him
.

  “Go!” She shoved him toward the door.

  He raced for the kitchen, and whatever disaster had occurred there. Idly, she wondered if his racing to clean up kitchen disasters caused by her distracting him was going to be a pattern of their lives together. Considering how much she usually enjoyed his distractions, she kind of hoped so.

  Bending down, she picked up the mask he’d dropped in his flight. She cleared a space among the fallen ducks, and set the mask on the vanity counter. They weren’t going to need that. Not today. But tonight…she was in the mood for a pirate captain and a very saucy lady.

  The End

  About the Author

  Email: yeep@aol.com

  Website: www.jenniferdunne.com

  Jennifer welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Ave., Akron, OH 44310.

  Also by Jennifer Dunne

  Hearts of Steel anthology

  Hot Spell anthology

  Luck of the Irish anthology

  Party Favors anthology

  R.S.V.P. anthology

  Sex Magic

  Tied With a Bow anthology

  Gia In Wonderland

  Dominique Adair

  For Zach—if there was ever someone who could use a good spanking…

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Lexus: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha Corporation

  Pellegrino: San Pellegrino S.p.A

  Chapter One

  “This one is so you.”

  Gia forced open one heavy eyelid, mentally cursing the decision to ask her friend Constance to join her for the afternoon. So much for having a relaxing spa day as the other woman never stopped talking long enough to draw breath, let alone unwind. She stifled a yawn. No wonder Connie’s own brother, Rick, affectionately called his sister “Constance Chatterley”.

  “What are you going on about, cara?” Gia’s voice was slurred and her faint Italian accent thicker than normal—a side effect of the heavenly sea salt and lavender massage Connie had just interrupted.

  “An ad in the personals section. It’s as if this man wrote it with you in mind.” Clad in a fluffy terrycloth robe, the other woman walked toward her with a newspaper in one hand.

  “Since when do you read the personals?”

  “I always have.” Connie waved the paper at Gia. “There are some really twisted people out there and it makes me feel better about my sexual perversions.”

  Gia rolled her eye. “Uh-huh. And you think one of those twisted people wrote a personal with me in mind? Thanks but no thanks, cara.” She allowed her eye to slide shut. “Only you would be reading the personals when you should be enjoying the mud room,” she muttered.

  “Yeah, well, one of us has to make an effort to get you laid,” Connie drawled. “It’s been so long since you’ve had anything other than battery-operated sex that your cherry has probably grown back.”

  Gia’s masseur and close friend, Tyler, laughed then quickly tried to disguise it as a cough when she raised her head to glare at Connie.

  “It isn’t the getting laid part that I have a problem with,” Gia said. “If I wanted straight vanilla, missionary sex, hell, that’s available any time. All I need is ten minutes in a club and I can find some stud to prove his manhood.”

  “And if you’re really lucky you might find someone who is proficient in up against the wall monkey sex,” Tyler murmured. “My personal favorite.”

  Connie laughed. “Naughty boy. You get more sex than the both of us and I’m married.”

  “Well, I don’t like to brag…”

  Gia shook her head. “Let’s face it, cara, finding a good, reliable bondage partner is hard to come by.” She resumed her former position and settled her cheek against her crossed arms. “There has to be a certain level of trust in a relationship before it can progress into the bedroom. It just isn’t that easy to find a good Dom.” Tyler applied more lotion then began massaging her shoulders to work the oils deep into her skin. She groaned when he hit a sore muscle. Damn, she loved this man.

  “Which is why I grabbed this to read.” Connie held up the front page of the newspaper so Gia could see the title. It was a copy of The Rose and the Thorn, a local bondage paper.

  “And what does your husband think about you still reading that, cara?” Gia’s brow rose. “Now that you’re off the market you need to give up your twisted pastimes.”

  “As if.” Connie shook her blonde head. “He doesn’t care since The Rose contains informational articles about the latest bondage toys. You know Len, he’s always up for in-depth research.”

  Gia snorted.

  “Hush now.” The other woman straightened the paper. “Listen to this one, I swear it was written just for you. Artistic, Single, White, Dom looking for a Submissive Alice for some adventures in Wonderland. Dark-haired, non-smoker—”

  “Maybe I should dye my hair blonde,” Gia mused.

  “—who is into Brazilian bikini waxes, spanking, bondage, fantasy games and multiple orgasms.”

  “That last part sounds pretty good,” Tyler rumbled.

  “And you already have the waxing part covered thanks to Madame Ruska,” Connie said. “You’re all set.”

  Gia shook her head. “I’m hardly an Alice in Wonderland type.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Tyler dug his fingers into her upper arms eliciting another groan from her. “I can see you tumbling down the rabbit hole in your best bondage wear.”

  “There’s a number at the bottom of the ad.” Connie held out the paper in Gia’s direction. “I think you should call it when you get home.”

  “And I think you should head for the mud room, cara,” Gia shot back. “Your pores are clogged and it’s affecting your brain function.”

  “That might be, but at least I don’t sleep alone at night.” She waggled her finger in the air.

  “Well, I should hope not as you’re married—”

  “My Dom is waiting for me at home—” Connie continued.

  “Pffft!” Gia closed her eyes, determined to ignore her friend. “Go away.”

  “I’m lucky enough to be married to the most amazing man in the world. But how do you think I got that way, my darling? By dating men, doing the scene and actually going out in public once in a while.”

  Gia barely resisted the urge to grind her teeth. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t have some crazed fool chasing you around trying to kill you. You’ll have to excuse me if that makes me just a little hesitant to go out in public.”

  “True but that no-neck geek is somewhere back in California and you’re here in New York. No one is ever going to find you among millions of people.”

  “Tell that to John Lennon,” her tone was dry.

  “Smartass.” Connie dropped into a chair, a look of annoyance on her lovely face.

  “You really don’t get it, cara. You don’t know what it’s like to be a public figure and to be stared at and harassed, it can become tedious.”

  “I would imagine.”

  “You also have no concept of what it means to have your life threatened by someone you’ve never met. For the rest of my days I’ll have to look over my shoulder until I know for sure he’s dead and buried.”

  “But that doesn’t mean your life is over.” Connie leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. “If you’re careful there’s no reason you can’t go out for some fun and games.”

  “Merda!” Gia shook off Tyler’s hands then sat up, any hope for relaxation was long gone. “You still aren’t hearing me, Connie. Every time I go outside my front door I have to watch anyone and everyone who gets near me. The Los Angeles police were never able to catch le bastardo and he’s still wandering around somewhere possibly still looking for me. I will never, ever feel safe until he’s caught.”

  “And pays for ending your career.” Co
nnie’s voice was soft.

  “That too. He destroyed everything I was when he forced my car into that telephone pole.”

  “That’s not true, Gia—”

  “It is true.” Gia could feel the tension welling up in her chest and her hands began to shake. “Before the accident I was somebody, Connie. I was Gia Conti, prima ballerina with the largest dance troupe in Europe. I danced for kings, queens and the heads of state for almost every country in the world and le bastardo took everything away from me…”

  “But you still are someone, Gia. Can’t you see that?” Connie’s expression softened. “What you lost was secondary to who you are on the inside. Yes, you were a ballet dancer but the sum of who you are as a person was not your job no matter how much you loved it.”

  “You still don’t understand, cara.” Gia rubbed her forehead as she struggled to regain her composure. “You didn’t spend your entire life fighting to be the best ballet dancer and earn the most coveted position in a troupe, only to lose it less than a year later. Everything I ever wanted was on that stage and now it’s gone thanks to my shattered ankle.”

  “At least you can walk again—”

  “After many, many months of physical therapy. Trust me, I’m grateful every day that I can walk to the bathroom as I couldn’t do that on my own for almost six months.” Gia dropped her hand, her gaze meeting her friend’s. “In that accident I lost every dream I ever had for myself just because someone decided I was the woman for them. When he failed to get close to me he made the decision that if he couldn’t have me, no one would.”

  Connie rose and took her hand. “I admit I don’t know what it is to suffer that kind of a loss. What I do know is now that your body is on the mend, it’s time to work on putting your soul back together. You need to pick up the pieces of your life and a good place to start is to get out and back into circulation.”