“Have you learned to leave women alone when they tell you to?” Calvin asked, checking his watch. The boy tried to nod, gurgled.
Calvin sighed. “It’s unfortunate, but I have a schedule to keep. I suppose I’ll have to take you at your word. Then again, as the boss, I have some leeway…” He didn’t release his grip until tears started to well up in the poor guy’s eyes. Christ, he’s strong, I thought. .
Calvin chuckled. “Well,” he said. “That will do for an apology.” He dropped his hand and the guy hit the sidewalk and curled into a ball, gasping.
Calvin took a step back, pulled some hand sanitizer and a handkerchief from his inside pocket and cleaned his hands. He turned toward me and ushered me toward the limo. I was speechless.
“Sorry about all this,” he said once we were settled inside. I wasn’t sure what to say. The man had upset me, but maybe seeing Calvin that way had as well… I didn’t know. I’d never seen anyone take control of another human being like that. Like the jerk was an animal, not even human.
Calvin rubbed my arm. “Did I scare you?” he asked, concerned. Mind reader, I thought.
“A little,” I admitted.
He turned me toward him. “Sabrina, I don’t tolerate aggression towards ones I care about,” he said. His dark blue eyes were serious. “I’m aware that some people may find my response… excessive. However,” he continued, “I’ve learned through hard experience that people who behave like that will not stop unless they are stopped.” He paused.
“So you care about me?” I asked him.
“Well, it is just a business arrangement, we both know that. But I did it so I guess I do.“
“Thank you. What worries me though is that you… enjoyed it.” I said.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “I guess I did Sabrina, I guess I did.”
There was just a hint of sadness in his face when he said it. He’s not a monster, I told myself. Denial or truth? I didn’t know. What I did know was that suddenly, I didn’t care. So powerful, so vulnerable; Calvin was both. With his arm around me, drowning in his cologne, weak-kneed from the confrontation, I suddenly felt light-headed. I leaned into him, and my mind flashed back to him taking control of me the night of my tantrum. Something like fear and something like excitement thrummed through me. My breath came faster. I put my hand on his chest to steady myself, and he took it in his own and kissed my fingertips gently.
Soothingly.
“Are you ready for Chicago?” he asked, gently changing the subject. “I’m looking forward to you seeing it.” I nodded. “Do you go there a lot?” I asked.
“Not as much anymore, but when I was a kid, my aunt used to take me every year for my birthday. We’d watch the Cubs play at Wrigley Field and eat pizza until we were sick. She loved to gamble, always putting big bucks on the game. Sometimes, we celebrated wins, but we weren’t always lucky. There’s always next year, she said when we lost. I think she liked betting almost as much as she liked winning.”
“She sounds feisty,” I said, smiling at the image of his aunt waving a wad of cash around, arguing with her bookie.
“Very.” Calvin’s eyes softened at the memory.
A short ride later, we pulled into a private parking lot, a private plane waiting for us. I’m not talking about a rickety two-seater, but a luxury jet, complete with a uniformed pilot standing at the bottom of the stairs to greet us. Whoa!
I stood blinking stupidly as the balmy night winds tousled my hair about my cheeks. Next to me, Calvin tried to yell an explanation over the bellowing turbines, but I heard none of it. I was just overwhelmed. Everything about this man is overwhelming, I thought, dazed.
“—twin CH700-2D engines, which give her a higher thrust. It’s modified for an increased fuel capacity and reduced fuel consumption, so you could say she’s got more stamina than the rest of her class,” he said, grinning. I couldn’t help smiling back; never had a man talking about his toys seemed so impressive. Then, most men didn’t have airplanes for toys.
“But the best bit is up here,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the front of the plane. I hadn’t been in a cockpit since I was a little girl, when a friend’s father had shown off the cockpit of his Cessna. I’d been impressed then, but that was nothing compared to now. He sat me in the copilot’s seat and explained some buttons on the console and about some special features he had, thanks to a friend in the Coast Guard. Most of it flew over my head—something about Doppler radars and imaging—but that was half the fun.
As I listened, I watched him. His eyes wandered over my body as he spoke. He punctuated his sentences with light touches, guiding my hands to certain buttons and dials, turning me to look at something else, moving me with the palm of his hand in the small of my back. His hungry look sent a shiver up my spine, though I did my best to ignore it and pay attention. Eventually, the pilot escorted us to our cabin and prepped for takeoff. I could feel Calvin’s eyes on me as I walked in front of him, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t push a bit of extra sway in my hips to show off on the way in.
Though the cabin wasn’t huge, it was still an odd thing to see. I’d never been on a private jet before, and the open space, the emptiness of it all, was foreign to me. There was a table by the windows, a pair of couches, and seats that actually threatened to be comfortable. He sat me on a couch and sauntered to a bar, a literal bar, where he scooped a pair of wineglasses and poured us drinks. When he handed me the dark red wine and motioned toward the facing seats, I couldn’t help feeling nervous. If only there had been something between us—a small table or a footrest even—I might have felt somewhat sheltered. I could feel no such thing there as he drew his gaze over my breasts, past my hips, and down my leg. I averted my eyes, but it didn’t help.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I blushed. I knew what I wanted to say to him; I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him to fuck me if he found me so good-looking, but I didn’t. That wasn’t what he wanted, and really, I didn’t want it, either. I’ve always been nervous about my first sexual experience, but somehow with Calvin it was doubly intimidating.
I suddenly felt very self-conscious of how I looked, how I was posed. Before it had been fun, cute even. Now, I worried. Was I slouching? I hadn’t checked my make up since the encounter with the jerk on the sidewalk… had my tears given me raccoon eyes?
“You’ve got nice legs,” he noted idly. I kept blushing. God, Sabrina.
“Side effect of dancing,” I said. It seemed a stupid thing to say, but I realized I probably would have felt stupid saying anything now. I thought I knew what he wanted, and I definitely knew what I wanted. If I said it, though, if I asked and he said no, or if he lost interest or thought I was too eager, I’d have to endure feeling like an idiot for the entire plane ride.
“And hands,” he continued.
“All the better to touch you with,” I said. Where did THAT come from, Sabs? I thought in a panic. A But Calvin’s face broke into a boyish grin and my anxiety evaporated. Making him smile, really smile, made saying something goofy totally irrelevant.
He extended his hand, and I put mine in its palm. The contrast between my petite fingers and his powerful fist as it curled around them was stark, but he was gentle as he leaned his face in to brush my hand over his cheek in a slow caress. His skin felt warm. He inhaled, and I realized he was smelling me. Self-consciousness welled in my chest, but I refused to pull away. Instead, I watched him, and that anxious energy turned smoothly into arousal. I felt like prey sized up by a sleek predator and, disturbing as the image was, I found myself excited by it.
“I like hands…,” he said.
I was puzzled and then the light clicked on.
“Oh… like you like feet?” I asked. Maybe Du Cheval had more than just helping out my overall look when he chose those shoes. I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or offended if he’d been putting my feet on display for Calvin’s fetish.
He nodded. “And e
verything in between,” he continued with a smile. “But hands and feet are very… exciting.”
Okay, Sabs, if you like this guy, say something.
“How does that… work?” I said. I pressed on, “I mean, most men… er, people, are more excited by… you know…” I stopped, not sure of what words to use for genitalia. Brandon and I had never talked about anything like this. I hadn’t thought of myself as a prude, not really, but I didn’t have much practice discussing these things in conversation. Thankfully, Calvin got the drift and saved me from digging a deeper hole.
He smiled. “I’m glad you asked, that you’re curious,” he said. “I think about them when I’m aroused; I think of touching, of being touched. I like the feeling of them on my skin, trailing over me.” The way his voice rumbled, the way he had my fingertips sliding over his cheek—well, I started to get the picture. “And your hands and your feet are exquisite.. Your skin is so soft. Just pressing it to my face like this, I…”
My lips pursed. I wanted to tell him to go ahead; he could have me touch his face all he wanted. He could have my hands, my feet, whatever part of me he liked as long as he’d have me. We were alone, and we were both so charged with that irrepressible energy you get right before something amazing is about to happen. I could feel desire coming off him in waves, and he’d have to have been blind not to notice that every muscle in my body was on the highest alert. I tried to meet his eyes, but he was elsewhere—if only he looked at me, if only he pulled me closer.
He took a deep breath and let my hand go. “That’s enough of that for now,” he said, with a mischevious look. Oh, god. Do I say okay, that’s enough? Should I press for more? I want to keep touching him….
“The more I look at your legs, at your toes, holding your hand and all that… well, it makes it difficult to control myself. I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he said. I almost laughed aloud from the absurdity of it. You overwhelm me just by breathing, I thought, but kept myself from blurting out. “How about we change the subject a bit? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
In the end, I decided not to keep my mouth shut. “I don’t think we should change the subject, Calvin,” I said, and his brow rose. “And while we’re on the subject of things you like, how about we talk about the contract?” I said, and the plane began to roll backward off the tarmac.
“The contract? What about it?” he asked.
“Well, maybe we could talk about…” I wanted to find a way to say it without sounding like a complete ditz and decided on, “Well, about what some of these things even are.” Which, really, didn’t come out as mature and informed as it had sounded in my head. He took it in stride, though, and I pointed at one of the lines.
“Like ‘foot worship.’ I’m agnostic, so I’m pretty open to the possibilities, but ‘foot’ definitely isn’t one.”
“Worship might be an extreme term,” he said with that easy smile, “but it catches the gist of it pretty well. It’s what I was getting at earlier. I want to touch your feet, to kiss them, to suck on your toes. Some men love to have a woman rub her feet against, well…” He trailed off.
That’s weird, I thought. But then I realized… I didn’t care. Sure, it was unusual… but, god, I just wanted to turn him on. If my feet touching his cock made him crazy… Hey, I could learn.
“Some men. Some men like you?”
“I suppose you’ll find out once you’ve signed that piece of paper. I’d think most of the rest is self-explanatory. I am in charge when we have sex. Oh, and just as I love feet, I love feet in shoes. I’m the only guy you’ll ever find who loves shopping for your shoes more than you do. ”
“I wouldn’t put money on that, Calvin. Either way, there’s one more thing on here,” I noted. His smile faded.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t get into that. It’s not something many people find arousing,” he said. “As I’ve made clear, nothing will happen without your consent, and that might be a little too extreme for you.”
“Please?” The paper had the words “erotic asphyxiation” written at the bottom of the list. Most terms seemed technical, as though they were from some sex dictionary I’d never heard of, but at least they sounded remotely sexual. I knew what the word erotic meant, and I knew what the word asphyxiation meant… but I wanted to know what it meant to Calvin.
“Well,” Calvin said, clearly choosing his words carefully, “it’s a method of pleasure where one… cuts off their blood flow to the brain at the time of orgasm.”
“What?!” I squeaked. I wasn’t disgusted, nor was I offended; I was shocked. I mean, like choking or playing rough, obviously I had heard of those things, but actually strangling… cutting off blood flow, not just… pretending. “Like till you pass out?!” My eyes must have been dinner plate sized.
“Not quite… but almost,” he said. . He had a smile on his face, like he was holding in a chuckle.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—would you want to do that with me? Or, uh, have me do it to you?” The image of me trying to choke Calvin as he was about to come flashed through my head and seemed inexplicably funny. My nerves were getting to me. I coughed, rather than laugh.
“Let’s just take things one step at a time,” he said with a smile. “Not if you say no to it, of course.”
“What else do you like to do?”
“A few other things, nothing as sensational as asphyxiation, I promise. What about you, Sabrina? What are your fantasies?” he asked. The plane began to rise off the ground, and we scrambled to strap our seat belts on. I used the time to think, because while I was comfortable fantasizing, I hadn’t really ever fantasized about anything… atypical, I guess. “I’m not very imaginative. My tastes are pretty standard. But I liked some of your ideas,” I said and slowly, deliberately, crossed my legs. I let my foot, in its black satin stiletto, dance in front of him. I let my toes sway left and right and watched with delight as his eyes followed.
“Naughty girl,” he said softly. “Are you trying to tempt me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Calvin.” I could see him starting to lean forward, “Ah-ah-ah!” I chided. “No standing until the green light,” I said, pointing to the ceiling and the red seat-belt sign on it. The conflicted look on his face was gorgeous—part furious, part horny, but all excited.
“You don’t want to do this,” he warned. “I won’t— I can’t— you really don’t want to do this.”
I only smiled. For the next few minutes, we sat—he breathing slow, heavy breaths and I letting my foot sway back and forth. I knew when the green light was coming; I felt the turbulence fade, and the plane stabilize. Even still, I couldn’t have possibly responded faster than Calvin did as soon as the light switched.
Just like that, we were kissing. My knee was against my chest, and his hands were removing my stiletto. I moaned in shock, but I let my arms fall over his shoulders, nonetheless. I could feel all the pent-up power behind his lips, the way he quivered as though he had half a mind to throw me to the ground and take me right there.
I can’t say I would have minded. His fingers stroked up and down my calf, under the sole of my foot, and up between my toes. It tickled, and I shifted uncomfortably under him, but in truth, it was so much more erotic than I could have ever imagined. Having a man’s tongue dominating the inside of my mouth while his hands explored every curve of my toes made me giddy. I felt worshipped. Just as soon as I got comfortable, he pulled away.
“No,” he said. “No. This is not the time, Sabrina. You’re not ready…” I held on to him, tried to pull him closer again.
“Calvin…” I said.
“You have a lot of things to work out… Brandon… your feelings about your family…”
“Brandon!” I spat. For some reason hearing his name, now, here, was all wrong. “Don’t you bring him up. Who are you, my father?! You wanted me for you, didn’t you? Brandon is probably fucking someone else right now anyway! He’s a slut. He has no self control.”
> Calvin sat back and wiped his face with one hand.
“And how will you feel, Sabrina, losing your self control with me?” he asked seriously. “Don’t get me wrong… I want that. But you have a lot going on emotionally. I don’t want you demonizing yourself over this. I want this to be exciting,” he said as he took my hand, “delicious,” he continued, kissing my fingertips, “and unforgettable. But I do not want to be the focus for some sort of… meltdown.”
I chewed my lip.
“Well… I’ll feel like a slut, too, I guess….” I said. I paused. “But…” I smiled, slowly. “I kind of like the idea of being a slut, for once… for you. It’s the first thing I’m doing for me.”
He stared at me for a long, slow moment. Then, it was as though I’d hit a switch. His arms curled around my legs, and he stood, setting me back on the couch. He began to kiss his way up my legs, nibbling on the on my calves. His hot breath caressed my skin, and his lips and tongue danced all over my feet. He licked my soles, sending me into fits of laughter; he sucked on each of my toes in turn, and I felt wet warmth grow between my legs with each twist of his tongue. I began to wonder whether there was really anything to this foot worship, or whether Calvin just had some sort of sex magic that made his every touch orgasmic.
He kissed his way up the top of my foot, rubbed his face on it, sliding his nose between my toes and, occasionally, pausing to nip at my tenderest spots. My toes weren’t the only thing soaked. I wondered if he’d caught a glimpse up my skirt and seen my panties…
“I’m going to tell you what to do now,” he whispered. “And I know you’re insecure about sex so we’re going to take it slow. But, remember, Sabrina, there’s nothing wrong with this, what we’re doing is completely natural, and it is what we both want. Understand?” I nodded, unable to speak.
“Stand,” he ordered. I didn’t even think to disobey.
His hands slipped under my dress straps and flicked them over my shoulders. Underneath, I wore the laciest, sexiest underwear I could find, and he seemed to appreciate it. His hands snaked under my armpits and curled over my breasts, peeling the bra away to expose my nipples to the black, starry sky. My hands reached behind me and grabbed at the fabric of his suit as he kneaded and caressed me. I felt something hard against my ass, and I rubbed against it. The hands pinched, and I gasped.
Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 Page 12
