Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  In this interlude of self-awareness, Fleur acknowledged that she had no quarrel really with her life, as it was, at least not in most respects. But some differences would be nice.

  She had no quarrel with her home either, but was making no move to go there. Her father would worry, she really must let him know she was delayed. She pulled out her mobile phone to text him, but hesitated, unsure what to say. Why was she still here? When would she be home?

  In truth, the only reason she wasn’t on her way back right now was that Ethan was not there. He was here, at the hotel, but not for much longer. She would see him tomorrow, but they would not be alone. And she wanted to be alone with him again.

  To make love? Yes, certainly that. But that was not all, she now acknowledged. She had unfinished—no, scratch that—unstarted business to settle. Despite what she may have told herself in the years since, her private desires and most secret longings had gone nowhere. They were still within her, buried deep but surfacing fast. Ethan had unsettled her, challenged her, and drawn from her a sensuality she had not dreamt she possessed. But he had done much more than that. He had reawakened possibilities that she had convinced herself no longer existed, at least not for her. If she did not explore them now—with him—she might never meet a man whom she trusted enough to take this risk with. Even when he left Marrakesh the day after tomorrow, as she knew he would, she would have this to remember, and perhaps something to build on.

  But she needed him now, while he was still here. She needed him to show her what she had been missing, what she had denied herself for so long. And it had to be tonight.

  Her decision made, Fleur tapped out her message to her father.

  Staying at hotel tonight. See you tomorrow. Love you.

  Said Mansouri must have had his phone in his hand when she texted as his reply was almost instantaneous.

  Take care, ma petite. Love you too. Until tomorrow, then.

  Fleur smiled and hugged herself as she placed her empty coffee cup back in the saucer. She could always rely on her papa. And now, perhaps she’d found another man she could put her trust in too. She was about to find out.

  Chapter Ten

  He might not even be here. He could be having a meal somewhere in one of the restaurants. Perhaps he was not even in the hotel at all. But somehow, she knew he was close by. She would have felt his absence if he was not. Still, Fleur hesitated at the door to Ethan’s riad, her hand raised to knock. What if he had made other plans for tonight? He was not expecting her, so he might even have other company.

  She dismissed that notion. He would not have sent her the lovely flowers if he could then so casually bring another woman back to his suite. She was sure of that, as she hugged the florist’s box to her chest, a talisman of his esteem, if not his affection. But she thought that affection might not be too far off the mark. He seemed to like her and to care about her. He’d been kind, gentle, considerate, and something more besides, something she found harder to name. She thought she saw a tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her, an appreciation that went beyond lust.

  Her own feelings for Ethan were quite incomprehensible to her at this moment and she had deliberately chosen not to examine them too closely. There would be a time for introspection later. Right now, she needed to see him, to talk to him. She needed to ask him.

  She knocked on the door, quickly, before her courage failed her, then waited. Footsteps inside, soft, barefoot probably, as was the custom here. The door opened.

  “Hey, hello you. Looking as delicious as ever. But I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Ethan’s smile of pleased surprise and genuine welcome reassured her.

  Fleur’s heart turned over. Relief, certainly, that he was pleased to see her, but it was more than that. She blurted out the first thing that occurred to her.

  “Thank you for the flowers.”

  He tilted his head, a half smile on his lips. “You’re welcome. I take it you liked them.” He gestured to the box still clutched to her chest.

  “Very much. No one ever sends me flowers.”

  “They do now.” Still that smile, lazily sexy, as he leaned on the doorframe watching her.

  “I wanted to see you again. Before tomorrow, I mean. Is this all right? Could I come inside?” She was babbling, she knew, realizing only afterwards how needy she sounded. She hadn’t intended to crowd him.

  He didn’t seem to mind, just reached to take her bag from her. “Do you have a change of clothes in here?”

  “No. I did not think.”

  “Ah, well, we need to make sure you don’t get too rumpled, then. Don’t want you looking a mess tomorrow. Maybe you should come inside and get undressed.”

  Her pussy clenched and moistened. Fleur knew she did not have long before she succumbed to the inevitable around Ethan Savage. Still, she managed what she thought might pass for a witty reply.

  “That sounds most prudent, very forward-looking of you. But first, may I ask you something?”

  He stepped back and beckoned her in, closing the door softly behind her. He placed her bag on the floor then turned and backed Fleur against the door, his hands on either side of her head, the flower box pressed between their bodies.

  “What do you want to ask?” He settled his lips on her neck, her throat. Despite Ethan’s considerate suggestion regarding tomorrow’s wardrobe precautions, it was already too late to save her knickers. She would have to buy new ones at the hotel boutique and try to convince herself that the staff there might not draw the obvious conclusion.

  “I want… I mean, would you…?”

  “Probably. Is this a flying visit, or are you able to stay a while?”

  “A while. All night.”

  “Ah, that’s good. Very good.”

  He dipped his head to brush his lips over hers and, for a moment, Fleur forgot why she was there, forgot all about the important matters she needed to discuss with him. The one very important matter for which she needed his help. It was no good, she had to get the words out. He might not even want to kiss her after he’d heard her request. But she thought—hoped—he would.

  “I want you to hurt me.”

  Ethan stopped, suddenly motionless, his lips still against hers. He lifted his head, a slight frown now on his handsome features. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want you to hurt me. Like James Conroy.”

  To his eternal credit in Fleur’s view, Ethan made no pretense of not understanding her. He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Ah, your inner submissive fancying some fresh air, then. Is that it?”

  Not quite the way she might have phrased it, but yes, he was right. Fleur merely nodded.

  “I thought she would. Eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be so fast.”

  “It has not been fast. I have wanted this thing for years.”

  “I see.” He straightened, all thoughts of kissing now seemingly abandoned. “Come in and sit. Can I get you a drink?”

  “I do not want a drink. Please, will you do it?”

  Ethan regarded her silently for a few moments, clearly turning her suggestion over in his mind. His dispassionate expression made him appear cold even, and in that moment quite unlike the man she had thought him to be. Fleur’s heart sank. He was about to turn her down. He would be kind about it, because he was no Youssef. Neither was Ethan a violent brute—he would find a polite and courteous way to refuse. But refuse he would. She opened her mouth to plead with him, ready to sink her pride for this one chance. Ethan stopped her flow with one finger, simply raised it to ask for quiet. And he got it as Fleur clamped her jaws shut.

  “If this is what you want, truly want, then yes. I will. But first, we talk. So please, come in, sit and accept that drink.”

  Her head whirling at the ease with which he had seemingly agreed to this wild scheme of hers, Fleur followed Ethan across the foyer. He seemed to be heading for the living area, but changed course unexpectedly and led her into the courtyard instead. He gestured to the low seat close to the ba
bbling fountain and waited until she had settled herself there.

  “Water? Juice? I’d offer you something stronger but I really think you need a clear head for this conversation. As do I.”

  “Water would be nice. Thank you.” And her head was remarkably clear, considering.

  So polite. Fleur was struck by the incongruity of the common courtesies, given the direction that this encounter was about to take. She hoped. She sat in silence as Ethan strolled casually back inside to return a few moments later with two glasses of sparkling water.

  “Fresh from the chiller.” He handed one to her then took his seat alongside her. “So, tell me.”

  “Tell you? I do not understand.”

  “Don’t hedge with me, Fleur. If you want this to happen, you need to say it. Out loud. I’m reasonably certain I can provide what you need, but only if I fully understand what it is. So, tell me.”

  Fleur stared at the bubbles fizzing from the bottom of her glass to the surface, watched their effervescent sparkle for a few moments. “I want it all.”

  “All?” Ethan’s tone was soft, even. He waited for her to elaborate.

  “All.” Fleur raised her eyes to meet his, gaining in confidence at his serious expression. She had his full attention. She drew in a long, steadying breath then went for it. “I want to feel powerless and cared for too. I want to hurt, to be forced to do things I never dreamed of—wicked, sinful things I never wanted before but now I do. Does that make sense?”

  “Wicked and sinful. I’m liking the sound of this. So far, so good. Continue, please.”

  He smiled, and Fleur took encouragement from that.

  “I want to be scared and excited at the same time. I want to be told what to do and whatever it is, I will obey. I want to not be in control, not be accountable for my actions, for my responses.” She paused, hesitant, then continued, her voice little more than a whisper. “I want you to use me, to play with me. I want to be yours, no longer mine.”

  “I see. And do you want me to fuck you while I’m making you feel all this? Is that part of it too, for you?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “I’m relieved, but there’s no ‘of course’ about it. What you’re describing is invariably sexual in my experience, but doesn’t have to involve fucking. I needed to check. You said you want to be hurt. How would you like me to hurt you?”

  Fleur took a sip of her water, raised her eyes to his. No point in mincing her words. “I want you to hit me.”

  “As in, slap your face?”

  “No! Of course not. You would not do that… Would you?” She cringed, drew back from him as the realization dawned. Her memory rekindled the fear and revulsion of her marriage as though it were all happening again, right here and now. She’d been so sure that Ethan was different.

  Ethan shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t, so you can stop cowering over there. Despite what you might like to think, despite everything you just said about being forced to do things you never imagined you’d like, there would be no coercion in anything I might do to you. Nothing happens without your consent, and you can stop any time. Is that clear?”

  “What if I don’t want to stop?”

  “Then we won’t. I won’t. Unless I decide you’ve had enough and that would be my call.”

  Fleur frowned, uncertain how she felt about that. But the main thing was that he had agreed. So far, he seemed ready to oblige her and Fleur was seized by a compulsion to make it happen, to make it real. Before he changed his mind. “So, can we start? Shall I get undressed now?”

  “Christ, so eager. You scare me. You can certainly get undressed, but we start when I think you’re ready. When the ground rules are clear and you’ve had my instructions. You’ve told me what you want, and I get that. Some details still need to be ironed out, but I do get the general idea. So now, I need you to fully understand and agree to what I want from you.”

  “Anything. Just, I need…”

  “Tonight, love, you need good, down and dirty, sweaty sex and a serious conversation.” Ethan’s brow wrinkled as he heard her stomach rumble.

  Fleur remembered that she’d not eaten since mid-afternoon and started to apologize.

  He smiled wryly. “And maybe something to eat. It’s hungry work, being a kink freak.”

  “I am not a freak. I just—”

  “I meant no insult, Fleur. And if—when—we do this thing you seem so set upon, I daresay I’ll call you other things you might find strange too. Get used to it. So, what would you like to eat?”

  “I do not know. I am fine. Really.” Her head was still reeling from being dubbed a kink freak, and that being oddly okay. Ethan might be able to make the seamless shift to food, but she could not.

  “You are fine, if just the right side of skinny. You need to eat. Chicken Caesar salad, I think. I’ll get them to send up a pot of coffee too. We won’t be sleeping for a while.”

  He left her to do her best to unscramble her tumbled thoughts in the courtyard while he went to the hotel phone to order up room service. Fleur watched him stroll away from her, so self-assured, so confident. So terrifying. She trembled, her knickers quite beyond redemption now. This was going to be so good, he was going to be so good. She just knew it. She could feel it in her water.

  Shit, when your luck’s in, it just is.

  How could just thinking about a woman conjure her up like that? The last person Ethan had expected to find when he opened his door was a gorgeous submissive looking for action. And the very submissive he craved, the curvy female body he had wanted to get his hands on since his eyes had first met hers out on that dusty road. She was here, now. Wanting him to hurt her. His instincts had been right all along. He’d correctly read the stream of signals she had been giving off unconsciously since the moment they had met.

  His cock strained the front of his jeans and he reached to slip the button of his waistband, stopping himself just in time. His usual preferred costume for a scene was barefoot, bare-chested, and the button of his jeans undone. He liked his subs just plain naked. And tied up, of course. Gagged, perhaps, though he thought not with Fleur. At least, not yet.

  His mind raced. He had to get this right. He liked to plan his scenes carefully, in meticulous detail. He was not a seat of the pants Dom—never had been. Accidents happened that way and he’d never relished the prospect of showing up in an accident and emergency department with an injured submissive he would have to explain to some stony-faced casualty consultant. No, not his style at all. Planning, preparation, careful adherence to the rules were what kept subs—and Doms—safe.

  To the best of his knowledge, none of the hotels in the Totally Five Star chain offered a BDSM dungeon among the facilities to cater for the comfort and enjoyment of guests. Pity really, he might mention it to James. Not that he would have considered such a setting for Fleur. In any case, he instinctively knew that she would need privacy, seclusion, and very careful handling. A dungeon would have made some toys available, though, a few items of equipment that he might have found useful.

  Useful, but not essential. A good Dom could achieve the desired effect without the theatrical setting and props. Submission was, after all, a state of mind, and as much could be achieved with words as with a whip or handcuffs. But his little Fleur clearly expected something more tangible by way of a challenge to her pain threshold, so he needed to come up with something. He would do a little more shopping tomorrow.

  For now, though, he had other needs of hers to attend to. He called the Totally Five Star twenty-four-hour room service line and ordered the chicken salad, asking for a baked potato with prawns and creamy coleslaw to go with it. He was peckish too, so they could share. The efficient female voice at the other end assured him that the trolley would be with them in a matter of minutes, so he thanked her and turned to go back into the courtyard. Partway across the foyer, he stopped. Fleur was exactly where he’d left her, still clutching her glass, now almost empty. She looked tiny, frail almost. He had bee
n right to insist on feeding her first—she could stand to gain a few pounds in his opinion. If she’d been about to become his regular sub, he would have insisted on it.

  But there was nothing regular about any of this. Since he had first set eyes on her and everything she was, all she did had seemed distinctly irregular. She was not the traditional Berber peasant he had originally thought, far from it. Neither was she only the consummate medical professional, though she did a passable show of that. Under her smooth surface rippled wonderfully hidden depths that even she didn’t understand, and he was about to get to explore those. With her.

  His cock swelled and twitched relentlessly. Ethan ruthlessly subdued the drive to spread her on the tiled courtyard floor and fuck her senseless. At least, not until after the salad. Instead, he went to the fridge in his large living area and grabbed the bottle of chilled water before rejoining her in the courtyard. She glanced up when she heard his footsteps, a small, uncertain smile on her lovely mouth. He couldn’t resist leaning down to lay a soft kiss on her lips.

  “Okay?” He caressed her cheek, relieved as she turned her head to nuzzle her face into his palm. He’d managed not to scare her off so far. Still, he would need to make sure that she knew what he had in mind for her, in general terms at least, and that she consented to all of it. “Food’s on its way.” He sat next to her again and poured her another half glass of water. Hydration was good. Submission was thirsty work at the best of times, and especially so in thirty degrees of subtropical heat.

  “Thank you. I am not interrupting your work, I hope.”