by Multiple
Besides, I tried to reason with myself - this experience was going to be good for me. I’d always told myself, somewhat aggressively, that I was perfectly happy with my ordinary vanilla sex life. But in reality, I was curious. I couldn’t deny it anymore.
I felt like I was missing something.
And whatever it was, Dalton Alexander had it in spades.
I’d been standing here, stock-still, for so long that my back was starting to ache. I consciously tried to relax my posture, but it was hard. Something about this man made me feel like I had to present myself for military inspection. Not that my black mini-skirt, two-inch heels and silky blouse were really up to the task.
Spanking. That was a great example of my pathetic inexperience. It was so commonplace, I felt like - so last decade, that people were joking about it. Even the most unadventurous couples in the world had probably experimented with some light corporal punishment. But me? God, what a sad story. If Dalton knew my sexual history, he’d laugh right in my face.
He wouldn’t be so intimidating if he wasn’t so damn sexy.
I heard the doorknob rattle, and my heart leapt. Clearing my throat, I straightened my skirt and tucked some flyaways behind my ears. It wasn’t even windy, but the stupid drafts in the subway tunnels always sent my disobedient hair into a tizzy.
As the door swung open, I remembered Madison’s climax on the train, at Dalton’s command.
“Good afternoon,” said the man himself, with a smile and a welcoming gesture. “I’m so sorry, I came as fast as I could.”
Before I could stop myself, I was raising an eyebrow at his claim. “So you weren’t just standing there, watching me?”
His smile took on a certain crooked quality. “Do I really strike you as that kind of person?”
“Absolutely, Dalton,” I said, stepping into his foyer. “Absolutely, you do.”
He just laughed, leading me into his sumptuous library.
“I have to admit, I was half-expecting you wouldn’t show up,” he said, as I took my seat across from his desk. “A lot of people would have run screaming for the hills, the moment I said the word ‘cock.’“
To my credit, I didn’t even blink.
“Well, Dalton, this was described to me as a job ghostwriting erotica. If I didn’t want to hear about cocks, I wouldn’t have accepted in the first place.” I tugged my skirt a little. Damn, this thing was shorter than I remembered.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” said Dalton. “Too early for wine?”
“A little bit, I think.” Eyeing the bottle with a frown, I wondered if he’d be offended. “For me, I mean. Please, don’t let me stop you.”
He shot me an amused look as he poured himself a glass. Like anyone had ever stopped him from doing anything he wanted to do. Like I ever could.
I felt, by turns, slightly embarrassed, slightly infuriated, and slightly...
No. No, it was far too early for that. He hadn’t even started talking dirty yet.
“Do any of your stories take place in here?” I blurted out, before I could rethink the wisdom of the question. Dalton’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he sat down.
“Yes,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. His eyes searched my face, and I just looked back, as coolly as I could manage. I didn’t know what had possessed me to ask, but now, I was burning with curiosity.
Yeah, curiosity. That was it.
“I can tell you one now, if you like,” he said. “But I was going to tell you about one of those rooms downstairs.”
He was teasing me. At our last meeting, he’d briefly mentioned two locked doors in his...play dungeon, or his training room, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He alluded that they led to some special rooms that many people never got to see, but he’d refused to tell me exactly what, explaining that it would be part of a future story.
“Just tell me both,” I said, knowing full well that he’d refuse. I opened my notebook, smoothing the pages and waiting for his inevitable response. When he stayed silent, I looked back up.
The mischievous glint had briefly dulled in his eyes. “Do you really want to know now?” he asked. “Or do you want to find out, when the time is right?”
It was an earnest question, and one that asked more than it seemed to on the surface. He was asking me if I wanted to play along. He was acknowledging, without really acknowledging, that he was toying with me and that he liked it, and he was pretty sure I liked it too. All the smiles, the glances, the gentle flirting that cultivated the natural tension in a room between two people talking about sex. He was letting me know that it wasn’t a mandatory part of working with him.
He was giving me the opportunity to set a boundary. And if I was smart, I would take it.
Instead, just like I’d done when I decided to take this job in the first place, I acted on impulse.
“Fine,” I said. “Tell it your way.”
Dalton smiled, indulgently. I thought I detected a hint of relief in his eyes - deep gray, flecked with green. I made a note of that. Readers always liked to know about the color of someone’s eyes. I’d have to remember to ask about Madison. Were her eyes like mine, I wondered? Boring, unremarkable brown?
“Then you still have to choose,” he reminded me. “The secret room, or this one?”
The thought of hearing a story that took place in this very room, maybe on this very cushion where I sat, sent a dangerous tingle through my body. It was probably a bad idea. Scratch that, definitely a bad idea.
And I was going to do it anyway.
“This one,” I said. “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
He smiled. “It’s quite a good story, actually. I think the readers will like it.”
I took a deep breath, rested my forearms on my thighs, and let his voice lull me into a breathless trance.
***
Dalton:
Some people submit more readily than others.
Lauren is a perfect example of the antithesis of women like Madison. I don’t know that I believe in the concept of “natural submissives,” but if there is such a thing, Lauren was about as far from that type as you can get. But sometimes, the power struggle can be just as intoxicating as the instant trust and surrender.
She knew exactly who I was. I’ve never kept my kink a secret, exactly - it’s just that most people don’t bother to dig it up. But Lauren did. She had a good reason to, and I didn’t begrudge her the knowledge one bit. I could tell that it flustered her a little, even though she pretended that it didn’t.
Lauren was a lawyer. A good one. She was representing a former employee of some company that’s owned by a company that’s owned by a group of shareholders who were all too happy to point the finger at me. I’d never met the man before the papers were served, but it didn’t matter. Technically, he was my employee. Technically, the best thing to do was to settle out of court.
Lauren had me over a barrel, and she knew it. And she liked it - a little too much for my tastes.
She was tall and slender, clear green eyes, perfect skin, as severe with herself as she was with other people. If a blemish appeared on her cheek, she’d probably just stare it into submission in the mirror. Nearly everyone was afraid of her.
But I wasn’t.
During one of the interminable mediations, I noticed something. She was acting strangely. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, even through the many layers of expensive makeup. Her eyes kept darting to me and then quickly back to her papers again, especially when I looked up.
I was making her nervous. I never had before. QED, she had new information about me. And there was only one thing in my private life that would make a woman blush like that.
Lauren tried to cultivate a severe look - the heavy makeup, smoothly styled fire-red hair pulled back into a tight bun, and a permanent frown. But it wasn’t innate. She’d become this way, out of necessity, I suspected. She needed to be taken seriously. I took her very seriously indeed. But her flustered reaction to my secret
life was amusing, nonetheless.
“Mr. Alexander, if you’ll refer to the transcript of the July 8th call...” She swallowed audibly, then glanced at me. “...I’ll think you’ll find that’s been adequately addressed.”
She might be flustered, but she wasn’t allowing herself to be distracted. I found myself wondering what would distract her.
“I can see why your client would like to think that,” I said, shucking off my jacket and draping it over the back of my chair, without turning to look. I kept my eyes fixed on Lauren, willing her to back down. To surrender.
She let out small, humorless laugh. “He’s not the one who’s deluded here, Dalton.”
“Excuse me.” My lawyer cleared his throat. “Please address the defendant as -”
I lifted my hand to silence him. “It’s all right, Mark. Thank you.” Still, I didn’t let my gaze waver from Lauren’s face. “We’ve been at this for months now, might as well dispense with the formalities.”
“All the same.” Mark’s semi-permanent frown had deepened a little. “We’re not going to get anywhere if the opposing counsel can’t address you in a respectful tone.”
He was staring at Lauren too, but she only had eyes for me. Very deliberately, I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up to my elbows. It was warm in the room, so no one would have suspected that I was simply putting on a show. There’s not a woman in existence who doesn’t quiver a little at the sight of an attractive man with rolled-up sleeves.
“My apologies,” she almost purred, without looking away. “It won’t happen again.”
After that, things almost returned to normal for the rest of the meeting. I wanted to try and orchestrate an “accidental” meeting with Lauren in the hallway or the elevator, to see if I was right. I wanted to give her the opportunity to try and ruffle my feathers about my not-so-secret sex life. But she eluded me.
As it turned out, she didn’t need to be given an opportunity. She took it, all on her own.
I got home late, stripping off my tie and dropping it in the corner with my jacket. I didn’t bother changing, just unbuttoning and loosening my collar a little bit before diving into the actual work that I had waiting for me here. I was lost in a string of numbers when my doorbell rang.
Fully convinced that the local pizza place had confused my unit number with my neighbors again, I took my time in answering - only to see Lauren standing on my front porch.
Well. Things were getting very interesting, now.
I fixed my face into an impassive mask, and opened the door.
“Ms. Aukerman. Did you forget something?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at home,” she said, breezing past me into the foyer. “But once you hear what I have to say, I think you’ll be glad that I didn’t bring it up during the mediation.”
I shut and locked the door, and began walking back to my office. She followed, hurriedly, her heels clacking on the floor.
“This is a little irregular, isn’t it?” I asked her, sitting back down behind my desk. She stood opposite me, her fingers resting ever-so-slightly on the polished wood.
She looked at me, coolly. “It’s not unethical,” she said. “My client knows I’m here. What is irregular, on the other hand...” A cold smile spread across her face. “...is some of the activities you’ve been getting up to on your time off, Master Damon. You didn’t dig very deep to come up with that pseudonym, did you?””
Lauren was expecting a reaction. When I simply folded my hands atop my desk and looked at her, expectantly, she deflated a little. She could almost hide it, but not quite.
“You really should be more careful,” she said, removing the folder that was tucked under her arm, and placing it in front of me. “Anyone could find these. I didn’t have to look very hard.”
I uncapped a pen, and busied myself with the paperwork that was still sitting in front of me. “I’ll be sure to take that under advisement.”
She let out a small, incredulous noise. “Are you really blowing me off, Mr. Alexander? How would you feel if every tabloid in the country had these pictures plastered across their front page? If your friends and family couldn’t even pick up a carton of milk without seeing you on a stage in leather pants, holding a whip, with a half-naked girl?”
Keeping my eyes fixed on the paper, I continued to write. “Why are you really here, Ms. Aukerman?”
There was a moment of silence. Finally, she sighed, picking up the folder.
“Fine,” she said. “But if you think playing it cool is going to make this go away, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Will it make you go away?” I shot back, dryly. “I really do have a lot of work to do. As it turns out, sitting through interminable mediations isn’t my actual job.”
She stood there, silent, for a while, trying to decide on her next move.
“I’m not trying to make things difficult,” she said, at last. Her tone was slightly cowed, but only slightly. “I just want to give you an opportunity to do some damage control. If we can come to an agreement tonight, my client is willing to drop everything. No more mediations. No more meetings. No more of me.”
I stopped, smiled, and lifted my eyes to her face. “I like two of those options,” I said. “The third might require some further negotiation.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she laughed, but with slightly less of the cold edge I was used to. “You just told me to go away,” she said, softly. “Dalton, if you want to try and throw me off with transparent flirtation, you’ll need to be a little less clumsy than that.”
“Human emotion is complicated,” I deadpanned, setting my pen back on its holder. “Haven’t you ever had conflicting feelings about someone?”
She looked at me for a long moment. “Yes,” she said, at last, licking her lips reflexively.
“Well, there you have it,” I said. “I imagine you’ve had to deal with plenty of unwanted attention from the opposing side of your cases before.”
“I have,” she said, looking at me cautiously. “But we were talking about you.”
“You were talking about me,” I corrected her. “I don’t find that very interesting. I already know everything there is to know, you see. I’d much rather talk about you.”
Another laugh, this one with even more genuine music to it. She sat down, slowly, across from me. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. “But it’s very admirable. Trying to disarm me. Really, though, why would you ever let something like this leak? You know the internet is forever.”
I smiled. “Until everyone loses interest. Which doesn’t take long. You can’t separate the signal from the noise. Maybe I’ll never run for president, but I’d much rather live an authentic life.”
“So you have absolutely no problem with everyone in your personal life knowing about this,” Lauren stated - very pointedly not in question form. “That’s good news.”
“You’ll be wasting your time,” I said, with a shrug. “And anyway, what’s your plan? I’m obviously not going to cave to your blackmail. Once you’ve released it, the damage is done. Your bargaining chip is played. So I know you won’t actually do it, unless I agree to something first.” I smiled at her, indulgently. “I’m afraid we’re at a bit of a stalemate, Lauren.”
Her expression hardened. “Look,” she said, leaning forward, dropping her flirtatious pretense - but not the fire in her eyes. “Neither one of us wants this to keep dragging on. Time is money. We’re both wasting ours. Just agree to the original settlement terms and I’ll be out of your hair. It’s as simple as that.”
My interest was piqued. “I thought the original settlement terms were off the table.”
“Not anymore,” she said, opening the folder again, and laying a sheaf of papers in front of me.
I let my eyes drift over the words. Clearly, either she or her client was desperate to end this. Until now, they’d been fighting tooth and nail for better terms after I’d laughed off the original settlement offer. Mark had frowned very dee
ply at my disrespectful tone, insisting that I could have been disentangled from this situation ages ago if I hadn’t offended the plaintiff and inspired him to demand more.
I didn’t reach for a pen.
“What’s changed, Lauren?” I asked, resting my elbows on the desk. Her eyes were immediately drawn to my forearms, watching the muscles flex slightly as I intertwined my fingers. “Did your client’s heart finally grow three sizes when saw the little Whos singing their Christmas song?”
She cocked an eyebrow, but she knew I had her pinned. A certain nervousness was starting to tug at her composure. “If anyone here is the Grinch, I don’t think it’s my client.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” I watched her face, hardly blinking. “But if you want me to reconsider this offer, you’ll need to tell me why it’s on the table again.”
“I already told you,” she insisted, starting to look more and more like a caged animal. A very sleek, very smart animal. But vicious nonetheless. “We’re tired of this. You are, too. There’s no reason to keep this going any longer.”
“Are we still talking about the mediation, Lauren?” I asked, softly.
“Yes.” Her voice betrayed nothing, but her eyes wanted. “What else could we possibly be talking about?”
I kept looking at her, silent, until her face reddened slightly and she looked away. “I’ll consider it,” I said, “if you’ll agree to answer twenty questions.”
Her forehead crinkled slightly. “Twenty...questions?” she echoed, her mind racing to understand what game I was playing. “I don’t understand. There are certain things I can’t discuss, under attorney-client privilege -”
“Not about the case,” I cut in. “Personal questions.”
She took a deep breath, and I watched her breasts rise and fall under the slim cut of her suit jacket. “Mr. Alexander, I don’t want to play games.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, picking up the papers and moving them towards the folder.
“Wait.” She swallowed audibly. “What if I refuse to answer one of them?”
