by Tasha Fawkes
I know her well enough now to know that the slight shrug is a sign of awkward embarrassment. "No, you're not blabbering. I want you to benefit from these… lessons," I say. "It will make your writing better."
She dips her eyes and nods, not looking me in the eye. What is that? Disappointment? I’m not going to tell her that this has been one of the most invigorating afternoons I’ve spent in a long time. I’m not going to tell her that I enjoyed myself supremely, that she was a most willing pupil, and a good one at that. I can’t go there. She has to know that this—our sexual encounters—are just that. Sex.
Is that the only reason I brought her down here to my playroom? It was part of it, yes, but after reading her manuscript, I couldn't deny my curiosity. Only part of my curiosity was assuaged this afternoon. There is so much more to learn about Ashley— I stop myself right there, straighten, and gesture toward the stairs. "We should go."
No. I absolutely cannot get involved emotionally with Ashley. As I watch her walk across the basement floor toward the stairs, I realize with surprise that keeping my distance will be a challenge. Especially after what we just did. She made it possible for me to feel completely relaxed and at peace. I can't remember the last time that I felt this way.
While it would be interesting to take her to the club, I also decide that she isn't even close to being ready for such an adventure. One step at a time. We walk upstairs and at the landing I gesture down the short hallway toward the kitchen. "There's a bathroom just off the kitchen if you need to… use it or clean up or anything."
She smiles and nods. "Thank you, I'll just be a moment."
She walks off down the hallway, her tennis shoes barely making any noise on the wood floor. No sharp clack of heels that usually grated on my nerves as I waited for my subs to leave. I follow her several moments later and enter the kitchen area, where I open the refrigerator and pull out two cans of diet soda. I pop one open and chug down half of it before she emerges, her hair slightly damp, her face fresh. Holding my half empty can of soda, I gesture toward the other one.
"Thirsty?"
She smiles and reaches for it. "Thanks," she says, popping the lid.
If she’s surprised I offered her a soda and not a drink, she doesn't acknowledge it. She takes several sips and glances around, trying not to be overt about it.
"Would you like a tour?"
Her eyes widen but she nods. She takes a sip and then places the can back on the counter.
"You can bring it with you," I say. Sipping from my own can, I give her the grand tour. Another first for me. Not one of my subs, not one, have ever been allowed past the kitchen door and into the rest of the house. In fact, the kitchen bathroom is as far as any of my previous "guests" have roamed in this house. I’ve never offered any of them anything, not even a glass of water. The basement playroom is one thing, but the rest of this house is my private domain. One I keep to myself. This place is only for me. Not Karen. Not Crystal. Not anyone. But I find myself wanting to share it with Ashley.
I shove thoughts of Karen out of my head. Playing the gracious host as I give Ashley a tour, listening to her murmurs of appreciation in regard to the structure, the décor, and the overall ambience. She laughs softly as we return to the kitchen.
"What?" I ask, honestly wanting to know. Another first.
"I think I can fit my entire apartment into your living room," she comments. "You have a lovely home here, Daniel."
I can tell she wants to ask. Why I keep the house a secret. She’s a smart girl. I'm sure she can figure that one out on her own.
She takes a last sip of her soda and then places the nearly empty can back down on the counter. She's had enough. I reach for it, tip the can upside down into the sink, and listen to the remainder trickle downward. I follow suit with my own, then toss both cans in the trashcan under the sink.
"Let's go."
We make our way back outside to my car. "You want me to drop you back at the hotel or the office, or do you want me to take you home?"
She hesitates only a second. "Can you take me back to the hotel? I have a few errands I need to run in the neighborhood anyway."
I nod, somewhat relieved that she didn’t taken me up on my offer to take her to her apartment. I feel torn. Torn between wanting to get to know her on a deeper level and wanting to keep her at arm's length. No entanglements. No promises. No strings.
Fourteen
Ashley
It’s New Year's Eve. I haven't heard from Daniel in a couple of days, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or whether I’m expecting too much. My introduction into genuine bondage down in his basement playroom in his secret house left me tingling for an entire day. He dropped me off at the hotel like I asked, but I didn't really have any errands to run. I just didn't want him taking me to my apartment. I didn't want him to see where I lived. Didn't want him to realize that I wasn't his type after all.
I wasn't embarrassed, as I like my apartment, but compared to that house of his? It’s like comparing peanut butter to caviar. Face it. I’m a simple girl. Not typically impressed by wealth or material things, I felt myself rendered somewhat speechless while Daniel gave me a tour of his home. Well, not really his home, because I do believe he spends most of the time in his penthouse apartment downtown.
Still, I’ve crushed on the man for such a long time. Being given a glimpse into his world, aboveground and then to his basement playroom, gave me a deeper glimpse into this person that I’ve admired secretly and from afar for so long. I admire and respect him as a publisher, but until a couple of days ago, I didn’t even imagine the various facets of who Daniel Stone really, truly is.
I like him even more for it. Dammit, I can't allow myself to get any more emotionally involved with him than I already am, and that’s entirely one-sided as it is. I have to know where to draw the line between the fantasy I developed within the pages of my manuscript to the reality of life.
"Did you hear me, Ashley?"
I’m jolted from my reverie, the steady beat of the party music once again pounding inside my brain. I’m at Tory's, at her annual New Year's Eve party. It’s crowded, almost claustrophobic in her packed apartment. Does she really know all these people? It seems like it. While I’m not much for partying, I need a distraction. Usually, I spend New Year's Eve alone, preferring to watch the shows on TV, and sometimes even to go to bed before the ball drops. This year, no. I need to be surrounded by people, by the music, the dancing, and yes, even some harmless flirting.
I know I’m allowing myself to get too wrapped up in Daniel. The past couple of days, I’ve barely gone ten minutes without thinking of him. I can't do that. Not only is it not part of our "deal", but I can't allow myself to go falling in love with him. It would be so incredibly easy. I’ve admired him for so long, secretly created this fantasy life with him, that after the basement, those feelings burgeoned even deeper. Without even trying, he hooked me. I want to continue exploring his world, to spend time with him, but I can't get clingy. If I do, I don't doubt for a moment that he’ll cut me loose.
"Ashley!"
"What?" I finally reply.
"Here comes Stewart!" Tory says, pointing.
I see Stewart enter the apartment, doing his impersonation of John Travolta in Grease. It used to be funny, but now it’s just embarrassing. He looks like he's already had a few. His gaze sweeping the crowded room, he finally sees me, lifts a hand, and begins pushing his way through the crowd in my direction.
I smile politely as he approaches, wraps his arms around me, and plants a wet kiss on my lips. His breath smells of beer and whiskey. I responds only slightly, thinking that at some point, I have to break this thing off with him. It isn't going anywhere. Not where I want to go, anyway. I know he wants a more serious relationship, but the thought of spending a life with Stewart is just… sad.
At some point, I need to make it clear to him that not only am I not interested in marriage, but we aren't in an exclusive relationship either. He
has no idea how I feel about Daniel, and I’m not about to tell him.
It’s impossible not to compare the two now. Different as night and day, not only in the sex department, but in persona. Stewart is a nice guy. He really is. There’s only one way I can think to put it. Stewart is vanilla, and I want Rocky Road. Stewart is plain and boring; at least that's how I feel at this point in my life. I want texture, adventure, and never knowing when I’ll bite into a marshmallow or a nut, or just enjoy the silky smoothness and flavor of smooth chocolate.
I sigh. I don't want to hurt Stewart, but I also feel that stringing him along isn't fair to him nor myself. But not right now. I can't tell him tonight. The countdown has started. Less than two minutes until midnight. At the minute mark, Tory turns off the music.
"Watch the clock, everyone!"
Everyone in the room turns and begins to count down. I join in, feigning exuberant joy over a new year, Stewart beside me. One arm draped over my shoulder, his other hand reaches for mine. He squeezes, but I don't squeeze back.
Thirty seconds until the new year. A new year. New adventures. New hopes and dreams. A fresh start. Letting go of the baggage, I can think of a million ways to express how I feel at this moment, but all I can do is watch the second hand count down on the clock. I feel Stewart's eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him, pretending that I’m enraptured by that second hand, slowly clicking down to the ten-second mark.
The room bursts with excitement as everyone begins to count down the last ten seconds of the old year, preparing to ring in the new. At the stroke of midnight, everyone cheers, laughs, and claps. Stewart turns me toward him and wraps me in his arms, kissing me. I kiss him back, but my heart just isn't in it.
"Come home with me," he says, practically having to shout to be heard over the revelry. "Let's ring in the new year together!"
I shake my head and decline. "I'm sorry, Stewart, but not tonight." I should tell him the truth, but I can't, not right now. Instead, I lie. "I promised my dad I'd drop by."
"I'll go with you—"
"Thanks, Stewart, but no. I'm just going to stay for a minute, and then I'm going to go home and crash. I'm exhausted."
I see his disappointment, but I stick to my guns. I have to start breaking away, and the longer I draw this out, the worse it will be for both of us.
Fifteen
Daniel
I sit at the kitchen table across from my mom, asking myself for the tenth time since I arrived what the hell I’m doing here. All I can think of is Ashley and the fun we had down in my playroom. I can't get her out of my mind, and I can't figure out why. Yes, she’s different and yes she’s fresh, and I do enjoy being her teacher, her Dom, but it’s more than that. This relationship between us is turning out to be more than just sex and that's what confuses the hell out of me.
I’ve never had this happen to me before. I've never got to the point where I felt personally connected to my subs. Is it because I knew Ashley from work before we developed this relationship, or is it because of her? Ashley. No pretenses with her. No fake persona. No trying to impress me because of who I am. No, Ashley is just Ashley. I’ve watched her interactions with others in the most innocuous of places; smiling to someone crossing the street in front of the car, the genuine kindness and skill with which she counsels our authors, the way she speaks to clients or peers in person or on the phone. She’s nice. She doesn't look down her nose at those less fortunate.
"Are you listening to me, dear?"
I glance at my mom, watching me with an odd expression, her head slightly tilted to the side. "I'm sorry, my mind wandered."
"Your mind has been wondering quite a bit frequently," she says, frowning. "Are you concerned that your wedding date is fast approaching?"
Karen. I'd been to a New Year’s Eve party with her the night before. I’m not much for New Year's Eve partying, more preferring to stay at home. It isn’t that I mind the social interactions, but to me, people make a way bigger deal over the new year than I think necessary. It’s just another holiday, right? All this crap about new beginnings, new dreams, new resolutions. Most of them recycle from the year before. It’s foolishness. It’s a day just like any other, just marked differently on a calendar.
"No, Mother, I'm not."
"Then what is it? What has you so distracted? Is there something going on at your publishing house?"
"No, everything is fine there, actually. Everything is perfect." That isn't a lie. All is good in the world of Pen & Quill. And with one of my new favorite employees. I almost smile.
"Then what's going on? What's the matter with you? You seem so distant lately. More distant than usual."
I smile then. I can imagine what she would say if she knew what really has me distracted lately. And I know where she’s heading with her line of inquiry. Karen wanted me to spend the night with her last night after the party; wanted to ring in the New Year with a romp in bed, but I couldn't do it. I demurred, blaming it on having had too much to drink, coupled with a headache and an upset stomach. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say because then she'd wanted to nurse me back to health.
Karen is beautiful. She’s a catch by any man's standards. But I can't help comparing her to Ashley. I’ve told myself to stop it, that doing so is pointless, but there it is.
"Daniel, talk to me. What's gotten over you this past week? You're just not acting like yourself."
Acting like myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can act like myself, at least with Ashley. No pressure. No pretending. When I’m with Ashley, I’m not a billionaire. I’m not the CEO of a huge company, nor even the owner and managing editor of a publishing company. I’m her Dom. We’re sex partners. I’m her mentor, introducing her into a world that I have a feeling she’s wondered about for quite a while. Her manuscript is proof.
We’ve enjoyed two visits to my basement playroom since that first time. She’s a natural. She didn't try to overplay her role, as some other subs did. She didn't exaggerate. She didn't act like she was an actress performing for the camera. Her little gasps of surprise delighted me, so much more than the fake screams and desperate pleading of Crystal or another one of my subs. She obeyed but at the same time, and for the first time, I also wanted to make sure that she gained just as much pleasure from the experience as I did. Another first.
"Daniel, you're doing it again!"
I look at mother, staring at me, her fingers lightly clasping her silver-plated fork, poised over spinach quiche. I notice the untouched glass of orange juice in front of her; the tablecloth white and spotless, her posture perfect, her earrings and bracelets matching the highlights in her gray cashmere sweater with its oriental style and gold-embossed collar and cuffs. Everything about her perfect. No hair out of place. Makeup exquisitely applied. She doesn't go around like one of those older women with powdered faces that don't match the color tone of their neck. No, not my mother. She always makes sure that she’s presentable. Perfect.
Though Karen takes great care in her appearance, and spends hours on it, she doesn't have quite the same sense of style that my mother has. She works too hard at it. And Ashley? I barely hold back a smile. She’s a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, which is actually quite refreshing. And she doesn't care, which makes her confidence even more appealing.
"Daniel, you tell me right now what's going on," she orders.
A spot of color appears on her cheeks beneath the pinker shade of her blush. She lowers her voice and inhales, calming herself. Order restored.
"You had better not spoil this, Daniel. You need to put your priorities in order. Don't forget you have responsibilities—"
"I know that," I say. "Nothing is sliding. I'm on top of things."
"Then I ask again, what has gotten into you? Why on earth have you grown so distant these past few days? Not only with Karen, but with me?"
She places her fork on the plate and folds her hands underneath her chin, her perfectly manicured fire engine red fingernails rou
nded just so, contrasting with her pale skin. Here it comes.
"Karen told me that you two were at a New Year's Eve party last night and you refused to take her home. That doesn't sound like you. Did you two have an argument? I know how stubborn you can be, especially—"
"Mother," I say as patiently as I can, “Karen and I didn't get into an argument."
"Then why didn't you—"
"Mother, I'm not going to discuss my sex life with you."
"She's worried about you, honey. You know that you can always talk to me, right?"
I nod. Sure I can, if I want every word I say to get back to Karen, which I don't. For the moment, I merely need to mollify her concerns. "I had too much to drink last night. I just wanted to go home and go to bed, all right? It doesn't mean that anything is wrong."
I haven't touched my food. I reach for my fork, hoping to end the conversation. It don't work.
"Don't mess this up, Daniel. Karen's a wonderful match for you. You know that, don't you?"
I say nothing. I can't deny that my mother is quite fond of Karen. At first, that was somewhat of a relief. Now I’m not so sure. Most of the time I feel like it’s two against one. I know that at some point I need to put my foot down, but sometimes it’s just easier to go with the flow.
"You need to focus on your responsibilities. That's all I'm trying to tell you."
I stab my quiche. "Mother, I'm thirty-five-years-old. Karen will turn twenty-five this year." I sigh, as if worried. Mainly to see if she'll back me up or Karen. "Sometimes it just seems that my head is in a different place than hers. That's all. I've got a lot on my plate, and I didn't feel like partying. I had too much to drink, and all I wanted to do was go home. By myself. If Karen wanted to stay out and party, I wasn't going to stop her."
