by Amy Valenti
“Tell me about yourself, Maya.”
“Oh.” I blinked a few times. “I’m… well, I’m a graphic designer, though I just quit my job.”
“And?”
“And… uh, I’m from Britain, born and raised.”
He smiled. “And?”
“And? I don’t know.” I shrugged and slapped my thighs. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of person are you?”
“Um, visual, I suppose?”
“Are you married? Do you have a partner?”
“No.” I shook my head, and bit my lip. “Long story, but we just broke up.”
“Did he satisfy you?”
I looked up at Javier now, and wore my offense freely. “Hey, that’s personal.” He just shrugged, and kept looking at me, waiting for an answer. “Not really. We weren’t that happy.”
“I see. I’m sorry, but you’re better off now.”
“That’s what Scarlett – my sister – said. Speaking of which, are you going to send somebody to fetch her?”
“Of course,” Javier said. “Come. Let me show you my club.”
*
CHAPTER FIVE
We entered the building, my arm in his, and I was starting to feel quite comfortable, even excited. But that all stopped when he I saw the dark corridor ahead of us. It was lined with doors, all shut, and a fancy carpet ran down the length of the hallway.
“What kind of club is this?” I asked. He did not reply. Instead, he led me through the first door on the left. Inside was… a bedroom?
I went in, hearing the sound of the door shutting too late. I turned, wide-eyed, as I heard the lock twist into its socket.
“Hey!” I shouted, banging on the door, my heart kick-starting into a panic. “Hey! What the hell?”
There was no reply.
I just stared at the door, and blinked.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
*
I heard the door unlocked, and went to meet whoever was coming in. It was Javier, and in his one hand was a small pile of clothing, and in the other, a tray with fruits and a jug of water on it.
“Excuse me,” he said, stepping past me. I turned, appalled, and followed him with my eyes as he set down the clothes at the foot of the admittedly luxurious bed, and the tray at a lone, round table looking out of a window.
“What’s this?” I demanded.
“Some clothes, and some food, in case you are hungry or thirsty.” He stood up straight, hands at his sides, and took a step toward me. I stepped back.
“Why did you lock me in here?” I demanded to know, my voice shrill.
“It is a rule of the club. All patrons are to be kept inside their rooms.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Kept? I won’t be kept!”
“You will,” he told me. He stepped in between me and the door, and shut it. “Come. Sit. Tell me more about yourself.”
“I won’t tell you anything!”
His eyes darkened, and he stared at me. I felt… scared would not be the right way to put it. Intimidated, like I was out of my depth. I did not get any impression that he wanted to hurt me, though, but that offered little relief.
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What do you want to know?”
“Why were you looking at me?”
I blinked. “You mean on the restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know!”
“You must be truthful.”
I grew annoyed. “If you must know, it’s because I thought you looked different. I already told you that. Handsome, in your own way.”
He did not show any response to the compliment. “And?”
“And I thought you might be the billionaire my sister had told me about.”
“I am the billionaire your sister told you about. But why did that matter to you?”
I slapped my thighs, exasperated. “Gosh, I don’t know,” I said, painfully aware my voice had sounded whiny. “I just thought it was interesting.”
He stepped forward, and I stepped back. “Do you find me interesting?”
“Yeah, but not in a good way.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re locking me in this room!”
He stepped forward again, and this time I could not step back. My bum was already touching the table. He drew in close, and I felt his body-heat, felt a kind of energy charging the air around him.
“You took a chance,” he told me. “And for that you were brave.”
“I am brave,” I whispered.
“Of that I have no doubt.” He took my hand in his. My heart was pounding. He held it, cradled it, and gave it a kiss. “If you are as brave as you say, then stay with me. Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Only if you let me out of this room.”
“No,” he said. “You must stay in this room. But tonight, after we eat, I will no longer lock that door.”
“And I will be free to leave?”
“You won’t want to.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He let go of my hand, leaving me feeling strangely empty. “But it’s like three in the afternoon! What will I do?”
“You have a balcony,” Javier said, gesturing toward the French doors. “There is a bookshelf here. You can read to pass the time.”
“I can read? What will you do?”
“Prepare.”
I tried one last gambit. “I have my phone. I can call the police, you know.”
“You do have your phone,” he told me. “But it will not work here.” With that, he turned, and exited the room. I heard the sound of the lock clicking.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” This was ridiculous. This couldn’t be happening!
And yet… I found myself wondering what could possibly happen at dinner that would make me not want to leave?
*
To my surprise, dinner was quite usual. While sitting on the balcony, overlooking the picturesque sea and beach, Javier had knocked before entering. He told me to get dressed, and pointed at the pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. A little awkwardly, I had asked him to leave the room, and I picked out a beautifully eye-catching sarong dress, with frilled edges and floral patterning. I tied to edges around my neck, and secured the rest behind my back with a clip I found in the pile of clothes beneath the sarong.
And damn if I hadn’t wished there was a mirror in the room! But there wasn’t, and so I had to leave the room, hoping that I’d at least got everything pinned at the small of my back properly, and that the tie behind my neck wouldn’t loosen itself as I walked.
Javier presented me with what he claimed was a meal he had cooked, a mish-mash of local delicacies, including grilled pork neck, which was my favorite dish.
I was… caught off-guard by his almost friendly manner. We spoke casually, about his recent investments in emerging nanotechnology, which I of course knew nothing about. I told him about what being a graphic designer meant, and I rather suspected that, in turn, it was something that he knew nothing about.
But it wasn’t dinner was over (we had eaten in a dining area at the resort), when we walked back to the beach, that I began to feel ill-at-ease. The unasked question hovered in the air: What was going to happen next? What about Scarlett? Could I call her and tell her I was at least okay? I decided to broach the topic.
“You may leave if you wish,” he told me. “I’m told your sister declined to stay at the resort. She did send word to ‘take care of you’, though.”
I couldn’t believe it. “She didn’t come?”
“No.” Javier looked at me, his eyes seeming to measure my response.
“Why not?”
“She didn’t say.”
Damn, I thought. Why wouldn’t she have come to check-up on me? It dawned on me then that she would have thought I left on my own accord. Once again her words rang through my mind: Maybe you�
��ll get lucky and meet a nice man. She probably thought I didn’t want her to come!
“So I can leave?”
“Yes,” Javier said. “Of course.”
“Can you explain to me exactly what your club is?”
“It is a place of intimacy,” he told me in a low voice. “Reserved for my use, only.”
“So it’s not really a club?”
“Not in the sense that you mean.”
I shook my head. It didn’t make sense. How could Scarlett have known about it? I asked the question, and the response was not one I needed to hear.
“The Club is well known. You are not the first guest.”
I turned away. I felt surprising jealousy, and it stung. “Oh.”
Javier took my hand then, held it carefully, and waited until I turned to look at him before speaking. “Do not be under any illusions, Maya.”
“I’m not,” I said, not entirely sure what he was referring to. A spark of indignation flared within me. I wanted to deny that I had thought of anything else but the immediate moment.
“So, would you like to leave?”
The question was thick in the air, surrounded me, viscous. My mind swirled. What reason did I have to stay? But… but I sort of liked him, in a strange way. He was compelling, interesting… intimidating. That Scarlett hadn’t come pissed me off, too. And that he thought that I was somehow angling for something more than what this was… I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d judged my character right.
“Fine. I’ll stay. You told me I’d be able to freely leave the room if I stayed.”
“Yes. But when I request your presence, you shall provide it.”
I bit back a snarky remark. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let me walk you back to your room?”
“Already?” I asked. “Couldn’t we walk on the beach?”
“No.”
I bristled. “Fine.”
We walked in silence back into the ‘club’, and I was once again returned to the now-familiar room. It was similar to a hotel room, with an ensuite bathroom, but seemed far more… personal. I assumed the décor was him. Sparse, deliberate, and definitely expensive.
“There is one condition, Maya, if you choose to stay here.”
“More rules?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I said. I pushed my lips together and smiled, as if daring him to tell me. I realized then the wine I’d had at dinner was imbuing me with confidence.
“You will obey me.”
My mouth dropped. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll do what I say, when I say it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll have to leave.”
I laughed. “Is that supposed to convince me?” But even as I said it, I knew it was a fruitless gambit. He simply stared at me, seemed to look right into my mind, to where even I could not see. “Fine,” I whispered after a moment. “But the moment I want out, I’m out.”
“So be it.”
“But tell me, Javier.” I stepped toward him, straightened my shoulders. “Why do you want me to obey you?”
He mirrored me, stepped closer to me. I felt dwarfed. I couldn’t possibly hope to match his physicality. “You will obey me,” he said, spacing his words carefully. “Because it is what I desire.”
I breathed quickly. His face was so close to mine. I could feel his breath, could smell the tinge of the sweet dessert wine. His arm coiled around my shoulders, shocking me, making me jolt, before they slid slowly down my back until he was at my waist, and he tugged me hard into him, crushing me against his chest. I gasped, looking up into his piercing eyes. His face seemed expressionless, but his orbs spoke to me of a specific hunger.
Is this really happening now? I thought to myself. I felt as though I were on a cliff. I angled my face farther back, created distance between our locked gazes. But I couldn’t walk away. I was like a tidally-locked moon. I had to face him. I was compelled to.
Javier leaned in, and pushed his lips against mine. I somehow thought they would be hard and cold, somehow thought they would be impersonal, bored. But they were the opposite. I felt heat streaking through his lips into mine. I felt heat instantly worm its way into my core. I felt like a ball of yarn unravelling.
“Will you obey me?” he whispered, breaking the kiss but for one last scintillating drag of his upper lip against my lower. I thought about my response, but he did not deign to wait. He captured my lips in another kiss, this time hungrier, more inflamed, and I felt my nerve endings buzz to life. A nervous energy thrilled through me. I shivered and shook in his grasp, unable to resist it.
He took advantage of my inaction. He pushed his tongue into my mouth, explored me, and I tasted him. He might have been drinking port earlier, but that was my best guess as to the source of the sweetness I tasted. His breath was heavy, hot on my skin. His urgency pressed through his trousers against my abdomen.
I realized he was savoring me. His tongue was delicate, and he seemed want to touch every bit of me. It made my knees wobble. I’d never done anything like this before!
My thoughts were turbulent, unfocused. I felt a darker energy radiating out of him, invading my senses, my urges. I knew that he would not be a conventional lover. Did I have the courage to enter his domain?
Javier sealed the kiss with a sharp bite of my lower lip, and I whimpered, feeling the sting of pain. He looked me in the eyes, held me in prison with his stare. My mind was reeling. The intimacy was paralyzing. My cheeks were burning hot, and I felt in belly a stirring that slithered downward to my center.
His other hand moved up the curve of my hips, and my stomach fluttered at the touch. My breath hitched when he pushed it up under my upper arm, holding me tighter, bringing me into him impossibly more. I was starting to sweat now, starting to pant. I couldn’t believe how he was just taking from me. I couldn’t believe that he was just having his way with me like this, putting his hands on me, demanding from me to obey him. What exactly did he want from me?
He looked in my eyes still, demanding an answer from me. Why did I have to answer? Why was it necessary? I realized with horror that I had put a palm against his chest, and I could feel its rapid rise and fall. I could feel the hardness beneath his shirt, honed muscle. He was a honed man. Disciplined, ordered. It was no surprise to me that he took care of his body. In truth, I found the discipline he exuded attractive.
I found him attractive. It was strange because it was the first time I had admitted as much to myself.
His eyes grew hotter and harder. His voice was tight. “Will you obey me?”
I shook my head. I shook it to say ‘no’.
But the word that came out of my mouth was, “Yes.”
The dam cracked. Water spilled out. My true feelings flooded out into my being. I pressed myself urgently against him, sent a hand down to his erection and grasped its thickness, and I pressed my lips up to him, and… he withdrew.
“Good,” he said. He turned and left my room.
I stood, exasperated, flustered, and in disbelief, while I tried to remember the feel of his soft lips against mine, of his invasive fingers nestled beneath my arm.
*
CHAPTER SIX
“Do you know what I want of you?”
I looked at Javier the next morning, over breakfast. On my plate was a single, from what I could best guess, pancake. But it was crispy on the outside. Atop it lay a small pile of blueberries. I watched as Javier sliced through his pancake, exposing the still-soft interior.
“What’s this?” I asked, ignoring his question. I had thought about what I had said to him the night before. Yes. For some reason, I wanted to fight that. I wanted to buck.
“It is called oladi. It is a typical Russian breakfast. Hearty, tasty, not too fattening. Most importantly, filling.”
“Oh,” I said, loo
king down at it. “Is it a pancake?”
“Essentially.”
“No honey?” I asked, smiling briefly.
“No. Now, do you know what I want of you?” He stood up, then, his pancake half-eaten, and came behind me. I felt his body-heat, felt his presence. And then I jolted when I felt his large hand on the back of my neck. He swept my hair to the side, exposing my skin, and traced a finger over the vertebrae bump.
Trying to ignore the effect his touch was having on me, I sliced through my pancake, and put a piece in my mouth. It was delicious, the crispy outside a perfect match for the soft, rich interior. The blueberries added just the right level of sour-and-sweet.
“Mm,” I murmured, nodding. “This is good.”
I felt his fingers begin to coil my hair, and I shivered, thinking idly that he was going to knot it. I yelped when he tugged it back, pulling my eyes up to his, so that I saw his face upside-down. He leaned lower to me, rubbed his lips on my forehead. I wilted. I shook.
“Do you know?” he whispered, his voice like the sharp blade of a knife.
I swallowed. “No,” I admitted. I felt embarrassed to say it. Should I know, though? How could I possibly know?
“Then I will show you,” he said, letting my hair unravel from his fingers, and then smoothing it down over my left shoulder. His hand coming close to my breast made me hold my breath, and it was when he finally retreated back to his side of the modest round table that I exhaled.
I looked at him, and he merely gestured at me to finish my breakfast.
I did. I listened. I ate it all up.
It really did taste good.
*
Afterward, he led me back to ‘my’ room, and entered it with me, closing the door behind him. I went to the window, looked out at the beach and palm trees, the crystal-blue water and the cloudless sky.
“Can we go to the beach today?” I slapped my mouth in horror. I couldn’t believe I had just asked his permission!
But he ignored me, and came to me, wrapping me up from behind his arms around my hips, his hands interlocked, resting against my pubic bone, making my pulse quicken and, inexplicably, my mouth water. I slowly became aware of his arousal pressed against the small of my back. He unclasped his fingers, and ran one hand up my belly, to my side and around the curve of my breast, before slipping his fingers beneath the thin strap of the white summer dress he had provided me. His fingers left trails of fire on my skin.
