by Tasha Fawkes
Daniel
I sequester myself in my office for the rest of the day, trying to deal with business though my mind refuses to focus, constantly revolving around Ashley, Karen, and my mother to the point that I finally give up, lean back in my chair, and close my eyes in an attempt to block all of it out, if even for a minute or two. I keep thinking about the expression on Ashley's face when I told her about Karen. It was brief, but I saw the slight widening of her eyes, that almost flinch. She walked out of my office, head lowered, but with a straight spine and squared shoulders. She was almost as good as I was at hiding emotion.
The problem I have to resolve now, that’s been bouncing in my brain since the moment the door shut behind her is, do I care? The simple answer is yes. Ashley was certainly inexperienced with bondage, but she’s eager to learn. She’s a natural when it comes to quickly adapting to different ways of doing things in my playroom. We clicked. I grimace as the word forms in my brain. Another stupid cliché, but hell, if the word fit, the word fit. The truth is, I want more from her than that.
"What the hell are you getting at?" I mutter into the silence of my office. I know that if I put the answer into words, it will change everything, and not necessarily for the better.
I know everything I want to know about Karen, which isn't much, mostly superficial, but I have no real desire to learn more. Our conversations don’t delve deep beneath the surface into emotions and feelings. It’s not like we’re in love, after all. And why should it matter anyway? Our marriage, quite simply, is a matter of convenience, at least as far as I’m concerned. I got the impression that Karen feels much the same way.
On the other hand, I do want to get to know Ashley better. It’s not just that sex with her is easy, in terms of it feeling so natural and relaxing. Even in the height of a session, I felt tension and anxiety leaving my body, replaced by sensations of, if not joy, then close to it. In just a few sessions, she already learned to anticipate what I wanted and what I needed. We’re well matched. Nevertheless, I still can't put my finger exactly on what it is that attracts me to Ashley. She should’ve been just another sub, but she isn't.
Do I need to analyze this? Isn't it enough to experience those rare emotions of serenity that I feel around her? I cringe as I find my thoughts turning maudlin. My thoughts sound corny, even to myself, like something out of one of the manuscripts that often cross my desk, but for the first time in my life, I understand it.
I’m supposed to meet Karen after work, to deal with some of the wedding stuff, and I’m not looking forward to it. Lately, it seems every time I turn around, my mother or Karen want something from me. I’m tired of doing all the giving, of keeping everyone happy. Except myself, that is. Before Ashley came along, before I glanced at her laptop, I was resigned, if not completely satisfied to do what my mother wanted, mainly because I knew that I would be able to continue the enjoyment of my secret and keep my life pretty much the way it was. I doubted that Karen and I would spend much social time together, which was perfectly fine with me and probably fine with her as well.
I pick up a pen and idly tap it against my blotter, frowning, my lips pursed. Dammit. I’d been going through the motions before I met Ashley. Now, everything has changed. I want more. I need more. I didn’t really realize it until now. I also realize something else, and when I do, a knot settles in the pit of my stomach.
I have to do something about it.
For the first time in my life, I know what I want, above and beyond work goals and the enjoyable yet temporary release I gain from my subs. I want to get to know a real woman. A woman like Ashley; more than as my sub, more than as my employee. I want to spend time with her aboveground, dating. Traditionally dating. But if I break off the engagement with Karen, my mother will be scandalized. No doubt about it. She even might go so far as to request the board of directors to undercut me at our family company, but do I really care? Sure, she would do so quietly. Nothing so crass as my mother airing her dirty laundry in public would do. What Karen or her family will do, I don't know, and I don't particularly care.
Even if I’m voted off the board of directors of the family business, I’ll be all right. My heart is with my publishing company, and I have enough money that I don't need to lean on the family business for my survival. The more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s time. Time to make some changes. Time to change the way I do things.
I don't want to marry Karen. I’m not attracted to her, and I don't even particularly care for her. I definitely don't like spending time with her. Having sex with Karen isn't enjoyable either, though it isn't her fault she isn't experienced enough to know what I want, what I need, nor how to please me. Karen thinks of sex as black or white, nothing in between. She only does traditional things, safe and plain and vanilla. She refuses to give or get oral sex. She refuses to push the boundaries and experiment once in a while. I’ve tried to encourage her, just once, to let herself cut loose and let me suck on her pussy as she sucked on my dick, and she shut down. Told me that only perverted people do things like that.
And so, I sit in my office, scowling at my dark computer screen, not exactly waffling, but weighing the pros and cons. I could break things off with Karen, but I already told Ashley that our relationship is purely sexual, purely related to me as her Dom and she as my sub. Does she want more?
I have a feeling she will, considering how her characters developed in her manuscript. Those characters were more than just lovers. They were partners. Soulmates. Again, I grimace and shake my head. I’m getting carried away. Besides, Ashley might not even want me for more than a sexual partner. Still, even those considerations don't really change anything. I don't want to marry Karen. The thought of pursuing Ashley is beside the point.
Heaving a heavy sigh, I finally pick up my phone, stare at it for several moments, and then bring up my contact list. I scroll down to Karen's name. It has to be done. I try to convince myself that doing this is for both our sakes, but I don't believe that Karen will feel the same way. She doesn't care whether she loves me or not. I’m a good catch by any standards. She and her family would undoubtedly be upset if the marriage fell apart. After all, they need capital. I grunt a chortle. Will my mother offer them a deal? Severance pay? I might be cutting off my nose to spite my face, but I see no other alternative. The thought of spending the rest of my life, let alone the near future, with Karen is unacceptable.
I’m grown man. I don't need my mother's permission or approval to do anything. I press the speed dial and hear Karen's phone ringtone on the other end. Unanswered, my call goes to voicemail.
"Karen, we need to talk."
"No! You can't do this!"
I sit in a corner of the sofa in my penthouse suite, trying to maintain a bland expression. I’m not coldhearted, but I know I can't respond to Karen's growing histrionics. She paces from one side of the room to the other, her face red, flinging her hands this way and that, pausing only occasionally to glare at me. A few times she actually sputters, struggling to find words.
I know that my announcement that I was breaking off our engagement shocked her. Her reaction, her mouth dropping open, her hand touching her chest, and the chuckle of laughter in her throat when she thought I was joking slowly morphed into red cheeks, narrowed eyes, and literally bared teeth.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" she demands.
She pauses in front of the expansive window overlooking the city and then turns to look at me, arms crossed over her chest.
"You know that our parents have gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this—"
"You don't need to keep reminding me that this is an arranged marriage, Karen," I say. I hoped, foolishly perhaps, that I would give her the news and she would absorb it and then storm out, probably slamming the door loudly behind her. But no, she lingered, as if she thought she could talk me out of it.
"Why?"
"You know I don't love you, Karen, and I know you don't love me. So, what's the point? You an
d I both know that we'll end up making each other miserable. Is that how you want to spend the next year, five years, or the rest of your life?"
She gives a dismissive gesture. "My mother told me that she and my dad didn't love each other when they got married, but they grew to love each other over the years. Now they're practically inseparable."
And miserable. I’ve seen Karen's parents on occasion, only to note their obvious disdain for one another. They barely look at each other, their conversations short and clipped, their body language—to me, at least—clarifying also that they no longer share a bed. Still, Karen is playing the part of jilted fiancée to the hilt, pretending that she cares about me when I know she doesn't.
"I'm sorry, Karen, but this isn't going to work, and I don't think it's fair—"
"Fair?"
Her voice cracks as she takes a step toward me, hands balled into fists.
"Fair? You're waiting until I'm deciding on wedding cake flavors and floral arrangements to tell me that you've changed your mind? And how is that fair?" She pauses and sucks in a breath. "Why are you being such a fucking bastard?”
I’ve been waiting for Karen's true nature to show. The fake tears are gone and the banshee is out. Her eyes narrow on me, her jaw clenches, a visible vein throbbing in her neck. An almost feral growl rumbles upward from deep in her chest, but to her credit, she doesn't let it loose. She stares down at the floor a moment, then looks back at me. Another cliché captures my thoughts—if looks could kill, I'd be dead by now.
I don't want to hurt her, but I can't cave. I can't allow those crocodile tears shining in her eyes to sway me. She isn't furious because she can't have me. She’s furious because… well, who the hell knows what she actually thinks.
"Don't you think our parents will have something to say about this?" she hisses.
"I frankly don't care," I say. "I shouldn't have waited so long, Karen, I know, and for that I do apologize. But I thought as time went by, as the wedding got closer, I would begin to feel differently. But the brutally honest truth is, I don't. I just don't think we can make a happy marriage of it. So again, what's the point?"
She takes several more steps toward me. I don't move. Perhaps she’ll slap me, and I’ll probably let her. But only one. No more than that. She doesn't. She stops and a look of pure vitriol crosses her features. Her lips turn down in a snarl.
"You're going to regret this, Daniel."
I say nothing. I probably won’t, at least for a while. In fact, my mother just might not ever forgive me, but I figure she’ll come around eventually. This entire arrangement has been ill advised from the start, but wanting to please her, I went along with it.
I should've known better. The plain truth of the matter is, if Ashley didn’t come along when she did, I might have.
Twenty-One
Ashley
I sit in my apartment at the kitchen table, my laptop open in front of me, the blank screen of the new Word document daring me to write something. The curser waits patiently. I haven't heard from Daniel since I was in his office bent over his desk, my legs held apart by the spreader bar. He didn’t tell me in so many words that we were over, and I haven't spoken the words to him, but the moment he told me about his engagement, things changed. For me at least. He's made no effort to text me, to send me a note, to call me back into his office, nothing.
It’s over.
In fact, I haven't seen him in the publishing house since I left his office, closing the door softly behind me. I didn't dare ask anyone if they've seen him. He’s probably just off on another of his business trips. Then again, maybe he’s gone off to get married to Karen. I don't know anything about their arrangements or their upcoming wedding date. The thought depresses me, but not to the degree where I allow myself to wallow in self-pity. It does bug me, no doubt about that, but I’m not despondent, not lying in my bed crying my eyes out, thinking that my life is over.
I know that my fling with Daniel was merely an interlude in his life. Maybe it meant more to me than it did to him, but I’m not naïve. I can live with my unrequited affection for him. I can continue to work for him, too. It might be awkward at first, but it will just take a little bit of time. Maybe a long time. Every time I think of him, I think of what we did in his office the last time we were together. Just the thought of it makes my heart skip a beat. My gaze keeps drifting from my laptop toward the window, my thoughts continually drifting back to him. Daniel.
Problem is, I’ve ignored the truth for too long. Go ahead and say it, my brain orders. Okay, I love him. I love Daniel. Maybe I’ve loved him all this time. Maybe using him as a foundation for the character in my book, the one in which I romped happily ever after with him, in my manuscript was merely my way of subconsciously recognizing my feelings.
Stupid of me, really, thinking that I, Ashley Shiels, could have my cake and eat it, too. I’m not usually prone to such negative thoughts, but I have to be honest with myself for a change. I’ve been a fool.
Live and learn.
I sigh, shut down my laptop, and close it, knowing that I’m not going to get any more work done on it this evening. I meander into the kitchen, thinking to make some tea when I hear the quiet knock on my door. I frown, glancing at the clock on the stove. Nine-thirty. Who the hell—Stewart. It's been a few days since I’ve heard from him, giving him enough time to work up a reaction, an attempt to talk me out of my decision. That’s Stewart. When we got into an argument, it usually took him seventy-two hours to process and come back with a retort. I've timed it, many times. Seventy-two hours; no more and no less.
Setting the box of tea bags back onto the counter, I sigh and stride toward my door, rehearsing what to say to him when I open it. I’m not going to let him in. I’m not going to give him the opportunity to start an argument. I don't have the energy. When I open the front door, you could knock me over with a feather.
Not Stewart, but Daniel. I stare at him, eyes wide, my mouth open in surprise.
"We're not done yet."
He steps into the apartment and I let him, and then cast a quick glance around, hoping I didn’t leave any clothes on the floor or dirty dishes in the sink. I’m not exactly compulsive about cleaning.
"How did you know where I live?"
He walks to my couch, calm as anything, and sits down, crossing his legs and extending one arm along the back of it. Making himself right at home.
"It's on your application file."
God, that’s a stupid question. I close the door and then turn to face him, just standing there like an idiot, staring at him in dismay. "What about your fiancée?" I shake my head. "I can't say that I haven't enjoyed our time together, Daniel, but I'm a bit of a traditionalist in—"
"I broke it off with her," he interrupts.
I’m rendered completely speechless. I stare at him for several moments, thinking that he’s joking. He has to be. "You what?" My stomach doesn't flip-flop. What’s he talking about? What’s he saying? What is he not saying?
"I broke off the engagement," he says simply.
I stared, aghast. "But why?" How could he do that? From what I gathered, they were in the final stages of wedding planning. Did he do it for me? I nearly choke. And then tell myself I’m an idiot again. He wouldn't break off his engagement for me. Idiot. He told me that our relationship was to have no strings, so what is he intimating? I’m getting ahead of myself, I have to be. No, he didn’t break off his engagement because of me. Did he? I shake my head. "I don't understand."
"It was an arrangement, Ashley. I don't love her, and I sure as hell don't believe that she loves me. So, I broke it off."
He states it so simply, without any emotion whatsoever. Okay, so—
"Ashley, I would like to try taking our relationship to a different level."
I stand, my brain not tracking his words. "What?"
He pats the couch cushion beside him. "Come sit down. Let me explain."
Slowly, I approach the couch and sit down next to him.
Tonight is the time for firsts, isn't it? The first time he's been in my apartment. The first time I sat next to him, on a couch no less, with my clothes on, in a different kind of situation. He feels comfortable, no doubt about it, but I don't know what to do. Is he my Dom now or is—
"Up until this point in time, we've had a Dom/sub relationship, Ashley. But I would like to suggest a bit of a change."
He sits so close I feel the heat emanating from his body. For the first time—another first—I feel that we’re talking more as a couple, like friends—with benefits, yes, but on an equal level. "I'm not sure I understand," I say softly. I sure as hell don't.
"I want to spend more time with you." He shrugs. "Spend more time other than just in my playroom."
I can't imagine what my face looks like. Inside, I feel breathless. My entire body tenses and for a second. Did I hear correctly? Is he telling me that he wants to—
His face leans toward mine and then his lips are on mine, kissing gently, softly nibbling, and then deepening in pressure. His tongue traces a path around my lower lip and then urges my mouth open. My heart pounds. Of course, I open my mouth to him, not quite certain what—
His breath feels warm against my lips. I say nothing. What can I say? My body tingles all over as I try to absorb what he’s saying. But it’s so hard to concentrate with his tongue doing that curling thing with mine. Is he saying that he wants to date me? Or that he doesn't want to do that Dom/sub thing anymore? I don't understand. I can't grasp this sudden change, but my questions will have to wait. As his lips increase their pressure on mine, I feel a surge of joy bubble up inside me. We’re acting like a normal couple would, sitting on the couch, kissing. I can't believe it. Needless to say, one thing leads to another. His hand slips up underneath the hem of my shirt and his hand leaves a trail of heat on my skin as he skims it along my side and then cups my breast. His thumb circles my nipple. At first, I’m not quite sure what to do. Did we slip back into the Dom/sub roll? He isn't acting like it but… do I have to wait for permission to touch him? I break off the kiss and slowly lift my head, raising an eyebrow in silent question. His hand and fingers pause in their achingly tender stroking.
