by Zoey Parker
What a drag.
But not this weekend, I reminded myself. Maybe this was still a business transaction, but I was finally starting to think that it was going to be fun, too.
When we finally got there, I found that the driveway was probably bigger than my actual apartment and that he had a garage big enough for both his car and mine. I parked beside him with plenty of room for either of the cars to get out without the other needing to be moved.
Convenient.
The house surrounding the garage was large. Two stories with at least four rooms that I could see from the outside, though curtains were drawn across the windows. The outside was beautiful with a red brick façade that was slowly being overgrown by ivy. It looked deliberately placed and maintained. There were a couple of large trees near the front door and probably more in the back, then hedges lined the driveway. There were some flowering plants placed deliberately here and there, but it was meant to look natural. Like the wind had just blown them there by accident and nature had taken over.
But based on the ivy and the brick and the whole concept, I had a feeling that all of it was intentional. This place was meant to look almost like it was abandoned, but still clean and livable, which told me that it was expensive and well cared for.
I got out of the car and grabbed my bag. Jules came around a second later and took it from me. “C’mon. I’ll give you a quick tour.”
I blinked at him and followed easily as he led me inside.
From the garage, we entered into the main house. The room on the other side of that door looked like it was a mud room or something. One of those places where you washed up after playing outside in the rain or whatever so you didn’t dirty up the rest of the house. I’d never been in a place fancy enough to need a mud room, so it was a little odd.
But I wasn’t really surprised. Anyone who had the money to pay 1.5 million dollars for the chance to take someone’s virginity… Well, they probably had a little extra lying around.
Jules walked through the mud room and entered into a larger room that was either the living room or the family room. I could never tell the difference between the two.
It had hardwood flooring that was black and white checkers. They looked basic, until the light caught them a certain way and then I could see the ghost of winding vines and roses within the black squares. It was like black on black paint and it gave a little something extra to it. Even if I thought it was a bit much.
The room was decorated with a long three-piece sectional couch. Black leather and curved, it looked like you could sink right into it. There was some modern art deco table in front of it with a glass top and what looked like a swirling dragon for a base. Off to the side set against the far wall was a large fireplace with an old clock on the mantle. It looked like a real fireplace, and I felt a little giddy over the stupid thing.
When my parents were still alive, we’d roasted marshmallows inside at a fireplace. That had been a long time ago.
There were a couple of canvases in the room, too. Some had half-finished paintings, others looked like they were for pencil sketches, and one or two looked like they were permanent fixtures on display. All of them were beautiful and most of them were featuring either tattoos or women with tattoos.
“This is the family room. You’re welcome here whenever, unless I specifically say otherwise. Consider it neutral territory.”
I nodded. Based on his language, I had to assume that this meant some places would be off limits. Why do I feel like Belle from Beauty and the Beast? If the clock started to talk, I was running.
We kept walking. We moved down a hallway, this one with varnished wooden floors. I noticed a couple of vases that were probably super expensive and a desk that had a bowl on it, probably for keys or other small things from your pocket. But what was most noticeable was the mirror that ran the length of the hallway. I couldn’t help but look at it, my eyes following our reflections as we moved down the hall.
“This hall leads to anywhere in the house. If there’s no mirror, you’ve left the main hall.” He waved toward the mirror.
“A little unusual,” I murmured behind him.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I figured I might as well go for broke. Besides, I like being able to see a couple of different angles.”
I saw his eyes drag over my form in the mirror, heat smoldering within them. I swallowed heavily, my body warming to match his gaze.
God, he was sexy.
He showed me a couple of different doors along the way, indicating which ones I could go in whenever and which ones I needed ‘permission’ for. I sort of felt like a little kid for just a moment, being told to stay out of daddy’s office.
I stifled a giggle at the thought of Jules being daddy.
At the very end of the hall was a dark red door. The rest of them were a dark colored wood that matched the flooring closely, but this one stood out noticeably compared to the others. “I’ll show you what’s in that door later. But, Allison, never go in there without me.”
I stared at it, sensing the warning in his voice and strangely enough, thrilling at it.
We rounded the corner to find a staircase that literally spiraled up to the second floor. “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed like a little kid. “That is so cool! I’ve always wanted to see one of those.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt stupid for my outburst. A blush crept over my cheeks and I looked down.
“I’m glad I could do that for you.”
I glanced up at Jules from beneath my lashes to discover he was smiling. “Come. I’ll show you the room you’ll be staying in.”
I wanted to ask if it would be the same room he would be staying in, but couldn’t quite muster up the courage. Turned out, I wouldn’t have to.
The first door on the right from the stairs was the one he went to. He opened it up, walked in, then dropped my bag on the huge bed set up in the middle of it. “This is the guest room and you’ll keep your things here. It has an attached bathroom, a vanity, and a closet if you need it. If you ever need a break, this is your room. I won’t enter it without knocking and asking permission, not ever. And if you don’t want me here, I won’t come in. Period. If you feel uncomfortable with anything that happens, you can come here. There’s also a phone on the nightstand. Feel free to use it if you need to.”
I stared at him. He was talking about this room like it was my safety room and it weirded me out a little. Like, why would I need a safety room? And yet… I still wasn’t truly afraid. I had the sense that he didn’t want to hurt me, because why would someone who wanted to hurt me go to this much trouble to ensure that I had options? A way out, a safe place, access to a phone… He didn’t have to do any of that.
That, more than anything else, made me feel like all of this was safe.
“So, I’ll be sleeping here?” I blurted, then felt stupid. Of course I would be sleeping here…
“No.”
I blinked in surprise. “No?”
He shook his head and folded his arms across his broad chest. He was nicely defined, muscles bulging but not grotesque, shoulders wide and full. He could have been on some bodice ripper cover, though I wouldn’t tell him that. “No,” he repeated. “You’ll be sleeping in my bed unless I tell you otherwise.” He hesitated, then softened his tone and added, “Unless you feel uncomfortable about something. Then, of course, you’re welcome to sleep here. The sheets are clean.”
I nodded, but didn’t think I’d be using this bed. The thought made my blushing worse. I hadn’t even slept with the guy yet and I was already thinking I wanted to share his bed through the night? What if I didn’t like it?
Or worse, he didn’t like it?
That’s what the room is for, I reminded myself silently. It’s about having somewhere to go if things don’t work out.
“Now, let’s go have a drink.”
# # #
Back downstairs, we were in one of those rooms along the hallway. It was a large room very similar to the
family room, but this one had a pool table, a large television, and a very nice bar along the back wall.
“Is this your man cave?” I asked teasingly.
He laughed a little at that. “I suppose it is. It’s a good place to entertain visitors and just relax.”
I nodded. “Do you have a lot of people over?” I wanted to ask if he had a lot of women, specifically, but couldn’t quite make myself be that bold.
He looked at me keenly, making me wonder if he knew what my real question was. “No,” he admitted. “I have a few of the boys over sometimes, but we see each other a lot at the shop, so I don’t really care to see them after hours.”
“Makes sense to me. I love Christel, but I see her almost every day for long shifts. Sometimes, you just need a break.”
He pulled out two glasses from behind the bar and put them on the counter. Grabbing a bottle with amber colored liquid – whiskey, maybe? – he poured a little into each glass. “Who is Christel?”
I accepted the glass when he handed it to me. “She’s a coworker. She actually helped train me, so we’re pretty close now. She even knows my sister.” I bit my lip before I went much farther with that train of thought. I didn’t want to think about Bree right now. That would just make me feel guilty all over again. Jules looked like he wanted to ask further, so I quickly offered the glass back to him and asked, “Could I have some ice, please? Sir?” I was trying to remember to add the sir on the end of things and seemed to be doing a pretty good job.
He smiled at me and carefully plopped two large cubes of ice in there, each perfectly square. It looked very official and I felt for just a moment like a Bond girl or someone equally sexy.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, offering a small smile. I took a sip of the liquid. It burned and I actually coughed a bit, though I got control of myself quickly enough.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Not much of a drinker?”
Clearing my throat, I shrugged a little. “I’ve gone drinking with friends and had a drink at dinner sometimes, but not usually no.” I didn’t add that it was because it was a luxurious expense that I didn’t have time for. That by the time I was of legal drinking age Bree was already in the hospital and I was working as many hours a week as I could to make ends meet. Drinking and partying weren’t exactly in the budget at that point.
“Good,” he told me with confidence. He seemed pleased at my admission. “Every woman should understand what a drink is, what it’s like to be buzzed and even drunk. Just to be safe in the event it happens. But they shouldn’t make it a habit. There’s a difference between a little fun and a problem.”
I nodded and found myself honestly agreeing. I wouldn’t be okay with someone straight out forbidding me from drinking when I was clearly legal to do so, but I also conceded that maybe I’d dodged a bullet. It was beneficial, maybe, that I didn’t have the money or the time for alcohol.
We sipped at our drinks a little in silence, then I broke it by asking, “What exactly do you do?” I had this sudden image of a mafia boss or a hit man. Maybe he was a secret drug dealer or a pimp or—
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
I blinked. “What?”
His smile was slow and languid, smooth like silk. “Not what you were expecting?”
I shook my head. “No… sir. Though I guess that explains why you want to tattoo me.”
He nodded. “It was part of our arrangement.” He hesitated. “However, if you’ve changed your mind, I’m willing to let it go – if I have to.”
“No, I’m fine with it!” I quickly jumped. “I mean, I agreed already.”
He considered me for a long moment and I thought he might ask about my motivations for the money, but he didn’t. Instead, he came from around the bar and took my hand, the one not holding the drink. “Follow me. Let’s go over the rules.”
We walked out of his little man cave and he escorted me through the different rooms. Some were dedicated to tattoos and sketches, like the family room but on a larger scale. Others were filled with motorcycles. Some fully assembled and shiny, while others were strewn everywhere in a dozen or so pieces.
“A motorcycle aficionado?” I asked.
He shrugged his large shoulders. “I ride,” was all he said and I had the feeling maybe there was more. But I didn’t push it.
As he closed the door on that one, he led me back down the hall – his eyes found mine in the mirror more than once – and into the family room. There he indicated that I should take a seat. I picked a spot toward the end of the couch, closest to the fireplace. He settled in a chair that was adjacent to it, on the other side of the fireplace.
“First thing’s first,” he began. He downed his drink before continuing. “You’ll need a safe word.”
I blinked at him. “Safe word?” Like in those dirty novels I read in lieu of an actual relationship?
He smiled at me. “Yes. This word needs to be something you’re unlikely to scream out in the throes of passion, so keep that in mind.”
My cheeks warmed at the image that popped into my head. Him pressing against my naked body, my back arched, my mouth open in a scream of pleasure and profanity.
Quite the image.
“Um…”
He wasn’t going to help me out. “Go on. What do you think you’re going to scream when I fuck you?”
And that got my blood pumping. His words brought heat down to my core, making me fight to keep from squirming on the couch. “I… I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea.” When I still didn’t answer, his voice turned firm. “Tell me.”
I swallowed and instinctively recognized the command there. The one I was supposed to follow, right? “Um, maybe… ‘oh, yes’?” I offered.
He laughed at me. “I’m sure that’ll be one of them. What else?” He settled back in his chair, watching me.
“Please. More.” I bit my lip, my blush so hot I felt like pressing my palms against my cheeks to cool them. But I didn’t think it would help, so I kept them folded in my lap. “F-fuck me… harder.” My eyes widened as the words left my lips. Did I really just say that?
For a second, he looked surprised, too. That gave me a quick rush of pleasure. At least I caught him off guard, for once.
“Really? You think you’ll have a dirty mouth in bed?”
I swallowed harshly. I shrugged. “Um, maybe? I don’t know. I haven’t—Well, you know I haven’t.”
I thought he was going to make me say more, to come up with dirtier things that I might scream in pleasure, but he seemed satisfied with my answer, so he relaxed a little. He smiled. “Well, I guess we’ll have to write off please, fuck, and harder, won’t we?”
All I could do was nod.
“Maybe something cuter, sweeter. Think you’ll scream out honey?” I was about to say no, I didn’t think so, but he continued, his voice dropping with each word. “Syrup. Nectar. Do you even know how you taste?”
How I taste? Oh, my god.
I didn’t answer, couldn’t. His smile widened. “Don’t worry. By the end of this weekend, you will.”
“Corduroy,” I blurted.
He blinked at me. “What?”
“Um, corduroy. You know, for my safe word. I… I don’t think I’ll be screaming that out in pleasure or anything.”
He stared at me a moment longer, then actually laughed. “Good point. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl that just had to get corduroy into the mix before.” He paused, then added, “But you never know.”
We agreed to use corduroy, mostly because I wasn’t sure I could use something more ridiculous like bubbles or fluffy or something. That just felt wrong and embarrassing for some reason, though I guessed that was part of the point, right?
After picking my safe word, we moved on to the rules. “The first and most important rule is this: I am Dominant; you are submissive. I have the control, but you need to understand – you are in charge.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
&n
bsp; He smiled at me patiently. “How much do you know about a Dom/sub relationship?”
What I’ve read in dirty novels, I thought. But to him I said only, “Nothing much, really.”
“Well, let’s go over the basics. A Dominant is the one who gives commands and takes control of the submissive. Usually a male, but not always. A Dom may do as he pleases, but he has one job above all others. Do you know what it is?”
