“Eleven?” she repeats, incredulously. “You’re a complete slut!” I take it from the words and the tone of her voice she doesn’t find the tally impressive.
The vibration of my phone means I don’t have to comment. I’m not surprised mum’s answered so fast; she’s always got her iPhone to hand. Swiping the screen, a photo comes into view. Mollie’s awake for once, her big eyes staring at the screen as if she’s looking straight at me. I glance from baby to woman in front of me, but can’t find any resemblance.
“She looks like you.” Nessa’s hand comes around my side and takes the phone. I notice she’s trembling and she’s almost forcing herself to look at the picture. “She’s got your eyes, your nose. Even your mouth. And the shape of her chin is yours too.”
“Poor thing.” I retort, I take my phone back, and look at Mollie again, having to admit Nessa’s right. Mollie, heaven help her, is all me. No fucking help at all with identifying who gave birth to her.
Pointing at the laptop, Nessa asks, her voice hesitant. “Would you like it to be her?”
I put my head on one side, “I remember her better than the others. I’d lost my wallet earlier that evening. I was looking for it around the casino when she came up with it and returned it to me. I bought her a drink to thank her, and things progressed from there. Fifty quid was missing.”
“Did she take the money?”
Shaking my head, I consider the question, “I didn’t think so at the time, and I don’t think so now. She didn’t look like she needed the money. I assume I’d dropped it, she’d found it, checked the ID inside and saw my picture, so she knew who to return it to.” She would know my name.
“Do you want another coffee while you go through the rest?” It’s a conciliatory gesture, and one I welcome. I accept her offer then continue wading through the rest of the employee and visitor photographs while she busies herself in the kitchen. I end up with a dozen that, hopefully, Cara will be able to get more information on.
My neck’s stiff from leaning over the computer all afternoon, I roll my head back, turning it to one side and then the other hoping to ease the ache. A yawn escapes from my mouth. We’d suffered through night flights on the plane, and it certainly wasn’t conducive to sleep. Having arrived at the palace mid-morning, I’d since been working almost constantly and as a result am dead beat, but also hungry, and aware that my companion must be feeling the same. Realising this is the first time Nessa’s been to Amahad, I decide to make a suggestion.
“Hey, Nessa?” I call out; she’s gone back upstairs, leaving me to my task. As she hears my voice, she comes down the stairs, dressed, as she had been all day, in tight fitting blue jeans but her tank top’s now covered by a flowery blouse and again I notice the figure I hadn’t taken any notice of before. She’s always successfully hidden that delightfully rounded arse and long slim legs from my sight.
“Sean?”
My eyes glow in appreciation as I take in her lithe body. I take a second too long to answer.
As if she notices my appraisal, she fidgets, and then prompts, “Sean! What do you want?”
Hmm, now there’s a question. Recovering my wits fast, I remember why I called her down. “Do you want to go out into the city, Ness? Take in the sights, have a meal? There’s not a lot more we can do tonight. I’ll send the shortlist to Cara and let her work on it.”
She looks surprised that I asked her. I don’t understand why. Had Ryan or any of the others been with me we’d have done the same thing. Mind you; we’d also probably have parted company later on, or not as the case might be, and certainly not returned to our own beds tonight. Or at least, not alone. I sigh, I can’t leave Ness alone in a strange town, a foreign country. And I certainly can’t see her hooking up with someone and going off to have a good time. Fuck, there are major obstacles when partnered with a member of the opposite sex. Try as I may, it’s impossible to suppress my innate urge to protect her while, technically, as colleagues we should be equals.
But given my lack of appetite over the past six months, even if I had a different companion, would I want to seek out female company tonight? Probably not. And haven’t I learned my lesson? Fuck knows. But I’d certainly check any condom I intend to use extremely carefully from now on.
“That sounds fun, Sean.” For a second there I’d forgotten what I’d asked, so turn to look her way. Her face lights up and then dulls as she waves a hand down at herself, inadvertently causing me to look at her all over again. Fuck, she’s got great tits too. How did I miss those? “Should I change? What should I wear?”
Now my question comes back to me, “What? Oh. No, you’re fine as you are, Nessa. Al Qar‘ah is very cosmopolitan, everything goes here. We’re not going anywhere special.”
“Ok. I’ll just go freshen up then. Five minutes?”
I nod, suppressing a grin. If a woman can get ready in just a few minutes, I’ll eat my hat. But she surprises me. I’m just checking my gun when she’s clumping down the stairs again, looking at me in amazement.
“You’re armed?” She frowns, “Should I be?”
For goodness sake woman! I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re on assignment in a foreign country, Nessa. What do you think?”
“Oh.” Again, her face grows red as she makes an abrupt about turn and rushes back to her bedroom.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I check my weapon then slip it back into my shoulder holster, feeling like I’m wearing an old friend. Like the rest of my team, I feel naked when in England where we’re unable to go armed. And Amahad is not the safest of countries to be in, particularly when I don’t know what I’m dealing with. It’s impossible to forget, last time I was in this small Arab state I was kidnapped.
With high temperatures reigning when the sun is blazing in the sky, like most countries with a similar climate, Amahad comes alive during the cooler night time hours and Al Qu’rah, the capital city, is no exception. Leaving via the main gates of the palace compound, I lead her off the main boulevard, and into the narrow winding streets that characterise the ancient town. Spice and other pleasant aromas surround us, and all around a loud chatter of voices calling to each other. Being a fluent Arab speaker, their conversations hold no mystery for me, but Nessa isn’t a linguist so won’t understand, which will be adding to the mystique.
She draws closer to me, and automatically my arm goes around her. Well, it’s one way to make sure I don’t lose her in the hustle and bustle around us, though I certainly wouldn’t be holding onto Ryan in a similar fashion. She doesn’t pull away from me, presumably for the same reason. I’m over six foot tall, and at about five foot seven, she settles quite nicely beside me, her stride just able to keep up with mine.
I take her to the main souk, and her eyes dance with delight at the stalls with their colourful displays of clothing, leather goods, vegetables, meats, bread and, of course, spices. Some are set up to sell cooked food of all different types. A squawking draws us to a stall selling live chickens, but she blanches at their tightly cramped cages, and we move on quickly. She pauses at a place selling jewellery just a little too long, and I pull her away when the excited stall keeper thinks he has a sale. I notice he hasn’t missed my arm around her, and his eyes flitted toward his display of rings. No fucking way, mate. Quickly I move her on.
I have a destination in mind, an authentic restaurant on the edge of the souk, close to the beach, but not so close as to be an easy find for tourists. I’ve eaten here many times in the past, but am still pleased to find I’m recognised as I walk in through the door. A conversation in fluent Arabic establishes that both myself, and the restaurant owner are well and living happy lives, and then we’re shown to a low table. A little more awkwardly than I used to, I fold my long limbs under me, seating myself on the cushions provided. With just a raised, curious eyebrow, Nessa follows my lead.
“How’s your leg?” As she expresses her concern, I’m annoyed she’s noticed.
“More of a nuisance than real pain,” I answer, trying to d
ismiss it.
“You’ll get there.” She gives me the reassurance I’m grateful for, getting directly to the heart of the matter and I narrow my eyes at her perceptiveness. Does she know how much I worry I’ll never be one hundred percent back to full fitness? Ninety percent won’t cut it for the work I do.
After admitting she doesn’t have a clue what most of the dishes are, she leaves me to deal with the food, then we sit back and take in the ambience. I’m pleased she seems enchanted with my choice of eatery.
After I’ve ordered a starter of mezze, and a lamb kebab dish to follow, Nessa picks up her can of coke and takes a drink. Alcohol is not available outside of the tourist resorts, but the universal soft drink seems to be found everywhere. I watch, transfixed, as a drop of moisture remains on her upper lip, and her tongue sweeps out to gather it in. My damn cock jumps. Fuck off! This is Vanessa! Shit, man, draw the line somewhere. Trying to imagine it’s Ryan seated opposite, I switch my brain into work mode. Ryan doesn’t have a rack like that!
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to stare?” Nessa asks, dipping a piece of bread into a delicious garlic and oil concoction.
Caught out, I drop my eyes down to the table, and tear off a piece of the doughy mix for myself. Work seems to be a safer subject, “Hopefully Cara will come back with something useful tomorrow. If we’re lucky, it will be someone who’s easily traceable, and we can get back home.”
She pauses, with her hand halfway between the table and her mouth and tilts her head to one side, “How do you feel about it, honestly, Sean? Having a baby dumped on you out of the blue?”
I shrug, “It’s about the worst thing a man like me can imagine. I’ve never thought about having a family.” I take a mouthful, chew, then swallow. “If a woman came and told me she was pregnant I, well, I don’t think my initial reaction would be very positive. But having Mollie dropped off like that? A fait accompli? There’s no way on this earth I could wish her not to have been born. Not for one fucking moment. She’s a bloody miracle.”
Nessa quickly looks down at her food, making me wonder what I’ve said wrong, but when she looks up again, she appears to be composed, “So, if Danielle had told you she was pregnant, you’d have wanted her to have an abortion?”
But when I glance at her, her relaxed state appears to be at odds with the tension in her eyes. “Fuck no!” I tell her, adamantly. Then, knowing she deserves an honest answer, give it more thought. “I might have questioned whether it was right to bring a baby into the world under the circumstances, but if she wanted it, then I’d have done all I could to support her.”
She looks at her hands; I notice the whiteness in her knuckles and I get the feeling it’s a difficult subject for her. For my part, I’d be quite happy for her to get onto something else.
But she’s not leaving it yet. “Is Mollie going to stay with you?”
I sigh, “Not saying that, honey. I’d love to say yes, but hell, I can barely look after myself, let alone a baby. Half the time I’m travelling around the world, you know that as well as I do. And I can’t ask Mum to have her full time. No, the best thing I can do, the only thing I can do, is to find this Dannie person, make sure she’s ok, and reunite her with her daughter. I’ll help her and would like visiting rights, but I couldn’t be the main carer.”
“What if Dannie is someone you could settle down with?”
The look I shoot her obviously warns her not to go there. She fidgets, makes a show of looking around the restaurant, then gets back to her food. For a while we eat in silence, finishing our starter, and tackling the main course.
“How can you do it, Sean? How can you go with so many different women?”
As her face creases into a frown of such censure, it almost makes me lose my appetite. Almost. “It’s not how you’re thinking, Nessa. Not really.” God, I wish Ryan was here. Then we’d be having a totally different sort of conversation.
“Well, what’s it like then? Explain it to me. And don’t call me Nessa!”
Toying with my kebab, I wonder how I can explain. In the end, I decide to try to elucidate my lifestyle. “I play at BDSM clubs, Nessa. Do you know what that means?” I grin, saying the name I’ve coined for her deliberately. Somehow I like calling her something nobody else does and enjoy the resultant flush it brings to her cheeks.
Narrowing her eyes, she shakes her head. “Apart from what I learned working Mia’s case, I don’t know very much. I’ve read about Doms and subs, but don’t really understand the dynamic.” As she throws me a hopeful look, I can see she’s now more intrigued with getting me talking than fighting the losing battle over her new moniker.
Wiping my hands on the napkin provided, I try to explain. “You know Jon’s a part owner of Club Tiacapan, don’t you? And one of our employee perks is reduced membership?” At her nod, I continue, “Most of the time I play there, or at other clubs like it. People go there to scene. Yes, there are lots Dom/sub pairings who are either couples, or who play regularly together, but there are also people who go just to team up with someone for the night.”
“It’s just sex then.”
“Not just sex, sometimes, often, not even sex.”
She’s shaking her head, not understanding, and definitely not believing.
I’ll have to give her more. “Okay, here we go. BDSM clubs cater to a variety of kinks, but the relationships I’m talking about involve a Dominant and a submissive, and the power exchange between them. In the vanilla world, relationships tend to just happen. A couple will meet, and go to bed. They’ll tear each other’s clothes off, have a quick fumble, do the deed, and hopefully both, or sometimes just one will get off. Sometimes one or the other will even fake an orgasm. Both parties will be left unsatisfied, but ‘it’s just sex’, and so they might even go on to get married, hoping it will get better over time.” I can see Nessa shifting uncomfortably, her eyes looking anywhere but at me and I wonder if I’ve struck a chord. Regarding her intently, watching her reactions, I continue. “Dominance and submission is focussed on communication, exactly what’s lacking in a vanilla relationship. If you, for example, need something in particular to get you off, your nipples pinched or bitten, a finger probing your arsehole or a slap to your bum; you can’t expect a partner to know what you need unless you ask for it.”
“Sean!” her harsh whisper and her hand moving swiftly to her mouth make me smile. “You can’t talk about things like that!”
“Why not?” I challenge her.
She’s gone that lovely shade of red again, and looks around the restaurant, making sure no one is listening to our conversation. Then she hisses, “But all you’re talking about is sex!”
“If you’ll let me finish?” I raise my brow; she drops her eyes to the table under my intense look. Hmm, interesting. Noting her reaction, I pick up where I left off. “A Dom/sub relationship involves what’s known as a Total Power Exchange. Some people live the life twenty-four seven, others just during sex, and others only when they are playing in the dungeon. For whatever period is agreed, the submissive will give all their power over to the Dominant who will then make all the decisions and be in control. Though, of course, ultimately the sub retains all the power.” Or they should do. I suppress a small shudder at an unwelcome memory.
“But you’ve contradicted yourself there. You said the Dom was in control,” her brow creases, perplexed.
I breathe in deeply as I try to drag up the right words, “Go back to my original scenario about the vanilla world. Two people, trying to please each other, with the possible result that neither comes away fully satisfied. In the D/s scenario, the Dom will control the scene and will give the sub what she, or he, needs. The sub has the power to say they don’t like something or if they want it to stop. They don’t have to worry about being put in any situation they don’t like, or being forced to do something they don’t want to. Once the roles are agreed, the Dom will take control. The sub doesn’t have to worry about whether they should initiate or recipro
cate oral sex, for example, whether they should undress themselves or let their partner to it. They will be given commands and directions to follow, and the Dom will take the lead.”
“But you said it’s not always about sex?”
“No, sometimes it’s just experiencing the freedom of giving up responsibility, for a period of time having to make no decisions whatsoever, putting yourself into someone else’s hands.”
“That must involve one hell of a lot of trust.” She’s starting to understand it more, now.
“Absolutely. Which is why it’s always best to play in a club such as Tiacapan which has people monitoring the scenes at all times. Any walk of life attracts people for the wrong reasons, and yes, there are people who use BDSM to abuse the trust of their subs. In a true D/s relationship, the sub can take back control at any time. It’s the Dom’s job to avoid pushing his or her sub so far they have to safeword out.” Well, that’s the way it should be. I know, to my cost, that it doesn’t always work out like that. And I have the scars to prove it.
We’ve just been served small cups of strong, dark coffee which I’ve developed a taste for, having been in Amahad so often before, but I can see by the grimace on her face that Nessa isn’t keen.
She tries a second sip, before asking me, “But you’ve gone far away from the original subject, Sean, how does this explain how you could have sex with so many different women?”
Sighing, once again I try to make her understand, “Some people are Dominant, they live to fulfil the needs of another. Some people are inherently submissive; they want to have their needs fulfilled, to be directed and commanded, not to have to think what they are doing. Many submissives love to serve their Doms. In their everyday lives, such people are forced to suppress their natural inclinations. Many subs work in powerful jobs where they have to make decisions all the time and want to switch off by playing a submissive role in their free time. When I go to a club as a Dominant there’ll usually be a sub who wants to give up their control for just one night. Like me, they are not looking for anything permanent, just an outlet to give them mental and physical release from their otherwise demanding daily grind.”
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 9
