“I’ll learn. Eventually. I promise.”
He patted the sofa beside him. It’s one of those pieces of furniture that looks like it’s too modern to be comfortable, but it was actually quite nice. The wide, square cushions were surprisingly squishy, which made it a little difficult to not topple over and lean against him. I kept my feet flat on the floor for stability.
“I know that you’re not used to my lifestyle,” he began, his deep voice low. “And I know it might seem like I have access to some magical font of medicine that the rest of you puny mortals do not.”
I was glad he could at least have a little bit of a sense of humor about it.
“But I’m scared, Sophie. Money does not guarantee immortality. My father was proof of that. He died in his fifties. In three months, I’ll be forty-nine. And for the past four years, I’ve been living with a ticking clock.”
“Is that why everything has been moving so fast between us?” I couldn’t help but think about his admission in New York, that he’d proposed to Elizabeth out of a need to control his life.
“No,” he said immediately, then followed it with, “all right, it could be. But I don’t feel like I’m making a mistake with you. I did, with Elizabeth. I married her, even though I was still unrealistically in love with a woman I was never going to see again.”
“But you did see me again.” I reached for his hand, and he squeezed mine gratefully.
“I did. And now we’re together. And I feel like the clock has sped up, when I don’t want it to.” He shook his head. “It’s selfish of me, but I want you to feel the same way. I want to know that you’re not okay with our time together being potentially cut short.”
A painful sob welled in my chest, and I opened my mouth, unable to say a word. I took a sharp breath and swallowed. “Neil... I am so terrified of losing you, I moved to a foreign country with you. I abandoned my old life, I put my career on the back burner... I don’t want to hold that over your head for the rest of forever, but I don’t know what else I should do to prove to you that I care about you.”
He lifted his gaze from our entwined fingers, to look into my eyes. “Tell me. That’s all. When I say I’m afraid, don’t ask me not to be. Tell me that you are, as well. That’s all the reassurance I need.”
I hugged him, hard.
“It isn’t that I’m not scared. I am. I thought I was doing you a favor by downplaying it.” I leaned back, and he reached up to smooth my hair from my forehead. “I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel like I didn’t care. But I need to be able to deny this a little bit, too. I haven’t had four years to process it all.”
“I know.” He pulled me into his arms again and squeezed me tight. “Things will be better once we’re settled in here, and we can establish some kind of normal.”
I stroked his back through his shirt. “Do you want to skip Paris? Dr. Grant didn’t sound thrilled about the delay. It’s not going to hurt my feelings if we leave Paris for another time.”
“No.” He pulled slightly away, his expression one of total puzzlement. “Sophie, no. Paris is as much for me as it is for you. I want to do something truly romantic for you, so you can have a happy memory, in case...”
“In case you die?” There. I acknowledged it. “You don’t know for sure that you’re going to die from this, or that we’re not going to have any happiness between then and now, if it does happen.”
He looked like he didn’t know what to say to that, probably because he knew it was true. He stalled a moment, lifting my hand to his lips and murmuring, “I want to go to Paris with you because I want to forget what’s going on here. Maybe I want to take comfort in denial, as well. Just for a few days, I want to be Neil and Sophie meeting in that suite at the W for sweaty, forbidden, boss-on-secretary sex.”
“Excuse me, ‘assistant,’” I reminded him.
He pushed me back on the cushions, his teeth finding my earlobe. He sucked it between his lips, then released it and whispered, “You have no idea what I have planned for you.”
I sat up a little, so I could breathe. “You’re set on going?”
“We are going.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “If I’m facing possible death, I think I deserve one last hurrah.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Okay. I know I’m not supposed to argue with you when you talk about dying. And yes, you could die, Neil. But I could get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. Either we need to live every single day together like it’s our last, or we need to be comfortable with the fact that some times are just sucky times.”
“Which reminds me,” he said, pulling me up with him. “When you cross the street, remember to look to the right first.”
“I’m serious.” I was going to stand firm on this point. “I’m not going to listen to a bunch of ‘last’ this and ‘final’ that. Not until you’re actually dying. And no more Morrissey. He’s going to make you depressed.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Neil said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve never had to have lunch with the man.”
CHAPTER TEN
We flew into Paris the next night, on the private jet. It wasn’t a long enough flight to do anything truly naughty, but we did decide on our terms for the weekend. Nothing was off the table, except electricity and anything that would leave a permanent mark. Our safe words would be the same, and if at any time I wanted to call off my total submission, I could. But I was so ready to belong to him, so desperate to be fucked by him again that I doubted I would be willing to call off anything at all.
I think we both needed to escape into fantasy, even if that meant pushing limits further than we had before. Maybe what we were doing was mentally unhealthy. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone describe denial as an A+ coping strategy. But if we weren’t focused on our issues, we weren’t arguing, and I suspected arguing might become a regular occurrence as we navigated this cancer thing. It was one thing to be afraid he might die; it was another to be afraid that our relationship wouldn’t survive.
I was a day from my two week prohibition being up, but I’d decided that enough was enough. I wasn’t having cramps, I wasn’t bleeding, I didn’t feel like I’d had an abortion at all. I felt like me again, and my libido was back with a vengeance, ready to make up for the time I’d lost.
The holiday would definitely be interesting.
We flew into Charles De Gaulle airport and landed at about six p.m. After a perfunctory customs check, we left the plane for a car, a Rolls-Royce Phantom with a driver but no partition, so we had to behave ourselves. That just meant that I could pay attention to the beauty of the city, still dressed for Christmas, once we got off the massive freeway and into Paris proper.
A light snow was falling as we drove down the Champs-Élysées, making the pavement wet so the headlights and taillights on every car were magnified into two point stars. The trees that lined the street were decorated in hypnotic gold and silver lights, and the Arc de Triomphe rose up before us, illuminated in sprays of gold.
I had been to Paris once before, for fashion week, but as Gabriella’s assistant, I’d spent most of my time staring down at my phone, putting out fires. I hadn’t gotten much of a chance to see the sights, something I’d expressed to Neil before we’d left. I’d planned a lunch with Holli, but other than that, our schedule was open and Neil had promised we would do whatever I wanted.
“Is there anywhere you’d like to go before we see the hotel?” Neil asked. And while I did want to eventually go out into the city and have the full experience, Paris had been around since forever, and it would certainly still be there in the morning.
“All I want to see is the ceiling of that hotel room,” I purred, not caring if the driver understood English.
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. We’ll be far, far too busy for you to spend any time at all staring at the ceiling.” Neil traced my jawline with one fingertip, trailing it down my neck and over my collar bone.
I wanted him. God, I wanted him.
<
br /> Arriving at the hotel and checking in all blurred together in a rush of hormones and an overload of color and sound and luxury. The hotel Neil had picked for us was the Plaza Helene, a five-star on the Avenue Montaigne with a rose-colored facade and romantic wrought-iron balconies. He’d booked us something called The King’s Suite, and I didn’t even want to know the price since he whipped out his black charge card and let the concierge just have it.
A very smartly dressed man in a suit came out from behind the front desk to personally escort us to our suite. As we rode up in the elevator, Neil asked him casually, “Parle Anglais?” to which the man responded, chuckling, “Mais oui, but I can pretend I do not.”
When the doors to what seemed like the slowest elevator in the world opened, we stepped into a long lobby that looked like something out of the Titanic. The white walls, sumptuous area rug, and Chippendale-style furniture was all arranged with an elegant thoughtfulness. Up three red-carpeted steps was a short corridor that lead to two wide white doors; the bellman who’d taken our bags from the curbside was just leaving.
The man who’d ridden up in the elevator with us opened the door and stepped back, gesturing us in, but Neil asked him to pardon us a moment, then pulled me just a few steps away to whisper in my ear, “When we get inside, look around the suite. Find a room that you like, strip down to your panties, and wait for me.”
My breathing started doing double time. Anticipation tested my nerves; waiting for him, knowing how close we were to finally having sex again, would likely kill me. I’m sure that was his intent.
The bastard.
“How...” I wetted my lips and rose on my toes to whisper back. “How should I wait for you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “Bent over something.”
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.
“You have your instructions,” Neil told me as I stepped inside, and I left him to deal with tipping the staff while I wandered into what had to be the single biggest hotel room I’d ever imagined in my entire life.
The suite was really more like an apartment, if you were the kind of person who had a four bedroom, six-thousand square foot apartment with four marble bathrooms and crammed with enough furniture to seat roughly thirty-six people at one time. I wandered through the rooms, my head spinning, my eyes almost sore from taking in the elaborate decor, the fresh flowers, the gorgeous views from the windows.
I found one bedroom with a large sitting room, all done up with dusty gold walls and gilded crown molding; the bed was covered in a tarnished-gold duvet. Soft, pastel amethyst curtains cascaded down from a bed crown behind the padded, lavender headboard. The sleeping area was separated from the sitting area by a wide square doorway, and on either side, elaborate arch cutouts held gleaming, purple vases. There was a padded bench at the foot of the bed, and a view of the Eiffel Tower from the balcony.
This was the room. Absolutely.
I did as Neil instructed, wriggling out of my jeans, my jacket and my t-shirt. I carefully slipped off my long chain necklace and my silver bangles, and put my heels back on. They were the gorgeous, gleaming nude pumps Neil had given me for Christmas. I had thought it only appropriate to wear them for the first night of our trip.
A chandelier hung above the foot of the bed. I found the dimmer switch and turned the lights down low, then knelt, leaning over the upholstered bench, my back arched, ass in the air.
So, we were starting now. I ached at the thought. I’d promised him three days of total submission, and that was exactly what he would get. Whether it was a present for him, or for me, remained to be seen.
I heard his conversation with the hotel representative end, heard the sound of footsteps in the entry hall. Was he coming this way? How long would he make me wait?
I listened as Neil moved methodically from room to room, heard the click of lights turning on and off. Was he really giving himself a tour, when we’d just gone for ten days without fucking? Didn’t he have any clue how much torture this was?
He knows exactly what he’s doing, I reminded myself. This was a part of his fantasy of control. The man who was always on time everywhere, the man who was so courteous and never made anyone wait, got some sick thrill from making me wait. I shifted on my knees in agony, my empty pussy clenching in anticipation.
When he finally came in, his presence electrified the room. The smell of his cologne, the faint sound of his clothing rustling, every part of me reached for every part of him, though I didn’t move a muscle. My senses sought him out, wanting. I vividly imagined the feeling of his palm smoothing over my backside, and I couldn’t handle the simple task of breathing. I hiccoughed, and flushed in embarrassment.
He walked slowly toward me. Every footfall on the carpet seemed a thousand times louder than it actually was. He stood beside me; the creases in his trouser legs filled my field of vision. I didn’t look up at him, because I hadn’t been invited to.
Submission was like riding a goddamned bicycle. I’d needed training wheels to begin with, but I got my balance faster every time. My Sir had told me to wait, so I would. Until he gave me any other instructions, I would wait. With every second that passed, I grew more confident in my role.
“You look very beautiful like this,” he said in a reverent hush. One fingertip fell on my skin, just above the waistband of my panties, a silky, pale pink thong. I imagined that I looked like a piece of candy kneeling there over the pastel blue bench. I took a breath as he traced the edge of the material over the curve of one cheek, down, down, between my legs. My whole body shivered, my hair sliding over my back, raising goose bumps.
“It’s been too long, Sophie,” he said on a ragged whisper.
Yes, far too long, and I was so ready. I didn’t care if he fucked me like this, right now, and it was all over in ten minutes. I needed him, with an ache that was becoming acute pain. A light slap to my ass made me jump, but it wasn’t hard enough to do more than tease me.
“As much as I’d like to begin right away, there’s something I need to do first.” With a hand at my nape and another beneath my elbow, he urged me to my feet. I stood up tall in my heels, my breasts lifted, nipples hard pebbles from the touch of the velour bench.
A faint smile crossed his lips as he looked me over. “This way, please.”
“Yes, Sir.” I let him steer me away from the bed, to a récamier in the sitting area. It was a sort of chaise longue with high, curved ends, and I came up with at least fourteen different naughty uses for the thing as we approached it. My sex brain had been turned off for a while, but now it was making up for lost time.
“Lie down, and spread your legs. A foot on the floor on either side, please,” he ordered me, and I did as he asked, lying against the brocade covering, my legs wide apart, my high-heels touching the floor
“Very nice. Now, if you don’t mind...” He left the room, left me there, unrestrained but unmoving. When he returned, it was with a small, wheeled suitcase. “I hope you don’t mind watching a moment while I unpack?”
“Unpack?” I squeaked in outrage, lifting my head. He gave me a sharp look, and I lay back down.
“I did warn you, Sophie, that if you wanted to explore total submission, I would expect more from you. That includes expecting more patience.” He unzipped the suitcase. The first object he pulled out was a flogger, with long, black tails. He lifted it as if testing the weight in his hand, then brought it down sharply over his clothed arm. It whistled as the tails resisted the air, and he hissed in surprise, opening and closing his fingers and chuckling. “My, that is going to hurt.”
I took a sudden, shuddering breath.
“You know your words, of course,” he continued, removing what appeared to be a set of leather cuffs, four of them chained together in a short x of gleaming chrome clamps. “But my goal is for you to never need them. This is a bit like training, as much for you as it is for me. It will give me a chance to learn you better, to know your body, and anticipate just how much you
can take. Push yourself as far as you like; I trust you to know your own limits better than I do, and I trust you to help me find them.”
As he finished his sentence, he brought out a wand-style massager with a bulbous head and... oh good god, it plugged in. It plugged in to the wall.
I shivered uncontrollably as I watched him unload the suitcase, laying each item out on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. There were more restraints, attached to a collapsible bar; the paddle he had used on me before; a slender black case he opened to reveal a spiky, stainless steel instrument that looked like the serial killer cousin of my mom’s stitch marker for hand sewing.
“Maybe not this trip,” he said when he looked up and saw my wide eyes. He snapped the case closed and set it on the table.
The rest of the bag was filled with more accoutrements of perversion; rope, dildos of various sizes, the small platinum vibe he’d used on me before, a length of black silk— to blindfold me, no doubt— and a few glass items, one unmistakably a butt plug.
Every time I thought the bag must be empty, he brought yet another item out. It was like he’d hijacked Mary Poppins’s luggage on her way to a fetish weekend.
He moved toward me slowly, his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. He stared down at me, spread for him, my body weeping and wanting. He’d barely touched me yet, and I felt like I was on the edge, ready to explode.
“I like this,” he said, gripping the rolled end of the récamier. “There are really so many ways we could utilize it. We might need to get one for the bedroom.”
“I like that idea, Sir.” I writhed against the upholstery.
“We’re going to begin with a game, Sophie.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and held it in front of me. One euro. He flipped it into the air and caught it on the back of his hand. “Would you like to hear the rules?”
“Yes, Sir.” I chewed my lower lip as I watched the coin glittering in his big hands. I wanted him to touch me. I really hoped that would be a part of the game.
The Girlfriend (The Boss) Page 14
