by Dee Palmer
“Sorry Mr. Wilson. It’s very warm in here, and I must have been a lot more tired than I thought, sorry. I didn’t fall asleep in the lecture.” I add quickly, hoping he wouldn’t think me that rude, and he laughs.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a student has, my dear, but I believe you. I was just coming to lock up and saw you. Lucky I did, or you might’ve been here all night.” He laughs again. Really, I’m so exhausted I probably wouldn’t have woken before morning, anyway.
“You lock up the rooms?” That didn’t seem right. Surely that is more a job for security than for a Head of Department.
“When I’m asked to.” He still hasn’t moved to allow me to get up. “Bethany, I wanted to check how you are doing? You seem a little pale, and, well, you just don’t seem like yourself. Some of the Lecturers have commented, and I wanted to make sure you are okay?”
My face flushes red with this level of concern. Again I think this is outside his remit as course leader. “Oh, that is very kind. I’m fine, really. I love the course, but I have been working a few extra shifts, and I just think it’s taken its toll on me, but nothing to worry about,” I insist. “I’m fine.” I smile, but my stern tone I hope will fend off further personal questions. I go to move, but he still makes no indication that he is about to join me in leaving the theatre.
“You don’t seem fine.” Okay, so maybe I need to work on my stern ‘don’t ask me any more questions’ tone, but he looks so sincere and kind, there is no way I can get cross at his insistence.
“My mother died recently.” I know it was mean to use this excuse and make him uncomfortable in the process, but it does have the desired effect.
“Oh, I am sorry, Bethany.” He reaches for my entwined hands and squeezes. “I had no idea. I understand how traumatic that must be. If you need anything from me, you know you only have to ask.” He pushes himself up out of the seat, and I follow him along the row. “We better get a move on, or we will both get locked in, and that will have tongues wagging.” He gives me a cheeky wink, any awkwardness vanishes, and we both laugh.
It is dark across the Quad, and there are only a few students left. I decide to walk home. I know it will take me a good hour, but I am in no hurry to be alone in my apartment. Besides, I love London at night this time of year. The Christmas decorations are up, and the luxury arcades along Piccadilly look spectacular, festive and magical. The window display in Fortnum and Mason is decadent and luxurious, with mountains of mouth-watering Christmas fare, arranged in a feat of gravity-defying art; glossy glazed fruits, rich dark chocolates, and cinder toffee. Thick mince pies and delicately iced Christmas cakes. My tummy rumbles as I step foot on the Piccadilly road in anticipation of passing these windows.
I reach the corner of the street just after Fortnum’s when I notice Daniel’s driver standing at the back of his car. He waves me over. I look around. I don’t know who would be following me, but I still want to check. I don’t recognize anyone.
“Hey, Peter.” I greet him cheerily. “Christmas shopping on the clock?” I quip. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the boss; us ‘staff’ have to stick together.” I snort.
“You were never staff, Ms. Thorne,” he tells me quietly.
“I think you’ll find I was.” I’m still smiling, it might hurt like fuck, but there is no reason for everyone else to know that. “Anyway, how are you doing?”
“I am well, Ms. Thorne, and you? Are you keeping well?” His voice is tinged with concern, and I wonder how much he knows. Probably more than I would want, but his eyes are kind.
“Really, Peter, Bethany is fine. Actually Bets would be much better, and, yes, I’m fine.” I wonder if I am using that description more because I know how much Daniel hated it. I smile at this. “I’m fine, anyway, it’s freezing, so I’ll maybe see you around.” I turn to leave.
“May I please drive you home? As you said, it’s cold and it’s still some distance from here.”
“Oh I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say in a gravely humorous tone. “If you’re not in trouble for Christmas shopping, you’d probably get the sack for giving me a lift, which is not worth the risk, my friend.” I laugh. “It’s not that far through Green Park.”
“I can’t let you walk through the park Ms.… Bethany.” Bless him, he is struggling with the informality.
“Don’t sweat it, and, no offense, Peter, but it’s not your call. Thank you all the same. See you.” I turn and head off at a brisk walk. I decide not to go through the park. The streets are busy, and the roads are gridlocked, but when I turn to cross the road, I notice Peter is slowly following me in Daniel’s Bentley. The traffic is moving no quicker than my walking pace, so he is pretty much on my heel the whole way to Knightsbridge. We even pass one another several times, and I wave. He looks exasperated at my stubbornness, but he’d not thank me if he got the sack just before Christmas. I remember painfully that I was escorted from Daniel’s building. He would throw a shit-fit if I was using his personal driver for my own convenience.
The kitchen is busy with the final orders of the evening, and Joe tries to tempt me to eat a little of the special, a venison meatball spaghetti, which I’m sure is delicious but would be way too rich, given my limited intake of food recently. I do agree to a small bowl of the tomato and basil soup, which I carefully hold in my hands as I tuck my legs under me on the sofa. I knew I was hungry, but I didn’t think I would be able to actually keep anything down. The soup, however, is sweet, and the basil tastes so fresh, I finish the whole bowl. I suddenly feel so tired, and I lie down on the sofa. I don’t know where it comes from, but I am soon heaving with such sadness, my shoulders are shaking uncontrollably, and my tears are free-falling, drenching my face. I thought I was coping. I knew I wasn’t, but I can’t believe this pain, it hurts so fucking much. I can’t believe I miss him so much and I’m so fucking angry. How could he believe those pictures without question? How could he believe her, believe I didn’t love him? How could he look through me like I was nothing? Because to him, you are nothing, you’re a fucking idiot! I then hear some lyrics float from the kitchen below about ‘sharing all my secrets and all my fears, but the hardest part not having you to hold’ and it feels like my heart has been ripped from my chest because ‘I can’t bear to let him go.’ This crippling pain is me not bearing it, and I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to survive Daniel Stone.
I don’t know how long I release my sadness into the sofa cushions, but my eyes are now dry. They are empty, at least, when I hear my bag vibrate. My body feels unbelievably heavy, and with herculean effort I push myself up and retrieve my bag. Rummaging to the bottom, I notice it is the phone Mags gave me that is vibrating. I just hadn’t gotten around to sending it back. I’m amazed it’s still kept its charge. Expecting the call center ID to be flashing, I almost drop the phone when I recognise Daniel’s number flash across the screen. My heart, which had been bleeding on the floor, now leaps to my throat, and I stare at the phone for ages. I shouldn’t answer it, but it just keeps ringing. Why is he calling me on this phone? I guess I could ask him? I press the button and tentatively hold the phone to my ear like it might explode.
“Daniel?” My voice is barely a whisper. Silence. “Daniel, why are you calling me?” The line is quiet, but I can hear his gentle breathing.
“Lola?” His voice is smooth. My senses are instantly on high alert. I wait a moment, the silence palpable.
“Sir.”
“Lola, good evening.” His voice is smooth and commanding.
“Sir? I…I,” I stutter.
“I said good evening, Lola.” His dominant tone is very clear, and I shiver.
“Good evening, Sir,” I acquiesce.
“Good girl.” His deep sigh is sensual and captivating. I know Sir is Daniel, but I don’t know what he wants. What I do know is that my body is programmed to obey him, and it starts to tingle with anticipation. “Now… how have you been? I think it might be worth mentioning now ab
out my view regarding lies, Lola. They won’t be tolerated, and you will be punished.”
“I should be punished.”
“Really? Why would you say that? Have you been bad?” His tone is serious, and his voice is dark.
“I must have been very bad, Sir.” My voice is shaky. “I don’t think anyone could suffer pain like this who hadn’t done something so terrible to deserve every bit of it. So, yes, I think I must have been bad, and maybe in a previous life, too. Maybe I was Genghis Khan’s mother.”
His laugh rumbles through the phone, and the light sound makes me smile. All this pain, and I still glean some much needed warmth from his voice.
“I am going to help you, Lola,” He states as a matter of fact.
“Sir,” I sigh at this futile conversation, “that is kind, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Did I ask you what you thought?” He is dismissive of my reservation. “I want you to get changed into one of my gifts to you, and in ten minutes there will be a taxi waiting to bring you to me.”
I gasp. “Da-” I don’t get to finish his name.
“-LOLA!” He shouts down the phone making me jump.
“Sir, I can’t see you. I can’t come to you. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” My panic is evident in my rushed objection.
“You can and will,” He growls his demands. “Lola, you will come to me, and I will make the pain disappear. I will make your pain disappear. Now, you can do as I say, and you will be brought to my flat, not my apartment, or I will come and get you. Do you understand, Lola?” Oh, fuck, I can’t let him come here, but at the same time, I do want him to take my pain away. I really want the pain to go away. I am so scared. I can’t help a small sob from reaching my mouth. “Lola, I won’t let anything happen to you that you don’t want to happen.” His voice is pure sin, but he adds in a softer serious tone, “You will be safe, and everything that is important to you will be safe.” He is adamant, his voice is reassuring. But then I worry that I just think it is reassuring because I need it to be. “Don’t overthink this… ten minutes.” He hangs up.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
My head is spinning. What the fuck? I can’t risk him coming here, that is just a no, but if I’m to get a taxi, then that means no driver to tie back to Daniel. Also not going to his apartment, and the fact that he won’t answer his name is all good, I think. I don’t really know what to think, but as it stands at this moment I am Lola, and Lola is taking a taxi somewhere to meet Sir. If I wasn’t so scared shitless, I would be hugely turned on by the dominance of his request and this clandestine rendezvous. I run into my bedroom and dive on the boxes in the corner. It is pretty easy to differentiate which garments came from Sir and which came from Daniel, and I quickly identify a black and emerald green corset and matching silk panties, with black seamed silk stockings. I slip my black suede knee high fitted boots and pull a simple grey jersey dress over the top. I don’t own a Mac type coat or any smart long coat for that matter, so I push my arms through the sleeves of my army green Parker. Not quite the image I was hoping for, but it’s bloody freezing out there now.
I hear the horn of the taxi, and my heart ratchets up in speed. I put my keys in my bag and make my way outside. I keep telling myself I don’t have a choice, because I can’t risk him turning up here. At the same time, I am curious to know what he wants from me, or how he plans to help me. I can’t sit still in the taxi.
“Do you know where you’re taking me?” I ask the driver.
“Yes, Miss.” He smiles but says nothing more.
“Do you mind me asking who paid for the booking?”
“You can ask, Miss, but I can’t tell you. It was a cash booking. All up front, so I’m afraid there is no way of knowing, same goes for your return trip.” He hands me his card. “Just call me when you need picking up, I’ll be outside, anyway, but I can pull up right by the door if I know you’re on your way.”
I take his card, “Oh, okay, thanks.” I feel stupid for being so paranoid, but then I have pretty good reason to be, and now I can’t help thinking this is such a stupid thing to be doing. What if… Oh God. “Look.” I address the driver, “Umm, I think I’ve changed my mind. Can you take me back?”
“Ah, sorry, love, my instructions are to take you to the destination and escort you into the building. If there was any change in the plan, I was to wait at the destination for the other party to join you to bring you back here. So I guess I can take you back but …”
“No.” I sigh. “No, it’s fine. I thought for a moment that this was my choice.” I mumble. I feel my phone buzz with a text.
ENTRY CODE: Z78423P FLOOR 18 FLAT 181
My mouth is suddenly dry. The driver turns a corner to a complex of buildings I recognize and pulls up outside Paul’s apartment block. I am really confused now. Paul was discharged yesterday, but I know he is staying at his parents’ house in Notting Hill for a while. Also his flat is on the fourteenth floor, so I know I’m not going there. The driver walks around to my side, but I have already opened the door and stepped out of the car. He walks beside me until we reach the side entrance with the entry keypad. I press the numbers and say goodbye, but he waits until I am fully inside, and the door has clicked locked. I wave, and he finally turns to leave. I wonder if he is expecting me to change my mind and walk back out, and as he leans against his car still looking at me, I realize that’s exactly what he is expecting me to do. Or at least what he has been warned I might do. I wave again and turn toward the bank of lifts. My hands are a little shaky, and as the lift ascends, it is not just the sudden weightlessness that is making me feel nauseous.
I stand outside flat number 181, my body is trembling, and I pull my head tight to one side to stretch my neck and release some of the tension with a loud crack. I let out a large puff of air, and I think this must feel like a combination of stage fright and entering a boxing ring for the first time. Although he has already done the TKO on me, so I am thinking the former analogy is more appropriate. I take a quick peek down beneath my dress and catch my costume; definitely stage fright. I lightly knock on the door, and moments later, it opens. Oh, he takes my breath away. He stands to one side with his arm high on the door; he is wearing the same black suit trousers he wore in the lecture earlier this evening and nothing else.
I NOTICE HIS feet first. They are bare, but his ripped body soon draws my eyes up his stunning frame. His is taking deep breaths, his chest rises slowly, and his muscles flex and ripple with the small movement. His lightly tanned skin is stretched smooth and taut across his firm, flat abdomen. The tension sizzles between us, and I can feel the instant heat burn deep inside me, but it pales significantly when I’m scorched by the glare of his darkly dangerous blue-black eyes. ‘Wow’, I think to myself, then gasp when I realize the word did, in fact, escape my shocked mouth. I snap my lips together and feel a flash of heat spread across my face. His face is impassive, although there is the slightest flick in the corner of his mouth, it could be the beginning of a smile, but it could equally be the start of a snarl. Only his eyes would give that away, and at the moment they are revealing nothing except a dark desire. I would be shocked if my eyes were any different.
“Lola.” His deep voice is raspy, and he pushes the door a little further to allow me to pass under his arm and into the flat. I walk on legs I hope are not visibly shaking, although they feel like jelly. Passing close to his naked torso, I feel a palpable current race between our bodies. I wonder if it’s only me who feels it, and as I try to suppress a moan at being this near to perfection, I can see his jaw tick and know he is struggling with something, I just don’t know what that is. His cologne is different, rich and musky, and on him it smells like sin. My skin is alive with instant prickles, and my heart is beating with the speed of hunted prey about to be devoured by something wild. I suddenly remember Mags telling me I was a natural submissive, what seems like a life time ago, and outside of everything Daniel and I have been through, I am here as Lola the su
bmissive. It’s the only reason I can be here, because tonight I am Lola and he is…
“Sir.” I turn to face him. The corridor is narrow. We are not too close, but tonight, his size, and general aura of power and dominance, I find intimidating. I lower my head and refrain from meeting his eyes, and I get a sensual tingle all over when he steps to me and lightly lifts my chin with his finger forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Good girl.” He is right about one thing. I am not thinking about the pain in my chest. I am now only thinking about the burning need for release rising between my legs. He passes me and tells me to follow him. I would have, anyway, but with his demanding tone, I am now beginning to understand that tonight is different from any other encounter we have shared, very different. I stand in the living area. Tt is an open space with three large white leather sofas and a small coffee table. The far wall is completely covered with a built in ultra-glossy black storage unit, which has some shelving for personal items, though there are none, and a sleek sliding door, which hides a small bar. The floor is polished white marble, there is no colour in this room. It is cold and impersonal and very different from Paul’s apartment four floors below. He has fixed himself a drink and is walking back toward me. My mouth is dry, and I lick my lips for moisture.
“Mmmm, Lola.” His voice is deep. “I want you to take your coat off.” He sits slowly on the edge of the sofa, which has no arm rest and is more like a rounded off seat. His legs are wide, and he leans forward with the ice in his glass clinking the sides as he swirls the golden liquid around. I can feel his scorching gaze on me, but I won’t meet his eyes, not tonight. I take off my coat. There is nothing seductive about a parker, and I am glad to be rid of it, I am burning up and not from the temperature in the flat.
“Take off your dress.” I inhale a quick sharp breath, but almost instantly pull the hem of the stretchy grey material and lift it over my head. He has his hand out, and I pass the dress to him. I wish I could see his face as I stand there in the sexiest lingerie I own --corset, stockings and stiletto boots, but I do hear him inhale deeply. I hear him move and step my way. He is right in front of me, and he places his large hand on my chest, palm flat, just above and between my breasts. His touch scorches me like a branding iron, and my breath hitches. “Your pain is here?” He is forcing words through his clenched jaw. His tone is deep and angry.
