by JA Huss
She definitely has balls.
And while I’m impressed with her first attempt at a real-life business proposal—especially after the man she’s proposing it to told her he practically wanted to hold her down on the bed with a hand over her throat—the only business I’m interested in is the one where I rip the wet yellow dress down the middle while she stands in front of me shivering from the cold.
“You’re not listening to me.”
“You’re right,” I tell Claudette as I look over my schedule on my laptop. Everything is clear. The guests we had last weekend are gone now, Bram and Daniel are both working on their individual assignments, Claudette is here. “Look, I hire people to work for me, Claudette. People like Bram and Daniel, each of whom are getting paid a shitload of fucking money to do it. And you—”
“Don’t,” Claudette warns, pointing her polished nail at me. “Don’t you include me in your list of employees, Nolan. I’m a partner.”
“A very minor one, Claudette. I told you that when you offered me money. I didn’t need your money—”
“You did,” she snaps.
“It was nice to have the money, I’m not going to deny it. But I’ve been funding my businesses for a decade with no help from your side of the family.”
“It was your choice to be estranged from our father.”
“Was it, Claudette? Was it? No school was going to touch me after the charges were filed. Sitting around doing nothing for two years was preferable to starting my own business?”
“That’s not what he meant.”
“When he cut me out of the will when I said I wasn’t going back to school, I got the gist of what he meant, Claudette. So it was nice to have you on board with me. Nice, but nothing else. I don’t need another mother.”
Claudette’s lips press together. She hates it when I bring up my mother. “No,” she snarls. “I don’t suppose you do. You had one all growing up.”
“And you had a father. So don’t blame that on me. It wasn’t my fault you stayed with him.”
“She didn’t want me.”
“Well, he didn’t want me.” I laugh. “Same fucking shit.” I slap the laptop closed and get up, tucking it under my arm. “I’ve gotta pack. So,” I say, walking towards the door and sidestepping her attempt to grab me by my shirt. I grab her wrist instead, holding it tight. “Don’t,” I warn in a deep voice. “Don’t fucking start with me again, Claudette. I’m serious. If you get crazy, I will buy your ass out of this venture and wash my hands.”
“That’s what you want, don’t you?” The familiar shrillness of her voice is back. I’ve been wondering how long she’d last in this facade she puts on for the public. Claudette has always been high-strung. Like the goddamned thoroughbreds out at Del Mar. Temperamental, and spoiled, and demanding.
It’s her way or the highway. That’s practically her motto. We were as estranged as me and my father for years before she showed up six months ago acting all apologetic. And while I was suspicious, it was nice. It was nice to think that she might’ve calmed down over the years.
But I was wrong. She’s not any calmer now than she was back when we were kids.
“Every day you show me that you haven’t changed, Claudette, makes me want to walk away again. So be careful, sister. I’m not gonna put up with your meddling. Stay the fuck out of my personal life.”
“Or what?” she snaps.
“Or I’ll remove you from it myself.”
I let go of her wrist and push her out of my way, walking into the outer offices towards the stairs.
She follows, screaming. “Don’t do that, Nolan!”
Typical temper tantrum.
“Nolan, stop!” She runs at me, throwing herself into me, so we both collide with the railing of the stairs.
I look down and see the front desk girls looking up, surprised expressions on their faces.
I turn back to Claudette and seethe as I grab her by the shirt. “Lower your fucking voice. You will not start a scene here in front of my employees.”
She gasps and makes a lot of noise, so I let go and just walk down the stairs, doing my best to calm myself as I shoot the girls at the desk a warning look. “Get back to work,” I say as I pass them and make my way into the lobby.
“Nolan!” Claudette yells, following. “You promised me!”
Jesus Christ, here it comes. A full-on tantrum. I’m done with her.
I just keep walking as she screams, “I’m going to tell everyone what you did that night! Because you promised me!”
She’s the one who promised. I never promised her anything. She’s the one who needed to agree to my stipulations. She’s the one who said she’d never do this again. She’s the one who broke our agreement today. And she is the one who will pay the price.
I push through the lobby doors that lead to the pool, her yelling still echoing out behind me. A minute later she’s outside too, but I’m already walking back to the private residence area, and when I reach my bungalow, I go inside and lock the door.
She pounds on it, screaming the entire time I’m packing.
I want to fucking kill her right now. I want to get rid of her so bad.
When I’m packed, I call the valet to bring my car, grab my bags, and walk back out. Claudette is still yelling. I try my best to ignore her as I make my way back into the main lobby, but she is not easy to ignore when she’s having one of her meltdowns.
We’re just passing the front desk when she grabs my shirt, trying to make me stop. I push her and she goes reeling backwards in an exaggerated way, falling down on her ass.
Her makeup is all smeared down her face from her fake tears and I go hot all over. “You’re fucking fired,” I say, my anger boiling over. “You better be gone when I get back on Sunday, because you’re fucking fired.”
“Don’t do this again, Nolan!” she yells, making the biggest scene possible. “Don’t do this!”
But I just walk out. My Carrera is waiting, so I throw my bag on the passenger seat, get in, and drive away.
She’s not going to ruin this day for me. No goddamned way.
My phone rings again, but this time it’s not Claudette. It’s Mysterious. I tab the accept button on the car navigations system.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you?”
“On my way to San Diego. But I’m heading to Boston once I get there. You have something for me?”
“In person,” Pax says.
“I’ll be at the house on Martha’s Vineyard, but I’ve got plans tonight, Pax. Plans that require privacy and seclusion.”
“I’ll call when I get in and we’ll set it up.”
Chapter Thirty-Two - Ivy
Wednesday. It’s finally Wednesday.
I got the delivery receipt for the package I sent Nolan yesterday, so he got it. And he knows what I’m after tonight. But then the doorbell rang a few minutes ago. I didn’t expect a hand-delivered package back.
I look at the white box tied with a yellow satin ribbon and my heart beats wildly. What is in here?
Open it, Ivy. I’m begging myself to open it. But I’m scared too. Because I know what’s in there.
I untie the ribbon and it falls away in a soft puddle of fabric. Then I lift off the lid and pull the yellow tissue paper back.
The dress.
I hold it up and take it in, then hang it on the top of my bedroom door so I can see it properly. It only has one strap, and the satin is the same color as the ribbon on the box. Soft, smooth, like silk, as my fingers pick it up and let it drop, fascinated by the weight, and the sheen, and the way I get wet between my legs as I picture myself wearing it.
I go back to the box and find a silver envelope. The same kind of silver envelope that the first invitation came in. It’s thick.
I open the unsealed flap and pull out a folded handwritten letter on the most beautiful silver paper I’ve ever seen.
Dear Ivy,
Welcome to the preparation phase of our fantasy d
ate. Please read everything carefully.
I will make advances tonight and you will reciprocate. I will become rough and you will say no. NOT STOP. If you say STOP, the fantasy ends. That is your safe word.
But you can, and should, say no. Say no like you mean it. Say no often and loud. Scream no, Ivy. My dick is getting hard right now just thinking about it.
The first time you say no, the real fantasy starts. You should be afraid. You should wonder if you’re crazy. You should second-guess yourself the entire time… until it’s over. And then you should not feel guilt or shame because you loved it.
You will enjoy this or we will STOP. You are the one in control even when you feel like you’re completely helpless.
One word to make it STOP, Ivy. Just one word. Don’t be afraid to say it. I will expect you to say it if I do something wrong. If I gag you, and I will—I like the gag—you will cross your fingers to signal STOP. Don’t forget that. You will cross your fingers to signal STOP.
There’s a man waiting outside. Don’t worry, he will be there no matter how long it takes for you to make up your mind. We discussed what will happen tonight last weekend. You saw the pictures and I’ve gifted you the most important one at the bottom of the box.
Read the enclosed card. Check the stipulation boxes, sign it, seal it inside the envelope, and then open your front door and present it to the man waiting in the silver car.
Prepare yourself, Ivy. This will be a night we will never forget.
Nolan
And then I read the card.
Here is what you can expect:
Rough play, including but not limited to slapping, biting, spanking, and choking.
Fantasy rape, forcing you out of your comfort zone. You will be held down if you struggle. You will be chased if you run. You will be fucked hard and bruising and/or swelling of certain areas of your body should be expected.
Severe temperature changes including, but not limited to, extreme cold and heat in the form of water and hot wax.
Bondage of the wrists, as demonstrated last weekend.
Aftercare as demonstrated last weekend and by the included graphic image.
Do not wear a bra, but do wear the panties and shoes delivered in the box.
You will not be burned, punched, caned, cut, or strangled, Ivy. None of what I do to you tonight is in anger. None of what I do tonight will leave a scar. Everything I do to you tonight is for our pleasure.
Nolan Delaney
I go looking for his drawing, finding it underneath yet another layer of yellow tissue paper. It’s the one where we’re lying in bed, spent and exhausted, Nolan kissing me on the head.
I read the stipulations again.
Do I want this?
My fingers dip down between my legs and find the pool of wetness.
I think that answers my question.
I quickly put a checkbox next to each line and then sign the bottom of the card, put it back inside the envelope, and seal it up.
When I open my front door a man inside an expensive-looking silver car gets out and walks towards me. I hand him the card. He nods his head, wordlessly, and then I go back inside.
I said yes.
My heart is beating so fast.
Not only did I say yes, I didn’t even think twice.
I’m sick.
I don’t care.
I’ve thought a lot about what he said last weekend. A lot. How he explained it. How he drew it all out. And it didn’t really look that bad. In fact, when I break each picture down in my head, it’s not that weird. Lots of people like rough sex. I Googled it. Lots of women fantasize about being held down. Forced. Lots of men want to be the aggressor. And a rape fantasy is a way to do that in a safe way.
Safe. I say the word in my head. Nolan laid out everything in the letter and the card. Every little detail. How to make him stop. What he will do. There will be no surprises.
Well, maybe one. When will he come pick me up? Soon? It’s already four thirty. I imagine a date starts at seven? Eight? Just enough time for me to say yes and get ready, I realize. Just enough time to be excited but not enough time to change my mind. Nolan has to be on his way. Unless he’s already here?
I bite my lip and smile.
I have no idea how I will feel at the end of the night, but hopefully I’ll have a smile on my face. And just picturing him doing those things he drew last weekend makes me want to masturbate.
But I don’t have time.
I don’t have time to do anything but prepare myself for my fantasy date with Mr. Romantic.
Chapter Thirty-Three - Nolan
When I land at Boston Logan I find my driver and head over to the municipal airport to make the last leg of my journey before picking up Ivy.
The entire ride to Providence my head is filled with visions of tonight. What she’ll look like in that dress. How long it’ll take her to say the first no. How many times I’ll make her come before we’re done.
When we land in Providence, I thank the pilot and get in the waiting Panamera—what can I say, I have a thing for Porsches—and enjoy the drive over to Ivy’s side of town.
College Hill is way too close to Brown for my comfort level and the only good things about being back in this neighborhood are Ivy and the amazing Colonial architecture. I’ve missed the East Coast. I like the west. I was born there. And I like the South because it reminds me of my mother. But I spent most of my years up here in New England. It was home during all my formative years.
And they chased me away.
Ivy’s house is a stately light gray colonial townhouse with authentic white trim. I already know it isn’t hers, but belongs to her roommate. Ivy might’ve come from privilege but she doesn’t come from money.
I like that, I think, as I pull in front and take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
What if she says stop? What if I set all this up and she says stop?
What if I get to the door and she’s changed her mind?
I will sulk away like a chastised dog. I will probably never try this again with anyone.
“You won’t know until you get your sorry ass out of the car, Romantic.” I say the words, but in my head it’s Mac talking. He was always the calm one. The rational one. The logical one. Mr. Perfect comes by his name honestly.
Unlike me.
I get out and walk up to the low wrought-iron gate, let myself in, and then walk to the front door filled with equal parts excitement, dread, and curiosity.
The door opens before I can knock and suddenly my face is stinging with a slap.
I just stare at my date. Her hand is still raised, her expression is one of surprise, and her dress—holy fucking shit, her dress—hugs her curves like it’s painted on.
“Why did you hit me?” I ask, kinda stunned.
“Oh, my God.” Ivy starts laughing so hard, she doubles over.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m so sorry! I just figured… oh, my God. I can’t believe I hit you! I really hit you!”
She’s laughing so hard I start to laugh too. “Ivy?” I say. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face to stop her laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I was thinking that I might want to do that to you later, but I won’t be able to because we’ll be in the fantasy. And even if I did, you wouldn’t understand what it meant. You’d think it was part of the scene.”
I just blink at her.
“Shit, your whole cheek is bright red. And my hand is stinging!”
I reach for the hand that slapped me, place it against my cheek. The heat of the slap doubles as we come skin to skin. And then I hold her palm up to my lips and kiss away the sting. “I get the point.”
“I’m sorry,” she says through the constant smile.
I don’t know how I expected this date to start, but this certainly wasn’t it. “Don’t be. I get it. I will probably scare you a little tonight. And this is a good way to get your point
across. You,” I say, stressing the word, “are the one in control. Even when you feel out of control.”
She nods and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m doing this. But I’m going to do it anyway.” And then she bites her lip. “People will think I’m crazy.”
“No one’s gonna know. This night is a series of private moments between us, and only us. No one will know unless you tell them. OK?”
She nods, becomes shy again, and then says, “OK.”
“Are you ready?”
“When do I say no?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Well, I was thinking we’d have dinner first?”
“Dinner?” She looks surprised.
“It’s a date. Our first real date. Did you already eat? We can do something else. Get dessert or go for a walk in town. Although, I have to say, walking around this neighborhood brings up all kinds of bad memories.”
“A walk?”
“If you want. If you’re not hungry—”
“No, I’m hungry. I just didn’t expect…”
I cock my head to the side and grin at her. “Didn’t expect… what?”
“Romance.”
I laugh almost as hard as she did when she slapped me. “My name is Mr. Romantic, Ivy. Give me a little credit.”
“I thought it was ironic?”
“Not tonight. Tonight you get all of it if you want. The romance. The fantasy. Even the truth if you’re still interested.”
“The truth?” Her smile drops. “About… that night?”
I shrug. “If you still want to know. I’ll share. It’s the least I can do considering what will happen after.”
She looks very uncertain. Does she still want to know? Will it scare her off? Will she see it through my eyes? Or the eyes of my presumed victim?
“That sounds… perfect. I do want to know. I don’t know what to think about you right now, but I’d like to learn more.”
I lean into her, pushing her body back, until she almost trips over the threshold. Until we are inside her foyer and I have her pressed against the coat closet. “Good,” I whisper in her ear, my lips dragging down her neck before I bite her shoulder. “Good. Because I’m about to show you everything, Ivy. All the secrets,” I say, taking her hand in mine and placing it over my heart, “in here.” I kiss her on the lips and her mouth is soft, and sweet, and tastes like peaches. “Are you ready for that?”
