Enamored

by Shoshanna Evers

  “Not true,” Marc said. “Your presents always have a lot of thought behind them.”

  “Well, yeah,” she said, smiling. “I did put a lot of thought into this one.”

  He set his present down on the dresser and pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply. “Oh yeah? What sort of thoughts?”

  “Very dirty thoughts,” she teased. “Actually, I thought about what started this whole bet. Or rather, how you won. I’m so glad you won the bet, Marc, because I feel like I’ve won too. Without it, who knows how long we’d still be celebrating friendiversaries instead of actual anniversaries?”

  She covered her hand with her mouth. How could she say that? The words had slipped out. Damn her filter-less brain. Everything went from her mind straight out of her mouth. Like when she accidentally told him she loved him.

  Did he remember that? He hadn’t mentioned it since, as if he truly hadn’t heard, or didn’t want to hear.

  Please God, don’t let that be the case.

  “Well,” she said, “you can open your friendiversary present first, if you’d like, sir. And with it, I’m giving you my consent to use it as you see fit.” She smiled at him as he tore the wrapping with unrestrained interest.

  The box was rather large, and while it looked like it might be some sort of tool with a whole lot of instructions and extra gadgets and attachments, she knew by the look on his face that he was well aware that it was not your average gadget.

  “You bought me a violet wand,” he said, his voice soft with amazement. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “Why unbelievable?” she asked, feeling like maybe it was a big mistake. “I mean, I just—I wanted to give you the same thing that got you to win me as your submissive for a week. Now that you have your own, maybe we can talk more about . . . extending the bet.” Lauren closed her eyes. She’d just put almost everything on the line there. It all came down to how he responded.

  “I love it,” he said. “Open yours.”

  Lauren released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, awaiting his response, and carefully unwrapped the box. “No way. A violet wand?”

  They looked at each other and cracked up laughing. Of course. How could they not? They both got each other the exact same present for their friendiversary.

  “What made you get me a violet wand?” she asked.

  “Same reason as you. Although I’m not as good with words,” Marc grinned, rubbing his head.

  “I love it, Marc. Thank you.”

  “So can we talk about what’s going to happen now, now that the bet is officially over?” Marc asked. “You’re a free woman. What are you going to do?”

  Lauren set her present aside. “I want to be with you, if you’ll have me. I can live with the fact that you’ll never be my submissive. I can live with never being your Domme, as long as I can be your sub, and your friend . . . and your lover.”

  Marc picked her up, pulling her to him. “You’re okay with only dominating other women at the club or parties, and not being able to have another man kiss your boots?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re okay with being my submissive? Letting me be the Dom in our relationship, even though you have such a strong dominant personality yourself?”

  “I’ll certainly try my best. I might forget every now and then—but I give you permission to remind me.”

  He ran his hand through her hair, bunching it in his fist, holding her face to his for his kiss. “Can I remind you like this?”

  “Yes, sir,” she breathed, opening her lips to let his tongue meet hers. He slapped her ass, hard, and she moaned.

  “What if I remind you like that?” he asked, spanking her again.

  “Yes, sir.” She was getting so wet, so hot for him. If she’d never lost that bet she never would have found out how amazing the other side could be. Lauren loved submitting to Marc. It felt perfect, and right.

  “Baby, will you wear my collar?”

  Lauren took a deep breath. She didn’t want to wear a collar. It just wasn’t her. And . . . she needed to know the one thing he hadn’t told her yet. Did he love her? Or would they forever be celebrating friendiversaries?

  “You’re hesitating,” Marc said, concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “What will my wearing your collar mean to you?”

  He took a thin black collar out of his bag, one that—unlike Elisabeth’s locked necklace collar—actually looked like a collar, but simpler, and thin enough that it wouldn’t draw any more attention in the vanilla world than a choker necklace.

  “This is the collar,” he said, handing it to her to look at. “I want you to wear it to signify that you belong to me. That you are my submissive, and that you will respect and obey me. That you choose to live with me, as my submissive. And the collar will show everyone how much you mean to me. That I’m your Dom, and that I cherish you and that I’m responsible for you and your well-being.”

  “Oh,” she said, holding the collar in hands. He hadn’t mentioned what she wanted—no, needed—to hear.

  “It means I love you, Lauren,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  She smiled up at him. “You love me?”

  “Of course. I’ve always loved you. You’re my best friend, and now you’re mine, if you want to be. This week I realized that the love I have for you runs deeper than just friendship. I want to be with you forever.” Marc looked at her, concern creasing his brow. “Please, Lauren. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Thank God.” He kissed her again, pulling at her clothes until they lay around her on the plush carpet in the guest room, and she stood naked before him. “I only want you wearing one thing right now, and that’s this. May I?”

  “Marc,” she whispered, “I am yours. But the collar is just a symbol, and it’s not one that fits on my neck. Can you live with that?”

  Marc paused. “You don’t want to wear my collar?”

  “I can be your submissive in the bedroom. I want to be. But when we’re hanging out together, or with friends, we work really well as equals. I want to keep that in place. Don’t you?”

  He looked down at the collar in his hand. “I do. You’re right, of course. I don’t need you to wear a collar if it doesn’t work for you. I just want us to be together. And I love you, everything about you. Even that you won’t wear my collar.”

  A tear—a good tear—rolled down her cheek as he dropped the collar on the carpet.

  “I’m so glad you understand. So . . . are we moving in together?” She thought about the apartment she’d be leaving, and decided immediately she wouldn’t miss it.

  “Yeah, for sure. It’s part of me wanting to be with you all the time. I think I’ve always wanted to be with you all the time. It’s why we hang out so much, right?” he laughed.

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “Let me try something,” he said, and lifted her onto the bed. He plugged in the violet wand— she wasn’t sure which one, not that it mattered, and she watched with interest from the bed as he took a piece of metal on a cord and attached it to the wand. He unbuttoned his shirt and placed it against his skin.

  “Are you shocking yourself?” she asked, confused.

  “No, I’m grounding myself. I’m making myself a conduit for the electricity. Look.” With that, he ran his fingers down her body, over her nipples, sending tiny purple sparks from his fingertips to her skin.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s so weird. And good,” she added. “I like it. I want more. Please . . . sir.”

  He turned the intensity knob up slowly, increasing the power, and ran his fingers across her skin once more. Before, her skin felt tingly and fizzy. Now, it felt like tiny prickles of lightning mixed with the champagne fizz in
her blood.

  And then he kissed her.

  Wow. His tongue, the wetness of it against hers, was indescribable.

  “This is what people mean when they talk about a kiss being electrifying,” she giggled, her words slurring a bit from the electric-eel feel of her tongue.

  “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, and licked down her breasts, down her stomach, to the junction of her thighs. He pushed her legs apart with one hand, the other hand still holding the metal grounding plate to his own skin. With long, slow licks, he set sparks flying across her clitoris, electrifying her with his kisses.

  “Too much,” she gasped. “But don’t stop. Don’t, don’t stop.”

  He sucked her clit into his mouth and she came hard, feeling as if fireworks were going off on her body, and in her soul.

  She lay back, panting, as he turned off the violet wand and removed the grounding plate from his own skin.

  “Are you okay, baby?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “I’m great. I feel like a jellyfish, though. Not sure I can go anywhere just yet.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, rolling onto the bed next to her. “We have a while till dessert, I’m sure.”

  “Our friendiversary cake,” she said.

  “So you really love me?” he asked, as if he still couldn’t believe it. He took her hand in his and rubbed it across his stubbly head, and she giggled at the sandpaper feel of it.

  “More than anything.” She smiled and rubbed his head again. “I see why you do this all the time. It’s fun.”

  “I do?”

  “You’re kidding. You don’t know you do that?” Lauren laughed and stretched, standing. “Let’s go eat some cake.”

  Marc nodded. “You mean, I’ll eat the cake and you’ll eat the icing.”

  “You know me way too well. Think they’ll notice how long we’ve been gone?”

  Marc laughed. “Wanna make a bet to see if they do?”

  Marc held Lauren’s hand as they descended the long stairway to the dining room.

  “Just in time,” Elisabeth proclaimed. “We’ve decided to make use of the patio and have dessert and port outside. It’s not too chilly.”

  “Great,” Lauren said and turned toward the doors leading to the huge deck outside that overlooked the ten-acre estate. She kept Marc’s hand firmly in her grasp.

  Marc held in a chuckle. He knew exactly what she was doing— showing off their new coupledom.

  “Oh my God, you guys are a thing now,” Elisabeth exclaimed. “Am I right? Right?” She grabbed Lauren into a hug, and the two women giggled like girls.

  Trevor gave Marc a hug. “Congratulations, man. I’m so happy you two were able to get together beyond the bet.”

  “We’ve been hoping you would get together for basically ever,” Elisabeth said.

  Roman smiled and shook Marc’s hand. “Permission to give your lady a kiss on the cheek?” he asked.

  “Of course. And we don’t need to be so formal among friends,” Marc laughed as Roman gave Lauren a kiss.

  “I’m proud of you, Lauren, for looking past who you thought you were, and finding out you can be even more,” Roman said. “That takes balls.”

  “Thank you,” Lauren said. “We really need to come up with a female version of that. It takes labia? Big fucking labia?”

  They laughed as they settled onto the back deck, which was lit up with tiny white lights. A gas fire-pit roared to life at the flick of a switch, and they sat around it.

  “So,” Roman said. “What made you agree to stay with Marc even though the week is up?”

  “I love him,” Lauren said, and Marc couldn’t believe how lucky he was. This amazing, strong, beautiful woman was giving herself to him.

  “I love you too, baby,” he said, and leaned over to give her a kiss.

  “Aww, they’re too cute. I’m gonna cry,” Elisabeth said.

  Then Adele’s house manager came out with what looked like a very tasty cake, topped with a child’s candle—the number six, for six years as friends.

  “This is also going to become our real anniversary,” Marc said. “Since it’s the day my best friend agreed to be mine.”

  They blew out the candle together. Marc made a wish, which basically came down to Please let her say yes.

  He stood. “So, I wasn’t planning on doing this here, but I’d like to—because it’s nice to be surrounded by friends. I just hope I don’t make a total fool of myself.”

  Lauren laughed. “What are you talking about? If you’re about to prank me, I better not get cake on my face.”

  He kneeled before her chair, on one knee, and pulled a tiny blue box out of his jacket pocket. “This is no prank. This is real.”

  The diamond was a bit on the large side for someone as modest as Lauren, but he couldn’t help but to buy the most beautiful engagement ring he could find after that first night she submitted to him in bed. Just on the off chance that they could make it work, he wanted to be ready.

  “Mistress Lauren, my Lauren, baby—I love you so much. I love that you eat the frosting off my cake, and that you aren’t afraid to tell me what you need, that you’re so honest with me, and the shade of pink you blush. I love you beyond words. Will you marry me?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Is that good or bad?” he asked.

  “It’s good. Really good.” She reached her left hand out, and it trembled as he put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, and the diamond caught the firelight and threw a flash of rainbows across their friends.

  Marc laughed. “So is that a yes, you’ll marry me?”

  Lauren threw her arms around his neck and he stood, lifting her with him. “Yes, of course yes. I love you, Marc.”

  “I love you too, Lauren.”

  Marc kissed her, and he could hear Trevor and Elisabeth cheer. Everything was perfect. He had Lauren, he had his friends, and they were blessed beyond belief.

  But when he looked up in gratitude, Roman was gone.

  Roman stood alone inside the grand foyer of Trevor and Elisabeth’s house. He was happy for them, happy for Marc and Lauren especially. But even with all that love surrounding him, he somehow felt alone.

  Because I am alone.

  Fuck it. He didn’t want to ruin their night, or make a scene, which he probably accidentally did already by leaving right after the big proposal. He knew Marc was the sentimental type, so why should it surprise him that Marc had been carrying around a rock worth more than most people’s houses in his jacket pocket?

  Marc used to tell him everything. Trevor, too. They were the BAD Boys, the three of them. They hung out in a pack, did everything together. Now he was the lone wolf without a mate.

  They used to joke about it, that Roman would be the perma-bachelor while everyone else was settling down and having babies and shit. It never bothered Roman before, because he agreed. There was no woman who held his interest for long, much less inspired the desire to own her forever. Until Elisabeth.

  And she was taken, fair and square. So that was irrelevant.

  Maybe he did want to find someone. Someone who understood him, who wanted what he had to offer. One would think being single, straight, and a billionaire would make dating easier. Instead, it was harder. He had to weed out the women who only cared about his name, or his money.

  And he had to weed out the women who weren’t into kink. No, not just into kink. They had to be, like Elisabeth, true masochists. The perfect woman for him would be as sexually aroused by pain as he was by giving it.

  Sometimes he felt like a monster. What was wrong with him, that he had to tie a girl up, hurt her, scare her, before he could get off? He’d been to therapy. The only thing that helped was going to WhipperSnapper and seeing that there were other people out there like him. He was not alone.

  Ever
y pot has its lid, that’s what his mother used to say. But what if the pot burned every hand who touched it to see if the lid fit?

  He texted Marc’s phone.

  Congrats, man. Sorry for leaving so suddenly. I’ll be at WhipperSnapper if you want to meet up. Tell Trevor & Elisabeth thanks for dinner.

  He hit send and stuck his phone back in his pocket, feeling like a terrible friend. But the clarity he’d gotten in Tokyo was simple: he had to look out for himself first, and keep an eye out for the right girl to come along. He didn’t need love, he just needed a lid for his pot.

  He needed a girl who loved to be sexually tortured.

  Roman slid into his town car and took off his tie.

  “Home, sir?” his driver asked.

  “No. WhipperSnapper.”

  His phone buzzed and he checked his text, from Marc. It said:

  Thanks, Roman. We understand. We’ve all been there. Have fun at the club—hope you find what you’re looking for. See you tomorrow to go over the Tokyo reports.

  Roman laughed and shook his head. “We” understand. Everyone was a fucking “we” now.

  His driver pulled up at the front door of the club in Manhattan an hour later. Roman didn’t say a word as he bypassed the line, slipped the bouncer a Benjamin, and went past the velvet rope. Inside, his booth was empty, as it should be—since it was always on reserve for him and the guys—the BAD Boys’ booth, as the club called it. But now it just looked empty and . . . lonely.

  Fuck that shit.

  Roman walked up to the pitiful excuse for a bar, since it had no alcoholic drinks, and rapped his knuckles on the table to get the bartender’s attention.

  It was the blonde girl—Jessica. Ah yes, he remembered Jessica now.

  “Sorry about that sir,” she said, clearly nervous at seeing him again. “How may I serve you?”

  Hmm. “I like the way you sound when you say that.”

  Jessica’s eyes widened, as if she wasn’t used to flirting. Or perhaps she wasn’t used to Roman’s style of flirting. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the loud music.