by Lilly Black
I close the buttons left on my dress, hiding the tear below the table when our waiter enters to take our order, then Cain calls Lucy to bring me something to wear out of here. Throughout the course of the meal, Cain doesn’t say another word about dating, sex, bondage, or my embarrassing performance in the ladies’ room until I bring it up myself after dessert has been served.
“So,” I begin as I pop a gold-flecked chocolate in my mouth. They were dipped so recently that the near-black coating is still wet and velvety. I have to pause while I savor the small drop of heaven, and Cain watches me patiently and attentively. “Can we forget what happened in the ladies’ room?”
“On one condition,” he says, “we don’t discuss anything bondage-related again until you’re not afraid anymore.”
“I’m not afraid. I was, but I’m more curious,” I confess.
“Curious about being the Dominant.”
“If anyone needs a sound beating, it’s you, Cain Ballantyne, but I’m actually curious about…both ends of the whip,” I admit, and at my words, Cain’s eyes light up, brilliant blue.
Lucy brings me a dress similar to the one Cain just destroyed, and as I change, I hear a text come through. It’s Nicole asking if Cain and I decided to take my car instead of his.
Yeah, right! If he thought Veronica’s Toyota was junk, what would he think of mine? I wonder before it dawns on me that she’s saying my car is missing. I call her immediately, and when I tell Cain what she says about going to get something out of it and finding it nowhere on the lot, he drops several bills on the table and leads me out of the restaurant.
“Why would anyone want to steal my car?” I wonder aloud as we wait for the valet to bring the Jaguar around. Inside I’m frantic. I can’t afford to be without my car, but the thought of admitting that in front of Cain who could afford to go out on a whim and buy my lottery car is mortifying. I force myself to put on a brave face.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he says, looking up from his phone, “Lucy will be there any minute, and she’ll take care of everything for you.”
“What?”
“Do you have an insurance card with you?” he asks as the Jag pulls up to the curb.
“The car’s paid for. I have liability only.”
“I see,” Cain says, then he pauses for a moment as if thinking it through. “Here.” He hands me the keys to the Jag.
“You’re going to need something to drive while the police search for your car,” he says.
“I can’t take your car,” I argue.
“It’s not my only car, and you’ll offend me if you don’t take it,” he says, then he leans in close. “I promise it won’t make you beholden to me in any way.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Get in the car, Evan,” Cain says impatiently as he walks around to the passenger side. “We’ll argue about it while you drive.”
“But…”
“Lucy’s got it. Come on.” I should slap him for ordering me around, but instead I find myself sliding into the driver’s seat of the Jaguar. Cain had it so far back, I can’t even reach the pedals, but once I reposition everything and press the start button, the engine turns on smooth and quiet. It’s like nothing I’ve ever driven before, and with no destination in mind, I head straight for the 5 to see what it can do.
“So where to?” I ask.
“Anywhere,” Cain says. “Maybe someplace with no private rooms…”
“I think I’m okay with your private rooms now,” I admit sheepishly.
“Good, because I’d like to take you to another tomorrow. Are you off?”
“I get off at ten.”
“Perfect.”
“So what about tonight? Do you want me to drop you at your place since you don’t have a car?”
“Lucy could pick me up at your place, or better still, why don’t I just stay the night?”
September 5
Cain left early this morning for work, and I had to get up at the crack of dawn by the standards of my lifestyle to get to Prometheus by noon. The bar was dead, so I got off a couple hours early, but I decided to use them to work on the list I need to begin to negotiate with Cain.
I sit at my computer, typing in the XP website again, and as I browse, images keep popping up on the right side of the screen suggesting other items. There is one picture that catches my attention every time. It’s a woman with a riding crop standing over a man lying on a bed with his arms and legs pulled tightly apart by tethers - a blonde man who reminds me of Cain, and I wonder what new possibilities could open up for me if I held the whip, being so far removed from any experience in my past, to see Cain like this - helpless, naked, and at my mercy.
The doorbell rings suddenly, and I jump like a naughty child. When I answer it, I find Cain standing there with lascivious threat in his eyes. He walks straight in, slamming the door as he grabs me and pulls me in for a deep, hungry kiss.
“You look hot,” he says, leaving me breathless as he admires my sexy, black mini dress.
“So do you,” I say.
“Shall we?” He holds out his arm, and I take it as I set the door to lock behind me.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“Downtown.”
“Where downtown?”
“The Gaslamp District,” he says.
“Are you purposely being coy? Is it a restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“What restaurant?”
“It doesn’t have a name.”
“Oh, of course not. What was I thinking?” I complain as he drives us toward the 94.
“It’s very exclusive, so you’re just going to have to trust me and be glad I’m not blindfolding you to keep it a surprise.” Blindfold? That word makes me think dirty thoughts these days, but accepting that I will get no useful information out of him, I turn on the radio to try to distract myself, scanning through various stations until I find a song I know - Perfect Storm by Sweet Mary.
“What do you see in that band anyway?” Cain asks.
“You don’t like your friend’s band?”
“I do. They’re just not the sort of band I would have guessed for your favorite.”
“What would you have guessed?”
“I don’t know. Something with deeper lyrics maybe…”
“It isn’t just about the music. They were the first band I went out to see at the Whiskey when I got to L.A., and I guess I just associate them with that time in my life. It’s not like I had every CD they ever made…until someone gave me every CD they ever made.” Cain laughs. “Plus they were deeper when I first got into them, back when Mason played lead guitar.”
“Mason played the leads?” Cain asks, surprised.
“Yeah, the first time I saw them, there were only four guys. I saw them again about a year later, and they had a new guy on lead, but Mason was never as sexy without his guitar,” I say to antagonize him, but it’s true. I couldn’t even pick the other band members out of a line up because all I saw was Mason Steel. There is just something about a man playing those screaming notes on a guitar that drives me crazy, and he played it hanging low on his body, his pick hand right where his zipper would be behind the guitar, thrusting his hips into the instrument with each note.
“Hmmm,” Cain mutters.
“Turns out I was lucky to see that L.A. show. It was their last small venue performance, and tickets sold out in seventeen minutes.”
“I know. I was supposed to be there, but I didn’t make it.”
“I wonder what would have happened if we’d met then,” I muse.
“You would have thought I was a narcissistic ass, and I would have thought you were jailbait.”
“Probably not too much younger than that first girl you spanked at your parent’s house.”
“I hadn’t spanked anyone yet the night of that concert.”
“Oh, well. I wasn’t into narcissistic asses anyway, so it’s probably a good thing fate intervened.”
; “I think fate has been conspiring to bring us together, not keep us apart.” I love the confidence with which he says that, and with a satisfied smile, I lean back and listen to the radio as Cain gets off the freeway and pulls into a parking garage in the Gaslamp. He opens my door and leads me into the elevator, sliding a key card that lights up the button for the 11th floor, not the ground floor where the restaurants are. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he only crinkles his nose and puts up a finger to procure my continued patience.
The elevator opens to a dimly lit hallway painted in a deep red patina, and from the shadows a tall brunette with a familiar voice greets him by name. It’s Lucy. She leads us down the hall to the door at the very end.
“Enjoy,” she says, her tone devoid of subtlety as she gestures for us to enter before her.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Cain says as she closes the door.
“Okay, where are we?” I demand as I look around. There is a large, round table set for two before us, but nothing about this place feels like a restaurant. The seating is a curved booth surrounded by heavy black, velvet swags from the base of a chandelier to all four sides of the approximately twelve by twelve foot room, curtains of the same draped down the walls, giving it the feel of being in a luxurious tent. And everything is my favorite color down to the wine glasses.
“This is a very exclusive restaurant, dining by invitation only.”
“Like some vampire country club?” I ask, and Cain laughs.
“I thought you’d like this place, with your affinity for black,” Cain says, sitting very close to me in the booth.
“I do, but that’s not what I asked you.”
“Would you like some wine?” There’s a bottle of red already on the table.
“Please,” I say, and he pours it. It tastes like wine.
“Would you like to hear tonight’s menu?” Lucy asks as she slips stealthy back into the room, dressed all in black herself as if she is part of the darkness around us.
“Surprise us,” Cain says.
“As you wish,” she says on her way out the door again.
“Okay, what the hell is going on?” I demand. “Why is Lucy here?”
“This isn’t the sort of place where I would want us to be seen by anyone other than Lucy.”
“I guess all the other patrons bring their own waitresses,” I snipe.
“There are no other patrons.” I give him a confused and impatient stare. “The first course will be here soon. Then I’ll explain.”
“Fine,” I say, but as I grudgingly accept the terms, a thought pops into my head - a jealous thought that suddenly takes me to a bad place. Already put off by Lucy’s presence, in a flash of anger, I blurt out exactly what’s on my mind.
“Have you brought other women here?” I ask.
“Yes,” Cain says.
“What makes you think I want to sit at a table where you’ve fucked other women?”
“I’ve never fucked anyone on this table,” he says, amused, which only pisses me off more.
“Okay, on the seats then, or the floor. Don’t use semantics to mislead to me.” I don’t know why I’ve become so jealous. It’s making me crazy.
“Jesus, Evan! I’m not trying to mislead you. I grew up in this town. There are going to be lots of places I’ve fucked other women.”
“I know, but…” I sigh.
“Settle down,” he commands like a parent addressing a child. “Yes, I have brought other women here, but those memories are already being overwritten with you, even if it’s just in anticipation of what I hope will happen between us. However if it’s going to be an issue, I suppose I can get a new table. Would you like to burn this one?”
“Now you’re just being silly,” I say.
“So are you,” he says, and he’s right. I keep forgetting that we’re not at the same point in our lives. When it comes to dating, I am still frozen in my teens, giving him more than ten years experience on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say - again. “So what is this place?”
“Someplace where it is safe to show you the things I brought you here to see,” he says cryptically.
“What did you bring me here to see?”
“Did you get my gift?”
“Yes,” I say.
“And?”
“And I will give you that key when you’ve proven that you deserve it,” I tease.
“The only things standing in the way of me proving that I deserve it, my dear Ice Queen, are three little words.”
And those three words are? My expression asks.
“Fuck me, Sir,” he says, and I giggle.
“How romantic!”
“Evan, my intentions with you are deeply romantic, even if you and I are the only two people in the world who think so.”
“Well, fuck me, Sir,” I say sarcastically.
“There. That’s more like it.”
“Your arrogance will be your undoing, Sir.”
“I think it will be yours, Madam,” he says with a devilish grin as if I’m playing his game, whatever it is, with consummate proficiency, and I wonder briefly if the door has a lock on it as this room works its seductive will upon me. The spell isn’t even broken when Lucy enters, her eyes cast downward as she sets one long, narrow, rectangular plate between us containing various, raw delicacies. It looks delicious, but I have no interest in food at the moment.
“I believe it’s time for show and tell,” I say.
“We’re here to test you to see if you’re ready to begin negotiating,” Cain says, his lips curling into a smile, his eyes full of dark promise as he reaches with both of his hands for mine. “But I need you to remember this is not all I want from you.”
“I understand,” I assure him, and he picks up a silver remote control from the middle of the table. It has a call button and dozens of others, some with very strange symbols on them.
“Tell me you’re ready,” he commands, pressing a button on the remote, and my breath catches as I hear the door lock.
“I’m ready.”
I am so ready.
From behind the velvet curtain, Cain retrieves a large black leather case. Setting it beside him where I can’t see it, he pushes the plate out of the way on the table and pulls out four blindfolds, lining them up in front of me. One is just a black satin sleep mask, but the rest are leather - a plain one, one with faux fur on the inside, and one with flaps over the eyes that can be unsnapped and opened.
“I will blindfold you,” he informs me as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to say. “I’d prefer to use the one with the fur lining. It will be more comfortable for you, and there is no gap around the nose to allow peeking.” I pick it up and inspect it.
“Try it on,” he says.
“You first,” I say, handing him the one with the snaps. Though he gives me an dubious look, he indulges me, slipping it over his head, and a wave of arousal washes over me at the sight of it, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“Don’t,” I breathe, stopping Cain’s hands with mine as he reaches up to take his blindfold off. I open the flaps so he can watch me slip the fur-lined mask over my own eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “And this fur one isn’t bad either.”
“Blindfolds aren’t for the Dom, Evan, but if you’re interested in me wearing something over my face…”
“No!” I say adamantly. I know exactly what he means, and I could not be less interested in seeing his beautiful face hidden by a leather hood.
“Good,” he says.
Next he shows me cuffs - traditional handcuffs, rubber shackles, leather ones, some lined with fur and other fabrics. I inspect them as Cain tells me that he will use whatever turns me on but he would prefer not to use the metal handcuffs because he does not want to see marks on my wrists and ankles. Without even touching them, I’m sure I would prefer the softest ones possible for myself, but what I would really like to see is the thick, leather shackles on him. I d
on’t push my luck.
“You don’t have to pick just one,” he says. “I just want to know what you’re willing to try.”
“Do they make them lined with velvet? That would be nice.”
“It would,” Cain agrees as I inspect the various options.
“Any of these seem fine to me,” I admit.
“Perfect,” he says, collecting the cuffs and putting them aside, and then he brings out the next group, which is far more daunting than the other two combined. I stare anxiously as he places the universal symbols of BDSM on the table before me.
“This is a snakewhip,” Cain says holding up a string of tightly woven black leather that grows smaller toward the tip. He names them all for me from a simple leather paddle to cat-o-nine-tails with silver studs on the tips. That one scares me the most.
“Not everything has to be used for pain,” he explains, picking up the source of my dismay and dangling it before me. He slowly lowers it over my breasts, and I feel my nipples tighten as the cold, silver tips slip into my cleavage. He lifts it again and gently brushes the points from my knees upward along my inner thighs as I sit with my legs loosely crossed, and when it meets my skirt, he pushes it out of his way with his other hand until the tips dance delicately on the outside of my panties. It’s torture - delicious torture - and he knows I want more when he stops and lays the whip back on the table with the others.
“Patience,” he says as my lower lip pushes out into a pout.
“Don’t tease me,” I say.
“Little girl, I have not yet begun to tease you,” he says, his eyes dark and menacing. I should probably back down because I know this is a game I cannot win tonight, but sometimes I just can’t control my mouth. I boast the knowledge my research has yielded.
“So is this all you got? No riding crops? No canes?”
“Canes?” He laughs. “You want canes?” He starts to get up as if he’s going to get one, but I grab his wrist.
“I only want one,” I say, but it’s such a stupid thing to say that I can’t even keep a straight face.
“If this was all a set up for that truly awful joke, you deserve a caning.”
