by Liz Crowe
“Hello, my dear.” The woman’s voice was strong, confident. “I just wanted to remind you to treat my son extra well today.”
“Oh?” she asked, puzzled. “Why today in particular?” She smacked the hand away which was creeping up the inside of her thigh. He retaliated by tweaking her nipple so hard she squealed. “Oh, no, I’m fine, sorry. Saw a mouse.” She shot him a serious look but nearly dissolved into laughter when she saw him arching his eyebrows at her and holding an unlit candle. “So, anyway, what is so special about today?”
She listened, nodded, kept slapping his hands off her body, then hit the end button and put the phone on the side table. She crossed her arms over her chest and settled her face into an angry expression. He drew away, puzzled. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
“So, I hear we have something to celebrate. You were gonna hold out on me how long with this tidbit?”
“I don’t celebrate birthdays,” he declared as he started to get out of bed.
“Well, that is a shitty attitude, especially considering your damn birthday is on New Year’s Day, and your mother just told me to make it special for you. Hey… I know a great way to start.” She yanked him back, pushed him down and kissed him, loving his taste and feel all over again.
He gripped her hair, and the kiss took on an urgency that matched how his body rose to the occasion, pressing against her in a way that made her sigh into his mouth before breaking away to stare at him. Dear God, she was doomed. He was amazing. She would have to guard her heart very carefully. But in the meantime…
“Birthday blow job, coming up!”
Evan sat sipping orange juice and watching Julie stretch, as she prepped for a run on the beach. He shivered, realizing he was on the verge of something that felt permanent, even as his brain shied away from it. In all his various and odd hookups, when he’d determined he couldn’t deny his own need to dominate, not once had he had this strange, quivery feeling in his gut. Yes, he was possessive of the women he messed around with, but nothing had consumed him like this.
Julie Dawson had become something to him he had only heard about – a soul mate – one who could very possibly kill him. He smiled as she bent over, stretching out her long, lean hamstrings, then he walked over and ran a hand across her Lycra-clad ass, loving how his body responded to her. Jesus, but he wanted her again, right now, like this, in front of the entire fucking world. He shoved the caveman away and gave her a healthy smack, making her jump, and fill his nose with the familiar aroma of her desire.
“Like that, don’t you, Daredevil?” he said mildly, sipping and keeping his palm on her hip. He needed to find a jewelry store and had to make some calls to set up tonight’s program. She was here, with him, and they were alone for a couple more days. And he had a plan of action which might backfire, but one that, if he got his way, would end all this stupid dancing around the fact of the matter: they were meant to be together. “Go on, get your run in. I have some shit to do.”
She kept her ass in the air, bending over one leg then the other.
“Stop teasing me,” he said, using his best “I mean it” tone. She wiggled her hips in response. “You really are something else altogether, aren’t you?” And she was. A textbook submissive when prompted, working her slow way towards trusting him, but a firebrand independent bitch by nature. He sighed, then wandered back inside, worried for his sanity, but never more certain of what he truly wanted. The conflict rolled around in him making his head pound and his stomach churn.
He dropped into a chair just inside the main room and watched her stick earbuds in her ears and take off down the beach. By the time she was a small dot on the horizon, he dropped his eyes to the phone he’d been clutching. Evan had never felt his loner status more keenly than at that moment. He wished he were the sort of person to reach out, to call someone, likely Jack, to bounce this whole thing off him. But he wasn’t. He reflected Julie was the same in many ways – she had no close girlfriends he’d met or heard about. Just her, her job, her trusty assistant… oh, well, and her husband, of course.
He smiled when Buddy, the cat with his bum leg and a half-chewed ear, took up his newly staked claim to Evan’s lap. He’d never had pets growing up and hadn’t really missed it, but he already knew he liked this animal. Appreciated its simultaneous independence and neediness.
Evan rubbed the cat’s one good ear, gritting his teeth at the memory of how frantically furious he’d been the day he figured out what Julie had done. He had not even thought twice about contacting James, and once Julie’s legal husband had been reassured Evan was not some murderous stalker, he’d been delighted to hear about their budding relationship. The two men had talked for almost thirty minutes and ended with James’ instructions on how to find the condo caretaker to let him in so he could surprise her.
James’ last words had sent a chill down his spine. “I like you, Evan. You sound like the sort of man Julie needs and could love. But please know I will never allow her to be hurt again, by anyone. Don’t be that guy. And all will be well.”
Evan had stifled the urge to ask why the hell the two of them stayed married in the eyes of the law. It made him more than a little uncomfortable and was something he was going to want remedied sooner rather than later. No matter how platonic that relationship was or why it started, he had no interest in sharing her in any way, shape, or form.
His phone buzzed, and he smiled when he saw it was the club he’d contacted yesterday on his way down here. He had something to give Julie, something that required ceremony in a the proper setting. He’d reserved their spots at Caliente, one of the most exclusive BDSM-lifestyle destinations in the entire United States, located in a building that boasted a five-star restaurant, a giant dance club, several stories of million-plus-dollar condos, and a giant spa. But the ten-thousand-square-foot basement was where he and Julie were headed tonight, after his appointment at Tiffany’s.
As if reading his thoughts, Buddy jumped down and sat, tail twitching with a look of “you sure about this, bro?” in his feline eyes.
The long run gave Julie plenty of time to think. As she slowed to a jog, then a walk on her way back up the beach, she was surprised to find herself in the grip of a very strong urge to sit down and cry. So much of her yearned to be near Evan all the time – hell, she’d even admit she was getting to where she required it to keep some sort of personal equilibrium. And while she was beginning to understand that dynamic, acceptance was still a long way off. She had never required the presence of another person to make her happy. Even as a little girl she’d preferred playing alone, reading or making up elaborate stories in her head, and acting them out in whatever crappy apartment she and mother occupied at the time.
Keeping people at arm’s length was her specialty. Men in particular, thanks to her early trauma and knee-jerk instinct not to trust anyone. But Mr. Adams had marched into her office, and her life, with his six-pack of beer and irresistible personality. And now she was a weepy, clingy, borderline sex-crazed mess. A tiny thrill of anger lit her brain. How had he done it to her? And what would happen when he was through and ready to move on to the next “submissive” who crossed his path?
She looked down when she realized her hands hurt from clenching her fingers so tightly at the thought of her man in anyone else’s arms. Shaking her head as she walked up to the condo patio, she put her palms on the cool tile wall around the pool and commanded herself to get a firm grip. He was not “hers” in any way. He was a hot guy, currently obsessed with having sex with her in ways she’d never experienced. Period.
Her inner self-preservationist was sending all sorts of messages of the “keep your emotional distance” kind. He wouldn’t be around long. She determined not to let her need for him show, even if he pulled another Dom act. Giving in or up, or letting go, or whatever the hell it was he wanted from her could be faked. And she would do it – she had to – or risk getting her newly tender heart ripped in two.
S
he squeezed her eyes shut ignoring a new and highly annoying buzz of warning. Evan would never accept anything but a hundred percent of her heart and soul. And he’d know from a mile away if she was faking.
Sighing, she kicked off her running shoes, stripped down to her skin, and dove into the deep end of the pool. It was only about eighty degrees outside but James had made sure the caretaker cranked up the pool heater, stocked the fridge and bar, and God knows what else – oh, yeah, let Evan just come on in to meet her. She stroked through several laps trying to exhaust herself and her clanging brain. It didn’t work, although by the time she hung on to the side of the pool, breathing heavily, she had at least made peace with her resolve: she would not let Evan Adams get to her.
She’d have fun with him, sure, but the rest of it had to come to a screeching halt. No matter how badly she never wanted it to end. It was a matter of survival – hers. She hauled herself out of the pool and stumbled inside for food and a shower with a heavy heart, but a clear mind.
Chapter Thirteen
Julie watched as Evan fiddled with his beer glass, adjusted his tie, and kept looking out onto the dance floor. A slow-moving something she finally pinned down and identified as jealous fury built in her chest when she followed his gaze to the mass of people and saw some slutty chick with long black hair, dressed in leather pants and a halter top, shaking her skank groove thing while staring right back at Julie’s man.
The whole evening was off, somehow. He’d been quieter than usual when he got back from his mysterious errand, but came bearing yet another killer dress – dark maroon this time, scandalously short, with a sexy low-cut neckline perfect for her figure – so she’d left him alone with his brooding for a few hours.
She did some work, evaluating sales numbers for the last quarter, while Evan stared at football on the television. She’d look up every now and then to comment on the action. After his initial surprise at her interest and knowledge about the game, he got quiet again, so she resumed ignoring him. Actually, the alone time was good for her even in his presence. But the second she realized that, she glanced up and caught him staring at her with a look of wonder on his face. She leaned on her elbows and stared back.
“What are you thinking about right now, tell me, quick, without letting your brain tell you what you should say,” he’d demanded, his voice low.
“I’m thinking that I should cut at least four breweries out of my book, hire two more warehouse workers, go ahead and upgrade my inventory computer system and…” She’d tapped her fingernail against her teeth. “Oh, yeah, that I need to send my new sales guys to Cicerone – you know, ‘beer expert’ – training, buy a new printer for the business office, and make my reservations for the National Beer Fest before all the good Denver hotels get booked.”
“Dear Lord, you do know how to turn a man on with your dirty mouth.” He’d grinned, raised his beer bottle to her.
By the time she’d looked back up at him, he was sound asleep on the couch. She had smiled and pulled a blanket up to his chin letting her fingers trail along the line of his rough jaw. When he woke up an hour or so later he was pensive again. All the more reason to pull away she’d reasoned to herself. She had no time or energy for a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde arrangement with anyone, even the man she trusted with her body more than she probably should.
And now? She cleared her throat to get his wandering attention. He tore his eyes from the girl who was, if Julie was not mistaken, working her way even closer to the edge of the dance floor. “Sorry to interrupt your ogling session. But I was under the impression we were going to a club… you know, of the kinky sort.” She gripped her hands under the table and willed herself not to flush bright red with anger.
He ran a hand down his face and leaned forward. She steeled herself for the “this is a mistake” conversation and tried to send firm vibes of “I don’t care” in his direction.
“I’m not ogling anyone. I don’t even see any other women but you right now, Julie.”
“Oh, that is a load of horseshit. Please give me more credit, Country Club.”
He grimaced. “You have a lot to learn about me.”
She tried to understand what that meant in the scope of things, but before she could think, he had her on her feet and swept into his arms. She struggled, unwilling to let him kiss his way out of how badly this day had progressed. But his lips were on hers, his tongue gentle, probing, and she was transported by him and her own need to let him.
He broke the kiss first, but kept her close. “Let’s go. Time for the kinky bit. You ready?”
She nodded, shivering as his hands moved possessively down her body, setting her nerve endings dancing. Having a bunch of killer orgasms she would take. But she tried to reconstruct the wall she’d been building in her mind all day – the one she would not let him breach. Without acknowledging that perhaps he was picking up on her new, hopefully nonchalant attitude about their hook-up, she smiled, reminding herself she had to keep herself safe, even from him.
They kept their fingers entwined in the elevator all the way down to the lower floor of the glitzy building. She bit her lip as the doors slid open revealing a scene that surprised her completely. Her imagination about a “BDSM club” ran to dark paneled walls, black leather, guys in masks holding whips and women with chains and collars, candles, scary music and random screaming in the background – a sort of haunted house, only with the sex thing. What she saw was more along the lines of a typical Miami bar, filled with light, laughter, well-dressed couples holding what looked like juice glasses, several classy waterfall features, and white or cream furniture. Evan smiled and pulled her into the main room. They were greeted by a stunningly beautiful woman who shook their hands.
“The festivities will begin soon,” she said with a slight accent. “We are honored to have you on this special night.”
Julie leaned into Evan’s ear. “Please tell me the staff isn’t going to come out holding sparklers and sing ‘Happy Birthday’.”
He turned and smiled, kissed her once, and led her to a couch. After accepting a glass of lemon water, she sipped, put it down, and crossed her legs. There was not a single person in the room who couldn’t pass as a cover model. She shifted and looked harder. All the women had on a dress similar to hers, same general cut – short skirt, low neckline, simple and classy but in different colors. She glanced over at Evan once, but he just sat watching her.
The couples laughed, flirted, sipped juice and tea. A small tickle started at the base of her brain. There was something else about every one of the women which kept catching her eye. But just as she was about to figure it out, an entire wall of light birch wood disappeared behind the bar area. Four women including the host lady stood there all dressed in the same filmy, barely-there sort of gown. The crowd quieted.
Evan put a hand on her knee, making her jump and then flush with embarrassment. “Are you ready?” he asked, sort of loudly, she thought.
She looked at him then around when she felt the eyes of the entire room on them. “Um, should I be?” Her self-defense mechanism was attempting to kick in, to drown out the eager submissive he’d brought out in her.
He leaned closer. “Answer without thinking, Julie. Stop trying to fight it.”
She gulped, then convincing herself the whole thing could be faked, leaving her untouched, she squared her shoulders and nodded her head. “Yes, I am.”
He stood and held out an arm. Together they led the parade of people into a large, vintage-looking auditorium but one where the stage was in the middle of a circle of soft chairs and loveseats.
“What the hell is this, Evan?” she hissed, as panic began burrowing into her brain.
He led her all the way down to the stage without answering, holding onto the hand she had hooked into his bent elbow as if sensing her urge to flee. They stopped in the middle next to a low white leather-covered bench. She noted similar white straps hanging from the ceiling but nothing else. He turned to face her and cradled
her face in his hands. She blinked and let the calm from his touch ooze through her system settling her fluttering nerves. She sensed people taking seats all around them, but Evan held her gaze. The brave, strong, independent Julie who knew she could resist him melted, leaving behind a woman she no longer recognized.
“How do you do that?” she whispered, her hands at her sides. “Why? What is this, Evan?”
“It’s only me, asking you to wear this.” He held out his hand and someone nearby put something in it. She looked down and saw the distinctive Tiffany-colored box.
“I’m not… I can’t… it’s…” A tear ran down her face.
“It’s not what you think, but it is just as important. If not more so.” He opened the box and pulled out an exquisite thick platinum chain with a stunning diamond set in the center. “Don’t be afraid. You don’t ever have to be afraid again, Julie.”
Hands appeared, sliding her dress off her shoulders, leaving her completely naked in front of a room full of strangers. She never even blinked, just kept her eyes pinned to his. He held out his other hand and a bright white leather whip was placed in it. She gulped, and felt her body harden and pulse at the sight of it. The chain stayed in his other hand.
“Turn around and bend over the bench,” he whispered.
And she did, shaking, eyes downcast. He put his hand on her hair, reassuring her everything was fine without even speaking. Then he pulled hard, tugging her head back and bringing fresh tears to her eyes. His lips were at her ear, words poured out of his mouth, and she nearly had an orgasm at the sound of his voice.
“You have to know you can trust me. You have to let go of everything and give it over to me. I know what you need. And I know when you’re faking it. I am not asking you to change or be something you’re not. But to give me what you have.” He bit her earlobe. She could feel him, rock-hard behind his trousers, pressed against her bare ass. “And in exchange for your trust, I give you…,” he was quiet a moment. “… my protection. And my heart.”
