by JR King
You’re ranting, you grunt at me.
I am. Life is neither a Hannah Howell book, nor a Barbara Cartland story. Love is much more complicated than what fiction makes us believe. Reality strengthens my theory that reading minds would fuck it all up if you do fall in love. Crap all over your ideals. A romantic entanglement is all about negotiation, trust, and communication; not hot sex everywhere in the house. Though, having the latter is an enviable bonus. It’s hard to love, at least for me. It doesn’t come easy, and it’s even harder to see the person you love not as who you want them to be, but as who they really are. Then you realize you’ll never get the complete picture—and are grateful you won’t have to. Let’s face it: you’ve got enough shit going on in your own mind.
For me, that moment came when I was staring at the man I loved as he swung a whip toward a girl we’d just met.
*
Through the misted glass of the bathroom cubicle, I watched the many rivulets of soapy water run down Alexander’s breathtakingly sculpted face, the hard ridges of his abdomen, and the length of his powerfully built legs. I was sure he could take out a ridiculous life insurance policy on himself for an insane amount. His body was a well-oiled machine he kept in prime shape, using it as a deadly weapon against women. As he ran his hands over the taut, tanned skin and the perfectly defined slabs of muscle, I wondered how much he flirted with other women.
Reaching out, he swiped his hand across the glass to clear the condensation, then crooked a finger in that absurdly effete manner.
“Can we afford being late?” I asked.
He turned the water off and threw the door open. “Let’s be on the safe side. Tony’s good with a flogger.”
To recuperate his mega-boat, Tony had also traveled to Côte d’Azur, accompanied by a sweet-faced brunette named Maya Grayson—an environmental lawyer. Apart from being a little cagey, she was fine company when we went out on the tiles. In her sexy six-inch heels, she was a little taller than me, accumulating admiring stares. Tony and Alexander seemed quieter than the usual, which I chalked up to vacation jitters. For the last drink, Maya and Tony came to our boat, and that’s when things got weirder.
Alexander told me to stay inside as he was going on the deck to discuss something with Tony.
“What’s going on between you two?” The tip of my tongue worried the back of my teeth.
Tracing my lips with the tips of his fingers, he untangled my chignon and combed his free hand through my hair. “Do as you’re bid, pet.”
Bid? However quaint the menace, it still stirred the marrow of my bones.
In the meantime, Maya went to the bathroom. My impatience turned brittle while I spied Tony and Alexander through a window, their howls of laughter faintly audible. How many hours did I spend looking at them without really looking at them?
When the sliding door moved, I acted as if I were consulting my emails.
“It’s my job to give it to her.” Tony’s mirthless laugh simmered in irony. “I thought about you.”
With my freshest voice, I grasped at a straw. “What’s going on, Alex?”
The arrogant way he arched an eyebrow, I shouldn’t be, but I was attracted to his smug self-confidence, rousing at its nearness. “Work stuff. They’re leaving.”
“Already?”
Tony gave me a curt nod. “Early departure tomorrow.”
Maya was back, and encircled his cufflinks. “We’ve been kicking tail too hard. Great to meet you, Elena.”
I partly felt dumb, which I wasn’t, and I partly felt left out. “After what happened in Boston, I should have anticipated a douchegun treatment like this,” I told Tony, my voice glacial. “You don’t strike me as the allegorical type. I got the message.”
Alexander took a step in my direction, but Tony grabbed his shoulder from behind and pulled him backward. “I’ll handle this.” He jerked his head toward the door. I followed him when he toddled off outside. “What do you want to know?”
I glanced questioningly at him. “You’re very quiet around me.” To prop my chin on interlaced fingers, I placed my elbows on the railing. I knew my eyes and lips were a pretty combination, and so I added a sly pout to the look. An upward angle of my head made my eyelashes looks improbably long, rendering it all more compelling. “Does your dislike for me have something to do with what happened in the club that night?”
As quick as lightning, he grabbed me by the shoulders and started running his hands up and down my bare arms. “I like you just fine, sweetheart,” he murmured, “if not more. Maya’s a sub. I’m freestyling here, and she needs a good hiding. I can’t keep up with her, I’m boned.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” he winked in time with the echo. A familiar twist reached his mouth. “It’s what she wants, what she enjoys. She doesn’t want a beating from someone who hesitates. By design, he’s very good.”
My throat dried. I refrained from making a cutting remark. The fact that I couldn’t think of one was incidental. “Why’d he deflect?”
“He’s worried about you. Worried you’ll see him as a sadistic monster.”
“Cropping, strapping, flogging; I’ve seen,” adrenaline kicked my heart into a canter, making my voice gravelly, “and enjoyed it all.”
Tony stepped behind me, laid his hands on my shoulders, and stooped to whisper, “You’ve seen nothing but moderation. He’s been known to never hold back. Do you have any idea of how much forbearance he’s putting himself through?”
The realization that this was at variance with what I thought made my fingers curl. I’m not like little Anne Franks, hiding in her basement from the Pain Nazis. “I want to see.”
I felt him nod. Felt his lips curving in a smile.
*
For the second night a row, the heavens opened again, and this time with huge gusts of wind, making the Mediterranean unrecognizable as the placid, pretty depiction on tourist-shop postcards and wallpapers. It hadn’t surprised me that Alexander missed hardcore play. In a very therapy-like way, I’d urged him to get it out so we could relax. Which is why, now, in a guest room, I was staring at Maya’s behind. She was bent over a suede bed bench, her ankles wobbling in the Lady Peep Louboutin pumps. The seamless lasercut Simone Pérèle thong stuck to her like a second skin.
“Elena.” I took a mental picture of Alexander’s lusty, love-twisted expression. He leaned forward to smear his lips against my collarbone, up my throat. His lips were the right amount of soft, and his stubble added just enough roughness to arouse. Avian flutters rifled through my stomach as his palms slid up and down over my bare arms. “Are you sure?” He pressed his lips to the top of my head and inhaled deeply.
“Yes.” I felt light headed. Too much blood rushed to my face.
“I’ll keep an eye on her, champ.” Tony’s voice had changed from matter-of-fact to heavy and thick. He threaded his fingers through mine. I allowed myself to dig my nails into his palm.
Alexander rested the whip on Maya’s backside and brushed it down. Then he took a step back and snapped it in the air a few times, taking sick pleasure in the way she cringed each time, and finally, he let it snap against her skin.
My heart was racing. I knew better than to scream, and yet the first slap of the implement on Maya’s ass made me cry out. Watching him lay yet another pinkish stripe, I swallowed at the unthinkable pain and shuffled my legs. “Maya, are you okay?” My own voice was guttural, interrupted by the force of Alexander’s next stroke.
She craned her neck and smiled at me before letting out a short, sharp cry.
I arched my back when Tony pulled me to his chest. I could feel him smile against my cheek. “She’s loving it.”
His words seemed to dance through my mind. I nodded dazedly.
Together we watched Maya moan and hiccough and sob, professing her love for pain. After what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t more than five minutes of relentless cropping, Alexander paused. He shot me a wide smile, the evil Nosferatu glee on his face e
vident. Even at a distance, I noticed the disparity. His gaze shadowy, he sucked his lower lip into his mouth and scraped his teeth against it as he released it, which was something he did whenever he was pleased with himself. There was a gleam in his eyes before he continued pleasuring—or torturing.
“You own his heart, Elena,” Tony’s deep voice comforted me.
The man we were watching was nothing like my man. Alexander was very soft with me, very demonstrative. I covered my unease with squealing, “That’s not the man who loves me.”
Tony released me and stepped back, spinning me around. His lips curled in a furious snarl, “Mind your manners. I don’t give a fuck about your preconceived notions that S&M is an excuse for violence against women, little girl. Misrepresenting a S&M power relationship for the purpose of engaging in non-consensual violence against anyone is horrifying. If you dare insult either one of—,”
“Hush. Hold me,” I cut him off, my voice grating a little.
In position—back pressed against his front—again, this time his fingertips brushed the sides of my body, and then settled over my clasped hands.
Maya whimpered something, letting her tears flow freely. Her behind was latticed with stripes, and because her chest was heaving, her hoarse moans became sobbing cries.
Despite the lack of effort the cropping seemed to take, when Alexander was done, he panted, “Well done, Maya.” He caressed an unmarked part of her hip, then the part that was mottled with hivey splotches. Lastly, he thanked her and made sure she was well as he helped her upright and lowered the hem of her dress.
I, impossibly limp and prickly with sweat, tried to hold on to Tony.
His fist in my hair drew my head upward. “Are you okay?” His voice had a rich, soothing undertone that rippled across my skin like a lover’s caress.
My answer was a short giggle.
“I swear to God, I’ll put you over my knee,” he said, his voice laced with melodic menace.
“You,” I poked his chest with two fingers to punctuate my words, “have a hard-on.”
He laughed low in his throat. “That’s a good thing. She’ll need it.”
“Elena.” Maya, teetering on her heels as she came up to me, grinned. “Thank you for participating in this experiment.”
The urge to smile back at her was insurmountable. “Oh, no. Thank you for allowing me to watch.”
“Could we?” She spread her arms reluctantly.
“Of course we can,” I agreed, stepping into them and enveloping her with my own. Worried about her welts, I gave her a light hug.
Pulling back, she asked, “May I invite you over for tea when I’m back in Boston?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “A proper girls’ night out requires cocktails.”
She gave me another hug.
“Homeward,” grunted Tony. “I’m hurting.”
“They’re like giant, whiny babies. I’ll call you,” she whispered in my ear right before Tony pulled her away.
“Ariel,” a dreamy, smooth-as-silk voice rasped.
“Eric.” I smiled at Alexander and cupped his privates lovingly over the fabric of his trousers. “Turned on?”
Sweat beading his brow, he smiled; it was slow and dark. “I’m crazy sorry. Please don’t hate me. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I put a finger to his lips, then ran it down his chin, neck, collarbone, pectorals, and abdomen. I took my time with his belt. Slid the long end of the pebbled leather out of the loop, slowly slipping the prong out of the hole. Once the silver buckle came undone, four sluggish tugs later the belt dropped to the floor.
“Jesus, woman. Faster.” A particularly large bead of sweat had formed at his temple. I watched it inch down the side of his face, catching on the bristles of his unshaven cheek. It curved his jaw and ran down his neck, disappearing under his collar. “Say something, kitten.”
“I wanna bubble-bathe.”
He took my hand in his as we walked, his free hand coming up to the collar of the shirt.
While the Jacuzzi filled, I poured Chanel Nº5 bath oil under the faucet. The water foamed, the steam smelling sweetly of jasmine. Alexander peeled off his clothes and dumped them down the laundry chute, revealing skillfully toned muscles. As always, his beauty overwhelmed me. Out of excitement, my legs rubbed against each other.
“Come over here,” he murmured, breaking up my thoughts as he took my hand again. Going toward the bath, I realized I was still wearing my dress. I tried to free my hand so I could remove it. I was tugging in vain; his hand was tight in mine. “I’ll undress you.”
I raised my arms, allowing him to lift it over my head. Standing naked in front of him, I trembled with the effort of not covering myself. Almost unconsciously, I bit down on my lip, fidgeting, my eyes dropping to stare down at my protruding hipbones. Maya had such beautiful hips…
“Look at me.” His voice was sharp. I peeked up at him, and he took my chin in one hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Don’t look down like you’re ashamed of yourself. You’re a very beautiful woman, and it’s a pleasure to stand here and look at you. You make me hot and fucking hard like no one else ever has.” He licked his lips, a pettish dart of a movement that made me long to follow his tongue with my own. “Maya’s cries and watching her draw pleasure from my depravity, that’s what aroused me. Not her body, not her voice, not her intelligence, not her kindness—not any of the things that really matter. Got it?” I nodded. “Step in the bath.”
His voice was deceptively gentle, but I could hear the steel underneath and, for a reason I still didn’t quite understand, I found it incredibly hot. Was this his dom voice? I wish I’d taken the trouble to study the D/s dynamic more thoroughly.
“It’ll pass, I’m still a little high,” he grinned at me, as if reading my thoughts. “If a sub willingly comes to me and offers herself, I respect the gift and draw immense pleasure from it.”
I quaked with anxiety. “Do you miss being in a D/s relationship?”
Eyes flashing, his grin faded and his upper lip curled in disdain. “Not at all. It’s hard work, you know? I had a slave girl once, awful experience. With my job, it ain’t feasible. A lot’s expected from a dom, the 24/7 lifestyle is suffocating.”
“That reassures me. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi about dominance that I find attractive.” I climbed into the bathtub. The water was hot—not scalding, slipping over my legs in a way that was almost sensuous. Or maybe it was the intense look Alexander was giving me. I closed my eyes and submerged myself. My hair floated around me, and when I surfaced a moment later, dripping and feeling thoroughly refreshed, Alexander was watching me with a smug smile.
I stuck my tongue out. “Fiend. You gave her so many welts.”
“I am, aren’t I?” His hand stroked over my hair. “What’s my sentence?”
Feeling greedy and selfish and possessive, I attacked him. I scratched him, kissed his mouth hard and gripped his thick hair. He slapped a palm on each of my buttocks and lifted me into the air, and my legs wrapped around his waist. The water, foamy and gently warm, closed over us.
Later, I woke up when the mattress dipped. I couldn’t see Alexander but the overpowering scent of him washed over me as he slid beneath the covers. His arm came around to hug my chest tightly. “Thank you so much for tonight, Elena.” Slowly but surely, his breathing evened out, warming the nape of my neck.
Elena Anderson
The Airportless Country
Airplanes were useless; this country had no airports. Hamilton had steered the boat to Port Hercules. Once we were belted in, the helicopter lifted and soon we were soaring over Monaco. I held Alexander’s hand as I took in the sloping hills of the French Riviera. The blue expanse of the Mediterranean Sea was dotted with yachts and sailboats heading back to berth at the port for the night.
World’s beautifullest harbor.
What made it so spectacular?
The many multi-million dollar mega-yachts.
Less than ten
minutes later, we landed on a heliport located directly on the coastline of the Mediterranean. Alexander unstrapped first. I acted aloof so he could unstrap me; watching him remove restraints was like watching a bespectacled geek in a comic book store.
“I love you, baby girl.” His eyes shimmered and shone in the late sunlight, bursting to the seams with affection.
We waited for the pilot to open the door.
Monaco: the planet’s best-known billionaires’ playground, perfectly situated between France and the Mediterranean. What was great about it is that pestilent little paparazzi-insects weren’t rousting us. And where else in the world could you so easily visit three countries within a thirty-mile radius? Breakfast in Monaco, lunch in Italy, and dinner in France.
At Hôtel de Paris—which throned on the Place Du Casino hill that overlooked France and Italy, porters took our bags and pleasantly greeted us in French. Alexander responded in English for my benefit, so immediately they followed his lead. I gave them a tight smile and walked toward the revolving doors waiting to sweep me inside.
This hotel had that old world glamour with modern-day touches that seamlessly blended together. In the soaring, airy lobby, walking past a fabled bronze equestrian statue made me feel as though any time now someone was going to trumpet our arrival. A stained-glass skylight topped the minimalist path bordered by ceramics, the molded plaster ceiling had ornate carvings, and the mosaic marble floor tiles were lined with antique French tapestries. Everywhere I looked, iridescent pools of opulence flecked with shards of supreme elegance stared back at me. No wonder the casino scene in the movie GoldenEye was shot on location.
A check-in manager with clean-cut good looks welcomed us, moving in that seductive Tom Cruiseish way, and the next thing I knew I had a champagne flute in my hand and the bubbles were tickling my nose as I drank and followed him. Smooth bastards, the French. Everything smelled and looked like money in the hallways. It also smelled like flowers, given that many exotic bouquets were arranged in chalice stone vases, but the persistent smell was that of money.
