by Lila Dubois
“I’ve told you, I’m a romantic.”
“You’re a—” Solomon cut himself off. Insulting Nerio wouldn’t help the situation. “Why did you hand us the contracts if not to force us to scene?”
Nerio resumed his seat. “Let’s return to what I said before. Serious BDSM practitioners, such as we—” He gestured theatrically. “—have to be honest, both with ourselves and our partners. Communication is not only important, but vital, when a power exchange is in play.”
Solomon had a funny feeling he knew where this was going. “Get on with it.”
Nerio leaned forward. “Tell me, do the problems in your relationship stem from D/s?”
“No,” Solomon snapped.
Vivienne shook her head.
“When you scene, do you have clarity…no, wait. Let me rephrase.” Nerio smiled. “Do you feel acceptance when you scene? Do you accept yourself, your needs? Do you accept your partner for who they are, not who you wish they were?”
Vivienne’s lower lip trembled before she clamped her mouth closed. Solomon nodded stiffly.
“As I suspected.” Nerio clapped his hands together, his excited manner totally at odds with Solomon and Vivienne’s grim expressions. “This, then, is the last part of our negotiation. You two will negotiate your D/s contract for the weekend—with particular attention to how often you will play, aftercare protocols, and sleeping arrangements.” Nerio went back to the desk, pulling out yet another sheaf of papers. He stopped behind Vivienne’s chair, then leaned forward to toss Solomon the new set of documents. “I will mediate, and serve as Vivienne’s advocate, in my role as Dom in residence.” Nerio laid his hands on Vivienne’s shoulders.
The instant he touched her, she raised her chin but lowered her lashes. Her fingers, which had been fisted together on top of the table, dropped to her lap, where she lay them, palms up, on her thighs.
It was a submissive waiting posture. One he’d taught her, back in their flat in London. He could still vividly remember ordering her to sit, naked, on one of the dining chairs, gaze down, soft palms exposed as her hands rested on her thighs. He’d been grinning, knowing she could hear, but not really see what he was up to as he shoved around their furniture to clear enough floorspace that she’d be able to get on all fours, with enough perimeter space for him to have 360-degree access to her lovely body.
Solomon didn’t bother to go around the table. He went over it. He leapt to his feet, planted one bare foot on the seat of his chair, and launched himself at Nerio.
Chapter 5
Vivienne was both impressed and alarmed when Solomon threw himself at Nerio. While one part of her was marveling at the dramatic sight he made—bare chested, snarling, and sailing through the air—her sense of self-preservation took control, and she dove out of the way.
Solomon hit Nerio, and both of them, plus the chair she’d been sitting in, landed on the floor with heavy thumps and a cracking noise from the chair that made her think it might not survive. Vivienne crawled quickly under the glass table, out the other side, before jumping to her feet and whirling around, looking for something she could hit Nerio with.
Casting a quick glance at the two men—they were rolling around on the floor, not really hitting each other so much as grappling and cursing—she ran to the curio cabinet. A time-worn antique brass paperweight in the shape of a voluptuous mermaid was exactly what she needed. Improvised weapon in hand, she ran back to the fight.
Nerio was flat on his back under Solomon, who was laying half on top of the other man, hands fisted in Nerio’s shirt. He seemed to be trying to slam Nerio’s head and shoulders against the floor, a move Nerio was preventing as he had one forearm wedged against Solomon’s throat.
“Don’t ever touch her,” Solomon wheezed. “You have no right.”
“Flip him over and I’ll hit him.” Vivienne hefted the brass paperweight.
Nerio caught sight of what she had in her hand, and his eyes widened. Then his gaze went steely, and he seemed to relax under Solomon. In the same moment that Vivienne thought to herself “that doesn’t seem right,” Nerio proved that he’d been toying with Solomon. He quickly, efficiently ended the battle by flipping Solomon off him in what looked to her like some sort of wrestling or judo move.
Solomon landed flat on his back at her feet, his breath escaping in a painful sounding rush of air. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly unable to inhale again. Vivienne dropped to her knees beside him, keeping the paperweight in one hand.
“Solomon? Solomon—breathe, my love. Breathe.” She tried not to let the panic she felt leach into her voice.
His gaze softened as he looked up at her, and Vivienne put her palm against his cheek. When Nerio jumped to his feet, dusting briskly at his jeans, Vivienne tightened her hold on the paperweight, ready to defend her man.
Nerio looked at her and smiled, but it lacked some of the malicious amusement she’d sensed from him before.
“That was certainly telling, don’t you agree?”
Solomon had finally managed to inhale. He let out a pained moan as he exhaled, but still managed to tack on a faint, “Fuck you, asshole.”
He was okay, and that allowed her panic to dissipate. With the immediate crisis over, she was back to worrying about their overall situation.
Nerio crouched on the other side of Solomon’s prone body. “If I could have that rather heavy objet d’art, I would appreciate it.”
It was framed as a request, but Vivienne knew better. There was no way he was going to let her keep a hold of something that could be used as a weapon. She glanced at Solomon who nodded, then propped himself up on his elbows, still breathing heavily.
Rather than hand it to Nerio, she leaned to the side, setting the paperweight on the conference table, which had miraculously stayed in place throughout the fight. Some part of her had been worried that the heavy glass top would break, and they would end up sliced to ribbons, bleeding out with a truly stunning view as their last sight. She supposed, given that this was a boat, everything was secured against turbulent waters.
Nerio nodded in apparent satisfaction, then braced his hands on his knees and rose to standing. He grabbed what had been her chair, setting it upright and then wiggling it. One of the legs shifted loosely. He set it aside and grabbed a different chair, dropping into it.
Solomon sat up all the way, turning so he was between Nerio and her. Needing contact, she scooted up against Solomon’s back, propping her chin on his shoulder while sliding her arms around his waist. She felt some of the tension in his shoulders and back lessen the moment she touched him.
“Let’s discuss what just happened,” Nerio said.
“How about we not?” Solomon said conversationally.
Vivienne hid a smile against his shoulder. She’d been varying levels of afraid, from alarmed to terrified, since the moment Nerio forced her into the helicopter. But that had been hours ago, and it seemed that her previous levels of fear and tension were unsustainable, because with every moment that passed, she was a little more relaxed, feeling a bit more like a guest, instead of a prisoner.
Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome.
Her lips twitched again, as she imagined Solomon’s response if she’d said that aloud.
“Two very interesting things happened,” Nerio stated. “One, and the less surprising of the two, was that you, Solomon, responded aggressively and possessively to my platonic touching of Vivienne.”
“Platonic, my ass.”
“The second was that you, Vivienne, behaved as a submissive when I touched you.”
Vivienne turned her head, laying her cheek instead of her chin on Solomon’s shoulder so she wasn’t looking at either man.
“While I pride myself on my skills as a dominant, I was not attempting to elicit that response,” Nerio continued.
“That’s bullshit,” Solomon said.
“I assure you it’s not. When I am not just your friendly, neighborhood matchmaker, but Master Neri
o, you’ll know it.”
“You were subtle about it, but you did it on purpose,” Solomon accused. “You keep referring to this as the Dom-in-residence’s office, the whole place is covered in dungeon ready furniture, you passed us contracts, and then—”
Vivienne had held her silence too long. She was being a coward.
“It wasn’t him, it was you,” she said, face still on Solomon’s shoulder.
The tension returned to Solomon’s body, the muscle under her cheek becoming rock-hard.
“What do you mean?” Solomon asked.
She should let go of him, move so that they could talk face to face. But it seemed she’d used up all her courage for the day. Or perhaps it was just exhaustion. Everything she’d felt, not just today but in the past week, was catching up with her. Shock when she saw Solomon, remembered pain and regret once they started talking. The exquisite highs of sexual pleasure and emotional release she’d found when they scened. The shock, anger, and embarrassment when they’d been interrupted by her family. The determination and desperation that had led her to follow him to his home in the Bahamas.
The list went on and on.
She was so tired. Too tired to lie. Too tied to prevaricate.
“I wasn’t submitting to him,” she said softly. “I was submitting to you.”
His muscled twitched under her cheek.
“No, please don’t get upset. It wasn’t something you did. It was the…the sum of all the parts. What happened last night, the fact that we were kidnapped together, then being in the dungeon.” She closed her eyes, though neither man could see her face. She wasn’t sure what Solomon would have seen in her gaze had he been able to look her in the eye. “When I submit to you, I feel safe. I want to feel safe. He touched me and it wasn’t about him, it was about me looking at you, and the physical contact just made my body do what my mind was already feeling.” They were speaking English and her sentences were awkward and inelegant as she struggled to express a feeling that had no name. Her throat was tight with the need to cry, though that seemed so very foolish.
Solomon laid his big hands over her wrists, thumbs rubbing her knuckles. Vivienne went limp against him, letting her body soften, mold to the hard lines of his back.
“I’ve got you, Vivi baby,” he whispered. “We’re going to get through this. We’re going to figure it all out.”
He wasn’t done. That’s what he’d said. He wasn’t done with her, with them.
That thought should have filled her with joy—when he’d mentioned the possibility of a D/s relationship back in Paris, she’d felt hope and excitement for the future for the first time in years. Then she’d come to his island, and heard his version of their relationship. That had broken her heart, wiped away hope.
Yet, in this moment, all she felt was tired, and a little sad.
Because you know it won't work. Not unless one of you changes.
Vivienne slowly pulled her hands out from under Solomon’s, sliding her palms around his waist. She pushed away from his body, kneeling up so that she could look at Nerio.
“I am not a good self-advocate when it comes to sceneing with him,” she told Nerio.
“Vivienne, what are you doing?” Solomon twisted to look at her, one hand planted on the floor behind his ass. The movement showed off the muscles of his arms and chest, and she was tired, not dead, so she took a moment to appreciate the view.
“How can I help?” Nerio asked.
Vivienne looked at him. “I’d like you to represent my interests in the contract negotiations for the weekend.”
“Are you high?” Solomon demanded in outrage.
That startled a laugh out of her. “No, I am not high. I’m exhausted and thirsty and hungry. And I know my limitations. I want to give you everything when we play. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Solomon’s gaze darkened, but before he could reply, Nerio rose. “I’m being a terrible host. I hope you will forgive me.” He walked over to a hidden panel in the wall. With a press, the panel popped open and he reached in, pulling out a corded phone.
“Yes, I’d like lunch for two in the dungeon office, and a third lunch in one of the staterooms. Also, please send someone to escort my guest.” Nerio hung up. “Someone will be here momentarily to take you to one of the rooms. Not an aftercare room.”
Vivienne rose to her feet, feeling old and creaky as she did so. “Thank you.”
“And I would be happy to negotiate on your behalf.” Nerio stepped closer, lowering his voice. “But first I need to know one thing.”
“What’s that?” Vivienne asked, also sotto voce.
“What do you want?”
“The question is far too broad,” she said.
“All too true. Let me rephrase. Do you love Solomon Carter?”
She smiled sadly. “I do. I always have.”
“But?” Nerio asked.
Vivienne didn’t reply. There were too many ways to finish that thought.
“Very well,” Nerio said when it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything more. “I’ll try a different approach. When you leave my ship, do you want to be in a romantic relationship with him, a D/s relationship only? Do you want to leave here wearing his collar?”
Vivienne licked her lips and closed her eyes. How could she answer that question? It wasn’t about what she wanted.
“Or would you like to leave here and be able to walk away with nothing but fond memories?” Nerio smiled. “And acceptance.”
There was only one answer she could give. “I don’t know.”
Solomon made a noise low in his throat. Apparently they hadn’t been quiet enough. He’d heard what she said.
Vivienne couldn’t bear to face him. She turned and started walking towards the door. The universe did her a favor, and there was a polite knock. Nerio rushed ahead, opening the door and speaking quietly to the white-uniform clad attendant.
Just before she left, she paused, not looking at Nerio when she spoke. “I love him, I don’t know if we can ever be together. We hurt each other.”
“‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’” Nerio held the door open.
“J’ai aimé jusqu’a atteindre la folie,” she replied.
Nerio inclined his head, like a fencer acknowledging a hit. She knew he understood what she’d just said—I have loved to the point of madness—but apparently he didn’t know the rest of the Françoise Sagan quote.
I have loved to the point of madness;
That which is called madness,
That which to me,
Is the only sensible way to love.
Vivienne slid, naked, under the sheets. She was warm, clean, dry, and well-fed.
Since leaving Solomon and Nerio, she’d spent the afternoon in the lovely suite. It was on the same level as the dungeon and aftercare rooms, but rather than opening into the dungeon, it was on the ocean side of the hall, and she had lovely views, and even a small balcony. There was a sitting room, bedroom, and massive bathroom with a soaking tub. She’d taken a long bath while gazing out at the endless expanse of ocean.
She been served lunch and then dinner. The ship’s sommelier had accompanied the server, offering her a choice of wines. She quirked her lips in an amusement as he’d extolled the virtues of the five-year-old Château Rossolina Deschamps Chardonnay he suggested to go with her fish for dinner. She’d accepted the wine suggestion, then dined in front of the open balcony doors, the clean smell of open ocean air, distinctly different from the way salt water smelled on beaches or from a dock, adding another layer of flavor to the delicious meal.
The man who showed her to her room had been solicitous, working to grant her every request. The one request he hadn’t been able to fulfill was for clothes. He brought her a selection, but most of it had been fet wear.
He explained, hesitantly and apologetically, that the only women’s clothes they had on board were items they provided to guests who otherwise wouldn’t meet the dress code to use
the ship’s “amenities.”
Which meant that guests who weren’t serious, or knowledgeable, enough to have brought their own corsets, fishnet, leather, and latex garments of their own, could be dressed from the stockpile. She picked through the things her attendant had brought, hoping for a silk teddy or similar, but Nerio’s taste in fet wear was distressingly clichéd.
The room had come equipped with robes—both a long terrycloth one she’d put on after the bath, and a shorter pale-blue satin one which she’d worn while she ate dinner.
Not wanting to sleep in the robe, she’d shed it before sliding between the silky cotton sheets. She’d been tempted to leave the balcony doors open, but there was something terrifying about the ocean at night, even if it was terror tempered by beauty.
She stacked up the pillows behind her back, turning on her side so she faced the balcony doors. She willed sleep to come. Since leaving the Dom-in-residence office, she did a very good job of keeping her thoughts away from Solomon, their past, and most importantly, their future.
The click of the bedroom door opening made her turn, frowning. She wasn’t scared, though she probably should have been. Maybe she’d used up all her fear earlier.
Or maybe part of her had sensed who it was on the other side.
Like in a hotel, there was a light on in the hall. When he entered the living room of the suite, he’d left the hall door open, and some of the light spilled in. Solomon stood silhouetted by that yellow artificial light, while pale starlight from the balcony doors cast a silvery glow over his features.
He stood there not moving, perhaps waiting for her to either tell him to go, or beckon him in.
She did neither. Vivienne breathed slowly and deliberately, one hand holding the sheet in place over her breasts.
Solomon backed up, never taking his eyes off of her, and pushed the hall door closed. This time she could watch as he approached the bed. Watch as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, sealing them in together.
He too was silent, but not menacingly so. He looked tired.
