Bound to You (22 page)

‘Anyway, how’s the Bar? Tell me about any scandalous trials you have coming up . . .’

‘Well, you know I can’t divulge proper details. But since it’s you . . .’

After twenty more minutes of relaxed chatter, I decided that I’d successfully distracted Christopher from his impending divorce. Time to go.

‘Thank you for coming, Jade. I really, really do appreciate it. Could we do it again sometime? You’re such a good listener. I went to a counsellor once, cost me heaps of money, but they didn’t get me the way you do.’

I hesitated for a second. This really wasn’t the way to let a relationship with a client go. He was paying me heaps of money too, wasn’t he? I supposed there was no harm in just chatting, so long as he didn’t actually expect me to give him detailed advice.

‘Sure,’ I smiled, a little reluctantly.

As he walked me to the door, I waited for him to offer the money he usually kept rolled up on top of the bedside cabinet for me. Only, thinking back now to when we’d been in the bedroom, I couldn’t remember seeing any money. Shit.

‘Well, take care.’ He hugged me to him once again. ‘Do you need something for a taxi ride home?’ I nodded dumbly. So that’s what he meant about the counsellor. Clearly he had no intention of offering me anything here. I knew what Sapphire would have done. She’d have politely but firmly explained that her time always came at a price. But I couldn’t. Was it even up to him to realise that, or up to me to have clarified it before I arrived? The boundaries had been blurred before I’d even arrived.

I waited until the taxi had pulled out of view of Christopher’s flat and then asked the taxi driver to drop me off there instead. I might as well save the £60 fare and get the tube. At least I wouldn’t have ‘worked’ entirely for free.

On the way home I thought over the evening’s events. I was angry with myself for spoiling a perfectly good professional relationship by trying to be Christopher’s friend. But then, what else could I have done but offer Christopher comfort? I could
not
have gone. But that didn’t feel humane. He was a reasonable man, I was sure the money issue could have been rectified with a quick phone call. But for some reason, I was disinclined to do that. Instead, I took the evening’s mishaps as a sign that it really was time for me to move on.

Thankfully, I met my self-imposed deadline. On 30 April I found out that I secured my first proper full-time paying journalism job on an independent politics publication. When I rang my dad to tell him, I laughed with grateful relief. So did he. ‘Just your brother to worry about now!’

Once I began the job I was more tired, more stressed, and had a lot less fun than I’d enjoyed while I’d been domming, but finally I could relax about the direction my life was taking. And yet still I felt a yearning. I no longer missed Christos, exactly, but I missed the joy and intimacy of that relationship. Perhaps I was destined merely to have a string of perfectly pleasant but innocuous relationships. Perhaps I’d had my fill of love.

I talked about it with Gina as we browsed the Victoria and Albert the weekend before Easter. ‘It’s not as though I believe in The One, you know I don’t,’ I told her. ‘But when you’ve had such a perfect relationship, is everything after doomed to dissatisfaction?’

‘But it wasn’t perfect with Christos, Nichi,’ Gina wisely pointed out. ‘You know very well it wasn’t.’

‘Well, as perfect AS then!’ I replied. ‘Anyway, I’m not looking for perfection. I’m looking for real, raw passion and a soul connection. I know you’re going to think this is stupid, Gina, but that guy I met at the end of last year, I, I . . .’

I didn’t dare say the next bit out loud.

‘Sebastian, wasn’t he called? You think he had it?’

I couldn’t look at Gina. ‘But Sapphire and Violet quite rightly tried to put me off him. I mean, I’ve heard so many horror stories about BDSM relationships, “lifestylers” you call them. I’d be stupid to go there. You think I’m stupid.’

‘No of course I don’t! Look, forget about the BDSM bit. Sometimes you just get a feeling about someone. I’m sure even kinksters get that!’

‘Yes!’ I said with relief. Being able to admit this to Gina stopped it from feeling so delusional. My thoughts about any potential connection with Sebastian were becoming an obsession, despite Sapphire’s warning.

‘But the thing is, the feeling I got about Sebastian was different from how I felt with Christos. It wasn’t that kind of romance. It was . . . it reminded me of this John Donne poem, “The Ecstasy” I think it’s called. “Our eyebeams twisted and did thread our eyes upon one double string”.’

Gina raised an eyebrow at me. The Metaphysical poets weren’t really her forte. I pressed on.

‘There’s something about the idea of twisted eye beams that’s so, well . . . it’s about something darker than love.’

‘Well, then,’ Gina teased, ‘I suggest we get out of this place. Something tells me you’re not going to find Sebastian here.’

A couple of days later, Sapphire called. She’d seen from my Facebook status update that I had a proper job and phoned me to ask how I was getting on. I was glad she’d rung. Hearing her voice made that recent, if surreal, part of my life feel less cut off from my current reality. ‘So how’s life as a real slave, Nichi? Not tempted back to the dark side?’

‘No, thank you,’ I replied. ‘Although I do miss the dressing up!’

‘Well, you should come to this spring fetish ball I’m going to on the weekend! Remember that fetish club where we sometimes used to tout for clients? Well, they’re having what I’m assured will be a splendid kink party on Saturday night. There’s a lot of great stage acts too, male burlesque and amazing go-go dancers.’

I was a little wary of seeing Sapphire again. We hadn’t actually met up since the night I lost my strap-on virginity.

‘Besides, I miss you!’ she said, as if sensing and seeking to quell my anxieties with one simple phrase.

‘I miss you, too.’ It was true. We had become so close over the course of my apprenticeship in domming. And hang on a minute, wasn’t this the party Violet had mentioned over lunch when she’d cried over Dan? The party that Sebastian was due back in town for?

‘Is Violet going?’ I asked. If Violet was going then there was the chance, just the minutest, grain-of-sand, inkling of a chance, that Sebastian might be there too.

‘Yeah, of course! She’s currently got some new Master – not Dan – play-pimping her out. They go to these parties and he offers her up to the highest bidder!’

‘The highest bidder?’ I was horrified.

‘Oh, not like that! I mean, some guy propositions her with a domination offer. She has to relay it to her Master and then he decides whether he thinks she’s “earned” it or not in service to him.’

‘Doesn’t Violet wear herself out with these complex D/s games?’

Sapphire laughed. ‘You know how it goes. Once you get suckered into these kinds of relationships, you’re always looking for the next high!’

‘What are we dressing as?’ I asked Sapphire.

‘Ha! Good girl! I don’t know. Why don’t we just full-on fetish it up? You can wear my rubber prom dress if you like.’

‘You’re on.’

But the fetish night never materialised. On Saturday morning Sapphire texted me to tell that she had a truly appalling migraine and that she was going to have to cancel.

It was a good thing she didn’t call. There was no way I’d have been able to hide my grievous disappointment. I was so eager to see Sebastian again, and the idea that he might go and meet some other curious little thing with submissive tendencies roused me to a sense of very slight, but very real, jealousy.

This was silly. Why was I wasting my time fantasising about someone I might never meet again?

I had to see him.

I was going to chance it. Violet would give me his number, wouldn’t she? Come on, Mistress Jade, take the man if you want him!

I toyed with the idea of asking Violet for his number for the best part of a day. What could I use as a pretext? I know! The painting he’d done for her!

‘Hey Violet, it’s Jade, hope you’re well. Could I possibly have your friend Sebastian’s number btw? I know of a commission he might be interested in . . .’

Perfect, perfect. Innocuous. Valid. There was no way she would suspect a thing.

Violet replied within a few minutes with the digits. Then she followed it up with this: ‘Commission? To spank your ass I presume? ;)’

Damn it! Had it really been that transparent at the party that I was knee-shakingly, lip-poutingly, eye-lash-flutteringly head over heels in lust with him? Apparently so.

But who cared. I had what I wanted.

Now, to text him. I agonised even longer over this. I didn’t want to pretend I had a commission for him. I was just going to be bold and ask him if he wanted to have a drink. But what if Violet told him what I’d done? That would make me look stupid. Although I’d look stupider if I misled him with the offer of work. No, I just had to play this straight.

I wrote the message out six times. Then I got a grip. ‘Hey Sebastian, it’s Jade. Hope you’re well and that Africa was’ . . . was what? A great place to serve your sex drive as you tied up a multitude of women? Let’s not mention Africa. ‘Hope you’re well. Would you like to meet for a drink some time? x’

Simple is best. Send. Send it, Nichi! Finally I sent it.

Now I had to switch off my phone and forget I had one. Or . . . or I could just read his immediate reply!

‘Hey Jade, lovely to hear from you! A drink would be great. Next Friday? Sx’

Our first date was scheduled for the following Friday evening. It was the end of a torturous week at the office for me; press week at the magazine, which meant 7 a.m. starts and 10 p.m. finishes. On deadline Friday at around 1 p.m., the office erupted into a volcano of stress when it turned out that one of our contributors, whose 5,000-word feature had yet to materialise, had actually barely started writing it. But I managed to agree a new deadline and broker peace between him and my editor. Chanelling my erotic energy into professional problem-solving kept me from falling into a nervous haze of fret and over-analysis about my date with Sebastian. It also stopped me from sneaking off to the toilet to examine my face and figure in the mirror for the eleven-hundredth time.

Hour conceded to hour and eventually it was 5.03 p.m. and there were just fifty-seven minutes separating me from the sight of the lustrous Sebastian. Was I suitably dressed, I wondered? I didn’t want it to be totally obvious that I’d been waiting for this ever since the party at Violet’s, so I’d decided not to change my work clothes, consisting of a black sheer silk shirt, black lambswool sweater, tight black pencil skirt – which admittedly did hug my bottom just so.

My only concession to datedom was to wear stockings rather than tights. It was a mere mental boost. I was adamant there would be no other need for them.

On top of that went my scarlet Cossack coat and a tawny Russian hat. It should have been spring but along with a resurrected Lord, Easter had brought snow, and there were still icy clots of it on the ground. Before I left the office I swapped my riding boots for monochrome snakeskin heels – albeit heels with straps, which should ensure I could navigate through the snow without falling over.

My boss smiled at me on the way out. ‘Well, you look nice, Nichi. Off out for drinks?’ It was a perfectly innocuous enquiry but I blushed, in spite of myself.

‘Yes, just going to meet a friend.’

He smiled at me, nodded approvingly. ‘Lovely hat. You look like. . . .’ He twisted his lips as he searched for the correct comparison.

‘An oligarch’s mistress?’ I substituted for him teasingly.

‘No, no, I was going to say a Russian princess. Or at least a heroine from a Russian novel.’

OK, Nichi time to go. I often found myself engaged in these inappropriately suggestive banter rolls with older men. Damn the domming, I thought. I was still adjusting to regular working life.

Sebastian and I had arranged to meet at Oxford Circus tube. It was a short walk from my office. As I marched along, I tried not to let my nerves seduce my composure.

Was this even a date? Maybe he just thought we’d arranged a friendly drink. I mean, nothing had actually been made explicit. I tried for the umpteenth time to read the signals of that last conversation, as we were saying goodbye at Violet’s. My treacherously swollen pupils, the licking of my lips and lowering of my gaze at regular intervals could have given my intentions away. And what about him? Why would he have hung around talking to me for so long if he wasn’t interested in spending more time with me?

The tube station came into view. I fiddled into my coat pocket for my mirror and lipstick. Still perfect. Or as perfect as it would ever be. Get a grip.

I crossed the penultimate road onto a pedestrian crossing. I couldn’t see him. We’d said six, right? I pressed the button on the traffic lights with the tip of one leather-gloved finger, and waited there, poised to cross. As soon as the green man flashed up, Sebastian came into view. Concealed by a fog of evening shoppers, he’d clearly been stood there a while, as straight-backed as a statue, clad in that heavy coat again, hands thrust deep in his pockets in protest against the early evening chill.

Even from across the way I saw him see me. He fixed me with that long, intense stare of his. As I approached him, his handsome face broke into a broad smile. I’d not seen him smile like that before. My heart raced.

‘Hello.’ He kissed me. Or did I kiss him? No, I merely held out my cheeks in polite offering. He kissed me, slowly, deliberately on either cheek, his stubble teasing my hair to his face in a static caress.

‘Hey, Sebastian. How are you?’

‘Well, thank you. Yourself?’

‘Oh, I’ve been on press and . . .’ I stopped myself. Right now, I wasn’t interested in my work. I was just filling the air between us with some kind of white noise in a bid to avoid betraying the deep lust I was feeling. ‘End of a long week. I’m fine.’

I smiled. My breath came out in a quavering fog. How could I care about any detail of the daily grind in the presence of this mesmerising man?