The Art of Control (28 page)

I lean my head back, feeling information overloaded.

“You should come to the club with us sometime, Morrison, and not just to keep an eye on me, but to learn and watch me and Isa. I think maybe there’s a Dominant lurking just beneath your surface,” Young says, patting my thigh. “Isa told me as much the day after our wedding, but I ignored her keen insight. It turns out my wife is wise beyond her years.”

I’m stunned into silence.
Me, a Dom?
Looking over at Isabel for some kind of clarification, her cheeks flush bright pink.

“Apparently so are you,” I reply and cocky
, juvenile Young returns.

“Of course I am,” he says
mockingly.

Yes, I think perhaps I do need to learn more about this lifestyle.

I leave Isabel and Young to make up for lost time while I track Simons. Knowing Young more personally, my loyalty for him deepens. He’s always been like a brother to me, but now, he means more to me than that and so does Isabel. They’re like family and I will protect them at all costs. E. Ibanez and Simons will suffer my wrath for what they’ve put Isa and Young through.

***

Isabe
l

The conversation with Sawyer was interesting and so was watching Dylan’s reaction to his questions. The exuberance he shows when talking about BDSM is sexy and heartwarming. W
hen Sawyer walks away, Dylan pulls me into his lap again and holds me tightly. I get the very distinct impression this is how it will be for quite some time until he feels secure in the fact that I will never leave him again.

“You have no idea the lengths I went through to t
ry and find you, love,” he purrs into my ear. “Your father did a good job at hiding you.”

“I hate him,” I snap
, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, remorse sets in.

“Talk to me. Why do you look like you just got punched in the gut,” Dylan says.

“He’s still my father. I despise feeling hatred for him. Yes, he was cruel, but things could’ve been so much worse for me.”

Dylan looks appalled at my statement. “I don’t see how,” he rebukes.

“He could’ve sexually abused me for one. He could’ve starved me and sold me into the sex trade or…”

“Jesus, Isabel, just stop.  Don’t try and
diminish what he did to you. He abused you and though it could’ve been worse, it was bad enough. He took so many vital things away from you- you’ve earned the right to hate him.”

I know he’s right. He took my mother from me, he too
k away my ability to have a child, and he almost took away the only other person, other than my mother, who truly loved me. Yes,
I do hate him
.

In Dylan’s arms,
I feel at home and whole again, but… that feeling of doom is back. Papa is going to be so angry when he finds out I’ve disobeyed him. He’s going to be so livid with me. My body starts to involuntarily shake and evil chills creep up my spine. I can’t lose Dylan.
What have I done?
This was a huge mistake.

“Isabel, what’s wrong?” Dylan asks concerned.

“I shouldn’t have come back with you. My father will kill you once he finds out I’m gone. It’s not too late to turn this plane around and take me back. Please, I don’t want to be responsible for your death, sugar,” I start to cry.

“Christ, love, w
hat did your father say to you?”

“He said he would make me watch you die
a slow and painful death like my mother, and I believe him. Take me back, Dylan.”

“That’s never going to happen. Not now, not ever.
I’m not losing you again,” he protests.

Why does he have to be so stubborn? I close my eyes and try to fall asleep and not think about the horrible things my father will do, forbidding myself to dream.

When I awaken, we’ve stopped for fuel and Dylan and Sawyer are talking zealously about something, the subject of which is no doubt Papa and the things they plan on doing to him and Simons. I pretend to be asleep so I can eavesdrop but all I can make out is Dylan saying
make sure to cover your tracks and call me if you need help.
I jump up abruptly and face them, and they both shuffle around like a couple of dopes who’ve been caught looking at porn on the job.

“Whatever
the two of you are planning is not going to happen. It’s my birthday and there will be no ass kicking and tracks to be covered on this day.”

I’m standing looking into the eyes of two grown al
pha men with their mouths gaping open at me, speechless. They’re both a good head taller than me and still, they look like a couple of children who’ve been reprimanded, their cheeks bright pink and their eyes blinking rapidly.

“I mean it, Dylan Nathaniel Young and Sawyer Alan Morrison.”

“How the hell do you know my middle name?” Sawyer huffs.

I
nod towards Dylan and he gives me a look of
why-the-hell-did-you-just-rat-me-out?

Sawyer qui
ckly shoots Dylan a harsh look and grumbles, “Thanks a lot, Young.”

“
I mean it.  All three of us are going back to Denver,
together
. Whatever revenge you two have planned can wait another 24 hours.”

Sawyer eyes Dylan dubiously and then me.

“I thought you were the Dom in this relationship,” he says wryly.

Dylan shrugs and replies, “Sawyer, I’d like to introduce you to Mistress Isabel.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows go up and he scans me head-to-toe.

“Interesting dichotomy,” he finally
answers back.

“To say the least,” Dylan retorts.

After having made my point, I leave them and make myself a drink. It’s been so long since I had a good martini, or any alcohol for that matter. Alcohol costs money and I was so limited in my funds, I was lucky to eat two meals every day. I load it up good and heavy with gin and gulp it down far too fast, the liquor heating my insides rapidly. Dylan seats himself next to me and eyes my beverage in hand.

“I haven’t had a good martini in over three months,” I explain. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asks.

“When was the last time you had a martini?”

“Last night, I think. Though I don’t recall exactly what I drank.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was falling down drunk, so I don’t exactly remember. I assume it was Irish scotch or tequila, or both, by the way my head felt this morning,” he answers, massaging his neck and looking discomfited.

“You never get drunk.”

“I never used to get drunk; not until you left. I told you, I was a mess. I was sloppy and injudicious, and…a whole lot of stupid.”

Recalling how harsh he was at the hotel, I ask, “How could you be miserable without me when you were so
irate with me that day at the hotel?”

“I can’t explain it. I wasn’t just angry, I was hurting. You left me. Christ, you left me after you promised… Isa, I don’t want
to discuss this anymore. It’s over and done with. It’s still too painful to think about and I’ll never get over the feeling of being without you. It’s still too raw. Just this morning I was thinking about signing over my company to Sawyer and hiding away on some secluded island to forget about everything and now, here you are.”

“Yes, Master. It’s still too fresh for me, too.”

We hold each other the entire rest of the flight, only letting go to relieve our bladders. When we approach Denver, my excitement boils over. God, it feels good to be home. The Rockies look glorious this time of year. It’s already August and I practically missed the entire summer. When we get out of the terminal, we’re greeted by several photographers and reporters. They seem surprised to see me and overly enthusiastic. Dylan and Sawyer shield me and gently push me towards the Rover. Once inside, Dylan smiles sheepishly at me.

“Welcome home, pussycat.”

I definitely didn’t miss this. Back at home, I’m horrified to see our beautiful abode in chaos. Our bedroom is in shambles with clothes lying everywhere and I can’t make heads or tails of what’s clean and what’s dirty. The bed is unmade, there’s dust on the ledges of everything and it’s just downright disgraceful. Dylan is talking on the phone energetically to someone while I make my way to the kitchen, fearful of what I’ll find. To my utter disgust, it, too, is completely in disorder. My God, who lives like this? Dirty dishes are stacked mile-high, which, considering we’re living in Denver seems appropriate. I don’t even know where to begin to clean up this jacked up clutter. Dylan deserves a good paddling for treating my kitchen so disrespectfully.  My irritation subsides when I remember what he said about drinking too much and being a wreck. My poor Master.

Dylan comes sauntering into the kitchen. When he looks at the mess, he shrugs his shoulders and starts to apologize, but I cut him off by throwing my arms around him and smothering him with kisses.

“Look at this mess. You really were lost without me,” I mutter into his mouth. 

“You have no idea, my precious angel.”

“Take me to the dungeon. I’ve missed it so much.”

“Not tonight, love. Tonight I just want to hold you and sleep next to you.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Dylan

My dear sweet Isa is eager to be with me, but my heart is still on the mend and my min
d is still trying to accept the fact that she’s back, so for now, we’ll take this slow. First things first, I want to wash her body and clean the remnants of Chilé off of her. I prepare a hot bath for us with an overabundance of bubbles and we soak in each other’s arms for nearly an hour. After being in the water to the point of pruniness, I finally scrub her down, wash her hair and massage every inch of her wet body. Her once champagne-colored hair is now brassy from over exposure and long, and she looks youthful with her tanned body, sun burnt nose and freckled face.

“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her as I move on top of her and between her legs.

“I thought you wanted to wait,” she smiles.

“I do. I just want to watch
you cum.”

Sliding two fingers into her,
her body resists me with the tightness of not being with anyone for so long. I gently rub her clit with my thumb, feeling it swell to my touch. She begins to writhe in the tub and the water splashes up and over the edges as she grips the sides for leverage.

“I want you
to cum slowly for me, pussycat. Resist it. I want to enjoy the show,” I command and she nods her understanding.

I find her long neglected rough patch just where I remembered it to be and I
lightly circle my index and middle finger around it. Isa thrusts her pelvis up and moans out softly.

“I want to hear your pleasure, love. Sing it louder.”

She swallows hard, licks her lips and voices her enjoyment heartily.

“That’s it, pussycat, c
um for your Master.”

Tugging at her harder, I
move on top of her completely and press my mouth onto hers. She does the thing that drives me insane, biting my bottom lip harshly, and I taste my own blood. When she, too, tastes it, she lets go of the tub and fists her hands in my hair and pulls me into her deep kiss, our tongues dancing a sexy tango in my mouth. When her velvet walls start to tighten around my fingers, I quicken my pace and she releases and screams out and fists her own hair. Without warning, she hides her face in her hands and starts crying, her whole body shaking and shuddering.

“Oh, Dylan… I missed that so much. You have no idea how much. I thought I’d
never feel your touch on my body again,” she sobs.

I pull her up and wrap my arms around her wet body, the both of
us shivering from the cool air.

“I do know how much you missed it. I do…” I sniff along with her, fighting the tears.

After drying and dressing her, we lie in bed and she tells me of the time she spent in Antofagasta, learning the culture and exploring the city, and according to her, doing anything she could to stay busy and keep her mind off of me. She explains how she swore she would never paint again and my heart aches because I know how much it means to her.

“What if I’m never
inspired to paint again, Dylan? Will you still love me?”

“Why would you ask that? I love you regardless
of if you paint or not.”

“I don’t
for one minute believe that,” she sulks.

“There’s no denying that your paintings were what first interested me in you
and that I cherish your talent, but it’s you that I love -
you
. I love you for who you are, Isa, every part of you. If you never paint again, I’ll be upset only because I know how much you enjoy doing it and I know how much you need it. As for never being inspired, well, I guess I’ll just have to find ways to
motivate
you to want to paint,” I wink.

S
he smiles and goes on to tell me the Spanish that she already knew wasn’t enough and that communicating with the locals was frustrating but that they were kind to the
mujer de pelo amarillo
and she picked up the language quickly. The way her mouth moves seductively when she speaks in Spanish reminds me of Paris and the way she wielded the French language.

“You have quite a talented tongue,” I say to her suggestively.

She moves between my thighs, grinning devilishly at me and slicks her pink tongue over her bottom lip.

“I’d like to show you j
ust how talented it is,” she teases just before she slides my briefs off and runs her tongue up the entire length of my shaft.  The first lick is agonizingly slow and normally I would tell her to speed it up, but right this very moment, I want it to last as long as possible. She starts to pick up her pace knowing how I like it, but I instruct her otherwise.

“Slower, pussycat,
make it last.”

After the most amazing head I’ve ever gotten in my life over the longest period of time imaginable, I climax into Isa’s m
outh and she drinks me up like what I’m offering is life sustaining.

She curls up into my arms and sleep finds
us at once. I wake up cold and alone several hours later and panic sets in. I jump up from bed and flip the light on, scanning the room frantically.

“I’m here, my sweet lover,” Isa calls out from near the window.

I move behind her and envelope her, pushing my face into her hair.

“I thought you were gone again.” My voice isn’t my own and I sound desperate.

“No, I won’t ever do that to you again. I promise.”

“You promised before,” I choke out.

She turns to face me and holds my face steadily, staring straight into my eyes and seeing directly into my soul. “I’m promising you now, again. All I can ask is that you forgive me and believe in me the way you did before.”

“I want to, Isa, but you wounded me so deeply. I was so furious with you. I wanted you to feel the same anguish I did when you walked out that door. I don’t ever want to feel t
hat kind of abandonment and anger in my heart again.
Not ever.
If you ever leave me again, pussycat, it’ll be the death of me.”

“Don’t talk like that. I won’
t, Dylan. What I did was horrible, but I just wanted you to be safe.”

“
You may have thought I was safe without you, but the truth is, I was reckless and in serious danger of self-destruction.
”

“Regardless, you’re still alive.”

I can see this is going nowhere. She has her mind made up that what she did kept me safe and maybe to a certain degree she’s right, but I know deep down, I wouldn’t have been alive for much longer without her.

We eventuall
y fall back to sleep and the rest I get is the best I’ve had since Isa left me in that hospital room. I wake late in the morning and Isa is still sleeping as well. Things are as they should be as she lies completely naked next to me, half covered up and her plump ass peeking out at me. I lean down and bite it for good measure and old times’ sake, but mostly to reassure myself that I’m not dreaming. She wakes with a start, rubbing her bottom and looking around bewildered.

“What the hell was that?” she asks.

“I wanted a nibble,” I laugh.

“Wel
l have all you want,” she flirts, pushing her bottom up to me.

“Yes, I think I will.”

I plunge between her legs and ravenously sink my tongue into her ass, biting her cheeks in between licks. Isa howls out and giggles infectiously, making me chuckle along with her. I gnaw up her spine and into her soft shoulder. Remembering the gifts that I bought for Isa in Paris, I jump off the bed and dig them out of my dresser.

“Why did you stop?” Isa whines.

“I have a gift for you. I never had a chance to give it to you in Paris.”

I hand her
two boxes, one medium sized and one small. She shakes them and eyes me inquisitively when she hears the sound of metal clinking around. She opens the first one and pulls out the pair of solid gold nipple clamps connected by a chain and her eyes get big and luminous. She runs her fingers over them and squeezes the clamps open and closed.

“They’re beautiful.”

She lays them aside and hastily opens the bigger box and pulls out the gold ball-gag and squeals with delight.

“Oh, Dylan, it’s so pretty. Can we?” she asks, holding it out to me.

I place the small ball in her mouth and she turns away from me, allowing me to latch the rigid metal fastener around the back of her neck. When she turns to face me, she looks absolutely divine. Her highlighted hair, her amber eyes and the gold ball-gag all complement each other in the most magnificent way. Christ, she’s a vision of perfection.

She lays back on the bed, a small amount of drool running down her chin, and she raises her hands above her head, cla
sping them together. Reaching for the clamps, I prime her nipples by sucking them and rolling them between my teeth. When they’re completely erect, I place them on her and gently increase the tension. Isa moans out softly and sways her hips on the bed, the rustling sounds of the sheets setting my nerves on edge. I lean down on top of her and place the chain between my teeth and jerk my head back, pulling her nipples to a point. Isa writhes uncontrollably on the bed and grunts in the most alluring voice ever to fill my ears. More saliva pools out of her mouth and down her chin and I wipe a bit of it onto my fingers and lube my hardened cock with it. Hot damn, I’ve missed being inside of her.

J
ust when things are getting really good and I’m about to push my way into her, my God damned phone rings. I completely ignore it and thrust into her, but when it rings again and yet another time, I get aggravated enough to pull out of her and stop worshipping my beautifully sun-baked wife to answer it.

“What?” I snap.

“Mr. Young? I’m so sorry for calling you. This is Sonya.”

What the hell?
Isa climbs out from under me, removes the gag and starts sucking and licking every inch of my body, making it hard for me to concentrate. When I don’t respond, Sonya continues.

“Have you heard from Sawyer? He left shortly after you all arrived and promised he would call me back, but that was almost 12 hours ago.”

“What time did he leave?” I ask her, pushing Isa off of me.

“About 10:00 last night,” she answers
.

Her voice is anxious and stressed which in turn, worries me.

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“Just that he had something to take care of. He said it was urgent and not to worry, he would call as soon as he was done dealing with it.”

Fucking hell, Sawyer. I know exactly what he went to deal with. I told him to wait. Trying my best not to reveal my extent of agitation and concern, I assure Sonya that everything will be fine and that he’s probably just getting caught up on paperwork.

After I hang up, Isa
removes the nipple clamps and starts to question me.

“What is it?”

“That was Sonya, she was worried about Sawyer. He left last night to deal with Simons and he’s not back yet.”

Isa climbs to the edge of the bed and sits, chewing her bottom lip fretfully.

After
dressing quickly, I call Murphy, only to get his voicemail. Knowing Sawyer’s usual protocol, I’m hopeful that Murphy is with him and he’s not alone.

I pull out a summer dress and hand it to Isa along with some panties and a bra. She’s deep in thought and looks like she’s ready to go into anxiety overload.

“Isabel Young, stop your worrying and get dressed quickly. I want to go into the office and you’re coming with me.”

I really meant it when I told her I’m not letting her out of my sight until the situation with her father has
been taken care of.  She remains seated, scanning the room and chewing on a thumb nail.

“Isabel!” I snap and she finally comes around and dresses herself.

When we get into the main level of our place, I’m told by security that several more reporters have caught wind of Isabel’s return and are waiting out front so we decide to leave through the rear-entrance. They also inform me that we’ve made the society pages again. It’s nice to see things are getting back to normal.

We’re on our way to the office when my phone rings. Pulling
off to the side of the road, I answer it.

“Young, this is Murphy. We have a dire situation
here. Sawyer is in critical care. We just arrived via Life Flight only a few minutes ago.”

“What the fuck happened?” I yell.

“I’ll tell you about it when you get here. We’re at Cascade Memorial,” he says gruffly just before hanging up.

Isa is watching me, waiting for an explanation, but I have to call Sonya first. I dial her number and relay the
information while watching Isabel’s reaction. Her eyebrows furrow, her bottom lips quivers, and she clenches her jaw. She promptly looks out the window and shakes her head. After I hang up, I reach out to her and she squeezes my hand, but then pulls away and folds her arms.

“Isabel…” I try to think of something comforting to say, but I’m unable to come up with anything. My heart is pounding rapidly and there’s a knot in the pit of my stomach thinking about my friend. He’s like a brother to me, sometimes like a father.
Christ, what if we lose him?