Three and a Half Weeks (11 page)

“That punishment is as old as the hills. The most inventive tortures were conceived in the Middle Ages. Some are still used.”

“Are D
oms ever punished or is it just the poor women?”

“First of all, some men are submissives
and some women are Dommes, though admittedly it usually skews the other way. And, yes. Though Doms are not usually punished, I have been witness to a few. There was one just recently that a friend told me about.”

He looks at me, one brow raised, as if challenging me to ask about it. Normally, I wouldn’t, since I like to be difficult with difficult people but I desperately want to know. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did he do?”

“Ignored a safe word. That’s probably the worst possible offense a dominant could commit. Because he was a longstanding club member who had lost his temper and acted uncharacteristically irrational, the owners gave him a choice rather than just kick him out: he could either forfeit his club membership or accept a whipping by the club’s most vicious sadist. The
caveat
was that he would not be permitted a safe word, since he tried to deprive a submissive of the right. He chose the punishment and it was quite severe, so I’m told.”

A violent shudder reverberates through my body and Ian sees it, smiling gently. “Come. Let’s go see some more. That is, if you’re up for it?”

I nod. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. This club was really like a chamber of horrors. Why would anyone choose to do these things?

“Ian, why would that man choose the whipping over losing his membership? Aren’t there other clubs around? Is the membership that valuable?”

“To some it is. There aren’t any other private clubs like this one in the area. The public ones are not as safe, or clean, or interesting. He knew he was in the wrong; it was worth it to him to take the whipping and continue. It’s a community here and people feel free to be themselves within these walls.”

We walk past a woman being spanked on this obnoxious looking bench. Her skirt has been flipped up her back and every passer-by could see all she has to offer. Apparently no one believes in underwear
here. Another shiver runs up my spine.

He pauses to give me a long look. “Have you seen enough or would you like to continue?”

“Is there a lot more to see?”

He laughs. “Yes, lots more, but frankly, I’d just as soon not show you. Come on. I’ll take you back to your friends.”

Relieved, I nod. “Okay, thanks, Ian.” As we’re walking back upstairs, my hand in his big, warm, masculine one, I realize that I’m suddenly depressed: I’m going to leave this place and he’s going to stay. And do things. With women. The idea makes me sick to my stomach.

Just before we reach the bar, he pulls me to a stop. “Poor thing, you’re so pale. This outing probably wasn’t a good idea for you.” He looks at the bar. “But your friends look like they’re having a good time.”

I follow his eyes. It was true: both Mariah and Naomi are talking with men and looking as if they are having a grand time of it. “Mmm, I guess I’ll be going home alone tonight,” I laugh but he doesn’t join in. Instead, his eyes sparkle with some secret devilry but before I can read it, it’s gone.

“Are you living here now?”

“No. Just staying for a few weeks before I go visit my parents and then on to New York.”

“New York?”

“Just for a quick trip. I’m not sure where I’ll end up—somewhere with a good doctoral program, I suppose.”

“Any chance it will be here?”

I shrug. “It’s not impossible but it’s unlikely.”

He’s staring into my eyes and I’m so turned on by him I want to launch my body at his… instead, I retreat. “Well, thanks for the tour, Ian. It was nice to see you and I’m glad I got the chance to tell you I really appreciate your dropping the lawsuit. It was kind of you.”

“Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? The weather is supposed to be nice and I thought to perhaps take a drive.”

“Um, okay. Yes, I’d like that. You have my number, right?”

“Yes. Why don’t you go see what your friends are planning to do? If they want to stay and you want to go, I’ll take you home.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I know you just got here, Ian. I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening.”

He laughs. “Spoil it? Funny. Go check, Ariel. I’ll wait.”

His eyes look stormy and I wonder what’s going on in that Machiavellian mind of his. But I want to stay with him, I do. I may be crazy but whatever. So I march up to Mariah who is presently chatting with a ruggedly good-looking man—he looks like a cowboy. But that’s impossible, right? I mean, this is a BDSM club, after all.

“Mariah? Can I have a minute?” I have to yell to get her attention.

“Sure. Will you excuse me for a moment?” I hear her shout to her new friend.

“I’m leaving, Mariah. You look like you want to stay. Ian offered to take me home. Do you want me to accept?”

She looks at me oddly, then glances over to Naomi whose lips are currently locked together with those of Ian’s blond friend. “Yeah, looks like Naomi’s occupied for the evening. And I’d like to stay,” she says excitedly and turns her head away from her cowboy. “Isn’t he gorg?”

I smile and nod. “Okay. I’m ready to go home so I’ll take Ian up on his offer. I’ll see you later or tomorrow.”

I thread my way back to Ian. “They’re staying; I’m going. If you really don’t mind, I’ll take you up on your generous offer.”

“Let’s go.” He offers me his arm.

“Don’t you need to tell your friend you’re leaving?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll figure it out. Come on.”

My heart is beating wildly again. In the club we couldn’t get too intimate but now we’re outside—it’s just he and I, without the lawsuit clouding the energy between us. As we walk to his car, parked in the lot behind the club, I allow myself a long look at him. There was too much going on earlier to check him out thoroughly. He’s wearing black jeans that fit him like a snug glove, and a black
tee-shirt that stretches tautly across his broad chest. Black boots, black belt, a high-tech black rubber watch. The man in black—I really like the effect though it does make him look a bit like Satan, if Satan was a breathtakingly handsome man.

“Where am I taking you,
Ariel?”

I suck in a deep breath. Should I do it? If he turns me down, I’ll be crushed. Oh, what the hell—you only live once. I thrust my chin up. “Your place?”

His head rears back in surprise. “Are you saying you want to spend the night with me, Ariel?”

I nod, not trusting my voice to hold up. I can’t believe I just said that—just propositioned him. It’s a first for me.

He’s looking into my eyes without saying a thing, just gazing, as if he’s reading my mind or soul.
Say something for God’s sake
. Yes? No? Maybe so? Absolutely not? Something, damn it.

His fingertips brush across my cheek lightly and he takes my hand and kisses it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Life is truly a theatre for the absurd, Ian thinks, as he floors the accelerator once he merges onto the highway. There he was, scheming and conniving every which way to get Ella back into his life and he failed miserably.
Miserably
. And then all it took was a chance encounter where she happened to see him with other interested women and she asks to come home with him. He shakes his head.

Jealousy. No one is immune to it, man or woman. All one has to do is read a little Shakespeare to see how even the high and mighty fall upon its sharp and sometimes double-edged sword, eyes wide open. Why it didn’t occur to him to use it to his advantage was the real mystery. He’d known Ella had a robust streak of the green-eyed monster right from the start. Their first night out together, he’d run into a female acquaintance. When the woman put her hands on him, he’d glanced at Ella and saw her eyes simmering at the proprietary insult. He’d seen no reason to tell her that he didn’t even like the woman—Ella’s reaction had amused him at the time because they’d just met and had no claims on each other. Not that they ever did… but he would like to now. Very much.

In the club, she’d looked angry at first, too. He had his arm around Kim—perhaps that was why. Seeing Ella there, against a backdrop of a multitude of beautiful women, all dressed—or undressed— to look their hottest, it was patently obvious to him that Ella left them all in the dust. The girl is seriously beautiful—and the thing he might love most about her is that she genuinely doesn’t appear to be aware of her beauty. Or if she is, she doesn’t take it too seriously.

He almost can’t believe that events happened as they did, but a quick glance over at the passenger seat and there she is, in all her auburn glory. She catches his eye and he smiles, reaching for her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze—he can tell she’s nervous. How many other men has she been with since she left him last year? He’s burning to know but he’s too polite to ask and she probably won’t offer the information. After all, it isn’t really his business, is it?

Would she be surprised to know he hadn’t been with a single woman since her? He wonders.

“Aren’t we going to your place?”

He looks over at her, smiles enigmatically, and nods.

“Didn’t we just pass your exit?”

“I don’t live in the glass house anymore, Ella. I moved out last week.”

“Oh? Where?”

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.”

“What prompted you to move?”

“I bought the new place a year ago but I’ve been having it remodeled. The renovations were just finished a little over a week ago so I moved in and put the other house up for sale.”

“A year ago? Seems a lot of things happened with you last year.”

He keeps his focus trained on the road ahead, choosing not to acknowledge her observation.
It must be so obvious that I fell apart when she disappeared
, he thinks.
But I won’t confirm it—that would give her too much sway over me and I simply cannot allow that to occur. Not yet. Perhaps not ever
.

As he turns his little black Lexus sports car into the marina parking lot, Ella’s head whips over to look at him. “No way! You bought a houseboat?”

Smiling, he nods. “I needed a change and I love the water. I have to say, I’m really loving it—I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” He parks the car in his designated space and quickly jumps out to open Ella’s door. She waits, remembering that he has these ingrained manners and expects her to abide by them.

Once outside the car, Ella jumps up with excitement, clapping her hands. “I’m impressed, Ian, so impressed. I would never expect you to live on a houseboat—but I love it!”

Laughing, he cocks his head in that way she loves. “Why? Wouldn’t you expect it?”

One corner of her mouth turns up in a crooked grin; she seems elated at the prospect of visiting a houseboat. “Not luxurious or formal enough for you. I don’t know, Ian, but you seem different to me now—much more relaxed about life, more inclined to enjoy it. Am I mistaken?”

She takes his extended hand, both of them reveling in this one small touch after so long apart, and they walk toward his boat. He doesn’t answer right away; instead his eyes scan the dark water, lights from the row of houseboats shimmering on its surface. “Perhaps not,” he says after a pregnant pause, “I suppose I went through a bit of a personal crisis last year, Ella.” That’s as much as he plans to admit to her. He could tell she’s dying to ask questions but he doesn’t encourage them. There’s only so far he’s willing to open himself up to her. No, he has to be careful, never relax his vigilance. He’d learned his lesson quite well. Five years ago.
So fucking well.
But no, he thinks, shaking off the old demons; he refuses to conjure the ghost of Natasha tonight.

“Here we are.”

Ella stops dead in her tracks and gapes at the house. “Oh my God, Ian, it’s… magnificent. Just, like, drop-dead gorgeous.”

It looks like a villa one would see on the banks of the Grand C
anal in Venice. The house has two stories and a roof deck on top, with glass panels wrapped around the perimeter of the roof for safety without obstructing the view. The façade is a textured plaster in Tuscan Gold and all the windows, both arched and square, are floor to ceiling height and wrap around the entire house. Ionic columns enclose the first floor to form a portico extending around the entire house while the second story has four columns in front from roof to ground that harbor a balcony within. The same glass panels protect the entire second floor, whether a Juliet balcony or the larger terrace in front. There are huge pots of colorful flowers anchoring the roof on all four corners.

“Can I assume you like it then?”

“It’s all right, I guess,” she says, affecting a nonchalant tone, her eyes glowing with delight. “I’ll bet it’s even prettier by daylight.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The light shimmering off the water makes it pretty special, don’t you think?’

“Mmm. This was such an excellent choice, Ian. I’m jealous.”

Smiling, he unlocks the door and steps aside. “After you. Would you like a formal tour or would you prefer to just wander around and acquaint yourself with the premises?”

“I’ll wander.”

“Okay, then I’ll go get us some wine. Unless you’d prefer something else?”

“No,” she shakes her head with a rueful smile, “wine is perfect. Perhaps just half a glass for me, though. I drank a bit too much already today.”

“Good enough. Feel free to look around and make yourself at home,
Ariel.” He tilts his head back. “You look good in this house.”

Her voice drops in volume, sounds strangled even, as she replies, “I
feel
good in this house,” and then quickly turns away.

Ian’s own equilibrium shatters at that point and he realizes with a start that he’s nervous again, too. When was the last time he was nervous around a woman before meeting Ella? Fourteen years ago when he was fifteen, probably. But Ella frequently made him nervous, especially now, when he’d spent so many months missing her, thinking her lost to him forever. Tonight was his chance to win her back. Feeling a lot is riding on tonight is what is making his heart pound. It’s an alien sensation and he doesn’t like it. Not in the least.

Returning with the wine, he finds her sitting at one end of the sofa. Ian considers trapping her there by placing himself in the middle, thus invading her personal space, but instead decides to go slowly, so he seats himself at the other end, after handing her the glass. It feels relaxing to quietly sit and listen to the soft music and sip the wine—not at all how he’d originally envisioned his evening. Still, he couldn’t say he was disappointed. Quite the contrary.

After a few minutes, he looks at her and pats the cushion next to his lap. “Come here,
Ella.”

After a slight hesitation, she rises to her feet and walks over to stand in front of him. He watches, waiting to see what she’ll do. Moving closer to him, she straddles his legs, sits on his lap, sets her hands on his shoulders… and then leans in to kiss him. Bold move.

He’d forgotten how soft her lips were…
are
. While she’s occupied with his tongue, he reaches his hands under the loose white shirt and up to her breasts, exploring with his fingers and then yanking her bra down to expose her breasts. A small moan is her only response. When she pulls her mouth away from his, he slides his hands to her waist and lifts her body as he stands—an impressive display of strength. “Wrap your long, sexy legs around me, sweetheart.”

As she complies, he carries her upstairs. As he walks, he talks. “Allow me to give you the abbreviated tour. This is the staircase to the second story. This is the hallway. Here’s the master bedroom,” he says as he enters the room and then drops her gently on the bed so that she’s lying across the width. “And here’s the bed. You have too many clothes on.”

He leans over her and pushes her arms up, sliding the shirt up and off; the leather bra, already half off, follows quickly. “By the way, I like the bra on you… but I like it better off.” He grins wickedly and then hooks his fingers in her waistband, unbuttoning, unzipping, and yanking off the pants. He leaves on her panties.

His eyes are focused intently on her, appraising her body up and down. “You’ve lost weight,” he notes. “Intentional?”

She shakes her head.

“You’re beautiful,
Ariel,” he says as he leans back in to start kissing her, “I’ve missed seeing and touching you.” Beginning at her throat, he works his way down, kissing and nipping. By the time he reaches her hips, he could see her skin is glistening with sweat, as she squirms underneath him—but he won’t let that hurry him. He takes his time: he’s waited a very long year for the privilege.

As he kisses, touches, licks, and rediscovers her body, a possessive instinct washes over him and he wants desperately to ask her if she’s been with other men… but he can’t… he won’t.

No. It would be wrong. But he wants to know…needs to know.

But why? Would it make any difference? No, it really wouldn’t.

He won’t ask.

“Have you been with other men since we parted?”

He fucking asked! Stupid.

“No… have you? Been with other women? I probably don’t want to know how many, right?”

“No, Ella. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he admits and before he can watch her eyes reflect the dawning comprehension of what those words mean, he quickly dives down, kissing her between her legs, getting her mind off the exchange they should never have just had… but that he’s so glad they did.

She hasn’t been with anyone else
. There was room for hope.

He’ll reward her for her fealty with an outstanding orgasm. The piece of lacy fabric between her clit and his tongue serves only to drive her frustration ever higher as it prevents a complete connection. Her body burns hotter, so hot it’s nearly on fire. When he thinks she’s had enough
teasing, he slides the panties down her legs, gripping her thighs so there’s no room for her to move, no outlet for the tension, and his relentless tongue sends her into a screaming climax. He looks up to watch; he can’t remember ever being as hard as he is right now, seeing her come undone. When her breath returns, she looks at him with glazed eyes. “Why am I naked and you still have all your clothes on?”

He points to the top of the bed. “Move up, bab
y. My clothes are coming off.”

She sidles up to the top and center of the mattress as he sheds his clothes quickly and efficiently and unfurls a condom. Lying on top of her, he takes her hands and brings them over her head, wrapping her fingers around the iron posts of the headboard. “Keep them there, no matter what I do. Can you do that?”

She nods. He chuckles—she’d probably agree to anything right now.

“Open your legs. Wider.” She complies and he leans back to bend her knees, pushing her legs up as far as they’ll comfortably go. “Leave them in that pos
ition; don’t move them an inch.”

She nods again and licks her lips. “No cuffs or ropes?”

“I don’t need them—you’re bound by my will. Just as effective. Do you like it, Ella?”

“Yes. What happens if I move?”

“Torment.”

“No whips, right?”

Her question stings him. “No. Of course not.”

“So,” she says hurriedly, as if anxious to move past the moment, “torment.” She smiles sweetly. “Don’t move. Got it.”

“We’ll see,” he says, an evil smile animating his face as he moves in toward her.

Two hours in bed with Ella—Ian definitely considers it a night well spent. An entire year of wanting her and missing her, of monkish celibacy… but tonight all of the suffering seems worth it. He looks down at her, dozing in the crook of his arm and thinks that maybe, possibly, he could marry this one, make a life with her. But how would that ever happen if he were afraid to let her know how he felt about her? He just can’t do it.

She sleeps for about a half hour and when she wakes, he wraps her in a silk kimono and throws on his jeans and they go to scare up some food. They take the laden plates with them into the living room and he turns on the television.