Bound to Accept (16 page)

“
That's right. Mine to
punish—
and
mine
to spoil.”

Spoiling conjures up images of large
amounts of money being spent. Money I'm pretty sure he doesn't
have. “What, exactly, did you have in mind for dinner?”

“
Hana Hana.”

I'm relieved. At least he didn't do
something totally crazy, like make reservations at Saison or Gary
Danko.

Tristan holds my hand as we walk from
the parking garage. This time, he doesn't let go when we enter the
restaurant. The Lee Min Ho lookalike is there, and he seats us in
the booth in the back without asking.

Tristan must have called
ahead.

It's a Saturday evening, and the place
is pretty crowded. “True” by Spandau Ballet is playing, and I can't
think of a time that I've ever been so overwhelmed by the romance
of my own life. This kicks prom's ass.

“
Are you happy?” Tristan
asks me softly.

“
So far.” I smile at him.
“I love this song.”

“
True” ends, and another
song plays. I think it's “Total Eclipse of the Heart” but I'm not
really paying attention. There's another couple sitting nearby,
both of them maybe a few years older than Tristan and me, and the
girl keeps craning her head to look in our direction.

I poke Tristan. “That woman is staring
at us.”

Tristan glances over, does a
double-take. “Shit.”

“
Do you
know
her?” I glance over
again, reassessing. She's very attractive. An ex-girlfriend of his?
I can't imagine this woman letting anyone tie her up.

Tristan pulls my face towards him.
“Stop staring.”

“
She started
it.”

I peek over again and see her say
something to the guy she's with and then start walking over to our
table. “Fuck,” says Tristan. “Now she's coming over.”

“
Who is? Who is she?” I
hiss, just as Mystery Woman says, “Tristan Lesauvage? Is that
you?”

She has a Puerto Rican accent that
gives her words a clipped bite, like a high-heeled shoe striking
against a marble floor. Also, up close, she is absolutely
stunning.

Tristan glances up slowly. “Hello,
Corrine.”

He knows her name! Did he have sex
with her?

“
Where have you been? We
haven't seen you around. People were asking after you.”

Tristan puts his hand over mine. On
the table. In full view of Mystery Woman Corrine. “I've been
busy.”

Corrine glances at me, and
rather than going into a jealous lover-style rage, her smile
widens. It makes her look even more attractive, because she has
those teeth that look so white they shine blue, but something about
her smile makes me think of a lioness about to swallow up
unsuspecting prey. “Who is
this
?”

“
Why don't you ask her
yourself?” he suggests.

That shakes her smile for a moment,
but then she grabs my other hand and squeezes it between her own.
It's like a bizarre sort of handshake—except she doesn't let go.
“Hi,” she says. “I'm Corrine. And you are?”

“
Kelly.”

I try to extricate myself from her
grip, but her manicured hands are surprisingly strong.
Jeez.

I glance at Tristan, who does not look
happy. Well, that makes two of us. I have the feeling the situation
is on the verge of escalating into a game of Kelly
tug-o-war.

“
How did you meet
Tristan?”

“
Grade school.”
And yourself?
I think
but do not say. “May I have my hand back, please?”

She releases me, but only after
looking like she has to think about it first. “Oh, that is so
precious I could just die,” she says. “I can't wait to tell
everyone.”

“
Please,” Tristan says,
just as politely. “Don't.”

Corrine looks put out. “Don't be
selfish.”

Tristan glances pointedly
at her table. “I don't tell
you
to share.” I follow his gaze to Corrine's date,
who is starting to fidget. He looks miserable.

Corrine follows our gaze, and laughs.
“Oh, don't worry about him. We're trying something new.” She
wiggles her ass at him, and he looks away, flushing. “He pretends
he doesn't like it, but he does.”

“
New pet?” Tristan says
dryly.

“
Still in training. Hung
as hell, though.”

“
Oh my God.” I look away
from the man.

Corrine laughs. “Is she really that
innocent, or is that just some schoolgirl act the two of you have
cooked up? She's really good at it. It's a
little…statutory.”

Tristan is starting to look annoyed.
“No.”

Corrine pats my head, like you would a
dog. “Sorry, sweetie.”

I glance at Tristan. He shrugs his
shoulders and sips his beer. No help from that quarter. “Accidents
happen,” I say, scooting closer to him.

“
I don't have accidents,”
Corrine says. “And I'm pretty sure I'm killing him right
now.”

She flashes a predatory grin over her
shoulder.

“
Speaking of, you should
bring yours by sometime. I like the chemistry between you—and her
perky little rack.” She winks at me, to my embarrassment. “Strap
her to a cross in a tight little top, and I bet you'll draw quite a
crowd. I'd watch that! Especially if you—”

“
This
was
a reservation for
two
,” says
Tristan.

“
Well, then. Enjoy your
evening, Tristan, you selfish bastard.” She nods at me. “Sweets.”
She walks away with a flounce in her step, and when she returns to
her table, I see her grab the man's crotch as she sits down with an
easy sense of proprietorship, stroking him once,
briskly.

“
Who was that?” I try not
to stare as she goes in for a very X-rated kiss with lots of
tongue. I've never seen a woman so unabashedly in command of her
sexuality. It's frightening—and yet, also kind of a
thrill.

Like her confidence is
infectious.

Like I could learn to be sexier,
too.

Tristan sighs. “Someone from St.
Andrew's,” he says grudgingly. “One of the Dommes.”

My mind boggles. Someone
from a BDSM club—
here
. In broad daylight! Although I don't know why I find that
thought so shocking. They're people, not vampires.

Tristan studies me. “What are you
thinking?”

“
Vampires.”

“
Vampires?” He laughs
shortly. “Do I even want to know, Kelly?” He strokes my fingers to
soften his words.

“
What's wrong with
Corrine's date?”

Tristan takes off his glasses and
squints. “Looks like she's got him in a cock cage.”

“
What's that?”

“
Exactly what it sounds
like. A tight cage for a man's cock. When he gets aroused, his
flesh is squeezed by the cage. The Dom or Domme keeps the key.” I
flinch, and he says, “Exactly.”

“
What did she want
with
you
?”

“
Same thing she wants from
everyone,” he says. “To stick her nose in their
business.”

“
She
seems…nice.”

“
She isn't. She's
terrifying—and that's why her poor, whipped puppies can't get
enough of her.”

I watch her press her hand to the
man's cheek and he rubs his face against it, a faint smile on his
face.

Tristan is shaking his head. “I've
never gone in for pet play. But she's very good at it. I'll give
her that.”

Corrine catches us looking at her
again and waves cheerily as she scratches the male sub behind the
ear.

“
She does a lot of
twenty-four-seven, Master-slave stuff,” Tristan adds casually,
apropos of nothing. I turn to stare at him as he picks up his bowl
of miso soup.

“
Does that mean they live
with her?”

“
In a manner of speaking.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Where does a puppy sleep when Master's
away?”

“
She keeps them in
a
kennel
?”

“
Cages,” he corrects me.
“With blankets, and chew toys, and little bowls of
food.”

“
Oh my
God
. Jesus.”

“
Like I said, I don't go
in for pet play.”

The sushi arrives then,
and that puts an end to the topic. I would like to pursue it
more—
cages
!—but
Tristan seems uncomfortable. “She asked me out once,” he
says.

“
But…you're a
Dom.”

“
She thought I was a
switch.”

“
Why?”

He grins. “She said my glasses make me
look like a butch jock's locker room bitch.”

I choke on my roll. Tristan pats my
back as I down half my water in one gulp to ease its passage down
my throat. “Yes,” he says. “That was my reaction, too.”

Dinner goes a little more smoothly
after that. Corrine and her date leave early—“probably to play,”
Tristan says—and he relaxes noticeably when she leaves.

After dinner, we go to see the latest
sci-fi movie, and laugh at the lame special effects and lamer
dialogue.

I'm in high spirits—

Until we walk back to the
car.

Because I know what's coming
next.

The drive back to his apartment is a
little awkward. He tries to draw me out, to keep me talking, but
since I know what he's trying to do, and why, it doesn't work. I
hold the flowers and try to make words come out of my throat, but
they won't obey, and the sweet, perfumey smell of the flowers is
making me feel light-headed.

“
You look like you're
going to faint,” he says, when he opens my door for me. We are at
his apartment now, and probably less than half an hour from having
sex.

“
I feel dizzy.”

“
I'll take that as a
compliment.” Tristan takes the flowers from me, helps me to my
feet. He's so strong. “Hold on to my shoulder, if you need
to.”

I am standing. I can do
this.

“
Watch out for the
steps.”

He unlocks the door, and I dig my
fingers into his shirt. He glances at me worriedly, but doesn't say
anything, perhaps afraid that anything he does say will only serve
to make me even more nervous.

“
I'll put these in a
vase,” he says of the flowers. “Why don't you sit down and relax?
Get comfortable.”

I smile a tiny smile. “Do you actually
have a vase?”

“
I have a blender. That'll
serve our purpose for now. You didn't expect me to make you a
smoothie or anything the morning after, did you?” he says, as he
removes the cup from the blender and fills it with
water.

But I am paralyzed by the
words
morning after
.

“
Excuse me for a sec.” I
slip into his bathroom. When I flick on the light, my pale and
frightened face stares out at me from the mirror like a ghost. But
why am I so frightened? It's only Tristan. I've known him for
years. And over the last few weeks, I've gotten to know him even
more intimately than I ever thought possible.

I pull the little something out of my
purse and stare at it. It's a beige silk and lace nightgown. The
lace spirals up towards the sheer bodice in a teasing peekaboo
pattern of thin filmy lace. When I move, the fabric seems to ripple
like liquid. It's the kind of clothing my mother would describe as
“not intended to be worn for long.”

I can do
this
.
Everyone
does this. And I want this.

The nightgown came with a matching
robe, which I carefully pull on as I step into a pair of delicate
gold heels purchased just for the occasion.

I don't just want this. I
want
him
.

Quietly, I tiptoe out of the bathroom,
the sound of my footsteps swallowed up by his carpet. I peer into
Tristan's bedroom. His back is facing me, but I can still see what
he's doing; he is making the bed—black sheets. I notice that he's
changed out of his dress pants and shirt. Now he's bare-chested,
naked except for a clingy pair of pajama pants that hang low on his
hips.

He's muttering to himself, which is
cute. I don't think I've ever seen him look so flustered.
Considering how nervous I feel, it's nice to know I'm not
alone.

He lights some of the candles on his
desk, patchouli scented, and fans the air above them to disperse
the spicy smoke. Then he rubs his neck and sighs.

I step into the bedroom and rap on the
wall. When he turns around expectantly, I let the robe fall
open.

Tristan's facial expression is
priceless. He closes the distance between us in two bounds. His
hands are clenched at his sides, not touching me yet, although he
looks as though he would very much like to.