The Darker Side of Pleasure (38 page)

The cab ride back to her hotel was one of the most depressing rides of her life. The city still slept under the early morning blanket of fog, silent as any city ever could be. It was absolutely gray, dull, lifeless.

She remembered now why she could never bear to return to San Francisco. Beneath the colorful Victorian houses, the view of the bay, the busy life of its inhabitants, there was this almost constant gray. Not a great place in which to be depressed. But then, was there such a place?

New York was bound to be even worse. As angry and disappointed as she was, she didn’t know how she was going to stand being so far away from him.

God, this was really happening! This was it. It was over. Her heart twisted, tightened in her chest, and she swore she could feel it crumbling, breaking apart. She bit her lip, hard.

She would not cry.

The cab pulled up in front of her hotel. She paid the driver and took the elevator upstairs. Inserting the plastic key card into the lock, she remembered him doing it that first night, remembered his kiss. A shiver ran over her skin. If only she’d known then how complicated this relationship would become, would she have done what she had with him anyway?

Yes. Impossible to deny it. The attraction between them was too cerebral, too basic, too intense.

And ultimately, as painful as a stab through the heart.

How had she fallen for this man in less than two weeks?

She did her best not to think about her feelings for him, her pain, while she packed her bags, and called the airline to book a flight out that afternoon. When she hung up the phone she had to fight a wave of panic. She was really leaving.

Tears stung her eyes, held her throat in a choke hold. But she would not cry.

Finally, she went downstairs to have coffee and make the necessary notes for her column. She would have to fight the constriction in her chest, the constantly threatening tears, and do her job. She found a table in the spare luxury of the hotel lounge, all sleek, modern lines and gray and dark blue suede. She pulled out her laptop and began.

I have just had the adventure of a lifetime. The sensual world of BDSM is far different from what most of us would imagine. It is not only about the ropes and chains, the whips and paddles. Of course, these things are often elements. But what it really is about is power. Energy. Trust.

You must be capable of striking a delicate balance to play this rather serious game. You must be willing to give a piece of yourself. And this piece can sometimes be larger, more crucial, than you imagined.

I met a man. A most intriguing man. He is elegant, sophisticated. A man of wealth and privilege. A true sensualist, a true sadist. But he is also a man who takes his role as a sensual dominant very seriously. Perhaps too seriously, but then, that’s only my opinion. For him, the responsibility involved in his role is acutely important. I believe it is a large part of why he does this.

My time with him has been absolutely overwhelming, in every single way. This is not something you can go into without involving every cell of your being. Body, mind, and soul.

“And heart,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek, her heart aching so hard she had to hold one hand over it, as though to keep it from breaking apart, shattering into her hands.

Too late.

A small sob escaped her lips.

“Maggie.”

She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath. She bit down on her lip, hard. She would
not
cry. God, not in front of him.

Why was he doing this to her? She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, clouded, but she could see the emotion there. No matter how hard he tried to hide it. And he was here, wasn’t he? But she knew better now than to allow herself to melt into him, even though that’s what she wanted to do more than anything at this moment. To drown in his embrace, breathe in the scent of him, feel the safety of his arms around her. But they were still on dangerous ground.

Don’t even think about it.

“What do you want?” So damn hard to speak to him, to make her throat open, to make the words come out.

“So cold. All my fault though, isn’t it? May I sit down?”

“Only if you intend to talk to me. Really talk to me.”

He sat in the chair opposite her and was quiet, as though gathering his thoughts. She hated that he looked so good, even with that haunted look in his eyes, his dark hair tousled. Her heart hammered in her chest. With fear, with an almost unbearable longing. Her eyes stung so badly, it was hard to see.

He shook his head. Then, “I have a lot to say to you. Things that would be better said in private.”

“You can talk to me right here.”

If she were alone with him she knew she’d do something completely foolish, like get down on her knees and beg him to be with her. Here, in public, she could keep herself and her emotions under control. Just barely, but it would have to be enough.

He sighed, ran a hand back over his hair. Other than when he first woke in the morning, this was the first time she had ever seen him in need of a shave.

“I behaved like an ass.”

He paused, but she remained silent, waiting to see what else he had to say. His hands twisted together on the table.

“Look, I’m long out of practice at this sort of thing.”

“This is not the kind of thing where you practice, Damien. This is not about perfection.”

“Yes. You’re right. But I understand if I don’t say the right things to you now, I’ll never see you again.”

“You’re right about that.” So damn hard to say this to him, but she had to. Had to stand her ground with him. Had to be strong.

“This is my one fear. And fear is unacceptable to me.”

“Refusing to feel it doesn’t make it go away.”

“No. I’ve just figured that out.”

“And—I’m sorry to say this, especially to a man like you—but in my opinion, running away from what frightens you seems…cowardly.”

He looked at her, his hazel eyes blazing, and she knew she’d just challenged him in a way he wasn’t used to. She wanted to apologize. To throw herself into his lap and beg him to be with her. But she didn’t. After a moment the fire in his gaze burned itself out.

“You’re right. And I don’t like that about myself. Are you sure we can’t go up to your room to finish this conversation?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He stood up suddenly, paced the floor for a moment. Then he sat down again, pulling his chair a few inches closer to hers. He was close enough that she could smell him, all clean male, yet dark and smoky at the same time. Her insides quivered. She wanted to draw back, to save herself. But she couldn’t do it when every nerve in her body was reaching out to him. The tears that stung her eyes and fought for release were simply because he was so near, yet she couldn’t reach him. Not in the way that counted, and that hurt too much.

He put a hand on her arm, his fingers meeting the naked skin below the cuff of her blouse. The touch went through her like an electric current. She tried to shake him off, but he held on, his touch burning into her skin.

“Maggie, I cannot allow you to leave like this! I have too much to say. If you force me to, I’ll say it all right here.”

He met her eyes, challenged her. She didn’t back down, even though she was trembling with emotion and pure need for him on the inside—trembling so hard she was afraid she might come apart.

“Alright, damn it. Right here then.” He took her chin firmly in his hand and she almost lost it. His voice was low and sure. “I am in love with you.”

She shook her head, but that only served to let the tears that had filled her eyes spill over onto her burning cheeks. Her heart surged with hope, with absolute terror. Had he really just said that to her?

He went on. “I know it seems impossible to you—hell, it seems impossible to me, but that’s what it is. That’s what I feel. That’s what I wanted to run from this morning. But I knew the moment you left that I couldn’t run from this. I couldn’t run from you.”

Her throat seemed to close up on her. Her eyes burned, and the tears slid down her face. But there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

“Maggie, say something.”

“Are you sure? Because I really couldn’t stand it if you changed your mind.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Do you love me, Maggie? Tell me.”

She nodded. “I love you. I do. I don’t care how improbable this all is.”

He moved in then, crushed his mouth to hers, and nothing had ever tasted sweeter to her. Her arms went around his neck as he pulled her in close. He kissed her long and hard, broke for breath, then kissed her again. She couldn’t stop crying.

Finally, he pulled away to look at her. He kissed her cheek where her tears had left a damp trail, let her go long enough to pull a handkerchief from his pocket, then wiped the tears from her face.

She watched him in amazement. No one had ever cared for her in this way. Not any of the men she’d ever been with, not even her own mother. This was the first time she knew what it was to feel cherished. How could she ever give that up? How could she ever give him up?

“Damien, what now?”

“Now you let me take you back to my house so I can show you how I love you.”

She shook her head. “I mean that you live here, and I live in New York. I have a home there, my career.”

“We’ll figure it out. That’s not the important part. We can see each other on weekends until we do. I’m very good at solving problems.”

She smiled at him. “I can see that.”

He gathered her close again and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was more tender this time, more sure.

She was sure for the first time in her life. Sure of him. She’d never expected this to happen, but wasn’t that the way life usually worked? When you least expected it, life took a totally unpredictable turn.

She’d never expected to be drawn into the subject of her research, but he had drawn her in like a fly into a spider’s web. Yes, he was predatory in that way, clever. But she didn’t mind that about him. She needed a man with a good mind. The wicked twist to his would only make life more interesting, wherever it took them from this point on.

He pulled back again, stroking her hair from her face with careful fingers.

She said, “Do you remember in our first conversation when you said it takes many of us a number of years to truly know what we want?”

“I remember every word we’ve ever exchanged.”

“I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was wrong. I was hiding. From myself, I suppose. From things I didn’t even know I wanted because going there made me too vulnerable. I couldn’t stand to lose control, even for one moment. Even in bed. I couldn’t let go.”

“I think the same could be said of me.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. That ultimately we had the same lesson to learn.”

He cupped her face with his hand. “I wouldn’t have wanted to learn this with anyone but you.”

“I couldn’t have learned this with anyone but you. The BDSM play is what opened me up to you.”

“It does that.”

“But you remained closed off for years, despite the fact that you’d been practicing this lifestyle the whole time.”

“I’m a stubborn man. It took more for me. It took you.” He glanced at his watch. “And it took me almost four hours to realize this today, to stop arguing with myself and come after you.”

“Oh, no! What time is it?”

“A quarter to eleven.”

Her heart fluttered in panic. “My flight leaves in two hours.”

“Cancel it. Stay with me.” He slid a hand down her arm, lifted her hand, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

How could she refuse? For once, she was going to allow something to happen to her without having to be the one in the driver’s seat. She was going to take a chance. On Damien, on love, on the uncertain messiness of it. She would allow him to love her, to let herself love him back, and to simply see what would happen, regardless of the unknown. Finally, she was letting go. It felt damn good.

 

About the Author

 

EDEN BRADLEY
lives in southern California with a small menagerie and the love of her life. She can be contacted at
www.edenbradley.com
.

If you enjoyed

The Darker Side of Pleasure
,
look for

EXOTICA

by

EDEN BRADLEY

On sale January 2008