The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (28 page)

           
“But there
are
strings attached, my dear,” he interrupted insolently.
 
“You might get my manuscript in return.
 
Isn’t that the reason why you’re doing it?”
 
His mouth curved into a grim smile.
 
“We’re both getting something out of this, Marjorie, and don’t you forget it.”

My breath caught in my chest.
 
“What—what do you mean, we’re both getting something out of this?
 
What are
you
gaining from this other than your control over me?”

“Nothing compared to what you’re gaining.
 
You accuse me of using you, yet you’re the one after my manuscript, so that your boss could give you a gold star for a job well done.
 
You’re no better than I.”

I raised an eyebrow.
 
“Apparently, I’m no better than a prostitute either, as you constantly remind me each time you send me one of your pretty little outfits.”

           
He thinned his lips and said nothing.

           
I didn’t move a muscle, just stood there holding the doorknob, feeling my heart sink to my stomach when he did or said nothing to deny my claims.
 
And why would he?
 
He hadn’t deceived me, not really.
 
It all went back to our first meeting.
 
The fact that I had agreed to everything and later developed feelings for him was my problem, not his.
 
But I still felt like there was something more sinister going on.
 
Something I couldn’t put my finger on.
 
It was in his eyes, an expression that resembled…pain.
 
Yes, that was it.
 
That was the look I couldn’t place earlier.
 
He was indeed hiding something, and that something caused him the pain that had flickered in his eyes.
 
But whatever it was, I knew he wouldn’t tell me.
 
Seton was too proud to show any emotion other than arrogance and mischief.
 
There was no use in asking him.
 
I let out an inner sigh.
 
I was tired of devoting so much time and thought to him.
 
I wanted my life back, damn it!
 
I longed for my free-wheeling days where I didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone but myself.
 
I wanted it back and I wanted it
now
!

           
I turned my gaze to Seton for a final time, saw his tension in his squared shoulders, and took a couple of steps toward him.
 
It was time to finally rescind his power over me.
 
“Velvet,” I uttered sharply.

           
One ebony eyebrow rose as he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly against him.
 
“Are you bloody sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked warningly, his velvety English accent more pronounced than usual.
 
“Because once you use the Safe Word to end our relationship, it’s over, and you can’t take the words back.”

           
I shivered at the contact and my courage wavered for several heartbeats.
  

“You’re in too deep to let go.”

His words kept coming back to haunt me, reminding me of the person I had become since I met him.
 
And I didn’t like that person.
 
That person represented everything I stood against.
 
That person was the anti-me.

           
I had to swallow a couple of times before I could get the words out.
 
“Velvet.”

           
Anger and pain flared in his magnetic eyes just moments before his features hardened into stone.
 
“You are one screwed up person,” he said, sneering.
 
“No wonder you’re alone.”

He let go of me, pushing me against the front door.
 
Then he climbed back into his car and sped off without sparing me a backward glance.

           
I watched as Seton’s Mercedes made a turn up Main Street and disappeared down the road.
 
I grasped the doorknob and thrust my weight against the door, fighting back tears and putting on a brave face to no one but myself.
 

           
I’ve done it, I thought as I unlocked the front door and let myself in.
 
I have my life back.
 
I am alone again.
 
Congratulations to me.

Chapter Nine

“Damn Yankees!”

           
I looked up from the magazine I was reading and frowned at the interruption.
 
“What about them?”

           
Mitch shrugged as he reached for his sweaty softball jersey and stuffed it into a black duffel bag.
 
“Nothing.
 
I just like saying it.”

           
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly at him and cast a glance at the field ahead, where the members of our softball team—“The Bookworms”—were kicking major ass, beating “The Sonnets,” a group of local poets, in a fair game.
 
All of the team players were giving each other high-fives and pats on the back.
 
Jeremy did a double jig thing with his knees that made me laugh.
 
The park was crowded and noisy and I could barely hear what Mitch was saying to me now.

           
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”

           
He gave me a sideways look as he cinched his duffel bag closed.
 
He was topless, having disposed of his sweaty Bookworms jersey.
 
His lean chest was glowing with perspiration.
 
“I said I’ll have to put up with them from now on.”

           
“Who?”

           
“The Yankees.
 
I’m moving to New York in a couple of weeks, to write a column there.”

           
My eyebrows shot up at that.
 
“Wow!
 
That’s great!
 
What sort of column?”

           
He donned a blue t-shirt and grabbed his bag.
 
“Same as the one here.
 
I’ll be the token straight guy writing about my exploits for a gay and lesbian publication.
 
The folks over at the
Village Advocate
—that’s the name of the magazine—liked my book so much that they offered me a job.
 
It pays a hell of a lot better than the
Queer Bohemian
.
 
It’s the only reason why I took the job.”

           
I raised an eyebrow.
 
“They could’ve just hired some eccentric New Yorker to write the column.”

           
“Yes, probably, but I guess they thought I was too cute to pass,” he quipped, winking at me.

           
A loud cheer came from the outfield.
 
I turned to see what all the fuss was about, but all I saw was the cluster of teammates gathered together, laughing and talking enthusiastically.
 
I looked back at Mitch.
 
“Well, that’s great news.
 
Congratulations!
 
I’m sure you’ll love New York.
 
And who knows, maybe the Yankees will grow on you.”
 
I smiled playfully at him.

           
He curled a lip at me.
 
“Never!”

           
I laughed.
 
If only he and the others knew the truth.
 
You see, I’m a closet Yankee fan, and every time I join my colleagues for a night of fun watching a Red Sox vs. Yankees game at a sports bar, I have to cheer for the Sox and pretend to look pissed when the Yankees win.
 
I have to save my little victory dances for when I get home.
 

As every New Englander knows, Red Sox fans are very passionate and they hate any mention of the Yankees.
 
My colleagues are huge Sox fans, and I’m wary of the fact that one day they’ll discover my horrible secret.
 
(Only Jeremy knows the truth.)
 
The state of Massachusetts will probably declare me a local traitor and arrange an execution by firing squad or something.
 
No, wait.
 
The firing squad was considered an “honorable” method of execution, wasn’t it?
 
I’m a disgrace to my state, so they’ll probably just hang me.
 

           
Mitch shouldered his bag and flashed me a big grin.
 
“So, I guess we won’t be seeing each other after two weeks.”

           
I smiled back at him.
 
“I guess we won’t.”

           
He stared at me for a few moments, then said, “Hey, wanna join me for drinks at my house later tonight?
 
I don’t think we’ll see each other again after today and I…I was hoping we could have a last hurrah.”
 
He bobbed his eyebrows up and down in a flirty manner, making it clear what he meant by “last hurrah.”

           
I gnawed at the skin on my lower lip and closed my magazine, running my palms over the smooth, glossy cover as I considered his invitation.
 

Three weeks had passed since I ended my agreement with Seton.
 
I hadn’t seen him since the time we had that incredible tryst at the Old South Street parking lot.
 
Alfred told me he was dealing with Seton personally, which freed me from all courtship obligations.
 

Since then, I had gone out of my way to return to my old life.
 
I worked all day long—at the office as well as at home—and watched old movies and ate greasy takeout food whenever I wasn’t otherwise engaged in some work-related activity.
 
I had also gone out of my way to avoid any accidental encounters with Seton.
 
I now brewed my own coffee and avoided Starbucks like the plague.
 
And I never walked by State Street, so as not to come face to face with Seton’s art gallery.
 
I now worked three out of the seven days of the weeks at the office, the rest of the days I worked from home.
 
I rotated the schedule, never showing up on the same day and time.
 
Seton made frequent visits to Bookends AtoZ, supposedly to chat with Alfred and Jeremy, and I was so not going to do the casual small talk thing with him to keep up appearances.

The only thing I hadn’t done was engage in a sexual relationship with someone new.
 
A cute guy who owned a bakery a few blocks away from my house had asked me out last week.
 
He was very attractive—all tallness and broad shoulders and mousy blonde hair and brown eyes and dimpled smiles—but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to accept his invitation.
 
He gave me his phone number in case I changed my mind.
 
I had no idea where his phone number was, and I hadn’t planned on calling him anyway.
 
Now I avoided walking by his bakery.
 
Ugh.
 
I was avoiding two men now.
 
Northampton’s not big enough to hide in.

I also hadn’t been able to remove the ankle bracelet and toe ring.
 
Well, I
could
remove them, of course, but I just…
couldn’t
.
 
One night, I stared at the jewels twinkling on my left foot and made a halfhearted attempt to unclasp the bracelet.
 
But then the memory of Seton telling me what the anklet-toe ring represented came to me and I stopped.
 
I couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bear to be parted from Seton’s gift, even if he and I were no more.