The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (37 page)

A month had passed since I went to Mitch’s place and engaged in that delicious
ménage a trois
with him and Seton, but it seemed much longer than that.
 
In fact, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
 

My life now centered on Seton.
 
He called the shots, and I obeyed like every submissive girl should obey her master.
 
After the thorough spanking I received at Mitch’s, I had gone out of my way to be as compliant to Seton as possible.
 
I hadn’t defied him, so he hadn’t punished me.
 
It was as simple as that.
  
I still hadn’t seen him completely nude and he still made me wear campy hooker outfits that Tatum “Raven” Fox sent out to us from her fetish shop in Manhattan.
 
I played along with his fantasy roleplays involving a gentleman and his whore.
 
Then he fucked me.
 
Hard.
 
Just the way I liked it.
 
It was like passionate lovemaking to me.
 
But it wasn’t lovemaking, not by a long shot.
 
“Making love” was too polite a phrase to describe what we did.
 
He was dominant and overpowering, now more so than ever, and I loved every second of it.

Then things got interesting.
 
Seton stopped over to my place unannounced one night (the first and only time he had been inside my apartment) with a copy of
Casablanca
and a bottle of wine.
 
We had sex, then settled down to watch the movie.
 
Humphrey Bogart was about to deliver his here’s-looking-at-you-kid line to Ingrid Bergman when Seton whispered my name in my ear.
 
I turned my attention to him, expecting sex, a command, something.
 
But all he did was reach over and wrap his arm around my shoulders.
 
My body stilled for a second, unsure of what he’d do next.
 
He did nothing, just gave me a sideways glance, and the smile he gave me just about turned me to mush.
 
Something akin to that of adoration crossed over his face, then disappeared, a look so brief I wondered if it had been there at all.
 
He was sweet and attentive and affectionate for the remainder of his visit.
 
I had no idea what to make of it.
 
Maybe the final scene in
Casablanca
had put him in a romantic mood.
 
That movie could melt the coldest of hearts.

Things got all the more bizarre after that.
 
Two days after the impromptu movie date, Seton asked me to meet him at Look Memorial Park, told me to wear whatever I liked.
 
So I wore a yellow sundress and a pair of open-toe sandals.
 
I slipped some manuscripts into my tote bag in case I had to work on them later, and showed up at the appointed spot.
 
Seton sat under a tree, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, a large picnic basket perched beside him.
 
We watched the ducks and swans float about the pond as we ate pasta salad and drank white wine in companionable silence.
 
I tackled the manuscripts I brought with me as he read
The Great Gatsby
.
 
Then we kissed and talked and laughed.
 
He suggested we go on a stroll around the park.
 
So we went.

It was a beautiful day.
 
The leaves on the trees stirred from a slight breeze, casting a shadow over the late afternoon sun.
 
Seton seemed calm, content, even happy.
 
He raised his face to the breeze and closed his eyes for a moment.
 
Then he looked at me, looking at him, and I looked away.
 
He was being affectionate, so affectionate that I wondered if there had been an ulterior motive behind this date.
 
I was about to suggest calling it a day when he linked his hand to mine.
 
My muscles tensed at the unexpected gesture.
 
He had never held my hand before.
 
It felt strange—almost as if he was treating me like I was his girlfriend or something.
 
He must have sensed my tension, because he broke the contact right away.
 
I wished I hadn’t tensed up the way I had.
 
I had never been in a real relationship, so this was all alien territory to me.
 
But I liked it.
 
It felt comfortable and nice.
 
Seton and I had shared a level of intimacy that was like nothing we’d shared before.
 
It didn’t involve sex or domination.
 
We’d just enjoyed each other’s company.
 
It seemed that he had no ulterior motives after all.
 
He just wanted to spend a sunny afternoon in the park.
 
With me.

We didn’t have sex that day.
 
In fact, he never once mentioned sex.
 
After the picnic, he drove me home, gave me a long kiss before he rudely told me to get out of his car.
 
I didn’t mind the coldness in his tone this time.
 
It sounded forced somehow, almost as if he had made himself say it.
 

That was the only time he ever did something remotely romantic with me.
 
It confused me, yet it filled me with hope—however misguided that hope was.
 
He was back to being his old self.
 
It was just another contradiction from Seton, one I had enjoyed to the full.
 
I had no idea for how much longer our affair would last.
 
All I knew was that the more time I spent time with Seton, the more my feelings for him grew.
 
I hid my feelings from him as much as I could, but sometimes I wondered if he could see the love flickering in my eyes.
 
I also wondered if I’d ever let my guard down and done some needy, lovey-dovey gesture without noticing.
 
Was that what had prompted him to do something so… light with me?
 
He knew I liked old movies and enjoyed lazy afternoons at Look Memorial—details I never shared with him and yet he knew about—did he do them to somehow quench that needy part of me that craved more from him?
 
I knew I was avoiding a more obvious question, but I couldn’t bring myself to dream it, let alone think it.
 
I was a woman who had been stripped away from her defenses—defenses that she had carefully built into her soul throughout her life—and would never be the same way again.
 
But he didn’t have to know that, not if he didn’t feel the same way.
 
Ignorance is bliss, and it was best to keep him out in the dark.

Yup, things were definitely hot and heavy with Seton, and he had never failed to impress or surprise me.
 
His shocking words and impromptu actions both bewildered and aroused me time and time again.
 
Seton was a whirlwind of contradictions—an enigma through and through.
 
It was impossible to grow bored with him.
 
He was the man of my dreams, a man who complemented me in every possible way, a perfect fit.
 
He was my heart, my life, my everything.
 
I knew that now.
 
If only he felt the same way about me.
 

If only.

“So, have you?” my mother asked, her rough voice jolting me back to the present time.
 
I had totally forgotten that she was chirping away on the other line.

“Have I what?”

She sighed impatiently.
 
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Yes, Mom, but I’m getting ready for work—”

“Have you met someone special since the last time we spoke?”

I heaved out a sigh and rolled my eyes.
 
Here we go.
 
The question I’d been dreading.
 
Perhaps she’d give me the whole I-won’t-hold-it-against-you-if-you-turn-out-to-be-a-lesbian speech, just for fun.
 
Smiling to myself, I thought of Magda and her mother.
 
I sympathized with Magda, I really did.
 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” I burst out, mentally kicking myself afterwards.

There was a pause.
 
“You’ve met someone?”

I applied pressure to my temples and closed my eyes, suddenly finding it very hard to keep this conversation going.
 
“Yup.”

Another pause.
 
“A man?”

“Yes, a man!”
 
God, she really had a gifted way of ruining my day.
 
I needed coffee—nice, searing coffee—and perhaps a Valium or two.
 
I marched naked over to the sardine can that passed for a kitchen and stared at the stainless steel coffeemaker with lust.
 
“His name’s David and he’s a writer.”

“What does he write?”

I balanced the phone between my head and shoulder as I filled the coffeemaker with water.
 
“Books.”

“What sorts of books?”

“Fiction.”

“Novels?”

“Yes.”

“Bestsellers?”

I sighed.
 
“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” she answered sharply.
 
“I don’t want you marrying some struggling author who can’t look after himself, let alone a family.
 
Learn from my mistakes.
 
I married a factory worker and look what happened!”

What happened, Mother?
 
He gave you everything except for the moon and the stars?
 
He hadn’t been forgiving and understanding enough every time you cheated on him?

I mouthed the words I knew would be coming next.
 
“Love doesn’t pay the bills, sweetpea.
 
Don’t make the same mistakes your poor, decrepit mother made.”

I spent five more minutes listening to her whine and nag.
 
I had to cut it short if I wanted to maintain a semblance of sanity throughout the day.
 
“Mom, I really gotta go, okay?
 
I’ll call you soon, promise!”

I hung up before she could answer.
 
A twinge of guilt coursed through me as I poured myself a large cup of steaming java and perched on a stool in the tiny kitchen.
 
I loved my mother, I really did.
 
She wasn’t a bad person.
 
Okay, so she was kind of self-absorbed and was the worst wife in the history of marriage, but she wasn’t a bad mother.
 
She took good care of me when I was little and, unlike my father, showed me affection every now and then.
 
I knew that she cared for me and wanted me to be happy, but she only wanted to discuss my love life, as if that were the only worthy subject out there.
 
She never asked about my job, my friends, or even if I’d paid up my bills on time.
 
My love life—or lack thereof—was the only thing she ever mentioned.
 

Speaking of which, I couldn’t believe I mentioned Seton to my mother!
 
What the hell was I thinking?
 

Grimacing, I grabbed my coffee cup and padded back into the bedroom to continue my search for some clean clothes, and jumped when the phone rang again.
 
Damn it, why couldn’t my mother take a friggin’ hint?
 
Didn’t she know by now that my abrupt hang-ups meant our conversation was over?
  

“What?” I snapped impatiently when I answered the phone.

A confused pause met my ears.
 
“Marjorie?”

My heart did a quick little flip-flop at the sound of Seton’s velvety-smooth voice, rendering me speechless for a few moments.

“Everything okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes, fine!” I said hurriedly, hoping I’d managed to disguise the pleasure I felt at hearing his voice.
 
“I thought you were my mother calling again.
 
Sorry about that.”

“Aww, had a nice chat with your mum then?”

I grunted.
 
“Don’t even go there!”

He chuckled softly.
 
“How’ve you been, gorgeous?”