Waking Kiss (17 page)

“You don’t drive.”

“I can learn. How hard can it be?” He was doing inverse pushups now. Show off.

“Stop fucking around and stand up like a normal person.”

He did a back flip and came to his feet. “Li-am, how is this different from you paying Yves?”

“Because Yves wouldn’t have agreed to it.” I pumped up the pace on the treadmill. “You know, you could do it for free. Cause you’re my friend. You could not be an asshole for once.”

He snorted. “Is much more lucrative to be an asshole. Hey, I can’t dance forever. I need money for my retirement! You write me a check, and I’ll talk to her in a few weeks, when she proves she can do it.”

“She can do it. If you don’t cast her, you have to give my money back.”

“Maybe. Minus a deposit.”

Before I could come up with a retort, my phone buzzed. Well, what was twenty-five thousand? Nothing to me, and possibly a whole new future for Ashleigh. I shut off the treadmill and checked the message.

I’m not sure I’m a masochist…

I laughed to myself, angling the phone away from Ruby. I typed,
How long did you manage to leave them on?

About .5 seconds. It HURT.

I sprawled on the weight bench while Rubio fired up the treadmill.
We’ll experiment more at some point
, I texted.
I bet you could take it longer than that.

“Who you texting?” Ruby asked, working into a long, fast stride.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Ash-leeee,” he sneered in a high-pitched voice. “
Li-am loves Ash-lee, Li-am loves Ash-lee
,” he sing-songed in time with the rhythm of his feet.

I’ll try, Sir
, she texted back a few seconds later.

My groin tightened. I dropped the phone and slung my arm over my eyes, picturing Ashleigh’s serious, pretty face, and her body just waiting for me to awaken it.
I’ll try, Sir.
She’d used the “Sir” just to get me hot.

I’ll try too, Ash
, I thought.
For as long as I have to. You deserve to be free of your fears.

I rested there on the bench and thought wildly lascivious thoughts about her. Ruby and his schoolyard chanting ceased to exist.

I was mentally prepared—mostly—to see Liam on New Year’s Day, which was our next appointed meeting. I was not prepared to see him New Year’s Eve at the City Ballet fundraising gala, dressed in a kickass tuxedo with a black bow tie, and his hair all sexy and tousled.

He was hot in jeans and a sweater, hotter in a suit, but he was devastating in a tux. He stood out in the crowd, so at ease as he talked and laughed with the other guests at his table. I could see the businessman in him, the capable leader. At first I thought the pretty woman on his left was his date, and I felt unreasonably jealous, but then she held hands with the guy on the other side of her and I breathed an equally unreasonable sigh of relief. Liam wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t want him to be. Or…let’s be honest…it wasn’t realistic for him to be my boyfriend. I still felt jealous when other women approached him—and they did, in droves.

As for myself, I stole glances at him from behind columns and stuck to the fringes of the room. I didn’t know how to relate to him in this very public, very non-sexual setting, especially since I’d been fantasizing non-stop about his deep voice and masterful dom thing, and the way he’d bruised my ass with his belt. I’d also been groping my nipples the entire past week at his instruction. I wasn’t ready to come face-to-face with him, especially when I was in my dancer-fundraiser-leotard outfit and he was in that tux.

For a while it was easy to lurk around and gawk because the lights were low. The company presented a couple hours of special ballet snippets from the season’s repertoire, none of which I was in, but then the lights came up and I was rolled out onto the floor with the other underlings to smile and hock autographed programs and pointe shoes.

I kept one eye on Liam while I smiled and interacted with the guests around me. At some point I lost him and I thought maybe he’d gone home. Yves gave a rousing and obsequious speech and Rubio spoke too, working the room like an expert. He knew how to smile and be nice when he needed to, and I saw him give more than one rich old lady an inappropriately deep kiss. Around eleven-thirty they started passing out noisemakers and hats, and the large screens on either side of the stage were tuned to a cable New Year’s Eve show that everyone was too drunk to watch. I soldiered on with my fundraising duties. The drunker people got, the more likely they were to shell out a hundred bucks for a worn-out pair of shoes.

Then someone touched my elbow and I knew without looking that it was him.

I turned as he pressed his cheek to mine. “Fancy meeting you here,” he murmured. I could tell from his teasing tone he knew I’d been hiding from him all night. I stepped back and drank in the sight of him.

“It’s good to see you, Liam. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yves roped me in. What are you doing?”

I glanced down at the basket on my arm. “Selling autographed ballet shoes.”

He poked at the pile of dingy satin and ribbon. “They’re used. That’s disgusting.”

“Not to the wealthy foot fetishists of the world. Would you like to buy a pair?”

He lowered his voice and gave me a smoky look. “Are any of yours in there?”

“Ashleigh Keaton shoes aren’t a big money maker.”

“Someday they will be.” He picked a shoe off the top and flung it down again. “Jesus. That one’s still sweaty.”

“The sweaty ones cost extra,” I said in all seriousness. “They’re fresher.” His gaze flew to mine but I couldn’t hold back the grin.

“You little fucker. I almost believed you.” He grabbed my arm. “Put that down and come with me.”

I looked around but no one was paying attention to us. He hustled me to the side of the auditorium and into the shadows near the stage door. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“I don’t know. To a closet somewhere.”

I tugged against him, gripping my basket. “I can’t leave. I’m supposed to sell shoes.”

“I’ll buy the whole fucking basket of shoes, okay? Just…quit selling those. It’s creepy. Put that down.” We fought for a minute over the basket but he managed to strip it from me. He put it down next to the wall. “You can come back for it later. I need a minute with you. Alone.”

Just a minute? He seemed really keyed up, and I was adrenalized just to be close to him. From the beginning, I’d felt that way. He pulled me into the first room we came to, a cramped, obsolete sound room.

“Speaking of creepy,” I whispered, “I think someone died in here.”

“No one died in here. Someone probably got groped in here a few times.” His hands opened on my throat and he kissed me, pressing me against the wall. “I’ve missed you, Ash,” he said in between ravishing my mouth. “How are you?”

I struggled for breath. “I’m— I’m— I don’t—”

He kissed me again, his black tie standing out against the white of his shirt in the dim room. I touched his neck, his cheek. There were no other bare spots to touch. His fingers roved over my pale pink leotard with its short, diaphanous skirt. “I could see the outline of your ass in this leotard,” he whispered with ferocious craving. “I’ve wanted to grab it all night.” He did then, firm and hard, and kneaded it in his palm. “Your body is ridiculous.”

I probably should have said “Thank you” or something similar but I was losing my ability to speak. His hands were all over me but they didn’t feel smothering or scary. They felt wonderful. I was turning all liquid inside, growing hot and wet. He cupped my breasts and then he yanked down the bodice of my leotard and ran his thumbs across both my nipples.

My breath stuttered in my throat. “You’re—you’re t—touching my boundaries.”

“Yes, I am. They feel beautiful.” He nuzzled his face against my neck. “You’re coming tomorrow?”

I gasped as his fingernail flicked one of my nipples. “Yes, Sir.”

“What time?”

“Noon.”

“What happens if you’re late?”

I could feel the heat of his lips against mine. “Punishment,” I whispered.

He brushed my hair back and feathered kisses across my brow. “Don’t be late. We have so many fun things to do.”

“N-No. I won’t be late.”

He gave me one last, mesmerizing kiss. “Happy New Year, Ashleigh.”

I could hear everyone out in the auditorium exclaim as the clock struck twelve. It was the very last thing on my mind.

*** *** ***

She rang the doorbell promptly at twelve. Which was fine. If I wanted to punish her I could find a thousand reasons to do it that were more creative than “
Naughty girl, you’re late.
” Honestly, I wasn’t out to punish her. I was trying to fix her, even if my motives were more and more a mystery to me.

Ashleigh had dolled herself up in a plum-colored knit dress, dark lipstick, and a braided, intricate updo that must have taken her forever to create. Mem fluttered over it, running his fingers all over her head—he was really into braids. I touched her cheek and told her she looked pretty. She looked stunning, but that carefully arranged hair would have to come tumbling down.

We were getting naked today. Together. Happy New Year.

It was part of the plan, the process. I’d already seen her down to her panties, of course, and in a variety of tight-fitting leotards and costumes. I didn’t know how she’d feel about being completely naked, though.

I led her upstairs and sat her on the edge of the bed, then I sat behind her so she was between my legs. I took her hair down, lock by lock, braid by braid, while we talked about safe, uncomplicated things, like our STD screenings and how much clothespins hurt. We joked a little about sweaty, used toe shoes and touched on New Year’s resolutions. We both agreed they were stupid. By that point her hair was unraveled and unbraided, and she seemed relaxed enough for us to move on.

I turned her to face me. “This afternoon I’d like to talk about consent. Give and take, negotiation and reading signals. Let’s start the conversation with a question. If I do something to you in this room and you want me to stop, are you allowed to stop me?”

“No. I’m supposed to obey you. No matter what.”

I sighed. “That is…the wrong answer.”

“I meant no. No, Sir.”

I gave her a warning glance. “You’re not lying to me now, are you?”

“Yes. No! I don’t know.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Now I’m confused. I forget what you asked me.”

“Don’t freak out. Think back to what I told you last week. Can you stop me if I’m doing something you don’t like? If I start doing something you’re not okay with?”

I saw when she hit on the answer. “Yes,” she said. “I can leave the room.”

“Right. You can walk out the door. Even if you’re the submissive in a scene, you have power. You’re consenting to be here.”

“But you’re the one in charge, right?” She looked confused again. “I mean, you’re the dominant.”

I stroked my hand up and down her arm to soothe her. “That doesn’t mean you can’t leave. I’d be unhappy about it, and I’d stop playing with you if I thought you were manipulating the system. But I wouldn’t ever grab you by the arms and force you to stay once you’ve told me you want out of here. Even if you’re tied up…if you tell me you’re done and you don’t want any more, I’d have to untie you and let you go. Otherwise I no longer have your consent.”

I reached for her hands and squeezed them between us. This was the touchier part.

“Ashleigh, what your father did to you as a child…there was no consent involved. You weren’t allowed to say no, you weren’t allowed to leave the room. I think some part of you remembers that feeling of powerlessness. When someone like me, who means you no harm at all, climbs on top of you intending to give you pleasure, that feeling overtakes you and you turn into that scared little kid. You feel trapped and disgusted, because that’s what sex was to you for so long.” She held my gaze, even when her eyes started filling with tears. “That’s what I think, anyway,” I finished gently. “And I hope your dad burns in hell when he dies.”

She stared at my chest, then back at me. “I think you’re right. About that feeling. I do feel that way. I feel…” She let go of my hands as she searched for words. “Frantic. Like something really bad is about to happen, even when I want it very much.”

“So, our next step is to help you realize that you don’t have to feel frantic, or trapped, or disgusted. You have the power to stop things whenever you want, no questions asked, no matter how intense things are. No matter if I’m on top of you, if my dick’s inside you, no matter if I’m going to come five seconds down the line. It doesn’t matter. You can stop me. You can stop anyone you’re having sex with.” I waited, studying her face. The sheen of tears was gone, through some well-honed method of control. “Does that make sense to you?” I asked. “About consent?”

“Yes, it makes sense. At least in my head. We talked about all this in counseling, but whenever I get to that moment…”

That was her problem, that moment and her conditioned response to it. It wasn’t something I could fix through conversation. I think she realized that too. I stroked the skirt of her pretty purple dress and squeezed her leg. “What I would like to do now is lie down with you on the bed. Both of us are going to be naked, but I don’t want you to feel weird or nervous. I don’t want us to make any plans about what we’re going to do. I just want you to remember that you have control.”

She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and worried it between her fingers, but she didn’t say no. She didn’t start undressing either. “Why don’t I go first?” I said, unbuckling my belt.

She watched me undress with bashful curiosity. It aroused me a lot more than I thought it would, especially when she was trying so hard not to look at my cock and ended up looking anyway. It was all I needed to start going stiff. Before I finished she was twisting around to reach her zipper. It was always easier to get naked when someone else was naked. I helped her pull the dress over her head and then buried my face in her soft, floral-scented hair. I could feel her trembling against me as I reached behind her to unhook her lace bra. She inched down her panties, blushing but wonderfully obedient. No arguments today.