“Can we go to your club?” I asked. “That place you told me about?”
He shook his head. “Not for a while. The club’s an entirely different conversation. Maybe once we have a few sessions under our belt.”
A few sessions. There was something really hot about sessions—Fort and me, sadism and perversion and sex.
Forget the relationship drama, the craving for love. For now, this was what I wanted. At least, I was pretty sure it was what I wanted. Before he left my place, he had me unblock his number on my phone. He said he’d pick me up the following weekend for the first of our trust-building sessions at his Blackwell penthouse. He told me to be ready for anything.
He also told me that if I changed my mind or felt any misgivings about going forward, that I was to block his number on my phone for good.
Chapter Eleven: Fort
I spent the next week berating myself for my lack of control, my stupidity. The more I knew Juliet, the more I understood she was a dangerous bundle of feelings and complications.
Why resurrect my complicated cravings for her? That’s what Dev had grumbled as he swilled free champagne at the art opening. “Why are you here, man? This is some stupid shit.”
Maybe. Probably.
I’d let Juliet into my personal dungeon next Saturday and see how far she’d let me go.
Maybe we’d both be surprised.
Chapter Twelve: Juliet
Fort sent a car to pick me up on Saturday evening. He didn’t come get me himself, and there was no dinner date beforehand, because this wasn’t about forging a relationship. This was about exchanging power and sharing physical pleasure, full stop. He’d been clear about that, and being fetched by a uniformed driver made it clearer.
It felt sexy and dangerous to be ushered into the black sedan, but it also felt weird, like I was playing a role that didn’t fit me, at least not yet. I pressed my legs together in the back seat, arranging my skirt just above my knees so the bows at the top of my over-the-knee socks would show. He hadn’t told me to wear socks with bows, but I knew he’d appreciate them. I already had a sense of what he liked.
There was a folded note card beside me on the seat with a bold, swirling ‘S’ on the front. ‘S’ for St. Clair. ‘S’ for session. I picked it up and opened it, scanning his message with dread and lust roiling in my stomach. Good evening, Sparkles. I hope you’re as excited to see me as I am to see you.
It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t have to be. All of this was his doing. All these arrangements and processes were under his control. Fort St. Clair, playboy and sadist. Juliet Pope, possible masochist in search of more orgasms, because it was sometimes okay to do questionable, irresponsible things because a man really turned you on, and because you felt like trying something new.
After a smooth, silent trip, the driver pulled up at the Blackwell. As soon as I left the vehicle, a doorman emerged from the lobby and greeted me by name.
“Good evening, Ms. Pope. I’ll show you to the elevator and key you up to Mr. St. Clair’s floor.”
Mr. St. Clair’s floor? Fuck, he had a whole damn floor? And how did this doorman know my name? I was used to the clutter and informality of the Black Wall—my building was more art school dormitory than Manhattan real estate.
When the elevator opened, I was at Fort’s front door. I remembered this from the morning after my drunken meltdown, remembered him leading me onto the elevator and down to his car. That had been almost six months ago now. I swallowed and mashed my lips together, and tugged at my hair. I’d left it down, since I figured he’d take it down anyway.
Before I could knock, the door swung open. Fort ran his eyes over my fitted burgundy dress, then down to my matching over-the-knee socks. He smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
I bit my lip, trying not to blush as I entered his apartment. It was as spotless and elegant as I remembered.
“Are you nervous?” He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed them. “You shouldn’t be. I’m an experienced sadist.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Come here. Have a drink with me.”
I looked up at the high ceilings, then out at the city’s lights as he led me to his kitchen. “Isn’t it bad to do…uh…what we’re going to do while under the influence?”
“Yes. It’s also bad to play without a safe word. But in this case, you’re in my hands and you’re going to be absolutely fine, even if you have a few sips of wine to ease your nerves beforehand.”
He popped the cork of an expensive-looking bottle on his counter and poured half a glass of red wine for each of us while I took in his effortless magnificence. Black sweater, dark jeans that molded perfectly to his physique. His sweater’s cuffs were pushed up his forearms, revealing tanned skin with a smattering of dark brown hair.
“Here you go.”
I took the crystal glass from his hand. His eyes went wide when I almost drained the thing.
“I don’t like the taste of wine,” I explained. “But I know it’s good for me to down some from time to time.”
He didn’t quite laugh. It was more of an exasperated smile.
“Do you feel up to a session now? Want a little more liquid courage before we start?” He lifted the bottle but I shook my head. He recorked it and stowed it in the refrigerator. “I didn’t even ask how your week went,” he said over his shoulder. “How’ve you been, Jewels?”
I’ve been a wreck, I thought silently, putting my glass on his marble counter. “I spent most of last week thinking about you.”
Damn it. Why had I said that out loud, after all his anti-romantic ravings? Probably because his jeans were incredible, and his sweater fit just right. I couldn’t read any annoyance—or pleasure—in his expression. He straightened and looked at me, pressed his lips together and managed a small smile that had my nipples tightening. How had I ended up here, with this perverted, sadistic, disgustingly handsome man? Because you got shitfaced at Underworld and stumbled around until he rescued you, I reminded myself.
That was months ago, a chance, accidental meeting. I was here on purpose now.
“I’m excited to scene with you, Juliet,” he said, moving closer, right into my personal space. A finger went under my chin, lifting my face to his. “But first, I want to be clear about three things.”
“You don’t want a relationship,” I said. “That’s the first thing.”
The finger moved from my chin to my lips. “Shh. That’s already been established. These are things specific to playing right now.”
“Oh.”
“First thing: You’re going to be safe. No irreparable damage will happen to you, even if it feels that way at certain moments.”
I nodded, wondering how numerous—and arduous—those moments might be.
“Second thing: We’re clear that this is a serious deal, not some slap-and-tickle game.” His gaze held oceans of warnings. “I need you with me, one hundred percent. I need you compliant and engaged the entire time, until I let you know the scene is over.”
“Yes. Agreed. I mean, I’m going to try.”
“And you’ll tough it out when things get hard? Because they’re going to get hard.” He shut his eyes when a strangled laugh escaped me. “You know what I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter. We’re not going there just yet.”
I tried to look appropriately serious. “I remember—it’s not all about sex.”
“No. Sex is part of it. There’s more though, which I’ll show you. Okay, final rule, Sparkles. You can close your eyes, stare at the wall, whatever you want, but when I tell you to look at me, you need to look at me. Do you understand?”
I nodded, cowed by the gravity in his gaze.
“Answer Yes, Sir,” he said. “While I’m in charge, you show respect, and you obey.”
“Yes, Sir.” My pussy clenched as his stare lengthened, and my thoughts spun off into lurid fantasies fueled by too many re-readings of The Story of O. His firm, warm grasp on my neck br
ought me back to reality. He kissed me, a hard kiss that tasted of fine wine, then took my hand and led me from the soaring-windowed living room into the central hallway. We passed the guest room where I’d stayed, and a room with closed double doors that must have been his bedroom.
“In here,” he said, as he reached the last door. I expected more towering windows and pristine white decor, but instead found myself in a cozy, richly furnished home office in warm wood tones. It was more of a library, since the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each one filled with books and random curios of high-quality design. A large, rectangular desk dominated the center of the room, containing only a laptop, a stack of two books, and a gleaming model of three identical pendulums in contrasting earth tones.