The Bride (The Boss) (51 page)

When we’d had that discussion, I’d confessed to her that had my first experience been more positive, I might have better understood why submission appealed to her. It was so important to her that I know, and this was the only way she could truly show me.

“Why now?” I asked, to buy myself a moment to think. Where Sophie was concerned, she could ask me to swim in a tank full of great white sharks because she thought it a good idea, and I might let myself be persuaded.

“Because it scares you,” she stated without hesitation. “You have absolutely no control over so many things that are frightening the hell out of you right now. But you can do this, and be in control
and
scared at the same time. I think it could be good for you.”

Oh, how well she knew me. Not only was my daughter’s impending wedding— and the reality of losing her to Horrible Michael— driving me absolutely out of my skin, but I was struggling with the ever-changing nature of my relationship with Sophie as we adjusted to life post-cancer. I wasn’t just frightened. I was terrified. And Sophie, bless her, knew that.

“Look, I know how you’re always saying that kink isn’t therapy, and how much it annoys you when people treat it that way.” She sighed. “But I also know that this is something that really bothers you. And since the problem was caused by a bad experience, it might not hurt to try and replace that memory with a better one.”

“I won’t commit to anything right now,” I said cautiously. “I will consider the possibility, if Emir is open to it. Otherwise, this is simply a no-pressure dinner with an acquaintance.”

“We’ve fucked him. I think we’re more than acquaintances.”

“I’ll slap that smart mouth when I get home,” I growled. On the other end of the line, Sophie snickered.

“I hope so,” she purred. “Go on. Have fun. I miss you.”

Downstairs, I found Emir waiting, seemingly at ease on his own. He looked up, his sleepy, darkly-lashed eyes glittering with questions.

Before he could say anything, I told him, “I’ve spoken with Chloe. I’d like to mull it over during dinner, if that’s all right?”

“Of course.”

It was nice to meet someone like Emir, who didn’t view potential sex as a goal to be obtained, but a pleasant future possibility. I’d met— and turned down— many men and women who’d believed that by virtue of my lifestyle, I would instantly want to fuck them. As though intercourse were some kind of secret handshake.

I was glad that Sophie’s first introduction to the club had yielded such positive results, both for her and myself, as well as Emir.

Over dinner, we chatted about the subjects we were both passionate about. Cars, primarily, and football, with music a distant third, but always, always back to cars. He told me of the exclusive Ferrari prototype he’d recently been invited to test drive, and I expressed my genuine envy that I hadn’t gotten the chance.

“You were sick,” Emir consoled me. “Everyone knew it. I’m sure they did not want to extend an invitation you could not accept.”

I shook my head and grimaced. “I think it had more to do with the fact that I’m the founder of
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magazine. I may have been terribly unkind about the F50.”

“No one liked the F50,” Emir chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

The meal had been delicious, the dessert— warm baked figs halved and drizzled with caramel sauce— too rich and far too fattening for me to finish, and while I was far from drunk, the wine had made my limbs pleasantly warm and heavy.

“I’ve been thinking quite a lot lately,” I began, surprising myself with what I was about to say, “about my role in my company and the time I have to spend on pursuits that aren’t related to my business.”

“You’re a wealthy man. You couldn’t retire?” Emir asked with an elegant shrug. I was indeed wealthy, but nowhere near as rich as Emir and his family. Still, Sophie and I wouldn’t be in danger of the workhouse if I did step away from daily operations.

“It isn’t a matter of money.” I rolled my fingertip around the rim of my empty wineglass. “It’s my pride, I suppose. I would have to admit that things could run without me.”

“Spoken like a true Dom,” he said with a short chuckle. Then, wetting his bottom lip, he added, “I suspect now why Chloe was so intent on you trying submission again. Perhaps she thinks it will be good for you, not just in understanding her, but in understanding your current conflict.”

I paused with a hesitant smile. There couldn’t be any miscommunication between us, not about this. “I’m not certain it works that way. Perhaps Chloe believes that it does… but I think that what I do in the bedroom is largely unrelated to what I do outside of it.”

“I believe that’s true for some people. But I suspect it isn’t true for you.” The sparkle in his dark eyes was enough to make my knees weak. In a moment, though, it was gone, replaced by nonchalance I hoped was an affectation, at least in part. “It doesn’t matter. I enjoy your company. If this business has put a damper on the mood tonight, I won’t feel I’ve made the trip for nothing.”

“On the contrary, I don’t think it would be possible to spoil the mood.” I pushed my chair back. “Why don’t we move into my den. We can relax and discuss my terms of surrender.”

“Surrender?” His brow creased as he tried to decide if I were teasing him. “Submission?”

“Tonight, I think they might be one and the same.”

Aside from the bedroom, my favorite room of the house is my den. Sleek, modern cabinetry, all in dark wood, held a respectable collection of media. A terrifically long, orange couch with structured square cushions wrapped into an L at the end of the room. The single window was covered with a blackout shade, and tray lighting around the ceiling gave the perfect diffuse glow, so as to not interfere with the television’s projection, when it was on.

If Sophie could have inappropriate feelings for her bathtub, I most certainly could excuse my flagrant lust for my den.

Emir and I were on the couch, lounging, both of us slightly giddy at our discussion. We’d covered safe words, our expectations and preferences, and Emir had made impressive mental notes.

“So, you do not wish to be bound,” he ticked off on his fingers. “You do not wish for anything too painful… may I spank you?”

I paused. “I wouldn’t mind a light one, I don’t think. But I wouldn’t like to be spanked. Not repeatedly and as the sole purpose of the activity.”

He nodded, as though he understood perfectly. “About intercourse. I enjoy it, but it is not necessary, so do not feel pushed to do anything you don’t enjoy. I do love receptive anal sex, but I’m not sure I can accommodate your… size.”

“Ah.” This wasn’t the first time I’d run into this particular dilemma. To be fair, I wasn’t certain I would give it a go with a man as endowed as I was, either. “And are you averse to topping?”

His eyes lifted in surprise. “No, not averse at all.”

“You look as though I’ve shocked you.” It shouldn’t have been possible, I didn’t think, to surprise a wealthly man who frequented sex clubs. Especially the club to which we both belonged.

Then again, I’d been surprised more than once lately.

I tried to cover my slight embarrassment. “I only thought, because you would be Domming me… I’m not sure how submissive it would be for me to fuck you in the ass.”

We both laughed at that, until Emir said, “Yes, well. You might be surprised at how submissive a top can be. Have you ever considered letting Chloe fuck you?”

“No.” My god, I could
feel
myself blushing. “I’m not sure how one works that into a conversation, to be perfectly frank.”

“Maybe if we are all together another time, I could teach her?” Emir grinned broadly, the way I was certain Sophie would when I broached the subject with her.

“I sense I am already defeated before I protest.” I chuckled and leaned back, propping my arm on the top of the couch.
 

“I only ask that you keep your expectations lowered. I know I may seem…”

“Confident? Outspoken?” Emir sniffed a laugh. “Slightly arrogant?”

“I was going to say dashing and handsome, but yours work very well,” I admitted. “Joking aside, I worry that what happened to me the last time I put myself in a submissive role will happen again. That I’ll be… too hung up on protocol, afraid to do the wrong thing, and I’ll put myself in a bad situation. But I would like to sub for you tonight, Emir. I’ve been in intimate circumstances with you before, and if I were ever going to do it with anyone, you’d be on the top of my list.”

“That’s very sweet.” He set his wine glass on the end table. “I value your trust. I won’t do anything to harm it.”

 
When he leaned toward me, I met him half-way, tilting my face to adjust as his mouth met mine. It had been a long time since I’d kissed a man, and a thrill shot to my groin at the unexpected brush of sharp stubble around his soft lips.

He pulled back a little. “Should we go somewhere…”

“Let’s go upstairs,” my voice was a desperate rasp, startling me. I’d had no idea I wanted Emir so fervently, until the moment it seemed the possible would become reality.

Every step we took to the bedroom sent urgent, pounding desire through me, but I kept myself restrained. Though there would be nothing I’d like more than to grab him and force him up against the wall, the way I would Sophie, Emir wasn’t submissive to me.

On the last flight of stairs, he had already pulled his t-shirt over his head. To say the man was in shape would have been akin to saying the Louvre had a few paintings in it. I had the sudden, unpleasant urge to make comparisons that were terribly unfair to myself. I had fifteen years and a harrowing experience with cancer in my column. Obviously, I couldn’t expect to have the physique of a male model, but it was a bit daunting to imagine getting naked with someone who did.

 
We stopped beside the bedroom door, and he reached for the handle with me, his big hand covering my own. “Nothing that you don’t want to do tonight. And I mean that.”

An electric chill, the full force of my lust toward him, snapped through me at that contact. Now that it was awakened, that wicked, purely sexual part of my mind would not be denied, would not make any apologies for seeking pleasure and reveling in it.

Inside, I dimmed the lights and motioned toward the bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I went through the dressing room, into the bathroom, where my first stop was the medicine chest. The last thing I’d want would be to get out there and be unable to… maintain. It had happened a few times with Sophie, post-transplant, and I’d been so utterly embarrassed, dire countermeasures had been needed. Though I didn’t appreciate the reminder of my rapidly advancing age, I took out the bottle of little blue pills and swallowed one with a handful of water from the tap. I hoped the food and wine wouldn’t put as large a dent in the medicine’s effectiveness as the pamphlet had indicated.

I slipped off my shoes and socks and put them away, and paused in front of the toy cupboard. Though some of the contents had migrated to New York with us, some necessities remained. I took a variety of condoms, a bottle of lube, gloves, and some dental dams; it didn’t seem presumptuous to be prepared for anything.

Emir sat on the edge of the bed, his shoes and socks slipped off, leaving him in his jeans and nothing else. His olive skin was burnished by the low, warm light, and he grinned at me as I placed our supplies on the bedside table. His hand caught my wrist, and I let him pull me down. He tilted his face up, and I took that for the invitation it was.

Our lips met, and I leaned him back, following him to the bed. I sank my fingers into his soft, dark hair and tugged gently, pulling his head back to bare his throat as my mouth wandered from his, across the stubble on his face. He moaned, and his fingers dug into my back through my shirt.

“I thought you were the submissive tonight,” he reminded me with a laugh I felt beneath my palm.

Emir’s body was a symphony of contradiction; satiny skin stretched over rock-hard muscle, a hairless chest in defiance of the thick dark hair on his arms. His cologne was faint and spicy, and I nuzzled my face into his neck to breathe deep.
 

Next to touch, scent was my favorite erotic sense. Some mornings, just smelling the lingering hint of Sophie’s shampoo in the shower was enough to make me desperately horny. I didn’t know what aftershave Emir wore, but it would be seared into my scent memory in a similar manner.

Emir’s hand slipped into my collar, and he tugged on the buttons of my shirt. “Take this off,” he growled against my ear, and the command was shockingly erotic.

I sat up and unbuttoned just the top few buttons and pulled the shirt and my undershirt over my head. I didn’t have a spare moment to worry about my physique or compare it to his before he drew me back down. Emir was a man who knew what he wanted.

He wasn’t the only one. I kissed down his neck, across the smooth expanse of his broad chest, and lightly grazed one tight brown nipple with the edges of my teeth. His breath hitched, and his body rose against mine as he dove his fingers into my hair.

“Stand up.”

I did, waiting awkwardly beside the bed. And oh, how he made me wait, watching me wordlessly, letting the tension mount in tiny increments. He inhaled audibly, long and slow, making a decision. “I want you naked. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

Emir could command me to do whatever he wished, so long as it didn’t break our agreed upon terms, and I would obey him. Because of the control I’d already exerted in our negotiations, there was nothing left for me to decide. It was exhilarating.

I did as he’d asked and kicked my pants and boxers aside. Standing naked in front of him, I couldn’t help but mentally tabulate every one of my physical faults in comparison to his model-quality perfection.

He said my name, or I thought he had. I asked, “What?” in reply, and he laughed softly.

“No,
Leif.
Kneel. On your knees. On the floor, beside the bed. I should have been more clear.”

“Oh. Um.” I did as he asked, but added, “What’s the appropriate response in this situation?”