“So how often do you take out from Smiler’s? That guy seemed really happy to see you,” I comment in the elevator.
“Ah…my buddy Abdul. Once or twice a week. Their chicken is really good.”
“Yes, and I see you like the mashed potatoes and gravy.”
He shrugs unapologetically. “I’m a growing boy.”
No, honey, you are a fine specimen of man.
“Where should we dine?” he asks me.
He probably recognizes that I’m not up to facing the dining room table, and the kitchen counter seems a bit utilitarian. “How about the couch?”
“Great. I’m just going to go change into my pj’s. You want to get comfortable?”
Edward in pj’s. Nom nom nom. “Sure. Meet you back in a couple?”
He sets down the bags of food and we make our way down the hallway to our respective bedrooms. His and hers. Mine and the master. Master’s.
Forgoing underwear, I change into a pair of soft heather bottoms and a pale blue cami and twist my hair into a big clip. Not my sexiest look, but definitely my most relaxed. Edward exits his room at the same time, and he looks positively scrumptious in blue and red plaid bottoms and a plain grey tee. He’s holding one hand behind his back. Uh-oh. Could that be a handful of chocolate chips?
He screws his face into a stern expression and says, “Aren’t you forgetting something on your feet?”
Aw, hell no. It is my night off from the Nasty Skank Heels From Submissive Hell. “No way, Edward. I am not wearing those awful spikes tonight.” There. Let’s see what the master has to say about that.
“No,” he smiles. “I would think these would be far more comfortable.” He drops a brand new pair of deep blue Ugg slippers into place by my feet. “Size nine, if I’m not mistaken?”
I slip my feet gratefully into the cozy goodness of the fluffy new fleece. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Edward.”
His boyish grin lights up his face. “So now you have everything you need?”
“Sure looks that way,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him appreciatively.
“To cozy pajamas,” I toast, my eyes squarely focused on her protruding nipples.
“And fuzzy warm slippers,” she adds, raising her wine glass to mine and clinking delicately atop the coffee table.
“Yeah, who knew?” I grin, wiggling my feet under the table in my new Uggs. We’re tucked together between the legs of the coffee table, our backs propped up against the front of the couch. We’re aimed toward the television, but neither of us has made a move to turn it on, causing the TV to reflect mirror image witnesses to our dinner party.
“Um, the rest of the planet!” she teases. “What have you been doing to keep your feet warm all these years?”
“Socks?” White athletic socks, to be precise.
“Hunh, that must’ve been pretty hard on those girls who were forced to do your laundry,” she says, pulling a forkful of Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad to her mouth and eyeing me sideways in the process.
Sliding a morsel of thigh flesh through the mound of mashed potatoes, I argue, “Never got a single complaint.”
“I’m sure,” she chuckles.
“So have you thought about what you’re going to tell Angela about us?”
She sighs and takes up her wine glass. “Not really."
I load up a mouthful of corn kernels. “Mmm, I love it when vegetables taste good.”
She laughs lightly, “Corn doesn’t exactly count as a vegetable, you know.”
“What? But it comes in a little can and everything!” How can she do this to me?
“Sorry, Edward. Technically, yeah, it’s a vegetable. But metabolically, it’s a starch. And by the way, it’s America’s most villainous crop since tobacco if we’re to believe everything we read these days.”
“Jeez,” I say, surrendering my fork and regarding my remaining corn with disdain. “I feel so betrayed by the American marketing machine.”
“Yeah,” she chuckles in earnest. “Marketing is evil. Definitely. Don’t even get me started on milk.”
“Milk?!” I ask, horrified. Now milk’s bad for us? “We feed that to our babies! It’s not good for babies?” I am outraged now on behalf of the babies of the world.
“It’s marvelous if your baby happens to be a calf. Otherwise…not so much.”
“You’re breaking my heart here, Bella.”
She smiles even bigger and stares back at me.
“What?” I ask. “You enjoy breaking my heart?”
She shakes her head no. “You’ve been calling me ‘Bella’ lately. In fact, I noticed you introduced me that way to your friends the other night.”
I couldn’t share my pet name for her, even with my close buddies. “I thought you liked it when I call you ‘Isabella’.” I am officially confused.
“I did. I do. I like it because it’s only you who calls me that, and because you imposed it on me, which was all kinds of sexy,” she adds shyly. “But now, I feel like you’re getting comfortable with who I am to the rest of the world, and that’s got hot written all over it.”
“Hmmm,” I respond, twirling my wine glass as I ponder her explanation, “So, I really can’t lose no matter what I call you then?”
She drops her eyes to the table and her face takes on an even darker shade of red. I reach in and find her lips with mine, because her transparency is completely irresistible to me. She loves the dirty talk, and we’ve barely scratched the surface.
Yes, Edward, the filthier the better. I have absolutely no problem compartmentalizing what Edward calls me during a scene, or during vanilla sex, for that matter. And despite what many women claiming to be ‘feminists’ have to say on the topic, I feel the opposite of degraded.
Whatever this elemental need is that Edward has unearthed in me, he greets it head-on and seems to find the exact language and actions with which to stir me. He’s not just training me in the ways of submission, but also training himself in how to best reach me. He leads both of us in this spectacular tango of mutual desire. I would eagerly follow him anywhere.
Perhaps, it occurs to me, I’m another puzzle for him to solve, as finding the source of the virus that swept through the office this week. I say ‘x’, she responds ‘y’. Our database grows richer with every interaction. I’d like to believe I’m a more engaging subject than the malicious bug.
I do wish my blush wouldn’t betray me so easily, however. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he coaxes softly, pulling my face closer. His hand braces my neck, and his thumb runs a circuit of reassuring patterns at the nape.
“I’m working on it,” I finally answer him. He seems satisfied for now, leaving me with a kiss before returning to his dinner.
Sometimes, it is all so utterly confusing. I love it when he’s like this with me, too. Sweet as honey, understanding, supportive, doting. But the other side is just…gah! And now I’m thinking, maybe it’s the same way for Edward. Maybe he enjoys that I can enlighten him about nutrition or the latest in fleece slippers. Our trade-off hardly seems fair. Which reminds me, I need to get on that gift search ASAP.
Using his biscuit as an anchor, he piles up chicken, potatoes and spinach on his fork. Just as it’s about to reach his outstretched tongue, he pulls back and regards the food suspiciously.
“What?” I giggle.
“I’m just waiting for you to tell me that spinach isn’t good for me either.”
“Spinach is really good for you,” I answer.
Reassured, he takes the stack of food into his mouth. “Well,” I amend, “Not counting that whole tainted spinach scare last summer where people were getting really sick and dying.”
He stops mid-chew and says, “Seriously, Bella?”
I wave my hand and say, “Don’t worry about that; the spinach was raw, and that was a whole year ago.”
He swallows his food as if he’s a contestant on Fear Factor just tasked with eating fifty Madagascar hissing cockroaches. “I think I’m done with dinner,” he says sadly.
“Oh, Edward. I’m sorry. You should eat! Enjoy! I was just teasing you a little bit.”
He picks up his fork and morosely drags it through the mashed potatoes, corn, and spinach, swirling them all together while trying to decide their fate. Finally, he shrugs and loads up another serving. “You only go around once,” he mumbles, engulfing the mound with his mouth.
Sure. We shopping again?
Yes, if ur up for it.
Always. Love seeing u play dress up.
Not for me this time.
Hmmm. Intriguing. What do u want for lunch?
LOL- GF got u on a short rope?
Stage Deli at 1?
What r u wearing right now? ;)
JUST slippers?? Fuck Me!
Ur leaving me like this?
Tell Sean to take care of it. And he’s welcome.
C U manana.
I toss my phone onto the cushion next to me. My attention returns briefly to the TV and I catch the tail end of the commercial for the latest iPhone, the one that finds a restaurant for you and reminds you to do things later. More marketing geniuses at work. Just like the one in the next room, I muse.
“Dude, you’re already a dinosaur,” I inform my Blackberry Bold. The fact that it doesn’t answer only proves my point.
My gaze falls on my crossed ankles waving side to side in the middle of the table. Does replacing sweat socks with slippers mean I’m softening? Nah, I dismiss the thought. I’m still me, just with happier feet. Speaking of being myself, I need to put some thought into our scene for tomorrow night. I tip my head to the back of the couch and let my imagination run.
How best to introduce Isabella to the wide wonderful world of bondage? Sweet and torturous or rough and edgy? Answering that question will help dictate where the scene takes place and what materials will come into play. Either way, one thing is for sure; the Master will be giving some words of instruction to his sub for the day tomorrow.
Prehistoric or not, my phone is capable of providing me the proper time, and I see now that it’s after midnight. Bella’s been at it for over four hours. I close up shop and shuffle toward my room. The guest room door is still closed. I lift my fist to knock but stop myself before I do. If she’s asleep, I certainly don’t want to disturb her. If she’s awake, she is actively keeping to herself. Either way, my intrusion won’t be welcome.
I drop my hand to my side but the fist remains clenched. The idea of giving Isabella her own space sounds great in theory; the actual practice doesn’t feel so good. I would have at least liked to kiss her good night.
Dang, slippers for Edward would’ve been a perfect gift, especially since it’s now clear he ordered mine immediately after I mentioned it in passing. This man is the very definition of ‘thoughtful’.
Fruitless searches in Men’s Furnishings departments yield nothing, though I’m tempted by various pairs of silk-lined leather gloves. Sigh, Edward in leather. However, he seems well outfitted in that regard already, and in the end, it feels too impersonal. It’s no wonder I can’t find a gift for Edward looking in ordinary places.
Come on, Bella, think! The tie idea is the lamest of lame, I’ve now decided. I search through my history tab in the vain hopes that something I’ve bought in the past might trigger a new idea. I seriously doubt I’d be inclined to buy anything for Edward that was appropriate for Jasper.
Amazon, OpenTable, Zappo’s, Bloomingdale’s, NYTOnLine, YouTube,…nothing pops out. Last week…two weeks ago…well, Hallelujah!
The answer could not be more obvious if it jumped out of the screen and bit me in the ass. Or more accurately, spanked my bottom. My problem wasn’t where I was searching; I was trying to find a gift for the wrong recipient. I’m not worried that Edward will feel slighted. Black Velvet was the one to bow out last time; Edward owes him.
I hastily click through my document library until I’ve reached the folder innocuously named ‘thoughts’. My heart skips as I type the familiar password: OnMyKnees. The screen pops to life with my stories.
“Hello, old friends,” I greet them cheerfully. Without hesitation, I click open HEA, and the first five chapters display themselves. I read through the words, though I’ve practically memorized the whole story. The unresolved ending of Chapter 5 dangles enticingly before me:
He unties my hands and motions me to stand, supporting my elbow. In one swift movement, he reaches under my gown and slides my panties to the floor. I am sure I will leave a puddle, and he has yet to lay a finger on me.
“When I go, you may fix your dress, but leave the panties there. Go back to your Prince, but know this: I will not touch you while you’re his. Understand? Look at my face this time, Princess.”
“Yes, Master,” I choke out.
The next chapter has, of course, already been enacted his way. That’s not the story that begs telling. Instead, my present to Black Velvet will be a new glimpse into my so-called kink factory. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
I don’t know for sure whether it’s the erotic writing that spurs me on, imagining the response of my private audience, or simply the joy that comes with finding the perfect gift for that special someone. All I know is I feel positively electrified by my decision to write for the benefit of my very own Edward/Dark Prince/Black Velvet amalgamation. And I know for certain my gift will be appreciated beyond anything I could ever purchase.
A short while later, I glance at the clock and gasp when I see that it’s after midnight and I’ve been typing non-stop for over three hours. I’m exhilarated and intensely aroused. I’m not real sure what a “night off” means, but I definitely want to find out. If he’s still awake, that is.
I save and close and log off and put my trusty laptop to sleep. I give my teeth the once-over before opening my door. As usual, his door is open but the lights are off. I tiptoe inside the doorway and stop to listen for his breathing. I don’t have any idea if he snores, I now realize. He’s worn me out so effectively every night that I haven’t had the opportunity to eavesdrop on his nighttime sounds.
My heart sinks to think I’ve missed my chance to be with him for the night, and I have to wonder at my choice to lose myself in fantasy when the real thing is so much more enticing.
“Hey,” he rasps out. Shoot, I’ve woken him.
“Hey,” I answer quietly, though the damage has already been done. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Are you joining me?” I ask, lifting the covers in hopeful anticipation.
“Yeah,” she answers quickly, shuffling over to the bed. She climbs up and nestles herself into my naked embrace. “Mmm, you’re so toasty,” she hums.
Capturing her cold feet between mine, I bemoan the failure of her slippers to prevent this nightly occurrence. “Ach, cold feet!”
“Sorry,” she giggles.
“Get all your work done?”
“A big chunk of it,” she answers.
“And what did you do tonight with all your free time?”
“Caught up on Dexter and made plans with Riley for lunch tomorrow.”
“Mmm, sounds productive. So…I’m a little unclear on the rules for nights off.”
“No rules, just a night we agree not to do a scene.”
“Oh, so we can still…?” she asks by flexing her hips forward into mine. Yes, princess. Ready, willing, and rock hard for you.
I immediately roll my body over hers, pinning her on her back. “I thought you’d never ask.”
This sends her into peals of laughter. “You’re shy now?”
“That was me playing hard to get.”
“Very effective, Mr. Cullen. You’re now both hard and gotten.”
“Indeed.” Without further ado, I slide her top out of my way and devour her eager nipples. Cold breasts are so much more entertaining than cold feet.
I’m feeling impatient tonight. The activity I omitted from my report—planning out tomorrow’s scene –has left its effects on me. It took an enormous level of control to wait for her visit tonight, especially since I had no way of knowing whether she would actually show up. Patience truly is a virtue, and one, it seems, for which I am to be richly rewarded tonight.
With my mouth occupied above, I dip one hand below the drawstring waist. My fingers encounter a very wet pussy, and my first touch elicits an inordinately enthusiastic response. If Bella’s been working on company business all this time, she is a girl who truly loves her work.
My guess is she’s spent the latter portion of her alone time visiting her usual haunts, perhaps anticipating what’s to come tomorrow. I capitalize on her head start by baring her bottom, bunching her pants around her knees. Drawing my fingers back through her wet center, I establish a rhythm. Oh, this is going to be quick! Once again, Bella’s brain has done the heavy lifting for me.
Assuming she’s working off some kind of bondage fantasy, I capture both her wrists in my unoccupied hand and pin them over her head. My teeth clamp down around the closest nipple. She writhes below me and I’m so tempted to make her ask for it, but this isn’t a scene. Her moans and thrashings head straight to my cock, and I allow myself to brush against the outside of her leg, just to take the edge off. I lighten my touch and continue the rhythm, and as predicted, her hips rise off the bed to meet my hand. That’s a luxury you won’t have tomorrow, my little captive-to-be. But tonight, I allow it, and even help her out by pressing down with the heel of my hand. Her arms struggle against my grip as she tenses into my fingers and releases a breathy, high-pitched squeal.
Before she’s fully recovered, I free her hands and remove her pants. Swiftly retrieving a condom from my night stand, I settle myself between her legs. Prolonged foreplay is a casualty of tomorrow’s expectations and the late hour, and without preamble, I spread open her soft thighs and push into her slick opening. Coaxing her knees back toward the headboard, I lift her from underneath and intensify the penetration. She moans loudly at the welcome imposition; soon enough, my own low grunts punctuate her melody line. Just before I release, my thumb finds her clit and we find our completion together in a furious tangle of low animal noises, hot panting breaths, and slick, salty sweat.
I know she likes me to linger, so I bend my top half forward and cover her lips with mine. We share a long, slow kiss so anathematic to our harried coupling it actually takes me quite by surprise. When my eyes eventually blink open over hers, I discern the same emotion on her face.
“G’night, then,” she smiles happily, causing me to do the same. That’s also my cue to pull out and tidy up.
I return to the bed with a warm washcloth and deliver it with a message. “I hope that holds you until tomorrow night, princess. You’re forbidden from touching any body part beyond dressing and hygiene until the scene’s over tomorrow night. Got it?”
She nods solemnly.
“Good. If I were you, I would try really hard not to let my thoughts turn wherever yours were before you came in here tonight.”
And now, I can be pretty damn sure they will do exactly that. If I’m really lucky, she’ll even have a fantastic dream and wake hot and bothered to start the day off right. But tomorrow night, she will not find her master nearly as accommodating as Edward was tonight.