Three and a Half Weeks(10)

And I? Instead of being nervous, I found myself eager to get things going, but he took his sweet time, slowly removing my clothes first and only later his own. In fact, he left his jeans on until the very last minute, a subtle reminder to me of the power exchange underway here, and where I was going to fit into his life—under him in more ways than one. By the time he was actually where I needed him to be—between my legs, ready to take my long-held virginity—I was beyond coherence and I’m pretty damn sure he knew it. I begged him to sully my virtue—and quickly. He finally did but though he was gentle, there was nothing quick about it. The next day, walking was a challenge for me.



I wrote the book because it ended far too soon, when I refused to agree to his terms, to become essentially a slave to his every whim. I wanted him on my terms; he wanted me on his—and never the twain shall meet.

My book was jokingly called Three and a Half Weeks, after the movie Nine and a Half Weeks, but modified since that’s how long our relationship limped along, propelled by nothing more than unadulterated lust. I briefly considered calling it The Story of A but that would have been too obvious, I think.





Chapter 2




Even though he was always so supremely confident of himself, when I agreed to try doing this thing with him, he looked somewhat taken aback, as if he weren’t expecting it. Why not? He’d told me he wouldn’t give up on me easily.

“You’re agreeing?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice sounding hoarse and alien to me.

He stood up and extended his hand toward me. “Well, then. No time like the present. Come.”

I gave him my hand and he pulled me to my feet. Walking ahead of me, he held onto my hand, nearly dragging me behind him. I thought it was a fitting metaphor for the whole experience. Too soon, we reached the door of the dungeon. Naturally, it was in the basement of the house, next to the wine cellar.

“Ian,” I croaked out, “just in case you’re a serial killer, I should tell you that both Mariah and my mother know I’m here with you.”

He turned around and gifted me with the most delighted grin. “I’ll bear that in mind, Ariel. Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” He opened the door and urged me inside with his hand on my back.

I stepped in as if walking to my own doom. Sort of octagonal in shape, the room was dim and cool and smelled like cinnamon or something similar. As soon as we were inside, he closed the door.

“Ariel?” His voice was so soft.

I turned to peek at him and as soon as I caught his eye he issued a terse command.

“Strip.”

What? I paused for, like, a millisecond and it annoyed him. Talk about impatient!

“I resent having to repeat myself, Ariel.”

I was wearing fitted trousers with a silk tee. I started with my top, quickly lifting the hem up and over my head. He watched, his lips tight with impatience, I think. I hurried to unzip my pants and shimmy out of them, kicking off my shoes when my pants dropped to my ankles. Now I was in only my lingerie and I assumed it would be enough, at least for a few minutes. It wasn’t.

He strode over to where I stood and pulled something out of his pocket. Before I knew it, he’d cut off my bra and panties with a utility tool. I gasped in horror.

“Why did you do that?”

His face softened slightly, probably because of the appalled expression on mine. “One of the most basic but important lessons for you to learn is that actions or inactions have consequences, Ariel. I issued a simple command. First, you hesitated—transgression number one. Then you complied but only partially, a more serious misstep. As a result you lost your drawers. Next time I tell you to strip, I do believe you will divest yourself of everything you don’t want to lose. Am I correct?”

I quickly realized that the man in this room was decidedly different than the civilized man in the library. In here, all of his potency and character traits (both dubious and admirable) were magnified tenfold: his bearing, his facial expression—everything announced his unquestionable dominance.

I nodded, desperately wanting to stick out my tongue at him but repressing the urge.

“Good.” He lightly grasped my wrist and led me to a dark corner. “Whenever you enter this room, you will kneel in this corner, face cast down, your hands palm up on your thighs. Is that clear, Ariel?”

“Please, call me Ella. People call me Ariel when they’re angry with me.”

“All the better in here. When you agree to enter this room with me, you are relinquishing your autonomy and giving me full authority over you. Formality will help put you into the correct frame of mind.” He paused for a long moment. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with too much at once but you really should be addressing me as Master within these walls.”