The spanking? Confusing. On the one hand, it’s painful and he generally delivers it in anger—never a good combination. On the other hand, it is like a pressure valve for me: the whole ordeal with Lucien brought volatile emotions to the surface and then Ian and I had a very emotional reunion . Being spanked today allowed me to let off steam—he always says it will make me feel better. I used to laugh at him but he was right, as much as I truly fucking hate to admit it, damn it. I do feel better afterward, calmer and relaxed. Go figure. I suppose he feels better too, having vented his frustration on my backside. Win-win?
Then Lucien pops into my head. I try to banish him but he won’t quit me. Alright, I’ll give him his quarter through contemplation. Here’s the thing: his story was so unbelievable but they say truth is stranger than fiction… and in my case, it usually is—witness my runaway bestseller. Lucien’s body language seemed honest enough; I watched his every move. Growing up, my best friend’s father was a detective and he taught us interrogation techniques and how to tell if someone is lying. I used some of them on Lucien and no red flags came up. Still…
Even if his story is one-hundred-percent true, he still is not without culpability. Even if he didn’t know I was drugged—and the jury is still out on that one—he still touched me without my permission. I was in no shape to give consent so legally he sexually assaulted me. Further, even if his kidnapping story was true, why have thugs hanging around? Why not pay them off and get them out? It takes a thug to know one.
I won’t forgive him… but I probably won’t press charges either. Earlier I received a text saying my blood test results were ready and being mailed to me. I couldn’t call because it was too late in New York but first thing in the morning I’ll check.
But I already know; I know I was drugged. And it makes me scared. It makes me realize how safety is really just an illusion, a lie we tell ourselves. It’s something so tenuous that someone can come along at any time and drug or Taser you and that’s it—that’s all it takes to overpower another person. You wake up and you’ve been immobilized and you’re at the mercy of a crazy person, just like that. It’s that idea and the underlying terror it engenders in me that is pushing me to begin therapy. Soon.
The sound of an outer door closing interrupts my stream of consciousness and a few seconds later, the bedroom door opens. Ian steps in quietly, peering over at me to see if I’m still asleep: he looks anxious and I think I know why. He’s afraid of the aftermath of what transpired earlier. I’m not angry with him because I know his reaction stemmed from a good place, a loving place, so I smile and he returns it with a heart-stopping full-teeth beauty, causing my innards to seesaw. The man is one of the wonders of the world—I guess the eighth one.
“How are you, Ella?” his voice is soft, like silk rustling on bare skin.
“Fine. Can we talk? Do you have time?”
“Yes, of course. I was planning on taking you out for dinner. Are you up to it?”
“Um. Maybe. Come here.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and I crawl over to him, snuggling under his arm. Mmm, he smells so good: soap and cologne and his own special scent. I inhale deeply.
“I like the way you smell too, you know,” he says with a shy smile.
Returning his smile, I reach up and caress his face: I love this man so much that my chest feels tight, so full it’s near to bursting. I don’t want to break this small communion between us but I need to talk to him about this afternoon, share it with him so he can get past any residual anger. Hesitantly, I broach the topic. “Ian, about my conversation with Lucien…”
“Yes?”
“I just want to tell you what he said. Will you hear it?”
He nods but I can see the new look in his eyes, the very pissed-off look.
“Okay, so here’s his explanation…” I say, and launch into the whole saga and how he came to have the thugs in his employ.
“The kidnapping story sounds like utter bullshit to me.”
“Does it? To me it seems too farfetched to make up…” I choose my words carefully. “It could be true.”
“The royalty connection is a fact, however. I checked.”
“You checked? How did you even know about it?”
“Daniel. There’s something up with Daniel…” he hesitates, as if searching for the right words, “he seems to know things he shouldn’t. If he weren’t helping me so much, he’d be suspect. I think… oh, never mind.”
“No, tell me.”