“Yes?
“Ian? This is Jackson. Are you alone?”
“No. I’m on speaker in my car. Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Yes, please call ASAP.”
Ian didn’t like the tone of his friend and attorney’s voice. As soon as he parked in the garage, he pulled out his phone. “Ella, please go ahead into the house. Mason will let you in. I’ll be behind you in a minute.”
As soon as the front door slid shut, he punched in Delacroix’s cell number on speed dial. “It’s me. What is it?”
“Do you remember Kira Firestone?”
“Of course I do. Why?”
“I just got word from a mutual friend. She took a dive off a bridge an hour ago.”
“What? Is she…?”
“Dead. Yes. Sorry to be the one to tell you, Ian.”
“Oh, God. Jackson, she called me earlier this evening, asking if we could see each other again. I told her I was involved with someone. She said she was sorry to bother me and hung up. God, I feel terrible.”
“Yes, well, not your fault. How could you possibly know she was in such despair? Anyway, I wanted to let you know in case anyone else contacts you. Your answer is no comment. There aren’t too many people who know of your connection with her, right?”
“No, but…”
“Shit! The cops will find your number on her phone undoubtedly. I’ll try to keep it under wraps to the extent possible. You hadn’t seen her recently, had you?”
“No. I was shocked to hear her voice.”
“Okay, I’ll do damage control. You certainly don’t need this type of publicity, Ian. You also don’t need me to tell you the obvious.”
“No, I’ve always been ace at detecting the obvious, Jackson. But, thanks.” He disconnected.
He rode up in the elevator in silence but his mind was screaming in despair. Kira had been important to him once upon a time, and he hated to think of her in such dire pain. Emotional pain is what frequently led people to crave the physical kind—it hurts less and distracts from the more severe psychological variety. Kira was a true sexual masochist, always wanting the worst anyone could deliver. It was ultimately what led to the dissolution of their relationship. He didn’t want to be the one to provide that level of pain anymore.
She didn’t take it well but she was so passive that her response was barely noticeable. Considering it one more rejection in a long line of them, she quietly moved on. It felt like a huge relief to him, though at times he did miss her tinkling laugh, the sparkle in her brown eyes when something struck her funny. Or when something struck her.
When he got inside, Ella was waiting for him, worry etched onto her face. “Is everything okay, Ian?”
The words came out of his mouth, unplanned: he was on autopilot. “Do you want to play?”
She nodded her assent but her expression showed ambivalence. Ella wasn’t sure she wanted to occupy this niche in his life. She was definitely more of a girlfriend type than a submissive, without a doubt. She did, however, enjoy the sex. And without a doubt, he enjoyed her.
“Come with me.” He led her to the locked room and once inside, instructed her to remove her clothes and kneel. He could feel something primal uncoiling inside him, stirred from a deep sleep. At the same time, strong emotion twisted his gut and the pain was becoming untenable—he needed to exorcise it somehow. He looked around, seeking a cure, an outlet, in this room devoted to rough and sensual sex.
And there Ella knelt.
He went to her, lifted her to her feet, and, walking her to the far wall, tethered her to the St. Andrew’s cross.
“What’s your safe word, Ella?”
“Crimson.”
“Crimson.” He lowered his face to her, until his lips were next to her ear. “Remember it: you might need to use it tonight. We’re going into advanced territory this evening, Ella. You need to tell me if it becomes too much for you, the moment it becomes too much for you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Her voice was uncharacteristically shaky.
He didn’t let that dissuade him from his course of action. Perhaps in that moment, nothing could have. Rational thought had abandoned him and he was operating on nothing but emotion-charged fuel.
He may have even tried to justify it to himself by acknowledging that Ella was a natural at this kind of play: she took to it immediately. But his mistake was in perception. It wasn’t pain that she took to; it was sex—rough or gentle, she liked it both ways. She didn’t act like a virgin… ever.
For him, the crisis he was experiencing amounted to a loss of control. He couldn’t stop Kira from killing herself—one slip of his ability to regulate everything and everyone. He couldn’t stop himself from falling for Ella. Another slip. Emotions were eroding his ironclad control and that he could not accept, could never tolerate. He would reclaim control—consequences be damned.