Three and a Half Weeks(9)

But when I turned around to close the bedroom door, he was right there—so close I could smell his aftershave and his own beautiful Ian scent—and without another word, he kicked the door shut behind him and pushed me up against the nearest wall. Pinned by his hips, I could feel his rock-hard erection on my belly.

I went on the offensive. “Ian. I want you to know that I don’t think this Dominant/submissive thing will work for me,” I said breathlessly. “I’m just a very disobedient type—ask my mother—and I have a willful personality. Both of those traits will serve to undermine my value as a sex slave. Plus, I’ve never aspired to be one, but… listen… if I were the type to want to be a slave, I swear you’d totally be my idea of a very fine master or sire or liege… or whatever they call you. I just…”

He never allowed me to finish my rambling. He kissed me until I was seriously depleted of oxygen and would agree to anything. His voice, both soft and menacing, spoke directly into my ear.

“Did you expect me to just accept your rejection, my sweet Ariel? If so, you have no idea with whom you are dealing. I always get what I want—and make no mistake, darling girl, I want you. You want me, too.”

True that.

His hand curved around my face, lifting it to get my undivided attention. His eyes were blazing with some kind of volatile emotion when he looked into mine. “You feel it too, don’t you, Ariel?”

I couldn’t deny it. The it he referred to was the palpable electricity that snapped and crackled around us whenever we were together in the same room. But I was scared of it too. And of him.

“Yes,” I whispered, “I feel it, too.”

“Now wouldn’t it be foolish to cast aside such a gift without further exploration?”

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to throw my arms around him and snuggle into that delicious-smelling chest.

“Then don’t,” he growled, “it’s really quite simple.”

Then he tore off my clothes, throwing me on the bed to ravish me and lay waste to my objections. It’s amazing how agreeable I am after two consecutive orgasms. So, yes, I agreed to dinner and more discussion. I wanted to meet at a neutral place, say a restaurant; he wanted me to come over to his house. We compromised and I went over to his house—I didn’t say it was a good compromise.

Again I sat in his palace of a home, requisite wine glass in hand and a tad intoxicated, queasy even, still trying to digest the whole thing—that which he’d hoped to induct me into that very night. The delicious dinner I’d just consumed was being curdled by more detailed information about his… implements. During my last visit, when I’d endured his eye-opening lecture on the delights of BDSM and a guided tour of his dungeon, he’d mentioned a virtual cornucopia of deviant sex acts associated with each piece of equipment. Now he was telling me what he expected to use on me right away and what would come later, as I became more experienced.

And, honest, he looks so damn normal!

This was our third discussion on the subject. But familiarity was not breeding comfort here. Not in the least.

“I think I now understand why you had me sign those papers. Protection from sexual exposure?”

“It could be,” he answered cryptically. Probably seeing my confusion, he elaborated. “I don’t like the press, Ariel. I try to keep my life private and they do their utmost to thwart me—apparently I make good tabloid fodder.” He shrugged. “It’s a game: sometimes I win and sometimes I don’t, but I try to never make it easy. Let’s leave it at that.”

“If I agreed… if… am I allowed to change my mind mid-game?”

Exasperated, he’d snapped, “You’re not going to be imprisoned, Ariel.” His face then split into a disarming smile. “Well, perhaps I should amend that to, you won’t be imprisoned all of the time.”

Oddly, those words didn’t go far in reassuring me. “I’m not a brave individual, you know. I’ve never even gone bungee jumping due to trust issues.”

He shook his head in dismissal of my feeble attempt at humor. “This is just sex on steroids, Ariel. What’s more, based on the little I know I about you, I can almost guarantee you’ll like it.”

Though I offered him my most suspicious look, his smile continued to widen. Uh-oh.

It happened that very night; patience wasn’t among Mr. Blackmon’s many virtues, I concluded. He took me into the dungeon for the first time and I had to admit… I did like it. Or at least my body did.

On our first night together, he’d made love to me—no question about it. He’d taken his time, tried to make me feel comfortable, and was exceedingly gentle. Seeing him without clothes made me pant so enthusiastically I nearly hyperventilated. The man was an exquisite specimen of the human male, from his luxuriant head of hair down to his beautiful, masculine feet. Believe me, I searched for at least one imperfection, scouring him with enthusiastic eyes, but there was nothing to mar Mr. Gorgeous, just a big, fat zero.