Four Beautiful Letters: BDSM Page 8

  ~*~

  The next morning, having slept like a log for ten hours straight, Sophia awoke at dawn. She sprang from the bed, excited at the prospect of heading over to her shop. She had been so exhausted the night before, she hadn’t even brushed her teeth. She headed into her bathroom—the room so small she could barely close the door once she’d maneuvered herself inside—to use the toilet and wash up.

  As she lathered her hair under the invigorating hot spray of the shower, she couldn’t deny the swoop of excitement at the thought of seeing Nick again.

  Hurrying with the rest of her shower, she grabbed a towel, gave herself a cursory drying and, towel wrapped turban style around her head, went in search of her phone. Pulling it from her purse, she saw she had two text messages from Nick.

  “A quick meeting and then I’m heading back to NY. I have plans for you upon my return.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Sophia said aloud, excitement again overriding her misgivings.

  “My flight is scheduled to arrive at 6:24. See you around 8? I want to take you to Impulse, one of my private members-only BDSM clubs.”

  A jolt of excitement shot through her at the thought of seeing Nick again in a few short hours. She’d heard about but never managed to wrangle an invitation to any of the various private BDSM clubs that dotted Manhattan. Going with Nick to one of his clubs would definitely be the icing on the cake.

  A cold, stubborn part of her tried to hang onto her anger at his leaving Desire Island mid-way through their passionate adventure, and to remind her that Nick was trouble. But she could already feel that part of her melting. The truth was, she couldn’t wait to see him again, whatever the terms.

  Still, she didn’t want to make it too easy for him. He’d have to work, at least a little, to get back into her good graces.

  “Sounds like fun,” she texted back neutrally. “Where should we meet?”

  Almost immediately, the little dots started undulating on the screen, indicating that he was typing. “I’ll pick you up at your place. I’ll text when I’m close.”

  “See you tonight!” She added a heart emoji, deleted it, added it back, and hit send.

  “Welcome back,” Jane, the barista at Sophia’s favorite coffee shop said as she came up to the counter. “The usual?”

  “Yep,” Sophia replied, passing over her insulated travel mug. “Thanks.”

  Jane fixed a large regular coffee with steamed heavy cream and placed it on the counter. As she turned back to prepare Sophia’s bagel with lox, cream cheese, onion and tomato, she said, “You look so tan and rested. Beach vacation?”

  “Outer Banks of North Carolina,” Sophia replied, smiling back.

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there,” Jane replied. “Which island did you stay at?”

  “Kitty Hawk,” Sophia lied, not sure how Jane would take to the idea of a resort island dedicated to BDSM play. Not wanting to compound the lie, she said instead, “Those blueberry scones look good.” She pointed to the tray of fresh scones on the counter.

  “Just came out of the oven,” Jane said. “Want a few for later?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll take four.”

  Slipping the food into her backpack, Sophia waved at Jane, who was busy helping a group of six teenagers who had just noisily entered the coffee shop, no doubt on their way to school.

  Outside, the sun’s rays were just peeking over the Manhattan skyline in the distance. While the air was humid, it was still cool and pleasant at that early hour. Sophia placed her travel mug in the cup holder, unlocked her bicycle and slipped the heavy chain into the saddlebag on the back. Easing the bike onto the designated path near the curb, she pedaled down the block to Sophia’s Treasures.

  Unlocking the front door, she pushed it open, causing the hanging brass bells to tinkle in welcome. Flicking on the lights, she stared around her shop with delight and contentment. She had missed the place, with its eclectic assortment of fine antiques and funky junk, liberally interspersed with curios and the knickknacks her aunt Lenore had called tchotchkes. She closed her eyes, inhaling the welcoming, familiar scents of lemon oil, wood polish, lavender and sandalwood, with undertones of mothballs and musty leather-bound books.

  It was only a little after seven, and the store didn’t open until ten. She walked her bike through the shop to the back room. She’d suggested Laura take a well-deserved day off, but Laura, being Laura, had replied, “Are you kidding? I’m still waiting to hear every delicious detail of your vacation!” Which was why she’d bought the scones—Laura’s favorite.

  Sophia, nearly done unpacking, cleaning and cataloging her new arrivals, looked up at the sound of the tinkling bells at the front door. A glance at her watch told her it was a little after nine. “That you, Laura?” she called out.

  “One and the same,” Laura called back.

  She appeared a moment later, two large to-go coffees and a greasy white bakery bag in her hands. “I bet you’ve been here since five a.m., am I right? You were probably in antique withdrawal, having been forced to spend a whole, entire week relaxing on a beach all day and playing in kinky dungeons all night. You must have been going insane,” Laura teased as she handed Sophia one of the coffees.

  “You have my number,” Sophia agreed with a laugh. She set down the cup to give her friend a big hug. “I have to confess, I didn’t obsess about the shop quite as much as you might think. I was, uh, pretty distracted—at least for the first half of the week.”

  “So, tell me all about this guy you met,” Laura said excitedly. “You’ve been dropping hints about this sexy dude all week. That’s why I’m here early. Stop what you’re doing right this second and take a coffee break. I brought apple turnover donuts from Moe’s to celebrate your return.”

  “Yum,” Sophia enthused. “And I brought blueberry scones from The Bean.”

  “My absolute favorite,” Laura said, rubbing her hands together.

  They went into the tiny kitchen just off the back room and sat at the two-seat teal Formica table, circa 1950, Sophia had unearthed from her grandmother’s cluttered basement.

  As they ate and sipped, Laura peppered Sophia with questions about Nick. While she didn’t go into great detail about the intense BDSM scenes, Sophia did share that they’d had an immediate and intense attraction that only increased each time they connected. She had already told Laura about his bailing early, and how disappointed she was.

  “But you’re seeing this Dom again soon, right?” Laura asked eagerly. “The romance will continue?”

  A wide grin broke out on Sophia’s face, despite her best efforts to remain cool, calm and collected. “I hope so,” she said.

  “What do you mean, you hope so? Sounds like a match made in heaven. You guys are perfect for each other.”

  Sophia sighed.

  “What? What’s the sigh about? What’s the problem here, girlfriend?” Laura spoke in a teasing way, but Sophia could see the concern in her eyes.

  “It was amazing while we were together, but was it just a heat of the moment thing? Something that could only happen in that kind of perfect BDSM environment? Was it like Vegas? What happens on Desire Island stays on Desire Island? Because, the truth is, Nick is a workaholic. And like any addiction, it can tend to override everything else.”

  Laura snorted. “Look who’s calling the kettle black? Sometimes I think you should put a cot back here. You’re here seven days a week.”

  Sophia shook her head. “It’s different. I love what I do, but I can put it aside. When I was on the island, I knew you were here taking care of things, and honestly, I barely thought about the place. But Nick…”

  She paused, reliving for the thousandth time the pre-dawn morning after the best sex of her life, when Nick turned from his desk, his face a study in regret. And while she understood the decisions he’d had to make, there was no getting around the fact that he’d chosen his work over her.

  “Nick lives, breathes and is his work. I’m not sure he can have a
separate life. At the same time, he is reaching out so… So, yeah—I’m willing to see him again.”

  “You’re willing to?” Laura’s comically skeptical expression made Sophia laugh.

  “Okay, okay,” Sophia admitted. “I’m dying to. But I have to be careful. I have to remind myself we don’t really know each other all that well. I’m not interested in setting myself up for heartbreak. I refuse to be one of those women who pine after a guy who isn’t available, for whatever reason. I’m thirty now, Laura. I’m too old for that shit. When I fall in love this time, it’s going to be for keeps.”

  “I get it,” Laura said, placing a sympathetic hand over Sophia’s. “But we don’t always get to pick how we fall in love. Sometimes it just happens. You step off that cliff and wham—you’re falling, whether you like it not.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sophia sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter 8

  Sophia finally finished closing the last of the dozen or so hooks down the front of her waist cincher. She regarded herself in the mirror with satisfaction. The cincher gave her a sexy hourglass figure, along with a nice breast lift. Her crazy curls had decided to obey for once, and hung in pretty ringlets down her back.

  She had chosen a black leather skirt with a slit along one thigh. She drew the line at uncomfortable shoes, however, and had opted for her Doc Martens instead. The combination of sexy sub girl and kickass street fighter pleased her. She grinned at herself, eager anticipation at seeing Nick again zipping through her veins.

  It was odd she hadn’t heard from him since before he had boarded his flight in Houston, but maybe he’d just been too busy and distracted—or too intent on coming straight to see her!

  He was due at her place in a half hour or so. In spite of her promises to herself to remain cool, she let out a little whoop of excitement.

  Her phone rang—not the chime of a text, but an actual call. Nick! Maybe he was already downstairs on the street.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she chanted as she raced to find her phone.

  Grabbing it from the bureau, she saw the photo of Nick standing on the beach on Desire Island staring pensively out at the ocean—the only picture she had. She’d taken the shot after one of their long, lovely walks along the shore during their brief but intense time together. She’d added the photo to his contact information on her phone.

  Now, she clicked on it with excited fingers.

  “Sophia.” His deep, sexy voice sent a zing of desire hurtling through her body. “Hi. I’m so glad you were able to pick up.”

  A stab of guilt poked her for not taking his previous calls. Why had she been so stubborn?

  “Are you back in New York?” Sophia asked. “I’m all dressed up and ready to go. I’m wearing something sexy and new. I hope you’ll like it.”

  “About that,” he said slowly, his words and the hesitant way in which he said them instantly dragging her down. He blew out a sigh while she braced herself. “I’m actually not in New York.”

  “You’re still in Houston?” she blurted, rising outrage threatening to push past the recent excitement. If he was still working on that fucking real estate deal…

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “But here’s the thing. An older gentleman had a heart attack back in coach. They had to do an emergency landing in Ohio. He’s apparently going to be okay, but I have no idea when we’re getting the hell out of here. We’ve been sitting on the tarmac at the Columbus airport now for over an hour. You know how they do—first they say they expect it’ll just be a short delay, and we’ll soon be in the air and making up for lost time, yadda yadda. Then ten minutes becomes twenty. Then the gate they thought they had is no longer available, etc. I know you were really excited to go to Impulse tonight, and I was too. The thing is, I have no idea when I’m getting back to the city, or how long it’ll take me to get to you once we do land. It’s not fair of me to expect you to wait around. I was thinking—if you want, I can have my driver pick you up and you can go to the club without me. You know—just to check it out. I could let my manager there, Elizabeth, know you were coming and make sure you get the royal treatment.”

  Sophia thought about it for a second, but a second was all it took. “No,” she said staunchly. “I don’t want to go to your club without you. That would totally suck.”

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as she tried to corral the jumble of her feelings—deep disappointment that their reconnection was to be delayed yet again, irrational fury directed toward the poor man who had suffered a heart attack, less irrational fury at Nick for having left town in the first place, and annoyance with herself for wanting to stamp and shout and hold her breath until she turned blue unless she got her way.

  “Listen,” she continued, forcing herself to speak like a calm grownup, even though she didn’t feel like one at that moment. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Maybe I’ll just shuck the leather and stay in. Make some popcorn and watch an old movie.”

  “I hate to think of you doing that, especially when you’re already all dressed and ready to go,” Nick replied, urgency in his tone. “I feel really rotten this happened. I’d feel even worse if you opted for old movies on TV instead of some intense sensory deprivation or at the very least a nice hard spanking. Please, Sophia. I know you well enough to know you have needs that shouldn’t go unmet for too long.”

  “I don’t know,” Sophia said, wavering. In point of fact, she had been going through BDSM-withdrawal since leaving the island. Not to mention, she was having an excellent hair day, and it would be a shame to waste such a rare opportunity to show the world.

  “What about that place you were telling me about? The Den? You could go there. Just to have a nice, stress-reducing session. It would make me feel better, knowing I hadn’t completely destroyed your evening.”

  “I don’t know,” she said again. She’d have to take two different subway trains to get there, and, especially dressed as she was, she wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

  As if reading her mind, Nick added, “I’ll send my driver to take you. You just have to text him when you’re ready to be picked up. His name is Samir and he’ll be driving a silver Audi A8. I’ll send him your contact info and he’ll text when he’s outside your building. Okay?”

  Nick sounded so hopeful and so sweet that Sophia couldn’t refuse him. Not to mention, it would be kind of fun to be driven from Brooklyn to Midtown by a driver—how fancy!

  “You’ve talked me into it,” she said with a laugh. Her anger had melted away, though the disappointment remained.

  “Just one thing,” Nick added.

  “What?”

  “Don’t fall for anyone.”

  Samir drove her in style in Nick’s luxurious sedan to The Den, which was housed in the basement of a swinger bar in Midtown. The walls were painted black, the space dimly lit by sconces with bulbs that wavered like candlelight. The place was dark and edgy, the players more hardcore than what you found at the typical slap-and-tickle clubs that comprised most of the NY BDSM club scene.

  Sophia paid her cover and entered, stopping just inside to scope things out. A man and woman stood at attention on the small stage at the back of the room, hands behind their heads. They both were naked, save for gold body paint from the neck down. A guy dressed in black leather and a black captain’s cap moved behind them, flicking a whip over their glittering bodies.

  The bondage wheel—the Den’s coolest new piece of equipment—was occupied, of course. Because of its novelty and popularity, the club had started using a signup sheet for twenty-minute slots, with a ten-minute cleanup in between. The sheet always filled up within moments of the club’s opening, and Sophia had yet to try it out.

  People were scening at the other various stations set up around the room, or clustered at tables around the bar. Some couples were making out in corners. There was a guy with his pants undone, very obviously masturbating while watching one of the scenes.<
br />
  For a moment, Sophia considered turning around and heading out the door. Samir was on call to take her home at the end of the evening—all she had to do was text. He probably hadn’t even made it down the street yet.

  While she desperately wanted to scene, this place was such a far cry from Desire Island. Damn it—had the resort ruined her for the regular clubs?

  At the same time, her body reacted to the whistle of a cane, the moan of a sub, the slap of a hand against someone’s ass. She’d come all this way. She’d stay at least a little while. It was crazy not to.

  Sophia shifted the small gear bag on her shoulder as she scanned the room, looking for someone she knew. At that moment, there was a tap on her shoulder.

  Turning, she looked up into the face of a Denzel Washington lookalike, circa 1992, and caught her breath. He was abso-freaking-lutely gorgeous. He wore a black T-shirt stretched over his muscular frame with the acronym RACK in shiny red letters that dripped as if with blood.

  “Greetings, lovely lady. Care to engage in a little edge play? My name is Lord Brandon.” He spoke in a rich, delicious British accent. Sophia had always been a sucker for British accents.

  “Hi,” she replied, trying not to gawk at his male beauty. The Lord title told her he was a Dom, though it also could indicate he was something of a poser. Not that it mattered—she was there to scene, not to judge. “I’m Sophia. I’m not sure I’m ready to scene quite yet. I just walked in the door.”

  “I saw you come in,” he replied, flashing a brilliant, white-teethed movie-star smile. “I hurried over to claim you before another could. You’re ravishingly beautiful, Sophia.” He rolled the r in ravishingly like an actor on the Shakespearian stage. “And your name is as lovely as your form. Like Sophia Loren, that Italian beauty of yesteryear.”

  Yesteryear? Who used words like that? In spite of herself, Sophia laughed. The guy was too much. “Actually, I’m named after my grandmother, Sophie Weinstein from the shtetl,” she couldn’t resist quipping back.