A Jade's Trick (Lilly Black's Jaded Series Book 1) (8 page)

I open the front door to find Cain standing there, looking down at me, his eyes blue in the afternoon sunlight, intense and boring through me.  He steps inside, swinging the door shut behind him.

"Please," he says, reaching out and touching my cheek lightly.  "Please, Evan.  Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," I say.

"Then don't be sad...or disappointed...or..."

"I'm not.  I was, but I'm not anymore."  Cain's expression melts into a smile.

"You could have told me that before I cancelled everything and flew back from the east coast."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to..."  I trail off deliberately because it's a lie.  I'm thrilled that he did that for me.

"What changed?" he asks, reaching for my hand, and guiding me to sit with him on the couch.

"I just wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself," I say.  That's a lie, too, but on the spot, I find myself too shy to admit the truth.  "Did you have your chauffeur deliver the wrong package to put ideas in my head?"

"Did it put ideas in your head?" Cain asks.

"Maybe," I admit, bashfully.

"Ideas like...?" he pries for more, but I won't give it to him.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't ask Lucy to mix up the packages, but I suspect it may have been deliberate on her part.  She likes you.  She thinks you're good for me."

"Okay..." I say, not sure what to make of it.  I don't quite understand Lucy's role in his life, but she is definitely more than just his chauffeur.

"She means well, but I didn't come here to talk about Lucy.  I want to talk about the ideas in your head.  Evan, I did mean what you thought I meant in your text."

"About breaking me?"  My eyes fly open wide.

"It's not as bad as it sounds."

"It sounds horrible, and I don't think I can..."

"Can what?  I thought you and I were just friends," he reminds me with a vindictive tone.

Two can play that game.

"You're right, and as it is your fault that I've been spending the entire day looking at the website called eXtreme Playthings, since you are, apparently, so well-versed in the art of S&M, as my
friend
, I think it would be appropriate for you to satisfy my, uh...curiosity."  I've stunned him, but as seconds pass without a response, my defense mechanisms start to kick in.

"Cain?" I ask, trying to sound like I'm holding firm.

"I'm thinking," he says, then makes me wait several more awkward seconds before speaking again.  "Okay.  Here's the deal.  I generally only discuss this part of my life with women who intend to become a part of this part of my life, I require that a nondisclosure agreement be signed, and it's not something I ever discuss with friends, but..."

"So you expect me to sign a non-disclosure agreement?" 

"I go to great lengths to keep this very private part of my life private, Evan, and to share this with you without an NDA will take a deep level of faith on my part.  You are not to tell anyone, and that includes Nicole.  Understood?" 

"Yes," I say as I take his hand and look into his eyes for emphasis, swearing it as I try to hide my suddenly voracious appetite for this information.  I want to know what was in that box, what his intentions are with me if I would beg for that first kiss, and what other rules he is willing to break for me.  He starts by asking me what I know about BDSM, which he informs me stands for Bondage, Domination, Sadism, and Masochism, and my answer is damn near nothing.

"Five years ago, I didn't know much more, either," Cain says.

"So you haven't always been into this?"

"No." 

"How did you...start?" I ask,
but do I want to know this?
 

"I started thinking about it long before I acted on it," he begins the story of his first experience, and I'm instantly rapt.  He was home from grad school for his younger brother's seventeenth birthday party, and he met a girl he describes as "old enough to be legal, too young for me to have bothered with."

"She was mildly irritating - another spoiled daughter of one of my mother's country club hens trying hard to impress me.  I had no interest in her at all until she said something...something elitist...I don't even remember what it was now, but I remember thinking someone needs to spank this stuck-up, little bitch.  So I did."  I burst out in laughter at the thought of it.  Cain looks at me suspiciously.

"What did you do?  Spank her in the coat closet?" 

"No, I took her to my room in my parents' house, put her over my knee, and then I fucked her."  And here's where things get really weird.  Cain just said point blank "I fucked her" about another woman, but I don't feel jealous.  What I feel is a rush of excitement, my usually insensitive nipples tightening and tingling.

What the fuck?
I wonder, not immediately noticing that Cain is just sitting there watching me.  I look down and realize he can see my reaction through my t-shirt, and as I feel myself flush, a satisfied smile spreads across his face. 

"I know what you're thinking," Cain says.  "It disturbs you that hearing me tell that story excites you.  Do you know why?"

"Uh-uh," I say softly, feeling like a timid child before him as he reads my mind.

"You take pleasure in my disregard for her because in your fantasies, you're different - superior and singular in my eyes. You are, Evan, all of those things, and deep down, you want what I'm offering.  You want to be dominated, guided, cherished."

Fuck me,
I think, shamed to be psychologically exposed and afraid of his uncanny insight into thought processes I don't even understand myself.  Realizing I must look like a deer in headlights, my defense mechanisms take over.

"So are you going to tell me what's in the box from XP?" I ask.

"If you want to know what's in the box, you're going to have to find out the hard way," Cain says playfully.

"What does that mean?"

"I suggest you do some more research, and then we'll figure out together what we would like it to mean." 
How sneaky of him!
  We haven't even kissed, yet here he is engaging me in negotiations regarding a sexual encounter I never agreed to have.  Let's see how turning the tables on him makes him feel.  With a smug grin on my face, I throw out a new vocabulary word I learned from eXtreme Playthings today - a word that incontrovertibly means I get to hold the whip.

"What if I said I have done my research, and I've become
very
interested in a fascinating, new word I learned?  Femdom.  I assume you're familiar with it?" I ask, and for the second time today, Cain is stunned.  That's probably a record.

"Speechless?" I ask, clearing my throat.

"Yes, Evan.  I am," he admits.  "Are you pleased with yourself?"

"I am," I say, but Cain laughs as if he thinks I only said it for shock value.

"So," I begin.  "I'll bet you don't know any more about what I'm proposing than I know about what you are, so you probably need to do your own research, and then we'll figure that out together, too.  That is unless you'd rather just find out the hard way." The look on my face says "checkmate", but he only laughs again.

Damn it, Playboy!  Take me seriously! 
I glare at him.

"Okay, okay," he relents.  "I promise to keep an open mind, but I expect the same of you." 

"Absolutely," I say, amazed. Just agreeing to keep an open mind is more than I thought I would get out of him.

"Perfect.  Now, if you're no longer of the mindset that I should fuck off, I need to get to the office.  I cancelled a lot of meetings today because of you."

"I'm really sorry about that."

"No, you're not, and neither am I.  It was well worth it," he says, giving me a stare that sends chills down my spine.

Planning to pick me up later to go out, Cain leaves, and I have a few hours before I have to start getting ready. I do the online class work I blew off earlier, but when I finish, before I even think about what I am doing, I find that I've typed the word bondage into the search engine.

Cain
, I think, shaking my head, about to close the window as I realize it's been a while since I've searched for information about my problem.  That, not bondage, is the biggest obstacle to overcome if I want to consider a relationship with Cain.

Dozens of sites on the female orgasm always come up, but their suggestions never work for me because my problem isn't physical, at least not entirely.  Experiencing sexual pleasure was made to feel wrong for me very early on, and no amount of telling myself it wasn't my fault has changed that.

As I comb through the articles and blogs my browser search yields, I find an active chat room where women are sharing experiences similar to my own and decide to check it out.  As I sit silently watching their conversation, I find that one girl who has overcome her past has been giving advice to the others, but I quickly realize coming here was a mistake because the suggestion she makes seems like a fate worse than frigidity.

Visualize the abuse event,
she types, and it's all I need to see.  I am out of here.

I close my computer down and walk away, but it's too late.  Her suggestion has taken root, and I feel sick.  I never asked for it, never provoked it, never did anything but try to reject it as best a scared little girl could, yet that sick fuck gets to walk around happily having fulfilled his fucked up, pedophilic fantasies while I have to struggle every day of my life to suppress feeling inferior, unworthy, unclean?  And I'm supposed to think about what he did to me...with Cain?

Fuck that!
I think, already feeling the click, click, click, going up the first hill on the rollercoaster as the self-loathing creeps in, and though I haven't cut myself in almost five years, the urge comes flooding back.  I fight it as I hold back the tears because I can't let Cain see me with red, puffy eyes when he picks me up in a few hours.  Sooner or later a man who could have any woman in the world will get tired of coddling my broken ass.  Maybe that would be for the best.  I'm probably fooling myself anyway.  He's so perfect, and I'll always live with the fear that he'll see through to the scars on my soul and learn what I am inside.

 

I pop a Sweet Mary CD in the stereo, determined to lock the bad memories and that chat room away where they can't reach me tonight.  I sing, act silly, lose myself in the memory of the freedom I felt when I first saw them play in L.A. after running away from home, and I manage to get control over my emotions until my excitement to see Cain is all that's left, untainted by my past.

Wearing a sexy, black mini dress with impossibly high, platform heels that reduce the height difference between Cain and I, I open the door and see him standing there in a midnight blue, silk shirt tucked into black pants, looking perfect as always.  I'm up for anything tonight, and outside, his long, black limousine awaits.

The interior is elegant and tasteful, set up to serve for business and pleasure, and as he sits close, his scent mingles with the leather of the seats, filling me with ideas about the pleasures it could be used for.  He has really gotten inside my head.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" he asks as Lucy pulls away from the curb.

"I don't know.  How early does your flight leave tomorrow?" 

"Any time I want," he says.  "I don't have to be back in Boston until late afternoon, and I can sleep on the plane, so I'm yours until as late as 3:00 am."

We decide to go to a nightclub, and Cain suggests Envy, one of the other bars Steph is considering.  The decor is ultra modern with sleek lines and asymmetrical curves, everything in ice blue, silver, or black.  Even the lights are only shades of blue and cold white, a stark contrast to the warmth of Prometheus' lava red.

The place is already packed when we get there, but of course there is still a table available for Cain Ballantyne.  A hostess leads us to a dark, corner booth behind a blue velvet rope, and our waitress is there within seconds.  As I look around, countless women have their eyes on Cain, their thoughts written on their faces, and far too many believe they could easily steal him from me.  It's something I am going to have to get used to because there will always be beautiful, Southern California blondes with perfect bodies and predatory instincts stalking him.

The waitress brings our drinks, and we sit close enough together to hear each other over the music without touching, maintaining our delusion of being friends.  Though Cain is keeping me at a distance, it's really my choice.  All I have to do is beg to be his.

"Do you dance?" I ask.

"My mother forced us to learn ballroom dancing for her country club parties, but I'm afraid you wouldn't like what I'd do to you on the dance floor at a place like this," he says.

"What does that mean?" I ask, but before he can answer, I hear a man's voice asking me to dance.  I don't want to dance with him, but to fuck with Cain, I defer the question to him.  He immediately makes me regret it.

"I don't own her..." Cain says.  Then he leans in and whispers "...yet."  The man doesn't wait for my opinion, taking my hand, and as I shoot Cain an angry look, he just smiles and crinkles his nose.

Asshole
, I think, flipping him the bird behind my back.

Once we're on the dance floor, this guy is an excellent leader.  He throws me around and makes it look like I know what I'm doing, but he also has the sense not to pull me in too close for too long as Cain watches us.  I glance at him every chance I get, though I can't always see him for the girls surrounding our table like bitches in heat.  How dare they think that just because I'm not right there at his side, they can swoop in and take him?  Of course, I don't own him...yet.

When the song fades into a new one, I thank my partner and turn to leave, but as I try to find my path back to Cain, I'm quickly lost is a sea of writhing bodies, the crowd closing in around me, drawn by the new song, Massive Attack's
Angel
.  I'm trapped as my dance partner is slammed against me by the undulating throng, and when I feel another man at my back, his hot breath on my shoulder and his groin against my leg, anxiety floods my system with adrenaline.  It's fight or flight, but I have nowhere to fly.

I put my hands on my partner's chest to shove him away but can't even push him to arm's length, so I elbow the guy behind me.  No effect.  Feeling I have no control over the situation, I begin to panic, but before it can overwhelm me, my partner suddenly hurries away, pushing forcefully through the grinding mass.  I move forward into the space he left to get away from the man behind me, but the freedom is fleeting as another man quickly takes his place - a man whose scent I detect even in this sea of sweat and pheromones, sucking it in like life-giving oxygen.

"It's only me now," Cain whispers in my ear, and knowing that the breath on the back of my neck is his breath and the cock against me is his cock, the adrenaline in my system is redirected toward a more constructive purpose.  The closeness of the crowd becomes an advantage, shielding me from curious eyes as I allow him to roll my body against his, his hands on my hipbones in the front, his face in my hair, and his cock so close to the target that if the fabric of my mini dress wasn't pulled so taut, he would practically be fucking me.

And I'll bet he's really, really good at fucking,
I think, shocked by my own thoughts
.