Exit Strategy (22 page)

He knows he’s riled her now, but he can’t stop himself. “You will be required to pull a card from the punishment deck tonight, Ms. Beale. You agreed to call me on Sunday since you left before our contracted time was up. Our weekend will begin tonight after the function. Come prepared to stay at the condo until Monday morning.” He hangs up the phone before she can get another word in.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Keisha

I leave Carmelo in charge in the studio and stalk to Jada’s office. I don’t even knock, I just go in, close her door and lean on it. I hold my arms out in “whoa” fashion and vent for several seconds straight.

“Tristan just called me and bitched me out for not calling him on Sunday and told me I had to pull a fucking punishment card tonight. He gave me permission to come and be with you, and permission not to come back on Saturday night. They were busy with that damn threatening letter playing
Law and Order
or
CSI
or some shit. I told him I had to go be with Mama on Sunday, and you were there, Jada, we didn’t leave Mama’s house until eleven, and we all had to go to work the next morning. I mean really, did he expect the world to come to an end because he didn’t get to play in his fucking torture chamber a couple of nights?”

Jada looks apologetic. “You know I’m a letter-of-the-contract girl when it comes to the lifestyle. You should’ve called your Dom on Sunday night.”

I gape at her, incredulous. My smart-ass mouth wants to ask her if walking out on Nathan because he was photographed with his ex-sub was letter of the law, but if I say that, I might lose her as a friend. Instead I say, “Why is it that you lifestyle people only know black and white? No fucking shades of gray?”

She shrugs. “Leaving Nathan in the middle of a role-play weekend was pretty fucking gray, if you ask me.”

Damn! I didn’t even have to go there. She did. “So, wait, are you telling me I need to put on my big girl panties and go over there and take this punishment? Or are you saying I should rebel and get him to consent to let me beat his ass? Because I don’t know what to do anymore. You fucking people are driving me crazy.” I am so angry my nostrils are flaring like a Brahma Bull and tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

Jada, who up until this point was sitting calmly with her arms folded, rushes over to me. “Keisha! Girl, what’s wrong?”

I refuse to cry like a lovesick beyotch, because I did enough of that shit when I left Tristan the first time. I jerk away from her and wipe my eyes.

“Keisha, you haven’t been yourself all week. You’ve been laughing inappropriately half the time, then cranky the other part of the time. Did something happen while you were with Tristan Friday night? I know the drama between Nate and me was your focus when you came back home, but if you needed to talk about something, you should’ve sat my mopey ass down and spilled your guts.”

She takes my arm and leads me to the chairs in front of her desk, and we sit. “So tell me what’s bugging you.”

“Tristan moved one of his ex-subs into the condo below him,” I say, as if that’s all the explanation she needs.

“And you’re... jealous?”

“No, it’s not like that, well... yeah, maybe.”

“Did you and Tristan talk about this? Because in light of how Nate and Lavender are hanging around like best buds, I wouldn’t like that shit, either.”

“But she’s in no position to ever be a sub again, and I shouldn’t be jealous of her, but God help me, I am. She’s the sub who set the bar for every sub that came after her.”

“I don’t give a damn. That’s no reason for him to be parading a fucking ex-sub around you like that.”

“He’s not really parading her around me. He doesn’t know I know she’s there.”

“Then you need to confront his ass about it.”

“Jada, that would make me feel like a character in fucking
Jane Eyre
or something. I’m not even supposed to know this woman exists. I saw her from the elevator when they were moving in. Then I overheard Tristan and Nate talking about this Aimee Gabriel the morning after I went back to him, and then Friday night when I was over there, the woman who takes care of her rode up with him on the elevator and was thanking him for calming Aimee down.”

“Wait a minute. Do you think he fucked this bitch?”

“No, no, no,” I say. “I’m not telling this right. You see, seven years ago Tristan and Aimee were in this car accident in Telluride. He was barely hurt, but she was thrown from the car and paralyzed from the neck down. She’s a quadriplegic.”

“Oh shit. I should’ve figured something was up when you made the
Jane Eyre
reference. So, where was she before now?”

“In an extended stay nursing facility somewhere in the county. I think he moved her in because of the threats.”

“Oh, okay. So, why does this woman, who can’t even move, bother you so much?”

“Because I think he loved her, Jada. So she has something I want, and I’m afraid to find out for myself whether it’s true.”

“Keisha, this is out of my frame of reference. Chicks with all their faculties I can handle. I don’t even know how to begin to advise you on this one.”

“I could always model Jane and go join a convent.”

Jada laughs. “You wouldn’t last a week. Let alone make it ‘til it’s time to take your vows.”

I purse my lips at her. “You wouldn’t either, heifer.”

“I’m not the one talking about going to a convent with a bunch of celibate nuns, and besides, you’re not even Catholic.”

“I could convert.”

“I’d love to see you in a confessional. You can’t even tell the man you’re sleeping with about your childhood.”

“I know how to tell God about my sins, thank you very much, and I may sleep with Tristan, but to him, I’m just a submissive. Don’t get it twisted.”

~*~

Tristan picks me up at my door with two burly men flanking him. I had forgotten about the over-the-top security, so I don’t immediately bless him out for his attitude earlier today. I’m too distracted by how good he looks in that tuxedo. I’m so in love with this quirky bastard, I can’t think straight.

We knew it!
My Fairy Hoochie Mama and Triple-G have assumed this annoying habit of speaking in unison, sounding like little scary-assed demons half the time.

I watch as Tristan’s face morphs from barely-concealed nonchalance to revived interest that borders on hunger.

His mouth turns up on one side with some reluctance. “You look stunning as always, Ms. Beale.”

“And you cut a dashing figure yourself, Mr. White,” is my riposte. Hell, if I’m going to be a contemporary Jane Eyre, I might as well sound the part. “Good evening, gentlemen.” I address the security men, whose eyes have been busy skittering from checking out their surroundings to surreptitiously checking me out.

“Evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening.”

They are polite but have now taken the opportunity to downright stare since they’ve ascertained there isn’t any imminent danger. I’m wearing a sparkling, champagne-colored evening gown with an enhanced décolletage that displays the girls to their best advantage. Even though it’s cold as hell outside, I’ve allowed my matching wrap to fall off my shoulders on purpose and my leg to peep through the slit up one side of the dress. I am not above playing dirty to try and avoid pulling a card from the punishment deck tonight.

“As you were,” Tristan says gruffly, as if he’s commanding an Army unit. The men immediately adopt the demeanor and posture of a Secret Service detail.

Somebody’s jealous,
my Triple-G and Fairy Hoochie Mama singsong, then they giggle like the hyenas in
The Lion King
and retreat back to their hidey holes.

I shake my head as Tristan steps forward and offers his arm. I slip my hand through and rest it on his forearm, and we follow the security detail down my stoop.

Moses has the door to the limo open and a warm smile ready. “Good evening, Ms. Beale.”

I flash him a grateful, friendly smile. “Good evening, Moses.”

Tristan slides in next to me but doesn’t look at me. His eyes are trained forward until Moses pulls the car onto the street. Tristan closes the partition and turns to me.

“Are you deliberately trying my patience, Ms. Beale?” he asks in an accusatory fashion.

I adopt the "who, little 'ole me?" Southern Belle approach. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. White? I haven’t been in your presence long enough to try anything.”

“First, you abandon me during our role-play weekend, then you flirt openly with other men without any regard for me as your Dom.”

“Me? Flirt with other men?” I make myself look and sound sufficiently mock-outraged. “Never!”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing. First you’re all laughing and breathless with Guitar Guy at your studio when I call you on the phone, then you’re speaking directly to the security men, distracting them from their duty, and then you even smile at Moses like you two have some secret.”

“Why, Mr. White, if I weren’t sure I was just your submissive, I would think you were jealous.”

“Jealousy has nothing to do with this. It’s about respect.”

“I can assure you I meant no disrespect to you, Sir.” I look up at him, all doe-eyed and contrite. Then I scoot over until our sides are flush and I’m nestled under the arm he has thrown across the back of the seat. I can see his anger dissipating as he looks at me quizzically. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to be punished for any perceived slight.” I place my hand on his crotch and stroke him through his slacks. “Other men don’t get to have me do this.” His eyes flutter but don’t completely close, and he looks down at me through eyelids that are so hooded it looks like he just took multiple hits of Kush from a bong.

I trace my glossed lips just barely with my tongue, and I can hear his breathing become labored from my continued machinations in his lap, and the erotic show I’m giving him with my mouth.

His voice is husky. “If you aren’t prepared to finish what you’ve started here and now, Ms. Beale, I’d suggest you put a halt to this.”

“Oh, I intend to finish.” I continue to look into his eyes as one hand finds his zipper and pulls it down while the other steals inside his boxers and springs his erection free. I take the tip into my mouth, wet it, and blow on it, slow and sensually. “Other men don’t get to feel this, either.”

He groans impatiently, and I repeat the tease a few times. I am determined to make him forget that he’s miffed at me about our interrupted weekend, forget that he’s got a former sub squirreled away in the condo below him, forget that he is a man who wants nothing to do with relationships in all their messiness. I abandon the soft, tentative tease and begin to fellate him in earnest. I wrap my lips around the tip, then take as much of him into my mouth as I can and pull so hard he groans again.

“Arrghh.”

I don’t relent. I alternate between moistening him with my tongue and sucking hard. At first he splays his hands out on the seat on either side of us and braces himself. As I ramp up the intensity with a bobbing motion, sucking soft, then drawing hard, he weaves his hands through my hair and holds on for dear life. When I begin the swirling motion with my tongue between even deeper draws, he’s a goner.

“Keisha!” he yells once, and the deed is done.

I dry him off with tissues and zip him tidily up. I pop a Tic Tac in my mouth, reapply my lip-gloss, and fluff out my natural curls. This will have to do until I can get to a ladies’ room and use the travel toothbrush kit I tucked in my clutch to be prepared for this little exercise.

Tristan, grinning from ear to ear, pounces on me as I finish my mini-toilette and kisses me so hard he takes the Tic Tac from my mouth.

~*~

“I have it on good authority that the president is to make an appearance tonight,” Tristan says as he signals a waiter with a chilled champagne bottle in hand to fill our glasses. Our limo activities certainly loosened him up. I am learning that even jealous alpha males can be swayed with impromptu sexual favors.