Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) (28 page)

She’s not going to ruin this day for me. No goddamned way.

My phone rings again, but this time it’s not Claudette. It’s Mysterious. I tab the accept button on the car navigations system.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“
On my way to San Diego. But I’m heading to Boston once I get there. You have something for me?”

“In person,” Pax says.

“I’ll be at the house on Martha
’
s Vineyard, but I’ve got plans tonight, Pax. Plans that require privacy and seclusion.”

“I’ll call when I get in and we
’
ll set it up.”

Chapter Thirty-Two - Ivy

Wednesday. It’s finally Wednesday.

I got the delivery receipt for the package I sent Nolan yesterday, so he got it. And he knows what I’m after tonight. But then the doorbell rang a few minutes ago. I didn’t expect a hand-delivered package back.

I look at the white box tied with a yellow satin ribbon and my heart beats wildly. What is in here?

Open it, Ivy
. I’m begging myself to open it. But I’m scared too. Because I know what’s in there.

I untie the ribbon and it falls away in a soft puddle of fabric. Then I lift off the lid and pull the yellow tissue paper back.

The dress.

I hold it up and take it in, then hang it on the top of my bedroom door so I can see it properly. It only has one strap, and the satin is the same color as the ribbon on the box. Soft, smooth, like silk, as my fingers pick it up and let it drop, fascinated by the weight, and the sheen, and the way I get wet between my legs as I picture myself wearing it.

I go back to the box and find a silver envelope. The same kind of silver envelope that the first invitation came in. It’s thick.

I open the unsealed flap and pull out a folded handwritten letter on the most beautiful silver paper I’ve ever seen.

Dear Ivy,

Welcome to the preparation phase of our fantasy date. Please read everything carefully.

I will make advances tonight and you will reciprocate. I will become rough and you will say no. NOT STOP. If you say STOP, the fantasy ends. That is your safe word.

But you can, and should, say no. Say no like you mean it. Say no often and loud. Scream no, Ivy. My dick is getting hard right now just thinking about it.

The first time you say no, the real fantasy starts. You should be afraid. You should wonder if you’re crazy. You should second-guess yourself the entire time… until it’s over. And then you should not feel guilt or shame because you loved it.

You will enjoy this or we will STOP. You are the one in control even when you feel like you’re completely helpless.

One word to make it STOP, Ivy. Just one word. Don’t be afraid to say it. I will
expect
you to say it if I do something wrong. If I gag you, and I will—I like the gag—you will cross your fingers to signal STOP. Don’t forget that. You will cross your fingers to signal STOP.

There’s a man waiting outside. Don’t worry, he will be there no matter how long it takes for you to make up your mind. We discussed what will happen tonight last weekend. You saw the pictures and I’ve gifted you the most important one at the bottom of the box.

Read the enclosed card. Check the stipulation boxes, sign it, seal it inside the envelope, and then open your front door and present it to the man waiting in the silver car.

Prepare yourself, Ivy. This will be a night we will never forget.

Nolan

And then I read the card.

Here is what you can expect:

Rough play, including but not limited to slapping, biting, spanking, and choking.

Fantasy rape, forcing you out of your comfort zone. You will be held down if you struggle. You will be chased if you run. You will be fucked hard and bruising and/or swelling of certain areas of your body should be expected.

Severe temperature changes including, but not limited to, extreme cold and heat in the form of water and hot wax.

Bondage of the wrists, as demonstrated last weekend.

Aftercare as demonstrated last weekend and by the included graphic image.

Do not wear a bra, but do wear the panties and shoes delivered in the box.

You will not be burned, punched, caned, cut, or strangled, Ivy. None of what I do to you tonight is in anger. None of what I do tonight will leave a scar. Everything I do to you tonight is for our pleasure.

Nolan Delaney

I go looking for his drawing, finding it underneath yet another layer of yellow tissue paper. It’s the one where we’re lying in bed, spent and exhausted, Nolan kissing me on the head.

I read the stipulations again.

Do I want this?

My fingers dip down between my legs and find the pool of wetness.

I think that answers my question.

I quickly put a checkbox next to each line and then sign the bottom of the card, put it back inside the envelope, and seal it up.

When I open my front door a man inside an expensive-looking silver car gets out and walks towards me. I hand him the card. He nods his head, wordlessly, and then I go back inside.

I said yes.

My heart is beating so fast.

Not only did I say yes, I didn’t even think twice.

I’m sick.

I don’t care.

I’ve thought a lot about what he said last weekend. A lot. How he explained it. How he drew it all out. And it didn’t really look that bad. In fact, when I break each picture down in my head, it’s not that weird. Lots of people like rough sex. I Googled it. Lots of women fantasize about being held down. Forced. Lots of men want to be the aggressor. And a rape fantasy is a way to do that in a safe way.

Safe
. I say the word in my head. Nolan laid out everything in the letter and the card. Every little detail. How to make him stop. What he will do. There will be no surprises.

Well, maybe one. When will he come pick me up? Soon? It’s already four thirty. I imagine a date starts at seven? Eight? Just enough time for me to say yes and get ready, I realize. Just enough time to be excited but not enough time to change my mind. Nolan has to be on his way. Unless he’s already here?

I bite my lip and smile.

I have no idea how I will feel at the end of the night, but hopefully I’ll have a smile on my face. And just picturing him doing those things he drew last weekend makes me want to masturbate.

But I don’t have time.

I don’t have time to do anything but prepare myself for my fantasy date with Mr. Romantic.

Chapter Thirty-Three - Nolan

When I land at Boston Logan I find my driver and head over to the municipal airport to make the last leg of my journey before picking up Ivy.

The entire ride to Providence my head is filled with visions of tonight. What she’ll look like in that dress. How long it’ll take her to say the first no. How many times I’ll make her come before we’re done.

When we land in Providence, I thank the pilot and get in the waiting Panamera—what can I say, I have a thing for Porsches—and enjoy the drive over to Ivy’s side of town.

College Hill is way too close to Brown for my comfort level and the only good things about being back in this neighborhood are Ivy and the amazing Colonial architecture. I’ve missed the East Coast. I like the west. I was born there. And I like the South because it reminds me of my mother. But I spent most of my years up here in New England. It was home during all my formative years.

And they chased me away.

Ivy’s house is a stately light gray colonial townhouse with authentic white trim. I already know it isn’t hers, but belongs to her roommate. Ivy might’ve come from privilege but she doesn’t come from money.

I like that,
I think, as I pull in front and take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

What if she says stop? What if I set all this up and she says stop?

What if I get to the door and she’s changed her mind?

I will sulk away like a chastised dog. I will probably never try this again with anyone.

“You won’t know until you get your sorry ass out of the car, Romantic.” I say the words, but in my head it’s Mac talking. He was always the calm one. The rational one. The logical one. Mr. Perfect comes by his name honestly.

Unlike me.

I get out and walk up to the low wrought-iron gate, let myself in, and then walk to the front door filled with equal parts excitement, dread, and curiosity.

The door opens before I can knock and suddenly my face is stinging with a slap.

I just stare at my date. Her hand is still raised, her expression is one of surprise, and her dress—holy fucking shit, her dress—hugs her curves like it’s painted on.

“Why did you hit me?” I ask, kinda stunned.

“Oh, my God.” Ivy starts laughing so hard, she doubles over.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m so sorry! I just figured… oh, my God. I can’t believe I hit you! I really hit you!”

She’s laughing so hard I start to laugh too. “Ivy?” I say. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face to stop her laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I was thinking that I might want to do that to you later, but I won’t be able to because we’ll be in the fantasy. And even if I did, you wouldn’t understand what it meant. You’d think it was part of the scene.”

I just blink at her.

“Shit, your whole cheek is bright red. And my hand is stinging!”

I reach for the hand that slapped me, place it against my cheek. The heat of the slap doubles as we come skin to skin. And then I hold her palm up to my lips and kiss away the sting. “I get the point.”

“I’m sorry,” she says through the constant smile.

I don’t know how I expected this date to start, but this certainly wasn’t it. “Don’t be. I get it. I will probably scare you a little tonight. And this is a good way to get your point across.
You
,
” I say, stressing the word, “are the one in control. Even when you feel out of control.”

She nods and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m doing this. But I’m going to do it anyway.” And then she bites her lip. “People will think I’m crazy.”

“No one’s gonna know. This night is a series of private moments between us, and
only
us. No one will know unless you tell them. OK?”

She nods, becomes shy again, and then says, “OK.”

“Are you ready?”

“When do I say no?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Well, I was thinking we’d have dinner first?”

“Dinner?” She looks surprised.

“It’s a date. Our first real date. Did you already eat? We can do something else. Get dessert or go for a walk in town. Although, I have to say, walking around this neighborhood brings up all kinds of bad memories.”

“A walk?”

“If you want. If you’re not hungry—”