The Art of Submission (10 page)

“So how was that for you?”

Wait…
What
? What does he mean by that?

“I mean, was it good for you…” His blue eyes
are cold and unwavering.

Has he been conspiring with Greer? What the
hell is he playing at? I thought we were here to discuss my
paintings. Why is he insisting on this line of questioning? All of
this is none of his damned business. This man has gone too far. He
doesn’t need to know the gory details of my depressing and pathetic
personal life. I let him have it.

He looks slightly shocked at my outburst. “So
you’re no longer sleeping with him?” He says as if he doesn’t
believe me.

This guy doesn’t stop, does he? He’s so
exasperating. “No. I’m not still sleeping with him. I told you it
happened only once.” Could I be more embarrassed?
I don’t think so.

“Then why did I see him coming out of your
building this afternoon?” He asks.

Oh my God
. I
feel panic setting in. Did Mr. Greer see him
? No, please, please, no
. He would freak out. He
would fire me for sure,
or
worse
. I ask him if Greer saw him and to my relief, he
says no. I immediately feel my body go limp with relief.

Okay. I’ve had enough of this. If we’re
not going to discuss my paintings, I should just leave. I tell him
as much and stand to leave, but he’s having none of it. To my
bewilderment, he stands up and tells me to sit down. He’s not
asking me
, he’s telling me.

Wow. That look, those eyes... that
mouth… even his stance has changed. He’s so…
dominating
. I just stand there, frozen, staring
at him. I want
him.
I do as
I’m told, and sit. I look up at him, waiting for his next
order.

Just then, the waitress reappears but the
look he gives her sends her quickly retreating to the back and he
finally sits down.

“Isabel, I want to make a deal with you…”

I don’t even know where to begin. His words
are still sinking in and I’m trying to make sense of the last few
minutes, my emotions and arousal clouding my judgment. I start to
say something in response, but he cuts me off.

“I’m not finished…”

I am in complete and utter shock. Did he
really just say that or was that my overly active imagination run
amuck? He wants me? ME? I don’t understand. I’ve entered an
alternate universe.

“
I want you in more ways that you can
imagine.” He says in the most seductive voice ever.

More ways than I can imagine?
I doubt that, Mr. Young
. I have a
very vivid imagination and I can imagine you fucking me in every
possible way, and then some. But what about Greer? He still wants
me even knowing that I’ve done the
deed
with him?

“Even knowing that I’ve slept with Mr.
Greer?” I ask sheepishly.

“Yes…”

Holy sudden
incapacitation
. All sense of reason has now left my
body, and I’m entering into unknown territory. This is so much to
take in. He wants all that, for just my three paintings? As much as
I want my paintings back, that deal just doesn’t seem fair. Watch
me paint? I don’t think so. And look at all my paintings, even my
future paintings? But that would mean he would see the one’s that
he’s inspired.
No, no. I can’t have
that.
And what’s this about my inspiration? Come on.
Get real. I tell him I think his proposal is one-sided. I think I
see a smile on his face to my response. That’s a first.

“
Yes, I suppose it is, but you did say
they meant a lot to you. Have you changed your mind?”

“Of course
not, but what you’re asking is for is a lot…” I plead my
case, hoping he’ll take it into consideration, but I’m losing
confidence with every word. Then, out of the clear blue, he
abruptly ends the conversation.
What did I
do
?

“Maybe coming to see you was a mistake…”

Wait…
No
! I don’t want to go home! That’s it? He’s not
willing to negotiate at all? Why is he so strict? I thought he was
a businessman! Again, I try pleading with him, but I’m getting
nowhere. I can tell by the way he’s blankly staring back at me.
Those ice-cold blue eyes are back.

“I don’t negotiate, Isabel,” he says with no
inflection or emotion at all.

Then he abruptly stands up and gestures
me towards the door.
Shit. Don’t cry,
Isa.
Fine. He’s being completely unreasonable, but
that’s just fine. I had already accepted the fact that I would
never get them back anyway, so why am I getting choked up about
this? I guess it’s because I really wanted him and more so - I
wanted him to want me. I still don’t know what he meant by that,
and now I guess I’ll never know. This is the story of my life.
Missed opportunities, could’ve, should’ve…. I feel so rejected. I
just want to get the hell out of here. I hurry out the door ahead
of him, but he quickly catches up. He tries leading back to his
car. Seriously? He thinks I’m going to get into a confined space
with him after what he just did to me?
No
thank you.

“I can walk home from here..,” I say, and I
can hear my own poutiness.

“Get in the car, Isabel,” he says with that
same domineering tone.

Really? This man has got some nerve. He likes
to lead me on, tease me, reject me… then he thinks he can order me
around like his submissive? … Although that is a nice thought…
NO.

“I’d rather not, Mr. Young,” I say to
him, but what I really want to say is - take a flying leap you
audacious bastard. I turn on my heel and start heading towards my
apartment. I’m livid right now. No man has ever frustrated me so
much, in such a short period of time. I don’t know whether to jump
his bones and fuck him like a wild animal or beat the shit out of
him. Wow. I’ve never felt like this before. On one hand, I want him
to command and dominate me, and on the other, I want to do the same
to him. I’m conflicted….
What
now
?

“
Please
get in
the car, Isabel.”

Could he be more arrogant? Seriously?

“Get in the fucking car, Isabel.”

How thick is this man? Can’t he take a hint?
He’s pissed for sure and I could care less. It was his idea to
leave, so LEAVE.

“Get in this motherfucking car NOW or so help
me Almighty, I’ll pull over right here, bend you over my knee and
spank the hellion right out of you!”

Oh no. He. Did. Not.

Dylan

She knows I mean business now, and I
swear on everything that’s holy that if she doesn’t get into this
car, I’ll drag her ass…
good
.
She’s being reasonable now. She gets into the car and slams the
door hard. She sits not looking at me for a few moments. Neither of
us are saying anything and I’m just watching her. Finally she turns
to me and –
what the fuck
?
She slaps me.
Hard.

It’s loud and slightly painful.
I’ve
never
been on the
receiving end of a slap before. Fucking hell that was intense. She
looks just as shocked at her own actions as I probably do. We just
sit staring at each other, motionless and speechless, both of us
breathing rapidly and loud. My heart is pounding in my
chest
. I can’t fucking believe she slapped
me.

Just then, we both lunge at each other.
With one hand, I grab her by the nape of her neck and kiss her hard
and deep, my other hand on her chin holding her place. Her hands
are in my hair, tugging and pulling at it.
Holy hell that feels good
. Our tongues are
having a sparring match inside each other’s
mouths
. She tastes so good
. I
feel myself growing hard and my pants become uncomfortably
tight
.

Motherfucker!
Seriously? She bites my bottom lip and I immediately taste my
own blood. Then she abruptly pulls away from me. I quick glance in
the rearview mirror and I’ll be damned - she’s actually drawn
blood. My face…
Jesus
.
There’s a red handprint where she slapped me. I’m filled with mixed
emotions; I’m pissed, turned on, furious, and hot and bothered and
completely conflicted.

I can’t even speak. With all my years
of experience in the BDSM lifestyle, I’ve never been confronted
with this situation before. I’ve always been the one doling out the
punishment, not the other way around. Now I just sit looking
forward out the front windshield.
I am
seething mad
. She mirrors my actions and looks
straight ahead. I start the car and drive towards her apartment,
driving faster than I should. I can feel her nervously glancing at
me, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.

In a soft apologetic voice, she starts in,
“Dylan…. I… I…”

I can’t listen to her right now. I just put
my hand up in protest for her to stop, and to her credit, she has
the common sense to comply. We get back quickly to her apartment
and I park in front to drop her off. She just sits there for
minutes, waiting for me to respond, but I still can’t find the
words.

Finally, she opens her door and turns to get
out, but not before leaving me with one final thought.

“Dylan, I’m sorry. Sort of. You’re just
so… so…
frustrating
.”

I still can’t look at her. She steps out of
the car when she’s done with her so-called apology.

What the fuck?
I’m
frustrating? I watch her walk into the
building. What is it with this fucking woman? I sit parked for a
few minutes, trying to process everything that’s happened in the
last hour or so. I thought she was a submissive. Hell, she acts
like one – most of the time. But
that
slap
; I’m still reeling. No one has ever hit me
before.

I start to leave, but instead I drive
around the block. I can’t leave her like this. We have unsettled
business. I can’t let her get with her actions today. I park and
head towards the entrance of her building. Just as I reach the
buzzer, someone is coming out and I catch the door. This works out
perfect, that way I can catch her by surprise. I two-step it up to
her apartment, anxious to get there. Damn.
I still can’t fucking believe she hit me.
What’s
more, I can’t believe that…
I liked
it
. I can’t think about that right now. There’s no way
I’m letting her get away with that.
No
fucking way.

I knock on her door and wait. Just a moment
later, she opens the door. Her eyes are red. Has she been crying?
She looks flustered and surprised to see me. She opens the door
wide for me to come in, so I do. She backs into her apartment,
never taking her eyes off of me. We’re standing in the middle of
her apartment, just feet away from her bed. She sees me glance over
at her bed and she starts fidgeting with her hair.

Doesn’t she know she drives me fucking crazy
when she does that?

She looks confused. “When I do what?”

“Play with your hair.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize I was doing that.” She
says as her hand falls to her side.

She looks amazing right now; all wide-eyed
and expectant. I reach over to touch her, but she steps back and
looks mortified.

“Are you going to hit me?”

Her voice is barely a whisper and her
golden eyes are blazing with fear.
Shit.
She looks truly frightened.
Who’s hit her?

“No. Are
you
going to hit
me
?”

Her cheeks pink up with embarrassed. “I
already told you that I was sorry.”

“You call that an apology?” My response stuns
her. She just stands gape-mouthed at me. Why am I provoking her?
“Look, I didn’t come back here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come back?” She asks
sullenly.

What do I tell her? Because I can’t let her
get away with hitting me? That I want to spank the shit out of her?
She already looks like she’s ready to run.

“Because I want to spank you.” There. I said
it. It’s out there.

“So you do want to hit me.” She says, looking
saddened at the thought.

“No. I want to spank you, and there’s a
difference.” I try reassuring her.

She looks baffled, but I also think I
see a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. If I’m correct about
her,
and I think I am
, I
think she’ll like it.

“Isabel. When I said I wanted you, I
didn’t fully explain
how
I
want you. I’m a Dominant. I’m into BDSM, or at least I used to be.
Your paintings… they spoke to me. They awakened my inner Dom and
made me yearn for the lifestyle that I once lived. It’s hard to
explain, and I’m sure I’m doing a poor job of it. When I saw you,
and the few times we’ve actually spoken, I knew I wanted you. I
want you to be my submissive, Isabel. I want to discipline you.
That’s what I meant by spanking and not hitting.”

Shit. I said it. What is she thinking? She’s
just standing there, staring at me – her honey eyes scanning me up
and down. She cocks her head to one side and licks her bottom lip.
What the hell does that mean?