The Other F-Word (26 page)

He cast his eyes downward like he was embarrassed. “Yeah, it’s not something I share with many women. In fact, only three others have been in it. I want to show it to you, and introduce you to all the pleasures it can bring.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just trust me. That’s all you need to do. Before we go in there, I have to tell you the rules.”

I sat up, trying to concentrate on his words. “There are rules?”

“Yes, they’re simple but important.”

“What kind of room is this?”

He shrugged, taking my hand in his. “It’s my favourite room in the house, but one I rarely get to use. There are many surfaces for us. And various…tools I use. Metal, wooden, some electrical. Each one serves a special purpose.”

I swallowed, blinking rapidly, trying to get my mind around what he was saying. “Electrical?”

“Yes, it makes things easier for me.”

“What do you do in there?”

He smiled slyly, licking his lips. “All kinds of things. I especially like to whip.”

“Whip?” I asked, with an audible gulp.

“I’ll make it good for you baby, as long as you trust me.”

“What rules?”

“You must submit to me. I am in control of everything we do. I am the master and you have to obey me. It’s for your own protection that you follow my instructions, because you could get hurt. It can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I was fully alert now and trying not to cringe. He was freaking me out.

He leant down, his voice a soft whisper. “Things can get out of hand. They can get so hot they boil over and there are sharp objects too.”

The shock and disbelief took hold of me. Why didn’t I know this side of Damien? Was I okay with it? What he was suggesting had never appealed to me. “Have you ever hurt anyone?”

He smiled reassuringly. “Not yet.”

The
yet
didn’t help.

“Just relax. I promise you’ll be begging me for more by the time we’re done.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It’s rare I get to spend a whole day with you. The things I do in there take hours. It’s not quick, but it’s always worth the wait. Will you come with me? Will you let me dominate you? Will you let me show you my fantasies?”

“I don’t know about this.”

“Jessie, this is a part of me that is private. I want to share it with you. That should mean something.”

“It does, but—”

“Then trust me,” he said through gritted teeth. He lifted off the covers and threw me a bathrobe. “Get up, it’s time.”

I put on the robe, biting my lip so hard I was sure it would bruise.

He came behind me tying my bandana around my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to keep you in the dark a little longer.” He tied the bathrobe around my waist, and his lips touched my neck. “Stay calm and succumb. This is my version of role play.”

Then he lifted me up in a fireman’s carry.

“I don’t think I can do this. I know some girls like this kind of stuff. It’s just that I need to be in control.”

“I thought you said you were a woman,” he said, smacking me on the ass.

“Damien, please—”

“Yes, you’ll be pleased.”

He set me down. My pulse was racing. I laid my palms flat and felt a cold, smooth hard surface beneath them. He hands were on top of mine, preventing me from removing my blindfold. It was quiet, except for the sounds of his masculine voice piercing the darkness. Each whispered word sent darts of panic up my spine. I couldn’t do this. It wasn’t me. I didn’t think it was him either.

“We are all alone now, Jessie. It’s just you and me in my special room. I am going to show you how a man takes care of a woman. How he nourishes every part of her—heart, body and soul. Take off the blindfold now.”

He moved his hands. I raised the blindfold, adjusting to the light. He stood before me, arms crossed, with a wide grin. I blinked a few times, trying to understand what I was seeing.

I exhaled a long breath. “We’re in your kitchen.”

“Of course we are. What did you think?”

I jumped off the granite counter and smacked his chest. “You know what I was thinking.”

He took a hold of my wrist and kissed the inside. “You deserved it. Consider it payback.”

“For the role playing?”

“No, because you could have told me I still had those fucking teardrop tattoos. That was a little hard to explain.”

“I don’t understand. You said you had a conference call.”

“It was a video conference call.”

“Oh no,” I said, cupping my mouth so my giggle wouldn’t escape. He was laughing too.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, did it go over badly?”

“I’m sure Mr Zhang thought I was a real badass.”

I covered my face with my hands, but he took my wrists and moved them away.

“Baby, I’m just joking with you. It’s no big deal.”

“So you lied to me?” I asked, trying to hide my obvious grin.

“I didn’t lie to you. Everything I said was truthful. I’m a good cook. I’m going to make you breakfast, but I do like to be in charge in here.” He went into the fridge then, taking out ingredients. “I’ll probably need your help, since I’ve never cooked vegan.”

I looked over the items on the counter—almond milk, organic quinoa, blackberries, agave nectar.

“Where did you get all this?”

“I asked my housekeeper to pick it up. I wanted to make sure you had stuff to eat here.”

I slid my arms around his back and rested my head there.

“What are you doing, Jessie?”

“I just wanted to hug you.”

“Jessie, this isn’t exactly submitting. And I was serious about that. In fact, nothing I said was untruthful.”

“Oh yeah? What other women have been in here?”

“My housekeeper, my mother and my interior designer.”

I couldn’t hide my smile.

“You haven’t cooked for another girl?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never had another girl here.”

“In your kitchen?”

“In my apartment.”

Oh, I had suspected this from the hotel room, but hearing his confirmation still surprised me.

“I don’t do this very often. I felt like doing it this morning…for you.”

“What did you mean by tools?”

He turned, opening the drawer next to him. “Metal,” he said taking out a spatula. “Wooden”—he took out a wooden spoon—“electrical.” He pointed to the stainless steel mixer in the corner. “Oh, and sharp objects,” he said, gesturing to the large knife block. “Also, I like to whip.” He set a wire whisk on the counter.

“Impressive. What can I do?”

“Dice me some tomatoes,” he commanded.

I found a cutting board and grabbed a knife. Cooking with Damien was fun, although it was clear I was his sous chef. His kitchen was huge, with a marble island, glass tile backsplash and mahogany cabinets. It was masculine, functional and well-appointed. Despite the size of the room, he kept accidently brushing against me. I was sure it was intentional. The man was not clumsy after all. He came up behind me as I was chopping the tomatoes, taking the knife from me.

“Smaller pieces, like this,” he said, demonstrating his very stylish chopping skills while kissing my neck.

“You’re going to cut your finger,” I warned.

“Then stop being so damn distracting.”

He took a small piece and fed it to me. It was bursting with flavour, and sweeter than I’d expected. I sucked his finger before he traced my lips with it. The doorbell rang just then, causing both of us to straighten up as if we’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”

I busied myself licking my lips while he went to answer. “Who was that?” I asked when he came back and wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s just Derek.”

“Oh.”

“And my mother.”

My back went ramrod straight. “Your mom’s here?”

“Yeah, want to meet her?”

“Are you kidding? Do you see how I’m dressed?” I said in a tight whisper, gesturing to my robe.

He smiled wickedly. “You want me to get the sexy librarian outfit from last night?”

I threw a dishrag at him. “Damien, this isn’t funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Fine, I’ll tell her you have no interest in meeting her. She’ll be heartbroken, but oh well.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead. “Jessie, my mother knows I have sex. It’s not a secret.”

“I don’t want her to meet me like this. I’m not prepared.”

“Were you going to study for this?”

I think I was. I could imagine her disapproval when she met me. A poor, old spinster librarian dating her young, handsome, successful son? What mother would give her blessing?

He took my hand then, dragging me out of the kitchen. “Just come on, you’re going to love her. Everyone does.”

I tried to hide behind him, but he put his hands on my hips and placed me in front of him.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend, Emmie Mason. Emmie, my mother, Angela Wolfe.”

Angela Wolfe was adorable in her purple church type hat and red suit, with a tuft of peppered grey hair sticking out. Her sparkly silver charm bracelet jingled when she reached to take my hand. It was apparent the woman liked accessories. What endeared me the most was that she had Damien’s eyes and a feisty smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, taking my hand in a firm shake.

“You too.”

“Hiya, Emmie,” Derek greeted.

I pulled the bathrobe tighter around me. This was probably the worst way to meet your boyfriend’s mother.

“We were just in the neighbourhood and thought we’d stop by,” Angela explained. Angela…
should I call her Mrs Wolfe?
That was good manners, but it felt weird at the same time.

“Don’t let them lie to you, baby. My mom’s intent was to meet you.”

“Of course I had to meet the woman who’s been keeping my son so busy.” Angela’s eyes twinkled like Damien’s often did when he was being mischievous.

“I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me. I need to change,” I said.

She nodded pleasantly, which I took as my cue to scamper out of there. Luckily, the change of clothes I’d brought was modest—blue jeans and a black sweater. I decided to forgo the poppy printed scarf. Sometimes a good accessory, like a big personality, was better left in the box. The outfit wasn’t what I would have picked out for this occasion, but it would do. I tied my hair back in a tight ponytail. Never be afraid to show your face was the advice I always gave my girls. I walked back to the dining room, giving myself a pep talk before I was in the presence of the most formidable type of woman—Greek-Italian mother.

Damien pulled out a chair for me. He’d poured us both some coffee. Oh boy. Angela Wolfe was watching us very closely.

“Are you gonna stay for breakfast, Ma?”

He called her ma? My heart melted a little, but my nerves only screamed.

“Sure, I’d love to stay and…chat,” she said, looking at me. “Are you actually cooking?” she asked him.

“Yeah, but let me warn you, I don’t know how it’ll turn out. Emmie’s a vegan.”

“Oh, we know some vegans. Remember George Vegan and his family?”

Both brothers simultaneously laughed, and she swatted Derek on the arm for it, but Damien managed to jump out of her reach when she tried to do the same to him. “No, Ma, she doesn’t eat meat or dairy, or any animal by-products.”

Angela turned back to me, mouth agape. “No wonder you’re so thin, dear.”

“Well, I better get back to it so we can actually eat,” Damien said, standing up. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

“I’ll help, bro. Don’t want you to burn the place down,” Derek offered.

“I was helping too,” I said, getting up from my seat.

Angela clasped my wrist though. “Darling, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years it’s this—if a man offers to do something for you, let him. Refusing him the opportunity denies him the honour of taking care of you, and that is as much for his needs as it is for yours.”

“So true,” Damien said.

“Look at that, D, our mom’s a poet,” Derek said.

I glanced at Damien over my shoulder. He gave me a reassuring nod before walking back to the kitchen followed by his brother.
Oh boy, he’s going to leave me alone with her?
This was it. She was going to let me have it.

“It’s nice to see my son so happy,” she said.

“He’s a great man,” I replied, feeling like I was about to fail a test.

“I’m glad he’s got someone to make him smile again.”

What was she talking about? Damien was always smiling or laughing or joking. “Has he told you anything about me?”

“Some—I’d rather get to know you for myself.”

“Did he tell you I am almost fifteen years his senior?”

Her green-gold eyes widened with my admission. Great, Damien hadn’t told her. “You are remarkably well-preserved. There must be something to this vegan thing.”

“Did he tell you I have two daughters in their twenties and one who’s eighteen?”

“He mentioned you have children. I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Did he tell you that we’re from different socioeconomic backgrounds. I’m a librarian.”

“What a wonderful profession.”

I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact of my revelations to take hold.

“Why are you so nervous, sweetheart?” She placed her hand over mine to still it.

I hadn’t even realised it was shaking. “I just thought you might have a problem with that.” Problem? I was ready for her to start singing
Gold Digger
to me.

“My husband was a factory worker and I was a substitute teacher. Damien has done very well for himself, but he has never once forgotten his roots. Do you think I would judge you based on the funds in your bank account rather than the depth of your character?”

I swallowed a nasty lump that had formed somewhere. I was so nervous, I was close to tears without realising it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought this meeting would go very differently.”

Angela took off her hat, pins and all, placing it on the empty chair beside her. She checked the salt and pepper bun at the nape of her neck, smiling brightly at me. “Tell me how you thought this would go.”