Exit Strategy (39 page)

Just before he raises the partition, Moses says, “I would say I’m sorry, Ms. Beale, but I’d be lying if I did.”

I am incensed. “So you’ve resorted to kidnapping, Tristan? And poor Moses is aiding and abetting?”

Tristan smirks. “And your mother, and Pastor Johnson, and don’t forget Jada and Nate.”

“So, they all knew what you had planned?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Well, you might as well turn this car around and take me back to the church because I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I would if I could, but I have a plane waiting at O’Hare for us.”

“To go where?”

“Hong Kong.”

“You can make me fly around the world with you if that’s what you want to do, but I won’t give you the satisfaction of enjoying my company. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

~*~

Tristan’s G650 flies smoothly and the flight crew is so accommodating that I could forget we’re aboard a plane and that I’m still supposed to be fighting mad with him. The attendants serve us dinner, and since neither Tristan nor I seemed to have much of an appetite at Mama’s reception, we can’t resist. And this isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill plane food, either. We’re served a five course gourmet meal, with wine to complement, and consume it quietly, neither of us ready to broach subjects that need, at the very least, a healthy discussion.

I peer at the door that separates us from the aft section of the plane, which contains a bedroom and a luxury bathroom en suite. It feels like forever ago that I joined the mile-high club with Tristan on another plane much like this one. Of course my first thoughts after being separated from him for more than six weeks are about sex.

My Fairy Hoochie Mama dons a lascivious smile and nods like a bobblehead.
Mmm-hmm.
Triple-G shakes her head as if she can’t believe it. When I narrow my eyes at their antics, they both wisely disappear.

The sixteen-hour flight has me nervous. How will we fill the time given our recent estrangement? I’d love a romp in the sack, as I’m sure would he, but that’s not what either of us need now. Thankfully, Tristan recognizes that, too. He takes a casual look at his watch.

“Your mother and the pastor should be halfway to Colorado by now.”

“Um, yeah.”

Small talk isn’t the answer either, so he jumps right in with both feet.

“I left you at the worst time any decent human being could have, and for that I’m deeply sorry, Keisha. You told me you loved me, and I trampled all over that within hours. That was not my intention.”

“Then why did you do it, Tristan?” I hate that his words still have the power to move me to tears even though I’m so angry with him I could scream.

“I’d made plans with Velasquez to set an operation in motion after the trial, unknown to you and everyone except those on a need-to-know basis.”

“What does that even
mean
?”

“I had to find out who was threatening us. I couldn’t live with the thought of someone harming you or my family or Aimee. I had to neutralize that threat, Keisha. And to make it believable to the stalker and the world, I had to leave you in the most cowardly fashion, and for that, I’m truly sorry.”

“Well, did you find the person or persons responsible?”

“Yes,” he says. Tristan then tells me the most creepy, unnerving tale about Aimee’s birth mother, who is actually her nurse, her sister and Sara Fielding, his former sub who wanted back with him so badly she conspired against him with Aimee’s sister when he rejected her. Twice.

“So where are they now? In jail?”

“Yes, Sara and Aurora are. Janet is still taking care of Aimee. She will need her birth mother in her life because I need to concentrate on you. I know I have to regain your trust, Keisha, and Clara Lee’s. I own that I fucked up big time. I never meant to hurt you or her.”

“I appreciate your apology, Tristan, I really do, but I can’t go back to being your submissive.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I know, and I’m not going to ask you to.”

“Then why did you drag me on this trip?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you.”

“Bullshit. Six weeks ago, you left me without a word, and this after you traipsed that blond bimbo all over town for the world to see. Then you crash my mother’s wedding and act like you didn’t just dump me because you thought it was”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“best for me.”

He sighs. “I thought it was what was best for you, but I guess I’m too selfish to let you go right now.”

“Only right now or ever?”

“I can’t look into the future, Keisha.”

“Then you’d better hire a goddamned psychic pretty soon because there’s a great guy I’m putting on hold who wants the same things I want in life.” Carmelo and I have had no such conversation, but Tristan doesn’t have to know that.

“I want you in my life, Keisha. I’m sorry it isn’t in the conventional way that you expect and deserve. But I’m not ready to let you go. I tried that, twice... and it almost killed me.”

This may be the closest I’ll ever get to any sort of declaration or commitment from Tristan White. The trauma from the loss of his mother may never allow him to go there willingly with anyone, so he’s not sure how to form a conventional relationship with me. However, as much as I don’t want to sell myself short, I also love him too much to let him go completely. Talk about being stuck between a rock and hard place.

I figure since I’ve got him talking, I should milk this moment for all it’s worth.

“What kind of relationship would we have, Tristan? I will not be relegated as just your submissive ever again.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t want you to. You mean more to me than any submissive I’ve ever had.”

“Even Aimee?”

“Even Aimee.”

“But I know you love your lifestyle. How would we incorporate it into a real courtship?”

“The same way Nate and Jada do, I guess. It’s new to me, and I’m bound to fuck it up, but I need you too much not to try.”

“What if I keep having the panic attacks?”

“There’s no guarantee that you won’t, but we can mitigate them by coming clean with one another about our triggers.”

My eyes stretch as wide open as they can possibly get, I’m sure. I can’t believe he’s still harping on that given everything else we’ve been through.

“I thought my Hulk watch took care of that issue.”

“It’s a Band-Aid, not a cure.”

“Maybe for you.”

He unsnaps his seatbelt but doesn’t rise from his seat. He reaches a hand over, cups my chin, and turns my face toward his.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” His eyes get a faraway look in them as he recounts his story.

“I was alone with my mother when she died,” he says. “It was a fluke. Nathan had a basketball game, and my father went with him at my mother’s insistence. She controlled her own pain meds at the end, but she resisted them as long as she could. That day she didn’t take any. Naively, I believed she was getting better, but she was only preparing to die.”

His expression takes on a quality of wonder and sadness, as if he’s reliving it. “She only asked for two things that day: Nate to get as many points as he could for her during his game, and for me to play my saxophone. I held her hand as she slipped away. She wouldn’t even allow me to get the nurse.”

I hurt for him, even though this experience is two decades old. I lean as close to him as the seats will allow and loop my arm through his.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say. “That would be difficult for an adult child, let alone a ten-year-old.”

“My therapist says it’s part of the reason why I don’t want to be close to anyone. My fear of losing people I love. You weren’t there to witness it, but I had a whopper of a panic attack the day you discovered your lump.”

“You knew about it then?”

“Keisha, I was never unaware of what was going on with you.”

“Why do you think you’re unlovable, Tristan? You may have flaws like every other human being, but you are not unlovable.”

“I let my mother die without getting her medical help. I used women, including you, and I hurt Aimee irreparably.”

“From what you’ve told me about your mother, I know that’s a lie. If she were here she would scold you for holding onto that misplaced guilt. You had consensual, sexual relationships with women who knew the score and who were allowed to walk away when they wanted to. And you didn’t cause that accident.”

“How do you know I didn’t cause the accident?”

“Aimee told me. She said she jumped from the car.”

“When did you get a chance to talk to Aimee about that?”

“She called me this morning.”

Tristan’s relief is palpable, as if a great weight has lifted off his shoulders. Then he searches my eyes. “Will you share your triggers with me?”

I clear my throat. “My triggers relate to my father. Not only did he beat my mother, but he would take out his anger on me sometimes, too. I was around ten when it got so bad my mother couldn’t protect me from him all the time. He would call me a bad girl and taunt me when he whipped me sometimes. Those times in the Grotto when I had panic attacks, the words you said reminded me of him.”

As I share my story, I see the look I saw on his face when he punished me on the wooden horse, and his anger gathers like a storm cloud. I know what’s coming next. He’s going to tell me he doesn’t want a woman who could be a ticking time bomb. Someone who could flip the fuck out with a panic attack or die and leave him like his mother did.

I did not have cancer this time, but I could get it. He helped me with my mother because he was as vested in her as he could conceivably be in me, so I know he’ll want out of our arrangement. I brace myself to receive the words that match the grim look on his face. Yet there’s another emotion in his eyes I can’t read.

“May I borrow your safewords, Keisha?

“Why?”

“Because I want out of just the Dominant/submissive relationship with you.”

My face falls. “Oh. I understand if you can’t deal with having someone who might suffer the same fate as my mother or yours.”

“What do you mean you understand if I can’t deal?... I’d never leave because I couldn’t deal with it or because I didn’t care, but because I care too much.” He punctuates each of his next words with a kiss. “I. Love. You. Keisha Anarosa Gonzales Beale.”

My breathing halts, and for several seconds I don’t know how to restart my lungs expanding and contracting. Finally with a long overdue exhale, I find the words to say. “You must really mean it because you’ve pulled out
all
my names. And I love you, Tristan Xavier White, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything.” As hard as I try not to be one of those girls, I dissolve into a puddle of tears.

“Exit Strategy,” Tristan says.

“Does this mean I’m not your submissive anymore?”

“Actually, it means you won’t be
just
my submissive anymore.”

“So, I’ll be your girlfriend and your submissive?”

“You’ll be my girlfriend, my submissive, my best friend, and my lover.”

“All of that?”

“Yes, Keisha. All of that.”

“Then I accept your safewords, Sir.”

~*~

Tristan has come prepared—even on the plane he has a locking chest that has an abbreviated collection of sex toys in it. I have assumed my submissive position near the foot of the bed rather than next to the door. Tristan has put on music.

              He touches my chin, and I look up at him. “The music is to block out ambient noises just in case a crew member needs to come in and service the facilities.”

I noticed while freshening up there are two doors on either end of the rather ornate bathroom, one opening into the seating area of the plane and the other into the bedroom.

              To be completely honest, I’ve missed Tristan and his unique brand of kinky sex, even though it’s only been a month and half.  He’s back with a vengeance.

Hearing the crop he’s holding whoosh through the air, I come out of my head and plant myself firmly in the moment. Before he’s even touched me, my sex begins to throb with mounting pleasure.

“Hands on the footboard,” Tristan says, his voice low and rough. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare turn to see his face.

I do as he commands and hold the footboard like I’m holding handlebars on a bike. His hands wrap around my ankles, and he tugs and forces me to spread my legs and lift up my ass. The position exposes me in a way I know he loves. My stomach clenches at this knowledge and moisture begins to pool between my legs.