Folly (29 page)

If Mark had never existed, I'd still have ended up looking for somebody like him, because that was what I'd thought I needed. I'd turned my back on the men I'd known in my wilder days, believing they were wrong for me. I'd become ashamed of my past. In fact, I'd been in denial about it.

If it hadn't been for Mark's accident and my need to make money …well, I would never have met Simon at all.

I gave a little sigh as the grim irony of the situation sank in.

And then we were pulling into the car park area, and it was time to think of happier things. Time to tighten the laces on my walking shoes and grab my hat from the back seat and set off in the dappled shade with him, our hands swinging together and clasping so that anybody who saw us must have thought we were a couple. A loving couple enjoying an outing on a glorious day.

We went for an hour's brisk walk along the grassy paths and around the lakes conversing rather breathlessly about everything from cycling to horse riding, from where we had gone to school to where we had travelled in the world.

By the time we were headed back towards the car I was getting warm and my legs were tired. I was a fast walker and so it seemed was he,

because we'd set the pace for each other all the way.

Now, with the finish line in sight, I let go of his hand.

‘Race you to the car,' I shouted, already running my fastest. Sometimes, the only way to win is to cheat. I heard him call out behind me in a surprised voice, and then the pounding of his feet as he tried, too late, to catch up. My legs were burning with the effort and I was gasping for air, and if the car had been any further away he would have caught me for sure. But my head start and the short distance meant that I reached it a split second before him, lightly touching my hand to the bonnet in victory and then staggering to a stop, giggling and panting, as he pulled up beside me.

‘Emma … I'm going to have … to punish you for that,' he joked.

‘No, I'm going to punish you. For being too slow.' I responded between gulps of air. Then we were both laughing and he wrapped his arms around me and held me close and smoothed my hair back from my damp forehead and although I longed to read the expression in his eyes I was too scared he might see what was in mine, so instead I pressed my face into his neck.

‘You know, you are so unlike what I expected,' he said.

Now I glanced up at him in concern. ‘What did you think I'd be like?' I hadn't known he'd had any expectations in that regard. Just as well or I'd have worried even more than I already had about not living up to them.

‘Well, I guess from your advertisement I had a preconceived idea you'd be … I don't know. Harder. Yes, harder is the best word. Not someone I could ever imagine …' He cut himself off and I wondered what he'd been going to say. ‘Not someone I could ever imagine enjoying a gourmet picnic with on a beautiful autumn day,' he finished with a wry smile. ‘So let's get the food, shall we?'

So we took the basket and the cooler and the blanket and pillows out of the car, with me still trying to decide exactly what he had meant.

Did harder in this context mean tougher and more uncompromising? Or did it mean coarser, brasher, more common, the way you might expect someone working in the sex industry to be?

I had no idea, so pushing the questions out of my head I walked back into the park with Simon to look for the perfect picnic spot.

We stayed in the park until early evening. I'd made enough food for at least six people. After we'd eaten lunch and eaten some more and drunk the wine and Simon had made complimentary remarks about my cooking, we lay down, made ourselves comfortable on the cushions, and I drifted off into sleep with him stroking my hair.

When I woke, Simon was packing the picnic away and it was time to go. The end of a perfect day and, I feared, an unrepeatable one.

We walked back to the car through the deepening shadows, and as we were driving out of the gates I said, ‘Simon, can I ask you something?'

‘Of course you can. But if the question involves restraint devices of any kind, give me fair warning, ok? I don't want to swerve into oncoming traffic.'

It was easier to ask it when he was looking straight ahead, in any case.

‘I just wondered …' I began, and I hoped he couldn't hear that my voice was unsteady with nervousness, because I definitely could. I really wasn't good with personal questions at the best of times, and I now realised that this one was proving to be incredibly hard because I felt so invested in the answer. I was no longer simply curious. I needed to know what had gone wrong between him and the previous girlfriend who he'd loved and who had loved him.

If I hadn't got myself so emotionally involved in all of this, it would be easier to ask and I wouldn't care about the answer. Now, I cared deeply – but I did not want him to know that.

Hell, once I'd finished overanalysing all of this, it would be far easier to ask him if he wanted to wear the wicked device I'd seen online, the one with seven padlocks.

Summoning up my courage, I continued.

‘You mentioned that your last relationship ended because of a breach of trust.'

I just about stammered over the word ‘relationship'. I was useless. There was honestly no hope for me. He'd better keep his eyes on the road because I was sure my face and neck had turned an unattractive puce.

‘That's right,' he said.

‘I just wondered – I couldn't help wondering – I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to but – what was the breach of trust?'

Now I dared to glance at him, but he didn't look at me. He kept his gaze fixed on the road in front of him.

‘Paula didn't tell me she was married,' he said.

Chapter 31

A
s we headed back to Sandton, Simon elaborated on his words. He described the expat scene in Dubai and the way things were over there, how he'd fallen hard for Paula believing her to be as single as she'd told him she was, and how nearly a year later he had found out about her husband back in London, which, of course, had caused the inevitable heartbreaking bust-up. How he'd been angry for months, and in the end realised that the anger was only eating him up inside, so he'd forgiven her and moved on.

I listened to his words, but it was as if I heard them through the static created by the storm of my own frantic thoughts, and I could offer no response.

She'd broken his trust by lying to him.

And I? I had lied too. I'd concealed truths from him and told him outright falsehoods about my circumstances. I was married, too. I was no better than Paula. Simon had offered me his trust and I'd already breached it.

Fuck.

How the hell could I explain? Where would I even begin?

I couldn't explain. Removing even one brick from the defensive wall of my untruths would bring the whole structure tumbling down.

Now he was glancing at me questioningly.

‘Is anything wrong?' he asked.

I groped for something appropriate to say, but in the end just shook my head.

He looked over at me again and I knew he'd guessed that I was keeping something back.

I needed some distance, and urgently. I needed to think this whole thing through and find a way out. And the timing was disastrous. There was no way I could manage to get through the next few hours with him and not have him realise something really was amiss. And yet, I couldn't just run off, Cinderella-like, when he was expecting to spend the evening with me.

The implications of my decisions felt like a lead weight over my shoulders. Somehow, I needed to escape them.

And suddenly I thought of the only solution open to me.

‘You said that, with Paula, you would sometimes switch,' I said. ‘That you'd be the dominant one and she would be submissive.'

‘Yes. That's right.'

‘Did you like it?'

‘Mostly, yes.'

‘Because I was wondering … I've never experienced that, and I want to try.'

‘Submission?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why, Emma?'

‘To see what it's like. To understand what you feel.'

He was quiet for so long that the silence between us started to grow uneasy. Then, just as I was about to take back my request, he spoke.

‘I don't know …' He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I'm not sure we should. I don't think I know you well enough to be able to give you what you need.'

‘Well, I can't help you there. I've never done this, so I haven't a clue either.'

‘I don't feel I've ever had the chance to find out what's really going on inside your head,' he said, which shocked me, because it was almost identical to what I'd been thinking about him before our session at The Saxon.

‘Maybe you don't have to. Maybe you just need to show me what's in yours.'

That made him smile.

‘We'll do it then. But I'm not going to do anything too hard-core.'

‘That's fine,' I said.

‘All right. Good.' He reached over and squeezed my leg, and I covered his hand with my own, and we stayed that way until we got back to his place.

It was strange, but the first emotion I felt was crushing relief. We had a plan for the evening that preclude me having to talk. I had gained some distance and breathing space. And for a while I could abdicate responsibility. Step back and let him take control.

But as the minutes ticked by and my head became somewhat clearer, I started to feel slightly nervous.

And then extremely nervous.

It was the being in the dentist's waiting room type of feeling, exactly like the one I hoped I gave my slaves. My head was filling with worry and unanswered questions. What would Simon come up with? Would it hurt?

Would I respect myself afterwards?

In the lift to his apartment. I was on the point of telling him I'd changed my mind when he turned to me and said in a low voice, ‘When we are inside, I'd like you to go and take a shower. You can use the guest bathroom while I prepare the bedroom. You will come out fully clothed, please, and then our session will start.'

‘That's fine,' I said, noticing that my throat felt suddenly dry. ‘What – er – should I call you? During the session, I mean.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You don't have to call me anything. You just have to do what you are told.'

And then we were inside his apartment, which I saw had been cleaned and serviced while we were out, and I was scurrying off to the second bathroom, my stomach churning with anticipation and dread.

I took a quick shower, simply because I hoped it would give Simon less time to dream up his wickedness, but even so, he was too fast for me. When I pushed the door open the bedroom was in semi-darkness. A single candle burned in a holder on the bedside table. The air was filled with its cinnamon scent.

I noticed a glint of steel on the pillow and nearly bolted back to the bathroom when I saw the pair of handcuffs lying on the bed. Jesus! Where'd they come from?

The Paula box? Or somewhere else?

‘Please, come in,' Simon said softly.

He was standing in the shadows near the bedroom door, formally dressed in a dark, collared shirt and black trousers. His face was unsmiling; his expression stern.

Thankful for the dim lighting, at least, I walked over to the bed, moving as slowly as if I was going through glue.

‘You're in trouble, I'm afraid. Do you know why?' he asked.

‘No,' I said softly.

‘It's because I have a feeling that you are hiding something, Emma.'

I looked up at him, my mouth as dry as sandpaper, my heart threatening to bang its way right through my chest. He returned my gaze and, right then, I saw no trace of compassion in his eyes; nor any hint that this accusation was merely part of the fantasy.

Had he really put two and two together? Or was what he had said just a lucky guess?

‘I'm not …' I whispered, and immediately felt guilt cloak itself around me.

‘I'm going to find what you are concealing from me, and then punish you.'

Oh, holy hell, there couldn't be any worse punishment than what I was going through already as a result of his words. Or could there?

He undid the buttons of my shirt before taking it off, shaking it out and tossing it on the nearest armchair.

His face serious, he smoothed his hands over my skin, caressing my breasts through the cups of my bra before undoing the catch and removing it. Then he took off my shoes, loosened my belt and unzipped my trousers, all the while expressing his hopes that I would, surely, confess to him soon.

I doubted it, since the truth was tightly locked away in my own sinful mind.

A minute later, he'd removed every stitch of my clothing.

‘How disappointing that we've uncovered nothing except your naked body,' he said. ‘A very inviting body, it must be said. This will definitely make my job more pleasant, especially since we may end up having to do a cavity search if you don't start to cooperate. But hopefully you will. I'm sure that after a good spanking, you'll tell me everything I need to know. You've never been spanked before, have you?' he asked softly.

‘No, never,' I said in a small voice.

‘Bend over the bed.'

I obeyed. The duvet cover was soft and cool. I buried my face in it and clutched a fold of it in my hand, inwardly squirming as I realised that, from the sound of his voice, he must be standing right behind me and staring directly down at my exposed backside.

This was all too much. Too intimate. The fact we'd made love the night before and spent the day together didn't make it any better – in fact, it made it worse. If he'd been a stranger who was going to spank me and then go away forever I felt I could have handled it better.

And then I flinched as he picked up my left hand and I felt the chilly clasp of steel around my wrist. A moment later and he'd clicked the other cuff into place on my right. For the first time in my life, I was handcuffed.