The Art of Control (15 page)

“Oh, Isa.
It’s hard to believe this shy girl in front of me is the same Mistress Isabel. You are truly a switch if I ever met one.”

“Hush, Dylan,” she chastises, narrowing her eyes at me.

Someone from the hotel staff cleans up Isa’s painting supplies and takes her amazing piece to our room while we make our way the hotel restaurant. I locate a secluded table with a panorama view of Paris and we settle in. The sun is low in the sky and it’s late afternoon. Isa listens raptly to every word I say while I talk about work and other nonsense, never once taking her tawny eyes off of me. Her attention is solely on me and it’s as if there’s no one else in the world but the two of us.

I excuse myself to use the lavatory and when I return a short time later, there’
s a stranger sitting in my seat chatting up Isa. He’s sitting close to her and speaking animatedly. She remains quiet, but I can hear his throaty laughter. Isa converses with him as if she knows who is he and I stand back to watch their verbal exchange. Her body language seems off to me. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but she seems mildly uncomfortable and anxious. The young man is dressed expensively and looks to be about Isa’s age. He’s well-groomed in a metro-sexual sort of way and his black hair is cropped short.
Who the hell is this guy?

My temperature starts to rise when I see Isa grace him with her smile.
Damn it, that smile belongs to me.
When he touches the top of her hand, she quickly pulls it away and places it in her lap.
Good girl.
But then he dusts his fingertips over her forearm and she leans into him, accepting his touch.
So that’s how it is.

I move slowly towards them
and the man looks over at me as if he knows who I am. When I arrive at the table, the asshole remains seated in my chair.

“You’re in my seat,” I tell him, trying to remain cool.

I startle Isa with my arrival and she immediately scoots her chair back and looks up at me guiltily as evidenced by the radiant glow on her cheeks.

“Sir, this is Anderson Hayes.”

Still, the shit stain doesn’t move.  His eyes dart up and down my body and his eyebrows go up. “So I finally meet the inscrutable Dylan Young.”
His tone is sardonic and the look on his face reflects downright contempt.

I remain silent and eye him warily as he continues to
linger in
my fucking chair
.

“
It’s hard to believe
my
Isa landed someone so prominent.”

His Isa?
What. The. Fuck.  I move towards the table, ready to lunge over it and shove my fist down his throat, but Isa quickly grips my fisted hand and caresses it. 

“I said, you’re in my seat,
” I repeat, this time being less friendly than before.

He arche
s an eyebrow at me and looks me up and down again as if sizing me up, but
still
, he remains seated.

“There’s another chair right next to you. Why don’t you grab it?”
he nods to the chair next to Isa.

Motherfucker.
Who is this Anderson piece of shit?

“Are you delibera
tely trying to piss me off?” I snarl. “If I have to repeat myself again, it won’t be with words.”

Isa looks mortified
at the power exchange going on between Anderson and me. Anderson snort laughs and puts a hand up in condescending resignation, but as if trying to prove himself, he lays his other hand on Isa’s forearm and I damn near come unglued.

“And take your fucking hand
off
my
wife
.”

Isa stands and her
cheeks flush crimson red.

“Sugar, please. Let’s not do this here,” she whispers.

“Don’t,” I say sharply to her with a pinched expression.

Her eyes widen,
she looks down at the floor and reaches up to play with her hair.

“Fuck, man,
I didn’t mean to cause any problems. I just stopped over to say hi,” Anderson huffs as he stands to leave. “I’ll be in town for the next few days, Isabel. Maybe we can talk later?” he asks, completely ignoring me.

Isa glares at him
, appalled at his question and shakes her head
no
emphatically and sneaks a peek over at me.

“So be it. It was good seeing you
–
really good.
By the way, you look
spectacular
,” he says as his eyes scan Isa’s body and he licks his lips like a hungry mutt.
Motherfucker.

“It was nice meeting you, too,
Mr. Young,
” he grunts.

He walks away, leaving me and Isa standing at the table. I take my seat and Isa sinks into h
er chair. I chug down my brandy and put my glass back down a little too gruffly, making Isa shift uncomfortably.

“
I get it. You’re angry,” she announces irritably.

“No,
I’m pissed. You know how I feel about you talking to other men, don’t you?”

Isa pulls her eyebrows together in annoyance and answers, “Yes, Sir, but I know him.”

“That’s obvious by the way you were allowing him to manhandle you and his shitty choice of words.
My Isa?
Who the hell is he and how exactly is it that you know him?”

Isa looks troubled but finally
responds after a long pause. “He’s an ex-boyfriend.”

“What the
actual fuck?” That sentiment wasn’t meant to be said out loud but my utter shock prevented me from keeping it in.

“I know. It’s
strange that he would be here the same time we are. I haven’t seen him since…”

“Since
what?
Since the last time the two of you fucked?”

Isa shoots me a look of
impatience and purses her lips at me. “Since we broke up.”

“How long did you date him?”

“About a year.”

He was with Isa
longer than I’ve been with her. They have
history.
I cringe at the thought.

“
Tell me something: If you know how I feel about you talking to other men, do you have any idea how it makes me feel that you allowed another man to touch you? Let alone an ex-lover?” I whisper yell at her.

Isa scans my face and opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself.
A moment later she replies. “I didn’t think about that,” she states sorrowfully.

“No? How would you feel if I ha
d been approached by an ex-girlfriend and I let her put her hands all over me?” I snap.

“I would be hurt and angry,” she says quietly as she touches her wedding ring.

“To say the least, Isabel. With your temper, you’d be just a little more than
hurt
and
angry.
You’d be stark raving pissed, throwing a tantrum, and I’d be lucky if I didn’t end up with my dinner in my lap.”

“Like the tantrum you’re throwing right now
?” she asks sarcastically.

Oh, hell no
. I hold my tongue from verbally lashing her and countdown slowly from ten. I look away, not wanting to lose my temper in a public place. I get to two when Isa chimes in.

“I’m sorry…”

“For
what
?” I cut in. “For willfully disobeying my wishes with your inability to tell your ex-boyfriend to keep his fucking hands off of you or for disrespecting me with your sarcasm?”

She sighs loud
ly and shakes her head. “I didn’t willfully disobey your wishes, Sir; I mindlessly disobeyed them.” She looks repentant, but my anger subsides only slightly.
Mindlessly is fucking right.

“
But you’re right - I did disrespect you with my sarcasm and for that I’m truly sorry,” she glowers.

“Of course I’m right,” I huff.

“Are you going to punish me?” she asks, reaching out to me.

“Do you think you need to be punished?”
I respond, raising my eyebrows at her.

“Only if it pleases you, Sir,” she replies, running her fin
gers along the top of my hand.

“It never pleases me to punish willful disobedience, Isabel
. Having to punish you for that sort of thing means I’ve failed to communicate what it is I expect out of you. It means I’m failing you as a Dom if you don’t understand what my wants and needs are, and I
hate
failing at anything.”

I pull my hand away from her and
Isa looks disheartened. “Oh, sugar, don’t say that. You’re such a wonderful Dom. You’re not failing at anything. I’m the one who failed you tonight by letting Anderson touch me and getting mouthy with you.”

“I’m glad you understand that,” I grumble,
abhorring the vision of her perfect mouth saying his name.

“What will my punishment be?” she asks gloomily.

“I haven’t thought that far in advance. I’m still too livid. Let’s just finish our meal and go back to the room.”

An ex-boyfriend here in Paris?
On our honeymoon?
Something smells rotten in Denmark. My sixth sense has been on high-alert ever since the faux mugging several days ago, now this fucking unwanted drama?
I thought Isa and I had moved past all of this bullshit.

Isa is still pouting as she picks at her food, obviously sulking about her upcoming punishment.

“Why did that asshole say he was here?” I ask.

“He said he took a new job recently and he’s taking a training class,” she
replies without looking at me.

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that your ex-lover just happens to be in Paris during our honeymoon and staying at the same hotel?”

“I wish you would stop calling him that and yes, I think it’s very odd. Even more strange is how overfriendly he was.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, putting my fork down.

Isa shrugs and sits silently.

“Look at me, Isabel, an
d tell me what you meant.”

Isa
finally answers, but she still refuses to make eye contact. “He was just never that friendly with me or very nice. His enthusiasm to see me seemed very fake.”

It might have something to do with the fact that Isa is now unobtainable. I know his type. He likes the thrill of the hunt. Hell, I used to be the same way to a certain degree. Now that his former lover is off limits, he wants her.
Douchebag, motherfucker.

Shit. H
ere we go. My snarky alter ego rears his ugly head. “Was he a good lover?”

Isa drops her fork on the plate loudly, startled and visibly incensed by my question.
“Again with this line of questioning? What was it you told me a few nights ago? I’ll tell you the truth, but only if you think you can handle it.”

My competitiveness itches
just beneath the surface. “So he was a good lover? Is that what you’re saying? Was he better than me?” I ask, sounding more troubled than irritated.

“I was only trying to make a point, but I guess that backfired. No, he wasn’t a good lover. In fact, he was h
orrible in the sack just like all of my past lovers were. He never lasted more than a few minutes, he was severely lacking in his oral skills, he knew nothing about foreplay, he had no idea what a G-spot was, and…”

Jesus Christ,
I didn’t expect her to go on about it.

“…his dick was miniscule compared to your colossal cock, okay? So,
no
, he wasn’t better than you. No one was,” she says curtly, picking her fork back up and shoving a piece of chicken into her mouth.

Isa’s definitely getting
her ass paddled for that little outburst
. She slumps in her chair and chews her food tetchily.

“Sit up, Isabel. You know I hate it when you slouch like that. It’s unbecoming of your beautiful figure.”

Isa glares at me through her long lashes and narrows her eyes at me, but she promptly sits up straight and pushes her shoulders back.

“Thank you. Now let’s go upstairs so you can receive your punishment.”

Isa’s defiance instantly melts away and she resumes her pouting. If I weren’t still so irritated, I’d laugh out loud at her sudden change in demeanor.

Back in the roo
m, I instruct Isa on what to do.

“Present yourself for punishment.”

Isa undresses herself and kneels on the floor, her bottom lip practically dragging on the floor from pouting. She spreads her knees widely, places her head down with her forehead touching the floor, and her hands and arms spread forward in front of her as if praising me. I circle around her, deciding what to do next. I seat myself on the bed and watch her for a good 15 minutes, giving her time to reflect on what she’s done to deserve punishment. Her breathing becomes rapid when she hears the sound of my voice.