The Art of Submission (29 page)

“I’m okay. I’m okay now.
I’m fine
.” Her voice is small and
she still won’t look at me.

Why the fuck did I
ask?
I see somewhere we can stop and pick up something
to eat and I pull in. She immediately starts to open the door and
bolt, but I reach over and pull the door closed. I want her to look
at me, but she still just sits quietly looking out the window. Look
at me.
Look at me
. Finally
she responds and looks at me through her long lashes. She looks so
sad and I just want to make whatever pain she’s feeling, go
away.

“It’s not what you think, Dylan. It
wasn’t something… you know…
sexual that
happened
. It was my… I’m fine now.
I’m fine
. It was a long time ago.” I can see
she’s ready to break down. I don’t think I could handle seeing her
cry, so I let it go -
for
now
.

I lean over and kiss her, trying to
ease her anxiety. When I pull back, she still has her eyes closed
as if waiting for more, so I kiss her again, this time deeper and
she immediately responds. She grabs my face and starts nibbling my
bottom lip and kissing my entire face – my cheeks, my eyes, my
forehead….
Fuck – that feels so
good.
No one has ever kissed me like this. Then, too
suddenly, she stops –
no
–
and she climbs out of the car.

Holy hard on
.
I’ve got major wood going on again and now I’m supposed to walk
into the restaurant like this?
Fucking
hell, woman
. I sit trying to readjust and talk my dick
down before I get out of the car.

Finally getting myself under control, I head
into the restaurant after Isabel. We order some burgers to take
with us. The whole time we’re in the restaurant, Isabel is avoiding
looking at me or engaging me in conversation. As we wait for our
food, I reach over to her as she leans against the counter and
touch her arm, trying to put her at ease. She looks up at me and
her eyes warm.

“Where do you live?”

“Sky Lofts, not too far from where I
work.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that building.” She says, not
revealing anything. “Do you like it there?”

Is this Isabel trying to make small talk?
Okay, small talk it is then. “Yes, it’s fine. I spend a lot of time
working so I don’t spend much time there, but hopefully that will
change soon, depending on how things go.” I wait to see her
reaction.

“Oh really? Depending on what?” She asks
curiously, not picking up on my blatant innuendo.

“Depending on what you decide about the
contract, Isabel.”
Yes
. Now
she understands. Her eyes light up and meet mine, and then they
move to my mouth as if waiting for me to say more.

“I see.” Again, she reveals nothing.

The cashier breaks in and gives us our
food. I just want to get home and discuss the contract with her. We
immediately leave and head back to my place. On the drive over, my
mind wanders back to how I let Isabel take control the way she did.
Have I been out of the lifestyle for so long that I’ve confused my
dominant roll with that of a submissive? I like being in control
and I consider myself a Dom to the core. I’ve never let anyone take
that roll with me.
Never
.
Even in my glory days, I frowned heavily upon submissives who would
top from the bottom, even going as far as letting a few of them go
for that very reason. Isabel confounds me. She has submissive
written all over her, but with Domme watermarked beneath it all.
Can she ever become the submissive that I want or need her to be?
Do I really just want her to be submissive and not what she was
earlier? I want what I want, damn it, and what I want is
Isabel
– in any form.

We finally arrive at my place and I
park in the garage. As we walk to the elevators with our food in
hand, Isabel is scanning everything around us; the other vehicles,
the garage,
me.
Once we’re on
the elevator, I hit the 12
^th
floor button. It jumps a little when it starts and Isabel
grabs hold of my upper arm for support. Do I make her feel safe? I
hope so. I like the idea of taking care of her and keeping her
safe, and if she agrees to be my submissive, that will be part of
my responsibility.

When we arrive on the
12
^th
floor, we head towards my
door and I fumble with my keys, feeling nervous about what I’m
about to show her. I open the door and we step in.

“Wow. It’s so… big.” She says as she scans my
condo. She’s completely innocent of any sexual insinuation in what
she just said, but my mind is always in the gutter.

“That’s what she said.” I couldn’t
resist.
Yes, I have a sense of humor,
Isabel.
The looks she gives me is
hysterical.

“So you’re good looking, well off and funny,
too?” She asks sarcastically.

What? She thinks I’m good looking?

“The well off and funny are true, the
good looking, not so much.” I tell her, fishing for another
compliment, but she doesn’t bite. Instead, she gives me my very own
patented ‘really’ stare.
Ouch
. Is that what it feels like to be on the
receiving end of that look? I may have to reconsider how often I
use that.

She walks casually towards some paintings on
the wall and then looks shocked as she gets a closer look. Is she
actually impressed? I should’ve known the only way to impress her
was with artwork.

I lead us out to the balcony to eat, grabbing
a couple of beers on the way. I sit down and I expect Isabel to sit
across from me at the patio table, but instead, she pulls a chair
right up next to me. I start to get the food out and she does the
strangest, sweetest thing.

“Here, let me help you with that,” she
says as she starts to get my food ready for me. She unwraps my
burger, sets my fries out for me and hands me a napkin. I
feel…
pampered
. Her kindness
is so genuine and I feel myself vacillate about the things I want
to do to her. I don’t deserve her kindness.

“Isabel, please don’t do that. I don’t
deserve your kindness, not with the things I want to do to you.” It
had to be said. I’m expecting the worst, a horrified look, her
running from my condo, something – anything – other than what I get
in response from her.

“Dylan, everyone deserves kindness.
Even those who are cruel.
Especially those
who are cruel
…” Her voice trails off again and her
face has a pained expression on it, like she’s not just saying the
words, but feeling them. “I didn’t mean to say that you’re cruel, I
mean, I hope you’re not.”

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks;
someone has been cruel to her. It all makes sense now; the way she
reacted earlier when I asked about the birth control, this, and
…
shit
– the way she reacted
to my spanking her. That’s why she was adamant about me asking
first; she doesn’t like to be taken by surprise. I thought I had
issues, but Isabel, she has issues I can’t even begin to
comprehend. First and foremost on my mind is
who
was cruel to her. An ex-boyfriend?
Greer
? Fucking hell – if that son of
a bitch laid one hand on her – I guess he already did that, but if
he physically hurt her... I can’t bring myself to look at her
because I’m so pissed right now at the thought of someone – or
Greer - hurting her.

“Dylan, what’s wrong?”

“Stay out of my head right now, Isabel.” I
say before I have the chance to filter my tone.

When I look up at her, she looks
concerned. Concerned for me? I feel my anger quickly dissipate at
how angelic she looks. How could anyone hurt this beautiful and
talented woman?
How
? How
could
I
even consider hurting
her? What the fuck is wrong with me? No. I don’t want to hurt her.
I want to teach her to be my submissive and I can do that without
hurting her. I will teach her the fine line between pain and
pleasure, and if I have to ask first, then I will.

We finish eating and I lead her back into the
condo.

“
I want to show you the reason I
brought you here.”

My nerves are getting the best of me
and I’m doing my best to maintain my cool exterior. She nods and I
take her hand. It’s so warm and soft, and the delicateness of it
stirs my arousal.
I wonder if she feels
the same way when I touch her.
I lead her back to my
office where I grab the key to the dungeon door, and then back down
the hallway. As we stand in front of the door, she’s looking up at
me with wonder and excitement. I squeeze her hand and let us into
the room.

**********************

Isabel

After our laughter dies down, I feel
the overwhelming need to tell him that I really want things to work
out between us. I’m not even sure what
this
is exactly, but whatever it is, I want it
to work. I like Dylan,
really
like him. I like the way he makes me feel and the things he
does to me.
And the things he lets me do
to him
. I want to explore this more and to experience
the things that he knows. I’m holding his face hoping he can
enlighten me as to what’s going on between us, but he looks just as
dumfounded as I feel.

When he doesn’t respond, I decide it’s time
to get dressed and make a hasty getaway. I grab my clothes and
Dylan points the way to his private restroom. Once in there, I take
a look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look any different, but
somehow I feel different. The sex I just had was beyond anything
I’ve ever experienced and what the heck was going on with me taking
control like that? Even more confusing is the fact that he allowed
me to do it. I know he enjoyed it as much as I did. I mean, I think
he did. He sure seemed very aroused by it. I get dressed and don’t
even attempt to contain my hair since it’s pointless after our
recent activities.

When I get back into the office, Dylan is
leaning against his desk, looking cool and sexy as hell, and he’s
holding one of my paintings. What? What is he doing with that?

“
This is for you…”

Is he serious? After everything we just
did and the way he threw a temper tantrum when I tried to take one
myself,
now
he wants to give
it back?

“You don’t want it anymore?” I ask.

“Oh yes, I still want it…” He says
quietly.

How does he know exactly the right thing to
say to me? How? I’m so taken with this show of good will that I
grab him and hug him. It’s my first reaction because I’m just so
happy. He only half hugs me and I sense that he’s uncomfortable. I
know better than to let my feelings show like that. How childish of
me.

“
Sorry. I didn’t mean anything…. I… I
just wanted to thank you is all.”

I hear myself stuttering and I feel
like a complete jackass. I just need to leave –
now.
I grab my painting and my bag and start to
leave. Just before I make it out the door, he tries to offer me a
ride home. It’s a nice gesture, but I’m embarrassed about the way
this whole situation has panned out and I just want to slink away
in shame. I rush to get to the elevator, but he catches up with
me.
Damn. I almost made it.

As we stand in the elevator on the way
down, I feel myself fidgeting and I’m making a conscious effort not
to touch my hair. He’s standing so close to me that I can smell
him. He smells clean and like some kind of expensive cologne,
though I don’t know what it is.
Don’t look
at him… don’t look at him
. I know I’ll come undone if
I look over at him, but I can feel his eyes on me. Damn this
elevator –
hurry up
. I can’t
resist a quick glance up at him and sure enough, he stands there
gazing at me with his impossible ice blue eyes. I give him a lame
smile, but,
oh my stars
–
he’s so beautiful.
Keep it together,
Isa
. I want so badly to jump him, right here – right
now. Doesn’t he know what he does to me? How can he just stand
there so calmly? Finally, the doors open and I can’t get out of the
elevator fast enough. To my horror, my feet fail me and I tumble
out of the elevator, dropping my bag and almost falling on my face.
Luckily, Dylan is quick and grabs me. Then I remember just how
quick he was when he grabbed me and spanked me.

“
Jesus, Isabel. Are you okay?” He asks
authentically concerned.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine...” Now my mouth fails me
and I blurt out something stupid about not wanting to be alone with
him on the elevator. Good grief. Can’t I just once be graceful?

“Yes? What did you mean?”

Never mind. Seriously, what’s the point? He’s
half smiling and I know it’s because I’m making a complete fool of
myself right now. I pick up my bag and try and make it to the doors
without another incident. I can feel him on my heels as I head out
onto the street to try and flag down a cab.

“Isabel, this is ridiculous. Let me take you
home.” He says more emphatically.

No. I’m having none of it. I’ve
humiliated myself enough the last two days, I just want to go home.
I’m doing my best to ignore him when all at once he pulls me to
face him, holding me by my upper arms. This man just can’t take a
hint…
oh my.
I feel his
hardness between us and when I look down, sure enough, there it is.
It’s big and yummy and pressed inside his pants like an encased
sausage threatening to break free.
I can’t
take my eyes off of it
. Why does he have wood, anyway?
I’m deep in delicious thought when he forces me to look up at
him.