Turkish Delights Series (24 page)

He gazed up at the ceiling and unzipped his trousers, stroked his cock somewhat absently, as he pondered how his life had come to this point. He shifted his hips, got a better grip, and took it seriously a minute. Memories flooded in, of Shelley, of how pliant and amazing she’d been at first, how easily the whole Master/slave relationship had developed. Until she stopped posing. Then it got weird. Within a year of agreeing to marry her in his fourth year with the Dolphins, he got his third concussion and lost his position on the team, managed to land a great job as the AD at UNLV, and she decided not to be a sexual sub anymore.

Sighing, he let go of himself. He’d questioned his own abilities as Master ever since and hadn’t really done anything in the scene for a couple of years. After two or three pretty intense club experiences right after she left, he’d simply given up on it, convinced of his inability to spot a poser. He’d had a few dates, had a couple of girls he could call friendly fucks, and had simply focused on work. He tucked his still-hard cock back into his dress slacks. He couldn’t justify the release—didn’t think he deserved it.

He sat up with a groan, not convinced that the raging blue balls he developed were helping him any. But it didn’t feel right. He needed…something. Not a slave exactly, but some outlet for his Dominant energy. Yet the clubs were out of the question. They were crawling with frogs and posers and all sorts of voyeurs who had no idea what it meant to truly enjoy this lifestyle. His personality drew submissives to him like flies to honey in those places. Always had. But the experience with Shelley had left such a bad taste in his mouth, he’d given up.

Fuck this. Why did I even come in here?

He stomped out, taking time to heave the empty beer bottle against the St. Andrews Cross. It shattered in a satisfying fashion, hitting the discarded solid platinum collar Shelley had left behind. He’d hung it on the cross as a reminder to himself.
Never again
.

Chapter Three

By the time Lale arrived at LaGuardia, she had missed her connection to the west coast. Her father spared no expense and sent her first class, but that didn’t help get her on another plane any quicker. She argued with the desk agent for a while then threw up her hands, reverting to Turkish curse words before finding a bar to sit and pout. The delay didn’t allow for enough time to find a hotel and rest, merely enough to sit in the airport and get shit-faced drunk.

She had alerted Emre about the delay. He’d sounded absolutely frazzled.

“I hope you are ready to really help. Not just lie around and go out all night.”

She’d bristled, but made herself remain calm. “Of course, dear brother. How is Elle doing?”

He’d sighed. “She got home yesterday. I’ve had Aslan here for a week already, trying to get him to take formula. He won’t sleep. It’s…well, I’ll be glad to see you.”

Lale ordered a gin and tonic and put her earbuds in her ears, determined to keep her temper in check for the next few hours. She buried her nose in a magazine. The pressure against her clit reminded her of the piercing she’d managed to fit in before leaving. It had taken closer to three weeks to get everything sorted out, including a temporary visa from the American embassy so she could stay longer than a tourist allotted two weeks. She managed to get an appointment for the hood piercing pretty quickly. It had hurt like hell, but she loved it now. The awareness of something always there, constantly pressed against her most sensitive area was just the distraction she needed.

Her scalp prickled with a familiar I’m-being-watched sensation. She glanced up from the magazine. A traveling businessman appraised her. She smiled and looked down, crossed her legs, trying to send negative body language. But her skin had warmed. She did love the attention. The man suddenly materialized at her side.

“Hello.” His deep voice and be-suited body tempted her sorely.

“Do I know you?” She tried to keep the desire out of her cadence.

“No, but I’d like to know you.” He sat. She moved away though her body responded automatically while her brain told her to disengage. Her body won.

“Can I buy you another?” The man indicated the empty glass in front of her.

“Sure.” She tossed back the remaining dregs of gin. “Thanks. I’m stuck here for a while.”

The man laughed and signaled the waitress. “Yeah. Me, too.” He gave her a look over the rim of his beer mug. He was tall, a little thick around the middle under the suit, yet seemed eager and relaxed, his bright blue eyes compelling. He’d do. She shifted in her seat to make him respond. It came naturally to her. The small metal ball pressed into her clit, making her squirm in a combination of pain and titillation. Fish in a barrel....

She frowned, remembering the conversation she’d overheard between her father and brother about a week before the visa had come through, allowing her to leave. Her father always forgot that audio Skype calls could be heard all over their cavernous home.

“She’s out of control, Emre,” her father had claimed.

“She’s young. Impulsive. Angry about Tarkan.” Her brother had soothed.

“We’re all angry about Tarkan, son. It’s been long enough since…well…she is truly out of control. Drugs, tattoos, out until God knows what time. Anything we say to her is met with resistance and anger. I don’t know what to do.” Her father’s voice had broken then, had made Lale’s eyes prickle with tears. She’d known what he’d say next. “It’s like since Tarkan has gone, she has no anchor. Only he could temper her. Only he understood her from the very beginning.”

“I know.” Emre had sighed. “He was special to many people. But she needs to get past it. Hopefully living here for a while will help her focus on something other than herself.”

She’d bristled at that. Selfish? Her?

“Can you help us, son? I can’t lose her. Please, do what you can for our beautiful tulip.”

She glanced at the complete stranger with whom she would have sex and let the phantom conversation exit her brain. The man stared at her in a way she understood. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. He leaned over and put a hand on her knee. “You are incredibly beautiful, but I think you know that.” She tried to fight the impulse surging through her. The guy was not that great. What did she think she’d get out of it exactly? Her plans for America included trying to act more like a grown up, not like a horny slut. She sighed. His hand traveled up her thigh. She glared at him and he removed it.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if we are on the same page here.” She tried on a look of sincere indignation. The man loomed over her once more.

“I think we are.” The wedding ring did not escape her notice. She stood, grabbed her purse and carry-on, and started walking. He followed, caught up and clutched her arm.

“I’m a member of the frequent flier lounge. Let me host you there.” He let go of her and smiled.

She followed him then, mad at herself, wondering how in the hell coming to America was going to be “better” if she fucked another total stranger before even making it to the West Coast. Did she even bring condoms? She’d have a drink with him, that’s all. She squared her shoulders and let him lead her into the quiet lounge, past the receptionist, and into a semi-private room. He dropped his briefcase, turned and laid an amazing kiss on her. Her traitor body heated up and performed. At one point, while she bounced up and down on his lap, still orgasm-less, he groaned and clutched her hips. She sighed. Denied again. So much for feeling good while being bad.

***

By the time her plane touched down in California, Lale was hot, exhausted, and utterly furious with herself. She’d bolted from the guy’s make-out room in the airport, given herself a quick wash-off in the bathroom, and plunked back down on the long line of seats in the main terminal. She hadn’t even bothered with a good-bye kiss. The new change of scenery had to help. She had to focus, help her brother and his wife and their kids. She’d be the epitome of perfect twenty-something helpful. Anything that got her out of Turkey had to be worth that.

Emre held her tight when she emerged from baggage claim, which shocked her. He’d never been affectionate with her, merely tolerating her and Tarkan for the most part their whole lives. But she returned his embrace. She truly was glad to be there and grateful he’d arranged it.

“You look great,” he said, studiously ignoring her lip piercing. She grinned.

“Oh, spare me. I look like a gypsy to you with all this jewelry. I know it.”

He put an arm around and took the luggage cart, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“How is she?” Lale asked once they were situated in Emre’s SUV.

Her brother clutched the steering wheel. “She’s okay. Not great. Doctors say she will recover, but it will take a while. She had a heart murmur apparently, but never had it diagnosed. The baby weighed too much by the time she hit thirty weeks, and her body simply couldn’t support him and her at the same time. It’s why her blood pressure shot up.” He blinked. Lale stared at him. Her big brother—the responsible, mature one, always in control—about to cry? She didn’t know what to do so she patted his leg. He hadn’t shed a tear during the Tarkan fallout, not even during the so-called funeral. She realized at that moment she hadn’t forgiven him for that, but maybe he had dealt with it the only way he know how—by being stoic while everyone around him fell to pieces.

“Well, you didn’t know so...I mean, don’t feel guilty.”

“It’s all I feel, frankly. We never should have tried for a second child. She wanted it so badly and I...well, shit.” They crept through LA traffic. “I should have said no. I knew it wasn’t safe.”

“But Aslan is fine, right?”

“Yes, he is perfect. No issues whatsoever.” Emre’s face broke into a smile. Lale sighed. Typical. Big Man make big son. This she could handle.

“Good. How is Ayla?” She reached into her bag for a cigarette. Emre frowned at her.

“No smoking. Not in the car, or in the house or anywhere near the house for that matter.”

“Okay....” She fought her urge to lash out, unwilling to have an argument before they even got home from the airport.

“Ayla is acting out. She blames Aslan for Elle’s illness. She’s mad ninety percent of the time.”

“Sounds like my kinda girl.”

He shot her a look as they inched their way toward Irvine. “Yeah, well, she’s going to be all yours for a while, if you can take it.”

“Sure. How hard can it be?”

Her brother chuckled. “You have no idea.”

***

“We’re home! Come my darling Ayla and see your auntie Lale!” Emre called out in Turkish as he dropped the luggage in the large foyer and groaned. “Jesus, sister, what is in there, dead bodies?” he muttered in English.

Lale needed a cigarette, bad. This might be tougher than she bargained for. When the small form launched itself at her legs, she nearly fell backward. She peeled the little girl off her shins and knelt down to her eye level. The child wore a dress that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week, her curly brown hair in knots, her eyes red and puffy.

“Darling! Where is my beautiful girl? What is this rag you are wearing? Come let’s take a bath, okay? With Auntie?” Emre and Elle wanted to immerse their daughter in the language so she could be truly bilingual so Lale played along using a familiar sing-song tone she’d heard adults use with children. The little girl scowled.

“No. I don’t like baths anymore. Let’s play a game.”

Lale glanced up at her brother. He stared at his daughter with complete confusion tinged with anger. She winced at the familiar look. She knew it well, from her own father’s face.

“Sounds perfect, darling. What game?”

Ayla led her down the hall and into her utterly messy room. Lale didn’t care. She was no neat freak. But the reminder that things were not good in her brother’s house made her throat tighten. She flopped down on the girl’s fluffy, cluttered bed. “So about this game?” She bit her tongue to keep from suggesting they play “clean up our room” and “get a bath” games. That would come later. Lale tried to be patient and remember how it felt to be constantly pissed off, although Ayla channeling extreme anger at five years old seemed a little unsettling.

“How is your baby brother? Can I see him?”

Ayla took the Candy Land game she’d grabbed from her shelf and threw it at her aunt’s head.

“Ayla! You almost hit me!” She stood, unwilling to coddle the kid much longer.

“I don’t care! I hate that baby! He is bad! I don’t want him!” After the tirade, she flung herself on the floor and proceeded to throw a tantrum worthy of Lale herself.

Emre stood in the hall holding his son, concern and weariness etched on his face. “See what I mean?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine. Give me a few days. I’ll have her back to her old self. Let’s leave her to the pity party a minute. Where’s Elle? Can I see her?”

Emre nodded and led her to their bedroom. “Elle, my darling, Lale is here.”

She eased into the room. Elle sat, propped up on a pile of pillows, laptop on her lap, glasses resting on her nose. The bed groaned with charts, graphs, sales reports and research information. The woman’s pale face brightened when she saw her sister-in-law.

“
Kiz kardes!
It’s so good to see you.” She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry I’m such a weakling, but glad it got you here.” Elle gave her a fierce hug. Lale was shocked by how fragile she seemed. She shot a worried look at her brother.

Emre frowned. “Why are you working so much? You’re supposed to be resting, remember?” He sat on his wife’s other side and handed her the baby, who had begun to fuss at the sound of his mother’s voice. Lale started to tell her brother to stop being so bossy. But the look on Elle’s face when she gazed at Emre made her breath catch. These two loved each other to distraction. But to see it, so blatantly, so close up, it was almost as if she had caught them having sex. A strange, jealous feeling stole over her. Would she ever find anything so special? But she fixed a smile on her face.