Wild Licks (14 page)

“And Mal's a sadist.”

“There's more to it than that,” Maddie said. “All the stuff about fantasy and dragons and that stuff: that gave you both a context for the pain, which can feel a lot better than just a guy being like hey, I want to cut you, burn you, hurt you. His note makes it sound like he doesn't understand why his fantasies are important to you both.”

I let go of her hands and pulled my knees up on the couch. “Why do I need pain? Why can't kink just be good, clean fun for me?”

“Maybe for some people it can be. Maybe some people only need a little slap and tickle and they don't go very deep psychologically. I don't know very many of them, Gwen. We like the dark stuff for a reason. It gets at what we really need, deep down, and it's why you don't connect to vanilla guys. You need someone who will connect with you on that deep core level, the level that wants pain, wants intensity, wants adrenaline and domination.”

Just hearing her talk about it like that set off a yearning ache in my heart. “Mal's the closest thing to that I've found.”

“You haven't exactly been looking,” Maddie said. “Until Mal, I think you'd convinced yourself all you should have is a little slap and tickle from time to time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, come on, Gwen. You could be inviting anyone you want to the dungeon in the mansion's basement, but I don't exactly see you out there recruiting.”

“Well, it's complicated. I mean, first of all, how do I know if a guy I meet is kinky enough to rate an invitation? And second, I'm submissive. How do I go about approaching a dom without being too forward?”

“Can I remind you that submissive is something you are
in the dungeon
, not in real life? Any play partner who expects you to act like anything but an independent, confident adult woman when you're not in the dungeon isn't someone you want to play with anyway.”

“True. That isn't Mal's problem, though.”

“Seriously, Gwen. Your grandfather started the club as a way to find play partners for himself.”

“I thought he started it as a refuge for all his kinky friends.”

“That, too, but he definitely used it as a recruiting ground. You'd just be continuing that tradition.”

“Ricki and I have been talking a lot about expanding membership. She thinks we should invite the rest of Axel's band to join.”

Madison smiled slyly. “Aha. Are you thinking right now you don't want to invite him because he's a big jerk and you're done with him?”

“No!” My heart skipped a beat.

“That's what I thought.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and then her look turned thoughtful. “So you still want to find a way to convince him not to break it off?”

“Yes.”

“One question—if you invite him to the dungeon, are you prepared for him to potentially…play with someone else there?”

“Someone he'll play with once and then refuse to do again?” I pointed out.

“True. So here's a related question. How do you think he'd feel about watching you play with someone else?”

“Are you thinking this might be a chance to wear down his resistance?”

“That's exactly what I'm thinking.”

That brought a smile to my face. “I love the way you think.”

Madison was good at covering all the angles. “Assuming he doesn't refuse the invitation to join the Governor's Club in the first place, of course.”

“You know what?” She had given me a huge boost of optimism. “Something tells me if he accepts the invitation, that's a huge indicator right there that he's not as ready to break things off with me as he appears.”

She nodded. “Definitely. Let me know if he says yes, and then we can commence planning Operation Dragon Tamer.”

So. Ricki invited The Rough to join our secret dungeon club. They said yes. I tried to act appropriately happy—as opposed to conspicuously super-stoked—when she told me later that week during dinner. “That's excellent,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “They all seem like very nice guys.”
Nice, hah! Is that what you call men who like to play with actual fire?
I knew the scene had gone wrong, but if anything, now I found myself longing for the parts that had gone right and wishing fervently for a different ending. What if it had gone perfectly? Would Mal have told me he knew it was me all along? Would I have told him myself? Would we be planning a scene together for the dungeon party or would he be dropping me hints about his plans? Would he be sitting there at the table across from me right this second, amusing Ricki with his commentary about the entertainment industry or the wine? I could almost picture him there, or he and Axel together, the four of us enjoying a grand evening of cuisine and company…

“How's that orientation curriculum coming along, by the way?” Ricki asked.

I nearly breathed in a forkful of rice pilaf in surprise, too caught up in my daydreams. I coughed and set my fork down. “I made a checklist. Do you think we should put the guys through it?”

“Yes. With four of them joining at once, I want to make sure we don't leave anything out. What do you think about the two of us leading them through in the hour before the party starts? Or should we do it the day before?”

“You mean get them into the party next week?” We were eating in the small dining room, where we usually did when it was just the two of us. The table could easily seat six and I couldn't help imagining her and Axel sitting on one side, me and Mal on the other. Right at that moment I found myself wishing he would hold my hand under the table. Real kinky, I know. Why was I thinking about that when we were discussing the dungeon? “Aren't they kind of busy with their album stuff?”

“They're supposed to go to Montreal to record, but not for another two weeks. At least according to Axel,” Ricki said. She sat back in her chair and picked up her wineglass.

Thank goodness I had the Ricki connection to find out that sort of thing since Mal himself had, of course, been silent since the “good-bye” note. “Montreal? Why there?”

“Axel didn't give me the details but I'm under the impression if they go somewhere they know hardly anyone they'll get more done.”

“Makes sense.” I decided to leave my wineglass right where it was. I was prone to klutz moments whenever I talked about Mal, and right now my hands were feeling especially shaky. Maybe because I was having flashbacks, not to the wig accident but to how his cheek felt against mine when he pulled me against him, to his hair in my mouth and the sound of his voice. Plain and simple: I was missing him. “You want to check with them on when they want to do the, um, orientation?”

“Sure.”

“Should we do, like, two and two?”
Play it casual, Gwen. Casual.
I tried to put up the walls in my mind:
All those things happened to Excrucia, not to you. You're just sweet little good-girl Gwen.
“Like you do Mal and Chino and I'll do Samson and Ford?” I suggested.

Ricki chuckled softly and patted my hand. “You're so cute. I thought you would
want
to be the one who led Mal around down there.”

Ricki doesn't know anything,
I reminded myself. She thinks we've just been on three dates. “Whatever made you think that?”

“Oh, come on, Gwen. It's completely obvious you really like him.”

“It is? Why is it obvious?”

“You're a terrible actress,” she said, then put her glass down quickly. “Oh goodness! I didn't mean it that way. I meant, you know, you're bad at hiding your feelings. That wasn't an actual comment on your acting ability—you know it wasn't, Gwen.”

I sat there stunned, though. My sister had just called me a terrible actress. “You really think that.”

“No,
of course not
! It's just a phrase. Don't think that, Gwen.”

“Okay, now who's being a terrible actress?” I crossed my arms. My heart was beating a mile a minute. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Gwen. I'm no judge of acting talent. What would I tell you? I want to support you, not tear you down.”

She was just digging the hole deeper. I thought about how easily Mal had recognized me. Maybe I really was terrible at acting. Maybe I was completely wasting my time.

Panic set in as the longing for Mal and the worry that I wouldn't be able to change his mind crystallized into spiky general anxiety.

My phone buzzed on the table, interrupting my thoughts, and I picked it up hurriedly. Normally I wouldn't answer during dinner unless it was someone important, but I needed something to distract me, to derail the rising anxiety. “Do you recognize this number?” I asked, showing the screen to Ricki.

“I think that's Simon Gabriel's number,” she said.

The agent I liked. I stared at the phone, trying to take a deep breath. Ricki mistook it for career nerves. “How exciting! This could be your big break, Gwen. Deep breath! But you better answer it.”

Right. Answer it. Think about something else. “Um, hello?”

“Gwen? This is Simon Gabriel.” His voice sounded friendly. Approachable, even. “You may not remember me—”

“Oh, Mr. Gabriel!” His open manner helped me answer in kind and pretend I wasn't hanging on every word. “Yes, of course I remember you. From the banquet. And, um, Jolene's party.”

He laughed warmly. “Yes. Look, I won't beat around the bush. I understand you're looking to get more serious about acting as a career pursuit. At least, I hope that's true. I took the liberty of Googling you and I have to say, I like what I see.”

“Oh.” There couldn't be very much out there, I thought. I knew there were a few scenes from a university production on YouTube and the WOMedia promo probably came right up. That reminded me to look up the Facebook page someone had made for me. Last time I had Googled myself, most of what popped up were photos of me on Mal's arm at the
On a Midnight Far
premiere. I tried to push Mal out of my mind for a few moments and focus on the man on the phone. “Um, thank you, I guess?”

He laughed again. “You're smart, beautiful, and it never hurts that you know the business. So if you're open to the idea, I'd very much like to discuss the possibility of representing you.”

I met Ricki's eye. She was smiling. I couldn't help smiling myself. “Great!” I tried to keep my business voice on, though. “I mean, of course we can discuss it.” Roderick Grisham's advice came back to me. He'd said it as a joke but I realized he'd also meant it. “I've been, ah, advised to get everything in writing.”

“Of course. I'll send over a client contract for you to examine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gabriel.”

“Oh, please, Simon, call me Simon. Another question—how would you feel about doing music videos?”

A business question was even better than flattery for grounding me. “Is there something particular about videos?”

“Some consider them almost more like modeling gigs, since there's no dialogue, but some of them really require emotive facial abilities like yours, the complete opposite of modeling.”

“I'd love to do some music videos if the chance comes up. The promo video I just did has no dialogue in it, just miming.”

“Good. I'll be looking around for some opportunities for you. To that end, there's a music industry party I'd like you to attend, if you're free? I believe it's Tuesday. I'll have my assistant send you the information.”

“That sounds good, Mr. Simon. My schedule's fairly open right now.”

“Excellent. I'll look forward to seeing you then. Gotta run now. So glad to be working with you, Gwen. Bye now.”

And, poof, Simon was gone. I set the phone down. “Did you hear that?”

“Sounds like you've got a talent agent,” Ricki said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Ricki was smiling. “For a ‘terrible' actress, your career seems to be starting to take off.”

“Oh, stop. I'm sure even Meryl Streep had her moments of crushing self-doubt when she was my age.” Yes, but did she crave the attention of a distant dom? My moment of angst had passed, and I told myself to focus on the party. Until Mal was in the same room as me, there was no use worrying myself to death over what might or might not happen.

“Dessert?” Ricki asked.

“No way. The camera adds ten pounds,” I said as I pushed my chair back and picked up my phone.

“Gwen, you don't need to lose ten pounds.”

“No, but I shouldn't put any extra ones on, either.”

“It's pumpkin pie, though.”

“Drat.” I pulled my chair in again. “My weakness.”

“I know.” She smiled and dialed our chef Mina. “With fresh whipped cream?”

“Definitely.”

“Pie with whipped cream for two, Mina. Thanks,” she said into the phone.

“I'm not crazy about how they're trying to make everything taste like pumpkin pie, though,” I said. “It starts happening earlier and earlier every year and the only thing that should really taste like pumpkin pie is, well, pumpkin pie.”

“Almost makes me wish for cold weather. Almost.”

For two California girls like us, the hardest part about going to college in the northeast had been getting used to the winters. “Yeah, almost.” I realized there were a few more things about new club members I had meant to ask before I'd been sucked into my little angst vortex. “Hey, so did you tell Schmitt about inviting the band to the club?”

“I did. He just grunted affirmatively, which is about all he does when I talk to him these days.” Ricki seemed quite pleased about that. “He'll contact each of them to sign the confidentiality agreement.”

“We ought to see about recruiting some more people, you know,” I said. “Didn't you say Sakura had some more leads?”