Chapter 193: Luke
She was fucking killing me. I asked for sexy and she gave me her version of sadistic. Not having my hands on her was one of the most painful exercises in futility I'd ever gone through. My plans before I arrived were to keep my hands entirely off her. That flew out the window within minutes of seeing that fucking dress. Though lifting it and admiring her bruises might not be the sexual fantasy of most red-blooded males, it fucking rocked my socks.
I had made reservations at an upscale restaurant that our band frequented when we felt like playing dress up. With Krispin's new wife, Angela, we were settling down and things like suits and ties were keeping us from being tossed out of places we seldom visited back in our crazier days. We weren't exactly known as the sit-down-dinner type of musicians.
So now I had a major problem. If any man looked twice at Machala, I planned to punch his lights out. Depending on his size, the management throwing us out might include calling the cops. Fuck... where had this jealousy come from? I shared her with Wade for fuck's sake. If I took her to a dungeon with other people I would be okay. Those men understood the rules of ownership. The fucktards of Hollywood did not.
And, she told me no. I was still reeling from her refusal to cover up. She was royally messing up my plans. No touching was the first and no sex the second. I would take her on a few dates, talk, and get to know her better. I wanted this to go differently than our first relationship. I had to knock down her walls and the D/s dynamic hadn't gotten me there.
"Luke, stop," she whispered in my ear as we were shown to our table.
I turned my glare away from the man checking out her ass. "You brought this on." Yeah, that was adult of me.
The ma顃re d seated us and after I ordered a bottle of wine, Machala leaned closer. "You're acting juvenile. Intimidating every man in the room will do no good. What's come over you?"
I took a drink of water. How could I tell her how I felt when I didn't understand it myself? "This is different..." That wouldn't work, so I started again. "It's about control. With you in that dress and us out in public-I'm barely able to control myself and I don't like it."
She was so good at hiding her feelings, but she allowed a little softness to lighten her tight smile. "Then why are we here when we could be at my place or your place doing what we do best?"
"We don't do it best, Machala. That's why we're here." I instantly saw the hurt my words caused. I took her cold hand and brought her fingers to my lips. "I want more, Machala. Not a contract with a time limit. Not straight D/s and not a relationship that centers on sex." I stopped because the waiter returned with our wine. I went through the motions of approving the bottle, but my eyes remained on her. "We haven't decided on our meal. Give us a few minutes, please." I just needed him gone.
"I don't understand what brought this change on, Luke." Her continued soft, controlled voice worried me.
I didn't want to lose her by overpowering her with the emotion I had trouble concealing. Yes, Luke, the big bad sadist, was truly caught by Machala Winters. "I don't want things returning to what we had before, because it didn't work. I need D/s in my life, so I'm not saying to throw it out the window, but I think the two of us need more."
She remained quiet and picked up her menu. She finally looked over the top. "Do you plan on ordering for me?"
Relief at the smile in her eyes had me giving her an answering smile. "I'd love to, but this is a date and you're welcome to order what you'd like."
She laid down the menu. "Choose for me, please."
This was a big deal for Machala. The first time we met, I remember the very slight upward tilt of her chin she gave when I ordered for both of us. I was pushing her that day to see her reactions. Tonight was an act of submission on her part. Fuck, my dick went hard. I lifted my hand and the waiter returned. I ordered something I'd had before and knew was good.
The waiter left and now the true test to my evening began. "Tell me what's going on in the world of publishing."
Machala looked away from me for a few seconds. "Is this something you really want to talk about?"
On Monday mornings, I would ask about her schedule for the week, but I never delved into her business. During the months away from her I wondered endlessly what she was doing at that very moment. "I'd very much like to know."
She told me about the meeting with an author earlier that day-signing her to a contract and the excitement over such raw talent. Machala loosened up as she spoke.
"Do you usually take the hands-on approach?" I knew her publishing house was running with the big dogs.
"Yes, when I read someone I really like. This woman has too much promise for me to delegate her to someone else. I have several acquisitions employees who do it, but now and then it's nice to go back to my roots."
"What made you choose publishing?" She gave me a long look and I didn't think I would like her answer or maybe refusal to answer. Our meal arrived and she got a reprieve. After we were alone again I didn't let up. "Why publishing?"
She sipped her wine before answering. "I never had books as a child and when I discovered the joys of reading, it became a dream."
She didn't like talking about her childhood, so I let that end of her reply drop. "Why not a writer?"
This brought the smile back to her face and a small sparkle to her eyes. "I tried. I suck."
A surprised laugh escaped me. The great Machala Winters wasn't good at something and she admitted it. "I doubt you sucked."
She finished a bite of the mushroom-covered steak I'd ordered. "All my stories ended in tragedy. Everyone died, including my main characters. Happy endings didn't work for me and unfortunately that's what sells for the most part with fiction."
Fiction. I wondered if her writing was more autobiographical and that's why there were no happy endings. After analyzing my months with Machala I knew she wasn't happy. She went through life because she had to-not because she enjoyed it. Yeah maybe she found happiness here and there, but overall it wasn't within her reach.
I wanted her happy. I wanted to beat her and fuck her in equal measures. Most of all I fucking wanted her. "Tell me about one of the books you tried to write." It took a minute but a grin slowly lit up her face. I was able to enjoy my meal while she enraptured me with a story.
"The dog's name was Mickey. He became separated from his owner, a young boy, while the family was on vacation. Mickey had to travel through one misadventure after another looking for the boy. A trucker gave him a ride and Mickey slept in the back compartment. The trucker thought Mickey was happy and that he would stay, but Mickey missed his true owner. Mickey survived a fire in the forest with hunters thinking he was a stray mutt." Now Machala's smile dimmed. "Mickey starved to death because he wouldn't settle down and give up on the boy."
Machala looked down at her food. "Dogs aren't supposed to die in these stories unless it's during an act of heroism or old age. It didn't matter how much I wanted Mickey to live, I couldn't write the story that way."
"How old were you when you wrote it?"
"About fifteen I think."
She shredded my heart and she didn't even know it. She'd also told me more about herself than any Monday morning uncovered. "Did you ever own a dog?"
She looked back up and smiled in that soft way that had me wanting to make her scream in pain because I was a sadistic asshole.
"No, did you?" she asked a little sadly.
"Never had a dog, but I've had a pony."
Her cheeks turned red and I knew by her expression she knew exactly what I spoke of. Fuck me, I really wanted to ride my pony.
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