On the Razor's Edge of Paradise Page 10

  His friends—I didn't think they were very impressed with me at all, especially one particular very lithe, petite blonde—Cary—who kept throwing me looks that could kill the entire evening. So much so that, at one point, I pried myself out of the kitchen, where I was the happiest—not that I had anything to do—he'd had the thing catered—and sought out his mother, who confirmed for me what I already had a hunch about—the blonde was an ex-girlfriend.

  "From long ago," she said, patting my arm reassuringly.

  Yeah, right. Maybe for her, and maybe even for Dan, but not for the blonde. She wanted him. I'd seen that look before. My ex had been on the receiving end of it often enough, and he'd never missed an opportunity for some strange.

  Not that I thought Dan was going to cheat on me. I didn't. The blonde was just the icing on my insecure layer cake—he was rich, I was poor—check. He was well-educated and well-read and I had been educated and could read—check. He was every woman's dream of a man—with or without the D/s aspects—and I was, well, not anyone's dream of anything.

  Closer to most guy's nightmares, I thought at that point, in an ever-increasing spiral of doubt and self-loathing.

  C'mon—what guy wouldn't want that in a woman?

  "Hey, stranger, have you been circulating around your party?"

  Knowing I didn't want to fib to him, I just smiled wanly when I turned around rather than answering him directly.

  But Dan was very attuned to me. He put his drink down on the nearest end table—without a coaster, I noticed—and pulled me into his arms. "Honey, you look like you're about to keel over. Are you feeling sick?"

  No, I'm feeling poor, I wanted to scream at him. I'm feeling inadequate and ugly and stupid.

  But I couldn't say any of that to him. Instead, I covered my mouth against the wail I knew I was going to emit as the tears began to flow and literally ran away from him, down the nearest hallway, and into what turned out to be his bedroom, although I'd had no idea that was where I was going to end up when I lit out like a scalded cat.

  And, as I was closing the bedroom door behind me, surprised that he wasn't already there, not allowing me to shut it, I could hear the blonde talking to him. It hadn't taken her very long to descend, I wept to myself. She was probably much more suited to him than I was, anyway.

  My clothes were there, my real clothes, and I got into them in the bathroom. I don't know where it was that I thought I was going, since I would have had to march through the party to get to any of the doors, but, then, I wasn't thinking straight.

  When I came back out, he was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, those beautiful hands of his showing stark against the darkness of his suit.

  He looked surprised to see me in jeans and a sweater, my purse hanging from my shoulder. "Going somewhere, little sub?"

  Leave it to him to remind me that, in our relationship, I was not free to come and go as I pleased.

  My eyes too full of tears for me to speak, I simply nodded.

  To his great credit, he didn't get angry. "Did someone say something unkind to you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Are you unwell? Hurt? Sleepy? Dopey? Grumpy? Horny?"

  I could see that he wanted me to laugh at his dumb joke, but I just couldn't. We hadn't been together very long, but I was just devastated at how out of place I felt with his people, and I knew that was probably the death knell to our relationship. He had as much a right to his friends as I had to mine, but it was apparently a lot easier for him to slum it than for me to try to fit in with the upper crust.

  I didn't even know he'd stood up until his arms folded me against him, not allowing me to resist, my head ending up on his chest, somewhere below his shoulder as he began to rock us back and forth. "Tell me what it is, love. Tell me how I can help you feel better, please."

  Instead, I sobbed my heart out on his shoulder as he tightened his arms around me and rubbed my back.

  When I leaned back a bit, he loosened his embrace so that I could look up at him. "Dan, it's—the Waterford—and the clothes and the cars—and the people—they're so—wow—and I'm so—blah!" I had to respect the fact that he didn't just laugh in my face at that nonsensical outburst. "There are so many of them and they all love you so much and I-I—just—can't. We're just…we can't be right like this. It won't work."

  I wasn't even crying any more as I sank down on the end of his bed and put my head in my hands, not even looking up when I heard him gasp.

  I felt rather than saw him sink to his knees in front of me. "Isa, I'm so, so sorry! I should never have thrown this party at all, should I? I was thinking for me, not for you. I should have known that this not at all how you'd be comfortable meeting people—I know you have social phobias. I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't think. Can you forgive me?"

  He was right, of course, that was part of it, but it wasn't the biggest part.

  His hands were on mine, and I glommed onto them, taking myself firmly in hand. "Of course, I can. You're right, parties are not my thing." I sniffed and recollected myself, then looked back up at him. "But that's only part of the reality of the things I've realized tonight, and since you came back from Australia."

  "What is it, baby?"

  "I-I just can't be what you need me to be, Dan." I relinquished my hold on his hands and sat up, away from him. "I just—I can't do it. I'm not—right for you."

  He frowned up at me. "Is this about the edging?"

  I shook my head, chuckling humorlessly. "No, it's not about that."

  "Then what? Help me understand, baby, please?"

  I loved how he could be so Dommish one minute and yet so tender others. I loved—well, everything about him.

  I loved him.

  CHAPTER 9

  T hat stark realization hit me like a sledgehammer to the heart, because I knew now that I couldn't have him. I couldn't do that to him—to saddle him with a wife who didn't know—and what's more, didn't give a tinker's dam—which was the shrimp fork and which was the butter knife. I was very firmly middle class—if that—and he was very firmly filthy rich. Never the twain, et cetera.

  There was a soft rap at the door, and he tried to ignore it, but I encouraged him to see who it was—he still had a party going on out there.

  It turned out to be his mother, and I was bowled over when he let her in and led her over to me.

  "Mom," he said, staring down at me, his hands in his pockets, looking almost as forlorn as I felt. "The woman I love has decided that she's not good enough for me, and I'm pretty sure she's going to leave me because of it."

  His Mom—Helen—joined me on the end of the bed, giving me a big hug. "I'm sorry you feel that way. Parties in places like this—with people like this—used to make me feel like a fraud, too," she shared in a whisper.

  "You?" I asked incredulously. I was no expert in these kinds of things—slob that I am—but I would bet that she was wearing Prada or Dior and maybe Jimmy Choo, too.

  "Oh, yes, honey! Do you think we've always had money?" I nodded yes. "Well, we didn't. When I married Bernie, he had nothing but a head full of dreams and a lot of ambition. But I knew he was going to be something, if we could just stick it out. Our first apartment was a one room, fifth floor walkup, with a pull-down Murphy bed. I became the Julia Childs of canned tuna, because it was the only thing we could afford. I think Dan's older brother has rickets because we didn't have enough food to feed him well."

  I saw Dan roll his eyes at that. "Mom, Jesus. Tom doesn't have rickets."

  I watched her give her son a withering glance. "And when did you get your medical degree, Doctor Dan?"

  He smiled at that and acceded to his wiser mother.

  I felt her shudder. "To this day, I cannot stand the taste of tuna—even the expensive stuff," she confided. "Or bologna. And, as God is my witness, I will starve before I ever have to eat another plate full of dried beef over toast." Patting my hands when she came out of what was apparently an unpleasant reverie, she continued, "The point
I'm trying to make is that the food sucked, but we were terribly happy, despite it. I'm going to ask you something, and I think I know the answer, but I don't like to assume. Do you love that man who's standing there looking like his life is over at the thought of losing you?"

  My chin wobbled, and I bit my lip till it nearly bled. Then I slowly shook my head, and Dan let out an explosive breath.

  "Fuck me, Isa, now I can never let you go!"

  "Daniel Kennedy Hayden, language!"

  "Sorry, Mom," he apologized quickly, and I caught a glimpse of myself with him in his actions.

  "Well, then, I think I've been the interfering sort of mother-in-law enough for the moment. I'll leave you two to hash it out, and I don't want either of you to come out until you can tell me that I can expect to help you plan a wedding in the near future." She hugged me again, tightly, then hugged her son on her way out. "Remember, you two—wedding. Or at the very least, an engagement party. Daniel, would you like me to show your friends out?"

  He looked sheepish. "Yeah, if you don't mind doing it, Mom."

  I could see where he got his broad, mischievous grin. "Oh, honey, don't you know me well enough to know that I would just adore the opportunity to show a bunch of rich bitches the door—and Miss Cary Higgins is at the very top of that list."

  Even I almost laughed at that, and I probably wouldn't have been able to resist if it hadn't been for the mention of my newfound rival.

  The bedroom was eerily silent for a moment, with Daniel looking surprisingly hesitant, almost diffident. "Was she right? Is that what this was about? It's not the party itself, it's that you feel uncomfortable here, so you think we should break up, even though you love me and I love you?"

  I sighed, but I wasn't crying. I was sick of crying, not that that was going to stop me at my next weak moment, I knew. "It's several things. Yes, the party itself wasn't a good idea, but it doesn't make me feel two inches tall. This house—all of the gorgeous accoutrement that go with it, the seventy-two cars, the dinnerware that's not Corningware and the silverware that's real effing silver, not to mention Miss Cary Higgins." I gave him a look. "And just in case you didn't know, in case you're blind, like a lot of men are, it might be over for you, but it's not over for her. If looks could kill, I'd be sprawled out by the front door from the moment when you first introduced me to her, and she looks at you like I look at cheesecake."

  He almost smiled at that and took a step towards me, shrugging out of his suit coat and dropping it on the floor. "I told you that I would never be unfaithful to you, and neither Cary Higgins or Miss Universe or the latest Playmate of the Year is going to change that, Isabella." His tone was mild mannered, but his expression was anything but.

  "If you don't like this place, then I'll move in with you. I was really only thinking that we should move in here because it's bigger. I'll sell it and my cars and my silverware, and we'll buy some Corningware, whatever the hell that is, and live out our happily ever after at your place, if that's what'll make you feel better."

  By the time he stood in front of me, he was down to just his pants, and he shucked those and his briefs off in one slick move, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. "Nice clothes are a kind of a uniform for my business, so I don't have much choice about that, but I'll wear Levis or Wranglers or freakin' mom jeans when I'm not working; I don't care."

  He stood naked in front of me, his hands on his hips, erection jutting out from him and glaring at me accusingly, seeping pre-cum onto what was undoubtedly some kind of designer carpet.

  The image of him in high-waisted mom jeans was a bit of a hoot, I had to admit. It might even be worthy of an April Fool's joke, if I could remember to do it, which I seriously doubted. Ignoring his beautiful erection, I looked up at him. "You'd sell this place—and your cars—for me?"

  He dropped to his knees in front of me. "I'd sell my kidney and live in a cardboard box with you, if it would get you to tell me that you love me and that you want to be with me. None of this stuff…" He looked around. "None of it means anything to me without you. And if you don't like or want it, then we don't have to have it. You're my home, not some pile of bricks and mortar."

  There was a voice at the door. "Don't let me interrupt you, dears. I just wanted to tell you that everyone's gone and your father and I are headed—"

  "Go away."

  I think this was the closest to angry I'd ever seen him.

  "I'm going, dear," his mother said, apparently unconcerned at her son's flash of temper. Her soft, "We love you both," was obviously said as she moved towards the front door.

  His eyes had never left mine. "Please, Isa. I've finally found you—the woman who is perfect for me. I can't give you up. Please don't ask me to."

  "But—" I began, but I was distracted when he leaned forward to take my pocketbook off my shoulder and put it on the floor, too. "You should have someone—"

  "Someone I love, who loves me, who is a delight to tease and talk with and who prefers museums to the theatre because they're cheaper, and who fellates me even better than she does spoons, and who neither demands nor expects anything from me except that I honor her by not screwing around on her?"

  My blouse was next, undone and drawn off of me slowly, to end up on the growing pile, then my bra, after which he couldn't keep himself from cupping my breasts, using his firm grip on my nipples to encourage me to stand up.

  "I should have a woman who makes me have wet dreams in beds all over Australia, who begs me so sweetly to let her come and doesn't kill me in my sleep when I refuse her, who likes to watch black and white TV programs from the fifties, when she might well have been a very well loved and well spanked wife, but who is going to have to settle for being one in the twenty first century."

  Almost before I knew it, I was standing in front of him naked, and he took me into his arms to kiss me with a passion that had me instantly dripping down my own legs, until he pushed his own hairy thigh between my smooth ones and got drenched for his efforts.

  "Oh, Christ, Isa, I'm not going to beg—"

  I raised my eyebrow at him. "And why not? You certainly make me beg often enough—to no avail, I might add."

  His crooked grin was my undoing. "Yes, but that is as it should be. It's only right that you should have to beg for your pleasure." He swung me up into his arms and lay down on the big bed with me. "Since it and you, little sub, are mine."

  One big hand swept down me, as if claiming ownership over me.

  "Put your arms at your sides, baby girl."

  Expecting more of the same torture he'd been subjecting me to all along, I nonetheless obeyed.

  "Good girl."

  But this time was different, somehow. There was even more urgency in his touch than there ever had been. His mouth demanded, rather than tormented, as he hovered over me, bracing himself on his arms and sucking each nipple past his lips and into the warm cavern of his mouth. "You have beautiful nipples, Isa," he said, I swear, just so he could watch me blush.

  And, of course, I didn't disappoint him, and, naked as I was, it didn't stop at my neck but traveled down to the tops of the generous breasts he was eagerly nuzzling. I had been kept so far gone that I was very nearly there already, and he knew it.

  "Ah, ahh, ahhh," he warned, pinching my nipples hard enough to make me cry out. "No coming—yet."

  I couldn't believe what I'd heard. Had he just said yet?

  I wanted to question him further but he was already slipping slowly down my body, leaving a corresponding wet trail of lips and tongue on me that was not quite as generous as the one I was leaving on his chest and belly.

  When he was between my legs, gazing at me, his fingers opening my inner lips to deliberately make me drip onto the comforter, he sighed, "You are even more gorgeous down here than the rest of you is."

  I held in my snort, knowing that not to would just get me into a world of hurt, and I certainly didn't want to screw up my first chance at actually having an orgasm with him.


  He eased two fingers into me, probing somewhat less than gently, stroking them strongly in and out of me. "Oh, my love, someday, just doing this to you and watching your cream seep out of you around my fingers, is going to make me come without ever having been touched."

  "Welcome to the ruined orgasm club," I teased, surprised I had the brain power to do so.

  But he was shaking his head as he brought it forward, towards my clit. "I don't think so. I think that would be marvelous—a true testament to just how hot you are to me." He stuck his tongue out while I was watching him and lapped at my clit, sending my hips arching after him when he sat up a bit, leaving me wanting—again. "And, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, a once in a lifetime thing, if it ever happens."

  Then, slowly, he leaned back down, engulfing my most tender parts in that eager, warm wetness, making me lose complete control of myself as my hips rolled my clit against him.

  But he was still more than strong enough to prevent me from getting anywhere he didn't want me to, so he held me fast, unable to move, forced to proceed at his pace, not my own.

  And his was glacial in comparison.

  I'd had so much build up, so much frustration, that I think I began climaxing as soon as his tongue found me, although it was unusual, in that it was kind of in the background. I could feel my own contractions, but they weren't in the forefront of my experience—that was completely occupied by what he was doing to me with his lips and tongue, and those oh so talented fingers of his, which kept up a steady, powerful counterpoint to the slow, loving devastation that was his mouth on me there.

  It didn't take long, though, before I was shaking as if caught in a very private earthquake, my body trembling fiercely, and those mild contractions I'd been having that were barely noticeable became rolling waves of frighteningly potent, orgasmic bliss.

  "Please, Daniel, please. Please!"

  He stopped, and my heart sank, my body feeling as if it was forever going to be on the brink. "Yes, baby girl. You may. This one time. But don't get used to it."