Sylvie sat on the bed, unable to stop the tears pouring from her eyes. She’d wanted him to stay, had tried to convince him to remain just a little while longer; but Connor had been determined to go. Nothing she said could sway him. A few short hours ago she’d been happy and safe in his arms; now all she felt was despair.
He’d showered, dressed; and then they’d ‘talked.’ Except he did most of the talking! She’d hoped his visit might help to settle their issues and disagreements; but it hadn’t. He was just as bullheaded as ever. Connor still wasn’t going to allow her to call, text, or email him unless it had something to do with business. She thought all this cloak-and-dagger stuff was ridiculous, like something in a hackneyed spy novel. Did he really think their phones were being tapped or their emails hacked? ‘No,’ but Connor insisted he wouldn’t put anything past the psycho. He reminded her that he and Ariel had been discreet, scrupulously so; yet the killer found out about their affair. The madman was cunning; and, unfortunately, appeared to have the necessary resources to enable him to pursue his nefarious ends.
Sylvie wanted reassurance that they would see each other again soon. Telling him the separation would be easier for her to endure if they could just meet every few weeks. Connor nixed that idea. As far as anyone knew, they were no longer romantically involved. He wanted to keep it that way. If they were going to err, it would be on the side of caution.
To keep up the ruse, Connor intended to squire other women to the various charity galas, media and publishing events, and award ceremonies that were on his calendar from now till Christmas. That caused Sylvie’s temper to flare. Connor was beyond upset that she’d met a man at a bar and he’d followed her home; but it was perfectly okay for him to go out with other women? He’d spanked her for breaking the fidelity rule. Why did the fidelity rule only apply to her? He could cat around and she couldn’t? Talk about a double standard!
From the sound of it, Connor was planning to keep a stable of women to use as arm candy. He’d rotate them like he did suits. When Sylvie objected that he was putting the women in danger, he dismissed her concerns out of hand. What? Didn’t he get the memo? There was a demented killer on the loose bound and determined to do away with any woman Connor had more than a passing acquaintance with! He explained that it wouldn’t be a problem since he only intended to go out with them two or three times at most and never in succession. He’d stagger them, never being seen with the same girl twice in a row. Two or three times! Was he fucking kidding her? As if that wasn’t bad enough, he informed her that one of the women would be Seanna. Fuming, her jealousy getting the better of her, Sylvie demanded to know if he intended to fuck them too? Connor was indignant and told her to get her mind out of the gutter. She was supposed to take it on faith and trust him that there would be no sex. Yeah! Right! With his history? She might be naïve, but she wasn’t an idiot!
Most of the women were old friends, or friends of friends. Then he started naming names. It was worse than she thought! A Hollywood starlet who’d appeared in a movie he’d produced, a Broadway actress who’d been nominated for a Tony, the new ‘It girl’ model whose face currently graced the covers of every fashion magazine from here to Timbuktu. In addition, there was a girl who’d posed for the annual Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition and another who worked for Victoria’s Secret. And last but not least, a many-times divorced socialite: a cougar, famous for being filthy rich, and having her own reality show. What was with him? Couldn’t he pick somebody homely, or ugly, or who looked like a horse? Every single one of those bitches was gorgeous. So where did that leave Sylvie? Nowhere!
Fighting fire with fire, Sylvie insisted if it was okay for him to date, then she could too. In this case, what’s good for the gander is good for the goose!
But Connor didn’t buy it! ‘Absolutely not!’ he’d thundered, laying down the law.
Cloistered nuns had more freedom than Sylvie. At least they’d willingly chosen to take the veil and live their lives secluded behind stone walls. Sylvie wasn’t given a choice in the matter. She was going stir crazy ‘in this tomb,’ she complained to him. If she didn’t get out once in a while, she’d go stark raving mad. It was like pulling teeth, but he eventually agreed that as his editor/assistant it would be appropriate for her to go to the publishing industry and media fetes he was planning to attend. She could also go to the charitable events and award ceremonies honoring him for his work and philanthropy. He reasoned that it might raise more questions if she didn’t make an appearance. Yippee! Not only would it get her out of the penthouse, but it would allow her to keep close tabs on him and the bimbos he’d be escorting. She’d been put on notice, however, that aside from normal pleasantries, she was to keep her distance at these events. He wanted it to be apparent to everyone in attendance that he was with the girl on his arm and not Sylvie. That she was nothing more to him than his employee. He told her he’d have someone make arrangements to get her the clothing and accessories she’d need for the events. Nothing fancy; no designer labels. The clothes had to reflect her position as a subordinate and staff member at the publishing company. Though she still had the corporate credit card he’d given her to purchase the kinky paraphernalia for the books, he wouldn’t allow her to use it to buy clothes for the events. Someone else would choose her wardrobe. That didn’t sit well with Sylvie; but it wasn’t worth arguing over. At least she’d be allowed out of her cage every now and again.
From what he said, Connor was planning to be in the city pretty much every week or so from now until two weeks after the December 1st launch date for the book. She had hoped to spend the holidays together; but her hopes were dashed when she learned that he was heading to Telluride for a ski vacation, spending Christmas and New Year’s with his buddies and their ‘girls.’ They wouldn’t be seeing each other at Thanksgiving either. He had plans; but what they were he didn’t say.
Sylvie used her fists to brush the tears from her eyes. What exactly was she getting from this relationship except a whole lot of heartache?
Her eyes were puffy. Her nose was runny. She needed a tissue. Sylvie stood up quickly and gasped when the movement unleashed a mixture of cum and secretions that soaked her panties and trickled down her thighs. She hurried into his bathroom, undid her jeans, pushed down her underwear, and looked around for something to clean herself with. She settled for a wad of toilet paper and a handful of tissues. After wiping herself and discarding the evidence of their lovemaking in the wastebasket, Sylvie put the toilet seat down, gingerly sat on it, and started sobbing. When she’d asked him what she was supposed to do with herself in his absence: ‘sit around masturbating?’ he got PO’d. ‘I don’t want you touching yourself that way… ever!’ he’d warned her. ‘That part of you belongs to me now. I’ll decide if and when you come, not you! Understand?’ Was he serious? Or just delusional? And how did she respond to his latest dictate? Did she stand up to him? Assert herself? Tell him to fuck off? No. She’d acted like an obedient, meek little mouse and squeaked ‘OK,’ indicating her intended compliance. Where was her self-respect? This dom-sub shit had gotten way out of hand. It wasn’t that she masturbated all that often. She almost never diddled herself. She was hardly even aware of her lady bits until Connor came along. Out of sight out of mind…so to speak! If she was going to be swept up into the throes of ecstasy she wanted it to be with Connor, not alone. Still, if he wasn’t going to make the time and effort to see to her needs, she ought to have the option to do it herself. It was her body after all!
Sylvie kept thinking about Callie, Tara, and Ariel. Connor had gone to great lengths to see them. Regularly making the trek from the Adirondacks to New York City and/or Boston and back again just to spend a few hours with them. Now he was saying he was going to be in New York City on a regular basis; but he couldn’t spare the time to see her. Really? It was too dangerous, he said. They had to be discreet. That was all very well, but he’d been willing to sneak around with Ariel. They had plenty of clandestine assignations in the city. Playing hide-the-salami behind her cuckolded husband’s back. That sort of thing didn’t seem to bother him then. But with Sylvie it was a no-no? She’d snuck out of the building right under the security guards’ noses, but he couldn’t manage to sneak in without being seen? Come on! Give me a break! Sylvie’s temper was ratcheting up. If Connor was here now she’d give him a piece of her mind. Tell him that he was taking her for granted and she wasn’t going to put up with it.
She was reveling in righteous indignation when it suddenly dawned on her that all three women were dead! Not just dead, but brutally murdered! A shiver went through her. Goose bumps appeared on her skin. She thought Connor was being overly cautious, that he was overstating the threat; but maybe he was right. She couldn’t very well fault him for trying to keep her safe. Why did she insist on thinking there was some kind of ulterior motive behind everything he did? Why couldn’t she just trust him? Instead, all she could think about was him with Seanna…naked in bed.
She hated that conniving bitch! Seanna was a gorgeous, world-famous model. What was with Connor and his bizarre fixation on models? From a male perspective it probably didn’t get any better than Seanna. She had a perfectly coiffed mane of blond hair, a porcelain complexion; she was statuesque, with a tiny waist and a fulsome bosom that she flashed at every man—make that rich man…no, better yet, make that mega-rich man… Seanna wasn’t into slumming—that had the misfortune of meeting her. Seanna was a shark and she was circling Connor, moving in for the kill.
Sylvie was behaving like a jealous shrew and she knew it; but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t compete with the likes of Seanna. Sylvie had no figure and no curves to speak off. Built like a prepubescent boy, she was short and skinny and her boobs were small, almost nonexistent. When she laid on her back, they all but disappeared. Sylvie wasn’t homely, but she wasn’t particularly pretty either. Mostly, she was plain with freckles. What did Connor see in her anyway? With his wealth, looks, and power, he could have anyone he wanted. Why had he set his sights on her? Sylvie lacked self-confidence when it came to her appearance. She’d told herself that looks weren’t important; that she’d rather be smart than pretty. It had been her mantra all through high school and college. Then she met Connor; and, wonder of wonders, she became pretty, beautiful even. Connor said so and she believed him. When she was with him she was instantly transformed from an ugly caterpillar into an exquisite butterfly.
But Connor was gone now and in his absence she’d changed back into an unattractive caterpillar, her self-confidence in shambles. Worse still, she didn’t feel smart anymore; she’d become an empty-headed idiot, her brain a muddle. All because of him! She was vulnerable and powerless now. This was her life, but she had no say in it anymore. Sylvie was at the mercy of unfolding events and Connor, who insisted he knew what was best for her. Without even consulting her! Without her input or consent! And if that wasn’t enough, there was the crazed killer to consider. A month ago she hadn’t even known he existed. But now his evil, ominous presence and the threat he posed was dictating where and how she lived her life. She felt besieged! What terrified her most was she couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. She had no idea when this would end or when she could reclaim her life.
The only thing she knew for sure was that she ached for Connor. When she was away from him it felt like a piece of her was missing. She felt no happiness, no joy. There was no peace, no light, no laughter. He’d become her everything. How bad was that? Once upon a time, before she met the rather dour Mr. Hudson, and fallen under his spell, she fancied herself a feminist. Boy, was that a joke! She’d allowed a man, okay, a very handsome, very dominant man, to walk into her life and literally hijack it, taking control of every aspect of it. Somewhere along the way, she’d locked up her brain, sending her head on hiatus up her ass! Sylvie was allowing her pussy to run the show. That insatiable little tart wasn’t interested in anything other than her own gratification. Like a crack addict, all her nubbin cared about was where she could score her next orgasm. She was a Summa Cum Laude for God’s sake! How the hell did she let this happen?
Her eyes glanced over at the mirrored wall. As expected, she looked like shit…absolutely pathetic! Sylvie’s eyes were red and swollen, reduced to narrow bloodshot slits. The tip of her nose looked like an almost ripe cherry tomato and was leaking copious amounts of snot. She could even see the big, reddish-purple bruises that covered her butt. How wretched was she, sitting bare-assed on a toilet with her wet jeans and underwear bunched around her ankles? She needed to get a grip and snap out of it!
Sylvie reluctantly got to her feet and righted her clothing. She cringed when the cold damp spot on her underwear connected with her warm crotch. She shook her head wondering why her life had turned to shit? Nothing was working out the way she’d hoped. If this was ‘the first day of the rest of her life’ she might as well throw herself under a bus right now and get it over with. If this was any indication of what was to come: the tears and heartbreak, the anger and disappointment, the anxiety and uncertainty, the loneliness…not to mention a sore throbbing ass, her life would be a veritable crap-fest! Was it any wonder she felt sorry for herself?
Sylvie looked around the bathroom, sniveling and fretting. When was she going to see him again? He’d been so evasive, so noncommittal about when he was coming back. Or even if he was coming back! Why was he keeping her on tenterhooks? Being so mysterious? Was this some stupid game he’d dreamed up, whose sole purpose was to aggravate and drive her nuts? She’d bawled like a baby when he left. Sylvie decided she didn’t like being in love…it hurt too much! She thought falling in love was supposed to make you happy, but it wasn’t that way for her. It was more like dangling from the end of a pendulum. Go one way and love was joyful and euphoric, filled with blue skies, sunshine, and rainbows. It made your life wonderful! Swing the other way, however, and love was sad, lonely, and filled with despair, making you want to slit your wrists and end it all! Who needed it? Loving Connor had become an emotional rollercoaster, filled with extreme highs and devastating lows. Right now there were more lows than there were highs. Life had been boring and uneventful before Connor. But considering what was going on now, maybe boring was better!
Sylvie kept trying to see the upside to all this angst. Connor had been worried about her. He’d rushed down from Saranac to find her and make sure she was safe. That was a good sign. If he came once, then chances were good he’d come again. She just had to provide the right enticement. She looked at the still-damp towels on the floor. Lifting one up, she brought it to her nose. It smelled of sandalwood, just like him. Opening the shower door, she picked up the bar of soap he’d used, and breathed in the aroma. Wrapping it in a hand towel for safekeeping, she began poking around the cabinets and shelves, looking for the Clive Christian cologne. She didn’t find it.
Returning to the bedroom, Sylvie rummaged through the drawers and closets, finally finding the cologne in the drawer of his gentlemen’s valet, the wooden contraption standing in the corner used to hang his suit jacket and trousers. Though the drawer held several vials, she immediately recognized the little black bottle by its distinctive, gold-crown top. A similar one sat on his dresser at home. Home… She shut her eyes and could see it, the sprawling log mansion. The bedroom they’d shared; the big rustic bed, its head and footboards fashioned from thick tree branches. The living room with its comfortable leather furniture, soaring ceiling, and massive fireplace. That was her home, not this marble and glass mausoleum! It was where she felt safe and at peace. But it wasn’t really her home. It was his. Sylvie was just a guest, a transient, not a permanent resident. She was there at Connor’s behest or maybe his sufferance; to do his bidding for as long as he wanted or needed her, only to be eventually cast out, evicted, with a wave of his hand. Sylvie opened her eyes and stared at the bottle.
She didn’t understand what was going on with him. When they made love he was tender and affectionate; but as soon as they were done he’d become a cold fish: curt, callous, and indifferent, behaving as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. His face betrayed no emotion when they’d parted. Not even regret for the fact that, in essence, what he’d done was use and abandon her. The man was obviously attracted to Sylvie, availing himself of her charms whenever and wherever he could; but it didn’t go much beyond that. Connor liked to fuck her for sure, but was he sad and lonely when he was away from her? Did he sit in his room and cry for hours on end for want of her? Was he going out of his mind wondering how he could live another day without her? Probably not! Connor was a workaholic; he had other things to fill his time: his writing, businesses, and investments. If he hadn’t been the one who sent her away, he probably wouldn’t even realize she was gone until he noticed the cold spot in his bed where she used to be.
Connor was rich; and the one thing she’d learned being around him and his friends was that the rich don’t play by the same rules as everybody else. They invest money in relationships: cold, hard cash. They buy affection with baubles and bangles and haute couture. But they never invest their emotions.
He’d told her earlier today that he didn’t think himself capable of loving anyone. He’d said similar things before. But the fact remained that he’d planned to marry Marisol. Make her his wife. To Sylvie’s way of thinking that indicated he loved her. At least on some level. Obviously, Marisol engendered emotions in him that Sylvie didn’t. He’d been up front about it, telling her repeatedly that their relationship would never lead to marriage. He was not the marrying kind. Could he make it any clearer than that? Unfortunately, Sylvie, patron saint of lost causes, was in denial and not listening. She foolishly ignored his warnings. Sylvie couldn’t fault him; the man had been nothing but honest with her. She deluded herself, believing she could make him change his mind. Fat chance!
So where exactly did that leave her? Should she content herself with being on the receiving end of the occasional fuck, knowing Connor viewed her as a momentary distraction and nothing more. Sylvie might not be a model, or an actress, or some big-boobed, long-legged beauty queen; but she refused to be just another everyday, run-of-the-mill piece of ass for him. She had her pride! Well, at least she thought she did! But when it came to Connor she couldn’t be sure! It remained to be seen whether her convictions or her lust would win out!
Connor kept his secrets. He was generous with his money and possessions; but something was missing, something essential. She couldn’t put her finger on it…was it human feelings, empathy, a heart perhaps? Sometimes she looked in his eyes and they appeared so cold and unfeeling, dark, soulless, completely devoid of emotion. Sylvie was like an open book. What you see is what you get! But Connor was different. He kept himself closeted, refusing to let her in. She couldn’t crack his reserve nor penetrate the wall he’d built around himself. She didn’t know what he thought or what he wanted from her other than a willing and compliant bed partner. Connor might be able to content himself with a relationship based on sex alone, with no emotional entanglements or long term commitments, but she couldn’t. Sex wasn’t enough!
Sylvie blew out a breath, shaking her head in frustration. What had she been thinking when she agreed to such a dubious arrangement? She’d committed herself to a relationship where one party, Connor, held all the power; and the other party, Sylvie, was completely and utterly powerless. Was she mad? Drunk? Or just in heat? Probably the latter! She’d placed herself at his mercy. She didn’t have a choice. It was a condition of their getting together. He’d insisted on it. With Connor it was his way or the highway! She could have said no. Would that have been so hard? Connor wanted Sylvie bound and helpless with him in complete control. He fancied himself an alpha male, a dominant, and he was grooming Sylvie to be his submissive. He was living out some erotic fantasy he’d created in his mind; or maybe he was just doing it to gather fodder for his books. Whatever it was, he expected her to get with the program and play along. But this was his thing not hers. Where did the fantasy end and reality begin? She didn’t know anymore. The whole situation was getting more fucked up by the minute.
Had Connor always been this way? Was this need to dominate and subjugate women written into his DNA? She couldn’t help wondering if Marisol, Tara, Callista, and Ariel were submissives. Did he paddle and scold them the way he did her? She didn’t know if they were, but she was damn well sure she wasn’t! She didn’t like being punished like a child or treated like a sex slave. Why did she allow it? How weak-willed was she? One look at that handsome face, that gorgeous body, that beautiful, stiff cock and she’d been a goner, willing to agree to anything he wanted. It was all well and good when they were living under the same roof and there was a very real benefit to keeping him happy. He’d fucked her to near exhaustion every single night. She been so enthralled with him that she wanted to jump his bones every time she saw him. One look from that sexy bundle of male pulchritude and she’d lie down and spread her legs like some floozy, no questions asked. But now things were different. He wasn’t here. That gave their relationship, if it could even be called that now, a whole different perspective. Sylvie loved it when Connor dominated her in bed. Hell, one of them needed to be in charge, know what they were doing, because she certainly didn’t! But out of bed she resented his condescending attitude, overbearing nature, and strict discipline. She didn’t understand why he derived pleasure from smacking her behind; but he did!
Connor wasn’t the kind of dom you read about on the web or in some of the kinkier erotic romances. He didn’t have a torture chamber or dungeon with implements reminiscent of the Spanish Inquisition. He had no manacles or leg irons, no spanking horses, whips, or chains. As doms went, he was pretty low-key. A white bread, plain vanilla, strict, firm but fair, daddy-type dominant. He wasn’t sadistic. His spankings hurt, but they were nothing like the cringe-worthy ones she’d read about. He’d spanked her once with a wooden paddle then given her a single stroke each with a riding crop and flogger. The punishment had been truly awful! The whole episode had terrified her. He must have sensed her fear; because, since then, those implements had been stored away. Now, when he had occasion to spank her, he used his hand or the ornate Victorian hairbrush she despised, or the leather paddle with the words ‘Naughty Girl’ emblazoned on it. Though he talked about employing butt plugs and nipple clamps on her, he hadn’t. She’d actually lucked out with Connor. He was a pussycat as doms went, more bluster and lectures than harsh corporal punishment. He was actually quite gentle with her and never punished her for the hell of it. He said he would, but he never did. What she didn’t understand was why she had to be punished in order to prove her love and devotion to him. Whatever it was that made him the way he was, he better get over it; because she wasn’t going to put up with this nonsense much longer. In the past, she’d made excuses for him or tried to justify his behavior, but no more. Fact was, he didn’t need to punish her to become aroused. He could get it up just fine. His dick was perennially hard and always ready.
Connor was a man of contradictions. A dual personality. A generous, gentle Doctor Jekyll and a hideous, hateful Mr. Hyde. His behavior was schizophrenic. Swinging wildly between kindness and cruelty, interest and indifference, raging anger and deep despair. He was like one of the dark, obsessive, possessive, tragic heroes in a Brontë sisters’ novel: the stern, immoral, Rochester from Charlotte’s Jane Eyre or the morose Heathcliff from Emily’s Wuthering Heights. Connor could also have been plucked from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Like Mr. Darcy, he was an imperious, condescending asshole. But Darcy eventually succumbed to love and married Elizabeth Bennet, the girl in the story. Connor was not likely to follow that example with Sylvie.
She had to admit Connor’s mastery, his dominance, turned her on. Why was that? She believed in equality of the sexes. She identified with the suffragettes, the women who burned their bras for equality in the 60s and 70s, the women now struggling to break through the glass ceiling. She felt like she’d betrayed them all. But she’d been bewitched, enthralled. There was something about his taking charge that ignited her passion. Sylvie was embarrassed to admit it; but sometimes when he spanked her she got so hot the honey poured out of her. She didn’t understand why exactly. She wasn’t a masochist, or even a submissive. But she didn’t know how to stop herself from tingling deep in her core. The only explanation…he’d infected her with his… She didn’t even know what to call these kinds of desires. His particular perversion? His proclivity for deviance and depravity? His propensity for pain and punishment? His predilection for things kinky and twisted? He’d turned her into a frigging freak! Pain or pleasure? It was all good if it made her come. Her mother would be mortified to learn her darling, innocent little girl had been reborn into a raging sex fiend.
Sylvie was wanton in her desire for him. Behaving like a crazed nymphomaniac. All she thought about was being with Connor, feeling him moving inside her. She’d do anything for him. Demean herself, expose herself, endure whatever it took to have him look at her and tell her she was his ‘good girl.’ That she’d pleased him. What the fuck had gotten into her? Sure, sex with Connor was great, earth-shattering even; but sometimes it seemed disturbingly impersonal. He didn’t connect with her on an emotional level. She’d become the generic ‘female’ in his bed. Didn’t matter who it was, Sylvie, some other girl, or even a blow up doll. Her purpose was to get him off. See to his needs. Be at his beck and call. Sylvie couldn’t accept that. She wanted his body to ache for her. She wanted him to scream her name in the throes of passion. Profess his love. But the way things were going now, hell would freeze over first.
She opened the bottle and brought it to her nose. It smelled just like him: woodsy, spicy, sexy. She was about to take it back to her room when a vision of Aunt Tizzy flashed in her head. Crazy, dizzy Aunt Tizzy, dancing around the room in her tattered wedding dress; sniffing the filthy sleeve of her beloved soldier husband Glenn’s field jacket; hoping to find solace in the faded scent of his aftershave and the smell of his sweat decades later. All those years spent patiently waiting for him to come back to her, driven crazy by her love. Was that Sylvie’s fate? Spending her life sniffing Connor’s cologne and soap? Making believe he was with her? Making believe he cared? No! She wasn’t going to let herself become like Tiz. She put down the cologne and soap and walked to the bed.
The scent of their passion: the smell of sweat, cum and raw, wet, hot sex clung to the bed. It reeked of it. She lifted his pillow, cradling it in her arms. She took a deep breath, savoring his scent; then threw it down on the bed, and hurried from the room. She loved him with all her heart and soul, but she wasn’t going to let herself go crazy like Tizzy…not even for him!
