Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy Page 9

  As I can’t see him, nor read his emotions, I just keep holding out my empty glass, waiting for him to provide the refill, needing the alcohol to fill the void.

  ‘Alexandra, are you really angry with me? Honestly?’

  Another Alexandra moment. I wait with my glass extended toward his voice. He takes it, refills it and places it back in my hand. Thank goodness. I’m relieved as I raise the bubbly liquid to my lips. I decide to ignore his question, believing it at least gives me some control.

  ‘Lovely champagne, Jeremy. What is it? I’m not sure I’ve had it before.’

  I sense he is bemused at my avoiding his question. Unfortunately, he knows me well enough to recognise the more polite I am being, the greater the emotion I am hiding. Basically, he knows me almost as well as I know myself, if not better. Which is no doubt why I am sitting here in a ball gown, with a blindfold on, in the penthouse suite, trapped for the weekend. It is just all the more frustrating.

  ‘It’s Krug. We had it when I graduated. You loved it then as well, said it put you in a really great mood and —’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ I cut him off, not wanting his version of a trip down memory lane right now. My emotions are in overdrive, all the hypnotic calmness having taken its leave.

  ‘Well, all the more reason for drinking it now.’ I say as I take another sip. At least I am not gulping it now. I hear him sigh.

  ‘Will you at least have some hors d’oeuvres to go with your champagne?’

  I have to agree some food wouldn’t go astray. Even though my mind is spinning and my emotions are all over the place, I’m sure my rational brain wouldn’t be encouraging me to drink any more alcohol without food.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ I say very politely, formally. I can just imagine him rolling his eyes at my behaviour.

  ‘Open your mouth, please.’ He is close to me.

  ‘In my hand will be fine, thank you.’ It feels good to assert myself.

  ‘Alex, this is ridiculous.’ I take another sip of champagne in defiance. Maybe being blind doesn’t result in complete dependency after all. I can’t help but allow a small smirk to ripple across my face. He quickly snatches the glass out of my hand.

  My smirk vanishes immediately.

  ‘Open your mouth and I will give you your glass back.’

  I am just about to answer back when something small and delicious lands on my tongue. Taken aback, and with a mouthful of food tickling my tastebuds, I decide to close my mouth and eat it. After all, it would be a shame to waste such tantalising cuisine. Another one arrives not long after. Blini — absolutely delicious. I can taste the strong flavour of smoked trout against the light buckwheat pancake and feel the salmon roe slide around my mouth. The slightest hint of fennel confirms they are just like the ones we had in Russia all those years ago, amazing! Though I’m pleased we are drinking champagne rather than vodka as we were back then. My stomach is very grateful for the food.

  ‘More?’ I hear him ask. I nod and turn toward him, not really wanting to give him the satisfaction of my words. Something warm and soft arrives this time with an aroma of garlic and herbs.

  ‘Mmm.’ This time I can’t help but let out a groan in delicious delight. ‘Gorgeous. Scallop?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’ He dabs the corner of my mouth with a linen serviette. ‘Another?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I hear myself answer. After I swallow it he hands me back my glass of Krug. I sense he is happy that my frustration is dissipating alongside the food and champagne. Something about good food and wine that lifts the spirit, I think to myself.

  ‘Care to share your thoughts?’

  I eventually come to the conclusion that my anger is a result of my anxiety about losing control, particularly as I am so used to being in control of everything. I allow the emotion to leave me, as it is serving no purpose. Given my current predicament it would make the next forty-eight hours downright miserable for both of us, so I relent and share my thoughts with him. Although I am still on edge with my blindness and the dependency that surrounds me, it feels better being at ease with Jeremy and allowing the conversation to flow between us.

  After a few minutes of banter, Jeremy sidles up against me.

  ‘So tell me, honestly, how do you feel? Are you having fun?’ He lifts me slowly off the lounge to my feet.

  ‘Oh. Let me get this straight. You are allowed to ask as many questions as you want but I can’t ask any, is that the way it works?’ He caresses my neck and collarbone with his lips, oh so slowly, his breath like a feather against my skin.

  ‘Yes, that’s the way it works, for this weekend, anyway. There will be plenty of time for your questions later. So tell me, does this excite you?’ he asks again as his lips locate the top of my breast and I feel a little light-headed as my breath becomes radically uneven for the umpteenth time this evening. His touch engages the rest of my body and my vulva swells and moistens in anticipation. I can’t withhold a slightly muted sigh at the sensation.

  ‘Oh, so the answer is yes,’ he whispers into my ear as his teeth nibble my lobe.

  ‘Yes,’ I say breathlessly, ‘it excites me a little.’ Not wanting him to take away my words as he has my sight. His kisses feather and tease my lips.

  ‘It does me too, very much,’ he says as he lowers my hand to feel the bulge fighting against his trousers. It takes all of my concentration to prevent me from falling to my knees and devouring him then and there. The power of this raw, sexual emotion almost cripples me. I wonder if I know myself at all …

  The phone rings at that exact moment which startles me from my fantasy back to reality. He continues to hold my hand so I blindly follow him as he answers it, taking exaggerated, careful steps to balance on my heels.

  ‘Wonderful, thank you. We are on our way.’ He hangs up. ‘Alex, you look panic-stricken, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, nothing at all, why do you ask?’ I say nervously, wringing my hands together. Can it be that even with a blindfold covering my eyes, he can still read that much expression on my face?

  ‘Good, are you ready to accompany me to dinner?’ With these words, the panic infiltrates my bones. He can’t be serious, can he?

  ‘We aren’t really going out to dinner, Jeremy … I can’t possibly go out like this. Please, please tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘Of course we are. Why on earth would I waste you looking so exquisite and keep you confined to a hotel room? That would be absurd.’

  I feel my breath shortening again. Keep calm, breathe, I say to myself, but I hear my words tumble out regardless.

  ‘How many times are you going to send me into overdrive tonight, Jeremy? I can’t take it, it’s too much. I try to get my mind around one thing you are asking of me, leading me into, and wham, then comes the rush of another and another.’

  I draw breath momentarily before continuing on my verbal rampage. ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling or even what I should say to you. This situation is too strange for me, unreal, surreal.’

  I hear myself talking erratically, quickly, searching for words to account for the emotion that is threatening to totally overwhelm me.

  ‘I have no filters, Jeremy. You’ve taken them away, or maybe I’ve allowed them to be taken. I don’t know. Either way, it can’t be good. I’ve trained myself for too many years to give considered, thoughtful responses and now listen to me. I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling or doing. Why are you putting me through this?’

  Jeremy doesn’t answer, but I sense his closeness and know intuitively that he is staring at me intently. I take a moment to catch my breath and attempt to regain some form of composure. I feel like a child lost in the wilderness, not knowing who to trust or where to turn.

  He places his arm around the small of my back, while holding my wrist and firmly steers me toward what I assume is the door of the penthouse. I hear the door open.

  ‘Oh no, please, Jeremy, let’s stay here. What’s the time, an
yway? Isn’t it too late for dinner? I’m not really hungry, we’ve had hors d’oeuvres. Really, it would be such a waste …’

  I ramble on, wedging my heels deep into the carpet, as I attempt to throw excuses in his unrelenting path.

  ‘We can’t possibly be seen in public, don’t you understand?’ I’m scrambling for words as he edges me closer to the door. ‘How could you even think about taking me out like this? I’m blindfolded for goodness’ sake and I have no knickers on!’

  My heels wave the white flag as they surrender their grip on the floor and I catapult into his arms, and presumably out the door. I try to steady myself as best I can and he holds me firmly in his arms.

  ‘Where are we going anyway?’ I ask him, desperate for some form of verbal response. His silence is exasperating. He suddenly pushes me firmly against the wall, his face close to mine, his body pressing powerfully against the silkiness of my dress.

  ‘I know you have questions, Alexa, you always do. As I have told you, this weekend is not about your questions. I have been counting how many you have asked so far and I strongly advise that you stop, as there will be consequences for each one. Now behave yourself!’ he adds sternly. ‘I am taking you to dinner; you look beautiful and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, one more thing … as we are on my time this weekend, I never want you to ask the time again. Do you understand me?’ He is so close I am dizzy with his questions and demands. I am dumbfounded at the sharpness of his words as his heady presence and aroma invade every facet of my space.

  ‘Have-I-made-myself-clear?’ He emphasises each word purposefully. I am at a loss as to this change of mood, the darkened edge to his voice, so much so that I am astonishingly not willing to risk an offhand or flippant comment in response. It is too strange, the tension palpable. So I defiantly remain silent, considering this to be the safest strategy, even though his erection continues to swell intensely against my belly. He grabs my shoulders and spins me around, pushing my breasts deliberately against the wall and swiftly slaps my arse so hard I am left with a stinging sensation that I cannot remotely fathom. This is the last thing I expect from him. I’m horrified. He just spanked me! Blindfolded, in the corridor of a hotel. He spins me back around just as rapidly, seemingly to inspect the look of utter shock on my face as a result of his handiwork.

  ‘I asked you a question, Alexandra. Are we clear?’ he says in his stern, metallic voice. All I can utter is ‘Perfectly!’ my knickerless arse sizzling against the wall. This is something new; he has done a lot of things to me over the years but never anything like that.

  ‘Good. Let’s go.’ He takes hold of my elbow and steers me firmly down the corridor, my heels clattering against the hardened floor to keep pace with him. The sensation of being spanked is not something I am familiar with. I can’t remember the last time it was done to me, even in childhood. Robert had certainly never done anything like that. He was always serious in the bedroom — perfunctory, never playful. I realise then and there that Jeremy is the opposite of Robert — playful, unexpected and oh, how I’ve missed this unpredictability in my life. Even now, humiliated in a hotel corridor, though I feel out of control, at the same time adrenalin is pumping through me in a way I haven’t felt in years. I am truly alive.

  I hear a ‘ding’ sound and the lift doors open as he guides me in. I take a deep breath and pray. Please don’t let us bump into anyone I know. Please, please, please! The doors close and Jeremy doesn’t skip a beat before his hands are stroking my thighs, coercing the softness between my legs to moisten further and become even more accommodating, which started the second his swift hand slapped my butt. An unexpected insight … how can I be in shock yet so highly aroused and horny at the same time? Jeremy knows each and every one of my sensitive spots as well as any doctor knows the anatomy of the human body, and he isn’t missing a single opportunity to use my body as his personal radar, testing and paying attention to the response, to great advantage.

  It is such a weird sensation not being able to anticipate arousal; obviously visual stimulation plays a major role in this. Stranger still is having no true sense of what is coming next. Being so frustrated you could scream, then wham, one light, smooth stroke and your body roars into gear proactively endorsing the sting and the caress and leaving you begging for more. How does that work? The problem is, I’m not sure whether my body is betraying me deliberately or whether it knows my mind far more effectively than I could possibly imagine.

  ‘Please stop it, Jeremy. It is hard enough to focus on what’s going on, let alone having your hands distracting me at every opportunity.’

  ‘The whole idea of this weekend is that you don’t focus on anything, Alex.’

  ‘Well, it is just not possible,’ I say, exasperated.

  The lift door opens and we step out as a rush of air blows my hair back. Jeremy is greeted. I feel the blood rushing to my face and am sure it is flushed.

  ‘Dr J, how wonderful you could join us this evening, it’s been too long.’

  My legs quiver beneath me as Jeremy holds me securely upright.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Leo.’

  ‘Let me show you to your table.’ I am chaperoned to a lounge seat where Jeremy settles me into position. I quickly cross my legs, given my lack of underwear and inwardly curse Jeremy for making me feel as uncomfortable as I ever have in my entire life.

  Who is Leo anyway and why can I hear the faint hum of voices around me? I can feel my forehead developing minute droplets of perspiration as my anxiety rises at the unknown yet again. Why am I so on edge anyway? Relax, enjoy, I tell myself. Impossible, comes the response.

  ‘What will sir be drinking tonight?’

  ‘We will have two martinis, extra dry, stirred not shaken, with a twist.’

  Jeremy’s response instantly surprises me. He has just ordered my perfect martini, even though I haven’t touched a martini in the past ten years. Unbelievable.

  I try to keep myself calm enough to at least decipher my surroundings and congratulate myself on maintaining a few moments of self-control. I notice the carpet is thick and lush and the voices are very low; some nondescript music is meandering around the room. As the fact that we are not alone comes to mind once again, my apprehension gains momentum until Jeremy’s voice interrupts its predetermined destination.

  ‘I’m assuming you are happy to have a martini? That is the way you always liked them in Europe.’

  ‘A martini is the least of my problems.’ I try to calm my voice as much as possible. ‘How could you have brought me here with other people around? What if someone recognises us? I can’t believe you are compromising me like this. You are putting both of us at enormous personal and professional risk. How could you? It is totally unacceptable.’ My tension builds like a tsunami through my bloodstream. My heart pumps faster than it can reasonably handle, perspiration not cooling my body temperature as effectively as it should be. He has gone too far, this is not right. My hands are twisting and palms sliding with sweat on my lap. My breath short and shallow, I easily diagnose my state as an imminent anxiety attack. Jeremy cups my hands together.

  ‘Calm down, everything is fine. You are overreacting.’

  Overreacting? My internal voice is incredulous. ‘Nothing is fine!’ I exclaim, control almost lost. I rein it in as best I can as I have no idea who is in the room, who these people are. Does it matter? Yes, it does, damn it. I answer myself. And no doubt Jeremy knows this, knows I will attempt to contain my emotions in public.

  ‘How could you put me in this situation, Jeremy? How dare you? Who are these people?’

  I feel vulnerable, alone and completely out of control. My body trembles as it experiences the invading cocktail of emotions. This is not nearly as easy as I thought it would be, and I’m a little disappointed in myself for not handling it more professionally. But what is professional about being at dinner with a frigging blindfold on? Goodness knows what they are thinking, seeing a blindfolded woman arguing with
one of the country’s, make that the world’s most renowned medical researchers. Or maybe this just happens to be ‘Blindfold Friday’ at the InterContinential — as if!

  Suddenly, a moment of complete clarity and confidence sweeps through me. I realise I am in control. I still have legs that can walk, hands that can at least remove the suffocating blindfold that may enable some form of blurred, dark vision, and a voice to say ‘No!’ — the one thing I have never, ever been able to say to Jeremy. If luck is on my side, I may even be able to engage some innocent bystander to help me escape from this outrageous situation. As I let these thoughts rapidly flow through my body, I suddenly feel empowered to act.

  ‘I can’t do this, Jeremy. I know you were hoping that I could, and I have tried, but I can’t. I’m sorry I promised you, but it was a stupid mistake. This situation is proving impossible for me to manage.’ At these words, I stand up and raise my hands to remove my blindfold and be free of the embarrassment and submission it causes me. Just as my fingertips touch the silky layer, Jeremy launches himself over my body sending me flying back into the lounge seat. He grabs my hands and roughly pins them behind my back. With his legs now straddling mine, I am anchored to the seat and breathless at the suddenness of his plunge. The emotion between us is sizzling hot. He secures his grip around my wrists and ensures I literally can’t move from under his physical presence.

  ‘You will do this, you promised me, you consented and you haven’t even given yourself time to adapt. You don’t need to manage or control anything. That’s your problem and until you stop trying you will be feeling like you do now. Let me be very clear — I will go to any extreme to ensure you keep your promise. I want you like this, Alex, and I won’t let anything stand in my way, including your insecurities.’ His voice is low, demanding, unrelenting. I can feel his muscles surrounding my legs, my thighs; I can feel his excitement swelling above me. My god! Now I can feel my own in response. How does he do this? He wants me, and how long has it been since I’ve heard that? Since forever, it seems. And I want him, but like this? And what about my insecurities?