15. Arabella
15
Arabella
W hat the hell is happening? One minute I’m living my usual chaotic life and the next, I’m staying in Ryker Hart’s guest room after being drugged and I assume almost sexually assaulted by a fucking Brad . I probably deserve whatever’s coming to me after the chaos I’ve caused. My mother would say it’s my own fault and I was just looking for trouble.
Blowing out a breath, a tear rolls slowly down my cheek and my eyelids feel hot, and I know there are more coming if I don’t shut it down quickly. I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t a little shaken up by what happened, but I know I should be more upset than I feel. Aside from the single tear, I’m numb. Wiping it from my cheek, I notice my purse on the nightstand, right where he said it would be. More salty tears start to fall when I see three missed calls and more than one frantic text from my best friend.
WRIN: What the fuck, Ari! Where. Are. You? I have a missed call from you and now you’re not answering your goddamn phone. I swear to god you better still be mouth deep in dick right now.
My brain spends entirely too long trying to work out the logistics of that and just like that, in classic Wrinley fashion, she’s brought a smile to my face and I’m no longer crying.
WRIN: Hellooooooo!!!!
WRIN: Okay, I’m starting to get worried. If I don’t hear from you in the next 37 minutes, I’m activating emergency response protocol.
Jesus, I’m not sure what that is, but I don’t want her freaking out so I press her contact so I can put her out of her misery. She answers on the first ring.
“We don’t have an emergency response protocol, Wrin,” I spit out with a chuckle before she can bombard me with questions. “After the night I had though, maybe we should.”
“Oh. My. God. My heart is beating out of my chest right now. I think I’m dying.” I can hear her breathing pick up through the phone. She’s so extra.
“Wrinley,” I stop her, and just as I feel my emotions start to well up again, she switches to video.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
I spend the next hour telling her everything, from Brad drugging me to Ryker picking me up and bringing me to his place for safe keeping. We cried, then laughed and then we cried some more.
“I’m sorry I pushed you to go out with that ass hat, Ari.”
“I appreciate it, but this isn’t on you. The only one responsible for his actions is him.“ Logically, I know I’m right, but I’m also pissed at myself. The unsolicited drink choosing should have tipped me off.
“I can’t believe you're at your mom’s ex’s place,” she changes the subject. “Is he still hot?”
“He’s–not hard on the eyes,” I laugh, grateful for the shift in the mood. “But I’m not talking about that with him in the other room.”
“Oh, come on,” she whines. “I need details.”
“Okay, I love you, but my head is still weird and I’m tired. I need to shower and then take a nap.” If I don’t cut her off now, she’ll keep pushing and I’m not in the mood right now.
She lets out a long huff, clearly not wanting to drop her line of questioning. “Fine. But we’ll be revisiting this another time.”
We say our goodbyes and I let my hair out of its messy bun, running my fingers through the knots before grabbing the hoodie and sweats Ryker left for me. You’ve got this. Everything is fine and we’ll figure it out.
Internal pep talks for the win.
At least thirty minutes pass, possibly more and I’ve officially taken the hottest and most orgasmic shower of my life. That showerhead and intense water pressure are miraculous.
When I step into his sweatpants, I’m pleasantly surprised to see they do actually fit. Then I pick up his hoodie and shamelessly pull it to my face, inhaling his manly, spicy scent. My nipples peak as I take it in and I pull it over my head in one quick motion right before I really start to feel like a creep. Yeah–he’s not getting this back.
Back in the guest room, it occurs to me I need to call Martin and let him know I won’t be in for a couple nights. Ryker’s place is on the other side of town and I need both time and space to get my shit together. I should call mom too, but if I hear an I told you so , I might throw myself out this penthouse window. It would hurt less. I definitely can’t tell her who I’m staying with. She’s hyper-judgmental on a good day, and while he basically forced me into staying, I wouldn’t throw him under that particular Christine bus. I don’t think I hate anyone that much. Actually, that’s not true. Brad is most definitely on that list.
I dial the restaurant and Martin answers almost immediately.
“Martin, it’s Arabella.”
“Arabella. Is everything okay?” I can appreciate that he knows me well enough to catch a subtle difference in my tone of voice, but I’m not getting into details with him and if I say too much, I’ll cry–again. “Please tell me you’re coming in.”
“I’m okay now–I think. I had an emergency last night and need to lay low for a few days. I’d rather not get into details, but I just need a few days off. Please.” I plead.
He’s quiet for a minute before he sighs and responds. “I’m sorry Arabella, but I can’t afford to be without you. If you can’t be here as scheduled, I’m going to have to let you go. I don’t want to, because you’re an amazing worker when you’re here. I know your mom has health issues, but I need someone that I can rely on. I’m sorry.”
Ouch. Don’t hold back on my account. “This isn’t even about my mom. This is personal.”
“Again, I’m sorry, but I’m not changing my mind on this. You’ve got a lot going on,” he sighs. “I was hoping things would get better. If things change, come back. But until then, take care of yourself.” Then he hangs up.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I toss my phone on the bed and slam my hands into the comforter in frustration, followed by a full face plant and a poorly muffled scream. I lay face down on the bed for so long, I fall asleep, until a knock at the door startles me awake.
“Come in,” I respond groggily.
Ryker opens the door a few inches. It squeaks and he peeks his head through. “Your clothes and some extras just arrived. Please look through it and keep whatever you want. Everything else, I’ll send back.”
“Okay. Thanks?” I don’t mean it to come out as a question, but this has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and it feels so strange and new. My mind is still trying to catch up. Or wake up. Maybe this is one of those dreams where you keep waking up in another dream, like you're trapped in an endless loop of REM.
“You’re welcome. I have to go to the club soon, but I’ll be back by 3am. If you need anything–”
“What time is it?” I interrupt.
“It’s after 5. I like to get there a couple hours early to help set up for the night.”
“Can I go with you?” I don’t know why I ask. “I kind of don’t want to be alone.”
He stares at me with a furrowed brow, like he’s not sure how to answer, but he eventually does. “If you come, you stay by my side at all times and you follow my directions to a tee, unless I say otherwise. Understood?”
If it means I don’t have to be alone all night, I’ll do it, so I nod, “Yes sir.”
My vagina isn’t prepared for the words that come from his mouth when he says, “good girl.” Did my panties disintegrate? I shouldn’t be having thoughts like this about him, but my traitorous vagina has a mind of her own. For now, I’ll have to ignore the intense throbbing in my core and pretend it doesn’t exist like every other emotion and feeling I’ve managed to mask all my life. Totally doable.
“You’re going to have to find something–” he pauses with a raised eyebrow. “Different to wear. My clothes look good on you but they’re not exactly club appropriate.”
“I’ll find something that works better,” I assure him. “Speaking of the club though, I feel like I should explain that what I was wearing last week was completely out of the norm. The only way I could muster up the courage to wear it was because of the alcohol. By the time I’d had a couple shots, I kind of stopped giving a fuck how my body looked.” It’s not a fun thing to admit to someone, and I don’t know why it feels especially hard admitting it to him. I’ve struggled with body image issues for a long time and it’s a hard thing to unlearn.
“Let’s look together.”
“Excuse me?” My mouth falls open at his abrupt response.
“I said–let’s go look at the clothes and together we’ll figure out what you’ll wear. I own half the club, Arabella. There has to be something in there you’ll feel comfortable in, even if it’s not perfect. I’ll make sure no one gives you a hard time.”
We grab a bunch of the clothes he ordered and lay them out on the bed. When I sit and the mattress immediately dips next to me, I’m assaulted with that clean, spicy scent, straight from the tap. He smells like bad decisions and it’s hitting me straight in my core.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, grounding myself so I can focus on my task.
He chooses a purple tank top and pairs it with black skinny jeans that look way too tight. I give my head a firm shake. “I can’t wear that. It’s too tight and will show every flaw I have. No way.”
His response is sharp and immediate. “You can wear it. There is nothing wrong with your body Arabella. You’re beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Now put it on, so we can go.” When he turns to walk away, my eyes widen and my mouth gapes at his harsh, gruff tone and then it registers that he called me beautiful. I can’t stop my stomach from tightening at his words.
Huffing out a breath, I relent and shout at his back. “Fine, but I’m bringing a sweater.”
He’s already out of sight, but I hear him let out a quiet chuckle. “Go ahead, but it gets hot inside Gravity as people start piling in. I’d love to see how long you last before you have to take it off.”
“I can handle a little heat.”
He turns his head and a hint of a smile breaks through his hard shell. “We’ll see about that. Let’s go.”
Ryker
An hour later, we’re walking into Gravity. Thirty minutes later than I wanted to be here. I saw Hayes’ car outside, so I know he’s already here, but there’s also a truck I don’t recognize. I need to catch up with him at some point, to talk about last week's security issue. Letting anyone into the club area drunk is unacceptable and I need to know who did it, so I can hold them responsible.
I nod in the direction of the bar. “Sit there and do not move.”
“Got it,” she says, striding down the aisle and sliding onto a tall barstool.
I regard her for just a moment as she moves. Her skin is already glistening with a thin layer of sweat and I’d be willing to bet, she’ll have ditched the sweater by the time I get back. Although, part of me hopes I’m wrong. She’s dressed simply, but she wears it well. I don’t love the thought of her being gawked at or possibly hit on by some of the men that come through here. If I keep her busy, maybe it’ll help stave off any wandering eyes. Who am I kidding? If I can’t even stop looking at her, other sets of eyes will surely have the same problem. Except, I don’t think I want anyone else looking at her.
Fuck, I need a drink. Why do I keep thinking of her in less than pure ways? My chest tightens at the unwelcome thoughts. I was half hard when she called me Sir earlier and it took nearly twenty minutes of deep breathing on the drive here and thinking about naked grannies and anything else that might tamper my arousal, to get it to go down. I need to lock it down quickly, before I do something I can’t take back.
I knock lightly when I reach Hayes’ office, opening his door slowly. “Are you decent? I’m coming in.”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he retorts. “You’re here later than usual and I see you brought a friend.”
“It’s a long story and we’re not talking about it. All I’m going to say is, that asshole I had you revoke, he drugged her during their date. I picked her up and she’s staying with me until James finds the fucker.”
“Fucking hell, Ryker. She’s–like twenty and your ex’s daughter.” He exclaims with a shit-eating grin. “Do you honestly think this guy is a big enough risk that she can’t stay at her own place?”
“She’s twenty-three.”
“Oh good. That’s better,” he deadpans and it only makes me want to throat punch him.
“And yes, she’s Christine’s daughter, but that ended a long time ago. This has nothing to do with her and everything to do with her daughter needing help. I don’t know if he’s actually a threat, but I’m not willing to take that risk. I was the only person she could get a hold of. Don’t read into it.” If only I believed my own lies. My dick may want her, but I can’t and won’t take advantage of her.
“Uh huh,” he pauses like he has more to say but thinks better of it. I’ve known Hayes a long time and it’s obvious he’s not buying what I’m selling when it comes to my house guest. Thankfully, he knows better than to push me on this. It won’t change anything because I’m already in too fucking deep.
“What did you actually need?” he asks, changing the subject.
“I need to see the security footage of last Saturday night. I’d like to have a word with whoever was working the club door and relieve them of their job.”
“It’s your lucky night, my friend. I just hired someone to manage the digital security for the club and bar, so you don’t actually have to do any of the legwork. I’ll have him pull the footage and get a name. It’ll be handled,” he promises.
“Get me the name and I’ll handle it. I want to be the one to look him in the eye and tell him to fuck off.” It’s nicer than he deserves for putting her at risk.
He stares at me for a moment before responding, “You’re doing a great job at convincing me that nothing is going on between you and the girl.”
Turning to leave, I look over my shoulder, “Just get me a fucking name Hayes. And her name is Arabella. Call her the girl one more time and see what happens.”
When I get downstairs, I’m happy to see she’s still sitting where I left her. As I expected, she’s also lost her sweater. I come up beside her and tap the bar.
“Get a little too warm for you?” I ask with a quirked brow.
“Nope,” she says, popping the P. “It was itchy, so I took it off. It’s pretty dark in here anyway, so it’ll be fine.”
She’s made a handful of negative comments about her body, and I have a suspicion she’s insinuating that in the dark, she’ll be less visible. It’s starting to piss me off that she thinks so little of herself. If she could see what I see, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, she’d rethink her shit talking.
Choosing to ignore her comment, I direct her behind the bar. “Jake and Roxie will be here soon to help setup, but there’s still plenty to do before they get here. You’re going to help me.”
“I’m happy to help, but do you seriously expect me to stay glued to your side all night?” she questions with a hint of snark as she makes her way to the back of the bar.
While I’m still upset at how she handled herself last time she was here, I do trust her. I doubt she’d be stupid enough to do anything she shouldn’t. I also feel an overwhelming need to protect her and I can’t do that from behind the bar if she’s not here with me.
“You asked to come with me and the condition to do so was that you stay by my side. I expect you to do exactly what you agreed to. Is that clear?”
“Yeah,” she mutters quietly.
I’m also pretty sure I see her roll her eyes. “If I were you, I’d refrain from rolling your eyes again.” It’s a veiled threat, but all I can think about is spanking her for being so disrespectful. “Here. Take this towel and dry that rack of glasses. Then place them upside down underneath the bar. Got it?”
She takes the towel gently from my hand. “Can I ask you a question?”
I grab lemons to slice and tip my head in her direction. “Ask.”
She pauses. “I don’t remember you being this bossy.”
“That’s not a question.” I think I know what she’s getting at, but I need to hear her say it.
Now she’s biting her bottom lip and my pulse pounds as I stare down at her. “I don’t really know how to ask this. You own part of Gravity. Do you also engage in the activities here?”
She’s adorable and I don’t miss the slight shake in her voice that tells me she’s nervous. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Do you tell women what to do and tie them up and stuff?” Fuck. My. Life.
“Tie them up–and stuff?” I laugh. “If you’re asking what I think you are, there’s a name for that and the answer is more complicated than a simple yes or no, but yes–sort of. I’m a Dominant and I only engage in activities here, or otherwise, with submissive partners who I’ve already established trust with. I don’t play casually and what I do to my submissive partners is not up for discussion.” I have to draw the line somewhere, right?
“How long have you been a Dominant?”
“At least twenty years, maybe longer.” I learned from a mentor after I graduated high school. I needed a way to channel my emotions into something controlled and safe. I wasn’t into anything dangerous at the time, but it could have gone that way if I hadn’t turned my life around.
She pauses and sets the glass on the bar. “Wait–did you–do this with my Mom?” Her chest heaves as she makes a gagging sound. Dramatic much?
“Don’t be dramatic. Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Christine and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. I’m not even sure she knew it was something I was into. Now keep drying.”
She peers up at me with wide eyes, and her next question nearly knocks me on my ass.
“Teach me?”
“Teach you what?” I respond, drawing my head back quickly, in shock.
“Everything. Teach me how to be a submissive. Teach me all the things.” Her request comes out so plainly, like it’s a simple ask. But it’s so far from simple.
Aside from the clear and present issues, like I’m old enough to be her father and used to date her mom, there’s no way in hell I can say yes. I also have a feeling she’s a natural submissive and likely doesn’t need much teaching . You do this long enough, you start to see things in people and it’s not hard to see where they likely land on the D/s spectrum. She clearly needs to learn how to do things safely, though.
“No way.” I say, shaking my head with purpose.
“Why not? I want to learn and you’re right here, standing in front of me. A real life Dom. Pleaaaaaaaaase,” she begs and it’s a sound I’m going to have to work hard to erase from my brain.
“I’m old enough to be your father.” I’m still so shocked she asked, I can’t think straight. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m asking and I don’t understand what your age has to do with anything. You’re not that old. Isn’t age just a number anyway?”
There’s a part of me that wants to say yes.
To show her exactly what it means to be a submissive–to be my submissive.
Teach her how to serve.
But I can’t.
The vulnerability it requires creates an intimacy between Dominant and submissive that often leads to scenes of a more physical nature and I need to be able to maintain some kind of line. If I said yes, I’d end up showing her exactly what her body is capable of. She’s been through too much and doesn’t need my old ass making things harder for her.
“Age is a number, but you seem to forget that I used to date your mother. Last I saw you, you were seventeen. Do you really not see the problem here? From the outside looking in, I’m at best, a pervert–at worst, a predator.” What I don’t say is if Christine ever found out, she’d make our lives a living hell. I don’t care about me so much, but I don’t want that for Arabella. I don’t want to discourage her completely, though, so I compromise–slightly. “I’ll tell you what. Do some research and I’ll answer any questions you have, but that’s it.”
Her exaggerated eye roll is obvious this time and it makes my palms itch to follow through on my threat earlier. Eventually she relents, but I have a feeling this isn’t the last conversation we’ll be having about this, and all I’ve got out of this one are thoughts of her on her knees at my feet, ready to serve. Fuck .