Chapter 14
Ophelia. Then.
Phantom waited for me on the steps of his brownstone. When the taxi stopped, Phantom stepped over to us. He greeted the driver, paid him, and then opened my door for me.
Did men still do that? Open the door for women?
Apparently so. I let him hold it open for me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The club looked different in the daylight.
It was funny to see it as…just a house. Just a normal brownstone. The jazz club next door was quiet. A couple of kids were tossing a basketball back and forth down the street.
Last night, it looked so magical. Like a portal to another world. Today, things were…normal. Even Phantom looked domesticated. He still made me feral, but this was dressed-down Phantom. He was wearing sweat pants, and he had some unshaven grey stubble on his jaw.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” I parroted back. I was stricken with sudden case of shy. There was a special kind of morning-after vulnerability that the daylight brought out of me that I wasn’t prepared for.
Last night, I was a wild, horny mess of a woman who squirted all over his hand.
Who did he see this morning?
More to the point: did he like this version of me just as much as he liked the version of me last night?
He escorted me inside and closed the door behind us.
“I’m never awake in the daytime,” he said. “Excuse all of this.”
He made a vague sweeping gesture, motioning to…
I don’t know what. The place looked spotless.
Just lived-in, now. No whips, chains, or spank benches.
Now, it was just a house with an old New York aesthetic.
Lots of velvet reds and billiard greens decorating the house.
Mirrors in ornate, dark frames. Paintings and sketches on the walls.
He’d pulled open sliding, rounded double doors behind the staircase and through it, I found a kitchen swathed in daylight.
Phantom led me into the kitchen, the most well-lit part of the house, with large windows that let in the morning sunshine.
Outside, a rare treat: an elusive, city backyard.
It smelled like coffee in here. And oranges. There was a bowl of them on the table. I traced my fingers over the thick skin.
He offered: “Coffee? Fresh pot.”
“No. Thank you.”
How could I tell him what was on my mind?
Sorry, I thought I’d come over and you’d bang my brains out. Instead, I feel like a teenager sleeping over at my friend’s house, only I’ve woken up before her and now her dad is forced to awkwardly entertain me in the meantime.
The tension broke, however, when a woman entered the kitchen.
It was the aloof blonde who greeted me at the door.
She was tall, I realized—almost as tall as Phantom.
She wore purple pajamas and these bulky, old-school headphones.
She didn’t look at either of us; she just went straight to the cabinet and pulled out a coffee mug.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “Just came for this.”
She filled the mug with coffee, milk, and a large heaping of sugar, before scurrying out just as suddenly as she entered.
I lifted my gaze to Phantom. “Is that your…?” I silently mouthed the word wife.
He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “No. That’s Princess.”
As though that should mean something to me—?
“She lives upstairs,” he clarified.
“Oh. So like…a roommate?”
“She helps around the house. And helps me run the club.”
“I see.” A question nagged at the back of my mind, but it was too personal, and I wasn’t sure if we were there yet.
Phantom leaned against the counter. There went those arm muscles again, flexing as he adjusted. I noticed the Irish freckles peppering the backs of his arms.
“Ophelia,” he said. “Ask the question you want to ask.”
He’s given me permission. I pressed my lips together, debating, but then took him up on his offer. “Do you play with her?”
“No.” I felt relieved by that.
But then he added: “I don’t live with my submissives. Wouldn’t want to blur those lines.”
“Ah.” Another line in the sand. It was a funny game of chess Phantom and I were playing. Every time I moved forward, he moved back.
He motioned to the door. “Should we get started?”
“Yes.” Goddess, yes. Please, yes.
He led me out of the kitchen. I glanced longingly up the stairs, where the bench was, and the ropes, and all those devious, fun toys he tortured me with last night.
“Ophelia. Over here.”
To my disappointment, we didn’t go upstairs. Instead, he guided me through the library. “Stay here,” he told me. “Just a moment.”
He vanished into the adjoining room. I explored the library in the meantime.
I ran my fingers across the book spines.
Medical tomes. Hardback mysteries. There was a chess table in here.
I pictured him and Princess sitting down here late at night, frowning over pawn pieces, and the image was oddly warming.
I found a small picture propped up against the bookshelf and I took it down to get a better look at it.
The photo was taken on a beach—Coney Island, maybe.
There was a beautiful, dark haired woman with a pursed-lip smile standing next to a teenage version of Phantom.
I only recognized him for the dark birthmark on his cheek.
He was a lanky, awkward looking kid, a shy giraffe hunching over so he could fit in the frame.
They both looked a bit like vampires forced into the sunshine, trying their best to pretend they were enjoying the day.
I couldn’t help but smile at the picture.
“Ophelia. Come.”
He called my name, pulling my attention.
I obeyed, my feet leading me through the library.
We were in the room we’d visited the other night, where people were snuggled up in little cuddle piles.
Except the room had been transformed. There was a single spot on the floor with a yoga mat stretched out.
Pillows at the head of the mat. A blanket. Light music playing—some kind of jazz.
But most impressive were the candles. There were little pillars of light flickering everywhere. Did he set this up for me?
“Wow,” I said. “We’re either about to do yoga or engage in ritualistic slaughter.”
The edges of his eyes crinkled. “Why can’t it be both?”
Oh, Phantom had jokes this morning.
Phantom sat on the floor. He patted his lap. “Clothes off. You can leave your bra and panties on. Lay down on your back.”
I stripped off my clothes and got on the floor in front of him. I found I was more comfortable half-naked around him. He tossed a cozy blanket over me I settled down with my head in Phantom’s lap.
“Can I touch your hair?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He gently tucked my hair back, away from my face. “Checking in.” His voice went low. “How are you feeling in your body today?”
“Normal, I guess.”
His fingers slid underneath my skull. He found the space between my jawbone and ears and pressed in lightly. I didn’t realize I was clenching until he unlocked me.
“Is your body always in fight or flight, Ophelia?”
“Sometimes it obeys the third f. Fuck.”
A wry smile quirked at his mouth. “You mind if I try to reset your nervous system this morning?”
“Okay.” But my heart did a funny hiccup in my chest.
Yesterday, he tied me up, spanked me, and made me cum in front of an audience. I had no problem with that. Yet the thought of relaxing in front of this man made me strangely nervous.
He had two small bottles sitting on the table next to him. He pumped oil from each of the bottles into his palm. Then he offered them to me. “Which smell do you like?”
He put one hand in front of my face. “Inhale.” I cupped it and sniffed his palm. Lavender. The other hand: something rose-scented.
But I was incredibly distracted with him kneeling over my head. I gripped his shirt, tugged on it, and sniffed that instead. Smelled like Phantom: clean body, and warmth, and man.
“This one,” I said, tugging his shirt.
“Be good.” His voice rumbled. Less of a chastisement; more of a stop making me hard, little sub.
I compromised. I tapped his lavender scented arm. “Second choice.”
He added more lavender to his palms. “Close your eyes,” he said, so I did. His hands cradled the back of my head and I tried to relax into his touch. “We’re going to practice Drop today. When I say Drop, I want you to return to this state. Calm. Relaxed. Safe.”
His hands slid underneath the blanket. His flat palm was warm against my heart. “If you feel anxious at any point…don’t try to fight it. Feel it. Acknowledge it. And let it go. I give you permission to relax.”
Oh. Permission to relax. What a strange, novel concept, and yet…
my body started to surrender. His oil-slick hands slid down my body, rolling the tension off of me.
They moved with purpose, flattening the space over my chest, sliding down, and running over my hips and stomach.
My jaw unclenched, my lips parted slightly, and my muscles began to loosen up, sinking into his touch.
“That’s good,” he assured me. “You’re doing great, Ophelia.”
Yes. I was winning at relaxation.
More gold stars, please.
His hands drew lower. He ghosted his fingers over my underwear. My skin tingled where he’d touched it, and a low heat rushed between my legs. My labia felt puffy, wanting. His fingertips grazed the cotton and almost touched my swelling clit.
Then, his hands retreated, pulling back up my body. My hips twitched, wanting.
“Turn over,” he told me, so I shifted.
Phantom adjusted my head, removing me from his lap and settling me onto a pillow. He stepped around and moved behind me. He knelt at my legs, pulled the blanket from my body, and I heard a small hum from him, like a purr.
“I did a number on you,” he confessed. I heard him open a jar, then he adjusted my panties down my thighs. There was the coolness of a soft cream on my ass and he rubbed it in, kneading the sore spots. “Your body holds bruises well.”