We followed Christian into a plush seating area to an intimate dining room. It looked like the Playboy Mansion on a very small scale.
A waiter entered with a tray of wine glasses and I grabbed one and downed half of it in one swallowed. I debated if that was too much or not enough.
“Hungry?” The waiter asked Christian.
He stared at me. “Yes, but not for food.”
I felt a little of the wine come up. Too much. Definitely too much.
Dava and Peter rushed to the table and sat immediately, Shari sighed and joined them, unfolding the starched linen napkin and placing her on her lap. It was just me, Angel, Christian and Buzzcut left, and I hoped that Angel understood this game of musical chairs well enough to leave me a seat between himself and Shari. He didn’t. He took the seat next to Shari’s, and I took the seat the seat next to his. Christian sat between me and Peter, while Buzzcut stood behind him with his arms crossed like a harem eunuch.
“Isn’t he going to sit down?” I asked.
“He’s working,” Christian said. “Taylor doesn’t eat while he’s working.”
“And how many hours a day does he work?” I asked.
“As many as I need him to.”
I looked up at Taylor whose expression hadn’t changed an iota in the time we’d been talking about him. “That doesn’t sound like much of a life.”
“He’s an empty shell of a man. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Your issues.”
I laughed aloud. “My issues?”
“Yes, your issues.” He extracted the two halves of the sex contract from the inside pocket of his Italian suit. “I take it to mean that you do not agree to the terms stated therein. However, I’m prepared to be flexible.”
He sorted out the halves of paper. I blinked at him. Holy s**t. He wasn’t really going to let his freak flag fly at the dinner table in front of my friends...and Dava. I took another sip of the wine to fortify myself. The other were studying their menus, but I know Dava and Peter were being morbidly entertained by my plight, as if it were a particularly twisted car wreck.
First order of business if I ever got out of here: find better friends.
“Either you have issues with the contract or you’re concerned for your sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months. All of my recent tests are clear—“
I buried my face in my hands. “Holy crap! Do we really have to talk about this at the dinner table?”
“—and I’ve never had any blood transfusions. It’s all very clean and perfectly safe. Three months of doing things my way. Obeying me as your master in all things. That’s all I ask. And if it’s too much, you can walk away, any time. I won’t stop you.”
Yeah, right. He’d just follow me everywhere I go and make my life miserable. I would have gotten up and left the table, but home was 30 miles away and I had no way of getting there. I wondered if he planned it that way. I had to escape, but I couldn’t leave Angel and Shari here. But I couldn’t let Angel know that. Not with Christian hovering over me like a hawk with his hired thug on high alert. I’d have to wait until he left for the restroom, excuse myself from the table then we’d call Shari and tell her to make a run for it.
The waiter came in with a tray of oysters. “I hope you like oysters,” Christian told me. Holy Moses. Could this guy be any more of a cliché?
“I’ve never had one,” I said.
“Really?” Christian reached for one, “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.”
My face burned like a four alarm fire. This couldn’t be happening. Not on my first…and probably only…date with Angel. I was too paralyzed with mortification to run away, so I was subjected to a particularly lewd demonstration of oyster-gobbling by the pyscho to my left.
“Mmmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea.” He grinned at me. “Now you try one.”
Instead, I tasted some more of the wine coming up. “I’m not hungry.”
He winked at me. “You mean not for food?”
“You’ve already told one,” I hissed. “Call me a taxi. I want to go home.”
Christian tongued down another oyster, staring at me the whole time. “You know, some people consider these an aphrodisiac, but I never need one around you.”
The forgotten waiter cleared his throat. “Are you ready to order?”
“Who’s paying for this?” Dava asked.
“I am, of course,” Christian said.
“In that case, I’ll have the lobster,” Shari said. “And a pitcher of Margaritas.”
I shot her a smile. That’s my girl.
“I’ll have the prime rib,” Peter said.
“I’ll have the prime rib, as well, well done,” Dava said. “With onion rings and a pitcher of Margaritas.”
“I think your friend already ordered a pitcher of margarita for the table,” Angel said.
“That’s what you think,” I said.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked Angel.
“I’ll have the seared ahi salad,” Angel said.
“Salad?” Christian laughed. “Isn’t that a bit dainty of a dish for a man of your stature?”
“I have eat light because I have a flight to catch in the morning.”
“Oh, and get him a Shirley Temple to wash it down with. No cherry for him though, just a pretty pink parasol.”
I stared daggers at Christian
“And you, miss?” the waiter asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat, Cherry,” Christian said. “You have to eat. You can either eat here, or you can eat alone with me in my hotel room and we can turn it into a game.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll have one of everything on the menu.”
“She’ll have the black cod with asparagus and potatoes,” Christian said. “I’ll have the porterhouse. And some bottled water for the table.”
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said and then left.
"I said, I'm not hungry."
“Obey me in all things,” Christian said. “Yes, I want you to do that, Cherry, I need you to do that. Think of it as roleplay.”
“No,” I said with a shudder.
“I won’t hurt you, not more than you can handle. I’ve only seriously injured a submissive once--“
I groaned. “I don’t even want to know.”
“I suspended her from my playroom ceiling. Rope play. One of the ropes was too tight--”
I held up my hand to beg him to stop. “What part of ‘I don’t even want to know’ did you not understand?”
He stared at me, his gaze intense. The seconds ticked by. “I understand. You’re jealous.”
I laughed into my wineglass.
