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I don’t speak, I just hold her like that, letting my fingers slowly trace up and down her back as she falls apart in my arms and I cherish every second.
5
Sometimes after sex—or an orgasm—it can feel awkward. A tension in the air and a question posed of what is next? But it doesn’t work like that with Dahlia. As her body relaxes and the waves subside, she moves away from me but only to reposition herself so she can look straight at me with slightly flushed cheeks and sparkling emerald green eyes.
“I am going to shower and then we should talk, or get food or … something.” She lets her voice trail off as she makes her way out of the room and off into the bedroom. I hear her humming and then the burst of water and I try not to think too hard about the water running over her body right now and her perfect nakedness feeling that cool wetness washing away the remnants of her orgasm for me.
Instead, I distract myself. Reaching for the paperwork, I start to flip through it again. Most of it I would never do anyway. Record information, take photos, sell stories. There are some weird points that I imagine came from others pushing the rules in other ways so it had crept into the list. You will not influence the calorie intake… I mean, what was that all about? I wasn’t about to force feed her chocolate cake, was I? Or restrict it for her. Although, I could think of lots of ways we could have fun with cake…
I feel uncomfortable about the money. I don’t want to be paid for my services, but everything between us- it doesn’t feel transactional. It feels real.
Dahlia is right, though. I could use the money for something useful like my coaching or competitions or something, and if I still don’t feel good about it, I could just donate it or give it to Grandmama, either way, there is a solution so as not to make it into a big deal.
I pause more over the BDSM section. It is something we will need to talk more about; I will have to try and understand her needs as well as balance my own. Dominant is a label I can wear happily, Domme—perhaps not so much. But what is the difference? I suppose it is the dynamic with the other person that defines those terms, and right now Dahlia and I are right at the beginning of our sexual journey; I don’t need to push it and I’m happy to see where it takes us.
She pads back into the room freshly washed and dressed, a little less relaxed but still casual in a light day dress, sandals, and damp curls pulled up high on her head so they tumble in all directions.
“We can go out for food if you want, or we can just order in for now and go out later? Unless you have other plans?”
I do have plans this afternoon but only with the pool. She catches my flicker of hesitation and misinterprets it instantly. “Or you know, another time or something.”
“No, no. I would love to have lunch with you and then dinner sounds perfect too, but I have to get to the pool. I have this swim session I am supposed to do. I would skip it but my coach will bust my balls if I don’t go…” I let my voice trail off as I try and think of the best way to manage it.
“Oh, that is no problem. If it is ok with you, we can have lunch and then we can use the pool at Howard Hall. I should probably do some exercise anyway. I’ll call ahead and book it out so we have privacy. It’s across the city a little, but I have a driver so it won't take more time than you going to your pool. I would come to your pool but … well, I tend to cause chaos wherever I go,” she says with an apologetic shrug as she reaches for the drawer and pulls out a room service menu. “Does that work for you?”
Howard Hall. I immediately recognise the name. It is the most exclusive and expensive spa facility in the city- probably in the country.
“Yes, I mean that would be great, but I didn’t bring my swimwear,” I say with a doubtful voice and she grins at me wickedly as she pulls out her mobile phone.
She shrugs and her eyes glint and she seems so much more alive than I have yet seen her. “I mean, I don’t see the issue with swimming nude- but okay,” she says mischievously before her voice lightens to that sing-song sweetness. “Oh, hey. I need the pool at Howard Hall at 2pm booking out for like, two hours. Yes. The main pool- the one where you could do athletic stuff like swim lengths. Can you arrange a car to drive me there? Also, I have a friend joining me. I need swimwear for her, something sporty you can actually swim in not something that just looks pretty. Get me maybe, ten options, I want a choice for her. Size…” Her eyes run over my body for a second as she pauses to assess. She doesn’t ask me. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it does surprise me that famous people live like this. “UK Size 12. I need all the other stuff too …” There is a pause “I don’t know, like goggles or something. Whatever people need who are swimming to actually work out, that kind of thing. Yes. Yes. Okay. Mmmm. Right, thanks hon.”
She ends the call and saunters over, sliding the room service menu across to me. “I will let you look first.” She smiles and I laugh.
“I work here, I know this menu better than anyone. I know what I am having. Thanks for the swim stuff, by the way. I appreciate it.”
“You can order for us both then, given that you are an expert. Please, no need to thank me. They give me stuff like that for free for the chance that maybe I will be spotted in one of them and it is free publicity for them. Better that you can make actual use of them.” She hands me the phone to make the room service order and then sits down opposite me.
As I dial through and ask for the best options, I see her gaze move to the legal papers that have been moved, obvious that I have been reading through, looking, thinking. The moment I hang up the phone she looks straight at me.
“I am sorry for the curveball of the contract. If I had mentioned it before you came over, I didn’t think you would, but you could mention even just the fact I had offered you a contract for sexual services to the media and it could have huge consequences for me. I’m usually a good judge of character, but I have paid heavily for it in the past when I have been wrong. Do you have any questions that you want to ask me? Anything you want to talk about?”
“I guess for me, Dahlia, I don’t know how to start something in this way. With contracts and rules of engagement. I mean I signed it, sure, so you know you can trust me and open up to me. So now I have done that, I would rather it just be normal between us, you know? Let things develop naturally? I get that the situation is unorthodox and it isn’t like I make a habit of sleeping with famous women, so I don’t have any real answers. I would just like to get to know you, spend time with you and see how it goes. I will be honest; I am not looking for anything serious in my life. I need to focus on my career, on athletics, but I like you. I am attracted to you immensely and I would like to explore that with you.”
She takes each word I say and seems to digest them, letting them swirl around her head and her thoughts before she answers.
“I’m not here for long. A few more weeks, I would say. I have done this before; often the other person feels more comfortable going through each point on the contract together. This can help you to understand expectations, lines and limits, but perhaps they come from a different place. I have generally met them in the… well, different circles. It isn’t every day, I find myself irresistibly drawn to the hotel bartender. For me, I am happy to explore and experiment together. I suppose we have already shown a level of compatibility,” she adds with a little blush, and I smile in return.
“I have always been naturally dominant in the bedroom, but I have never explored it much further than that. Some handcuffs, a little denial, teasing, but nothing more. What kind of things do you like? I think that is something we should go through together.”
She looks at me from under eyelashes so impossibly thick, I find it hard to believe they could be real, but I think that they are. Her gaze is focused on me. She is constantly assessing me; I can feel her eyes analyzing every single detail to see how I react and respond to her so she can adjust accordingly.
“I am submissive. The term is broad and can mean many things.” She needs to keep her lovely graceful hands busy. I watch as she shifts and moves, reaching for the water just to pour a glass as something to do. “In the lifestyle, there are terms and roles but I don’t much care for them; they draw lines where they don’t need to be. There are moments when vanilla sex is what I crave, what I need, but in general… I like bondage, specifically rope play. I like to be denied, toyed, teased. I enjoy being directed, guided and controlled. Pain beyond the mild, isn’t something I gain pleasure from. I can appreciate the sting of a spank, the pull of flesh as I orgasm, but I am not seeking the feeling of real pain—or marks being left on my body. There are clubs and events for the lifestyle. I like those too, but they require time to plan and a lot of paperwork for someone like me to be able to attend with my privacy observed. It gives my lawyer and manager a headache, so I save those for special occasions.” She laughs, but I know it also isn’t a joke.
“Did your ex like these things too?” I ask, and her eyebrows raise in question until she slots the pieces together.
“Jayden?” she asks. I nod and she smirks then pauses, weighing her words carefully. “He was into his own things.” Her remark doesn’t answer my question but it signals the end of the conversation, which comes just as the hotel room doorbell chimes with a ring.
We stay in the main living area to eat. I ordered an array of things. Some salads, pasta dishes and beautiful breads, meats, and cheese. I didn’t know what her eating habits were and I don’t want to be accused of influencing her diet, but I’m happy to see her take bits of everything and tuck in.
