Mastering the Virgin Box Set Five: A BDSM Ménage Erotic Romance novel Chapter 37

And I’ve had enough. They can’t seem to bridge the void between themselves, even though it’s plain that both want to.

Time for them to call it quits….

Time to take charge….

Be the Dom….

We are in the hotel still and dressing casually, me in jeans and tee-shirt, Michael lounging around in sweats wearing a forlorn expression and randomly flicking through tv channels.

Will I get away with it?

With him…?

*****

How to do this…?

Get her attention…

Get her going….

I shower and shave, then change into suit and shirt, cursing as I realise that I don’t have everything I normally take for granted here at the hotel.

Damn….

After a moment’s thought, I cross the corridor to the suite Richard and Beth are occupying, tap on the door. Richard answers

“Yes, James?”

I keep my voice low, unsure if Beth is inside. “A favour to ask. Do you have any cuff-links here?”

His brows arch. “Cuff-links?” Then he suppresses a smile, but his eyes are crinkling. “Caught short, eh? Come in.” He fishes in a drawer, spotting me glance around the room. “She’s not here.” Passing me a small box, he says, “How are things with…. the three of you?”

What does he know?

Or guess?

“I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

He nods as he opens the door for me. “Good luck.”

Back in the room I check the polish on my shoes, put on a silk tie I know she likes, reknotting it a couple of times in the mirror to get it just so. I fit the links to my cuffs.

She’s still got a couple of weeks where her protection is doubtful. The last thing I want is for her to be worrying about that again and I slip a packet of condoms in my pocket. Then I go in search of Michael.

I find him still mindlessly channel-hopping through daytime tv; cookery programs, movies out of the ark and crap reality shows. “Enough now,” I say, standing over him.

He looks up, puts the remote to one side. “Enough what?”

“Enough of this. Do you want to make it right with her or not?”

“Of course I do, but I don’t know….”

I interrupt him, keeping my tone short, curt. “Get dressed.”

He looks down at himself. “I am dressed.”

“No, dressed…. We’re going hunting.”

He blinks then looks me up and down, registering my clothes. Understanding washes across his face. “Gotcha.” He looks away, then down. “Think it will work?”

“Is this working?”

“No.”

“So, get a shower. Get dressed.”

*****

“Wait here. Listen in.”

He nods unhappily.

Charlotte’s there, staring out of the window. For several days she would only wear jeans, covering her bruises I think, embarrassed by them. Now, largely healed, she wears a simple skirt and a woollen top against the winter.

Although she is physically recovered, her cuts and bruises healed, emotionally the wounds are showing. Her sheer unhappiness gnaws at me.

They love each other….

They want each other…

As I speak, that same look takes her….

“…. And I want to see him with that glazed expression he has when he watches you come.”

Her eyes are washing again, but not now I think, with grief or upset, but some other emotion….

Pleasure?

Arousal?

Love?

“I’d like that too, Master.”

I allow my stance to soften, my eyes to warm. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, go wait in the bedroom. I’ll find Michael.”

And he’s here, right on cue.

“No need. I’m here. And yes, that.… sounds good….”

He has changed, into clean, pressed jeans and a linen shirt. He and Charlotte exchange a glance and for the briefest of moments, I see that tension swell, but “Wine perhaps?” he suggests. “Something to eat? Soften the edges a little?”

Should have thought of that myself….

“Excellent idea.”

I nod him through with her, then gather wine and food from the kitchenette. By the time I arrive in the bedroom, they are both sitting on the bed, not exactly next to each other, but….

Getting them in the same bedroom is a good start….

The bed is large and roomy, just what we need. In a while, we will have other uses for it, but for now, it is our communal couch. The wine is excellent; a ‘rosado’. Fresh and cool and crisp, pink as prawns and scented of Mediterranean hillsides and the sea, it takes me back to my boyhood. And while I’m not sure of the nationality of the chef, the bread is baked in the hotel kitchens but could have come from my village bakery.

I must take Charlotte to Spain sometime….

But meanwhile, she and Michael keep almost-exchanging looks, each sliding a glance to the other, then looking away as eyes might meet.

How can two people who love each other so much, have so much difficulty with a simple conversation?

Time to break the ice….