Testing The Limits

Harper Cole

Text copyright 2014 Harper Cole

All rights reserved

I watched him walk away from me.

I stood still for a moment, with my breath caught in my throat. I had been convinced he was going to strike me. Maybe a sick part of me wanted him to. Then I could unleash all my anger onto him. Rain blows upon his chest, call him out for - for what?

The sins of his
father?

Andrew was correct when he said he was not his father. His father, Leonard Walker-Wilkinson, was exactly the sort of stuck-up, arrogant, rich motherfucker that I had assumed London was full of. I'd been here now for a month, and I thought I was settling in; till that jerk had kidnapped me.

Andrew had rescued me. Andrew, my tall, mysterious, troubled savior. Now we were back at his townhouse, and I was exhausted, and I had just accused him of the worst crime possible - that he was like his father.

No wonder he'd wanted to hit me. But he held his blow, and now I was watching him walk away.

Isn't it funny how you don't know how much you feel for someone until they leave you?

"Get out," he said again.

I guess I could have argued back. But what good would it have done? Anyways, I was not the sort of girl who ever begged. No sir. I wasn't raised to be submissive.

So it was kinda funny I was here, now, feeling hurt and lost. The Dominant I was beginning to submit to had just rejected me.

Was I supposed to beg and cry? I briefly considered it. But then he turned around and my words died on my lips. His eyes were narrowed and dark, set deep in his high-cheeked face. "Still here? I'll call Amjad. Wait in the hall."

I fled through the door and into the hallway.

* * * *

Amjad, Andrew's personal driver, didn't speak until we were well underway on the journey back to my apartment.

"So, how are you finding London? Settling in well?"

"Yeah." I rested my forehead on the glass in the passenger side window. I was so tired. Everything hurt. "I guess."

"Are you all right, miss?"

"Yeah. It's been a rough few days, you know?"

I didn't know how much Amjad
did
know. He was only Andrew's driver. Did he know that I'd been kidnapped by Andrew's father? Leonard had wanted me to spy on Andrew. His own son! Just because he'd wanted to make his own way in the world and not rely on his rich daddy's influence. Jeez. When I said it like that to myself, it was crazy talk.

Amjad sucked on his teeth, before speaking slowly, as if he wasn't sure if he ought to say anything. "Well, miss. I would put this to you. Mr. Walker-Wilkinson is a young man with some troubles, I think. And he is not yet sure of what a real man should be. I think I should not be driving you home, miss. It should be him. He has a responsibility and I think he should learn this."

Amjad's accent was pure London but there was a musical pattern in his words that made me smile.

I said, "Yeah, I kinda agree with you. But he's had a rough few days too. Also, he's just had a massive argument with his father and…" I stopped. I didn't think I ought to reveal that Andrew had just punched his father in the face and knocked him out cold. "And, well, these things change … things," I added lamely.

"A man needs to be a man," Amjad said flatly. "This is the way of it."

My eyes were sore and my cheekbone hurt. A few weeks ago, when I'd met Andrew for the very first time as I gave a presentation to a bunch of businessmen, I'd bawled him out for holding a door open for me. I'd pretty much accused him of being an outdated dinosaur and sexist pig.

And now Amjad was saying the sort of stuff that would usually have me going for the jugular.

I was too tired. And maybe I was changing - or getting soft, or something - because I knew he meant well. So I swallowed my feminist rage, and just sighed, and when he pulled up at my apartment, I didn't yell at him for opening the door or helping me out or politely ensuring I got safely to my own door.

The door had been repaired; Andrew must have had an emergency locksmith out to sort it. I stared, blankly, at the new lock until Amjad stepped in and unlocked it, and presented me with the new key.

And a small piece of paper. "My number and my address," he said, folding my hands over the paper. His touch was warm and comforting. "Please. Take it. You need friends here."

"Thank you."

* * * *

He was correct. I needed friends. My IT company had trusted me with developing its Europe sales, providing business-to-business infrastructure tools. So here I was, transplanted from America to England and still just finding my feet. I think I'd have been more at home in France. At least I knew they were going to speak a different language. Here, they used words but half the time I hadn't the first clue what they all meant.

I felt very alone.

I missed Andrew right away, too, and regretted what I'd said to him. But I couldn't shake my fear that his dominant tendencies were going to become like his father's bullying nature. Where did BDSM stop and unhealthy control start? I really didn't know enough. Did Andrew? I wasn't sure.

It was early evening but I was too shattered to do anything but run a bath. While the water thundered from the stupidly separate faucets I flicked on my netbook. (WHY couldn't they have a mixer like every other civilized nation in the world? The options were to freeze or to burn. Jeez.) I scrolled through the latest happenings on social media.

Moping around wasn't my style. Never was. I was actually a little appalled at myself. I needed to pick myself up and get on with things! Was the gray London weather going to make me as dull and limp as the stereotypical Brit? Maybe it wasn't their fault. Maybe it was all down to the weather!

No, not me. I was going to put my Big-Girl-Panties on, and get things
done
.

Steam was billowing out the door of the bathroom so I went through and switched the water off. When I came back out into my living room, Facebook had loaded up with its usual list of notifications. I perched on the arm of the couch, and scrolled quickly through.

It soon became obvious that all my "friends" were work colleagues and not one of them had noticed I'd been quiet online for the past few weeks. Even Carlee, my oldest and closest girlfriend, had been quiet since I'd left the States. I knew she was pleased about my promotion.

It was only just occurring to me that she might be jealous, too.

My sadness returned. Still, I told myself, I wouldn't be stuck here in London for ever. My old friends were fairly shallow connections, and there wasn't any point making new friends.

I slammed the netbook closed, and slid into the bath, and wished I'd made some better decisions in the past.

Monday rolled around and I got stuck into my work again. Men were a distraction, I repeated to myself. I had to drum up a few million dollars' worth of business and the thought of that task excited me. It would have made others quiver in fear, and that it why it was me here now, and not them.

My rise in my company had been ruthless and stellar and I didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought of me. They'd have said I "acted like a man" except no one was stupid enough to say that - at least, not to my face.

I crisscrossed London, with three presentations to give that day, and a whole heap of follow-up work to do while I was riding in cabs from place to place. The buzz got my heart beating again.

My cheek was blooming with an enormous bruise; I'd layered on foundation that only just covered it, and explained it away with a breezy comment at my own clumsiness. When the memories slid back - Leonard hitting me, Andrew not hitting me - I grabbed the next task on my to-do list and worked those memories away.

I grabbed a takeaway on my way back to my apartment. I'd been warned that British food was revolting, and I had made an early mistake when I'd tried something called a "pork pie", bought from a gas station. However there was a great range of world foods and tonight I was indulging in a Geng Kheaw Wan Gai - okay, so just a standard green curry but I'd gotten takeout from this nearby Thai place before and it was amazing.

So when my cell rang as I was halfway through my food, I ignored it. But it buzzed again and again, so I was already annoyed when I finally picked up on the third attempt.

The number had been withheld but it turned out to be my mom.

"Jasmine, oh my God, Jasmine! I've been trying to get through to you!"

"I know," I said through gritted teeth. The last time we'd spoken, she'd been telling me that my younger sister Angie needed me.

She needed a reality check, is all.

And this was about Angie, too. "Do you wanna see her lose the house? I've given her all the money I can spare, but it's real bad. Brian is working every hour under the sun but it is not enough. You gotta help. She's your own flesh and blood, Jasmine."

"She made her bed, mom."

"Christian charity!" she exploded, as if she were a regular church-goer, which she definitely was not. "I don't understand why you can't show a single scrap of decency."

"Maybe because she never showed me any, back when she stole my identity and about twenty thousand dollars from me, mom."

There was a shocked silence on the other end of the line. I'd never told my mom all the details about this before. In truth, I loved my mom dearly and admired her. She'd worked so damn hard after she left my dad, and raised me and Angie all alone, cast out by her family and her community. Things were tough, back then. Still were, I guess.

"Are you still there, mom?"

"Jasmine. I'm sorry, I just don't know why you have to say these things."

"Mom?"

Her voice was all gnarled up and thick, like she was trying not to cry. "I don't know where I went wrong with you, I really don't."

And then she hung up on me.

* * * *

One of the things that Andrew's father, the kidnapping jerk Leonard Walker-Wilkinson, had tried to scare me with was about my sister. He'd known she was in financial trouble. It was kinda funny that he knew more than my own mother did.

Funny, in a totally I'm-not-laughing way.

I did a little more work. It was gone eight at night, but what else was I going to do with my time? Work meant I didn't have to think about other things. Work was real life; the rest was distraction.

And then I got distracted again by a knock at the door to my apartment.

I froze. Leonard's henchmen had burst into my place and taken me hostage not three days ago. The police hadn't been interested because Leonard was way up high in parliament and all sorts of fucking feudal bullshit, and I was just some dumb American woman getting into trouble, aha ha ha.

The knock at the door sent my blood pressure through the roof as I remembered how those men had bundled me into a van and drove me away. I grabbed my cell and backed toward the kitchen, heading for the knives.

When the cellphone in my hand started up I damn near had a heart attack and dropped the fucker, and that was a double heart attack when I finally got a hold of it again and saw who the caller was.

I answered it. My throat had nearly sealed itself shut with fear and now surprise. "Hi, uh, Andrew."

"Jas, will you answer your door?"

His tone was polite but exasperated. Of course, he could hear the ringing of my phone and he knew I was home. "Sure. Gimme a sec," I said, and took a moment to compose myself.

I decided the best defense was pure attack. I swung the door open and tried not to look at him as I said, "Be quick. I'm working."

He raised one eyebrow. He was wearing a black suit and a crisp white shirt; totally plain, totally unremarkable. Except that the way he wore it screamed "sex" and it wasn't just because I knew what lay under that sober fabric. He was a dedicated triathlete with a chiseled body and somehow that conveyed itself even when he was fully clothed. With his hair just half an inch longer than the usual corporate tidiness, and dark blue eyes that were fixed on my face, he made me want him - just by looking at me.

I didn't want to let myself become vulnerable to him again.

Then he smiled, and I knew I was undone. "Okay, okay! Come in already." I stepped back and led him into my apartment.

"So, how have you been?" he asked as he followed me.

"Busy. You?"

"Much the same. Somewhat caught up at work with a new project. Fending off insistent telephone calls from my father."

"Yeah," I said. "About that whole thing…"

He took hold of my hands, firmly and gently, pulling me toward him. I didn't resist. This was going to be the apology I needed to hear, and I would accept it magnanimously.

I was disappointed.

"Jasmine. My father is a cruel man. You can understand, now, why I refuse to have anything to do with him. He owes you an apology and an explanation, and I suspect you will never have either from him. All I can give you is my own explanation, perhaps…"

Jeez. "Go on."

He just rehashed the stuff I knew. So his daddy was a big-shot - well, yeah, I got that impression from the way his house was the size of a small English county. Leonard wanted to consolidate his powerful empire by ensuring that his son took up executive positions in large companies, and fed information back to him.

Andrew had refused.

I shook my head as Andrew tried to explain why it was all so important to Leonard. "Andrew, what about now? Is he still gonna come after me, and you, or will he accept defeat? Is it really such a big deal to him? I mean, he's surely got enough money, right?"

Andrew's eyes narrowed. "No one
ever
has enough money. Make more money than anyone else you know; that's his philosophy. But it's more than that. It's power. And influence. Everyone who is anyone in London knows that I have essentially rejected him. And he can't stand it."

"It's that simple?"

"It is."

"So he'll come after you…"

Andrew drew in a deep breath. "Maybe. I don't know. Probably. But there is only so much he can do, and I think that he knows I'm not a pushover. And he has no element of surprise any longer; he's lost that advantage. He knows I'll be looking out for him now."

"Is that why you're here?" I asked. I wanted to say, "Are you here to protect me?" but I didn't dare, in case the answer wasn't what I wanted to hear.

He did quirk a slight smile at that, as if he knew exactly what I wasn't saying. "A little. Actually, Amjad made me. He didn't mince his words. He's been in a terrible mood with me all week."

"Huh." I pouted a little. "So you do what your driver tells you to, but you expect me to do what you tell me to? Who's in charge, then? Amjad?"

That seemed to needle him. Suddenly his hands let go of mine, and gripped my upper arms, pushing me backward against a wall. His body pressed against me and I was overwhelmed by his scent and his power. He dipped his face close to mine, the heat rising from his skin, as he whispered into my ear.

"I'm in charge and I think it's time we set some ground rules, don't you?"

I shivered all over. Every tiny hair on my body was standing straight up. He was here for me, I realized. Me!

I was powerful. He wanted
me.

His lips roamed down my neck and back up, teasing at my earlobe. "Believe it or not," he growled, "this isn't about me being able to do whatever I want to you. You need to tell me what you cannot possibly ever accept."

Right now I felt as if I'd say yes to anything. I shifted a little, feeling too vulnerable, and he backed away. Immediately I wanted him close, again. I pulled at him, but he held onto my hands, like he had done before.

"Let's take a seat and talk about this," he said, kindly, and his soft voice made me melt just as much as his growl had done.

* * * *

What followed was possibly the most surreal fifteen minutes of my life. I mean, I was no stranger to some weird situations, but sitting on my couch talking about how big of a butt plug I'd be prepared to take - yeah, that is going to take some beating.

And speaking of beatings, we covered that, too. He was thorough, I give him that. Would I accept spanking? Would I be blindfolded? Wax, knives and ropes? Stuff I hadn't even heard of, that I made a mental note to Google later.

Incognito window, of course.

The upshot was that I was prepared to try most things, at least once - maybe twice, just to be sure. It was hard to say I wouldn't do something when I didn't really understand what that "something" was.

And I had this firm idea that I was a modern woman, and modern women aren't scared of bedroom antics, right?

He had other demands, too, which I found more difficult.

He laughed at my discomfiture. "So you're happy for me to grab you off the street and fuck you, hard, and send you on to a presentation without any underwear? But you struggle with showing me proper respect…"

"I can call you sir," I said. "I kinda get that. You know, when we're intimate. But the no-cursing thing is hard, and the way you hold doors open and order the wine."

"That's me showing
you
respect," he said. He grew intense. "You are my queen, my woman, my light. I am your champion, your protector, your defender. Nurturing you is the reason I am strong. This is a two-way process."

I couldn't help but sit up a little straighter. It was appealing, in a way. "I'll try."

"What I'm saying, Jas, is that you don't have to be in control all the time."

"Like I am at work?"

"Exactly that. I wouldn't be so attracted to you if you were a pushover. I have no interest in weak women. But with me … allow me to be in charge."

I blew out my cheeks. "Well… okay, then."

My internal arguments were soon smothered as he reached out and stroked my cheek tenderly. His thumb brushed my lips, so lightly, like a gentle butterfly. I shivered all over as he drew himself closer to me, looming over me, his breath now tickling my ear.

"Now take all of your clothes off."

"You first," I said, pushing at him, all flirty-like.

That was a mistake.

He didn't need to do anything but raise one eyebrow at me, and I melted inside. And somehow, I wanted to be in trouble. I wanted to know how dangerous he was. Oh Lord, yes.

Be frightening.

"Now take all of your clothes off," he said again, and the fact that he had had to repeat himself was one more thing he would have to punish me for.

Oh yes, yes, yes.

So I stood up, all afire with passion and lust and fear, the whole crazy mix sending my heart rate into lunatic territory, and I let my clothes drop to the floor, one by one. I didn't care to take my time. I wasn't making a show of it. I wanted to get naked and face what came next.

He sat with his legs slightly apart, sprawling over the couch, watching me. I searched his face, hoping to see lust there, but he kept his expression blankly impassive.

I looked him right in the eye. Yeah, there was deliberately a challenge in that.

He surged to his feet, grabbed me round the waist, and sat back down heavily, bringing me across his lap. I squirmed to get comfortable, with my breasts hanging down next to his knees, and my legs the other side. My hands went out in front of me, flat on the floor, and my ass was high in the air.

I was readying myself for what I knew would be next but the blow came without warning and quicker than I expected; and he didn't speak. His palm slapped hard onto my buttock, much harder than I was ready for, and I cried out in shocked surprise.