Her World of Submission (House of Submission 3)
I picked it up and read, confident of a summons to the bedroom now.
But it wasn’t.
‘Go to the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. Attach your wrist cuffs to the apparatus you find there. And wait.’
Apparatus? What could that mean? I couldn’t restrain a little shudder as unpleasant images of torture equipment flashed into my head.
But my curiosity would not be denied and I tiptoed along the landing, keeping all my senses on alert for any signs of Jasper. But there were none.
The end guest bedroom was a spartan little chamber containing, usually, no more than lots of shelves and cabinets on which various art curiosities were displayed. It contained no bed and nothing in the way of useful furniture, as a rule, but today the Turkish rug in the centre of the room had something on it.
I laughed and then frowned.
It was a sleigh bed. You know the kind – they have a curved kind of prow at each end instead of a head and foot board. Fancy calling it an ‘apparatus’. Jasper had just been trying to psych me out, as usual. This looked really rather comfortable. But he had mentioned attaching the cuffs to something …?
I drew closer and noticed that a pair of small hooks were fixed to one of the sleigh ends. Did he mean me to kneel or lie? I couldn’t be sure.
I decided to lie, placed my wrists up behind my head and pushed their rings against the hooks until they clicked together. Now I could sit on the pillows and wait.
But for how long?
From where I sat, I could look through the window. Light was failing. Soon the room would be dark. Luckily it was heated by a radiator beneath the deep window ledge. All the same, my nipples were start
ing to complain, stiffening beneath the gossamer lace.
I strained my ears to hear any telltale sounds but the house was so silent my scalp began to prickle with dread. What if those notes weren’t from Jasper? What if he’d been … kidnapped … or … For God’s sake, Sarah. Who the hell else would they be from?
The mantel clock tick-tocked and I heard the grandfather in the hall strike a solemn five. It was now fully dark and I hadn’t thought to switch the light on in the room. I was getting colder and more shivery by the second. If I called out for help, what would happen?
I was just breathing in when I heard something.
Not much, a soft click, possibly from somewhere along the landing. I held my breath in my lungs and listened.
There was a definite creak – a floorboard. He was coming.
I shuffled, adjusting my posture for maximum attractive helplessness, whilst at the same time trying to make sure I could aim a good kick if needed. This wasn’t an easy manoeuvre.
The sudden downward turn of the door handle made me gasp, even though I was expecting it. I stared transfixed at the rectangle of white in the greyish gloom and watched it slowly open inwards. It brought with it a glow of orangey light, a candle, preceding its bearer. Its brightness concealed for a millisecond the identity of the person who held it but my eyes soon overcame the difficulty.
I saw an intent gaze above the flame, the curl of a familiar lip, a dark suit.
Thank goodness he hadn’t dressed as Santa. I never could understand the sexy Santa thing.
He stopped a little way into the room and put the candle down on a shelf.
‘Oh, now this is a Christmas present,’ he said fervently. ‘Did you find everything?’
‘I think so,’ I said, feeling my muscles tighten around the balls and beads.
‘Everything?’ he persisted, stepping closer.
‘I opened a lot of boxes.’
‘You opened more than boxes, if you found the lot,’ he said. He sat down on the side of the bed and grazed his knuckles along my nearest leg. ‘Didn’t you?’
I twisted my face away, feeling it flame.
‘Perhaps.’