Chapter 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.

"I'm lucky," she says, obviously sensing I'm watching what she eats. "A high metabolism. It doesn't keep everything in shape but it certainly helps when someone puts amazing food in front of me. I don't have to starve myself to look like this and I feel grateful to my genetics for that, for sure. Although… I am going swimming later so that will give me some balance." She giggles before twirling pasta around her fork and taking a mouthful of creamy carbonara. "Oh, this is so good. So… did I put you off?"

"Of you?" I ask with a raised eyebrow as my fork hovered midway to my lips and she nods. "I think the moment to leave was when Mr. Suit pulled out the contract. I stayed for that, so you have me a while it would seem." She laughs out loud, a full laugh that fills the room. "The way I'm feeling I doubt anything could put me off of you."

She laughs, heartily.

"Mr. Suit. That is so funny. I am going to tell him you called him that."

"I don't think he will find it amusing."

"Probably not. I've had him with me for years. I trust him. He is effective in his job for sure, but his people skills need some considerable work," she acknowledges, and I absolutely do not disagree.

We chat while we eat. It is nice just to hang out with her. Every passing minute she becomes less Dahlia Dante the super famous movie star and more just Dahlia with who I have this amazing connection and who I am dying to know more and more about.

As 2pm approaches, we take the lift down underground to the parking floor. "The hotel is very accommodating for me. If I want to pass through the front I can, but they also allow my driver to use the service entrance to come and go so we can leave when we want without the paparazzi entourage. Which, at times like this, is a real-life saver. I mean, I don't want to be doing lengths with a camera pressed up against the window. Have you ever been to Howard Hall?"

I slide into the back of the SUV. The windows are heavily tainted so I expect it to be dark but it seems to let in a regular amount of light from outside, which surprises me. The interior is huge, everything on a grand scale, and whilst it is immaculate, there is evidence that this is Dahlia's car. There is her program slotted into the leather pouch in front and her scarf draped across the center armrest. I wonder for a second how much it costs to have something like this and a driver on standby at any given moment.

"No, I have never been. I just use the local community pool when I need to get some lengths in. Generally, I prefer training in the gym, or running outdoors, but there is more chance of injury, so the closer I get to a competition the more I switch to do my conditioning sessions in the pool to keep me at peak fitness and take any pressure off my knees and ankles."

"I never even asked. What kind of event do you do? It is track and field?" She looks at me quizzically. We call it Athletics, Americans call it track and field.

"I used to do a few different events but I found my stride with the 10k race. I like the length and the duration. It works for me."

She nods. " It seems like a long way to run. I don't know anything about sports really. I watch the Olympics and things like that occasionally, but I never follow anything."

"I will be honest… I don't watch that much sport. Like, my coach is the one who follows the other athletes in my races; he tracks their strategies and we adjust my race plan accordingly. I watch replays and study their forms for example, but that is all part of my training. I'm not a huge fan of watching team sports at all. If the track and field is on, I will watch it and the Olympics for sure. But I guess I am just more of a doer than a watcher."

"Oh, I thought you would be super like obsessed with it all!" she exclaims and I laugh.

"No, I am only obsessed with my own training and competition, no one else's."

The car starts to make its way out of the city, and I see open land and green horizons, but not for long. Howard Hall is just on the very edge of the center, making the most of the proximity whilst claiming the only green views on this side of the city before you hit suburbia. The SUV rolls silently up the long entrance drive and I watch the spa come into view. I would guess that at some point it had been an estate house that had since been remodeled to accommodate luxury clientele.

As we pull to a halt, the driver who has so far been silent, speaks to Dahlia with a soothing, soft voice. "Your bags are in the back, ma'am, I will get them for you, one moment." And he cuts the engine before silently slipping out. For a large burly guy, he moves with ease and stillness, which instantly makes me think he is ex-military. There is a subtleness to each of his actions that tells me he is way more than just a driver. And Dahlia immediately confirms my suspicions.

"Todd is my bodyguard too. Well hell, you can add a whole long list of other things he does for me too, but that is his actual title. He has worked with me for …" she pauses, thinking, just as Todd opens the back door and offers Dahlia a hand to help her out. "How long have you been helping my ass now, Todd?" she asks him and he replies instantly.

"Seven years and four months now, ma'am."

"There you go." She laughs, "My longest and most functional relationship." She smiles at him and he gives a light smile back, but I wonder what he hides behind that wall of professional politeness. Whether he feels more for her. I wouldn't blame him either if he did. She is something else.

She takes the bags from him and threads her arm through mine as we make it inside the foyer. It is surprisingly quiet. I look to Dahlia in question and she whispers to me, "I booked it all out so we wouldn't be disturbed. We have the place to ourselves other than the staff. Swim first?"

I nod and follow her lead trying to hide my shock. I wonder how much it would cost to book out something like this place for your own privacy. How you would even explain that to other clients? To cancel all the appointments? I guess she makes it more than worthwhile for them, but it seems so excessive and unnecessary. Well, to me anyway. I guess I have never experienced intrusion into my personal life.

She seems to sense my judgement.

"If I didn't, someone would make a call within five minutes. Or a sneaky cellphone video that they upload online. Then the paparazzi would descend and some would wait outside the gates, sure. I know you are thinking about the hacks that lie in wait outside the hotel hoping to catch a snap of my panties or whatever. But no, it would be women, girls, that they send into the spa area that look normal. Booking a spa. Last-minute cancellation. And you wouldn't see them, you wouldn't notice them. But she would see everything, listen to every conversation and take photo after photo on her phone, iPad, whatever. We would be none the wiser, and then an hour later when we leave, we would be splashed all over TMZ. Misquoted and lied about to get flashy headlines and fuel for the clickbait parade. Your life would be investigated, you would be followed and your link with me would drag you into everything. It would cost me more in legal fees proving it was all BS and getting them to take it down after the damage has already been done. So, yeah. Better this way."

She guides me to the locker rooms as she talks, and I find myself gaining more and more comprehension about what we are doing here. The risks she's taking and the difficulties she may face purely in living her life. And indeed in trying to integrate me into it. I am a tiny bit distracted though—her arm threading with mine brings a closeness, I could pinpoint all the places that we touch. My side and her hips, our thighs, our arms. Just light glances as we move, but it makes it clearer to me now, just how little contact we have had with each other and how much I want that to change.

The locker rooms are anything but rooms, rather private suites with heated floors, new fluffy towels, slippers, hair ties, an oversized shower with more hair products than my local supermarket stocks. We slip into different rooms and Dahlia hands me a bag that I empty out onto the sofa. Not sure when I would ever need to use a sofa in a locker room but it comes in handy nevertheless.

The swimsuits are all designer sportswear. All ten together must have cost more than my paycheck along with the newest release of goggles, nose clips, stopwatch. There is even a brand new Fitbit and Whoop Band, both of which I already have, and a swim specific ankle band that measures your vitals as you swim. Whoever Dahlia had spoken to had spared no expense in providing Dahlia with the top range of swimming products and accessories.

I slip into the black Nike swimsuit. It is the same brand as I would usually wear. It fits me perfectly and feels weightlessly smooth against my skin. I tie my hair up high but don't bother with the swim cap. I fasten the band around my ankle; I am intrigued to see how accurate it will be.

Taking the goggles and the towel, I pad out to the pool. I check the measurement and it is a good length, a little longer than the local pool but narrower, not that that makes any difference when you are the only one here.

I reach the end of the tiles, my blue-painted toes curling around the edge as I look down at the crystal-clear water, my reflection rippling across the surface. I stretch my arms out high above my head, my muscles tighten, fingers lacing together, and with a soft bend of my knees I push off, and my body curves into a graceful arc. The tips of my fingers hit the cool water first but in seconds I'm in deep … gliding across the blue mosaic floor.

Breaking the surface, I feel the cleanse of the water washing away any thoughts. Moving into the shallower end as my body moves across the water, my feet can finally touch the floor. I pause, tilting my head forwards before I flick my hair back, a glistening ray of droplets painting a rainbow in the dazzling summer sun that shine through the wall-sized French window that brings the outside in, and I continue my way forwards. Water drips from my eyelashes. I love the water.

Turning back to face the deep, my body longs to feel the weight of the water, the silence of the unknown. I dive under again. The ripples send tingles along my skin. I feel my nipples harden in the cold, my sex held in a watery caress that tingles against my intimate spots as I swim, gliding through the pool, my fingers outstretched and my hair fanning out behind me. Minutes pass and my lungs cry for fresh air; I rise up to the surface at the edge before I catch my breath then turn to repeat it over and over. I work my body, pushing myself until I find the rhythm that makes my muscles ache.

After a while, I forget where I am until I catch Dahlia in the corner of my eye. She is sitting on the edge of the pool. Her toes dance along the top of the water, skimming the surface lightly, making a soft splash. She too is in a one piece swimsuit, but unlike mine that clings to my athletic figure, her nude toned suit kisses her feminity in ways I long to.

I break from my lengths and make my way to her, pulling the goggles from my eyes and letting my hair loose just as her hands curl around the edge and she lowers herself into the water straight into my arms. She trails her fingers through my wet hair, as I guide us into shallower water, the moment my toes touches the tiled floor and I can steady myself, my hands are on her.

My palms cup her face as I draw her into me, my wet lips are hungry to kiss, and they do. Over and over. How have I waited so long to feel this? To taste her, to touch her like this. Starting at the edge of her lips, moving across, every inch I pepper in soft needy kisses. Her hands move to the straps of my suit, pulling each one so they slip from my shoulders and my small breasts are freed, and my pussy bared as the fabric falls away as she slides her hands down my thighs, meeting her toes which carry it the rest of the way.

I follow and repeat in response. Slipping the straps of her suit from her shoulders and peeling it inch by inch down her skin. I want to watch; I want to see her nakedness, but I can't stop kissing her so instead I wait for the touch. The first press of wet skin on skin. There are no barriers between us now. No fabric to show restraint; it is hard to see where I end and she begins. I feel the fullness of her breasts press against my own and I need to touch them, my kisses run down her neck and along her collarbone, the swell of her full, beautiful breasts rise just out of the water and my head dips to take her nipple lightly between my lips.

I feel her moan, it vibrates through her body. She tightens her legs around my thigh and slowly starts to rock her body against me, again and again, her slick wetness making each slide an easy glide.

With each of her movements, I feel that pressure against my sex, her thigh claiming each wanting rock along my leg, which only makes my pussy press more firmly against her leg. I take her breasts, both of them in my palms, and I cup them as I raise my head up to seek out her kisses once more.

It is not like before where I claimed her and it is not like in her contract where I take what I want. It is mutual. A climax built on mutual lust and desire for each other. Both of our bodies work in effortless harmony. We start to build together, moaning into each other's mouths. I taste her gasps as she feels the squeeze of my hands.

Water splashes as our bodies tremble, each kiss deeper and more frenzied. "Dahlia," I pant against her lips, and she responds with a soft bite. The shock sends me over the edge, the release that has been building, since the moment I met her… finally. I cling to her and feel her body mirroring mine. Waves and waves of pleasure as we ride out our orgasms.

I guide her back to the wall and pin her there. Keeping us held tight together. My body… I can't feel my toes and I am shaking so hard my muscles spasm. In every way, it is nothing special of an orgasm but in every single way, it is more than I have ever felt. The most special orgasm.

And even now my kisses don't stop. Won"t stop. I can't help it. I want her taste on my tongue, on my lips, in my mouth.

"Alexa," she whispers softly against my lips, and it takes a second, a minute, but I hear her and drop slowly back down to earth.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" I ask in a daze, unsure how tightly I held her, how hard I pushed, how needy I was with her.

"No, you didn't hurt me. But I have a feeling you just might," she replies softly, and I wonder why my own thoughts echo in unison the same sentiment.