Chords that Bind Ch. 15

"You were sleeping so beautifully, I didn't want to wake you."

"That's a pretty nice way to wake up, Sir."

"I have something for you."

"What is it?" Cecilia's eyes sparkled with curiosity. James presented her with the box. Her hand traced the embossed lettering, recognizing the designer's name. "Is this for me?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure it won't do much for me. Open it."

At first, Cecilia thought it was a tutu. The ballerina-pink tulle spilled from the box and Cecilia gasped in surprise. Underneath the knee-length skirt was a similarly colored camisole trimmed in with grey lace, and a grey off-the-shoulder sweater.

Cecilia took in the luxe fabric, self-conscious about what it probably cost. It was beautiful and feminine in a way she never dared to dress before. "This probably would look better on a six-foot-tall model than it will on me," Cecilia said, trying to be self-deprecating.

"Nonsense. Do you like it?"

"I do! Thank you, Sir," she said remembering herself. "I just don't—"

"Why don't you try it on before you decide that? Go on."

Cecilia scooped up the box and headed toward the bathroom. "Where are you going?"

Cecilia looked at him and realized he expected her to change in front of him. Her cheeks flushed. He'd seen all of her, but she was still painfully shy. "Oh. Yes Sir."

She pulled off her polo shirt and slid out of her jeans, keenly aware of James's gaze roving over her. Part of her wanted to sink to her knees with the way he looked at her. It wasn't fair that he was so devastating.

She donned the skirt, shocked that it wasn't too long or too wide. Often, she found clothes off-the-rack to be ill-fitting. This, however, hit just the right point on her body to be flattering. The camisole did make her look like a ballerina, and for a moment she wished Clara were here. She too, would appreciate it. The sweater criss-crossed over her front and settled in a flattering off-the-shoulder neckline. She looked in the full-length mirror and finally smiled. "It's so pretty. Thank you."

James came behind her. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it. It looks perfect on you and I had a hunch you'd like. There's one more piece." James hoped he wasn't pushing his luck.

In his hand, he held what looked like a black velvet ribbon. He held both ends before Cecilia. It was a chocker with silver fastenings. "May I?" James looked inquiringly into her eyes in the mirror. Cecilia's reflection nodded back to him.

Before setting it around her neck, James gave her a penetrating look. "Will you promise that you won't let anyone else take it off?"

It wasn't a true collar, but James was willing to settle for a placeholder for now. He hoped he wouldn't scare her off, but he needed her to wear his token.

She nodded.

"Tell me, Cecilia." A gentle edge crept back into his voice.

"I promise. No one else will take it off."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me, Sir" she said solemnly.

James cock was raging. "Good Girl."

Cecilia could tell this was significant to James, but bit back her questions. She felt him fuss with the clasp at the back of her neck until the velvet wrapped around her throat. It set off the rest of the ensemble perfectly. James kissed the back of her neck. "Good girl," he repeated. He saw her questioning look, but decided to wait to explain his odd request.

"I'm going to get ready, myself. Would you join me for a pre-concert bite?"

"I would love to. I'll finish getting ready too."

James didn't know what she else she had to do to finish getting ready. To his eyes she looked picture-perfect already. That is, until he emerged from his shower, dressed in his evening clothes. She pinned her hair in a top-knot, further emphasizing the velvet chocker. Maybe it was selfish, but he indulged his desire to revel in this particular fetish. Cecilia applied some makeup, using winged black eyeliner and scarlet lipstick to finish a glamorous throwback look.

"Wow," James couldn't help but say.

"It's not too much? Is it?" James watched her cheeks color. She so easily doubted herself. It was one thing that she wasn't arrogant, but it was another for her to have such poor self-esteem.

"Not at all. It looks smashing."

"Thank you, Sir. You don't clean up too badly yourself." Cecilia loved his sharp evening clothes.

"Shall we?"

He offered Cecilia his arm, and they left their hotel room.

***

Something about Cecilia's eager gratitude made James want to share everything he knew with her; all the avenues of pleasure and enjoyment he'd discovered, he wanted to show her on a silver platter.

James already ate, but Cecilia was just short of starving. They walked a few short blocks over to the Plaza Hotel. "Have you ever done afternoon tea?"

"Clara and I had a cup of tea at Harrods once."

"Oh brill. Well, I don't do high tea often—too sweet sometimes, but I'll give the Plaza its due. They do it properly here."

James ordered a pot of earl grey and a series of savory and sweet creations. When they'd both fixed their tea to their liking, (James with milk, Cecilia with honey and lemon) he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

"What's going on in that head of yours? You look pensive."

Unprepared for such an open-ended question, Cecilia stalled. "Umm... not a lot, really."

"I doubt that. A lot's happened in the past few days..." Objection. Leading the witness! James thought to himself, but encouraged her all the same.

For a moment, as the waiters delivered multi-tiered plates laden with dainty bites, Cecilia allowed herself to acknowledge just how unlikely her present situation really was.

"Cecilia?"

The sound of her name on his lips brought her back. "Yes Sir?"

He smiled. "You manners are one of the most charming things about you. I won't pretend to dislike it, but when we're out there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"Isn't there? Abraham told me you were a knight."

James wasn't sure if she was that innocent or if she was flirting. "That's true. But—"

"I'd hate to break the rules."

"Does that worry you?" James's exuberance at laying claim to her had blotted out peripheral concerns. Like protocol. And how she was to address him. Now he hated to think he was causing her anxiety.

Her silence was his answer.

"Cecilia, I'd never hurt you over something like that. You do know you're safe with me, right?"

"Oh yes." She looked up from her teacup. "I do. I'd just hate to be a disappointment."

James reached across the table to take hold of her hand. "You could never be. But if you're worried about something you should tell me. Yes?"

"Yes, Sir." Cecilia smiled. She took a bite from a picture-perfect tea sandwich.

"Do you know why I asked you to wear that chocker?" James asked after she savored another bite.

Cecilia felt her cheeks burn. She could tell it was important, but . . . "No Sir," she answered softly.

He exhaled. "I didn't think so."

She looked down, feeling like she failed a test.

"Cecilia, look at me." She did, and James held her gaze. "Stop behaving as if you've done something wrong. If anything, I'm the one who's been unfair."

"Why?"

"Because you're wearing my token, and I haven't explained what it is or what it signifies."

Cecilia touched the ribbon around her throat. "What does it mean?"

"Well, it's a rather temporary one," James amended. "But once we're home, I'd like to find you a permanent one." Cecilia looked at him confused. "I want you to wear my collar, Cecilia."

"Like a leather one with buckles?" her eyes were wide with disbelief. She looked around as if afraid someone would hear their conversation.

"No, no, no. Not at all."

"What do you mean then?"

"You're imagining a restraint, which has its utility, no doubt . . ." James rather enjoyed that mental image. "When I say I want you to wear my collar, I mean a sign of my—of our—commitment. Typically, it's a chocker or necklace, a visible sign that you belong to me. But something you can wear in mixed company." James explained this as evenly as he could, but he couldn't resist adding, "I'd prefer if it wasn't easily removed."

James had a way of saying these things that made them seem so alluring, and so—natural.

"And this," Cecilia motioned to the velvet ribbon, "is meant to—"

"Consider it an interim. I should have told you first." James took a shaky breath. Had he badly misjudged Cecilia's willingness to belong to him? "You don't have to accept it, or keep wearing it. But, you should know that I don't just collar girls as a passing fancy."

Cecilia held her breath as James continued. "A collar is a definite commitment. If you aren't ready for that, I understand."

"So that's why you asked me not to take it off?"

"Yes." It was time to lay it bare. "I've been wanting to see you wear my collar for a long time. I should have been more forthcoming about its significance." That was it. He was going to loose her because of his juvenile eagerness.

"Do you regret putting it on me?"

The answer to that question depended largely on weather or not Cecilia was scared off by his impulsive decision. It was too soon.

"Because now that I understand," she continued and James praised the gods for rhetorical questions, "I think, I rather like that idea. What do you mean when you say you don't want it easily removed?"

Hearing that she wasn't averse to wearing his collar, James quickly answered her: "Just what I said. I wouldn't want you to be able to take it off. It's no small symbol: people who understand the lifestyle would recognize that you are taken."

"What about everybody else?" Cecilia was so fascinated by this idea she didn't filter her thoughts.

"We'd come up with something discrete. No one who doesn't understand would see it as anything beyond a unique piece of jewelry."

James smeared a scone with some clotted cream and waited for her reaction.

"Does Clara have one?"

James hadn't expected that. "She has a silver chain she wears often. The pendant is a key with her and Abe's initials. However, she has to be able to take it off; it's not practical with her dancing career. But she would consider herself to be collared to Abe, as well as his lawfully wedded wife."

"And what does that make me?"

She wasn't shying away from the heavy questions. James couldn't mince words any longer, "That would create an understanding between us that you are mine. Exclusively."

"Yours?"

"Yes."

At that Cecilia stopped over-thinking her words. "Would I have rules?"

James felt possession rise to the surface. She hadn't refused him. "You already do."

"Oh. W-what are they?" she was suddenly afraid.

James knew he had her. "You have nothing to worry about. You're already so well-behaved. I expect good manners and decorum. I also expect your obedience, honesty, and respect."

Cecilia visibly relaxed. All of this was well within the scope of their usual interactions.

"I also will expect that you surrender yourself to me: body and mind. You'll give me access to any and every part of you, including your modesty, your most intimate secrets, your desires, and your pleasure."

Cecilia shivered. She recognized that she'd already started to give herself over to him the way he described. It made her grateful to wear his collar.

"What if something goes wrong?" Cecilia asked before her courage left her. She gulped her tea.

"What should go wrong?"

"What if I break the rules? Will you take your collar back?"

She was afraid of him changing his mind? "I can't imagine you could do anything to warrant being released." It was such a strange phrase to Cecilia, but James wasn't finished. "If you were to displease me in some way, you would be punished—spanked more often then not—but the whole point of a collar is that it binds both parties. The submissive trusts that her dominant will honor her, just as I will trust you to be true to me. A breach in protocol isn't enough to violate such a commitment."

Cecilia felt the weight of what James was saying. His collar was his promise; James kept his promises.

"I know it seems fast, and given . . . the unusual circumstances . . . You don't have to decide yet." James paved the way for her to let him down gently.

"No," Cecilia felt the chocker again. "I do. I do want to wear it. I won't take it off."

James felt his heart leap. He leaned over and kissed her. Propriety be damned. It was possessive and demanding and entirely inappropriate for afternoon tea. Too soon, he broke the kiss.

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that," he whispered in her ear. Then he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. His cock was uncomfortably hard. He couldn't wait to take her again. But they would have to wait until after his performance. He was another step closer to cementing her place in his life.

"You must have other questions running through that head of yours," he prompted.

This time Cecilia didn't play coy. "What else will you require of me, Sir? Is there more I should know about pleasing you . . . physically?"

Gods. James wanted to cancel the performance and demonstrate exactly what he'd require of her. "A great deal I'm sure. But, for now, perhaps it would be more . . . timely to discuss how I expect you to behave in mixed company."

Cecilia squirmed. Yes. That was a more appropriate topic. The two finished their tea chatting about James's various professional obligations and the finer points of etiquette he expected her to maintain.

***

Over the course of their afternoon tea, Cecilia felt a shift between herself and James. After finishing all the delicacies, (and learning the joy of fresh orange marmalade) they walked hand and hand to Carnegie Hall. James's strides had a crisp eagerness to them, and Cecilia nearly skipped along beside him.

Cecilia had never been to the iconic venue and James enjoyed the view through her eyes. "I hope you don't mind. I didn't get you a ticket."

Cecilia refocused on him, somewhat confused.

"I thought maybe you'd like to watch from backstage. It's not a full orchestra tonight. It's a series of Bach piano and chamber pieces."

"Oh! Really? Am I allowed back with you?"

"You are, if you're with me."

Cecilia smiled, trying to hide her sheer delight.

"I'm soloing on the Goldberg Variations, and accompanying a flautist on the flute sonata in B minor, but after that it's a solo violin piece, and I'm not sure I can stay away from you that long if I'm not actually playing the whole time."

James looked at her with undisguised lust. Cecilia wondered if the change she detected was James asserting more of his own dominance or if she was more aware of his natural tendencies now that she understood his ultimate desires better.

She allowed him to lead her through the immense space. They had another 45 minutes before the hall opened its doors to the public. Once in the backstage area, Cecilia immediately felt out of her depth. Small clusters of musicians were filing out of the rehearsal space. A group of stage managers and sound engineers moved with great purpose. A very tall and gaunt man walked towards James, who reached out to shake the man's hand. "Emile. Are you ready for tonight?"

"Of course," Said the gangly French flautist who was to perform with James. "But it is I who should be asking you. After all, you're the one who's filling in on short notice." He said this as an aside to Cecilia, as if they'd long been friends and were in on some joke together.

"Emile, allow me to introduce Miss Cecilia Alejandra Lavigne, my girlfriend."

Cecilia's eyes flashed brilliantly at James's words. It wasn't often that anyone introduced her so formally, but when she heard the word "girlfriend" pass his lips she nearly swooned.

"It is a pleasure to meet a beautiful fellow countryman—or woman rather. Where in France are you from cherie?" Cecilia couldn't help but like the man's friendliness.

"The family is from Alsace as I understood it. But I'm not sure about much beyond that."

"I'm partnering with Emile for the flute sonata," James explained. "His usual pianist was unable to make the performance due to illness, so I'm filling in last minute. Luckily, I love that piece, so it didn't take too much effort to get it back into my fingers."

"Shall we warm up?"

Emilie proceeded to assemble his flute while James spread out the sheet music, leaving Cecilia momentarily alone.

A stagehand pushed a tall stool up to the stage edge and motioned to Cecilia. "Here's the best seat in the house." Without another word he was gone, but she perched on the seat and listened to Emile tune his instrument. They went over a few spots in the sonata together, and then, before they knew it the house was opening. James came over to Cecilia and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Enjoy. I'll come back to listen to the rest when I'm done."

"Yes, Sir," Cecilia was breathless at the idea of hearing James play again. Every time he played a note she thought she'd never hear anything so beautiful... but then James would play something else and outdo her expectations.

"Right, I've got to work. Be good." He stroked her cheek and smiled. What a different side of James she was seeing from the distant man she'd known before now.

The sonata James played with Emile also had a different character from the brooding Romantic pieces Cecilia was used to. Emile's flute felt airy and light. It didn't have the same devastating quality, but it made her smile and it seemed to fit Emile's open and easy personality well. Cecilia didn't recall ever hearing this piece before, but James's playing had an effect on her regardless. She hugged herself, aware of her breasts and their tender buds. The piece frolicked and gamboled as the melody became ever harder for Cecilia to hold on to. It made her feel so much more in the moment, to hear a piece for the first time and also to still have such a visceral reaction to James's playing.

At the end of the sonata, Emile bowed and politely walked offstage. The audience enthusiastically applauded. Emile walked to Cecilia. "Well, I think that was well received, don't you cherie?" his voice was low, making his accent more noticeable.

"I liked it. That was the first time I've heard that music." She whispered back.

"Thank you. It was good of James to fill in. We would have had to cancel my contribution tonight if he hadn't been able to pull it off. But the main attraction is actually James. He's got the Goldberg Variations," Emile said as the audience quieted. "I don't know how he does it. Granted, he used sheet music on the sonata with me because he didn't have time to memorize it, but he has memorized the variations. That's immense concentration."

Over at the piano on stage, James felt differently. He never took a break from playing them. They were a part of him, part of the music he heard even when he wasn't practising or performing. He'd internalized Bach's writing until it revealed secrets. The flute sonata with Emile was a surprise, but well within his capabilities and it was nice to connect musically with another musician who didn't hold opinions or untoward insight on his personal life.

James closed his eyes, breathed deeply and started Bach's masterpiece.

Just off-stage, Cecilia's head turned sharply in the direction of the piano. She knew this piece. The title "Goldberg Variations" meant little to her, but the tinkling opening lines and careful melodies were instantly recognizable. She'd first heard the variations in her captivity, then as she recovered. This was the first time she heard the title and connected it to the steady meditative strains.

Her body recognized the piece almost before her ears did. Every time she heard these melodies from her captivity she doubted herself. But they were beautiful and James's flawless command kept her from casting the music aside.