Unraveled by Her by Wendy Leigh

isn’t here, trying on clothes with me.
    â€œWistful, Miranda?” he says, immediately noticing my change of mood.
    I give him a wan smile. “I was thinking of my mother,” I say.
    â€œShe was a catwalk model, wasn’t she?” he asks, and I nod.
    â€œAnd is she still a size six?” he asks.
    For a second, I’m dismayed that Robert is such a seasoned womanizer that he knows that the classic model is size 6/8, but then I brush away my insecurities and focus on the pleasure of the moment, instead.
    â€œStill a six, and proud of it,” I answer.
    Within minutes he has ordered the entire Dior collection in her size.
    â€œSo you think your mom will be happy with the collection, Miranda?”
    â€œHappy? She’ll be ecstatic!” I say, amazed that he doesn’t automatically know that.
    He beams with pleasure.
    â€œSo how would you like to deliver it to her in person?” he says.
    All of a sudden I feel as if Christmas, Easter, and my birthday have arrived all at once. But what if I’ve misinterpreted him?
    â€œRobert, do you really mean that?”
    He nods.
    â€œThe plane is fueled up and ready to take off anytime you want,” he says.
    I want, oh how I want!
    And three hours later we are high in the sky, en route to Honolulu.

Chapter Ten
    The seat belt sign is switched off, Robert leans back in his armchair seat, and our eyes lock. His eyes are full of tenderness, mine full of erotic expectation ignited by my memory of our flight to Geneva. Will he any minute order me to strip naked and stand in front of him while he inspects my body? Will he upend me across his knee and spank the hell out of me? Will he fuck me with all his strength and passion? And will I be deliciously sore afterward?
    â€œDo you remember when I told you that I believe in strict rules?” he says, cutting into my thoughts.
    â€œHow could I possibly forget?”
    He strokes my face, and I melt under his exquisite touch.
    â€œYou’ve been through so much, my darling, and strong as you are, I intend to handle you with kid gloves until you are fully recovered from the trauma,” he says.
    I flash back to last night, how he hugged me as if he would never let me go, kissed me tenderly from head to foot, so that my skin, my body, my entire being vibrated with pleasure, yet instead of making any sexual demands on me he held me in his arms, and then we slept the entire night like that.
    â€œI control my dominance, it does not control me,” he says, in an even-firmer-than-usual voice.
    â€œWhich means?” I say, even though I’ve got a sinking feeling that I know where he is heading, and I don’t like it much.
    â€œThat I intend to lead a vanilla existence with you until the time is right for us to once more live out our wildness together. And that’s my final decision,” he says in his don’t-imagine-for-even-a-split-second-that-I’ll-ever-allow-you-to-contradict-me voice.
    Just days ago I was imprisoned by Georgiana and Tamara. And now my passion, my desires, my lust for Robert—for all he is, everything he can do to me—are prisoners of his dictate that for the time being we maintain a vanilla relationship.
    I don’t plan to protest, though. Tomorrow I’ll be in Honolulu with my mother, and she’ll meet Robert, my love and my future husband, for the very first time.
    â€œMom doesn’t even know we’re engaged,” I say to him.
    â€œI know, my darling,” he says, and strokes the back of my hand. “And you don’t even have anything to show for it . . . but when you do, you’ll understand exactly why I needed time . . .” he says, simultaneously exciting my curiosity and acknowledging that he hasn’t given me an engagement ring yet.
    It has crossed my mind before that he hasn’t, but I decided not to make a big deal out of it because, knowing Robert, the engagement ring