I clap my hands like a little kid, grateful to have my day filled and to be spending it with my friend.
Fifteen minutes later, Cora tosses her car keys to the valet at one of Sydney’s most exclusive department stores. We make our way inside, and a line of staff greets us, ready to escort us to a private dressing room. Suddenly I feel underdressed in my tiny crop top, denim skirt, and sandals. I link my arm with Cora’s as we follow behind.
“This is a bit over-the-top, isn’t it?” I whisper.
“James organized it for us.” She rolls her eyes. Enough said. Her husband—Dameon’s best friend and co-CEO—is even more controlling than Dameon.
We enter the dressing room, where rack upon rack of clothing stand, ready for us to peruse.
“Would you like assistance in selecting items, or would you prefer privacy?” a staff member asks.
“Privacy would be great, thank you,” Cora responds.
“Of course. There’s champagne on ice for you both to enjoy, and if you require assistance, please press this button.” We both thank her as she leaves us to browse. I flick through the formal gowns, casual wear, lingerie, bikinis, and resort wear on the groaning racks. A realization sparks and I fling open the dressing room door. “Excuse me,” I sing out, “have these clothes been pre-selected?”
“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Hayward and Mr. Hayes have chosen everything in this room,” the attendant confirms.
“Of course, thank you.”
She walks away, leaving us in privacy. I glance over at Cora and snort with laughter.
“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s so controlling and demanding all the time?” I keep my tone playful, but I genuinely want to know her answer.
“Not at all. I kind of like it… crave it,” Cora replies. “I resisted at the start—you know, my own thoughts and feelings about feminism and what’s socially acceptable getting in my way. But at the end of the day, it’s my choice to submit, and if I change my mind about anything we do, I know he’ll agree and support my wishes.” She shrugs. “He loves me, he would do anything for me, and in the end, I’m the one who controls our relationship. Plus, I can’t deny, his dominance makes me so fucking wet,” she adds with a coy smile.
She’s lucky to have found James. I remember seeing them together at Eden; they were so sweet, the yin to each other’s yang—perfect for each other. When they’re together his eyes never stray far from her; he’s always captivated by her, seeming to anticipate her needs before she even realizes she has them. My heart aches with want, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.
We hit the rails and begin browsing, but there’s not a single pair of pants in sight. I smirk.Kinky bastards. The clothes are all from expensive labels, and I start to make a pile. I pull out slinky skirts, tops and cocktail dresses, my fingers grazing the soft, luxurious fabrics. Moving to the accessories table, I pick out shoes and handbags to complete the looks. I bypass the lingerie; it seems kind of pointless when I’m naked all the time anyway. Cora, on the other hand, pulls out a barely-there red bikini.
“Oh, this will be perfect for the boat!” she exclaims.
“What boat?”
“Dameon hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
“We’re going on a cruise together in a couple of weeks. James and Dameon co-own a yacht and there will be about…” She pauses. “Four couples in total, I think? All clients from Eden. It’s kind of a kinky cruise.” She raises her shoulders in excitement.
“A what?” I huff a laugh.
“Yeah, kind of like Eden but on the ocean. It’ll be so much fun. You should totally get a new bikini too.”
I look through the swimsuits that our men selected, and they can barely be called bikinis. All of them are G-strings with tiny scraps of material for the tops. They wouldn’t even cover a nipple. But by the sound of this cruise, I think that’s the point. I select an emerald-green bikini that matches my eyes and add it the pile.
“Do you want some champagne?” I ask, heading over to the side table where a selection of savory and sweet treats is set up.
“Yes, please.”
I pour two glasses as Cora joins me, and we collapse onto the loungers. Handing her a glass, I notice her eyeing me warily.
“You can ask me, you know.” I side-eye her.
“I didn’t know I was that transparent,” she laughs.
We both sip our champagne, falling into a comfortable silence as I wait for Cora to form her question.
“How do you do it?” She nibbles on her bottom lip as she pauses to gather her thoughts. “What I mean is, how can you keep your feelings separate? For me, submitting is deeply entwined with my feelings for James. I don’t think I could separate the two.”
