Rushing through the kitchen door to the diner, nudging the door open with her butt as Belle carefully carried three dinner plates, one balanced on her left arm, through into the dining area. She glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the counter. Her lips pressed into a thin line at the twenty minutes left of her shift. She didn't have any plans for the evening, but had fantasied about locking herself in the bathroom, glass of wine and her new book, and a long soak in the tub. Belle deserved it after working the morning and afternoon shifts, and covering an evening shift as well for Ruby, for the past four days. Her feet ached, her back protested, her hands were sore from poorly drying them and she was exhausted – She had earned her day off.
Belle delivered the plates to the awaiting customers, smiled, inquired if they needed anything else before she strolled away from them, eyeing the clock. Her hands delved into the large pocket of her apron, a habit she'd acquired, and returned to her station behind the counter. As she turned round, she eyed the few customers in the diner, estimating whether they required anything else, while she urged her shift to end. Her shoulders were already relaxing at the promise of long, hot bath.
The door to the kitchen swung open, drawing Belle's attention, to see Astrid walk out of the kitchen, exchanging the ties of her apron behind her back and then tied the ties together in front of her, smiling at Belle. "Hey." She greeted, sidling up next to Belle. "How's it going?"
"Not too bad." Belle returned to observing the room. "Might want to check on table six in a minute. See how their meals are going."
"Dinner rush should be starting in a minute." Astrid commented, adjusting her apron.
Belle twisted to see the clock above her, ten more minutes. "Yeah and I'll be, thankfully, escaping in a minute."
"You're not doing the late shift with me?" The other woman asked.
"No, not tonight." She smiled at Astrid. "Ten more minutes and then I'm free until Saturday morning shift."
"How did you manage to get a whole Friday free?" Astrid gawked at her, her mouth formed a perfect 'O' shape.
The corners of Belle's lips curled. "Lucky, I guess."
Astrid shook her head, unbelieving her ears, as she squeezed through the gap behind Belle, saying. "It's like the holy grail around here to have Friday or Saturday off. Sometimes I think there's a little bit of favouritism influencing the rota."
"Maybe, but I've earned it." Belle told her, shrugging an uncaring shoulder at her friend's comment.
No one could ever say that she didn't earn her days off. Belle was always the first one to volunteer to cover someone, greedily picking up the extra shifts, working the ones people were reluctant to do. She never stuck her nose up at earning the extra cash. It always came in handy, when she couldn't rely on her own father to manage his own expenses. More times than she cared to count, she had to come to the aid of her father, paying not just for the rent of their house, but also the rent of his shop. A lot of money went to chipping into the bills, covering her father's own bills at times. Sometimes, Belle felt like she couldn't earn it quick enough, with it more than often passing between her hands, receiving it in one hand and paying it out in the other. Never able to hold onto the money long enough.
It was because of this, Belle had taken to keeping shoe box hidden underneath her bed, stashing spare cash and the extra money she had earned. Her father would never dream to look under there and he'd have to move the jigsaw puzzle of her room around, to be able to move the bed out as he could never squeeze under the bed like she did. She'd never give him that money willingly. It was her Saturday night money. Her chance to breakaway and lose herself for a couple of hours.
"Hey," Astrid touched Belle's arm. "It's five o'clock. You better escape before someone calls in sick or Granny finds you something to do."
"Yeah, you're right." Belle nodded her head in agreement, taking her hands out of the pocket of her apron, and went to take a step but stopped, turning to Astrid. "Are you going to be alright on your own?"
Astrid took the coffee pot from its stand, smiling at Belle as she said. "Course, I will. Now, go!"
"Try and have a good shift." Belle told her as she started to walk away.
"You try and enjoy your day off!" Astrid raised her voice to be heard over the quiet mumbling of conversations.
Before she went through the door to the kitchen, Belle looked back, giving Astrid a small wave, and pushed the door. The two chefs on duty, Ron and Bill, both looked over their shoulders and smiled at her.
"Can't be the end of your shift." Ron proclaimed. "You need to stay and keep me sane!"
Belle shook her head at him as she passed through the kitchen, telling him. "Sorry, Ron, but that's kind of a hopeless cause."
Bill laughed as he flipped a burger on the grill, while Ron turned to follow Belle with his eyes, telling her with his hands pressed together in pray. "Girl, don't make me beg you."
"Not going to work tonight. I have a date!" She shared with him, giving him a cheeky smile.
"A date? With who?" Ron probed.
Belle stopped at the side of the fridge and pressed herself against it, leaning partially around the corner as she said. "With my bath tub and a bottle of wine."
His eyes widened at the idea. "I could join you! Wash your back for you!"
Pushing herself away from it, she shook her head at him. "Sorry, Ron, only room for one."
"How am I supposed to work, knowing what you'll be doing tonight?" Ron questioned, waving his hand randomly at the kitchen.
Bill angled himself to see them. "How about you stop flirting with Belle and get on with it!" He motioned with the flipper in his hand to the bank of fryers, which was part of Ron's station. "Are you even watching those fries?"
"Course I am!" Ron protested, whirling round to face Bill.
Belle waved at them, knowing this was the best time to leave them to it. "Have a good night, boys."
"Bye, Belle." They said in unison to her.
Walking through the short corridor into the small staff area, Belle took her notepad and pend from the pocket of her apron and untied it from around her waist, breathing out a short, quiet chuckle to herself. She tossed her apron to the laundry hamper and yanked open her locker. Stood in front of her open locker, tiredness suddenly swamped her, making her limbs feel heavy as she tossed her notepad and pen to the shelf at the top of her locker. Throwing her head back, Belle cricked her neck one way and then the other. Satisfied with the small cracks of her neck, she straightened her head and reached into her locker for her denim jacket.
Belle slid her left arm into her jacket and paused, mustering the energy before she reached round for the other sleeve. As she pulled the jacket up and over her shoulders, there was the distinct squeak of rubber soles behind her. She twisted to see Ruby, smiling, in the doorway.
"Sneaking off?" Ruby inquired, pressing the front of herself against the doorframe.
"No." Belle answered, straightening her jacket, tugging at the sleeves. "I was just getting my things."
"Yes, of course, you were. Just like your last three shifts." Ruby commented, shifting her position in the doorway, propping her shoulder up the doorway.
Glancing at Ruby over her shoulder, Belle raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "I'm not hanging round here, after my shift, just to say bye to you. I'd end up serving and clearing tables."
"You're a glutton for punishment." Ruby commented as Belle collected her bag from the bottom of her locker.
"Ha!" She laughed, feeding the strap of her bag onto her right shoulder. "Me, a glutton for punishment? You're the one, who let a complete stranger beat you with a…"
"Shush!" Ruby dashed towards Belle, covering her lips with single finger, while hastily checking back into the kitchen. "Granny might hear you!"
Belle grinned at Ruby's reaction, while she slammed her locker shut. "So much for the Ruby, who doesn't care what other people think."
"Granny isn't other people." Ruby said with a cautious glimpse into the kitchen.
"Yeah, she'd take more pleasure out of beating you than anyone else would." Belle remarked, squeezing by Ruby to get to the door, which led to the back of Granny's.
"Don't say that, it sounds morbid! And anyway," Ruby followed Belle through the door, but lingered in doorway, holding the door open, while Belle descended the shallow concrete steps. "You still haven't told me what happened to you Saturday night. Where did you go?"
Turning at the bottom of the steps, one foot on the last concrete step, Belle said to Ruby. "I told you, I got bored and left."
The look on Ruby's face told Belle, her friend didn't believe her, hadn't believed the fourteen other times she had told her. She doubted, she could ever tell her friend what had happened. Not because she feared ridicule or was embarrassed by what had taken place, but because… Belle shook her thoughts away, whilst she turned and stepped down the last step.
"Saturday as usual?" Belle called back, angling her head to see Ruby. "Rabbit Hole?"
A wicked grin broke out on Ruby's face before she said. "Absolutely! Maybe with a few drinks in you, I can pry out of you what actually happened."
"Bye Ruby!" Belle waved at Ruby as she turned to walk away, rolling her eyes.
"Enjoy your day off, while I stay here and slave away!" Ruby hollered after her.
Quickly, she glanced back, seeing Ruby waving at her as she dipped back into the diner. Breathing in deeply, smiling at the reminder of her short, sweet freedom, Belle stroked a loose piece of hair from her face. It had been a long week and the aching of her back and feet supported this. As she pushed her bag back, holding it to sit over the bump of her backside, her fingers hooked the errant piece of hair behind her ear, tracing the ghostly path his nose had taken down the back of her ear. The left side of her neck tensed at the memory, causing her to turn her face partially in that direction. It was foolish, but she could feel the firmness of him pressed up behind her.
Her thoughts kept straying back to that night, to the sound of his voice, to feel of his hand on her hip, his fingertips pressed into her skin. Turning into the alleyway that cut through to Main Street, she unbuttoned a couple of buttons of her blouse, revealing more of her cleavage, and wafted a flap of her blouse, feeling very hot under the collar from the thought of him, as she always did.
Belle couldn't remember, when he had gone from being Mr Gold, the landlord, town beast and tyrant, to Mr Gold, 'I want to rip your clothes off', 'I want to lick between your toes and suck them'. The most profound memory she had of it, was coming out of the library, a pile of books bundled in her arms, and he had caught her attention across the street as he climbed out of his car. It hadn't been especially sunny that day, yet he had been wearing his sunglasses. Maybe, it was the fact, he had suddenly cut his shoulder length hair, which she had always wanted to card her fingers through. There was just something that day, which made everything standstill, made her heart thump heavily in her chest. A heat had coursed through her, emanating and centring deep between her legs.
The crush she had kept secret. She hadn't even dared to share it with Ruby. If she had, Belle was certain Ruby would've had her posting her knickers through Mr Gold's door. Leaving him cryptic notes at his shop. Almost stalking the poor man, while inundating him with tantalising hints. Much like Ruby had done to Doctor Spencer. Though, Ruby's onslaught of knickers and obvious notes from her, had gotten Ruby grounded for the summer and the subsequent apology note had added another month to the sentence due to the sexual innuendos. 'Why can't Ruby be more like you?', Granny had asked, shaking her head in disbelief at her granddaughter.
If only, Granny had known.
When she had left for college, the week before her dad had driven her to Boston, Belle had gone to Mr Gold's shop with some notion of telling him. Driven to the point of despair by her thoughts, by her dreams and the way her body responded, whenever she saw him. He had been up a ladder, when she had entered and had given her his usual 'I'll be with you in a minute' without looking. Not knowing what else to do with herself, Belle had been drawn to looking at the books, stacked neatly, alphabetised by author, on the sideboard in front of the window display. Her fingers had walked along the spines of the books, with her head slightly titled to read some of the titles.
The copy of Pride and Prejudice had caught her eye and as she had selected it from the shelf, Belle had started at the sound of his voice. "Would you say Elizabeth was too proud or Mr Darcy was?"
"Err…" She had stood in front of him, dumbfounded, not knowing what he had said to her, what day of the week it was, forgetting all in that second how to do the most natural things, such as breath.
The corner of his mouth had quirked up into a smile. "The book, Miss French." He had coolly extended a finger to point to the book, being tightly clutched to her chest. "Who was too proud in your opinion?"
"Oh." Her head had bowed, pressing her chin into her chest, looking at the book in her arms.
"Are you alright, Miss French?" Mr Gold had inquired.
Belle had lifted her gaze to look at his face. He hadn't looked very concerned. More curious by her inability to speak as his head had reclined back, his brow etched with thin, shallow lines.
Shaking off her stupor, she had unwrapped her deadly grip on the book and held it out to him. "I'd like to purchase this, please."
His eyebrows had flexed together, drawing a deep short line between them, before his gaze had dropped to the book, she had been offering towards him. As he had taken the book, his fingers had narrowly missed touching hers, while his gaze had returned to her face, studying her closely. Belle had swallowed hard under his scrutiny and had turned her gaze, shyly away from him, her eyes darting to other things of interest in his shop.
"Okay." He had stepped back, waving a hand to the counter at the other end of the shop. "If you'd care to follow me, I'll ring it through for you."
Obediently, she had followed after him, half a step behind him, lingering in his shadow as his shoes had clicked on the polished dark wood floor. The smell of his aftershave had provoked her to lean forward, wanting to smell more of it, inhale the rich, spicy cedarwood smell. He must have sensed her looming closer to him, because he had glanced back over his shoulder, giving her an even stranger, curious look. Cheeks inflamed, caught red handed, she had backed off, slowing her pace, watching him swiftly navigate around the counter to stand behind the cash register. While he had been distracted with ringing through her purchase, Belle had shaken her head, chastising herself as the cash register draw had sprung out with a loud shrill of a ding.
"That'll be twenty bucks, please, Miss French." Mr Gold had told her smoothly, one hand on the cash draw, one flat on the glass counter, fingers spread out.
Her eyes had widened at the amount, remembering at that precise moment, she hadn't brought her purse with her. Sheepishly averting her gaze, Belle had dug her hands into her pockets, hoping and praying she had some money somewhere on her person. Belle had turned somewhat away from him, ashamed it was taking so long, as she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, feebly searching all corners of her pockets. Chancing a glance at Mr Gold, he was watching her with narrowed eyes, slanting his head to get a better view of her on the other side of the counter. The heat in her cheeks had stoked under his gaze, fiercely burning a deep shade of red into her cheeks. She had mouthed a pray as she had unbuttoned the left breast pocket of her denim jacket, empty, then the right and found, astonishingly, a small folded wad of money.
Belle had blown out a heated breath, while she had shakily unfolded the money and took two ten-dollar-bills from the wad, and had offered them to Mr Gold, saying under her breath to him. "Sorry, here you go."
The sly smile on his face had made her suck in a shallow breath. Casually, Mr Gold had taken the extended dollar bills, his eyes on her instead of the money, and, without counting, had put the money in the cash draw. His hand on the counter had moved to the book and slid it towards her. All thoughts of confessing her feelings had been long forgotten as she had reached for the book. It hadn't been until Belle had a grip on the book, had Mr Gold relinquish his hand from the book.
"I hope you enjoy it, Miss French." He had shared with her, steepling his fingers on the counter, turning his fingertips white, smiling the sexiest smile she had ever seen.
"Thank you." Belle had murmured, snatching the book to her chest, and had quickly ran for the front door of his shop, yanked open the door, violently jangling the bell above his door, and had bolted home hugging the book to her chest.
Her bravery had failed her. Though, thinking back on it, she had been naïve to think anything would've come of it. Mr Gold was clearly old enough to be her father with Neal being a year or two older than her. She had been eighteen at the time, living with her head in the clouds, fantasying about a life that could never have been. All the way home, Belle had accepted the facts and had expelled the silly notions in her head, and had buried her crush for Mr Gold. Which was why, she had thrown herself at the first man at college, Gary Dubois, giving him her virtue and using him, for the short while they were together, to forget about the pawnbroker back in Storybrooke.
"Yeah, like that worked." She mumbled, opening the door to her father's shop.
She breathed in the fragrant aroma of her father's shop, reminded of her mother and afternoons spent in the greenhouse at the back of the shop, reading while her mother tended to the plants or prepared a bouquet for someone. It was the only connection she had left to her mother, as well as the few trinkets she had hidden in her room. Her father had removed any trace of her mother from their house, near enough deleting her from existence.
"I can pay you back in four months." Her father stated. "Five at the most."
The distinct sound of his chuckle pricked her ears as Belle slowly walked through the front of the shop and slipped passed the counter, while he said to her father. "Where have I heard that before, Mr French?"
"It's different this time. I make my payments on time and in full. I won't miss a payment, I promise." Her father promised, wringing his baseball cap in his hands.
That was always a bad sign. A most obvious tell of her father's, when he was nervous or desperate. He had worn out many caps over the years, breaking the beaks and stressing the stitching, wringing the poor defenceless caps in his large, callous hands. It looked like this hat, was quickly going the same way as all of other hats.
"Yes and I doubt that has much to do with you, and more to do with your daughter." His words cut straight to the truth. "But, I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."
"You won't regret this, Gold." Her father insisted, tightening his grip on his hat, causing the beak to crack under the strain.
"Make sure I don't." He warned before turning round and smiled instantly, when he saw her standing there. "Ah, Miss French." Her eyebrows rose at his change in tone. "I'm overcome with pleasure to see you again."
Her eyes widened at Mr Gold as a sly, devilish smile broke out on his face. Her father shared his gaze between them, while they looked at each other. Belle sucked in her lower lip, nipping at the soft flesh. The movement of his hand sweeping down the front of his overcoat, caught her attention, conjuring the memory of the sensation of his fingertips digging into her hip, his hand splayed out over her thigh. Remembering, how his hand had felt caressing her hip as she grinded herself into him, her ass moulding itself around the hard bulge in his trousers.
Mr Gold twisted to see her father, telling him. "Come by the shop tomorrow and we'll discuss rates and payment plans."
"I'll be over in the afternoon." Her father said, eagerly nodding his head.
His shoes clicked and clacked on the tiled floor as Mr Gold approached her to slip by her, but leaned into her, asking. "May I have a word, Miss French? Outside?" And gestured to door at the front of the shop with his finger.
Belle immediately looked at her father and then quickly looked away, worried he'd know from the look on her face, what she'd done in the company of this man, now leaving her father's shop. The man, who her father was quite vocal about hating, detested how he had to part with his hard earned money to such a 'beast', as her father called him. Despised the fact, he had to rely on Mr Gold for loans since the bank constantly refused him. If he found out, about her school girl crush or, God forbid, what she had done Saturday night, he'd have another heart attack.
"Back in a minute." She mumbled at her father, discarding her bag to the counter, as she hurried after Mr Gold, avoiding her father's questions, and met him at the door, where he held the door open for her.
Belle refused to meet his gaze and sauntered straight out of the shop, and turned to start walking away from the shop. Whatever he wanted to talk to her about, she didn't want her father to overhear. She was sure, he wanted to discuss Saturday night. There was nothing else for them to talk about. Belle didn't owe him money, didn't rent directly from him and there was nothing else between them, apart from that night.
Folding her arms in front of her, she traipsed to a stop near the end of the fence line, which marked the boundary line of her father's shop. She pivoted round, not surprised to find Mr Gold less than a few steps behind her. Self-conscious of people seeing them together, Belle nodded in the direction of the small path, which followed the boundary fence to the parking lot at the back of the shop. The gravel crunched under their feet as they walked together, side by side.
Mr Gold moved his arms back, clasping his hands behind his back. "You left quite abruptly the other night."
"I…." She hugged herself more fiercely. "I was embarrassed."
"You'd needn't be embarrassed, Miss French. It is, after all, the human condition to seek out pleasure." He claimed, angling his head to see her face.
She chanced a look at him and quickly threw her gaze elsewhere. "I'm not into that sort of thing."
"I'd beg to differ." He took a hold of her by her elbow, swung her round in front of him, using her momentum against her, and sandwiched her between himself and the chain link fence to confront her. "I think you enjoyed it more than you're letting on."
"It was wrong!" Belle hissed at him, watchful in case someone saw them.
"Why is it wrong? Because everyone dictates that it is?" He questioned with raised eyebrows, while he hooked his fingers through the chain link fence, bracing his weight, as he leaned in closer to her.
Rolling her eyes at him, she slanted her head to the side as she spoke to him. "If it was..."
Her train of thought took a detour, when she looked down, realising his chest was lightly brushing up against her right breast. His chest felt firm against her. Belle drew in her lower lip, sucking a hot breath through her teeth, lost in the fantasy of his chest pressing up against her breasts, pinning her into the fence. Her teeth grated her soft lip, picturing him restraining her, hands held above her head, the smell of his aftershave drowning her, while he nipped and sucked at her throat, leaving screaming red marks on her pale skin, taking her breath, away all at the same time.
"If it…" She snapped herself out of her daze. "If there wasn't anything wrong about it, then everyone would be doing it and talking about it."
While his eyes drifted down from her eyes to her lips, the left side of his lips curled up. "You surprise me, Miss French."
"Why?" She asked, curious.
"Your ignorance." Mr Gold inclined himself back from her, studying her face as a whole. "You assume because no one is in Granny's, talking honestly and openly about their sex lives that no one is doing these things. No one is blindfolding their partner behind closed doors. There's no cheeky spank here, a chokehold there."
"Ignorant?" Belle was affronted by his comment.
He leant back into her, pressing his chest further against her breast, snapping her back to her fantasy, whilst his gaze locked with hers as he asked, in a tone that she shouldn't have found incredibly sexy. "What would you call someone so ill-informed?"
Belle's eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back, overwhelmed by his close proximity, the smell of his aftershave, the heat emanating from him, the pleasant feeling of her breast moulding to his chest. She was thrown back to Saturday night. Stood in the dimly lit corridor, her body pressed back into his, comforting and arousing her. Watching Mr Spencer and Mrs Belfry had been stimulating, much like watching a porn film, when her imagination just wasn't quite up to the task. However, it had been him, which had tipped her over the edge.
The feel of him, the caress of his hand, the sultry whispers in her ear, hearing him take in a deep breath of her. His voice urging her to come had been her downfall, breaking her and setting her free, sending her into a headspace, where she didn't have to care about anything or anyone. Nothing else had mattered as she rode her hand, bucking back into him, feeling free of everything, like she did on the dancefloor.
And that hadn't happened before…
Orgasms were normally the fix to an itch, to quell the horniness that built up. With guys, it was a 'wham, bam, thank you buddy', 'don't let the door hit you on the way out' after they had finished having sex. Nothing ground breaking about the orgasm they had given her. Belle had given herself a hint of that orgasm in the past. Where she would lay there afterwards, staring off into space as she came down from the very short high, unable to remember the most basic of needs, while she was off in her own little wonderland: to breath. But nothing had, ever, been like the orgasm she had given herself, feeling and listening to him. Which was what was unsettling her. If listening to him, had caused such an explosive orgasm, what would it be like if he was more involved?
Pushing aside her thoughts and where they would lead her, Belle refocused her attention on him and enquired. "Why are we talking about this?"
"I wanted to offer to enlighten you." Mr Gold stated in a matter-of-factly tone.
"Excuse me?" The chain link fence creaked, cutting the pattern of the fence into her back as she reclined back from him.
The situation was too dreamlike. Belle couldn't deny it. She'd fantasied many times about such moments, especially when she was younger and her crush had been at its peak. Dreaming he'd collect the rent and ravish her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, professing he wanted her and to teach her everything. Wanted to make her a woman. Flattering her with how beautiful she was as he undressed her. That's the sort of thing that happened in her dreams, not in real life.
The backs of his fingers and the pad of his thumb brushed across her cheek, startling her from her thoughts, as Mr Gold said. "How could you possibly have an informed opinion, if you've never experienced it for yourself?" His fingers ghosted down the line of her jaw. "Surely, you don't let others dictate, what you do and what you like?"
She defiantly narrowed her eyes at him. "No, I don't."
That was a lie: a big, fat lie.
As far back as she could remember, her father had always been the decision maker, the leader of their family. He hadn't been so controlling, when her mother had been alive, but after her accident, grief or not, he had crushed Belle under his wing, in the guise that it was for her own good. He ferried her to school, brought her home, watched her like a hawk as she did her homework or helped out in the shop. He had suffocated her with his need to keep her close. If it hadn't been for Ruby, encouraging her to sneak out of the house, giving her a sympathetic ear, Belle wouldn't have been able to cope with it. Being able to escape, even for an hour, had been liberating. Even though, she had suffered consequences, when her father had found out, because he always found out what she had done. It was a con of living in such a small town. Those moments of freedom had always been worth it. The chance to break away and breathe.
Although, it wasn't just her father, who influenced her, Ruby could be as bad at times. It was more habit with Ruby, unlike the way her father controlled her. Belle had been shy and had kept to herself on her first day of school. It had been intimidating being thrown in with the other kids, all of whom had grown up together. Ruby had been the one, out of all of them, who had dragged her out of her reverie, talking as though they'd been friends for years. 'You're coming home with me today.', Ruby had stated, linking arms, and Belle had muttered an 'okay', which was how it all started. Ruby said 'jump', Belle demanded 'how high?'. There had been times, not many, tired of always doing what Ruby wanted to do, Belle had put her foot down and they had disagreed. But nonetheless, Belle always knew, Ruby's heart was in the right place, she just needed reminding at times, the world did not revolve around her.
So, the real answer to Mr Gold's question is 'yes', she did let people tell her what to do. It infuriated her that she did. Being at college had been an eye opener, in more ways than one. Belle had been her own person, coming and going as she pleased. Staying out and getting up late. Fucking whoever she pleased, when she wanted, uncaring of their feelings. It would've been fair to say, she had gotten drunk on her new found freedom. The woman she had been at college, was a far cry from the woman she was in Storybrooke.
Sadly, her freedom had ended, when she had gotten a call from Ruby, informing her that her father had had a heart attack. Belle had rushed home and had dutifully tended to her father, nursing him back to health. Two months and her father had been slowly pottering around the shop, when she had broached the subject of going back to college. The discussion had ended with Belle storming out of the shop with her father dictating to her. The day had ended with her sat beside her father's bed in the emergency room, dumbly agreeing to stay for her father's sake. She had been devastated. Forced to give up her freedom, which was why she clung so fiercely to her Saturday nights – Her only night of freedom.
"You don't?" He questioned, a cheeky, knowing smile donning his lips.
"No, I don't." She reaffirmed her lie, pushing forward from the fence, closing the gap between them, so her breast brushed his chest. "I make my own decisions."
"Good." Mr Gold stated evenly, dropping his hand away from her face. "You'll receive a text with an invite to come to the Club. If you're interested, I'll be there and I'll secure us a private room, where we can do whatever you want. Talk, play…" His gaze descended with his thoughts, then his eyes came back up to confidently meet hers. "Whatever you feel comfortable with."
Her bravery was short lived as she swallowed nervously. "And if I don't…?"
His shoulders shrugged at her as he stepped back, putting noticeable space between them. "No harm, no foul."
"Right… Okay…" She muttered, not really knowing what to say to him. "Thank you?"
His right eyebrow quirked and his smirk returned as he slipped his hand inside of his overcoat and pulled out his sunglasses, saying as he put on his sunglasses. "There's no need to thank me, Miss French." His smile grew into a toothy smile, revealing a hint of his gold tooth. "It'll hopefully be my pleasure."
Her eyes widened at him, while a flash of heat scorched her cheeks, painting her cheeks in a deep crimson red. Sucking in her lower lip, she bit into the plump flesh, desperate to distract her mind from travelling to the sordid depths of her mind, but it didn't help. Her mind plummeted into the abyss. While the images of long forgotten fantasies distracted her, Mr Gold moseyed away, leaving their conversation to be finished another day.
It was later on that evening, when Adam pulled up into a parking spot, between two other cars, and climbed out of his car, glimpsing up at the mansion as he shoved his car door to. He straightened his overcoat as he rounded the rear end of the small black Mercedes sports car, eyeing Regina's car. Ascending the steps to the front door, the doorman curtly nodded to Adam and stepped to open the front door, allowing Adam to stroll straight into the entryway, closing the door behind him. With no lights on upstairs, apart from in the entryway, Adam assumed everyone was downstairs and took the stairs down into the basement, tugging the sleeves of his suit jacket underneath his overcoat.
Turning at the bottom of the stairs, sauntering through the doorway, Adam came out into the large sitting area, where everyone had congregated on Saturday night, instantly spotting Regina and Cruella Feinberg sat in the bar area. Unlike Saturday night, the bar area was lit up with soft spotlighting. Without missing a step, Adam sauntered across to them, crooking a corner of his lips, when they looked up and saw him.
"Look what the cat dragged in, Regina." Cruella declared, dryly.
Adam feigned a smile at her as he pulled a chair back from their table and sat down. "I thought I caught the whiff of gin as I came down the stairs."
Cruella lounged back in her chair, crooking an eyebrow at him. "Darling, you can do so much better than that. I'm starting to think that everyone was right and you've lost your edge."
"You keep talking like that, dearie," Adam held her gaze, whilst he crossed his legs and laid his arms on the arms of the chair. "And I'll take you in the back and show you, how much I've lost my edge."
A sickly smile widened Cruella's lips as she leant forward, bracing her weight onto the table with her left forearm, inclining herself in Adam's favour. "Darling, that's more an incentive than a deterrent."
"Who said it was deterrent?" He baited, a genuine smirk tugged at the left side of his mouth.
"Can you two stop flirting!" Regina commanded, rather than asked.
"Flirting?" Cruella shifted her gaze to Regina. "Darling, this is foreplay."
Regina huffed out a heavy sigh, looking from Cruella to Adam, and forced a smile at him. "Gold, what can I do for you?"
Unconsciously, Adam rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, as he told Regina, what had brought him to the Club. "I want to get a name added to the list."
"Really?" Regina voice rose an octave, her eyes widened with her perfectly manicured eyebrows pushing up her brow.
Cruella smirked, with a devilish quirk to it. "Anyone we know?"
"I'd like to add Belle French to the list." He told them, unfazed by their questioning gazes.
Regina's eyebrows plummeted, shrouding over her eyes, as she clarified his choice. "Belle French? Maurice French's daughter?"
"Who?" Cruella directed the question to Regina.
"The very one." Adam verified, clasping his fingers together, resting his joined hands in his lap.
Rapidly blinking her eyes, Regina dropped her pen onto the stack of papers she'd been leaning on, a perplexed look on her face. "Her?" She sat back into her chair as she continued. "I know, I let her downstairs on Saturday, but… Her? She's into BDSM?"
"Not quite." He glanced down momentarily to his laced fingers.
"Then how do you know, she's actually into this?" Regina waved a hand, indicating the Club and everything it represented.
"Hey," He unlaced his hands and held his hands up to her. "We've all got to find our kicks somewhere." Adam grinned at Regina, echoing her words from Saturday night.
"Oh, that's so very true, darling." Cruella agreed, half reaching to touch Adam's arm, but failed to touch him.
Regina cocked an eyebrow at him, flicking her eyes from Adam to Cruella, and then back to him as she said. "You know, I have to pass it by my mother, before I can add her to the list."
Sitting forward in his chair, Adam titled his head to the side, giving Regina a soft smile. "Come on, Regina." He nudged his chin at the paperwork on the table. "It's for me."
"Saturday is already quite full." Regina stated, lifting her left arm to look at the piece of a paper she had been covering. "We've only got a few spaces left and we'll be at max capacity soon."
"I don't need you to give her a spot. I just want you to send her the text." He informed her, settling back into his chair, steepling his hands over himself. "I'll be taking her upstairs."
"You will?" Regina asked, looking shocked.
It was true. It had been a long time. There hadn't been many after the fallout with Cora. None who were memorable or had left him wanting more. And normally, these encounters would've taken place downstairs in the Club. The upstairs was reserved for the quarterly parties, the 'seminars' for introduction and advanced workshops, and was tendered to the members, who lived out of state and came from the Club in New York, a place to stay, while they were in town.
The Club also served as a neutral setting, for its members, to bring their partners, who may be inexperienced or who wanted to slowly introduce their new partner to BDSM. Of course, there were the voyeurs' rooms downstairs, which he had shown to Belle. But for those, who weren't exhibitionists, there were also private rooms, downstairs and upstairs. The rooms upstairs gave the pretext of comfort and enforced the idea of privacy with the bedroom setting. Hidden in the panelling of the walls and the furniture, were various toys and equipment, offering the same amenities as the rooms downstairs in the basement. For the unsure beginner, the rooms upstairs put them at ease, while everything was at hand for the experienced partner.
Adam never used them.
When he had been matched with a newbie, they had always been the extremist, the one begging to try everything and anything, hungry to be put through their paces. Cora had always given them to Adam, which completely suited him. Nine times out of ten, they would've already attempted certain kinks with their partners, who was just an inexperienced. Nerves, fear, over cautiousness, lack of technique or imagination – Fuelled the woman's unsated state, when they came to him, their partners unable to give them what they wanted. A lot of the women came to the Club, wanting their own unrealistic 'Fifty Shades of Grey' fantasy. Cora had sold him to many of the women with 'You want a Mr Grey fantasy? Dear, he's much darker!'. And that's what they got, something darker, a restrained version of his usual prowess. Adam hated how he was used to fulfil their desires, but he had enjoyed it in his own way. Enjoyed everyone watching the show, especially their partners, who always chose to watch, witnessing the control he had as he pleased, whoever was writhing under his spell.
Yet, even with the numerous people he'd introduced, or given their first true experience, Adam had never taken any of them upstairs. Not even himself and Cora had gone upstairs. He didn't deserve the softness and light of upstairs, only the darkness and harshness of downstairs. However, she did… There was something about her…
Cruella slanted herself towards Adam, supporting herself with an arm on the chair, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Can I watch you break her in?"
He gave her a pointed look and firmly said. "No."
"Are you sure, you want to be taking on a newbie?" Regina questioned, hunching forward onto the table, crossing her arms underneath herself.
"I wouldn't be asking, if I wasn't." He told her.
Shrugging her shoulders as she unfolded her arms, Regina picked up her pen and wrote Belle's name onto the list that had been under Regina's left arm. Cruella being nosey, leaned forward, stretching her neck out, watching Regina write the name under the printed list of names.
"Do you have her number?" Regina asked, stabbing a dot at the end of Belle's name.
Unlacing his fingers, Adam slipped his hand inside his overcoat, retrieving the slip of paper Dove had given him earlier. "Here you go." And handed it to Regina.
"I wonder, if this young thing knows how beastly you can be." Cruella remarked, eyeing Adam, as she claimed her glass from the table and sipped through the straw protruding from her glass.
"And you want a room upstairs?" Regina inquired, making a note on another piece of paper, while Adam gave Cruella a sly look.
Adam adjusted the flaps of his overcoat as he spoke. "I want the large room at the back, which looks out over the gardens."
"The one with the sitting room?" Regina checked, her hand posed to continue writing.
"That's the one." He nodded his head as well.
Cruella pushed her chair back and stood up, chinking the ice in her glass at Adam. "Drinkie poo, darling?"
He waved off her offer. "Not tonight. I've got an early start in the morning."
Standing beside him, her hand on her hip, waving her glass in his face, Cruella said. "One drink, Adam."
"It's never one drink with you." Adam commented, titling his head back to see her above him. "I don't even remember, what happened, the last time you said 'one drink' to me."
"I don't think many do." Regina interjected as she laid her pen down, picking up her half-drunk glass of whiskey.
Cruella waved a dismissive hand at them, whilst she whirled round to march to the bar, saying over her shoulder. "Lightweights."
Regina shook her head before she turned her attention back to Adam. "Is there anything else, I can do for you?"
"No, that'll be all." Adam launched himself up from his seat and bent over to press a kiss to Regina's cheek, and stood up straight, telling her. "Thank you for that, Regina."
"Don't thank me yet." She said, angling her head up to see him. "Mother's bound to ask, why her name has been added to the list."
He reached out to her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "And you'll just tell her the truth."
"That'll be an interesting conversation." Regina commented, flashing her eyes wide for a second.
"What I'd give, to be a fly on the wall, for that conversation." Cruella voiced from behind the bar as she refilled her glass with a very, very healthy amount of gin. "I'm sure, she'll be over the moon that you've found yourself a new playmate."
"That's her problem." Stepping out from his chair, Adam tugged the flaps of his overcoat closed, telling them. "With that, ladies, I'll bid you a goodnight."
Adam made a start to the exit as Cruella called after him. "I'll call you about that 'one drink', darling." He halted mid step and turned back, to see Cruella retaking her seat. "Be nice to catch up."
He smiled at Cruella and bowed his head to both of them. "Ladies."
Swivelling round on the balls of his feet, Adam left the room and climbed the stairs from the basement. Near the top of the stairs, his brow hunched down over his eyes in thought, considering Cruella's comment of Cora being 'over the moon that you've found yourself a new playmate'. It had been years since the two of them had been together. She had been the one, who had ended it, choosing wealth over what they had.
They'd known each other for a long time, yet weren't aware they shared the same interests until one of Adam's 'business trips' to New York. They were both prominent figures in Storybrooke. Him, a business man, loan shark, pawnbroker, council member and, proudly, a father, and she, a socialite, a wife of another council member, the head of the PTA and a mother. Sat in a seedy club in New York, watching a Shibari rope bondage display, a woman had sat down next to him at the small table, placing a drink down in front of him. Frowning at the glass and then following the hand that had delivered it, he had been thrown by the identity of the hand owner.
"Cora?" He had blurted out, shocked as he scanned the club for anyone else, who might know him. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." Cora had said before sipping from her martini, watching him over the rim of her glass.
"I'm…" Adam had stuttered. "I'm here on business. I just… popped in for a drink."
Her eyes had gone to the woman being suspended from the ceiling, naked and wrapped tightly in ropes. "A very interesting place to 'pop' into for a drink. Wouldn't you agree?"
His mouth had opened, his tongue had been stuck to the roof of his mouth, his voice and words had failed him, while his fear had run rampant, bringing images of being ousted and ridiculed back in Storybrooke. His son, embarrassed to be seen with his father. The rumours and truths spread around town, Adam could have dealt with, swallow them like he did all the other things said about him. Nonetheless, the truth of his sexual appetite being exposed to his son was straight out of one of Adam's nightmares.
Angered and fearing the worst, Adam had snapped his mouth shut and had slid into the persona of the ruthless business man. "Mind your own fucking business, Cora!" His finger had shot up accusingly into her face as he had threatened her. "I'm not the only one in this bar, who should be worrying about their reputation!"
"Calm down, dear." She had eyed him beside her, out of the corner of her eye, and had returned her attention to the woman on display, as she had said. "I've got no interest in airing your secrets, Adam. Not when they seemed to be aligned with my own."
Her lips had thinned out with the sultry smile she had shown him, slowly turning her head to look at him. Adam had sucked in a harsh breath, startled by her placing her hand on his thigh and squeezing her fingers into his leg, posing her sharp nails to stab through his trouser leg. He had dropped his gaze to her hand before looking up to her face, slowly recognising the intent in her eyes.
That had been the beginning of their affair. First, they met during his 'business trips' to New York and her 'shopping trips'. Always at the same club or in the hotel. It went on for just over a year like that. Never seen together in Storybrooke. By chance, they would be on the same flight to New York, share the same cab to the hotel, check in at the same time, maybe get dinner together before venturing to the club together or retiring to one of their rooms. It was one of these nights in one of their rooms, they had been lying in a sweaty, tangle of limbs, absently caressing, when the premise for the Club had been born.
"If only we could do this more often." Cora had voiced, running her fingers through his shoulder length hair.
Lightly stroking his fingers along her thigh, her leg possessively wrapped round half his waist, Adam had joked. "If we had our own club back home, or somewhere nearby, we wouldn't have to keep travelling here to be together."
Her fingers had stopped in his hair. "Back home?"
"Yeah," He had hummed, dancing his fingers back down her leg, enjoying the softness of her skin. "Then we could do this weekly or whatever you wanted."
"Our own club in Storybrooke?" She had questioned.
Adam had shrugged at the question, while titling his head in thought, with his fingers tracing a path over her thigh to slip to the underside of her thigh. "A much more refined establishment than the club here."
Her fingers had slowly grasped a handful of his hair as his fingers had glided nearer to the apex of her thighs, saying to him. "We'd have rooms for the members, where they could pair off or as groups, with the necessary equipment and toys."
"Hmm…" He had shifted more onto his side, turning himself into her, granting himself better access to her, whilst he had teased his forefinger through her slick folds. "Where I could fuck you, in front of everyone, without any of them knowing the truth."
Cora had tightened her grip, pulling his hair taught, whilst Adam had toyed at dipping the tip of his finger into her hot depths. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes." Adam had answered her assuredly, lifting his head to look up at her face. "Especially in front of your husband." He had grinned at her.
"One day, my love." She had promised, mirroring his grin.
They had met several more times, after that fateful night, before it had come up again in conversation. An idea, born from their pillow talk, had quickly taken substance and at the end of the following year, they had been stood in the mansion, walking the rooms, planning and envisioning what needs the Club would cater. He had owned the mansion for quite a while. It had sat dormant for years, forgotten by the town, hidden on the outskirts and was the perfect place for the Club. Cora had convinced her husband, to put his money into the venture with Adam, assuring he'd make his money back and more and from that, the Club had been born, their lovechild.
Blowing out a breath at the top of the stairs, Adam let the memory go and moseyed through into the entrance way. The doorman was still on duty and opened the door, wishing Adam a 'goodnight', closing the door after he had gone through. He hated recalling his time with Cora. Hated her, for the promises she made, the things she had told him, the dreams they had made together. Disgusted with himself, for letting her get under his skin, welcoming her openly into his heart. He should've learnt his lesson from his first wife. Stupidly, Adam had thought Cora was different, had believed she was like him and she had loved him as he had loved her. He hadn't even seen it coming, when she had shut him out.
'All things come to end, Adam, but we'll always have the Club', Cora had told him.
Adam stopped at the side of his car, his hand on door handle of his door, and glanced up at the mansion. She had killed his love for the place. Crushed his dreams for the future. She was probably the reason his interest had died off and he had withdrawn from the Club, leaving her to nurture it into what it was today. And he wouldn't deny it, she'd done a good job with it and his bank account showed it was profitable. It was just a sore reminder of what could've been.
He pulled the handle of his car door and stepped into his car, closing his door after him, and started the car. A slow smile spread his lips as his thoughts went to last Saturday. She had been totally unexpected. The nervous, shy, young girl he had known so long ago, had bloomed into beautiful woman. How he had been so blind to her, her presence of no consequence to him, was baffling him when he considered it. She was a goddess, there was no way he could deny that. So maybe, it had been seeing her in the Club, it had made him see her in a whole new light. Forced him, to recognise the woman and not the young girl, he had barely been aware of, but now he was so enthralled with her, it was bordering on obsessive. She had constantly been on his mind. She had been there all week - when he woke up, pestered him during the day, distracted him from his work, lured him into daydreams and unashamedly climbed into his bed at night. She had done this to him – awaken him from his living dead state, comatose from living life.
Belle French had bewitched him.