Cara was just sliding the tight-fitting gold spandex skirt down her hips when the doorbell rang. She gasped and looked at the clock. It was already 8:00! In a rush to answer the door, she grabbed the gold headpiece and armbands to her costume and slapped them on as she hurried down the stairs.
With a final glance in the mirror, she plumped and adjusted her breasts, making sure that they were displayed to full advantage in the skimpy Roman-style top she wore. Actually, they were dangerously close to overflowing. The thought of a wayward nipple making an appearance at the party made Cara's pulse quicken. Excited at the idea of a little "accidental" exhibitionism, she wore a flushed smile as she opened the door.
To a sight that was not at all what she was expecting. "Nickie?" Cara waited rather nervously for a response. The man who stood at her door was completely covered from head-to-toe in a black hooded cloak, cinched with a leather belt that had some strange silver rings attached to it. And he held a very real-looking medieval-style axe, which glinted wickedly in the porch light. Several long seconds ticked by. Then the man lifted a hand to push the hood back.
Cara sighed with relief and almost jumped into his arms. "Nickie, you scared me!" She eyed his costume thoughtfully. "What are you supposed to be? I thought you said to dress in Roman attire so we would match." She frowned, looking in confusion from her outfit to his. There was no way they matched now.
Nicolas tried to keep from laughing at the look on her face. He held a finger to her lips to quiet her. "Happy Birthday," he said in a low voice, as he pulled himself from her enthusiastic embrace.
Cara had always hated being born on Halloween, because her birthday was more often than not forgotten by even her closest friends, who were usually preoccupied with costume parties, hayrides, and haunted houses. It touched her that Nickie would remember, especially since they had only been dating for two months. She thought she may have mentioned her birthday in passing conversation during their second date, but she hadn't expected him to take much note of it. Most men, at least in her own not-so-vast experience, weren't that attentive to the little sentimental details that mattered to women.
Maybe Nickie was different. She felt the beginnings of a warm feeling for him start in her heart. And spread south from there.
Nicolas caught her chin and tipped her face upward so that she was staring directly into his eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Of course. You know I do, Nickie."
"I want to give you a very special birthday present, Cara. Something that I think you've been wanting for a very long time. But you have to promise me that you will do whatever I ask of you tonight, no matter what."
Cara paused, her heart racing. Somehow she knew that if she agreed, tonight was not going to be like any other Halloween--or birthday--she had ever had. She swallowed hard and nodded.
"You have to say it."
"I promise, Nickie. I promise to do whatever you ask." Cara shivered. "Umm, for tonight," she added, as an afterthought.
"Good. That's all I'm asking of you. For now." Nicolas let his gaze roam her body, taking in the sight of her luscious breasts, rounded hips, and ultra-long legs with the appreciation of a connoisseur. "I like this outfit. With a few minor alterations, you will match my Executioner perfectly." He held out a gift-wrapped package to her, which he seemed to have produced from somewhere beneath his cloak.
Cara ripped into it eagerly. A birthday present! But once she got the package open, she stared, dumbfounded, at the contents. A set of gold manacles and leg shackles, with a key, sat in a box lined with soft tissue paper. What? She looked up at Nickie with a wrinkled forehead.
Before she could say anything, Nicolas reached up and plucked the tiara-like headpiece from her head and threw it into the house behind her. "That won't do," he said. He ran his fingers through her waist-length jet-black hair, smoothing it out down her back. Then he picked up the manacles and shackles from the box and clamped them around her wrists and ankles. They felt heavy and cold against her skin.
Still kneeling at her feet, Nicolas held out his open palm toward her and waited. Cara knew what he wanted. The key. It was still in the box. He couldn't lock her up without it. She picked it up with a shaking hand, thoughts spinning. For a second, she couldn't bring herself to release the key.
Nicolas smiled at her. "Relax. It's just part of the costume, Cara," he said.
But it wasn't just a costume. Cara felt the tension in the air, recognized the heavy chains at her wrists and ankles as symbols of something more than just a bit whimsical Halloween fun. They had real locks on them, for goodness' sake!
Cara bit her lip. Did she really want to go through with this? On some level, she acknowledged that the idea of being held captive aroused her, but how well did she know Nicolas? She was conflicted. Thoughts whirled around in her head.
His voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Drop it, Cara," he commanded, a touch of irritation in his voice. The key fell into his palm.
###
Cara fell backward into the passenger's seat of Nicolas' car, chains jangling between her legs. She had never felt so out of control before. Although, looking back and forth between the two of them, she had to admit, their costumes definitely did match now. She would play the condemned woman to his Executioner. They might even win a prize for Best Couple's Costume.
But Cara wasn't worried about winning a prize anymore. She was worried about how she would manage to hobble around the party--or dance--with her legs shackled together. What would people think? What would they say? What could she possibly tell them to explain this?
Nicolas started the car and Cara glanced over at him, wondering what he was thinking. "Nickie, maybe this isn't such a--"
Nicolas cut her off. "For the rest of the night, you will use my full name, and speak only when I ask you a direct question. Is that understood?"
Cara's eyes grew wide. Were they to take their roles that seriously? The independent woman inside of her balked at the terse order. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Although, to be honest, she didn't really mind it. It was kind of nice not to have to make any decisions, a welcome change from the fast-paced, high-powered business world that she spent most of her days immersed in. She bit back a retort and rested her head against the seat back cushion, closing her eyes for the rest of the ride.
###
