by Marlee Wray
“Why do you need that in here?” I ask.
He slides it into a holster that’s strapped to his chest.
“So you were watching my apartment? Waiting for what?”
“Who was the guy in the hoodie?” Trick asks.
“I have no idea, but he knocked, so I don’t know why you had to drag me out in the middle of the night.”
“Random guys visit you at two a.m.?” Anvil asks.
“No.”
“That’s why we dragged you out,” he says and then goes silent.
“Maybe it was the person who planted the cash in my apartment?”
“Yeah, ‘Vil, maybe it was that guy. Why didn’t you catch him?”
I can hear the joke in the question. It’s obvious that something went wrong on the landing.
“What happened?” I ask in a low voice.
They ignore me.
When we reach the C Crue compound, I straighten. As we roll in, I pull my coat tight. I wasn’t expecting to be back so quickly, and I’m not sure how to feel. The gin still has my head buzzing.
When we reach the front door it opens. Connor’s in a black robe and looks like we’ve woken him.
“What went down?” he asks Trick and Anvil.
“Guy in a hoodie knocked and then decided to let himself in. Anvil thinks he heard a second guy. A phone chirped. ‘Vil circles to the other end, but it’s pitch black under the stairs and he kicks something over, a glass maybe. The hoodie guy bolted and if someone was with him, he went too. Anvil could’ve chased the guy in the hoodie, but if I’d stayed on her door, then he’s on his own in the dark with potentially two shooters. Could’ve left her place unguarded while we looked, but we didn’t know if Hoodie got the door unlocked and would swing back.”
I swallow. They’d let the guys go because they didn’t want me to be left alone in an unlocked apartment?
“See anything we can use, Anvil?” C asks.
He shakes his head.
“Anvil’s wondering if he guessed right about the choice you’d want him to make in that situation,” Trick says.
“No, he’s not. You know you did the right thing. Go get some sleep.” He looks me over. “You, come with me.”
I reach for my duffle, but he catches my hand.
“You don’t need it.”
I flush and follow him.
“I’m out till the morning, C,” Trick says.
Connor raises a hand in acknowledgment.
“Anvil, you coming?”
“No.”
I glance back as Trick heads out the front door and into the night, while Anvil shuffles down a hall.
“Where is Trick going? It’s almost two in the morning. The bars are closed.”
“If I had to lay bets, I’d say he’s going to get laid.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“He doesn’t need one. No one in his phone turns him down.”
“Why did he want a wingman?”
“You ask a lot of questions, beautiful. Too many for two in the morning.”
I pout because gin and tonics that are three quarters gin will do that to a girl.
He smirks at the sight of my lip jutting out. “My fierce girl’s gonna pout? Trick will be sorry he missed it. He loves pouty girls.”
“You guys have a strange relationship. Has anyone ever told you, you’re weirdly close to your enforcers?”
He laughs. “If they had, do you think I would’ve given a shit?”
“I guess not.”
In his bedroom, he takes a gun from the pocket of his robe and sets it in a safe that’s standing open. There are stacks of cash, another gun, and a small lockbox. He shuts the door of the safe and spins the dial.
He shrugs off the robe, revealing his gorgeous naked body. “You can keep your panties on if you want, but the rest comes off,” he says, getting in bed.
I look down at my wool coat.
“I’m tired, Zoe. Don’t fool around.”
I quickly shed my clothes, keeping my panties on and get in bed. He turns off the light.
“Did you send them to watch my place because—why did you send them?”
“I sent Trick to be sure no one tried to take you from your place.”
“Why would they?”
“Because people saw the way I was with you backstage.”
“So?”
“So someone could think that if they had you, they’d have leverage over me.”
“That’s why I said we should keep things secret.”
“If I wanted it to be a secret, it would be.”
“Are you using me as bait?” I ask softly.
“No, beautiful. That’s something I would never do.”
“So what are you doing then?”
“Staking my claim.”
My stomach flutters. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Yes, you did.”
The memory of the way I took off my panties and knelt between his knees on command comes roaring back. I’ve been under his spell, blindly turned on by his good looks and power. But I really had no idea how deeply I was getting myself in.
“I didn’t understand what would happen. This is—it’s so fast. What if I want to change my mind?”
“We’ll sort things out tomorrow,” he says, but I’m not sure he means it in the way I want him to.
Chapter Nine
Connor
I wake with wood, and conveniently there’s a beautiful half-Brazilian dancer in my bed. I’ve never played at domestic life before, but so far I’m enjoying it.
I wake her with a tongue inside her pussy. She’s sleepy and protests weakly, but I ignore her. I suck her clit until she cries out and arches her back.
“Connor,” she rasps, gripping my arm as she spreads her legs.
I tease her with long strokes along her slit until she presses on my head and begs. I lower my mouth over the little nub of her clit and play her body like an instrument. She grips the sheets in her fists. I know she wants to move, but she also wants my mouth exactly where it is.
Her thighs shake with need. She’s close.
I crawl up her body and put my dick inside her welcoming pussy. She’s wet and soft and tight around me, and it feels so good. She struggles to grind her clit against me. I pin her arms over her head and help her grind our bodies together.
“God, yes!” she says, wrapping her long legs around me.
Cum simmers in my balls. I’m so hot for this girl I’m ready to erupt. She comes, the walls of her tunnel pulsing around me. My cock roars with eagerness.
I fuck her hard, pinning her beneath me and using her until she shatters again and I spill my seed into her smoking body.
When I rise off her, she stretches and rubs her wrists.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head, rolling on her side. “It’s so good between us. Sex never felt that amazing before.”
I plant a kiss on her face and then head into the bathroom. I shower and when I return to the bedroom, she’s sitting up, wearing a nightshirt I guess she had on when Trick and Anvil took her from her apartment.
“You can drop that oversized nightgown back on the floor. I’ll take you shopping for some lingerie today when the guys and I are done with our business. Go take a shower.”
“I’m going back to sleep for a while, but I do want us to set up a time to talk later.”
I smile. “You want me to make an appointment with you?”
“Why don’t we say that I want to make an appointment with you, if that’s language you’d like better, Sir.”
I cock a brow. “It’s okay, Z, to be playful. But don’t call me Sir at the same time. That’s reserved for a whole other kind of play.”
“About that,” she says and lets it hang.
“I’ve got work to do this morning, so we’re gonna table this conversation for now.”
“All right,” she says with an unhappy expression, then she pushes herself down in the bed an
d rests her head on the pillow.
“Zoe,” I say, working to hold onto my patience. “We don’t work in the house, and you’re not staying here alone. Get up and take a shower.”
She sits up suddenly, anger flashing in her eyes. “Look, Connor, I’m a performer. I don’t get up at the crack of dawn. I’m sorry you don’t want me left alone here, but I need more sleep. It’s here or in my own bed, and your men dragged me out of my place.”
“Are you for real?” I ask. “They got you out of a place someone was trying to break into. Unless you were expecting the guy in the hoodie?”
“No, but regardless, I’m safe in this house, right? There’s no reason I have to get up right now.”
My patience is wearing thin. Normally we’d have been in a hotel already and the business would’ve been sorted. The only reason I’m still in the house right now is because of her.
I remind myself that she doesn’t know how I live. I remind myself that she’s a beautiful twenty-one-year-old dancer who’s probably only ever had boyfriends who fell at her pretty feet. I remind myself that I’ve got all the power and need to be careful how I wield it where she’s concerned. Because what I really want to do is put a punishment plug in her bratty little asshole and spank her until she can’t sit for two days.
“I promise we’ll talk about everything later and we’ll come up with a schedule that works for you, but right now is not the time to fight or to try to negotiate. Just do what I’ve asked you to do.”
She flings the covers back dramatically and stalks into the bathroom. She curses and then announces, “I need my bag. There’s no conditioner in here. My hair will be like straw without it.”
I think about the collection of belts in my closet, then I look at the clock. I’m already going to be late. The lesson will have to wait.
I go downstairs and get her bag. I take the shampoo and conditioner in to her.
“Thank you,” she says in a tone that’s still surly.
I close the bathroom door and pack a small bag of my own, then I text Anvil that we’re running late.
Anvil’s acknowledgement is a question mark. He wants to know if I’m under siege and need reinforcements. If I did, my response would be a pre-chosen symbol letting him know what kind of man and fire power to bring. Instead I send the all clear symbol.
Trick’s response is on the money. I know she’s fine. Then a peach emoji. But... Then the emoji with a raised brow.
Exactly, I think, but don’t respond. If she weren’t a completely new submissive, I’d have spanked her in front of them to make amends.
She emerges from the bathroom in a puff of steam. She offers me a small smile. “All right. I’m almost human. But if you want me at my best, you’ll let me stop for a coffee on the way to wherever we’re going.”
“I’m going to wait for you downstairs.”
Her smile disappears. “My hair’s soaking wet, C. And it’s probably twenty degrees outside at this time of morning. I need to dry my hair at least partially.”
“You do whatever you want. I’m letting you know that I’m waiting, Trick’s waiting, Anvil’s waiting, and the rest of the organization’s waiting for orders. But take your time. You and I will sort things out between us later, during our appointment.”
A flush stains her cheeks and this time she darts into the bathroom with her hair dryer. “Just enough so I don’t get pneumonia,” she announces.
“I’ll be downstairs.”
* * *
Zoe
I really need coffee because without it I’ll get a caffeine withdrawal headache. But I also need a Xanax because C has barely spoken a word on the forty-five-minute drive to Boston. I had no idea we were going to the city.
The hotel lobby is stunning, and I spot a small café.
“C, I’m going to get a coffee.”
He catches my arm. “You’re going to stay right next to me until I say otherwise. I’ll have coffee brought up to you.”
We don’t even stop at the desk. Instead he leads me to a private area where a man in a very expensive suit rises from behind a desk. The suites have their own security man and their own elevator.
“Good morning, Mr. McCann. Eleven this time.”
He holds out a key card, which Connor takes. Inside the elevator, C presses a button and we ascend. I glance down at the simple blue dress I’m wearing. I thought even that was a bit much for morning in Coynston, but I thought it was a good peace offering. Now I’m not so sure. Connor’s suit probably costs more than my year’s rent.
We enter a suite, and Trick and Anvil are inside. Trick’s wearing jeans and cable knit sweater. He’s sitting on a tufted sofa that looks like it’s covered in iridescent bronze taffeta. Anvil’s wearing a black suit that’s cut perfectly for the concrete wall that is his physique. I suppose he has them made custom.
Trick looks me over with a small smile.
“Good morning,” I say.
Anvil doesn’t answer. Trick just winks.
Connor leads me to the bedroom door. “After you order coffee and whatever else you want, book a salon appointment for noon.”
“Do you want me to order breakfast for you guys?”
He shakes his head and closes me into the room. I turn on the television to overcome the silence and watch a boring morning show. A rap on the door around thirty minutes later makes me jump.
I stroll over and open it. Connor points at a small rolling cart. I draw it inside, peeking out. Trick’s on his feet, walking back and forth. Anvil’s leaning over a computer screen. There’s a second screen in front of an empty chair.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“All good,” C says, closing the door.
I’m so curious, but I know better than to touch the door. I’ve begun to suspect that there’s never been anyone else in the suite when they have their meetings. I drink two cups of the very excellent dark roast coffee and eat my scrambled eggs and avocado toast. Then I brush my teeth and play with my hair, wondering how much I should have cut at my salon appointment.
I surf the net and watch a movie on my phone. Finally the door opens, and C comes inside. I glance at the clock. It’s almost noon.
“The salon was able to fit me in.”
He smiles.
Realization creeps in. “I guess that’s because I’m with you?”
There’s a knock on the door of the suite.
“Take off your clothes, baby. There’s someone here to measure you.”
I’m speechless, but a small woman with wiry black hair enters the suite with a little notebook and bag. She takes out a pen and measuring tape.
“Beautiful,” she announces when she sees me. “All off,” she says.
It feels no different than being in the theater, so I strip quickly. She’s efficient and pleasant. “I’ll send you some things by afternoon. We’ll see what she likes.” To me, she says, “Goodbye, bella.” Then she leaves as unceremoniously as she arrived. I have shades of Rachel being outfitted in stunning dresses. She doesn’t like it, but I’ve always envied her that part of her life at Frank’s. I love gorgeous clothes.
C hands me my dress. “Just hang it in the closet. You can wear your robe to the salon.”
“Am I getting my hair cut?” I ask.
“If you want,” he says.
“What do you want me to have done?” I ask.
“Some treatments that they said were good. And waxing.”
I glance down, putting a hand on my hip. I wonder if the aesthetician will be able to tell how much sex I’ve had the past few days. I felt a little swollen and sore when I washed, but it had been right afterward. I decide I’m being paranoid.
“Ready?” he asks.
I glance down at the robe and at my heels. “I didn’t realize what we were doing. I didn’t bring any slippers with me. A little better communication would be good next time.”
“Things will be better next time. You’ll know exactly what I expect.”
&nbs
p; My stomach does a little flip. The words hold a lot of meaning. He didn’t say I’d know what to expect. He said I’d know how to behave, and his tone implied there will be discipline if I don’t meet his expectations. My nipples harden despite my reservations about how this is playing out.
I don’t have time to talk to him about it because he drops me off at the salon, which is really a spa.
“C?” I say when I realize that the woman standing at the glass door is waiting for me.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure about this? I think it’s too early for all this.”
He gives me a brief kiss, and then the door opens.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McCann. I’m Miranda. I’ll make sure Zoe’s well taken care of.”
Holy hell, I think. Is it my body? Or his?
* * *
Zoe
I practically float back to the room. I’ve had two glasses of champagne, a plate of strawberries, a foot massage, and a manicure. I’ve been waxed, exfoliated, buffed, and slathered in a vitamin C lotion that has my skin baby soft and smelling like oranges.
Miranda carries my shoes in a small fabric bag, along with a host of products. My feet are in slippers that match my robe and that someone possibly went out to buy expressly for me.
“We hope that everything was wonderful,” Miranda says at the door to the suite.
“Beyond wonderful.”
“Oh, good. Everyone will be pleased to hear it.”
I have no idea who everyone is and never get the chance to ask because the door to the suite opens and I’m delivered back to Connor.
He takes the fabric pouches and listens as I babble on about what a great time I had.
In the bedroom, he takes my robe and slippers and tucks me in between the softest sheets I’ve ever felt.
“Alone?” I ask. “My skin is buttery soft. I don’t know how long the lotion will last.”
“Your skin’s always soft, beautiful.”
“Not like this,” I say, running his hand over my belly.
He strokes my skin, then his hand moves lower to the petals of my sex. He cups me gently. I ease my legs apart to give his fingers more access, but he removes his hand.
“Sleep awhile.” He turns off the lights.
