by W. Winters
“What else?” I ask him, brushing under my eyes and counting the last twenty minutes as a win. I will write for them. And he will share it. It’s amazing how much relief I feel, yet there just as much exhaustion present.
“We have new hair,” Kam says, then holds up a finger after taking a deep breath, “some social media,” and another finger is lifted. “What do you think about a shindig?” he asks, tilting his head.
“A shindig?”
He nods. “A shindig.” With my smile, he smiles broadly back. “I knew you’d like that one.”
Zander
Any modifications to a client’s plan of care will be carefully considered and vetted by multiple members of The Firm, or outside consultants, or both.
He is her conservator, I remind myself repeatedly as I leave. He has power over her. He has a vested interest. And he could easily take her away from me. Rage simmers although it’s merely a product of possessiveness. I’m all too aware of that. So I get up and go.
What the hell else am I going to do? I nod to Kam like the professional that I am—that I will remain—and get up from my chair. “I’ll be nearby,” I tell Ella on the way out. I don’t know why I say it. She knows I’ll be close, and so does he.
I can hear their conversation easily from the kitchen. Hiding just out of their view I take a moment to absorb the submission Ella allowed in our conversation.
Kam clears his throat in the sitting room and starts in on social media. Posting a photo. He has options for her … his voice turns to white noise. I don’t hear a thing he says. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the situation, making a note of what goes on, monitoring her. But I can’t. The fact that he’s her conservator makes it all the more important.
I need a minute.
I’d fuck you, Zander. I’ve already fantasized about it.
It’s not out of the ordinary for clients to express their fantasies. It’s not even the first time this has happened to me. Providing security for a person can heighten their emotions. Protecting a woman … well, it can lead to harmless crushes. In the past, it has always been unwanted and easily directed elsewhere.
This is different. I cannot get her voice out of my head. Ella was so blunt with those words. So bold. I’m hard as a rock. My entire body is tight with the need for release. To pin her to the wall and fuck her raw.
I’ve always known this situation was different. From the moment Cade described this contract, I’d known there was a higher chance that the client might develop feelings for one of us, or for all of us. But the way Ella looked at me—
That sure as hell wasn’t as “a member of The Firm.”
She knows. She must have an inkling of what I’m like, or she wouldn’t have looked me in the eye the way she did. Like she knew I could indulge her in a D/s relationship. I could take control and let her breathe. I could give her freedom without worry.
Impossible. It’s impossible for her to know those things. There are no videos of me on the internet to give her any suspicion. No videos, but … I can taste the words on my tongue all over again. The memory of the first command I gave her lingers. Don’t say that to me. Ever.
I’d ordered her. Commanded her. And Ella’s eyes had gone wide for a fraction of a second. Long enough for me to see the desire there. As well as the complete obedience.
I take another deep breath and do what I’ve been trained to do. I assess the situation. There are no signs of danger. I assess the immediate needs of the client. She seems to want to be speaking to her manager. I assess my position and I find it lacking. I need to get my shit together.
Rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hand, I commit myself to giving her space to absorb our conversation. I will be more direct, more firm in the next.
So I pour myself a cup of coffee. Ella’s been preparing a pot before I arrive. It’s always hot and fresh when I walk through the door, the scent of coffee wafting from the kitchen.
I know damn well I should announce myself, but I move slowly through the house as I make my way back to them. Kam’s still talking.
“It’s just best, babe, if you get back into a routine. Your sponsors miss you, and you know how they are. I convinced them to pause their support instead of dropping you. You have not lost them. Not a single one.”
“Thank you, I do know that … well, I know how they can be,” Ella agrees. “You think we’ll lose them if I’m … if I’m not the same?” There’s no restraint in her tone, but she’s not pushing back at him, either. It sounds like a conversation between two people who know each other very well. Jealousy pushes out against my ribs. Four-count breaths. I only manage one set of four, but it eases the pressure some.
“You might.” Kamden’s doing his best not to be pushy, but his best isn’t good enough. Why does he want her doing sponsorship deals so badly? She’s in the care of The Firm. Adding more to her plate right now doesn’t strike me as the best idea. But still, I don’t interrupt. I do make a mental note to discuss these changes with Damon, or at least ensure Kam’s already communicated this with him.
“I’m not sure what all I can do. I don’t want to come off—”
“It won’t be the same,” he interjects, almost too quickly. “Just a few to dip your toes in and remind them you still exist.”
Ella does exist.
She called me Z.
My hand tightens on the handle of the coffee mug. I’d kill to hear her say that again. It was familiar and sexy and totally off-limits. She can’t use a nickname like that. That’s crossing a line.
I know that, and I also know that if she does it again, I won’t stop her. I can’t think about what I’ll do if she announces she’d fuck me again.
“Finances are still steady?” Ella questions. Have I missed part of the conversation?
“Of course, I’ve taken care of it all. This is … it’s about your security,” Kam replies. “It’s easier to get sponsorship deals if you already have some. Stay out of the public eye long enough, and you’ll be starting from zero. I won’t have it. But they’re messaging me. They’re asking when they’ll see a return.”
A low laugh. It sends a shock straight through me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Ella’s laugh is a broken thing. Her voice is still damaged. But it has a light, sultry ring to it that makes my toes curl again. “You don’t think I’ve been out of the public eye too long already?”
“No, I don’t. Really. I think if you jump in now, you’ll be just fine.”
It’s time. I’ve been standing out here too long, fucking eavesdropping like a child at the top of the stairs refusing to sleep.
I can see her outline as I round the corner. Debating on entering the conversation is … problematic. It’s obvious she’s checking to see where I’ve gone. I watch for it too, the way she watches for me.
It’s not good. For either of us. For her, for The Firm.
And …
We’re past that.
I know it in the space of a single heartbeat. I know it down to my bones. I know it from the way my heartbeats turn jagged when I think of her in a room with someone else. When I think of the raw truth in her voice when she said she would fuck me. When I think of her arching her back on that video, with another man’s hand around her throat.
One last look into the sitting room. Ella looks slightly better than she did that day in the courtroom, but she needs more than sponsorship deals and talks with Damon and regular check-ins with Cade.
She needs more.
She needs me.
And there’s a way to do it.
A boulder shifts off my chest as the idea comes to me. It’s like that boulder has been split in two by a flash of lightning. The hairs all over my body pull up tight, goosebumps racing over my skin. There is a way to give her what she needs within the boundaries of the contract. Fuck me. A version of me only weeks ago wouldn’t believe what I’m considering.
My cock twitches in my pants. It wouldn’t involve sex. It could never involv
e sex.
The next moment, the boulder comes rocketing back onto me.
Only this time, the boulder has the shape of fear and guilt and regret. Something insidious and deadly. I turn away from the sitting room and go back to the kitchen. I get the coffee cup down without spilling it, which is better than I expected, and then I brace both hands on the countertop and lean over it.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four-count breaths.
Four sets of them.
Even. Steady.
Gradually, I control my breathing and my sordid thoughts. Gradually, I straighten. I test my grip by taking a sip of coffee. My hand doesn’t tremble with the desire to slap her ass again and again.
That was fucking close.
Too close to the past. Too close by half, and I know what set me off. I know exactly what set me off. It’s the decision to offer Ella what she needs. The fact that she wants to fuck me—yeah. That did something to me. It set me up, and now I’m going to have to get myself under control the only way I know how.
I’m still going to do it, but another truth rears its head, sliding down my throat with the next sip of my coffee.
I’m going to have to talk about this. Not with Ella. Not with Damon, or even Cade, though it’s technically my responsibility to consult with them on matters of care … they don’t need to know this. They wouldn’t understand, and they could take her away from me. She needs this. I fucking know she does. Instead, I’ll consult a neutral third party.
Adrenaline pumps in my veins. There’s only one person I trust for advice when it comes to something as important as this. I take out my phone and send a single text message. It’s past nine, but the reply comes a minute later.
It’s done. The moment I read the text, the duo makes their way out of the sitting room.
I find Kam already stepping into the kitchen, Ella right behind him.
Kam leaves through the back door. “See you tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” Ella says. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay.” He smiles for her, big and bright, and then he’s gone, leaving a cool autumn wind lingering in the kitchen.
Ella leans against the counter, her huge dark eyes on me. Her hand flits up to her neck. She’s touched it less as the time has passed. It’s only a brief skim of her fingertips over the hollow of her throat now, the movement almost suggestive. Almost an invitation for me to touch her there. I almost say it. I almost tell her what I’ve decided to offer her. What I know she needs. I’m almost level with her right now.
“How are you feeling after that?”
The corners of Ella’s mouth turn up at my question and my heart slams against my rib cage. Calm focus. I need to have patience for this. I need to talk this out before I say a word to her about it. “Tired,” she admits. “Not like last night.” She glances off to the side, looking thoughtful, and then her eyes come back to mine. “It’s a simple kind of tired. You know?”
“I do.” I get that myself with pills. I wouldn’t have it at all otherwise. “Are you thinking of heading upstairs?”
“I’m not sure. Should I?”
The charge that goes through me at her words is just as intense as the one that pulsed through me not even an hour ago. Permission. She’s already requesting permission. My sweet little submissive. I remind her, if only to give her more space to consider what occurred and to give myself time to ensure I will do right by her, “We had a session. We’ve talked.”
“We were interrupted.”
“I know.” We were interrupted at the worst possible moment. Or the best possible moment. I don’t know which it is. I might not ever know. “There’s no rush to continue tonight,” I tell her, keeping my voice as level and professional as I can. “If you’re tired, we can always have another session tomorrow.”
We will have another session tomorrow. I’ve already decided it. No matter what happens, Ella and I will have another session.
Her lips part, and I hold my breath. If she says it again right now—
“You’re right. I’ll head up.” Her body shifts toward me almost imperceptibly, but then Ella holds up her hand in a little wave. “Good night, Z.”
“Good night, Ella.”
I wait until I hear her footsteps on the stairs before I sag against the countertop. Z.
I wait another five minutes before I take out my phone, dial, and put it to my ear.
“You’ve got me.” It’s Silas. He always says “You’ve got me” when he answers the phone.
“I want you to look into the manager for me. Kamden Richards.” Silas has previous experience with military intelligence, and he’s the one on our team who conducts the research that can’t be done with a simple internet search. “Background check. As far as you can go. Get me a file on him.”
There’s no hesitation, only a huff of a laugh. “You got a hunch?” he questions.
“I am … uncertain.”
“All right. Need anything else?”
That’s the other thing I like about Silas. He’s a no-bullshit guy. He does his job, he does it well, and he rarely rocks the boat. “No. Thanks.”
We hang up the call, and I bring up the app on my phone that shows me the security cameras. Upstairs, Ella pads from the bathroom to her room and then leaves it. She pauses at the top of the stairs, like she might decide to come back down.
I’d fuck you, Zander. I’ve already fantasized about it.
After another long moment, she goes into her bedroom and closes the door.
The text comes in while I’m still looking at the camera feed.
Damon: Going through last night’s records. Missing a chunk of time off the video. Did you notice any glitches?
I don’t answer him.
Zander
Any threats to the client will be dealt with quickly and severely. All legal ramifications will be the burden of The Firm.
The waiting room at 304 Pinewood Circle is the same it’s been since the first time I set foot here, in this strip of professional offices. White walls. Black, modern furniture. All of it’s comfortable, sturdy, and nonthreatening. No art in frames, just a blue accent wall in the back. I asked Harrison about it at my first session. He said that one of his clients once had a reaction to a watercolor painting, so he stopped displaying art after that.
It takes great effort not to tap my foot against the floor. Moments like this are good for practicing patience. You can’t allow the nervous responses to get in the way when you’re on a job, and almost no one starts out with enough patience to be that way in high-pressure circumstances.
The soft click brings my attention forward as Harrison opens the door to his office. “Zander. How are you?”
“Good,” I answer as I rise, exhaling and preparing myself. “How are you?” I follow him in, nodding at his polite answer. The office is a smaller version of the waiting room, except the furniture is larger and sturdier. I take my seat in a black armchair, and Harrison takes his seat in a gray wingback. Like always, he appears unflustered and calm. Clean-shaven. Dark, closely cropped hair above a neat white shirt and equally neat tie.
“What brings you in today?”
The words I’ve been planning to say stick in my throat. Harrison is a patient man. He’s one of those obnoxiously tolerant people who will outwait you no matter how long it takes. It’s one of the things Damon told me about him when he recommended I see him—he knows how to shut his mouth and wait, a quality I appreciate in people more than most other things. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Harrison tilts his head to the side and continues waiting. The clock on the back wall is nearly silent. But there’s still a steady ticking sound in the room. Punctuated by my heavy exhales.
No matter how much practice I have at being patient, he is better. And part of me wants to crack. It’s not that I want him to know the details. The urge to keep this secret is strong. It doesn’t seem to matter that I decided to talk t
o Harrison about this—now that it’s time, some protective instinct rears up and tries to keep me from saying a damn word. But it’s misguided. This conversation is about Ella’s welfare. Her well-being is the most important thing.
“We’ve got a new job. It’s different from our typical clients.”
“How so?”
“She’s a custodial client,” I explain. “Released from a mental health facility into our care. For a case like this, the involvement is significant. Around-the-clock presence in her home.”
“And this is outside the bounds of what you’ve done in the past?”
“Well outside. Normally we’re dealing with high-profile security and physical threats. For this client—” I almost said her name. I almost said Ella to Harrison. It wouldn’t have been a disaster for him to hear it. Everything I say in this room is confidential.
But if I say her name to him …
If she becomes part of my sessions as a person in my life and not a client …
That changes things.
I clear my throat. “For this client, the focus is mental health recovery. She was institutionalized for a number of months. This is the stepdown from the Rockford Center.”
His left eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch. Harrison isn’t the kind of man who’s shocked often. Or if he is, he doesn’t show it. Could be a trick of the trade, but it could also be his personality. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t know him before Damon put his foot down and made me schedule an appointment with him years ago. “That type of transfer is unusual, from what I know of the system.”
“Highly unusual.” There’s a strange tightness in my throat, thinking about her standing in that courtroom. “The client herself is unusual, and I think she’ll need an unusual approach. If I take that route, I want to make sure I don’t cross any boundaries. That I’m seeing the right things.”
I’m met with a thoughtful nod.
