Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Damn him, he’s right. When my body first reacted to the size of the plug, an uncomfortable sweat dampened my flesh and an almost woozy feeling overtook me. It took less than a minute for that sensation to dissipate, but the feeling of overwhelming fullness is a little hard to take.

  I take a look at my watch and determine I’ll endure the discomfort for five minutes. It’s worth it. Five climaxes... that’s some leverage.

  “What does that have to do with my eating a big meal?”

  He shrugs. “The condition of you getting to come is that you eat everything on your plate. If there’s even a pea left over, the deal is null and void.” His eyes are amused as he watches me absorb that little point. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  My sardonic retort makes him chuckle. “Good answer.”

  I sigh. That means I have no choice. Not that I want one, but still, I like to know the ins and outs of the challenges he sets before me.

  “What’s for supper?” I ask, hesitant in only that one regard, because I could blow this out of the window if the meal isn’t to my liking.

  “Roasted lamb with baked veggies.”

  Feeling like a petulant toddler at the idea of eating my greens, I mutter, “What kind of vegetables?”

  “Pumpkin, fennel, tomatoes, onions... Seasonal stuff, but ones you like.”

  I smile at him. “You asked for me, right?”

  He nods. “That’s something I’ve seen you eat at hotels.”

  He’s so fair.

  God, I love him.

  He sets me a challenge knowing I’ll be able to do it. I guess some guys, or some Doms, would have made it harder for me.

  Not Nate.

  Perhaps he can see on my face the thoughts running through my head, because he settles back into his seat with a gentle smile beaming my way.

  My heart stutters at the sight, and for countless minutes, we stare at each other. Our eyes connected, our thoughts and feelings transmitted in the most basic of ways. To be loved by this man... to be cherished... God, it’s like a dream.

  I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, to deserve him, but I’ll do everything within my power to make him happy. Anything.

  For far too long I’ve been selfish. A self-contained creature, for the most part. Willing only to open herself up to her two close friends and even then, not divulging the most important parts of her life... I know I’d be an analyst’s wet dream. Either that or a nightmare.

  I’m complex. Complicated.

  But with this man, everything is laid bare. It’s so god damned simple.

  No running. No hiding. I’m here for him, just like he’s here for me.

  It’s strange how this has only come about thanks to the revelation of who he truly is. A Dom.

  Nibbling my lip, I stare at him and then, down at the clock. Three minutes have passed.

  My left eye starts to twitch even though my thoughts are focused on anything but my physical self and I mutter, “Three, Sir.”

  He nods. “Go to the bathroom and take it out.”

  “Where should I put it?”

  “Take it back to the house and leave it with the rest of the toys I chose for your punishment.”

  “You mean it isn’t over, Sir?” I question, brows falling in a frown of displeasure.

  “No. But you must eat. So we’re at an impasse. There’s always later.” His smile is borderline mischievous, enough so that I want to cup my ass now to comfort it before later happens.

  Swallowing, I scrape my chair back and stand. He nods at me, then tilts his head in the direction of the toilets. It’s hard as hell not limping over to the bathroom stands, but I think I manage. I don’t hear any sniggers behind me as I traverse across the mess, and the instant I’m inside the utilitarian wash room, I rush to one of the stalls, don’t even bother to lock it just shut the damn door, lift my skirt and in two seconds flat, drag the plug out.

  The instant I do, tears blossom in my eyes as every single nerve ending in my body flutters to life before settling down after doing a quick jig. I blow out a breath, then suck one in and am then faced with the prospect of somehow transporting the frickin’ plug across the yard. Knowing my luck, someone, probably Lucy, will spot me and the news will spread among the Brainy Bunch that I’m sporting weapons of mass destruction. For the ass.

  Despite myself, I grin at the thought. It sticks as I unravel a ton of toilet roll and wrap the plug inside. Tucking it under my arm, I stride out, wash my hands and then retreat from the mess and cross the yard with no one around to spot me.

  The instant I shut the door, I sigh with relief and remove the forbidden package from under my armpit. Heading up the stairs, I have to withhold a sneeze as that weird scent of lavender fills my nose again.

  “What the hell is that?” I mutter under my breath, sniffling a little as I climb. It doesn’t seem to disperse.

  A part of me wonders if it’s some new formula the perfumer made up. We actually have one on site; he produces scents for some of the biggest companies in the industry. But I shrug off the idea as I walk into the bedroom and then I freeze.

  “Greta?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Greta has always been a troublemaker. Even as a kid, I remember that. My father, while disinterested in most things to do with the management of the ranch, which he undertook dutifully, rather than with grace, hated her. She caused strife among the women, because all the men drooled after her and she lapped it up. She didn’t try and calm troubled waters; she took pleasure out of stirring things.

  Even though I know her type, even though I know what she’s capable of—hell, everyone believed John, the man who killed himself, did it because Greta spurned him and felt no guilt for it either—it’s still a huge surprise to see her in here and going through our stuff.

  When I called her name, she froze. But at my question, she slowly turns around, face flushed as she looks up at me.

  My eyes flicker from her guilty expression to the papers on the bed. I step over to her and look down at the papers, the photographs. A picture of a young Nate catches my eye and I frown. “Why are you looking through Nate’s stuff? And don’t bullshit me. There is absolutely no reason for you to be in this room.”

  I think I’m the direct cause of a miracle. Greta is the sort of woman who always has an answer. Always. She’ll turn black into white to win an argument. And yet, she’s frozen. I can tell. Her mouth keeps working, opening then shutting as though her admittedly-genius brain flickers through the answers that will lead to the least trouble.

  Ignoring her for a second, I reach over and hide a smile at the sight of Nate as a teenager. Some of them are of him as a kid. So focused on him, it takes a few seconds to see that some of the photos are with a bunch of people…not just other kids…and one of the men in the photos is none other than John. The math genius John, the amputee John, the one who killed himself, the one who Greta spurned. My memory has always been good; but hell, the man has been dead a long time, and I shove the photo under Greta’s nose and ask, “Is that John Kelly? I remember him, but not enough to say for definite.”

  Greta’s mouth is taut as she tries to withhold an answer. Apparently, her stubbornness hasn’t changed over time. But her eyes flicker a little; just a smidgen, and I know I’m right. Which means Nate’s been lying to me.

  As my mind processes the thought, something that in and of itself makes me feel as though I’ve been kicked in the stomach, the sound of helicopter rotor blades blare overhead. The damned vibration has my feet tingling in my flats, and I switch my gaze from the photos on the bed to the still-frozen woman beside it.

  “You have a reprieve. I want you in my office, ten AM, tomorrow morning. Have you got that? And don’t even try to get out of it. If you do, I’ll have you evicted. This breaks so many of the commune’s laws I’ll have no problem with the legalities.”

  Her eyes flash
at me, and she shoots upright from her kneeling position to hiss, “You even think of evicting me, and I’ll tell everyone about your kinks. All those sick, perverted…”

  As she fumbles for a word, I murmur, “Toys? Or shall we stick to things?”

  Her face contorts with rage as she bites out, “I’ll tell everyone, everyone about them.”

  I shrug. “Do it. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Neither has Nate.” Well, not for being a Dom, he doesn’t. Whether his secrets are shameful is another matter entirely.

  “You can’t be serious? It’s disgusting.”

  Her sneer has me rolling my eyes. “You can’t threaten me when I don’t give a fuck.”

  Inwardly, I cringe at the curse. Good God, I need a curse-word tin. Something, anything to stop me from saying fuck. Hell, it just rolls of my tongue. Like the word pie or soap. I have a potty-mouth.

  I wonder if there’s some kind of twelve-step program to sort me out. The instant the thought pops into my head, I have to shake my head at myself. Because Nate enrolled me in one. Of a sort. The spank-my-ass-to-hell-and-back program.

  Only his reasoning for doing so is starting to look less and less clear as I stare down at the photos in my hand. In fact, it’s starting to look pretty damned murky.

  I don’t let my doubt show on my face or in my tone as I warn, “You’re in the wrong and no amount of manipulation can wriggle you out of it. Tomorrow at ten. No bull, just answers. You got me? Now get out.”

  Her eyes flash, and I can tell she’s spitting mad, wanting to wrap me around her finger with my fear of what she might say to the people on the commune but it won’t work. Sure, I don’t particularly revel in the idea of everyone knowing my business; but hell, I won’t be ashamed of it, and I sure as shit won’t let some bitch think she can manipulate me with something that is as intrinsic to my personality as my bad attitude. If anything, the nasty side of my nature makes me accept my submissiveness easily. I will not be made to feel like some kind of sexual leper.

  She storms out like I’m in the wrong and not as though I just caught her rifling through Nate’s personal possessions.

  At the sound of the helicopter, I know I only have a few minutes. Now I’m back, it’s my duty as well as Nate’s to be the welcome committee for any guests. Nobody’s scheduled to stay here in a guest capacity but some of the big boys—and I don’t mean our stud stallion—don’t even bother to make reservations. Wall Street analysts, politicians, we accept them all as long as their IQ is high enough and their wallets fat. Hey, we have bills to pay too.

  I let my fingers rifle through the photos, spotting Nate at different ages through his childhood; and in each one, he’s surrounded by his family. John is there.

  If I’m honest, I always liked John. He’d been brilliant. One of the foremost members of the commune. His genius had paved the way for countless inventions; in fact, his patents and discoveries had paved the way for the Blue Ridge that exists today.

  But beside that, he’d been friendly. Introverted, yes. Quick to chat, no. But if I ever passed him, he’d smile at me and ask what I was doing at school. He knew I was an artist, and that I hated going to classes. He’d taken an interest in me, and while my position at the ranch had been an important one, thanks to my ancestors, most people had ignored me.

  Friendly faces were few and far between for the scowling child of the disinterested guardians of the ranch; the folks who never socialized with the other members, who lived in their own superior bubble.

  So yeah, I remembered John.

  What, though, is his connection to Nate?

  I still feel sickened by Nate's obvious lies. I've mentioned John enough for him to speak to me of the truth and why he hasn't is...well, it's a concern. But I can't leap to conclusions. It would be foolish to do that.

  Almost as though I’d been speaking aloud, a voice breaks into my thoughts and answers my questions for me.

  “He was my great-uncle.”

  My head jerks up, as though I’d been slapped. My shock at him standing there is complete, and I kind of understand Greta’s mortification.

  “Don’t worry, I saw Greta scurrying out. Snooping, was she?” His cheeks turn concave for a second, as he chews on them in contemplation. “Interesting.”

  “W-why?” I croak out.

  “Why is it interesting?” At my nod, he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “For four years, I never sniffed anything out. Nothing at all. You’re back, and on that first day, you told me something no one else had. You pushed me in the right direction without even knowing it. For four years, nada. And yet, here she is. Snooping through my stuff.” He pauses a second, and a strange grin crosses his jaw. “Find the toys, did she?”

  I nod, my cheeks flushing. It’s weird. I’m talking to a different man. I’ve learned there are two sides to Nate. Sir and then, the man I’ve known for four years. This one is different. Another layer.

  Christ, we’re more alike than I ever knew.

  “Yeah. She tried to bribe me to keep quiet.”

  “You told her where to go, did you?”

  Despite myself and my discomfort, I snort. Cocking a brow at him, I ask, “What do you think?”

  “Good. I bet that has her running scared.” Again, his thoughts take him away from me and then, he shakes himself out of it and says, “We need to go. Didn’t you hear the helicopter?”

  “Yeah, I was on my way.” I take a step toward him and he shakes his head at me.

  “Do you need that to great our guests?”

  I flush as I look down at the toilet paper-wrapped butt plug and dump it on the bed. “I’ll clean up later.”

  Falling into step beside me, he asks, “We don’t have anyone booked in, do we?”

  “No. But that doesn’t stop people from flying in. You know that.”

  “I just hope it isn’t the Governor. He’s the only one I know who’d fly in at this time of the day. Christ, he pisses everyone off for the duration of his stay, and then, afterward, there’s always a lull in creativity. It’s like he sucks the life out of the place while he’s here.”

  Despite myself, and the weird atmosphere that has settled over the pair of us, I grin. I know exactly who he’s talking about. “My granddaddy used to complain about him.”

  “You remember that far back?”

  “My granddaddy was unforgettable. I didn’t have him for a long time, but what little I did have, I remember. Back then, the Governor was middle-aged and on his fourth wife. How many is it now?”

  “God knows. Too many. It’s a wonder he manages to get re-elected year after year.”

  “He’s a crappy husband, but a decent politician.” I shrug and smile at him coolly, politely, as though he were a stranger, when he opens the front door and lets me out first.

  The cool evening air is crisp as I suck in my first lavender-free breath. It had been in the bedroom too, so I can only assume it was Greta’s perfume. And considering I’d smelled that God awful scent earlier, I can only assume she’d been on the hunt for fuck knew what throughout the day.

  In silence, we walk over to one of the garages, and each of us takes a seat behind the wheel of a mini-SUV-cart. In tandem, we set off at a fast pace and drive past the heart of the commune toward the landing strip.

  Cold air blasts up my nose and makes me wish I’d had the wherewithal to grab a pair of shades to protect my eyes, but I hadn’t had that many thought processes after Nate had caught me going through the papers on the bed.

  Uneasy. That’s one way of describing how I feel. Very, very uneasy. And I can kind of understand why Nate went ape, when I told him the truth about Papillon. Learning about secret lives, about the real reason for the whys and hows behind past actions…hurts.

  For four years, he said, he’d been searching for answers. From the very start, he’s been telling lies.

  While I’m hurt, at the same time, I’m pissed. How dare he lecture me for telling lies and withholding the truth when he’s been doing
exactly the same thing? The word hypocrite is tattooed on my mind and my lips purse as I brake to a halt a few feet or so away from the private helicopter.

  In the setting sun, with the light blaring directly on to the passengers of the helicopter, I freeze. For the second time that night. It’s a day for surprises.

  At an early age, we, at the commune, learn the government isn’t what the public believes it to be. The faces we see on TV, the people we vote for, they’re only half of the government. The faceless people, the men and women consumed in the shadow of their own power, they’re the ones with the real authority. How do we know this? Those faceless folk are either born and raised here or they tend to retire here.

  And Erick van der Viel is one such person.

  Now, why he’s standing here, glaring down at me, I don’t know. All I do know is that I grew up with the guy, and that I’ve run across him twice in the last five years. Both times to do with Papillon and the important clients we served. And when I say important, I mean the men and women in positions the public did have some say in… The senators, congressmen, and women who reveled in Papillon’s strict privacy rules and used it to ignore the stringent laws surrounding prostitution.

  It’s too much to hope that Erick is here on vacation. Especially with that glare.

  It’s only after I suck in a breath and shake off my surprise at his presence that I notice Nate is equally as shell-shocked. Studying him with a puzzled frown, I take in the source of his amazement and feel the tug of jealousy to spy it’s Erick’s PA. Natalia Rosenthorpe. From her expression and Nate’s, I can only assume they know each other.

  How intimately, I don’t know. But my little-used jealousy radar has winked to life.

  Attempting to appear calm when I’m feeling anything but, I move away from the souped-up golf cart and head toward Erick. We’re close enough that I stand in front of him and tilt my head to the side expecting him to kiss each cheek. I take it as a good sign that he does just that. Blowing out a relieved, inaudible breath, I murmur, “No note?”