Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “What happened last night?” I ask quietly.

  “I pretended I needed to talk to her. Everyone’s been avoiding her like the plague so I couldn’t be seen talking to her. She agreed for me to come to her room. She was so cocky; she never thought I’d do anything. Brought a bottle of Scotch with me. Laced it with barbiturates.

  “I told her I’d done it. She could stay. She crowed, and I poured her a ‘celebratory’ drink.” He twitches his fingers in air quotes. “She drank. I poured her some more. She drank and drank. I watched her; sat there with my cigar, celebrating as she died without even knowing it.” He blows out a breath. “Not my proudest moment, but I won’t lie. I enjoyed it. I stayed until she was asleep and watched as she took her last breath.”

  His words seem to echo around the room, and I let myself absorb them. The bloodthirsty bitch in me agrees with what Sam did. It’s wrong, so wrong. Immoral. But I do.

  When I say nothing and the silence grows heavy, Sam mutters, “There you have it.” His mouth works. “Whatever you decide to do with me, I’ll agree. I won’t do away with myself. And I won’t hurt anyone else. I-I saved John from himself. I saved my own butt when I killed Greta. I deserve to be punished for her but not for John.”

  I close my eyes, wondering what I’m capable of doing for Nate. For his well being. What I’d do to protect him.

  Love.

  It’s a bastard.

  Takes one relatively normal human being, turns their world on its head and leaves them to deal with the madness that ensues.

  “I don’t know what to say, Sam. I really don’t.” I tighten my arms about him, embracing him harder before letting go. Sam isn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. But even he enjoys the hug. He lets me go, just not before he holds me a little fiercer and presses a kiss to my temple. “I don’t want to let you...what you did was wrong, Sam. So wrong.” Emotions pummel me, uncertainty floods me. I lick my lips, hoping to make sense of this, but there is no sense to it. “I blamed her for John’s death. I set up a situation, that had my intuition been correct, could have made her kill Alexei or James so they could take the blame for her actions. I made her an outcast because of this.”

  “She deserved to be an outcast.”

  The voices intrude, and both Sam and I flinch, before turning around to face Erick and Nate.

  “How long have you been there?” Sam asks with a dull tone. The vibrancy I associate with him, the mischievousness i all gone now. It pains me to see it.

  “You’re not as good at sneaking about as you think,” Nate remarks and steps into the room. Heading toward me with the accuracy of a homing missile, he tucks me in his arms. “You were always safe, sweetheart. Don’t think I’d have let him hurt you.”

  “He’d never have hurt me.”

  “I’d never have hurt her.” Sam and I shout at the same time.

  Erick sighs. “You’ve made a real mess for me, Sam.”

  “I know, Erick. I’m sorry, but whatever you think I should do, I’ll do. I’m too damned tired to fight anymore. I-I just beg for one thing.”

  “What?” Nate asks, his voice curiously free from inflection.

  “That you let it be known she stole John’s work. If anyone receives praise for that goddamn algorithm, it should be John. He made it possible. His goddamned disease made it possible.”

  “Oh, Sam,” I whisper brokenly. “Of course, I’ll see to it right away.” Tears in my eyes, I look at Nate and over to Erick. “What are we going to do? I don’t want him to go to prison. He’s old, Erick. He’d never survive it. And think of all he’s done too. That last research paper of his, think of how he’s advanced the research into...” Slowly, I blink. “That last drug you created. It was an Acety-choly-thingy inhibitor. That’s to do with Alzheimer’s, isn’t it? I remember them saying on the news that it was a huge leap forward in the treatment of Alzheimer’s.”

  “You always were rubbish at chemistry,” Sam mumbles. “Acetylcholinesterase inhibitor. And yes, it’s a medication to treat Alzheimer’s. There is no cure for it yet.”

  It’s hard to swallow. “Erick, do something. You said yourself: you make the law. We don’t have to tell the police, do we? Nobody’s questioning anything. Just me. They all think she killed herself, because I was evicting her. I can cope with people blaming me.”

  “I doubt anyone will blame you for Greta’s death. She wasn’t a popular woman. Never was,” Erick remarks. “I can’t condone this, Sam. Surely you can see that?”

  “Erick.” Nate’s voice is a boom and silence settles among us. His hold on me grows firmer, so firm I can feel his tension. “Do this for me, Erick. John was my great-uncle.”

  “All the more reason you should want him to be dealt with by the law, Nate. He killed him. You heard him yourself. He confessed.”

  Nate shakes his head. “I read his diaries. I thought they were a true insight into the man, but they weren’t. He never mentioned being gay. Never said anything about an illness.”

  Before Nate can continue, Sam butts in, “If you don’t believe me, check the goddamn autopsy report. They’ll have listed Alzheimer’s on there. Your father knew about John and I, Marina. He kept it all hushed up for the good of the family name and the local coroner never mentioned it at the inquest as a favor to him.”

  “I’m not doubting you, Sam,” Nate tells him. “I’m just saying; I read his diaries, knew as much about him as he was willing to put down on paper, but one thing I learned, the man was brilliant. I know that. It oozed out of his words. To have had to face losing that...you did him a service, Sam.

  “Maybe I should hate you, but all I know is, a man like John Kelly could not have lived like that. I thank you for what you did.”

  A choking sound escapes my uncle, and I watch as he spins around to face the window again. I know he’s crying.

  “For me, Erick. Let this slide,” Nate continues, this time focusing on the most powerful man in the room, hell, the state.

  “I’ll have to think about it, Nate. I’ll have to monitor the situation; the inquest and what the coroner notices. I’ve known you a long time, Sam. Don’t think I want it to be this way. You’ve done wrong, how can I trust you not to go after someone else if they do something you don’t like?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Erick,” I bite out. “This was a unique situation, all in relation to John. Greta was a manipulative bitch. If she’d acted like any decent human being, if she hadn’t tried to manipulate a man’s illness, a man’s death for her own gain, this would never have happened.”

  “That doesn’t make it right, Marina,” Erick snaps at me.

  “I’m not saying it does, but these are extenuating circumstances.”

  “She’s right, Erick,” Nate points out.

  “I’ve said all I’m going to say. I’ll let you know my decision,” he tells us all, jaw hard before he turns on his heel and walks out. Leaving Nate and I to watch him go and Sam to stare forlornly out the window.

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Nine out of ten times, when Nate and I have sex, it’s pleasure and pain at its best. Time and stress haven’t dissipated what we have together, nor have they pulled us apart. If anything, they’ve made us stronger. That one remaining time out of ten, we make love. A deep connection, all the more perfect for its simplicity, yet something that can only be appreciated thanks to the complicated lifestyle the pair of us inhabit.

  Kneeling at Nate’s feet as he watches the news, I lean my head against his thigh and shiver slightly as he strokes my hair. This is a slight punishment. Something he makes me do for minor rule breaks. Usually for cursing. Because of my inability to withhold from using the word fuck, I find myself here a lot.

  Make that every night.

  What can I say? I love swearing.

  And kneeling at his feet isn’t so bad. Yeah, the imagery is powerful. I’m a kick ass bitch—if I do say so myself—yet I kneel before him like a supplicant. Just thinking it makes me shiver insid
e.

  In our new apartment, decorated to both our tastes, so a mixture of modern and the traditional, we’ve made this place our own. I’m happy here. Happier than I thought I could ever possibly be.

  We don’t have a ‘dungeon.’ A room filled with toys and our kink. To be honest, I don’t even know why we don’t. I’m kind of glad, though. I don’t need spanking benches or St. Andrew’s Crosses to feel like a sub or to be punished. Apparently, Nate shares the sentiment.

  So, our bedroom, is a relatively comfortable space. We took the high four-poster bed from Nate’s old quarters—until your legs have been stretched wide apart with one foot bound to each post, you’ve no idea how deep a man’s cock can go; just the memory makes me shudder—and the armchair too.

  There are no PVC sheets or bondage furniture. I think, after Papillon, I could only view that kind of set up in a negative light, so I’m relieved the four-poster bed is the ‘bondage’ frame and that Nate’s armchair is our spank seat.

  Somehow, keeping it minimal makes me feel more rooted. Like the less clutter there is, the deeper our connection. Does that make sense? I don’t need the toys to feel like Nate’s sub. I just need him.

  Considering he needs me, it’s worked out rather perfectly.

  That isn’t to say life on the commune is as perfect. With so many volatile temperaments, having two days without some kind of argument is rare.

  The worst time was Christmas; talk about a complicated affair. My first at Blue Ridge, my first as the resident guardian, and while the commune enjoyed it, Sam’s uncertain future had cast a heavy shadow over the events.

  For me, it was enough to realize this is home. Forever.

  New York is my past and definitely not my future.

  Two fistfights between a pair of geophysicists, arguing over meteorite dust, and a physicist and mathematician nearly killing each other in their debate on the theory of dark matter, were the worst of it. Normal, rational discussions were turbocharged with too much alcohol and food.

  Things settled down, reverted to the skewed normalcy that Blue Ridge is capable of, once the judgment came through. The entire commune met Sam’s house arrest with approval.

  Apart from James and Alexei, of course.

  They tried to appeal the judgment, but hell; Erick van der Viel was the man behind it. If Erick sets something in stone, you’d better believe not even another Ice Age will break it. They left last month, with the threat of law suits projected our way.

  Sam isn’t allowed to leave the confines of the ranch. Considering he never did anyway, his life hasn’t changed all that much. He did have a tendency to fly out of the country for seminars and conventions, something he’s no longer allowed to do.

  In truth, for what he has done, the sentencing was both quick and lenient. I know that and am grateful for it. Maybe it’s undeserving; as horrid as Greta was, she still deserved fair treatment by the justice system. In truth, we manipulated the law in a way that would have made her congratulate us. No one worked it like she did. I’m sure, if she’s looking down on us, or maybe that should be up, she’ll be begrudgingly proud.

  Honestly, I don’t care. I’m just relieved Sam isn’t in jail. As it is, his work will never be praised or awarded thanks to his reputation, but he can still work and still save people’s lives, even if he doesn’t receive the due credit he deserves. We’re all happy with his lot.

  That isn’t to say in the time leading up to the unusual sentencing—thank you, Erick—things weren’t tough. Because they were. Rather than pushing us apart, they made Nate and I stronger and in a way, they made us fall even deeper down the rabbit hole.

  When I’m bound, on my knees, constrained, only then do I feel free. Free from the stresses and the strain of life on Blue Ridge. Only then, when Nate is my Master, when I’m being mastered can I truly relax.

  Kneeling at his side, my eyes flicker with exhaustion. It’s been a long day. We got news that no matter the sheer miracle of the algorithm John created, there’s no way any Prize committee will present him with a posthumous award. It would have perked Sam up to see John’s name on the Nobel laureate list. It’s distressing, for all of us. The algorithm capable of so much has been patented in its use within the prosthetic Nate still wears, but other than that, we made it open source. Just as John wanted.

  Because he hasn’t received the legacy he deserved, I thought it only fair to commemorate the Thoroughbred stables to him, something that has never happened before. It’s only a small plaque above the door, but in future, everyone who stays here, everyone who buys from us, will remember John’s name. Especially as the first foal born here will be named Kelly’s Dream. Not a snazzy name, but a damned sight better than another ‘Big Boy.’

  John Seamus Kelly might not be a Nobel winner in his own right, but he will be remembered by Blue Ridge. Not only that, he’s given a generation the means in which to receive their own Prizes and make their own legacies. That algorithm is the root of so many inventions, I can only imagine what the future holds, because I still don’t have a fucking clue what it actually does.

  Nate and Sam have tried to explain it to me. Words like ergodic, theoretical computer science, higher dimensional generations...they just fly over my head. No matter how many times they try to draw me pictures to understand what the fuck is going on, a mathematician I am not. Nor will I ever be. I’m an artist, through and through. A currently-contracted one, too. A gallery in New York wants to show my ‘Predator’s Prey’ collection. Sometimes, not being a mathematician is a good thing.

  The thought makes me grin, especially as the last time Nate tried to make a believer out of me, he’d used fingers on various parts of my body in an outside-the-box attempt to make me understand.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  “Just thinking about John’s algorithm.”

  He snorts. “I’m going to assume you’re thinking of the last time I tried to explain it to you and not the actual algorithm?.”

  “You’ve got that right. I’ll never understand it. I don’t know why you bother to explain it.”

  “Hope springs eternal. And it gives me an excuse to be creative.”

  I hoot at that and look up at him with sparkling eyes. “Since when did you need an ‘excuse’?”

  His grin makes my pussy start to burn with the need for his possession. “Creativity should be encouraged, Marina. Don’t you want to know what I have planned for you tonight?”

  As his smile melts me from the inside out, my heart beats to a rhythm of its own. A rhythm that is one with Nate’s. I never thought to love like this. Never thought I could be loved. Fate took me on the ride of my life from an early age; but all the trauma, the worry, and the hurt were all leading to this one man.

  Looking up at his beautiful face, my fingers reach up to play with the collar about my neck. I may not deserve him or be worthy of him. I may not always be the best for him. But no one can love him like I do. No one can give him what I do.

  He’s my soul mate, and I’m his.

  The future’s bright even though I don’t know exactly what it holds. More time at Blue Ridge; a wedding—my own, eek.—on the ranch so Sam can give me away, weekends spent at Mona’s house in Chesapeake Bay—a place we’ve yet to visit even though she and her hunks have come up here; the prospect of being the godmother to Eddie’s baby... And maybe, who knows, one of my own when Nate and I are ready.

  As I look up at him, spying the twinkle in his eyes, a twinkle that stems from excitement at what the rest of the night holds, my love for him is written into the lines of my face. Into the lines of my being.

  He sees that, bends down and presses his lips to mine.

  With that gentle kiss, he starts a fire only he can quench, and I give myself up to the burn…a willing sacrifice to the multi-faceted man I love.

  This isn’t The End.

  It isn’t The Beginning.

  It’s my life. Who and what I am. Thanks to this man, I discovered both.


  Also by Serena Akeroyd

  I’d love to see you in my Diva reader’s group where you can find out all the gossip on new releases as and when they happen. You can join here. Or, you can always email me. I love to hear from you guys: serenaakeroyd@gmail.com.

  Until I see you there or you write me an email, here are more of my books for you to read…

  Naughty Nookie

  Sinfully Theirs

  Sinfully Mastered

  The Gods Are Back In Town

  Hotter than Hades

  The Sun Revolves Around Apollo

  Five Points, Hell’s Kitchen

  A Screwed Duet

  Screw You

  Screw Me

  Filthy Feckers

  Filthy Hot (COMING SOON)

  FourWinds

  Queen of the Vamps

  Kingdom of Veronia

  Perry & Her Princes

  Her Highness, Princess Perry

  Long Live Queen Perry

  QUINTESSENCE

  Charmed by Them

  Healed by Them

  Worshipped by Them

  Protected by Them

  Loved by Them

  QUINTESSENCE: The Sequels

  Sawyer

  Andrei

  Kurt

  Sean

  Anchor Pride Series

  Claimed by Caden

  McKinnon’s Mate

  The Corsakis

  Three’s Never A Crowd

  Old Enough to Know Better

  The Federation

  A Menage Made on Madison

  La Belle sans La Bete Series

  Menage Material

  A Thoroughly Modern Menage

  Forever Theirs

  Secrets & Lies

  The TriAlpha Chronicles

  Origin

  Trinity

  Triskele