“I told you that this year is different. I can’t take on the responsibility.” His neck was suddenly very stiff, and he rubbed the rock of a muscle at his shoulder.
“This isn’t only your tradition anymore, Oleg,” he said.
An image of the four teenage boys consoling him on the anniversary of his mother’s suicide popped into his head. He couldn’t even remember the face of the girl that had been their first. She hadn’t known what to expect that evening, but then neither had he. Ten years later, there weren’t any more mysteries.
“I can’t train a submissive this year. My future…” The word was so acrid in his mouth, he practically spat, “wife is coming home soon. A needy kitten isn’t what I need right now.”
“But it’s what you want.” Paolo put sound to the words invading his thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“We are going to teach her. We don’t have to start tonight, but we will start soon.”
Oleg swallowed.
“Do we have your blessing?”
He sighed, knowing he should say no, knowing also that if he did, his closest friends would honor his final word. “Yes,” he said instead. “Do what you like. She doesn’t mean anything to me.” Only if that were true, then the prospect of crossing paths with her again wouldn’t give him such solace.
*
Samantha fidgeted in her seat, the steady tap, tap of her knee knocking softly against the table leg annoyed her greatly. But she couldn’t stop. Henri was busy with their coffees inside his stainless-steel kitchen. Every surface shone in spotless perfection.
“Your kitchen looks like a freaking operating room,” she said, and he turned to her only to smirk.
“And you look like a spoiled little girl who doesn't want to grow up and face her responsibilities.”
“Screw you.”
Henri’s smirk bloomed into a full grin. He set the coffees on the table. “Do you think I'm wrong?”
Samantha started to speak but found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, paralyzed by a lie she suddenly didn’t want to tell. She didn’t answer, and Henri gave her a nod.
“Bon,” he said, the grin now softening with sincerity as he took the seat adjacent to her. “Take your time and answer honestly. Are you a spoiled brat who is ungrateful for the opportunities that lie at your feet?”
Samantha frowned, and yet his smile didn’t waver. “I don’t have to listen to this,” she said.
“So go.”
She stayed.
He opened the sketchbook. “Let’s talk about these, hmmm? They are really very well done.” Looking at her with a contemplative gaze, he traced over one of the fully drawn designs and lingered deftly over the curve of the bust line. “Maurice is already gushing over making them.”
“He—” she started. Henri raised an eyebrow sharply, and she corrected herself. “I mean, she is really interested?” Samantha was so excited about the notion of her designs actually taking shape, she practically bounced in her chair.
“I can see that you like the idea.”
“They’re only doodles…just daydreams. I never really took it all that seriously before. I definitely never thought I’d ever see them made.”
“I get the feeling you never really took anything all that seriously before.” He slowly leaned closer to her, as if testing whether she would back away. His lips stopped at her ear. “Except maybe the way you licked the milk from that bowl. Like it was all that mattered to you in the world.”
He leaned back again, a pleased expression falling over his features. Was he pleased with her over that performance, or pleased with himself for having solicited it? Either way, Samantha couldn’t deny the warm feeling in her belly when she thought of the way they had all seemed to adore her in that moment. What a trippy five minutes that had been.
“You haven’t touched your coffee, chérie,” he said after a few beats.
She took a delicate sip. “So what is this offer you mentioned?” she said calmly, hoping her relaxed tone was believable.
“I offer you the opportunity to safely access the part of yourself that craves more of what you felt up on that bar. You can draw your pretty designs, ignore the rest of the world and lose yourself in your desire to submit.”
“Like a kinky summer camp?” She shook her head. “I have school.”
“Chérie, you don’t really have anything you want at that place, do you?”
Sam couldn’t think of one thing she would miss about that place besides Marielle. “I have…responsibilities. How long are you talking about?”
“A few days, a few weeks. Until either you’ve had enough, or we’re finished with you.”
She balked. “Finished with me?”
“Finished with your training. So far, you’ve only been tasting the lifestyle. It’s time you took a whole mouthful to the back of your throat and swallowed.”
She did swallow. Hard. “How?”
Henri didn’t smile, not with his mouth at least. Only his gray eyes shone with mischief. He dragged his gaze over her from head to toe. It was unnerving to be assessed like that. He stood up again and walked to a black leather campaign desk across the room. From the right drawer, he pulled out an envelope. When he returned and placed it on the table, she read her first name printed across it in black marker.
She opened it and pulled four papers from inside, neatly clipped in the corner. “A contract?”
“An agreement,” he said. “One for each of us.” When she wrinkled her brow, he continued, “We will need your last name of course.”
She paged through them. They were all signed by Henri, Paolo and Ivan. Oleg’s signature was conspicuously missing. Other than the named party, all the pages were the same. She read it twice. “This is a little over the top, don’t you think?” She schooled her expression into a mask of calm.
He handed her a pen. “You aren’t about to attend a tea party, and this is the real world, chérie. We can’t have any misunderstandings about what you are getting into.”
She scanned through words typed neatly in small cap font. “And what exactly is it I’m getting into? Basically, all this says is that I agree not to hold you liable during the time I am with you.” Samantha placed the pen down.
“It also says that you have a safeword that will terminate our arrangement at any time. You will be as safe as you want to be.” He pointed to the paper. “Choose the same one for each of us. You will only need to say your Master’s name along with it.”
“My Master? Is this for real?”
“Masters,” he emphasized and stood. He rounded her, towering over her from behind as he dragged a single finger over her shoulder and up her neck. He tangled his fingers under the ponytail Sam had hastily finagled in her rush to find herself having this exact conversation. “Don’t pretend to be surprised by that.”
She braced herself for the inevitable tug of her hair that she was certain was coming. But, no, that wasn’t what Henri had in mind. Her neck bent under the gentle, but increasing pressure of his palm, until her cheek lay flat against the cool surface of his glass table. She didn’t resist, and she truly didn’t understand why.
“We push. We don’t pull,” he said. “In the end, we are not here to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Her head lay just in front of his cock, and its outline seemed to grow behind the cotton twill of his surgical scrubs. Samantha could only think of how easy it would be to use her teeth to pull at the string holding his pants in place. He stepped closer still, and his fingers began to massage her scalp even as his palm kept her head firmly in place.
She could feel her warm breath bouncing back from him into her face. For fun, she forced out a rounded sigh, emptying her lungs with a rush of hot air against him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to see his expression shift, hoping the heat on his balls would make him just a little crazy. Maybe as crazy as the reason she didn’t feel scared or threatened by the way he was pinning
her down.
If she’d had any effect on him, she wouldn’t have known it from the calm, emotionless way he gazed at her. Still, the way the skin on his forearm bloomed a parade of goosebumps marching up to his biceps gave her a sense of satisfaction that was practically euphoric. The grip he had on her hair tightened, if only for a brief moment, and then he let go.
She rose upright in her chair once again, and he picked up the pen. This time, he dangled it between his fingers, and she watched it sway back and forth like the metronome that had mocked her during years of piano lessons. She’d always hated that thing. Samantha grabbed the pen.
“Think of something good?” Henri asked. When he saw the confusion in her expression, he grinned a little. “To use as your safeword.”
She tapped the pen against her jaw a few times. “After this is all over, then what?”
“It’s up to you. You can go back to school, all reinvigorated having decided you’re finished playing the role of a submissive, or maybe you will realize that the game you’ve been playing all along was the one that put you in that classroom to begin with. Maybe you’ll discover this isn’t a game at all.” He shrugged lightly. “That part is up to you.”
His voice turned serious then, almost ominous. “For the near future, however, while you are in our care, every breath you pull through those pretty pink lips will be entirely my concern, and Paolo’s and Ivan’s…”
“And Oleg’s?”
“Oleg is a bit distracted at the moment.”
“He won’t be a part of this?”
“I do not make his decisions. If you want Oleg to be a part of this, you should ask.” He separated the last contract and pushed it toward her. “He’ll be at his office. You have the address.”
“Then I would have all of you?”
A smile appeared, entertained by her question. “Oh, baby, you have this all backward. We will have you.”
She wasn’t so sure about that but didn’t argue. There was no point in denying how she felt about the proposition. She’d looked for an adventure at Club Duval and landed a multi-pack deal with her in the center of all the action. She was intrigued to say the least.
She wrote something down in the place marked for her safeword.
“Objection.” Henri read the word aloud. He nodded, and what might have been a soft laugh escaped from his lips. “Fitting.”
Diligently, she printed the word again on the other two pieces of paper, but not the fourth.
She bit her lip. Oleg had practically run away from her, and she was supposed to just go over there and make a special request that he become her Dominant. The difficulty of that proposition must have shown on her face.
He pointed to the signature line. “That’s your first lesson. We will start with teaching you to ask for things, because it is very clear that you don’t know how.” He smiled. “And then we will teach you how to beg.”
Chapter 14
Walking with purpose, she left Henri’s apartment on a mission. She had a lot of questions, like why she was even doing this. The answer revealed itself, both simple and intangible. A very clear voice inside her head had told her to pick up that pen and agree to be their willing pupil, to cast caution and rationality and responsibility aside for the adventure. There was also another voice, soft yet admonishing, with sensible words of caution. This voice valiantly plotted to protect her from the sparks of dangerous temptation she’d felt in Oleg’s presence. It was drowned out by trapeze girl, who knew what she was getting into and could handle any of the consequences. That girl wasn’t about to be ignored. Not this time.
Paris provided a comfortable distance from New York. It was far enough away to forget everything about what she was supposed to be doing. It was foreign enough to become someone else entirely, even if it was only a temporary condition. Besides, Samantha Hunter was a common name. Even a google search revealed very little without the word “senator” included. She could step away and become whatever she wanted to be, and apparently, she wanted to try being owned by four men.
She stopped at the top of the steps and looked at another scribbled note ripped from an official hospital prescription pad. There Henri had given a diagnosis of vestibular disorder and a recommendation to limit movement and eye strain for one month. If she used it, she’d end up with an incomplete on her classes. At least she’d get some time to decide what the hell she actually wanted to do with her life. Law school wasn’t going anywhere.
The other piece of paper in her hand was much heavier, or so it seemed. Could she really ask Oleg to sign on after he’d made it so clear he wasn’t interested? She stared at it for a few heartbeats, trying to muster the confidence to make her way back to the bland storefront that Oleg called his office. She was descending the stairs when she heard voices from the floor below—Ivan and Paolo, her other two Masters. Instinctively, she froze, because just thinking of them as that was awkward as hell.
Creak. Goddamn prewar buildings.
Both of their faces turned up toward her. She was close enough to see creases at the corners of Paolo’s eyes take hold, along with his deep dimples. Ivan merely licked the bit of lip visible in his thick black beard.
“Hi,” she said. It was simply all she could think of.
A bright smile lit up Paolo’s face. He hadn’t been frowning, but the warm grin felt like the sun on her skin. Ivan’s expression hadn’t changed, and his icy gaze inspired a bit of a shiver. The contrast between them was striking.
“Ah…we were just speaking about you,” Paolo replied. “Do we have reason to celebrate tonight?”
“Is that how it starts?” she countered.
“And how it ends, but you will be entirely different by then,” Paolo said. He made it sound like a promise. “Henri has your signed contracts?”
“Yes.”
Paolo rubbed at an errant streak of red paint on his hand. “It’s good to have that out of the way. A necessary evil, you understand.”
Samantha stood up straight. “I’m clear on the rules of our arrangement.”
“You make it sound so sterile.” Paolo shook his head in disapproval. “Don’t let those contracts fool you.”
“Where are you going?” Ivan asked abruptly. His tone was almost accusatory, as if she might need his permission to leave. While Paolo’s full lips still curled playfully at the corner, Ivan’s square jaw locked, looking deadly serious.
She found her voice faltering. “I’m…going to see if Oleg wants to play too.”
A beat of silence passed before Paolo nodded. “One hour. Hurry back.”
“I’ll need to get some stuff from my apartment too.”
Ivan shook his neatly shaved head. “No. Your stuff stays where it is.”
“Samantha, you said that you were clear on the rules,” Paolo added.
She felt suddenly embarrassed, like she’d been caught unprepared for a test. That was certainly a familiar feeling lately. It was a reflex to shrug, and she hoped she convinced them she wasn’t mortified. It didn’t seem to matter to Paolo either way.
He smiled softly, his tone patient and gentle. “Sweet girl, you have nothing when you are in our care.” He stepped closer to her. “You are nothing unless we say that you are.” One last step, and his sternum grazed her breasts as he stood directly in front of her. “You do nothing unless we say you should.”
Why did that send a zing through her bones? Nothing made sense about any of this, and yet she was drawn in, seduced by the notion.
“Return with only the clothes you are wearing right now,” Paolo continued.
“You won’t need those either very soon,” Ivan added.
Paolo held out his hand, cocking his head to the side, letting his sand-colored hair fall into his eyes. “Give me your phone.”
“Come on, I need my phone,” she protested.
“Yes, you do. So that you can text us if you will be late returning.” He tapped several numbers into her contacts and then called himself. “And also so th
at we will know exactly where you are at all times.” He showed her the screen as a GPS locator app downloaded.
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Of course it is,” Ivan said. “It’s all extreme.” The glint in his blue eyes spoke to his desire to back that statement up.
Paolo handed the phone back to her when he was done. “Now go and get that last signature.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, the snark in her voice all kinds of intentional. Exactly why hadn’t Oleg signed like the rest of them? She definitely planned to find out.
*
Financial statements might bore some people to death, but Oleg always found solace in the distinct clarity of profit and loss. An investment was either worth it or it was not. When he’d finished advising the hopeful restaurateur about holding off on opening a second location, he felt a little less dirty. His clients still counted on him, and it was a good feeling, to be counted on for good. His responsibilities to his uncle would not take that from him. Some things he needed for himself.
The meeting ended with a handshake and a sincere thank you for his honesty. Now it was time to check on Adrian, his reluctant borrower. Since a few phone calls had gone unanswered, an in-person visit was the next move. He wasn’t accustomed to shoving money down someone’s throat, but if that was what it took, he’d get the guy to open nice and wide one way or another. Yes, there was a clear distinction. Some things he did because he wanted to, and some things he did because he had no choice. So far, there had always been a bright line of separation between the two.
*
Samantha had very little time to spare if she was going to get back to her new Masters in one hour. Two turns around the block, and she decided she’d have to double park if she had any chance of making it back. Standing outside his office in the freezing cold, it was soon obvious that no matter how long she knocked, he wasn’t going to magically appear to greet her. Shoulders slumped, she turned around, the lone folded paper in her hand flapping in the wind. Two more cars now boxed hers in.
“Hello, miss.” The greeting from the driver’s side window was cordial, even with the sneer on the man’s face.
Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1) Page 12
