All's Fair in Love and Mastery

by Sparrow Beckett

  Besides, he could tell she liked it long, and anything he could do to hold her interest at this point was worth the aggravation.

  He fell back onto his bed and threw his arm over his eyes trying to think of anything other than the haze of lust in Arabella’s gaze when he’d had her in his lap, pawing at her like a desperate virgin on prom night.

  How had he ever not noticed how gorgeous she was, back when they’d met? For the longest time she’d been firmly in his friend zone. He’d had no clue why other Dominants found her so thrilling. For the first couple of years, he’d basically thought of her as a dude with tits. They liked all the same shit. They thought along the same lines when it came to pretty much everything. But unlike some of the guys he used to hang out with, Arabella didn’t make fun of him if he expressed some sort of emotion or weakness—at least, not if it was about something serious. She never used that stuff against him.

  Grant had a type, damn it. Tall, blonde, nice rack, a brain between her ears, kinky. Those weren’t that hard to find when a guy owned a BDSM club. Women like Will’s fiancée, Juliet, were what he liked. Hot, but not super-hot-model hot. She took care of herself but wasn’t high maintenance. If Will hadn’t made it abundantly clear she was off-limits right from the beginning, Grant might have given him a run for his money.

  Except for the inconvenient fact that he’d already become wildly obsessed with Arabella Dexter before Juliet had even made her first appearance at the club.

  How on earth had people not caught on to what was going on between him and Arabella? How could they not know? Their chemistry was so ridiculously distracting he could barely get through an evening of coherent conversation at the club . . . and it had been like that for about a year now. The only one who seemed to have any clue was Varushka, their friend Konstantin’s wife. It was difficult to convince her that nothing was going on when she’d come across them kissing in a back hallway one night.

  Then again, Konstantin and Varushka weren’t around much anymore now that they had another kid to take care of.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his brain was still in overdrive. Sexy little Arabella was still at the club, only a short walk away, and his body had no intentions of letting him forget that.

  Groaning, he pushed himself up off his bed, needing to do something with all of his frustrated energy. Ignoring the low thrum of some heavy metal or punk song vibrating through the wall of the club, he flipped on his television and started his workout regimen for the third time that day. Sometimes it felt like working out was the only control he had over his life. Working out and tattoos.

  When he realized that push-ups seemed a lot like missionary, he did a plank and held it for a couple of minutes, but ended up thinking of having Arabella underneath him anyway.

  He would not masturbate to thoughts of the woman again.

  Not tonight.

  The worst part was knowing that all he had to do was call her and she’d be at his door in minutes. Or maybe he’d frustrated her enough that she’d chosen someone else to take the edge off this evening. The thought alone made him clench his teeth.

  He was sick and tired of watching her play with other men and needed to move the fuck on. Who she played with or had sex with was her own business. There was no agreement between them.

  However, no one else interested him. Not at all.

  He got up off the floor and grabbed his phone, hoping there’d be a text from her saying . . . something. The ball was in his court, though, and he knew that.

  She’d made it plain that the relationship he wanted from her wasn’t something he’d get. And it wasn’t because of who he was, or their relationship, or worrying about ruining their friendship. Apparently, it was because of something she refused to talk about, and it didn’t involve him at all. Something in her past with her previous Dominant. She’d slipped once and given him a first name—Nigel—but Grant had never heard of a Nigel in the area, so he must have been from out west.

  Arabella had probably moved east to get away from the guy, and whatever had happened, and she hadn’t dated much since.

  He hated that there were things about her he didn’t know. Especially since she knew almost everything about him, including the fact that he obsessed about her.

  Maybe he needed counselling. But what would a counsellor say? That he had a complicated relationship with women because of his mother leaving and his stepmother never liking him? That he only wanted Arabella because she was unattainable? That he was being an ass for lurking around, trying to win her heart, or at least put a collar around her pretty throat?

  Whatever.

  Ugh.

  What-fucking-ever.

  These four walls were his life outside of the club. Well, one of the walls was shared with the club but that seemed somehow fitting. Nothing was actually his. Not the business, not his apartment, and definitely not Arabella.

  Suddenly sick of being inside, he put his phone down and stepped out of his bachelor’s apartment to the club’s back parking lot.

  Someday he wanted a place to go where there was fresh air and trees. Maybe a fucking lawn. He used to spend time at Will’s place but it wasn’t as comfortable now that he had a baby and almost a wife. He felt like an interloper where before he’d been more like a houseguest or maybe a squatter with his own key, who’d come and gone as he pleased. Now he felt like he had to call before he showed up.

  He didn’t begrudge Will the happiness he’d found, but he felt adrift again. Even at the club he felt alone and sort of irrelevant to everyone around him.

  In the dark, he found the finger- and toeholds that had become so familiar to him over the past years and climbed up the side of the building by feel in the dark shadowy corner where the parking lot lights didn’t reach on the other side of his apartment. The climb always made his muscles burn in a way he welcomed. It made him feel alive.

  One day maybe his foot would slip and he’d fall and smash his fool head on the pavement. A couple people might even be sad about it.

  When he pulled himself onto the roof, he was glad to find it empty. Sometimes Will brought Juliet up here when he was being romantic, and that was the last thing he needed to walk in on right now.

  Grant only came here to think. Hanging out on the roof in the dark always made him feel a little silly—as if he thought he was Batman or something. The industrial park the club was located in was quiet and unchallenging as Gothams went, but it was all he had to work with. Some days, though, he wasn’t sure if he was the hero or the villain. Maybe he was just a half-drawn background character and didn’t have his own comic at all.

  He paced the roof, enjoying the brisk breeze and the way the cool air bit at his cheeks and fingers. Being indoors as much as he was from day to day dragged him down.

  In his other life—back in boarding school and summer camp—he’d been relatively athletic. Not a jock by any stretch of the imagination, but outdoorsy. Now, even going for a hike meant having to drive almost an hour to get anywhere worth seeing. It wasn’t that he had anything against the city—far from it. He liked the variety available to him here, but he also felt like he was missing something important. Like his life had become soulless. It had been easier to ignore that feeling when he’d had Will and Arabella to fill up his empty days.

  Now his life was . . . quiet. Not peaceful. Just empty.

  It wasn’t anyone else’s fault.

  He was happy Will had found his Juliet.

  He understood that he wasn’t what Arabella wanted.

  For years, though, he’d leaned on them, not realizing they were his entire world until they were gone.

  Now, he felt more lost and alone than he’d ever been in his life. Although their evil step-monster, Kim, had taught him how insignificant he was early on in life, he’d always had his brother, and then they’d had Arabella and Bethany. For a while he’d believ
ed Kim was wrong—that she’d been a spiteful, bitter woman who hadn’t wanted to deal with an unruly stepchild. He’d been deluding himself though.

  She’d been right about him all along. He wasn’t the kind of person people loved.

  * * *

  * * *

  They probably shouldn’t have been drinking at the tailor’s. However, Richard and Genevieve, the elderly owners of the shop, had shown up the first night the club had opened, excited to finally have a place to go in the area. They’d been regulars ever since, and were well-respected in the kink community, not to mention good at their work, so of course Will and his side of the wedding party were getting fitted there.

  Maybe having a bachelor party at the tailor’s was a little weird, but everyone was so busy that multitasking had seemed like a good idea.

  “I’m referring to this as the royal wedding, by the way,” Tarka teased, lounging back against one of the overstuffed couch backs. “I never thought I’d see the day where one of the Kings of Catacombs got married.” He shook his head, then took a swig from his flask and handed it to Grant.

  “I never would have pictured you going all-out vanilla for anything, let alone a wedding,” Konstantin teased, looking more sleepy than satanic tonight. The exhausted lines around his eyes were probably the effect of having two babies rather than a result of drinking.

  “Dude, didn’t you get married in a church in Russia?” Will asked innocently. “I seem to recall your lovely wife showing me the pictures the last time I took Beau to your place for a playdate. You wore a fancy suit and everything. There’s photographic evidence.”

  Konstantin shrugged helplessly. “It was a shotgun wedding so I didn’t get a lot of say over the arrangements. After corrupting their lovely daughter and putting my hellspawn in her belly, agreeing to a traditional wedding seemed only fair. Besides, it was the only way they’d let me keep her.”

  “How did I end up with so many evil bastards in my wedding party?” Will asked, and they all laughed.

  “Sketchy life choices?” Arabella suggested, holding still while the elderly tailor hemmed the trousers of her custom tuxedo. Grant had been doing his best to ignore her presence, but every few minutes his gaze would stop obeying him and drift back to wherever she was in the shop. It was impossible not to watch her when she was in the same room.

  “What other kinds of life choices are there worth making?” Richard, the tailor, asked. “Sketchy life choices make for the best stories.” He waggled his shaggy eyebrows.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence on the younger generation?” Tarka asked innocently.

  “If you’re looking for moral guidance, you’re in the wrong shop, Tak,” the tailor replied, snickering. It was true. The older man was a dirty old bastard, which was why they loved him. His woman was just as bad.

  Will took a swig from his own flask, narrowing bleary eyes at Konstantin. “I still can’t believe you corrupted poor little Varushka. She was so sweet and innocent when you first started bringing her by.”

  The Russian shrugged nonchalantly, but his dark eyes gleamed with a hint of their usual wickedness. “We should probably never tell our children that none of them were conceived in a bed.”

  “I’m sure as they get older they’ll piece that together for themselves,” Tak pointed out.

  “Good thing Banner’s wife is a therapist.” Kon laughed. “My kids are going to put their hypothetical kids through college.”

  “Not conceived in a bed. Pfft. You call that kinky?” Will rolled his eyes, sitting down beside Konstantin and throwing an arm around his neck. “I’m so kinky I wasn’t even there when my kid was conceived.”

  “Oh boo. Hiss.” Arabella glared at Will over her shoulder and almost caught Grant staring longingly at her heart-shaped ass. “Someone throw something at that man. I can’t get over there to kick him in the shins right now.”

  She looked adorable in the black tux pants, with the black-button down shirt and the suspenders—like a badass little mob boss with blue and purple hair. Unable to resist, he fantasized about unbuttoning a few buttons of her shirt, just until he could see the swell of her breasts. Was she wearing a bra? He was guessing she was, considering they were there for a fitting, but with Dex there was just no knowing unless a person checked. Although sometimes her nipple piercings made themselves known if the shirt was tight enough . . .

  “Hey, I’m allowed to make jokes about my own life even if you don’t like it,” Will shot back. “Besides, no matter how unconventionally she was conceived, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Just don’t tell Juliet.”

  Grant snorted and took another drink from Tak’s flask—his own was empty—savoring the bite of whiskey. He liked to drink, which was why he seldom let himself do it.

  “Oh, I think your wife-to-be is well aware she’s your second love,” Grant assured him. “Besides, she said the same thing about you last week when I was over there for supper. She loves Beau more than she loves you. I just didn’t have the heart to tell you so close to the wedding.”

  They all laughed again, and Dex’s smile trapped his gaze for a moment before he could bring himself to look away. She always had such a mischievous smile. It made Dominants burn to know what she was up to, or what she was thinking. Lately, every smile she sent his way made him want to turn her over his knee and spank her. Little monster.

  “Ah, babies.” Konstantin sighed. “They steal your heart and your sleep. What can you do?”

  “What can you do?” Tarka laughed. “In your case I might recommend staying off your wife for five minutes. You do realize you don’t have to keep her continuously pregnant. There’s no breeding competition.”

  “She keeps telling me it’s my husbandly duty,” Konstantin said innocently. “Who am I to argue?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t want to be a neglectful husband,” Will agreed. “Contraceptives would be my next suggestion, but I know Varushka better than that. She won’t be content until you have at least ten kids.”

  Konstantin rubbed a hand over his face. “I hope that number is a combination of children and goats. She’s up to six goats, so that would mean just one more baby, after the bun she’s baking right now.”

  “You hope, but we all know who’ll have the final word there.” Richard said, after he pulled the pins from between his lips. “My brother thinks because Genevieve is my submissive it leaves me in charge of all of the decision-making. He doesn’t understand that when a Dominant’s in love he’ll do almost anything to make his submissive happy. The woman wants babies? Give her babies. It’s not like you can’t afford them.”

  By the time the fitting was finished, Grant was feeling no pain.

  They poured out of Richard’s shop into the cool night air. In the dim illumination from the streetlights, Will’s half of the wedding party looked like a bunch of hooligans, all in crappy T-shirts and jeans. Well, they looked like a group of hooligans with a small, adorable mascot.

  Arabella leaned into Tarka’s one-armed shoulder hug, and settled against his side.

  “How can you be cold, woman?” Tak asked her, chafing her bare arm with one of his big hands.

  “I guess I should have worn a jacket, but it was so warm out when we got here it hadn’t crossed my mind. Besides I’m not feeling the cold at all.”

  “That’s because you’re topped up with whiskey, Dex,” Kon reminded her, shaking his almost-empty flask.

  Grant fought down the urge to shove Tarka away from Arabella and warm her up himself.

  “My cab is going to be here any minute now. You want a lift home?” Tak asked her solicitously, shooting Grant a sly smile.

  The nosy bastard seemed to suspect something was going on between them and had been prodding at them both to see what he could find out.

  “I think I’m going to walk back to Catacombs with Will, but thanks for the off
er.”

  Will frowned. “I thought we’d be done a lot earlier than this. I need to get home.”

  Grant scowled at Will, feeling like this whole night had been lackluster at best. As his best man, Grant should have organized a real bachelor party for him, but his brother hadn’t wanted a huge party with strippers and all that shit. Instead, they’d gone out for dinner and then to the last fitting for their tuxes.

  Not exactly the kind of epic send-off a brother like Will deserved.

  He’d done everything for Grant over the years—tried to keep him safe and fed, and actually finished raising him. He’d taken the place of the family they should have had. No party would be enough to convey all the gratitude Grant felt toward him.

  Will dragged Grant aside and gripped his shoulders, as though he was still a kid and a head shorter. His brother smelled like a combination of whiskey, vodka, and Juliet’s brand of fabric softener. “I know you wanted this to be a big blowout, but I’m not going anywhere,” Will said, as though reading his thoughts. “Nothing much is going to change. I added a few people to our family, but that doesn’t change things between you and me.”

  That wasn’t true, but it was probably how Will saw things. It was hard to see the people left behind when you were the one moving on. Well, he appreciated the sentiment, even if Will was wrong.

  His brother hugged him and, uncharacteristically, didn’t even try to get him in a headlock.

  “You’re so drunk,” Grant accused.

  “I may be drunk, but it’s just making me more honest.”