All's Fair in Love and Mastery

by Sparrow Beckett

  Grant hadn’t talked to Arabella since the wedding almost two weeks before, except for a few meaningless texts and some meme shares.

  Burn.

  She so wasn’t interested in him.

  Maybe he should have called first. Although she’d made it clear that he was welcome at her place anytime, he had a moment of panic. What if she was . . . entertaining?

  If she came to the door with a man trailing behind her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pretend he didn’t care.

  Although it felt like a strange formality between them, he rang the doorbell. He never rang her doorbell any more than she knocked at his place before sauntering in.

  Funny how old habits died hard. He was angry at her and hated her some days, but then something important would happen or he’d get upset, and the first thing he would think was that he needed to talk to her. He didn’t want her to be one of the most important people in his life anymore, but somehow she was still his person when shit went down.

  The door swung open and there she was, purple and blue hair tousled from sleep, her brown eyes wide and curious. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, which was more than she’d been wearing when she’d last come to his office, but somehow seeing her in her sleep clothes felt more intimate. By the pore cleaning strip stuck to the bridge of her nose, he could tell she didn’t have a visitor, after all. She blinked up at him with her sleepy eyes and he felt his cock twitch in response.

  Ridiculous.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, doorknob?” she asked sardonically. “If you’ve come to apologize for the surprise anal the other night, you could have waited until morning instead of waking me up and being an even bigger jerk.” She glared up at him balefully and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

  “You’re always so grumpy when you wake up.”

  “Not under certain, more pleasant circumstances, but you’ve already been pretty clear you won’t supply me with orgasms upon request.” She sounded more tired than hopeful.

  “I guess this could have waited until morning,” he admitted. “I just needed to talk to someone and you’re the only person I have.”

  “I guess Will wouldn’t appreciate you waking him up at this time of night.”

  Grant shrugged. “I wouldn’t have called him about this anyway. He would automatically say it was stupid. I need an objective opinion.”

  “How objective you think I’m going to be at four a.m. when I have to work today?”

  Groaning at his own thoughtlessness, Grant glanced down in shame, then realized he was checking out the bumps of her nipple piercings under the thin T-shirt she wore.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, yanking his gaze back up to her face, wondering how he’d looked away in the first place. She was so adorable when she was sleepy. “I just had an idea and got excited. I wasn’t thinking of the time.”

  Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed the strip on her nose. She grunted in disgust and yanked the thing off, wincing after she realized what she’d done.

  “Can you tell I fell asleep on the couch? Pretty glamorous.” She stepped back and gestured him in.

  He held up his hands. “No, no. This was stupid. I’m sorry for bothering you on a morning you have to work. If you fall into a vat of stout and drown because you’re exhausted I’ll never forgive myself.”

  She rolled her eyes and jokingly kicked his shin with her bare toes.

  “Get the fuck in the house, fuckface. You’re going to get me kicked out of the homeowners’ association.”

  “There’s a homeowners’ association here?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t remember that from the real estate contract, and I was there when you signed it.”

  “That’s because the real estate agents didn’t know about Jerry next door and his dog, Otis.”

  Grant whistled. “See? If you would have gotten a dog like I told you to, you’d be one of the cool kids around here.”

  “And I told you I work too much to have a dog. If you want a dog, you get a dog.”

  “I did suggest that at one point, but you said no.”

  “As I recall, your plan was to get a dog and keep it at my house. That would still be me getting a dog except in that scenario you would get to pick the dog. For some strange reason, that seems lose/lose to me.”

  “Well, obviously I’d come over whenever it needed to go out.”

  “How is that going to work? The club is almost an hour’s drive from my house even at the best of times.”

  He sighed, leading the way into the great room. “You’d need to let me live in your pool house, of course.”

  “I don’t have a pool house, or even a pool, dipshit.”

  He followed her inside, enjoying this conversation far too much to leave now.

  “Obviously, the first part of the plan would be for you to get a pool installed, and then build a pool house for me to live in.”

  She frowned at him and punched him in the chest. “Your imaginary dog is already costing me an imaginary fortune.”

  “The upside is that imaginary dogs aren’t big eaters. You’re already saving a fortune on dog food.”

  She sprawled on one of the couches, pulling a fuzzy throw over her lap. He sank onto the couch opposite her.

  “Stop being a goof and tell me why you’ve woken me up in the wee hours of this fine . . . Tuesday morning. Wait—is this Tuesday or Wednesday?”

  If she was looking to him to verify the day of the week she was out of luck. He had no idea.

  “You’d need to check your phone because I have no idea,” he admitted. “But hey, remember when I was talking to you about starting my own business?”

  “Yeah. I remember,” she grumbled. “I haven’t taken a blow to the head recently.”

  “I thought I’d check,” he said, because it was too much fun teasing her when she was grumpy and half asleep. “You’re pretty annoying, so I can only imagine how often you get smacked.”

  “Usually it’s not in the head. My ass doesn’t need to remember much.”

  “If your ass remembered more, maybe you’d get into less trouble.”

  “Men like women who are trouble.”

  Well . . . true, but entirely besides the point.

  She glared at him and made a “get on with it” gesture. “So what’s your brilliant idea?”

  “Well, last night I was thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. I went online and started shopping for real estate, then I found this huge fishing lodge on a private island and . . . I put an offer in. They accepted.”

  It was ridiculous. Years of living like he’d taken a vow of poverty, trying his damnedest to save every penny in case the club went under, and one real estate ad with pretty pictures had turned his head. He’d blown pretty much his entire life’s savings.

  “You bought a tropical island?” Dex asked, sounding skeptical.

  “No, no. It’s up north. In Canada.”

  Dex raised her brows but said nothing for a long moment, probably trying not to hurt his feelings. He knew it was stupid, but she was always so supportive. “So you’re going to run a . . . fishing lodge? I didn’t even know you liked fishing.”

  Maybe he’d jumped into things too fast. Arabella was a shrewd businesswoman and he would have stopped to ask her for her opinion before he bought the place, but there hadn’t been time—there’d been a bidding war, and adrenaline had taken over . . .

  Too late now.

  “I guess people could fish there if they wanted to, but I’d been thinking of what you said at the wedding about wishing you could go on a kink vacation. I’m going to turn the place into a fly-in BDSM lodge.”

  Her brows rose even higher, almost touching her hairline. “A private island.”

  “Yes, in the middle of nowhere. The club is great, but wouldn’t people love goi
ng somewhere they could stay for a weekend or even a week? Two? Rooms with private bathrooms, catered meals, common areas where people could interact. It’s all pretty new and high end, but built to feel rustic. People could even move things outside if they want.”

  “Like fancyass sleepaway camp for kinky adults.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  She tapped one of her dainty fingers to her lips. “You thinking campfires, s’mores, and sing-alongs? Branding, food play, and . . . bad karaoke?”

  He grimaced. After that comment, obviously she thought the idea was stupid. Damn. Considering the competition he’d had to buy the place, he could probably sell it again without much trouble, but this was the first time he’d been excited about anything other than Arabella for ages. He wanted to at least try to make a go of things.

  “A sing-along might appeal to the age play crowd, but it wouldn’t be an organized activity or anything.”

  She laughed delightedly and he sighed to himself, wishing he could go back to the days where she would have thought nothing of putting her head in his lap and demanding he play with her hair.

  Looking thoughtful, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He gazed around, pleased to see the house was only getting more Arabella the longer she owned it. The place had been all upscale and cookie-cutter when he’d helped her move in, but she’d gradually made it her own.

  “It’s kind of a bizarre idea, but who knows? It could do well.” She paused for a long moment. “Although I doubt anyone’s going to want naked time outside in the Canadian wilderness unless they’re covered in bug spray.”

  “I’m sure the bugs die down at certain times of day or during certain seasons,” he said with more conviction than he felt. Oh well, it was too late now. He’d already bought the place.

  “Maybe there’s an edible bug spray we’re unaware of.”

  They both started to laugh. He hated that things between them weren’t like this all the time anymore, and hated even more that it was his fault.

  “So why come to me?” she finally asked after they’d stared at each other for far too long. It was those long looks that he kept misinterpreting.

  He knew she loved him—as a friend—and that she was sexually attracted to him, but her refusal to enter into a serious power exchange relationship was impossibly frustrating. She had explained it wasn’t about him, but who ever believed that? Maybe he was too intense and scaring her off? Or maybe it was legitimately something about the ex she never talked about.

  “I’m telling you first because you’re my best friend, bitchface.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So are you going to ask me to go check the place out with you, or are you going alone? I’m assuming you’re not taking Will with you, considering this was supposed to be about making space for yourself.”

  “Will hated summer camp, so he’s going to think this is the most fucked-up idea he’s ever heard.”

  “It is pretty out there. I mean, you’ll have to find people with disposable income who can afford to fly in, but not people who are too fancy. I’m assuming it’s not like the swanky old hotel the Fitte guys own.”

  “Right.” He gritted his teeth, trying to banish the visual of her at the mercy of the three strapping Norwegians. She’d played with them several times, he knew. There were some things he just couldn’t compete with.

  “If you market it right I don’t see any reason why it won’t make money.” She chewed at her bottom lip and began to nod to herself. “I know people who’d love a vacation like this. Hell, I’d love a vacation like this. I’d choose a kink lodge—even if it is up north—rather than some all-inclusive in Mexico. Being able to be yourself and not having to worry about people complaining to the hotel manager? Or the cops? Shut up and take my money.”

  “So will you come with me to check it out?”

  “Wouldn’t fucking miss it.”

  For a moment all he could do was grin at her. One of the bonuses of buying the place had been to get away from her and get her out of his head. Now, instead, he was looking forward to getting her alone there for a few days. Maybe it would give him time to seduce her and finally sneak a collar around her pretty throat.

  All’s fair in love and mastery.

  As soon as he thought it, he felt like a fucking douchenozzle.

  Get a grip, asshole. This is Arabella, not some sort of Viking conquest.

  He should count himself lucky she was agreeing to go at all. They’d go as friends and he wouldn’t push the envelope. He could be such a fucking bastard sometimes. Machiavellian. It was hard to stop himself.

  Wait a minute.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Is that my shirt?”

  She looked down at herself and shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone have a Catacombs shirt?”

  “Probably most of the people we know, but if you look closely the one you’re wearing says Grant on the sleeve.”

  “Oh, is that your name? I just assumed someone granted me this T-shirt.”

  “I haven’t seen it since before the reno.”

  Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief. “It wasn’t doing you much good hanging off the back of your chair. One of the baby Doms cut my shirt off during a scene. It was a little unplanned and I needed something to go home in.” She smiled coquettishly. “But by all means, if you want it back feel free to come over here and see if you can take it.”

  An answering growl rolled in his chest. He didn’t even care about the shirt. He would have given her the thing if she’d asked. Hell, he didn’t even care if she went through his office and stole everything he owned. They were that close—or had been at one time. It was the bratting that she never used to direct at him that he couldn’t handle. When she’d done it to other men, back in the day, he’d thought it was hilarious, but now that he’d had her and knew it was like having all of that teasing energy directed at him it was like a drug.

  He imagined shoving her back hard against the couch and ripping the fucking shirt off her sweet little body. His lip curled with the ferocity of his reaction to her and the satisfied gleam in her eyes only upped the ante.

  This was exactly why they’d stopped hanging out. He couldn’t control himself around her when she got like this, and he’d be damned if she thought he was willing to be another mutt sniffing around the bitch in heat. He wanted her to be his bitch. He wasn’t willing to share.

  “So I can keep the shirt?” she asked with feigned innocence. The finger that had been twirling her hair drifted downward, skimming the shirt from the collar to her breast. Her nipple was hard and as she flicked it, her expression amused, his cock stood at attention.

  His dick had always been a bit of a joiner.

  He pushed to his feet, trying to turn his expression cold, but he had a feeling he wasn’t that good of an actor.

  “Sure, you can keep it. Actually, wear it to the club. I’d be only too happy for you to walk in there labeled as mine. You were the one who didn’t like that idea.”

  She frowned at him and rose, stripping off the shirt in a long fluid motion that showed off her body to delicious advantage. How had he ever thought she was plain? Her tomboyish taste in clothing and penchant for lewd jokes, swearing, and discussing her sexual exploits had been like an elaborate smoke screen that had kept him entirely unaware of her appeal.

  Brows lowered, she balled the shirt up and threw it at him. He managed to catch it despite the distracting way the motion made her tits jiggle. Now, in only a small pair of boy short panties—black with orange jack-o’-lanterns even though it was months away from Halloween, she looked like a model from a goth porn site.

  God, she was hot.

  Sometimes when a man played with fire, he got what he wanted, at least temporarily. That would be enough for most men, but Grant had a life goal that didn’t include being Arabella Dexter’s fuck toy.r />
  “You’re welcome to borrow anything I own any time, but when you’re done with it I expect you to return it,” he said, pretending he wasn’t contemplating dragging the fiery little hellion up to her bedroom.

  She narrowed her eyes, and he realized something he’d said had pissed her off but he was too lust-addled to figure out what.

  “See? You do understand the concept. You’re welcome to borrow my body and my mind anytime you like, Master Grant, as long as you promise to return them when you’re done.” She cupped the underside of her breast and caught her nipple between her fingers. “I belong only to me and I’m not interested in letting anyone else own what’s mine.”

  He was so busy gawking at what she was doing with her nipple that it took a long, long moment for him to realize she was waving him toward the door. The little bitch was smirking. He growled some sort of swear at her and stalked to the door, grabbing the handle before turning back.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m going to the island.”

  She inclined her head, regal as a fucking empress. If he didn’t know how damned submissive she got when he did her just right, he never would have believed she had it in her to submit.

  Frustrating, frustrating woman.

  She smiled sweetly. “I’ll try to make sure I don’t pack too many of your T-shirts for the trip. You seem to find me wearing them distracting.” Turning, she supplied him with a tantalizing view of her deliciously rounded ass as she sauntered away, leaving him to let himself out.

  Chapter Seven

  Dex chewed the end of her pen in sexual frustration as she tried to focus on the information in front of her. It was one of the most exciting opportunities they’d had so far at Evil Pixie Brewing Company. Andromeda had made a deal to take over a series of beer gardens in different cities throughout the summer after the original brewer had backed out due to family issues.

  Dex tried to concentrate on the stack of paper in front of her, but all she could do was ruminate about the lust in Grant’s gaze early that morning when she’d taken off his shirt and thrown it at him.