"Yeah," I said and rolled my eyes. We were such punks back in the day.
The house had real Southern charm with a wraparound porch on the first and second floor. It had huge white columns, four of them, that obscured the front of the house. We use to joke that if one of those columns fell, the whole house would collapse. The slaves built it that way to conspire to kill their Master.
I told you we are stupid.
"She wants us to tear it down. She's selling the property."
"Why's she tearing it down? Why doesn't she sell it as is?"
"It was the first home she lived in with Mr. Davenport, but it doesn't hold good memories. She held on to it because she figured her kids would want it."
"Have you been in it?" I flipped through the photos of the place. "It might have some wood I can salvage."
"The lot’s not huge, but the house is too big for it. She doesn't think anyone would buy it anyway."
I handed the photos back.
"Let's go take a look."
We arrived at the place ten minutes later. It looked tired. It sagged on its foundation, barely able to hold itself up.
I stood in front of the house while Seth finished a phone call. There were a few trees in the front yard, but the house sat back on the lot, further back than the rest of the houses on the street. I walked around to the side; the driveway entrance was on the side street, ideal for this neighborhood, no maneuvering the alley. I closed my eyes, and a vision of my dream house popped in my head.
The modern structure the exact opposite of the house sitting here now. A combination of Justin's signature style along with my woodwork would make for an awesome modern place, but not too far off to stand out in the old neighborhood.
I look up and see Brooklyn working in her office on the second floor. Oblivious that the angle allowed me to peek up her skirt. I enter my workroom and take a seat at my desk, working on a sketch. I feel Brooklyn's gaze on the back of my neck as she stands at the top of the stairs. I command her to come to me, to kneel in front of me. Her hands rub my cock through my jeans. She unzips me, and the sound solicits a grunt. She pulls me out and wraps her lips around the head. She works hard to distract me, her head bobbing up and down on my cock. I pretend not to notice, but no way could I concentrate on anything else besides her pretty lips wrapped around me. At one point, I would abandon my work, grab her face, and fuck it until I unloaded—
"Dude, you coming?" Seth asked from the front porch.
"What?" I narrowed my eyes.
"What's wrong with you? You coming in the house?" Seth held his hands out.
"Oh, yeah."
I shook the image out of my head, adjusted myself, and followed him.
The smell of dead critters and mildew assaulted my nose when we stepped inside. The wood floors were in good shape, but the baseboards and molding around the doors had rotted. It was a solid build, but nothing could withstand twenty years of neglect.
We made a list of what we could salvage, use, and sell. We created a proposal for Mrs. Davenport to knock it all down.
Not that we needed to—she would have us take care of it anyway, but she preferred things official with contracts and invoices. I'd done work for her before and always gave her a discount, but she would pay the original price every time. She had more money than she could ever spend.
As we surveyed the perimeter of the house, my vision of what could be wasn't far from my mind.
I stopped in the back. A huge oak tree with full branches shaded half the backyard.
"I'm going to buy the lot," I said.
Seth spun around so fast that he almost slipped into the pool.
"What?"
"Yeah. I'm going to buy it. Build that house Justin and I designed."
"Why?" Seth scrunched his face.
I laughed.
"Because I want that house, and I'm tired of living in a warehouse." I nodded.
"Dude, but the chicks love your place. They get visions of you dry humping your work bench to ‘My Pony’ and then humping them next." Seth gyrated his hips.
"As much as I love fulfilling woman's Magic Mike fantasies"—I shook my head—"I'm getting too old for it. It's time to settle down."
"With a particular someone?" Seth asked.
My jaw tensed.
"Okay, okay, I won't mention it again." Seth backed away.
He jumped up on the back porch and walked into the house.
"I'm just saying," Seth sang out. "The timing is awfully convenient."
I shoved him, and he stumbled into the house.
Seth giggled and scooted out the front and down the porch steps.
He was lucky I didn't throw him off those steps.
I took one last look at the property before getting into my car. I never thought about a house, a place of my own. I also never thought I would live in Highland Park, but something about this old neighborhood got in my gut somehow.
It wouldn't be with Brooklyn, but someday, I wanted it—wife, kids, the whole thing—and we needed someplace to live.
My father would be pleased. My family lived a few streets over. We had our issues, but I liked the idea of being close to them, my kids growing up near their grandparents. I had a fourteen-year-old little brother, and I could never bring him to my place. It was time for me to grow the fuck up.
I scrolled through my phone and found the number.
"Hello." His gruff voice sounded happy to hear from me.
I smiled despite myself.
"Hey, Dad. So I was thinking about buying some property in Highland Park? You at your office?"
"Yeah, stop by," he said, not bothering to hide the joy in his voice.
"I'll see you soon."
Twelve
Harrison
I sat perched on a barstool and nursed a beer. I avoided eye contact with every available sub in the place. Crush was my escape from everyday life, a place where I could be myself. Now, it reminded me more and more of what I wanted yet couldn't have.
My dad was ecstatic about my responsible purchase. He threw in a, Looks like my son is finally growing up. He asked me what brought this on, but I didn't tell him. I was excited, too, but it was dampened.
I laid a ten on the counter and gave Jimmy, the bartender, a salute as I downed the rest of my beer. I took two steps towards the exit but stopped.
I spotted Brooklyn near the entrance.
She stood in front of the elevator. She wore a skintight V-neck t-shirt with a black laced bra that showed off her cleavage. Her short, pleated skirt barely covered her ass. She wore tall black heels. Not quite schoolgirl, but sexy as hell.
She stood stock-still but searched the place, wringing her hands in the process. She was upset, fidgety, more than usual.
I knew the look.
She needed something.
She needed me.
I came up behind her.
She gasped and shivered.
All the little hairs on my arms stood at attention.
She turned toward me, with her eyes cast down.
I lifted her chin and searched her eyes. They were sad and frustrated.
She was an addict afraid to ask for another hit—out of shame or guilt, I wasn't sure—but I did know I wanted to give it to her. With all she had told me and the natural bond we shared, I knew I could do this for her and keep her safe.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
Her body absorbed my words with a shudder.
"Yes," she whispered.
I ran my hand down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her arm until I clasped her wrist. I headed toward the private rooms and pulled her along with me.
When we reached the door, I opened it and released my hold on Brooklyn. I wanted her to walk in on her own. Once in the room, I was in control, and she knew it.
I knew what I wanted from her. I wanted her to be my sub. One hundred percent devoted to me. It wasn't reality, but I didn't care. I was selfish. As her Dom, I would be responsible for her needs,
her wants, and her desires. As her Dom, I knew that wasn't what she needed right now.
She walked into the room. Her body visibly relaxed at the sight of the spanking bench in the center. She stood a few feet away and waited for my instructions.
"Take off your shoes." She stepped out of them.
I kicked them to the side.
"Bend over the bench. I'm going to restrain your arms at the wrist but not your legs. I'm going to spank you until you let go of what's causing you so much pain."
Her eyes teared up, and she blinked the tears away.
"What's your safe word?" I asked as I stood behind her. I couldn't look into her eyes.
"Um." She wavered on her feet.
I gripped the back of her neck.
She yelped.
"What's your safe word, Brooklyn?" I asked in a firm Dom tone.
"Biscuit."
I blinked.
"You say biscuit, and I stop." I stepped in front of her. "You understand?"
"Yes."
"Brooklyn," I whispered, giving her one opportunity to tell me to stop. I wanted her to tell me this wasn't what she came her for.
She bit her lip and gave me a little smile; her eyes pleaded with me to continue.
"Lie on the bench." She hesitated for a moment but complied.
She gripped the front of the bench, pressed her fingers into the leather, and slid her hands down the length. She situated her body over it.
Her legs spread. She stood with her feet flat on the floor outside the legs of the bench. Her hands came to the other edge.
I squatted down and took one of her hands and kissed it.
Her head turned, and she glared at me. Her face softened a second later. It wasn't a passionate kiss; it was to reassure her that I had her.
I did the same before securing the other one.
She pulled back on the restraints and lowered her cheek to the bench.
I walked around her a few times. I stopped behind her. I could spank her over her skirt, but it wouldn't have the same effect. She needed flesh on flesh. Besides, I wasn't sure how long it had been since she had been spanked properly, if ever.
I flipped up her skirt in one swift motion.
Her throat hitched.
I couldn't help it; I took a moment and stared, appreciated the beautiful specimen of a woman bent over and ready for me. My cock strained against my jeans. This scene was going to push me.
I preached how much satisfaction I garnered from separating the Dom/sub relationship from a purely sexual encounter. Like I was more powerful than all the Doms I knew because they indulged in control of a sexual nature to get off themselves. I was more evolved, more in control, more self-aware.
I am fucking full of shit.
I ran my hand over Brooklyn's bare ass.
She whimpered from the contact. She wore a thong; no other barrier between what she needed and what I could give her.
I placed my other hand under her t-shirt over the small of her back and pressed down.
She sighed.
I pulled my hand back, and it came down on her beautiful ass with a whack.
Time stood still until the most amazing moan came from her lips.
I stifled my own as I spanked her again, this time on the other cheek. I'd never done a scene with a woman with her skin tone. I was curious as to how the skin would appear. I spanked her a few more times in quick succession.
Pride consumed me as her sexy moans continued, and a pinkish tinge appeared on her ass. I gave her a few more smacks, careful not to hit the same spot again.
When she went quiet, when she stopped squirming, when she was at peace, I stopped. I stepped to the side and watched her.
Her eyes were closed, and her face soft and calm. Her fingers curled over the front of the bench. She wasn't resisting at all; she was in peace.
She was in subspace.
I untied her wrist.
I ran my hand down her back, and she bowed and stretched like a cat and settled back. I ran my hands over her bare skin up her thigh and over her ass and down the other side. She pushed her ass into the air.
She was wet. I spotted her swollen pussy through the sheer thong. The intoxicating smell hit me, and I was lost.
I wanted to taste her, have her juices coating my tongue. My cock ached. My mind imagined what it would feel like, buried deep into her for eternity.
I ran my hand between her legs. Her wetness had dripped down her thigh, and now, I had it on my hand. I didn't notice Brooklyn had moved.
She reached back and grabbed my other hand on her hip.
"Harrison, please," she said.
It was all the encouragement I needed. I snaked my finger inside her thong and pulled it to the side.
She collapsed back down on the bench but held my hand tight.
I ran two fingers between her folds. They were coated with her essence.
She ground against my fingers for more contact.
I withdrew them and was met with another sexy whimper.
"Don't move," I commanded.
She settled back down.
I touched her again.
The tension in her body went away as she resisted moving.
I took my time exploring her pussy. I squeezed her lips and circled her entrance before sliding my fingertips over her clit.
She flinched and moaned.
I allowed it.
I teased her by rubbing all around her clit, up and down her folds, making her guess and anticipate what I would do next. This small amount of female surface area held so many options and opportunities to please a woman. I was in awe and having the time of my life watching her react to my touch.
When she tightened her grip on our clasped hands, I knew she was close.
I withdrew my hand.
She cried out.
I made her suffer for a few seconds before I took two fingers and plunged them deep into her pussy. The sudden intrusion caused her to contract around my fingers. She was so wet and so tight. I pushed my fingers in and out of her hard and fast. I made sure to press down on her g-spot. My strong and nimble fingers offered her so much pleasure, her knees buckled.
I withdrew my fingers and slapped her ass, making sure my fingers tickled her pussy when my hand landed. By the sound of her moans, it awoke a whole new set of sensations in her body.
Her moans came out more of a pleading.
Not to stop, but to end her torture.
I listened to her body and was completely in tune with what it needed, what she needed.
I slapped her again, and her body stiffened. I plunged my fingers inside her, pushing past any resistance, and brought her to a body shaking orgasm.
"Harrison,” she screamed.
At the sound of my name on her orgasmic cries, I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Oh fuck," I growled through gritted teeth as my legs buckled. I dropped to my knees and came in my pants. I waited for my own body to stop shaking. I rested my forehead against Brooklyn's hip.
She reached back and ran her fingers through my hair.
My body shivered. Her touch comforted me. It affirmed we were in the same place. We stayed like that, connected, in harmony.
A minute later, we were miles apart.
Brooklyn squirmed away from my fingers.
I withdrew from her pussy, adjusted her thong, and pulled her skirt down.
It took effort for me to stand up.
Brooklyn pushed herself up and scanned the room. She wouldn't look at me.
I reached out and touched her hand.
She pulled it back.
"I'm sorry," she said with tears in her eyes.
"Brook—" She backed away from me with her hands up.
"No. Don't."
Her eyes locked onto mine, and my chest pounded at the pain and confusion in her eyes.
She needed care, security, and attention.
When I stepped toward her, she backed up again.
She bent down and picke
d up her shoes.
I reached for her.
"Biscuit," she said, and held a shoe out in front of her as if she needed a weapon to protect herself.
My world crumbled.
"Brooklyn. Please."
She recoiled from my outstretched hand, covered in her. When she turned her back to me, I knew I had fucked up.
"I shouldn't have come here. I . . . I'm so sorry, Harrison." She looked over her shoulder but not in my eyes. "It won't happen again."
And with that bombshell, she left.
The oxygen in the room left with her. I sucked in a breath over the crushing sensation in my chest. I sat down on the bench, rubbing the spot where her tears had pooled after experiencing the orgasm of her life. Her body reacted as if it had been building up pressure for years, releasing in an explosion that shook us both to the core.
Maybe she could go back to her life and pretend like nothing happened.
My life would never be the same.
I stood, my legs shaky and my steps uncertain. I wanted to run after her, but every part of me knew it was the wrong thing to do. I headed out the door but turned to look one last time as if she might appear and let me touch her again. The empty bench mocked me. Ironic that I found my perfect sub in that spot. I fucked it up by not being her perfect Dom.
Now, she was gone.
Brooklyn
I had taken a car service to the club. I couldn't face anyone, so I left Crush out a side door and ended up in a back alley. I recognized the building behind the club, and walked as fast as my heels would allow. When I hit the main street, I ordered a car.
I smoothed down my hair and rubbed my face. I straightened my disheveled clothes. My insides throbbed after the effects of the incredible orgasm. It was powerful, the two of us together. It rocked him—hell, it rocked me—and then I ran off like a scared little girl.
I let out a sob and covered my hand with my mouth.
The car pulled up.
"Miss, you okay?"
"Um, yeah." I opened the car door and climbed in. "White Cielo Building, please."
He tipped his hat and pulled away from the curb. He kept looking at me through the rearview mirror.
I tried drying my eyes before we pulled up in front of my building. I looked down at my ridiculous pleated skirt and t-shirt. I dressed like a porn star naughty little schoolgirl. Even down to the patent leather heels.
Salvage Him (Highland Park Chronicles Book 1) Page 9
