by Dee Palmer
It’s not until the houses start to crowd together, vying for prime location space that I start to relax. The endless expanse of lush green fields diminish to tiny pockets of manufactured parks and protected communal areas as the train speeds closer into the heart of the city, toward my home. My real home. Leon was right. I didn’t have to be there in person to sort the sale. Documents could easily be signed and witnessed elsewhere but something made me want to remember. No, not something…someone. Jason Sinclair.
Despite what I call myself, I don’t fuck for money. I fuck because I want to fuck, and I wanted to fuck Jason…very much. A hook-up with a hot guy at Bethany and Daniel’s wedding. That was all it was supposed to be. I knew his reputation for absolute dominance. He’s a silent partner in the club I work for, for Chrissakes, but I felt safe to cross the line in a civilian setting. I could blame the whole ‘weddings make people crazy’ notion but… well, I might’ve mentioned Jason Sinclair is fucking hot! Taller than me by several inches but eye level when I’m sporting my six-inch killer heels, broad, built shoulders that narrow to perfection in his immaculate three piece navy suit. Light brown hair with natural flecks of gold that just beg to be gripped and tousled. But his eyes, oh God, his eyes. As if the rich honey with the same golden highlights hypnotically swirling wouldn’t captivate a mere mortal. The intensity with which he wields his most potent weapon, well I was a fool to think hooking up was anything but his decision.
A one-time thing, I could handle a one-time thing. It is all I have ever done since leaving home. Not so many as to warrant my moniker but always just a one-time thing. I can feel the hairs on my neck dance as a delicious chill sweeps my body when I recall the moment when he put his strong palm around my neck and squeezed a little too tight. I came so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wanted it…I wanted more, but more shocking still, I realised I wanted him, and that thought terrified me.
That is why I didn’t return his calls and that is why I came today. I needed to remind myself why I won’t let another man control me…ever.
Today
“You know I can’t eat any of those.” Leon stretches his over-sized frame on my couch. The muscles in his torso flex and contract with the effort he is putting into his waking yawn. His hand automatically dipping into his lounge pants…checking. I snicker. He lifts his head to see me peering over hob on the kitchen bar.
“Is it still there? I raise a brow and point my palette knife directly at his crotch. His hand unashamedly massaging himself. He winks but doesn’t remove his hand.
“You know it.” He lets out a satisfied sigh. “But I am worried the little fella might not be working properly, and as my best friend, I feel it is your duty to help me out.” It never gets old. Almost ten years of trying to get in my pants, and he is as fresh as the day he found me in that club. Saving me from making the biggest mistake of my life.
I left home on my eighteenth birthday, took the train to London and checked into a hotel. I was on a mission. A new life, with no rules, no boundaries and no limits. After all, I was a whore. I may as well live up to the name. I had no family and no friends thanks to my strict upbringing, but I was determined to change all that. I found myself in a sleazy nightclub slowly getting drunk with the nastiest guy I could find. Shaved head, thick neck with bulging muscles so large they distorted the ink on his skin to unrecognisable markings. I don’t remember his name, but I do remember the second he was called away an arm swept around my waist, the briefest of conversations, and the next moment, my feet barely touched the ground as I was whisked away from the danger zone and out of the club. I remember at the time I didn’t feel scared. I should’ve been scared, but I was either numb or stupid; Leon told me I was stupid. The guy at the bar I later found out was Eastern European mob, had just slipped something in my drink and was just checking if the van out the back could take one more. I pinch myself every day at my lucky escape thanks to my Knight in Giorgio Armani.
“But not today.” The stock response I fire at him with a smile and a kiss. He rolls himself up to a sitting position and drags his hand through his shoulder length glossy dark hair. “Today, I am making Danish pancakes…a lot of Danish pancakes so you have to eat them.” I flip the tiny delicate circles in the pan and whisk some more mixture for my next batch. It’s a ready mix packet that all I have to do is add milk and even then, with my innate skill in the kitchen there is no guarantee they will be edible.
“I’m leaving for my flight in an hour, and I don’t want the plane to have trouble taking off because I have a shit tonne of your ‘coping strategy’ setting like concrete in my gut.” He slaps his toned, flat stomach with a loud tummy clenching sound. “What’s got you in such a state anyway?” He saunters over to the kitchen completely at ease with his near-naked appearance. Sliding onto the high stool, he picks up a handful of the pancakes and slowly munches them despite his protestations. He closes his eyes and moans, an overly sexual sound, savouring his enjoyment. I roll my eyes and throw the oven gloves I’m holding at his bare chest. He catches them and holds them hostage in his lap.
“Behave.” I warn, and he hands them back looking a little sheepish.
“Sorry, Sam…I can’t help myself sometimes.” He grins.
“Try harder. You’re living here now, and I don’t need—”
“Actually, from what I can see, that is exactly what you need…unless you are really trying to give Mary Berry a run for her money?” He takes another two pancakes. I turn the heat off and start to tidy away. “Come on Sam talk to me, baby girl. I won’t leave until you do. Then I’ll miss my flight. Then my mum will be mad at you because I will blame you, and she is mean when she’s mad.”
“Your mum doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, Leon. It’s why you are the way you are…adorable.” I scruff his shaggy hair, but he growls and straightens out of my reach.
“So what’s your excuse?”
I know he’s joking but it still stings. I hate that I didn’t just appear from thin air, anything would be preferable than a connection to a woman more concerned with social status and reputation than whether her daughter lived or died.
“Skipped a generation. You should’ve met my grandfather.” I smile softly and he takes a moment to pull me into a hug. Tight, secure and filled with love. He kisses my head and whispers.
“Yeah, I would’ve liked that.” Leon lifts me back onto the stool. “So?” His head tips to the mountain of carbohydrates I have diligently crafted into little Danish treats. Enough to feed an army.
“Jason.” I exhale, and he waits for me to continue. “I had a cryptic and very personal message on my voicemail this morning. It’s kind of shaken me up a bit. I mean, I know I see him around the club. It’s not like I’ve avoided him since the wedding. I really couldn’t, but he hasn’t tried to make contact in over a year. Why would he pick now?” I nibble distractedly at the tip of my fingernail. Not really biting, they are acrylic, and I would probably lose a tooth before the nail gave way.
“Ah, well that might have something to do with me.” His finger starts to draw nervous patterns in the sugar that is covering the marble top.
“Leon…what did you do?” I try to keep my voice level but I can feel my heart begin to race.
“Nothing…nothing bad.” He briskly rubs his hands clean and rubs them on his pants. He then places them on my thighs and leans forward with his most sincere expression. His dark, dark eyes crinkle with concern and warmth. “I saw your Jason—” I scoff an interruption, but he’s not put off and repeats, “I saw your Jason last night at a party. We got to chatting. He’s actually a really nice guy…anyway I may have let it slip that I am not…in fact…your boyfriend.” My bones cease to function and I collapse into myself letting out a frustrated groan.
“Oh, gahhhhhhd.” I start to rub the instant pressure in my brow. Flour falls from my fingertips down my face, settling on my lips, under my nose, and I sneeze, sending a plume of flour from the kitchen surface into a billowing cloud that c
ompletely hides a very sorry looking Leon. Good, he should be sorry. He has just made my life so much more complicated. The powder settles, and I change my mind. He doesn’t look sorry at all, he looks self-satisfied and smug. I could kill him right now. I have the tools, but he smiles and shrugs and I remind myself once more that he saved me.
With Leon out of town until the New Year, Christmas Eve is eerily quiet, too quiet. As much I would like to continue to ignore Jason—actually a huge part of me wants to hide completely—I won’t. That is not my style. I don’t hide. I meet head-on.
I pull the belt at my waist tight enough to pinch in an attempt to block the icy wind from reaching my scantily clad body. The thick cashmere full-length coat is doing an admirable job against the subzero Christmas weather. Even so, the short distance from the cab to the club door is enough to have my teeth clicking together, the sound drowned only by my heels on the steps to the basement destination. I swipe my card and wait. The new owners installed state of the art security. The front door won’t open unless they know exactly who is outside. Not just a visual through a peep hole, but name, date of birth, blood type, and most importantly, bank details. Despite this intrusive level of information exchange, members hand it over without question. This is the exclusive club in London for the scene, with a wait list so long, if you don’t have a personal recommendation would-be members would probably die by the time a space opened up.
The door opens and a giant beast of a man steps aside to let me in. He is the most intimating man I know. I offer my brightest smile even though I know Gus’ stony façade will not crack.
“Hey Gus,” I give my body an exaggerated shudder to try and get some heat into my bones. I check my coat and am acutely aware of the loss of its protective warmth. I rub my hands vigorously up and down my bare arms. The chill of the evening clings to the sexy slick PVC halter neck cat suit, but it will quickly warm once I get inside.
“Hey.” Gus’s gruff response makes the corners of my mouth curl with pleasure. He is a fierce looking mountain of a man, and I don’t doubt he rattles a few of the most hardened alphas who strut in here, but he is just a big bear, especially to me. I lean up even in my heels and my natural height to plant a colourful kiss on his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Gus.” I wait with my hands on my hips, one dipped, and narrow my eyes. Gus looks over my shoulder. There is just me and him, and no one is going to call him out for cracking a bit of Christmas cheer.
“Merry Christmas, darling.” His deep voice rumbles with an echo through the empty corridor.
“Is it busy?” I tip my head toward the heavy, rich, red velvet curtain separating the entrance door from the stage. Every time I step through that curtain, I am here to perform, I have my costume, I have my act, and the main reception room of the club I like to refer to as my stage.
“Not exactly.” Gus replies.
“How come you’re working tonight?” I’m curious because, although they always have someone on the door, Gus is a senior someone, and this is Christmas, after all.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He raises a teasing brow.
“Oh, no rest for the wicked, Gus. You know that.” I wiggle my brows. He grunts out a deep laugh and rolls his eyes.
“You’re not as wicked as you pretend to be, darling, and I’m not wicked at all. Working tonight means I get until New Year to spend with the family.” He puffs out his chest with unabashed pride. Gus has a large brood, six children, and has been happily married to his childhood sweetheart for twenty-three years. He is the poster boy for getting it right.
“Oh, wow, that is great…I mean I’ll miss you and all…” I give a playful wink.
“Yeah, yeah, go on now…time is money,” he quips.
“Ain’t that the truth.” Although in my case, I think my issue has more to do with idle hands. I have been smart with my money. The necklace I got on my eighteenth birthday pretty much secured my future, if not the husband, as my mother had hoped. After my rocky start, and with some guidance from Leon, I found a job I love and I am extremely good at. I rarely have to spend my own money, so I save. My nest egg is such that I really don’t have to work, but I hate having down time. I despise having time to think…time to remember. I turn and slip through the gap in the curtain. Show time.
I can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes my mouth when I freeze just inside the entrance. It’s like a surprise party, and someone forgot to send out the invitations. The opulently decorated room has been transformed into Santa’s sinful grotto, with a thousand sparkly handcuffs, extra-large diamante nipple clamps and tinsel covered cat o’ nine tail whips hanging from the ceiling and light fittings. With the subdued lighting and featured spotlights, the whole room sparkles magically but it is empty, well almost empty. The striking distinctive outline of the not so silent partner sits at the bar nursing a glass of his favourite single malt.
I draw in a deep breath and make my way to take the seat beside him. It’s not like I haven’t seen him, spoken to him, tried desperately hard to ignore the spark of feeling I get whenever our paths have crossed these past sixteen months. I have. I have tried and failed. I confess I panicked when I started to feel my control slip because, despite my visit home, I am drawn to him. So like a coward that is most unbecoming of a Domme, let alone a notorious one such as Mistress Selina, I called in one massive favour. Leon became my boyfriend. The ultimate barrier and cock blocker extraordinaire. It would appear that favour expired last night and now it is time for me to face the music, pay the piper and swallow what Jason chooses to shove down my throat. He is a Dom and he is not a fan of liars.
I slip silently onto the high bar stool, but he knows I am there. His head tilts almost imperceptibly before he turns to face me. His deliberate slow movements increase my anxiety, a foreign feeling and one that sits uncomfortably, competing for attention with my racing heart. His predatory look takes in every inch of my body, I can almost feel it leaving a scorched path across my skin. My full-length one-piece cat suit barely leaves any skin on display but his gaze leaves me feeling naked, exposed and vulnerable. I pull my shoulders back and straighten my back because I am none of those things…I am London’s best Dominatrix.
“Samantha.” The timbre of his voice is deep and gravelly and my name sounds like sin on his lips. I know those lips.
“Jason.” I manage to say his name without inflection despite my heart rate spiking and that familiar ache that begins to build.
“You know I prefer Sir.” He fixes me with a stare that would make any submissive quake, and therein lies the problem.
“Ah, we both know that is not going to happen.” I accept the drink Jason has managed to magically order without me noticing. “And I am Mistress Selina here as you well know, Jason.” I bite my lip to stop from smirking with satisfaction at the sudden narrow stare flashed my way.
“Since I am your boss, what if I insist on Sir?” He sips his drink, and his lips tip with pleasure.
“Jason,” I take pleasure in the way his name rolls deliciously around my mouth. I emphasise each syllable with a sensual tone that makes his jaw clench. “You’re not my boss. You just happen to own the place where I choose to work.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Selina.” His low grumble makes the hairs on my neck stand as though little shots of electricity have been fired through them. “And I’m not your boss…yet.” My body gives an involuntary shudder and I internally berate myself. His expression is utter wickedness and evidence enough that he noticed the shiver he’d clearly caused.
He lets out a breath and I find I’m holding mine. “It’s been a long time since it’s just been the two of us. If I didn’t know better I might think you were scared to be alone with me. Are you scared to be alone with me, Selina?” His sensual tone curls around my stage name like pure sin. His soft volume drops a level and I find my body leaning in. No. I’m being drawn to him. I have to fight to release my breath in anything remotely level. I grip my glass and choose to do
wn the liquid to give me a moment of respite from his scorching intensity.
“Hardly, Jason.” My voice is surprisingly calm even as I can feel my cheeks begin to heat with the lie. “We’ve seen each other plenty of times.” I let out a light laugh, and his mouth may quirk with pleasure but I get the feeling it has very little to do with my comment.
“True but we have not been alone since…” He pauses and stares deeper into my eyes. I can see the exact memory dance in his lust filled eyes. No doubt a mirror of my own. “…the wedding.” I interrupt but barely suppress the sexual tension sizzling like a live current between us. I am grateful for the dimly lit room when I feel my face burn with the memory. He lets out a deep and dirty laugh.
“The wedding,” he repeats slowly.
Eighteen Months Ago
I had found myself squeezed against Jason in the tiny chapel at the hospital for Daniel and Bethany’s surprise wedding. Surprise for Bethany that is. It was standing room only as the few seats available were taken up by family, but I didn’t mind. I was happy to be a part of their day, but as the temperature in the room rose, so did my own body heat. Every furtive glance from Jason, every intentional brush of his hand against my thigh or hand elevated my pulse. I knew exactly what he was doing. There wasn’t much space, but he really didn’t need to be that close. I thought I tipped the balance of where this was going when I stepped to angle myself against his body and reached up high on my toes to whisper in his ear. The words were irrelevant, but I took a deliberate moment to breathe his clean woodsy scent deep into my lungs and exhale just as slowly. His eyes dipped to meet my gaze, nothing hidden in the stare we shared, dark with desire and pent with lust.
When I stepped back, the draw was still there. Like a tangible field of sexual tension radiating around our bodies. The ceremony finished, and the guests were being ushered along the corridor into a makeshift reception room, and that’s when, as the last to leave, Jason dragged me into a room I hadn’t even noticed. That would be because it wasn’t a room as such, it was a large storage cupboard…with a lockable door. I didn’t get a moment to protest, not that I would have, but instantly, his mouth was on mine, his hands frantic at the tiny buttons on my blouse. My palms first flat on the firm curve of his chest muscles, swept down to his belt, and with deft fingers, I quickly had his trousers dropped to his thick, taut thighs. Frustrated with his slow progress, he growled and tugged at the bottom of the material, lifting the blouse over my head. He froze for a moment at the sight of my frantic attempts to draw in more air. I don’t ever remember feeling so out of control, so wild and needy. My breasts rose and shook with the effort, smooth mounds barely contained by the delicate ivory lace balcony bra. My nipples were taut peaks, aching for his touch, and my skin glowed with the sheen of perspiration.
