by Corgan, Sky
They stop and talk. Then she turns towards the door and he flanks her side to walk her out of the club.
Fuck! It's game over.
“Sir Holden?” A feminine voice grabs my attention, making me jerk my head away from the door.
“What?” I growl in discontent.
The woman standing beside me cowers slightly, her big blue eyes apologetic. My expression softens in recognition.
“I'm sorry to bother you, Sir. I just saw you sitting here alone and thought you might want some company.”
I scan the cute little jumper dress she's wearing. Delia has always had a way of looking innocent, even though every guy in the club knows she's far from it. Her long auburn hair is tied into a loose ponytail and slung over one shoulder. She keeps her hands behind her back, her fingers entwined together, appearing far younger than her age, even though she's several years older than me.
I stand, towering over her. I reach a hand up to brush her ponytail back over her shoulder. My fingertips whisper across her skin, and her lush pink lips form a little O while her eyelids become hooded with desire.
“Yes. I do think I would enjoy some company tonight.”
***
“Isn't that much better?” I circle her, admiring the rope woven under her breasts, framing each one and squeezing them so that they swell. Her wrists are bound to her knees, and I have her bent over, waiting to receive a flogging.
She's already completely lost in subspace just from the shibari alone. She's always been easy to please. It's one thing I love about her, but also something I hate. Obedient submissives are great. When they're too compliant, though, it takes a lot of the fun out of it. Luckily for her, tonight I want easy. No struggle. No fuss. No pissing me off.
“Stick that ass out,” I tell her, wanting to see her exposed ass and pussy. She's stripped down to nothing but the black strappy high heels she wore into the private play area, looking sexy as hell. I can't help but wonder what the raven-haired girl would have looked like.
Delia pushes her ass out and flattens her back, ready to receive whatever I plan to do to her. The strips of suede from the flogger I'm holding slide through my fingers as I run my hand down it. It's not one I typically use, but Delia prefers being bound and fucked more than she likes pain, so I have to go gentle on her.
I tighten my grip on the falls, outstretching the flogger before lightly slapping just the tails on her ass.
“Thank you, Sir,” she cries out in response.
She winces and hisses from the sting of each strike, but I don't stop. The room fills with the sounds of her gratitude and soft suede hitting vulnerable flesh.
One strike after another lands against her pale skin and the stress starts to leave me. Knowing that I'm in control of another human being's pain and pleasure has always been empowering to me. I'm in control of a lot of people in my day to day life, but this is different. It's almost like a high. Seeing the pretty, pink welts form gets my blood pumping in all of the right places. Endorphins fire off inside of my brain, flooding me with pleasure that nothing else can compare to.
“That's a good girl.” I watch her ass bounce as the pain intensifies from me striking the same spot over and over again. Her small, shaven pussy is visible between her spread legs. My cock twitches from staring at it, and I wonder how wet she is—wonder if she's going to come the second that I thrust myself into her. It never takes a lot for Delia. Between the bondage and the flogging, I imagine that she's well geared up for me.
The thought of being inside of her is more than I can handle. But it's not her that I want. I fight back a scowl as I remember Sir Jeremy practically leading the raven-haired women out of the club. He wasn't going to let me have her. I should have had the common sense to know that the second he caught me staring.
“I'm done with this.” I toss the flogger to the side, needing something more intense to distract my mind.
“Thank you, Sir,” Delia pants, and I can tell by the flush of her cheeks that she's almost at the limits of her pain threshold. Perhaps I was a bit too hard on her. If that were the case, though, she would have told me. She's always been good at vocalizing, about letting me know when it's too much.
I pull a metal folding chair up and sit on it, unzipping my pants to pull my dick out. It's already fully engorged from the excitement of the scene and thoughts of what Raven might look like naked. I give it a few strokes, staring up at Delia in thought.
“Back that shit up. And don't turn around. I don't want to see your face.” I might not be able to have Raven, but at least I can pretend.
“Yes, Sir.” Delia faces forward, taking slow, awkward steps backward towards me.
When she reaches me, she slowly lowers herself. I catch her hips before she has a chance to slide all the way down on me. “Stay.”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, her voice breathy with want.
I grip the base of my cock, closing my eyes and swiping it back and forth between her folds. She's so wet, the heat of her sex nearly searing.
“Tell me you want it,” I growl, waiting for the right moment to make my move.
“I want it, Sir. Please. Give it to me.” Her body moves slightly as she struggles for balance.
“That's not good enough.” I stop at her hole, arching up to press just the tip inside, probing gently.
“I need it. I have to have it. You're driving me insane.”
“Beg.” I pull back, feeling my length twitch in disapproval.
“I'm begging you, Sir. Please, let me feel your cock inside of me.”
“Tch.” It's not enough. She gives in way too easily. There's no challenge, not that I suspected there would be. Maybe this isn't what I want tonight after all. Regardless, I'm going to take it.
Tired of playing games, I grab her by the hips and force her down on me. She cries out in surprise, her full weight coming back on me. I stifle a groan as her slick cavern squeezes around me, fitting me like a glove. Would the raven-haired girl feel like this? I wonder. I'll probably never know. Newbies come and go at Club Fet, as fleeting as the wind. More than likely, I'll never see her again.
CHAPTER THREE
PIPER
I wake feeling better than I have in a while. Lazily, I roll over and hug my pillow, squeezing my thighs together. They ache deliciously in protest. That's right, last night I got laid—had sex with an amazing Dom. A grin curls the corners of my lips as I think of Sir Jeremy pumping between my legs. But then I think about the man sitting in the corner of the room and my grin falters.
The way that guy looked at me. His gaze is burned into my mind, and just thinking about it—about him—makes me feel randy.
Perhaps I'll run into him some other night. It's not like I never plan on returning to Club Fet again. After all, how else am I going to get my fix?
There's no point in thinking or worrying about it any longer. What's done is done. The night and all of its wonderful experiences is over, and now I'm back to the reality of...
My good mood dissipates in the blink of an eye, and I groan, grabbing a pillow to bury my face in it. I should probably get up and fix the boys breakfast. I don't want to though. I want to stay here in bed and relax all day and fantasize about Sir Suit and what might have been under that suit.
“You're so horrible, Piper,” I whisper, allowing myself one last smirk before I crawl out of bed and my expression turns into a permanent scowl.
There's nothing to keep me occupied today. Work doesn't start until tomorrow, which means that I'm trapped at home unless Gloria wants to hang out. With that thought in mind, I quickly grab my phone and dial her number, but it turns out that she's spending the day with her mother, which means that I'm screwed.
“Crap,” I grumble after hanging up.
I get dressed and head downstairs, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. As the soft sound of the television invades my ears, my heart sinks. One of the boys is already up. To be honest, I'm a bit surprised. Yesterday, I thought they'd never wak
e up.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find Earl in the living room watching television and eating a bowl of cereal. He glances at me over the sofa, then goes back to watching his show.
“Good morning to you too,” I say before turning to head back to the kitchen.
He doesn't react, not that I give a shit. The less we speak to each other, the better.
My blood boils as I see the milk sitting out on the kitchen counter. I take long strides across the room, gripping the handle of the gallon jug a bit too tightly before flinging open the refrigerator door and shoving it back inside. It was sitting literally right next to the refrigerator. How hard would it have been for him to put it back? The fucking cereal is out on the counter too.
“Calm down, Piper.” I try not to jump to conclusions, remembering the lasagna. Maybe I have this all wrong too.
My hands are shaking from stress. This is not a good way to start my Sunday. Will all of my days be like this? Silently, I curse my mother for dying. I don't give two shits that her sleazy husband died. But why did she have to die? I'm so not cut out for this parenting crap.
I grip the kitchen counter and try to recompose myself. Freaking out isn't going to solve anything. I've done it every day since I've been home, and nothing has changed. Eventually, I'm going to have to get over what happened and learn to live with my new reality. I can't continue to look at the boys as my enemies or this will never work.
I stare at my hands, waiting until the shaking subsides before I push myself away from the kitchen counter and walk back into the living room to talk to Earl. He doesn't even turn at the sound of my footsteps, perhaps wanting to ignore me as much as I want to ignore him.
“Hey, Earl?” I rub the back of my neck. Even talking to him feels awkward.
“What?” his tone is clipped.
I stare past him at the television. It looks like he's watching some reality show. I wonder if he's so engrossed in it that I'm annoying him.
“Did you leave the milk and cereal out for me?” It feels like an odd question, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Oh, did I leave it out?” He gives a slight turn of his head but still doesn't look at me.
Anger returns to me like a slap in the face. That little fucking slob.
Cruel words rocket to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them before they have a chance to escape. Even though I'm ticked off, I know that the last thing I need is to fight with him. The less drama between us, the better. Besides, I would not put it past him to storm out of the house without telling me where he was going.
I give the wall a few gentle punches though I really want to slam my fist through it. “Try to remember to put the milk away next time, will you?” I say between clenched teeth.
“Alright,” he replies absentmindedly.
By the time I return to the kitchen, I feel a stress headache coming on. All of the calmness I'd gathered before is gone. I can't handle this. I just...can't.
Succumbing to the panic attack overtaking me, I head back upstairs to cry and breathe into my pillow. Coming downstairs was a bad idea. They can have the house today. I'm going to stay holed up in my room until night comes, and then I'll leave again. It's the only way to keep my sanity.
I take off my clothes and crawl back under the covers, feeling their warm embrace. It's the most soothing thing I can experience inside of this house. That and looking at pictures of my mother. I roll over and open the bedside table drawer, pulling out a framed picture of my mother holding me as a small child. She's smiling, looking genuinely happy. I was happy back then too. It seems like so long ago. Why did I ever have to grow up? Why did I have to become an adult and get dealt such a raw hand?
I lie in bed until my body calms, thinking about so many things. Rationality returns to me, and I begin to wonder why I got so upset in the first place. I shouldn't let one mistake ruin my entire day. Yet now I'm terrified to go back downstairs. Up here, I'm safe. If I don't leave this room, then nothing else bad can happen. If I go back downstairs...
Stubbornly, I decide to stick to the plan of staying in bed all day. It's childish, but if it can keep me from having another mental breakdown, then it will be well worth it. Depression should help me to sleep off and on all day. While I'm awake, I can play games or browse the internet on my phone or read a book. Eventually, I'll get hungry, but I think I can hold out until tonight.
Satisfied with my plan, I curl into a little ball and drift back to sleep. It's not until my phone rings that I wake again, groggily rolling over to look at the caller ID. To my surprise, it's Ann Longworth, my new boss. For a moment, I think about letting it go to voice mail, but then I answer against my better judgment.
“Hi, Ann,” I say in my most chipper tone.
“Good morning, Piper. I hope I'm not bothering you.”
“No. Not at all. What's up?” I push myself into a sitting position.
“Not a whole lot. I was just wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me today. I know you don't start work until tomorrow, so I'll understand if you say no. I just kind of wanted to take the time to get to know you better.”
I glance at the clock. It's almost 11 AM, still pretty early in the day. While it doesn't sound particularly exciting, if I go to lunch with her, it will get me out of the house for a while. I just hope this isn't going to be like a second interview.
“Sure,” I reply hesitantly.
“Lovely. You can pick me up at noon, then.” Her voice brightens with delight. I can't help but grin at how happy she sounds.
“Alright. I'll be looking forward to it,” I tell her before hanging up the phone.
Meeting her at noon doesn't give me a lot of time to get dressed. I suppose it doesn't really matter, though. It's Sunday—a lazy day—and I already have the job, so it's not like I need to go out of my way to impress her.
I quickly throw on the same pair of jeans and plain gray T-shirt that I was wearing earlier, then pull my hair up into a messy, high ponytail before heading out the door. It's not until I'm halfway to Ann's house that I realize she might have wanted to go somewhere fancy. If that's the case, I'm way under-dressed and she's going to be highly disappointed.
I pull up in her driveway and look at my reflection in the rear-view mirror, silently cursing myself for not taking more time to get ready. The least I could have done was put on a nice blouse, but I was in such a hurry to get out of that stifling environment. Oh well. There's nothing that can be done about it now.
I take a deep breath and stroll up to her front door before glancing at the intercom and decided to knock instead. Annoying nervousness is welling up inside of me, and I'm starting to think this wasn't the best idea. Surely, staying in bed would have been a much better way to spend my day. At least, taking her out to lunch will make it look like I care. And I do care, to a certain extent.
Ann opens the door, and my eyes are immediately drawn down to the white lace ruffled collar of her blouse. Inwardly, I smirk. She even dresses old for her age. She seems to have sophisticated taste though. Her long hair is drawn back into the same ponytail she sported the day before, but it's covered with a small black pillbox hat—very antiquated. She's wearing a black blazer over her blouse and matching slacks. I'm beginning to think she did want to go somewhere fancy for lunch after all.
“Well don't you look relaxed.” She takes my outfit in as well, and there's no condescension in her tone.
“It is a Sunday.” I shrug and smile, feeling my cheeks heat up with a mix of embarrassment and disappointment in myself for being so impatient. “And I wasn't sure where you would want to go.”
“Oh, I don't really care as long as I get out of the house.” She digs into her purse for a moment before pulling out a set of car keys and handing them over to me. “Come on in. We'll go through the garage.”
I follow her inside, trying to think of somewhere for us to go while she locks the door behind us and then takes me to the garage to retrieve her car. When
she flips on the garage light, I'm surprised to find an Aston Martin Rapide S sitting there. My mouth drops open for a fraction of a second, then I quickly recover. Aunt Alyce did say that Ann has money.
“Nice car,” I comment before walking over to the driver's side.
“Thank you, dear. My son bought it for me.” She slips into the passenger seat beside me.
“What does your son do for a living?”
“He invests in companies,” she replies nonchalantly as she buckles up.
“It looks like he's good at it.” I adjust the seat until I'm comfortable.
“Money has always been his passion. Do you have siblings?”
My hand reaches up to tilt the rear-view mirror so I can see better, and my lips instantly dip into a scowl. “I have two step-brothers.”
“Step-brothers,” she parrots back absentmindedly. “That must have made it interesting growing up.”
“Not the good kind of interesting.” I click the button on the garage door opener, then wait for it to open. It doesn't creak like that one at my house, obviously well maintained.
“Well, at least you're an adult now and don't have to deal with them.”
“If only that were the truth.” I shake my head slightly.
“Oh?” She glances over at me.
“They're the reason I moved back.” My mood is sour at the thought of talking about my brothers, but I try to be sweet about it. This conversation was going to come up eventually, after all. The question is, how much information do I actually want to disclose.
“I don't mean to pry.” Ann folds her hand in her lap, looking apologetic.
“No. It's alright. I don't mind talking about it. But perhaps it's a conversation better left for the restaurant.”
***
After taking about ten minutes to decide on a restaurant, we finally settle on the Galley Diner, a place well known for their corned beef hash. Discussing where to go eat at with Ann reminded me of an awkward first date. She seemed indifferent, but I have a feeling that was only to please me. It's a funny thing to think, considering that I'm the employee and she's the boss. I appreciate that she let me have an opinion though.
