by M Never
“What for?” he gripes.
“Don’t ask questions. Just fucking do it.” I hit the lights and go on a search.
I feel the heat creep up my neck as I reach London’s door. I know I told her today was hers, that she would have some downtime. But stability is critical when it comes to Kayne, and if I’m going to mellow him out, it’s going to be with the woman of my choosing. He won’t care either way as long as I’m present. The first time anyway. Once he gets used to her, he’ll run with it. And fuck me if I can’t wait to watch her wrap her mouth around another man’s cock while she looks at me.
I’m pelted with a small amount of guilt as I enter her room.
“London?” I announce myself. The space is quiet and dark. It’s also absent of the woman I’m looking for. I head back out into the hallway and urgently check backstage. Nothing. I continue searching—the game room, the library, the conservatorium, and the media room—but I come up empty. A little seed of dread sprouts as I recall what she told me last night. Maybe Mansion is too much for her to handle. Maybe her initiation with the furious four was too much. Maybe she came to her senses and decided there was a better life for her beyond these walls. The thought pains me. I sure as hell wasn’t ready for her to leave.
I enter Kayne’s war room. Really it’s his study that he equipped with a state-of-the-art security system. I hit a button and the back wall behind his desk separates, uncovering a medley of monitors. There are eyes in every room of this house, so if she’s still here, I’ll find her.
I inspect the ever-changing scenes, images of both the inside and outside of the house rotating before me. It takes a minute, but I finally spot her. In the utility kitchen? That’s a new one, but I breathe an undeserving sigh of relief anyway.
I take off into the hallway, a man on a mission.
The utility kitchen is mainly used for public events. It’s an extra workspace for caterers and servers. The kitchen staff barely goes in there.
I round the corner into the desolate room. It’s a cold workspace outfitted with all stainless steel, but the mouthwatering aroma wafting through the air makes my sweet tooth ache.
As I silently approach London from behind, I examine her every move. The way her hips sway underneath the short hem of her T-shirt. The way her arms move strenuously as she works the dough. I’m a hair away by the time she realizes I’m behind her. I blow on her neck, and she jumps. “Jesus Christ!” she squashes a handful of dark brown cookie mix.
“Sorry.” I try my damnedest not to laugh.
“No, you’re not.” She spins, wiping away a stray piece of hair from her eyes, unknowingly leaving a trail of white powder across her cheek.
“Okay, maybe I’m not.” I instinctively break out into a smile. She looks so young and innocent at the moment in her oversized T-shirt and knee socks, with her face covered in powdered sugar.
If I’m being completely honest, she looks good enough to eat. And I’m most definitely hungry. “What are you making?” I acknowledge what looks like three dozen cookies piled high on a plate. She must have been baking for hours.
“Chocolate crinkles. It’s what I could whip up with the ingredients in the pantry.”
“I see.” I look down at the lump of dough in her hand. “Do you make a habit of baking in the late hours of the night?” It’s nearly eleven.
“I . . . um . . .” She wipes her face again, anxiously this time. More powdered sugar smears across her skin. “Sometimes. You said Sunday was a relaxed day. This relaxes me. I didn’t think anyone would mind me using the kitchen.” There’s a shy yet unapologetic strength in her voice.
“No one does. If”—I peek over her shoulder at the mound of cookies—“baking for a small army helps you unwind, far be it from me to stop you. But I hope you were at least planning to share.”
She smiles modestly. “Help yourself.”
I take her up on her offer and reach around to steal a crinkle. She watches me attentively as I take a slow, indulgent bite. The fudgy, cakey texture explodes with chocolatey flavor as soon as it touches my tongue. Damn. This might be the best cookie I’ve ever tasted. And that’s saying a lot, considering my addiction to sugar runs parallel to my addiction to sex.
I chew gradually, savoring every sweet second.
Up until this very moment, I wasn’t sold on the old saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” but with one bite of London’s heavenly crinkle, she may have just convinced me.
I swallow down the cookie, and the overwhelming urge to devour the entire plate and then do a number on her. I struggle to breathe evenly as I stare into the depths of those hypnotic blue eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Like what? Desirously? Does she not recognize when a man yearns for her? Aches for her?
“I’m just wondering if you taste as sweet as this cookie.” I wipe some powdered sugar away from her cheek then slip my thumb between her lips. She sucks lightly, inflaming every single neuron in my brain.
“There’s nothing stopping you from finding out.”
No, there isn’t. Except for the tone of her voice. She says the exact words any man would want to hear, including me, but they’re rehearsed. Recited, not enthusiastic. The average Joe probably wouldn’t even notice. But I’m not average, and I’m not Joe. And I want London so fucking bad I’m willing to overlook her underlying displacement. I know for a fact when you fuck for a living, the act can get old. Become routine. Lose its luster.
One night with me will change all that. I’m sure of it. So sure, I’m willing to bet the farm.
“I know I told you Sundays are your day. No work.” I place my hands on her slim hips. “But do you think you’d be up for a little rough sex?”
“Now?”
I nod.
“With a late-night client?”
I shake my head.
“Who then?”
“Me. And my business partner you’ve yet to meet.”
She gives me that confused look once again. “You’re asking me?”
“Yes. Why?” I search her eyes.
“Because . . .” she replies, then stalls on her thought.
I understand what she’s trying to comprehend, and it saddens me. “London, you’re not a slave. You’re an employee,” I reiterate. “You have a choice. And you can always say no.” I realize this concept is going to take some getting used to. Whatever her past, it’s stricken with darkness.
A few heated seconds pass before her tight facial expression softens.
“If you want me, I’m here.”
“Good.” I spin her around and tighten my grip on her hips. “Go clean up and then come with me.” I graze my teeth up her neck and push my erection into her ass.
I want her. My way. No more fucking waiting.
I release her and put her in motion with a swat on the butt. She washes her hands and turns off the oven in record time.
When she’s within reaching distance, I trap her face and hold it hostage an inch away from mine.
“You’re going to be a good little bird and do everything I say?” I dip my toe in her submissive waters.
London drops her eyes; she’d probably drop to her knees if I’d let go of her.
“Yes, sir.”
Her docile response makes me rumble with need. A deep, depraved, domineering need.
“Good girl.” I drop a kiss on the tip of her nose then take her hand. No time to waste. I drag London through the house and into the dressing room.
If we’re having this party, we’re doing it my way. Tonight is as much for Kayne as it is for me. Is that sneaky? Absolutely.
Do I care? Not so much.
“Take your clothes off,” I instruct as I buzz in and out of the closets collecting the items I need.
By the time I have everything in hand, London is standing there gloriously naked, putting every sparkle in the room to shame.
That perfect body. That gorgeous face. Those metallic e
yes and luscious lips. She could be revered as one of Aphrodite’s high priestesses. And I’m so ready to worship.
With the air thick with lust—or maybe that’s just me breathing fire—I close in on her. Once a hair away, I place the items on the vanity behind London. Every inch of her is exposed, from her heavy round breasts to her bare pussy to the reflection of her heart-shaped ass staring back at me in the mirror.
This woman doesn’t need much, she’s perfection personified, but a little dress up never hurt anyone.
I outfit her in a spider web of black rhinestones. Tiny glints of onyx begin to wink all over her body as I move around her. Next, a thin leather collar with large crystal jewels and a leash to match.
I begin to salivate from just her mere presence and the promises to come.
Next, makeup. I catch the perplexed look in her eye as I apply sparkly eyeshadow, rosy blush, and dark pink lip stain, before stepping back to assess the living doll.
My living doll.
“Say what’s on your mind, little bird.” I cross my arms and prepare myself for it.
London hesitates, but I extend an inviting expression. I’ve heard it all. My talents are well-rounded and unique, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by too many people. When you grow up grooming women so they can sell themselves to put food on their table, and yours, you learn a few things. Like how to accessorize, and the difference between blush and bronzer, and how far one tender touch can take you.
My mother made sure I saw what was below the surface when it came to people. She made sure I saw the women who worked for her as just that—women. Not objects that are insignificant or expendable or disposable. Which is how most women in this business are treated. In my current role, I walk a fine line, but I do my best to be open and honest and treat them with respect even when my primal male instincts emerge with a vengeance. And at the moment, my need to fuck like a wild animal is ensuing a quiet chaos inside me.
“I think you’re one of the strangest people I’ve ever met,” she finally admits.
I smile brightly. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you took that as a compliment.” The tone of her raspy voice fluctuates with uncertainty. I’ve been called so much worse that strange is actually refreshing.
“A very high compliment. I know I’m different, and I’m completely okay with that.” I pick up a little velvet bag on the vanity. It’s the finishing touch.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” I pull on the drawstring.
“Why all this?” She glances down at her made-up self.
I smirk conspiratorially. “Because”—I pull out a large silver object—“I love seduction. And enhancing the experience. I appreciate a beautiful woman, bound in leather. Draped in pearls. Sparkling like a diamond.” I press the tip of the metal butt plug to her lips and delicately trace the curves. “Do you know what this is?”
“I think so,” London replies softly.
“Good.” I slip the spade-shaped plug into her mouth. “Suck.” The metal disappears as she encloses her lips obediently around the object, and I instantly get hard. I turn her so she’s facing the vanity and press my body flush against hers. Leaning forward slightly, she plants her hands on the countertop as she sucks away on the plug all while I run my hands along her covetous curves. As my fingers skim over the netted crystals and flashes of hot skin, my nervous system responds. My blood pumps harder, my heart beats faster, and my breathing accelerates. When I reach the baby soft lips of her pussy, my fingers twitch, and when I push two inside and feel the velvety warmth of her flesh, I know there’s no turning back. I dig my face into the curve of her neck, reveling in her smell and the feel of her muscles clamped around my first and middle fingers. I look up into the mirror with just my eyes and watch her every reaction. The way her cheeks hollow around the plug, her neck elongates, and her fingernails dig into the vanity top. The bright recessed lighting highlights the flush of her skin and the pointed tips of her nipples. I suck on her collar and pump my hand until fluid saturates my fingers. We never break eye contact as I prime her, smearing the arousal now dripping from her pussy up into the tight little hole of her ass. I hold onto one of her hips securely as I painstakingly penetrate the taut ring of muscle. Ever so slowly sliding my index finger in inch by tiny inch, watching her reaction the whole time. The tiny black jewel of the butt plug constantly flickers in the light as her body acclimates to my intrusive probing. When I’m satisfied I’ve teased her enough, I anchor one arm around her waist and go to town, opening and stretching that little hole until my fingers scissor easily against the muscle. I’m fascinated by the fact only faint moans vibrate from her throat. Any other woman would be writhing and mewling by now, but not London. She just keeps her sharp stare on me and absorbs whatever I have to give. Which is mild in comparison to what’s to come.
With her body stretched to my satisfaction, I reach for the plug. I pull it from her mouth with a pop before nudging the tip into the crack of her ass. I watch mesmerized as the silver point disappears easily into the hot pink puckered ring. My need is in overdrive. If Kayne wasn’t waiting in my room, it would be over for us right here, right now. I’d fuck her against this vanity so hard we’d break the glass. I’m positive of it, but I keep my composure, remembering he needs the release just as much as I do. Maybe more.
Once the thick plug is halfway in and sturdy enough to stay on its own, I grab both of London’s hips and use my throbbing cock to literally hammer the extra-large plug the rest of the way in. Three firm thrusts and it’s wedged in deep. Her back is arched and her hair dangling as I hold her in place, forcing her body to accept the imposition. She needs to be ready. Kayne doesn’t like to wait. He’s a go-for-the-kill kind of guy. Come hard, come fast, come dirty, and then get lost. It’s hot to watch, but hellish for the women sometimes. I’m going to try to spare London as much as I can, but something tells me she can match even the likes of Kayne.
She trembles slightly in my grasp before she composes herself. The look in her eyes is fierce. As if she’s telling me to bring it.
And I am, red robin. I am.
With heavy breaths, I take her by the leash and lead her out of the room. If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d make her crawl, but I’ll save all that for another night. The image of her sexed up and kneeling at my feet has my arousal soaring into the atmosphere.
Once we reach the door to my room, I force her to face me. I drink in her features as I skim the back of my index finger down her cheek. “You’re going to be a very good girl and do everything I say?”
“Yes, Jett,” she automatically replies. I silently groan. Those words sung in her mesmerizing voice almost have me dropping to my knees.
“Good, girl.” I lean into her. “I’m going to make that beautiful mouth scream so many obscene things. And we’re both going to love it,” I whisper. “We’re both going to want so much more.” That’s my true secret desire. For her to be a slave to me. To be with other men, but want only me. To yearn, to crave, to hunger for what only I can give.
“We’ll see.” Her tone is playful, but her eyes, her eyes are hollow.
Her response stirs something inside me. Something high-handed and domineering. I suddenly need to prove myself. Prove that what I say I mean.
“I promise no one will ever touch you like me.” It’s a threat. A straight up warning that once we move beyond this door, she may never leave my room again.
I yank on her leash and crush my mouth against hers. Our jaws stretch as I command the kiss. My first taste of her lips, and it’s like licking cotton candy straight from the solidifying source. A potent shot of sugar straight into my bloodstream.
I press her up against the door, unable to pull myself away. Everything about her is intoxicating, elicit. She evokes something in me I can’t define. Or control or fight.
“Inside,” I growl, unable to withstand it another second. She turns the knob, and we practically fall through the doorway. I ke
ep us both on our feet but just barely. Once inside, I scan the room to find Kayne lurking in the corner. Which isn’t surprising. The man loves to lurk. It’s how he keeps the upper hand. I see you before you see me type of thing. It’s his defense mechanism from a shitty upbringing and a myriad of emotional issues.
“Kayne, this is London. Our new girl. Or Sugar, as she’s known on the floor,” I attempt a swift introduction. He stalks forward out of the shadows. The large room is dim. Only faint moonlight and the glow from the single lamp offers any illumination. The space is minimalist. A large iron bed with white bedding and a steel frame is the focal point of the room.
Kayne doesn’t respond as he slinks toward us. He just eyes up London’s mostly naked body like a predator sizing up his prey. She stiffens next to me as his broad body and menacing scowl come into view. Little does she know, he’s more scared of her than she is of him.
“You like?” I jingle her leash, enticing him.
“The package is pretty,” Kayne extends impassively.
“She’s so much more than just a pretty package.” I smile slyly. “She’s the real deal.”
Simultaneously, Kayne cocks a skeptical eyebrow as London slides her eyes over to me.
When will everyone learn? I know all and see all. You might as well call me the great and powerful Oz.
One day, they’ll both see what I see. But until then, why not buy time with a little bit of dirty fun.
“Go lay on the bed,” I instruct London without looking at her. I keep my focus on Kayne. “Show us what’s between those long sexy legs.”
Without a hint of hesitation, London saunters across the room, like she was built solely for seduction. She climbs onto the bed, her movements reflecting in the mirrored wall as she settles on her back and spreads her legs as wide as her hips will allow. Kayne’s attention slowly moves from me to the temptation on the mattress.
The mirrored wall and ceiling are the best part of my personal space. I like to watch as much as I like to partake. And nothing heightens a sexual experience for me more than a reflection of the act itself.
