by Chloe Adler
She put her fingers into her mouth, tasting me, those hungry eyes begging for more.
“Meet me at the exit. I'm going to tell Jared and Alec that we'll meet them at home.” I rose slowly and helped her up, patting her butt as she went to fetch her purse.
The boys were grinding on the dance floor and I stood back to watch them first, enjoying the view.
“Hi,” a soft voice said into my ear, and I spun around, almost knocking Tiyah over. Grabbing her shoulders, I steadied her, not wanting to know what would have happened without my vampire reflexes.
“Hi.” I grinned at her. She looked even better than I remembered. I wanted to eat her right there. “What are you doing here?”
She looked away, bashfully biting her lip. “You mentioned the Wednesday-night DJ.”
That's right. “You like?”
“Very much.” Her lips curved, then flattened. “Are you leaving?” She looked disappointed.
“Yeah.” I waved toward the door. “I'm meeting with a donor.”
Tiyah looked down at her feet, which were clad in sparkly silver sandals with spaghetti straps, sexy as hell. “I'm embarrassed to ask but . . .” She trailed off, keeping her eyes trained on her feet.
“Ask away.” I couldn't stop myself from touching her chin and bringing her head up, forcing her to meet my eyes. She let me. That look. Wham.
“I was just wondering if you maybe had a donor waiting list we could get on?” Her dark skin flushed a berry red.
Letting go of her chin, I held her gaze with mine, clearing my throat. I had people waiting, yes, but I did not keep a written waiting list. My donors rarely left me. A few had moved away over the years, replacing themselves with friends. Anyone asking this question was usually a vampire junkie or V obsessed. And the last thing I wanted was to pollinate that kind of fascination, but with Tiyah, I wanted her. No denying that. Maybe she was asking me because she wanted me too and couldn't think of another, better way to have me.
“No. No waiting list, but I'm full up on donors right now.” I gauged her reaction.
Her ears pinkened slightly. “I'm sorry, that was rude of me.”
“I have room for friendship, Tiyah.” I reached for her hand and she let me hold it. “And more.” I let the last two words hang in the air, watching her squirm, but she did not pull her hand away. Her grip actually tightened.
“There you are, darling.” Elijah stood next to us. He was speaking to her but he was looking at our hands. She immediately let go, turning to him.
“Yes, sorry, honey. I saw Burgundy and wanted to say hi.”
“And I don't blame you one bit.” He turned to me. “Good evening, Burgundy.” His eyes traveled over my body, slowly. “Don't you look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you, Elijah. Nice to see you as well. I was just heading out.”
“Oh.” His voice lilted down. Disappointment. “Can we steal you for one dance before you go?”
“No, but—” I glanced at Amber, who was chatting with another woman while she waited for me. When she looked up, I held up a finger and shrugged. She nodded. “Elijah, I'd like to talk to you alone, please.”
He followed after me to a far corner where I sat down on the carpeted stage.
“Tiyah tells me that you'd like me to teach you how to top her.” I gauged his reaction.
“That would be great.” He leaned forward eagerly. “I should have asked you myself but I didn't realize it was so important to her and I don't know what the protocol is.”
“No, that's fine, but I need to hear it from you and discuss some things.”
“All ears.” He threw me a wolfish grin.
“Do you want me to top her while you watch, or do you want me to tell you what to do as you top her?”
He shook his head, gaze resting on a corner of the ceiling past my head. “What do you usually do in these situations?”
“I usually top the person with their partner watching so they can see how it's done and mimic it later. But I've also been hired to teach the partner to top them. It's a matter of preference. The downside to that is we don't remain in the scene. It's more instructional and can come across like I'm topping you, topping them, which can be a turn-off for some subs. In that case, what I usually suggest is that I train their partner to top someone else first.”
“I don't want to do this for anyone else.” Elijah met my eye. “I'm only doing it because it's what Tiyah wants and I want to please her.”
Uh-oh. Did he perceive himself forced into this situation, or was he excited by the possibilities? “You'd prefer to watch while I take the reins?”
“I would.” The man wore a gleam, the pale blue of his eyes brightening for an instant.
Playing the exhibitionist, especially with these two, was a turn-on if all parties were on board. My heart rate increased at the thought but in matters like these, it was important to remain professional.
“And how much in that realm are you comfortable with? This is where we negotiate things like intimacy and the acts of bondage themselves.”
“Intimacy? You mean you'd have sex with her?”
“I will only do what you're comfortable with. It can be purely bondage and discipline without sex. And in that realm we negotiate how much discipline and what kinds. That we negotiate with Tiyah as well. The submissive is the one with the control. She decides how much or little she wants and it's our job to listen and push her to those limits.” Outside of the BDSM community, most people had this idea backward, that the Master or Mistress was in control. But this work wasn't about being controlling or mean, it was about listening to your partner's needs and meeting them, but also knowing that sometimes they really needed to go just a little bit farther.
Elijah nodded. “I like the sound of that.”
“And then there's the intimacy part. Some people like it when the Domme kisses, touches or even has sex with their partner during the scene, but I will not do that if you and Tiyah don't want me to.”
“What do you usually do?”
“Usually,” I gestured with my hands, “sex is involved, but not always. I've had people come to me for just humiliation or discipline. It depends on a person's kink.”
He shrugged. “I don't know what her kinks are.”
“Why don't you talk to her in private and find out? We can negotiate further later, but now I have another commitment. Have fun dancing!” I threw them my smile and headed out to Amber, who was waiting like a saint for me by the door.
“My house?” I asked.
“Please,” she moaned. “I want you to make love to me.”
Chapter Five
My night with Amber had been divine, even though it'd seemed like I had to steer my thoughts away from the couple every few minutes. Still, I managed to give my donor just what she needed and stay present with her. Enough.
Margery and her daughter, Deenie, were supposed to arrive over the weekend and I'd asked my dad for some father-daughter quality time before they did. I fully expected to have plenty of alone time with him after they came to the Edge, but I also wanted to respect the time he needed to put into his budding relationship.
I met him at the Inn on the pretense that we'd look at houses together. He wanted to rent something before they arrived so that everyone wouldn't have to live in a hotel. A real estate agent I was not, but I'd found listings for a couple of open houses high in the hills that had views overlooking the ocean, which is what he'd asked for.
“I don't know why you insist on driving this old Camaro,” he said as I drove down Discovery Highway, the main drag that led from one end of town to the other.
“Are you kidding? I love Cherry. She's solid and beautiful.”
“Just like you, kiddo.” He smiled over at me. “You get that from your mother.”
“Dad, what happened between you and Mom?”
He sighed and started cleaning his fingernails. “We grew apart. It happens. I'm a businessman, you know that. My work has always played a b
ig role in my life, and your mom, she doesn't have any business aspirations.”
That was harsh.
“It wasn't until I met Margery that I realized what was missing in my life. Sometimes they say that you have to find something you love to know it's what you've wanted all along.”
“But you and Mom seemed so happy.”
“A cada pajarillo agrada su nidillo.”
People like what's familiar.
“We were never truly happy. We tolerated each other, we were comfortable with each other, but we weren't happy. And yet until I met Margery, I didn't know that. A la ocasión la pintan calva.”
Opportunity knocks only once.
“So . . . where did you meet?” I was afraid to ask and afraid not to.
“At the courthouse. She was trying a case right after me and my case was running late. The judge called for another recess, and though it wasn't my job to tell her, I did.”
“That was nice of you.”
He gave me a sheepish grin. “You know I've always been a ventosa for a pretty woman.”
“Like father, like daughter.” I laughed and he stiffened.
“That's one of the many things I'd like to talk to you about.” His dark eyes flitted to the window.
“What?” He refused to make eye contact with me.
“Well, Margery and her daughter are a little more conservative.”
“Conservative? How?” I turned up a steep hill that would take us to our first destination.
“They're not prejudiced, it's just that they aren't quite used to, well, your type of lifestyle.”
“What does that mean?”
He turned toward me. “Come on, Maria, you know what I'm trying to say. Just tone it down until they get to know you better and are more comfortable here. Okay?”
“Dad,” I bristled, “I'm not comfortable with that.”
“I'm not really asking you, Maria. I'm telling you.”
I pulled over outside the open house. “And if I refuse?”
He leaned toward me and put his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing. Hard. “Don't you and your friends just love your house?”
My breath caught. He wouldn't dare. Would he? An old memory came flooding back. He'd bought me my first car in Nicaragua, but when I'd introduced him to my first girlfriend, he'd immediately taken it away. “Are you saying you'd sell my house?”
“Sell it? No, Maria.” He let go of my shoulder. “I would never do that to you.”
I relaxed.
“I may need to ask for your help with paying the monthly mortgage though.”
What? He'd told me he'd bought the house outright. “Very funny, Dad.” I pointed toward the house. “Let's go look at this one.”
“Yes, let's.” His voice was tight. He opened his car door and got out.
I followed him to the front door, walking a few paces behind. My mother had told me that my fond memories of him and our father-daughter bonding experiences were skewed, but I'd dismissed it. She'd always been jealous of our close relationship. And how would she know anyway? She hadn't even been there for most of them.
Sure, he could be an ass at times, everyone could. But my dad had always put me first in his life. And yet, another memory rushed in. I was eleven and had just fought with my mom. We stood in the living room, his hands on my shoulders. “Maria, you must know that I will always love your mother more than I will love you. She comes first in my life and you will never replace her in my heart.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the memory, almost doubling over at the long-forgotten sensation of being stabbed in the gut with his sharp words. He'd said what he thought would stop me raging at my mother, as preteens are wont to do. Every word he ever uttered was calculated to achieve his desired result. Completely normal behavior for a star attorney, and understandable. I certainly hadn't made it easy for anyone to parent me, growing up.
A text pinged and I dug my phone out of my purse, but my father reached for my hand, turning to beam at me as he opened the front door. The house was lovely with dark wood paneling and wood-veneer floors. We were greeted by the sales agent.
“Welcome, Mr.—?”
“Rosales.” He let go of my hand to shake hers and then added his other hand to cover it. Her perfectly coiffed blond hair gleamed in the track lighting above, and her soft skin turned a pretty shade of pink as he held onto her hand for just a beat too long.
“And this is—?” She looked at me.
I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. “My wife, Maria.”
“Oh.” She looked as shocked as I probably did.
“No, no,” he laughed, “I am making a joke.” He waved in my direction. “This is my mistress. My wife, she arrives tomorrow.” He winked at her.
“Dad,” I admonished and he guffawed loudly, raising his eyebrows at the agent.
Awkward.
“We wish to look at the house now,” he said, pushing past her. The poor woman stood perfectly still, her eyes wide.
“He's quite the joker,” I said to her.
“I see,” she responded stiffly, not bothering to follow.
I caught up to him in the kitchen. “Hey, Dad, that kind of skeeved me out.”
He flicked his wrist at me dismissively. “You never could take a joke.”
That wasn't true.
“This kitchen is awful,” he said to the agent when she entered, still looking flustered.
“It could use some upgrades, yes,” she agreed, regaining her composure. “But it has lovely bones.”
“Awful,” he grumbled, walking around it. “Margery will hate it.” He turned to me. “If it's not modern with granite or marble countertops and brushed-stainless-steel appliances and fixtures, we will have to tear out everything and replace it all.”
How did he know the woman's tastes so well after only a few months? “Surely she's not that inflexible,” I said.
He looked down his nose at me. “She has impeccable taste, there's a difference. It's one of the many things I love about her. She knows what she wants and will not settle for anything less. Unlike your poor mother.”
Ah yes, my mother the people pleaser. A timid little mouse, always afraid to stand up for herself. Of course a woman who knew herself and had strong opinions would please my father. Even challenge him. And an updated kitchen would be prettier.
“Do you want to look at the rest of the house?” I asked.
“No. I don't mind paying for some upgrades but this would take too long.” He waved his hand around. “The entire kitchen would have to go. Not to mention that wood paneling in the other room.”
Dad had always loved wood paneling. What had changed? Maybe I was the one stuck in the past.
“I'd rather find something closer to our tastes. Margery won't want to wait for construction before moving in. Remodeling always takes longer than planned.”
Couldn't argue with that.
“Meet me in the car,” Dad said to me, turning to the agent.
In the car, I checked the text. It was the list Tiyah had come up with. Reading it turned me on, a lot. She was up for quite a bit. Hot! And her safe word was tap which was Jamaican for stop. And if that was too short she'd say tap duh dat, which meant “stop that.” Good.
Dad hurried out of the house and back into my car right after I'd confirmed receiving their text.
“Let's hope the next place you picked has an updated kitchen,” he said brusquely.
“Sorry, Dad, I hadn't realized that was an important feature.” I drove further up into the hills, telling myself that my father's new taste was refreshing.
“Thank you for sending me Amber, by the way.” He smiled from the passenger seat. “She's one hell of a looker.”
“She is, yes.”
“Are you—? Have you,” his smile twitched up even more in the corners, “tasted that?”
“I would rather not answer that particular question.”
His teeth shone in the morning sun. “You jus
t did.”
What the hell had gotten into him? I knew he liked beautiful women but he'd never acted this inappropriately before. Had he? I shrugged it off. He was just being silly.
He stared out of the window. “Great views of the ocean up here.”
I agreed, parking in front of the next place I'd marked. “I hope you like this one, it has those great views.”
He appraised the house before walking toward the front door. “Very modern. I like it better already.”
“Since when do you prefer modern architecture over rustic?”
He didn't respond.
Chapter Six
The next morning I showed up at the courthouse in the center of town for a private, three-person meeting. Benedict was currently in charge of the Council but that title rotated yearly. Walking into the circular lobby, I was still unclear as to why he had asked me there. I wasn't on the Council, so I couldn't sit in on their nonpublic meetings.
“Burgundy.” My vampire boss appeared at my side like the eye of a storm.
“Yes, sir.”
He cupped my elbow, manhandling me to the side of the room. I let him. “Your father's waiting for us inside the Council chamber but I wanted to talk to you first.”
I cocked my head the way Rex did when I asked him a question.
“I know that you have some influence over your father's . . . decisions.”
“Well.” I steepled my fingers in front of my chest, hoping to appear more in charge than I really was.
“There's a very sensitive matter at hand and your father doesn't exactly see things in the same vein as I do.”
“Did you want a yes-man or someone more opinionated who might challenge you? Because if you wanted the former, my father is not that man.”
“I'm hesitant to discuss more before you hear what's on the table. Can you remain after to speak privately if need be?”
“Of course.” I followed him to the ground-floor meeting room.
My father was seated when we entered and I pecked him on the cheek.
“Dad.”
“Mari— Burgundy.” He adjusted his tie without making eye contact with me.
