Silas (A Playboy's Lair Novel Book 1)

by S. R. Watson

  Silas (A Playboy’s Lair Novel)- Part One

  Copyright © 2017 S.R. Watson

  First Edition: June 2017

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative Covers, www.ppccovers.com

  Editor: Jenny Sims, www.editing4indies.com

  Cover Model: Ryan “Stacks” Harmon, www.facebook.com/ryanstacksharmon

  Photographer: Golden Czermak of Furious Fotog, www.onefuriousfotog.com

  Formatter: Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books by S.R. Watson

  Silas Music Playlist

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Silas: A Playboy’s Lair Novel (Part Two)—Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  Forbidden Trilogy

  Forbidden Attraction (Available Now)

  Forbidden Love (Available Now)

  Unforbidden (January 2018)

  Stand Alone

  The Object of His Desire (Available Now)

  S.I.N. Rock Star Trilogy

  Sex in Numbers (Available Now)

  Creed of Redemption (Available Now)

  Leave it All Behind (Coming Fall 2017)

  SILAS Music Playlist

  In the Air Tonight - Natalie Taylor

  Not Afraid Anymore - Halsey

  Simple Things - Miguel

  Nutshell - Alice in Chains

  Insatiable - Prince

  Halfway Right - Sarah Jaffe

  Blindfold- Canopy Climbers

  Tonight - Nonso Amadi

  Black Flies - Ben Howard

  Fantasy - Alina Baraz

  Somebody to Love - Jasper Sawyer

  Never be Like You - Flume

  Bullet Train - Stephen Swartz feat. Joni Fatora

  Underflow - Emma Louise

  Everything - Lifehouse

  Unsteady - X Ambassadors

  The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez

  You Should Know Where I’m Coming From - Banks

  To be Torn - Kyla La Grange

  Tennessee Whiskey - Chris Stapleton

  I dedicate Silas to my amazing readers. Thank you for your continued support and enthusiasm for my novels. Your personal messages, social media posts, and feedback are inspiring and is greatly appreciated. You, my readers, are why I write. I love creating characters and worlds for you all to get lost in… creating sexy alphas for you to fall in love with. I love creating angst and mystery that keeps you on your toes in anticipation, before delivering the HEA. It’s all about the journey so I’m glad that you all choose to take the journey with me.

  A ship is always safe at shore, but that is not what it’s built for.—Albert Einstein

  It was just a fucking swim. A rash decision that landed me in trouble with the Neumanns because I needed to feel close to her today. It has been twenty minutes since Mr. Neumann said we needed to talk. Everyone knows that the “we need to talk” spiel never pans out, so I’m probably about to get fired. A lone tear runs down my cheek as I look up at the clock on my wall. It’s now a few minutes past six. Each tick makes me jumpier than the one before as my mind wanders back to the moment I was caught swimming laps in the pool a half an hour ago.

  I’ve always waited until I was sure that everyone was asleep. Midnight swims were my time to be free to think about her. Today, I didn’t wait. The house was quiet, so I reasonably assumed that the Neumanns were out. They’ve never said that their pool was off-limits, but to be fair, I’ve never asked. Today marks the one-year anniversary of my mother’s death. The day she took her own life. The day I found her in the bed next to me not breathing. I hate that I remember her this way—as the coward who left me alone. My daily swim helps me remember her before the ugliness. She taught me to swim when I was seven in the very pool I was caught in today. It was our thing. Each night when she was finished with all her work, we would sneak out to the pool for our mother-daughter time.

  I didn’t attend traditional school, so I didn’t have a strict bedtime. I was usually in bed before eleven, but she never wanted to miss spending quality time with me because of her job. My homeschooling took place while Mom worked during the day. She’d set me up with my lessons for the day in the kitchen and the entire house staff checked on me in rotations throughout the day. They were all part of my learning. Thomas, the house manager, and Bertha, the cook, were my favorites. They would help make a game out of my lessons and created ways to help me remember what I’d learned.

  A turn of my doorknob has me sitting straighter on my bed, halting my trip down memory lane. I pull the towel I’m still wearing closer around my body. I hadn’t dared to move from this spot since I was sent here to wait. Thomas comes through the door, and my shoulders drop in relief. Even with all his responsibilities as the house manager, he’s stepped up the most to make sure I was taken care of. He’s the one who negotiated with the Neumanns for me to take over my mother’s job after she died. They wanted someone with more experience, but he ensured them that I could handle it.

  “Brennan, why haven’t you changed into some dry clothes?” he asks in confusion.

  “Well, because I didn’t know when Mr. Neumann would be in here to talk to me. I didn’t want to be in the middle of getting dressed when he came,” I explain.

  That’s only partly true. It’s mostly because I have been scared shitless of what he was coming to tell me and couldn’t move from this spot.

  “He’s not coming, Bren. He sent me.” The sadness reflected in his eyes confirms my prediction. He’s sent Thomas in here to let me go, and the irony is not lost on me. The one person who I have come to trust the most will be the one to kick me out on my ass.

  “Don’t say it, Thomas. Please don’t! I’ll go.” My stupid tears are really flowing now. I clench the towel tighter around me as if that could trap the wind that has just been knocked from my sails.

  “I’m sorry. This is all Mrs. Neumann’s idea. She didn’t like that you were in the pool in a skimpy bathing suit. You’re the only female left here, Bren, and she thinks you’re a distraction,” he says apologetically. “I don’t agree with her assessment, but my hands are tied.”

  Mrs. Neumann is the one who found me in the pool, and she yelled at me to get out that instant. The smoldering disdain in her eyes was unprecedented. She stood there at the edge of the pool as I got out then threw me a towel big enough to get lost in. Her gaze held mine for the briefest of seconds
before she turned on her heel and stormed off. That was it. No explanation or further chastisement. I waited until she had completely disappeared into the house before I escaped to my room, but Mr. Neumann was waiting for me as I passed the kitchen.

  He stood near the sink with a grip so tight on the counter his knuckles were mottled white. His affect gave nothing away unlike Mrs. Neumann’s. He simply stated that he needed to speak with me and would meet me in my room. Only he never came. He sent Thomas to get rid of me because his wife thought I was a distraction. It doesn’t make sense. Yes, my one piece is a little on the small side. It’s the last one my mother had bought for me before I developed these breasts that have taken over my body. I don’t have much when it comes to clothes. Where in the heck would I wear them? I never venture away from the mansion, and I don’t have friends bedsides my work family here. I wasn’t trying to be a tramp or be inappropriate. If anything, I’m the complete opposite. I’m not a distraction, dammit. I don’t want her husband or any of the men here. These people look out for me, and now, I’m being sent away from the only family I know.

  “I found you another home,” Thomas says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What do you mean found me another home? This is my home. No other place will be home,” I rebut.

  “Home, as in another place to work. With us is your real home,” he clarifies. “I made a call to a longtime friend of mine who is also a house manager. His name is Mr. Davenport, and he was able to get you a job. I’ve shared this information with the Neumanns, and they’ve booked you a flight to Florida tomorrow morning.”

  I don’t like this one bit. And across the globe, for Christ’s sake. The idea of starting over somewhere else and meeting new people terrifies me. Hell, I’ve never even been on a plane. The Neumann’s mansion has been my reality from birth. The older I got, the more I realized just how different my mom, the house staff, and I were. We didn’t fit in with the privileged. When I turned twelve, my mother began to teach me how to clean and maintain a house—tools of the trade per se. From there, I learned other jobs such as cooking and gardening. My mother wanted me to be well rounded for when I found a husband because she didn’t want this servant life for me forever. I remember thinking her reasoning was sexist and absurd, but I wanted to earn my keep, so I soaked up the knowledge anyway. It made me feel good to be able to lighten her workload with the skills she taught me.

  Once, during my ninth grade year of high school, I tried to fit in the outside world, and I hated it. I only lasted a week in the “fancy private school for the rich” that Mr. Neumann got me into. To say I was an outcast would be an understatement. I never want to experience that feeling again—the not fitting in. I don’t want to be the new girl again. But the truth is, I have no choice. I have some money that my mother left for me, and money that I’ve earned from my job with the Neumanns, but I don’t have the resources to get a place on my own just yet. I don’t have any life skills or job skills aside from being a maid. This is my reality. I am the help.

  “Fine. Thank you, Thomas. I’ll pack my stuff. I still don’t understand why I didn’t get a warning. Why is it that after all the loyalty my mother gave to this place, they can be so quick to just get rid of me?”

  Thomas has no explanations or answers to that riddle, and I know this isn’t his fault. I restrain myself from asking more about this new job because it doesn’t matter. I don’t need details that I’ll just be anxious over—more than I am already. He takes the hint that I want to be left alone when I turn my back to him. He apologizes one more time, pats me on the shoulder, and exits the room. I wipe my eyes with the side of my hands. They don’t deserve my tears. I know this is more of Mrs. Neumann’s decision than her husband’s, but I don’t care. I feel betrayed for my mother. She’s gone—a year today—and nobody has even thought about that. Nobody questioned why I was in the pool to begin with even though taking an afternoon swim was so out of character for me. And now I will lose our special place—our special memory forever. That saddens me the most.

  The start of a new year when the holidays are over means it’s time for the Lair men to meet and discuss our remaining cruises. I pour myself a glass of Macallan 64 from the decanter and soak up the sunshine while I wait for Kassius, Alistair, and Valentine to arrive. I head toward the reversed shaped bow of my yacht and stand overlooking the marina. I leisurely sip on the amber liquid of the refined scotch as I watch my guests begin to board on the second level. A line forms as security vets each person. Every other month, starting with January, my yacht either traverses the Atlantic or cruises to Caribbean destinations for a month. Each cruise has a theme, that is sexual in nature, for like-minded individuals. The Lair men host these coveted sexcapades. My waitlist is ridiculously long, and my selection criteria are calculatingly specific. Many have been on my waitlist since I introduced this unique experience three years ago. I have several sexually oriented businesses, but most are run by my chief executive officers. This yacht, The Playboy’s Lair, is my primary domain when I’m not traveling to check on my other entities. It is by far the hardest to get an invite on, and I only entrust the proprietary make-up of the cruises to Kassius, Alistair, and Valentine.

  The chuff of a helicopter interrupts my people watching. The guys are finally here. My t-shirt flaps against my chest from the wind vortex created from the chopper touching down on the helipad in front of me. My three cousins immediately get off, already discussing some woman they shared in an orgy last night. The details are muffled, at best, because of the noise from the helicopter, but they are supplying a pretty animated visual of the event. The three of them live in different states but met up in Chicago last night for some fundraiser hosted by one of my uncles—Alistair and Valentine’s father.

  “Sounds like you guys had a good time last night,” I say once they’re close enough to hear me over the helicopter’s slowing rotors. It will remain here until it’s time to take them back.

  “Understatement, man. I may have to break my one-night stand rule and look her up next time I visit Chicago.” Kassius elbows me for emphasis. He never sleeps with the same woman more than once, so this one must have had some magical unicorn pussy.

  “I’d love to hear all about this miraculous woman, but first, let’s get down to business.” The guys follow me to the lounge area just outside my suite and pour themselves a drink. Neither bats an eye at my exquisite choice of liquor. Macallan is our drink of choice, and the older, the better.

  “So what do you have planned for this cruise?” Kassius asks. The entire planning and execution of this first cruise were solely handled by me. In previous years, the themes have been handled by these guys. I haven’t been hands-on since the very first one. “Are you doing the introduction to erotic spanking again?”

  The guys know that I’m an ass man, and my kink involves leaving my mark. The belt is my favorite, but it depends on my partner and the sensation she can most tolerate. The belt is for the more experienced. Last time, my focus was too narrow. I led a class for people to experiment with long-range tools, such as the belt, but a majority of them preferred to stick with short-range tools, such as the paddle—less impact.

  “Something like that. You fuckers know me well,” I chide. “I’m broadening it to impact play for the mostly experienced. I’ve accepted ten novice members, though, who have little or no experience with this type of play. I couldn’t take on more than that because I don’t want to be in teaching mode the entire cruise.”

  The premise of this cruise is that thirty guests (half men and half women) thoroughly versed in the world of impact play have been matched based on their profile and preference. Each man chosen has experience in both thuddy and stingy impact play to better offer variety for the woman they are paired with. Sting is high velocity, has a smaller impact area, and is felt on the surface area of the skin. Thud is more of a penetrating blow, has a wider impact area, and is felt deeper than the skin. I have selected ten guests (again half men and half women
) who are complete novices to give them an opportunity to explore their curiosities and discover which realm of the spectrum of impact play they prefer.

  I explain the focus of this cruise in depth before we move on to discuss their plans for the upcoming cruises. Valentine has decided to bring exhibitionism and voyerism together while Kassius will host an orgy. No surprise there. Alistair is still undecided and is playing with a few different themes. He will need to report to me with a final decision by the time I get back in a month. His cruise isn’t until August, but we need ample time to select from the waitlist and give notice for invites. Any unavailability by those selected moves them to the bottom of the list. I don’t hold spots. My guests pay handsomely for the privilege to be included on one of my cruises, so I don’t play favorites.

  The familiar sound of stilettos approaching causes the guys to pause midsentence in distraction. Only one woman has the key card capable of accessing my personal space, and that’s Tory. I wasn’t expecting her arrival until much later. She’s part of my senior leadership team, but more importantly, my fuck buddy whenever I’m aboard. Busy with a new startup in Arizona, I haven’t been on board for the last four months.

  Her step slightly falters when she sees us all sitting here. She pulls at her fiery red tube dress that barely contains her tits. Her attempt to add a little more length to cover her ass nearly has them falling out. We watch in apt fascination. It’s no secret that she’s fucked us all. I may not make every cruise, but one of us is always on board. The only person her legs haven’t spread for is Kassius, and that’s because, up until now, he’s been in a serious relationship. That same relationship is responsible for his aversion to anything more than a one-night stand. I know the feeling all too well. While I don’t partake in that commitment shit, I don’t see the harm of keeping a casual fuck around if she serves a purpose. I outline my expectations and what I’m willing to offer ahead of time, and those who oppose get the boot.