by Cynthia Dane
“Is this your parents’ house?” Monica asked as she admired the gild work on the nearest banister. “I know they live in Montana now, but I’m guessing this is a family home.”
“My parents technically own it, but my sister and I are the only family residents here.” Henry put his hand on the small of her back, eliciting a smile. “My grandparents were the original owners of the house. Guess you could say it runs in our family.”
He had a habit of doing that – dropping hints that he was expected to continue his family line. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Monica followed him up the stairs into the East Wing. A man had already taken her bags up there after Henry told him that she was to stay there for the next few days. Which means these people know I’m sleeping with him. She hoped he paid them well enough to stay out of his business.
“Does your sister have any children?” Monica had no idea why she asked that. Yes I do. When she was with Jackson, there was no idea that they would have children. Perhaps in another life where he didn’t turn out that way. Monica was not opposed to the idea of being a mother one day, but she wasn’t about to get tangled up with a man who would eventually leave her because she wasn’t good enough to birth heirs.
Henry stopped in front of a door and looked at her over his shoulder. “No, she doesn’t. Honestly, the idea seems so preposterous.”
“Does she not want any?”
He opened the door. “You’ll see what I mean if she decides to join us for dinner.”
The master quarters of the East Wing were simple yet elegant in design. A receiving room boasted ample seating space and an entertainment center that spoke of intimate nights watching movies in front of the fireplace. Attached to the receiving room was a small kitchenette with a microwave, mini-fridge, and advanced hot plate that looked more sophisticated than the common oven.
Of course, that did not compare to the master en suite, with its jetted tub, high-tech shower, his-and-her vanities and enough storage space to hide Monica’s wardrobe if she were the type of woman to shove it in the bathroom. Henry showed it to her out of propriety, since, “I’m sure you’ll have to use it at some point.”
While nice, Monica only really cared about the bedroom. Especially when Henry opened a pair of double doors and carried her luggage through, gesturing to the four-poster bed bedecked in a soft blue comforter and white Egyptian cotton sheets.
All told, the common man would not imagine that Henry Warren was a Dom. But Monica was not the common man. She felt the sturdiness of the posts, saw the hooks hanging from the headboard, and caught a whiff of romantic candles that mixed calming vanilla with exciting cinnamon. It was a smell she could get used to.
Since they arrived so late, Henry informed her that dinner would be ready in less than a half hour. He excused himself to tend to house matters, leaving his guest to change into a loose cotton dress that hugged her chest but merely flirted with her hips. She thought about letting her hair down, but chose to sit in front of Henry’s vanity and coif it on top of her head into a tight bun. The finishing touch, which she completed the moment Henry stepped in to tell her dinner was served, was a string of pearls around the bun. They nestled nicely in her fine chestnut hair.
Dinner was indeed served by the time they reached the dining room in the Premier House. Henry pulled out a chair for Monica to sit in, to the right of the head. Naturally, Henry sat there, his posture perfect as he pulled a silk handkerchief into his lap and pulled roast off a platter. Monica lifted her hand to either serve him or herself, but Henry insisted on “spoiling” her. When do I get to spoil you?
Not anytime soon. A loud voice echoed in the dining room, feminine, yet full of bite.
“Henry!” A woman dressed in a Givenchy suit strutted into the room, her five-inch heels clacking on marble and her jewelry jingling on her wrists and neck. At first Monica thought the woman also had her dark blond hair pulled into a bun, but on second glance she realized it was a short, choppy pixie cut above the ears and the nape of the neck. The bold and dark makeup on the woman’s slim face made her look like the type to waltz into an office and grab a man’s balls. “Where have you been all day?”
“Monica Graham,” Henry said, pushing back in his chair, “I’d like you to meet my sister, Evangeline Warren.”
“Please. Eva.” She pulled out the chair on Henry’s other side and sat down, although she did not face dinner, nor did she act like she was going to eat any of it soon. “Evangeline is some other woman I don’t know.”
“I admit I don’t know an Evangeline either.” Henry put his utensils down and regarded his sister with a mixture of contempt and affection. “And I was out. I told you that I would have a guest this week. I had to go pick her up.”
Finally, Eva looked at Monica, a smile cracking on her face. That’s not a happy smile. Monica concentrated on her most political countenance, refusing to show Eva Warren that she was at all intimidated by her. I’m not intimidated. For one, Monica knew she was older than Henry’s sister. Not that Eva was a “kid” by any stretch of the imagination. She doesn’t seem to like me. Monica was usually good at determining whether someone wanted anything to do with her or not.
“Yes. Your guest.” Eva stared straight at Monica, her heavy eye shadow making her look like a supermodel from a high-fashion magazine. One long, slender leg crossed over the other as Eva took out a large smart phone and looked something up. “There’s your message from this morning. I must have forgotten to check them.”
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Henry pushed a glass toward his sister and offered to fill it with wine. “Surely you haven’t had anything to eat yet this evening.”
“Afraid I can’t. I’m meeting someone later and wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite.”
“Who are you meeting?”
Eva pulled her fingers across her lips as if she were closing a zipper. “Last time I told you there was that whole fifth degree thing. Remember? Because I sure do.”
“Ah, so it’s a date.”
“Now I regret telling you. At least you’re on a date of your own.” Eva flashed Monica another look. “What did you say your name was?”
“Monica.” She said it before Henry had the chance. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“No, but I’ve definitely heard of you.” Eva accepted some wine and downed half of it in one gulp. “I guess my brother has… eclectic tastes.”
“Eva…”
“Now, now, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Yet Eva would still not look her in the eye, as if Monica would give her a terrible affliction from a glance alone. “You have to understand. My brother has a habit of bringing in women I tend to recognize. Small circles, you know.”
“I see.”
“Isn’t it about time you got ready for this date of yours? Don’t you have some homework to do?”
Eva stood up without finishing her drink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Henry.” She patted her brother on the shoulder and sashayed out of the dining room. “Especially with that lovely lady!” Her voice echoed, loud and melodic.
It took a few moments before Henry or Monica could pick up a fork again. “Please pardon my sister. My parents let her get away with murder growing up. Truly the spoiled one.”
Monica finished chewing before responding. “She seems lovely. I can see the resemblance between you two.” Not just the hair, but the way they confidently carried themselves through the room as if everyone should be in awe of them. I would say it’s a Warren trait, but I’ve been around enough rich people by now to know it’s every last one of them. Sometimes they expressed it in different ways. “Don’t worry about her, Henry. I sensed no malice in her words.”
“That’s good, because I doubt she intended them.” Nevertheless, Henry looked back to where his sister walked. “A date, huh? I should see what kind of person it is…”
“She’s a grown woman.”
“You don’t understand
. I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about her date.”
“Oh?”
Henry finished his sister’s wine. “Let’s say more than the hair runs in our family.”
“I see.” Monica contained her smile. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that Henry and Eva were twins. “So, does her bed have hoops and chains on it too?”
“I don’t want to know. It’s bad enough I heard an ex of hers go on about how she works a flogger. Oh, and you know that BDSM club in the city?”
“Of course I know it.” Monica had been there a time or two. Most recently to hire a girl for her Château – Judith, to be exact.
“I ran into her there once. I don’t think I had ever vacated a place as quickly as I vacated that one.” Henry sighed. “From then on, we had to come up with a code word for it. ‘I’m going on vacation tonight.’ That way the other one knows not to go and we don’t embarrass ourselves. Some things still stay sacred in this family.”
Monica hid her smile behind her hand. “That sounds… well, I don’t have any siblings, so I couldn’t tell you how weird that is or not, but I’m sure it’s disturbing from your perspective.”
“You truly have no idea.”
They finished dinner, eschewing dessert and instead deciding to head up to the East Wing. Henry insisted that there was a good movie they could watch. Monica, on the other hand, had a few ideas of her own – which she shared with Henry the moment they entered his chambers and the twilight of the day cast shadows on the both of them.
“I don’t want to watch a movie,” Monica said, placing her hand on Henry’s firm abdomen and playing with his belt buckle. “I want you to fuck me.”
Chapter 3
Her Master’s Chambers
Neither surprise nor boredom entered his eyes. Henry leaned one hand against the wall, cornering Monica by the door but not doing anything to incite her. “That’s pretty forward.”
“Please. You invited me to your estate and thought I wouldn’t be thinking of this?”
“Quite the contrary, not a minute went by today in which I didn’t imagine you on your knees in front of me.” He lowered his head and touched her cheek with his nose, breath hot on her skin. “In fact, I spent so much time thinking of what I want to do with you, that I ended up confusing myself. So little time. So many games we could play.”
Monica shivered. “Will you kiss me?”
Henry wrapped his hand around half her neck, his thumb pushing against her tender flesh as his lips came for hers. We haven’t kissed since we last parted. Now here he was, mouth touching hers, their kisses heavier with each passing second. Arousal burst within Monica, and while her bun pressed against the wall, she searched for Henry’s jacket in an effort to bring him closer to her.
“My sweet Princess,” Henry said, his grip tightening. “There are some things I can think of making you do right now.”
“Tell me.” The thought of doing as he bid brought more arousal to Monica. I’ll please you. I’ll make you proud. And in return, she would also feel good for a while. “I want you to be my Master.” Monica was on vacation, after all. Time to escape into a different world where she didn’t have to worry about a damn thing in her life.
Henry, however, did not jump at the chance to make her serve him. “And what are you in such a hurry for?” He touched the top of her cleavage and watched his finger disappear between her breasts. “You just got here. You’ve barely had dinner. Are you so wound up that you can’t keep yourself off me?”
Monica gasped when his fingers found her nipple within her dress. “Please, Mr. Warren,” she said with a careful tone. “It’s only right that I thank you for inviting me into your home.”
He loomed over her, and for a fleeting moment Monica thought he would take her right there against the wall. Do it. She would either take the drawn out game of dominance and submission, or she would take the quick, needy sex he offered right now. Let’s get it out of our systems. Out of my system. Didn’t Henry know how much she fantasized about coming to see him? Monica was ready to feel his touch again. His absolute touch.
“You try my patience. I was going to wait until tonight to treat you to something, but now you come in here and attempt to seduce me. I’m a strong man, Monica, but even I have my limits. Tempt me too much and I may give you what you want. To my own ends, of course.”
Whatever that meant, Monica wanted it.
“There must be something I can do for you.” She touched his chest, fingers working the buttons of his silk shirt while her eyes darted to his belt buckle. “Tell me what to do. My knees, my back… do whatever you want to me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do anything to you.” Henry guided her hand to his cock, hardening within his trousers. “Maybe I want to make you do all the work.”
That’s fine too! “You’re the master of this household. It’s only right that I serve you.” Monica pushed off the wall and against him. “Use me in any way you want. Even if it means using my actions.”
Without a word Henry smoothed down her hair – his fingers played with the pearls before hovering around her ear. Her hand did not leave his cock. “If you’re not careful, I will take full advantage of you.”
The man knew how to speak to her. Monica clasped her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself up, kissing his chin and attempting to bring him down upon her.
In her desperation all she could think was how happy she was when Henry finally lured her to bed, his body sitting on the edge while he forbade her from joining him. “Kneel,” he said, the bite of Mr. Warren clouding his voice. “Kneel and lower your dress.”
She did as commanded, her knees sinking to the carpet in between his legs while her hands reached for her straps. One by one they fell down her arms, gathering at her elbows while the bust of her dress gave way to her breasts. Her braless breasts, since Monica knew what she was doing when she dressed earlier that day. I brought one whole bra on this trip. Just in case it was socially necessary.
It definitely wasn’t right now.
“Where did you get these pearls?” Henry rubbed one of them, nuzzling it into Monica’s hair. “They make you look so prim and proper. And yet here you are, kneeling before me with your tits out. Do you think that’s proper, my princess?”
Monica shook her head. “No, Mr. Warren. It isn’t proper at all.”
“A good girl would keep that sort of thing hidden away. You must not be a very good one. Would you say you’re a sullied girl?”
God willing. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry if it displeases you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you because you’re virginal. I like you because you know how to serve. Do you think I care that other men have seen you like this? Other women, perhaps? Never. You seem like an assured woman who knows what she wants. And you want me to punish you for your indiscretions, even the ones I don’t know about… right?”
“Yes, Mr. Warren.” Monica tried to mask the excitement in her throat.
“Turn around and bend down. I want to see your ass.”
The carpet rubbed against Monica’s knees as she did as he bid, her skirt falling along her back while she pushed her ass into the air and against Henry’s cock. Fuck me. Being pushed into the floor as he did her from behind sounded… well, Monica couldn’t think of it without wanting to pass out in her fantasies.
Not that she could pass out. The first spank she received made her torso shoot up, her voice cracking in the air as another smack hit her ass.
“How many times should I spank you today?” Henry kneaded her flesh, his strong fingers rolling her skin between them as Monica moaned into the carpet. “You tell me. I don’t know what naughty things you’ve done since I last saw you.”
I don’t care, I just want more. Henry knew how to spank. He was hard enough to send a tender flash through her system, but considerate enough to not dish long-term pain. Monica liked the shock of the here and now. She wasn’t i
nterested in being bruised and sore the next day. “I’ve been terrible,” she said meekly. Monica was careful to not sound childish. A woman with a lot of guilt was the ticket. “I’ve thought about you so many times.”
His grip on her ass tightened. “And did you touch yourself?”
“Every time.”
“Every time?” She got a spank for that. A harsh one that made her yelp. “Touch yourself now. Right here.” Henry took her hand and pushed it between her legs. Monica touched her own thighs before meeting the cotton of her lingerie. “Just like that. Touch yourself until I can see how wet you are.”
That wasn’t difficult. Just hearing Henry talk about punishing her with more spanking was making Monica shudder in all the right ways. When she pressed against her lingerie, she already felt her arousal appearing, right in full view of Henry’s eyes. Somehow that was hotter than him taking off her clothes.
