by M. S. Parker
“I’ve met my share of assholes, Mr. Kowalski.” A couple of faces flashed through my mind, not excluding a few men I'd had to deal with recently.
A faint smile curled his lips and he shrugged, a gesture far more casual than any he’d used so far. “Pardon me for being blunt here, but I grew up in the Bronx. It’s a different world than what you know. You see things different. You’re not quite as stiff in the neck as some of your peers, but even you see the world around you in a particular fashion. Your father, men like him? They see the world in two groups: their peers and everyone beneath them. It’s one thing to deal with an asshole. It’s another thing to deal with an asshole who doesn’t even see you as a person.”
I thought of how Aleena had said something similar regarding race and how people in my mother's social circle looked at her.
Kowalski brought my attention back by gesturing at the papers in front of me. “I need to know, would you like to continue with what I’ve uncovered, Mr. Snow?”
I looked back down at the papers. Even though there were several of them, they all dealt with the same thing. Adoptions in the state of New York the year I was born. Two of the pages were names and details of people who'd handled private adoptions...including a few black market adoptions.
Babies sold. Some without parental consent.
And I might have been one of them.
That was what my father had intimated to the PI.
My chest tightened. “I need to know.”
An hour later, I was back in my office, standing at the window. I'd been standing there since I'd gotten back and my muscles were burning from being held in one position for so long, but I barely felt the pain. I’d mastered the art of not moving during my year in hell.
“Don't move a muscle until I give you permission. If you do, I'll know, and you'll be sorry.”
It had been one of his favorite punishments for even the most minor infractions. Struggling when he wanted me to lie still. Not struggling when he wanted me to. Gagging when he shoved his cock down my throat. Making too much noise. Not making enough. It hadn't taken me long to realize that he'd just enjoyed punishing me.
I shook my head, hoping to get rid of his voice. Usually, the memories only came at night, but there were times when flashes came to me during the day, triggered by something specific. Today, I was punishing myself for being selfish.
I knew that what I was doing would hurt my mother. Did I really want the answers this badly? For all her faults, Jacqueline St. James-Snow was my mother. She might not have given birth to me, but she'd tried to do right by me. I'd had my doubts about searching for my birth parents, but after learning I might have been taken from my birth mother, I had to do it. Even if it hurt my mother. And I hated myself for it.
The phone rang and I ignored it. Three minutes later, it rang again.
My shoulders were rigid and fire licked up and down my back, but I still wouldn’t move.
There was a knock at the door. When a soft voice said my name, I finally turned my head and that, in and of itself, was agony. People didn't understand the torture that could come from motionlessness unless they'd been subjected to it.
The new office manager stood there, a tentative look on her face. I couldn’t remember her name. “What is it?” I snapped.
“I…ah...there’s a Mr. Pence here to see you.”
“If it’s Mitchell Pence, call the cops,” I said dismissively. I’d fired him. He’d been warned not to come back. I started to turn back to the window.
“It’s his father,” she said, her voice weak.
Slowly, I turned around. The fire licking my back worsened and then eased as I allowed myself to move. As though the movement had also lifted a veil from my emotions, I saw the anxiety in the woman’s eyes.
“His father,” I echoed. I immediately felt bad for snapping at her. None of this was her fault. Moving across the floor, I stood behind my desk.
“Yes, sir.”
I nodded and then reached inside my desk, pulling out a contract. I softened my voice, hoping to repair the damage from my initial rudeness. “Have security find the feed from Mr. Pence’s little…incident. They should know what I’m talking about.”
Hopefully, Jacob Pence would prove to be smarter than his son.
As she went to shut the door, I spoke again, “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I’ll be leaving after this.”
I couldn’t stay here. My temper was on a hair trigger. I'd practically bitten her head off when she'd only been doing her job.
I needed an outlet and there was one place I knew I could go.
Two hours later, I found myself in worse shape than before.
A new Domme, Maxime, stood on the Olympus stage. She wore an elegant corset of dark blue silk along with a skirt of white velvet. She looked like royalty and by the way she had her Sub kneeling at her feet when she was done, it seemed that the man with her thought the same. They were a unit, not just a couple of people who had hooked up for the day, and judging by the sighs when they left the stage, most of the people in the audience had appreciated the show. If my head had been anywhere close to normal, I might have appreciated the art with which she brought her Sub to the very edge.
But I was just as edgy as I’d been when I came in. I'd found no relief here.
A women in red body paint came to me, crawling on her hands and knees. She stopped in front of me and rubbed her cheek against my knee. “Can I pleasure you, Master?”
“No.” It wasn't harsh, but it was final.
She made a low, disappointed sound and gazed up at me sadly before crawling away. That’s when I recognized her eyes. She’d done this before, I realized. Maybe not wearing the red body paint, but I knew I’d been with her before. She’d probably even pleased me then, but I didn't remember her.
“I think you broke her heart.”
There was no mistaking that voice. Deep and smooth, a warm bass that could sway juries and convict the hearts of the public, I looked up at District Attorney Jefferson Sinclair. He wasn’t readily recognizable, unless somebody was really looking, and if they did, he’d be screwed. It was one thing for someone like me to be here. It was another thing entirely for Sinclair.
“Feel like living dangerously, Sinclair?” I asked. A prominent political figure like him being found in a place like Olympus was just asking to be a ruined political figure.
His teeth flashed white against his dark skin as he smiled. “I’m here…investigating.”
That had my attention. “Investigating what?” I asked warily. I'd always gotten along with him, but that meant nothing when it came to political ambitions.
“That’s not for you to know.” He shrugged. “But you’re in the clear so you don’t need to worry.” He nodded at the seat across from me. “Mind?”
Actually, I did. I wanted to be alone. But if he was sitting here, chances were nobody else would bother me. I preferred his company to another former conquest. I gestured. “Feel free.”
He settled down, looking easy and comfortable in the elegant gloom of the club. Almost like he’d been there before and I wondered if he had. “Are you looking for somebody in particular?”
“If I am, would you be feeling helpful?”
I debated, then shrugged. I wasn’t feeling particularly kind to a lot of people at the moment. Too many of the New York elite had done nothing but piss me off lately. My mother. My father. Penelope. Then I thought of Aleena and Kowalski, of Fawna and Molly. All people who knew what it meant to work hard, laugh hard and enjoy the things around them. Enjoy the people around them without thinking just how they might use that person. Then I studied Sinclair. I'd always admired him because, for a politician, he was surprisingly straightforward and honest. He played the game because he had to, but he truly believed in what he was doing.
“I might be feeling helpful,” I said slowly.
“Depending on what I can offer in return?” he asked wryly. There was no cynicism in his voice. He simp
ly knew what was expected in this world. Favors, as much as money and who you knew, made the world go around.
“No.” I just shook my head and waited.
He looked nonplussed for a moment and then he slowly nodded. “I hear you’re involved with somebody.” Then he smiled, the grin going cagey. “I must say, Dominic. I caught sight of your personal assistant when you two were at a lunch with the director of the Met a couple of weeks ago. That smile of hers; I’d recognize it anywhere, even without the mask.”
Shit. I'd forgotten that Sinclair had been one of the men who'd wanted to be fixed up with Aleena after her appearance at the masquerade ball. It felt like a million years had passed since then.
“At first, I thought you were a selfish son of a bitch, trying to keep a woman like that to yourself, but then I figured it out.”
“There a point to this, Jefferson?” I asked, my tone bored despite the tension in my body.
“She got to you.” He leaned forward slightly. “There’s not a lot of things in this world that can make a man like you suddenly wake up and realize there’s an entire world around him.”
My jaw clenched and I glared at him.
“Aw, now. Don’t go looking at me like that.” Some of the polish left his voice and for a minute, he was just an amused man, grinning at me, almost laughing. “You’re not a bad guy, Dominic. Not compared to some of those other high society dicks, but you’re still one of them.”
“You and I run in the same circles, Jefferson,” I pointed out. “Those high society dicks helped you get elected.”
“But I’m an outsider. Always will be.” He shrugged. “I’m the black boy who comes from new money.” He said the entire thing in the same derisive tone my mother would have used. “I graduated top of my class at Harvard, same as my dad. As a judge, he helped put away some of the worst scum this city has ever seen and he dealt with some of the worst scum you can imagine. But we've never been good enough to sit at the table with the rest of your lot, not good enough to drink from the same fountain as people like your mama.”
“I’m not my mother,” I bit off, leaning forward and glaring at him.
“No, and that’s why I’m sitting here talking to you.” He settled back, still smiling. “Your girlfriend…she is your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
I blinked, staring at him. It wasn’t just the abrupt change of topic that caught me off-guard. It was that word. Girlfriend. It brought to mind teenagers going to prom. A place in a relationship that was beyond friends, but nothing as serious as settling down.
Girlfriend didn’t even touch on what Aleena had become to me.
For the first time, I admitted it out loud, “She’s much more.”
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. Then he nodded. “Good for you.”
The phrase struck me as strange. “Good for me?”
“Yeah. You’re good people, Dominic. And I like her, your girlfriend who’s much more than that.” Then he laughed and stood. He looked around at the people below. The club was home to some of New York’s elite. Debauched, yes. But elite. “She’s real. You want to be happy? Find a woman who’s real. That’s what my dad told me before he died.”
He turned to go.
“I thought you were looking for somebody,” I said to his back.
Jefferson glanced back at me and then nodded toward the stage. “I just found him.”
I followed his gaze, caught sight of the man who’d just led a woman in a collar, on her hands and knees, up onto the raised platform.
“Show’s not going to happen,” he said as several people separated themselves from the crowd. Plain clothes cops, I was willing to bet. “Hope you won’t be disappointed.”
I ran my tongue across my teeth and then looked around as the cops approached the man on the stage. My vague sense of displeasure still lingered. I was disappointed. But not because of the show.
Shaking my head, I rose and turned to leave. When the aggravated voices rose to shouts of fury behind me, I didn’t even pause. I didn't care who the man was or why he was being arrested. I didn't care that the show was canceled.
I only had one thing on my mind, one person, and she wasn’t here.
The edginess, the restlessness, all of it was back, if it had ever left. The elegant depravity of Olympus seemed to mock me as I left the club behind, and I didn't give it a backwards glance. I didn't want to be there anymore.
3
Aleena
I was smiling by the time Francisco left.
Aside from Fawna and Annette, he'd been the first to figure out things were more than just employer/employee between Dominic and I, though he hadn't said anything about it. I was a bit nervous about approaching him, wondering if he'd have a problem with the relationship.
When I’d told him I wanted to cook dinner for the two of us, he’d given me a long, thorough look and then he’d asked, “So are we talking a burger and fries kind of dinner, or something more?”
“More.”
Now the penthouse was quiet and redolent with the spiced scent of the chicken dish Francisco had walked me through preparing. It had sounded incredibly complicated, but he’d laughed and assured me it wasn’t. He’d been right. The meal, once I got past the fancy name and all the fancy descriptions and tools, was incredibly easy and my belly was grumbling.
It was also jumping.
Figuring it couldn’t hurt, I cracked open the wine and had myself a glass as I waited. The alcohol took the edge off, but was hardly enough to relax me completely.
It was almost six and Dominic was rarely later than that. I paced around the expansive living room, trying to find something to engage my brain so I wouldn’t think about the food, or the fact that I was nervous about seeing him.
I didn't know why I was nervous.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him last night, or like he hadn’t spent hours over the weekend either buried inside me, wrapped around me or standing over me as he administered various forms of seductive punishment. My hand automatically went to the place on my neck where he'd marked me. My toes curled into the thick pile of the imported rug under my feet and I tipped my head back as memory rolled through me.
The bed in the playroom had more accoutrements than I’d realized and some of them had very inventive uses. Dominic had chuckled at my wide-eyed astonishment and then he’d promised to show me some of the more unique toys he had at the house at the Hamptons.
I had no idea what to expect, but the very idea of it made me shiver in anticipation.
Need coiled tight and hot in my belly. I slid one hand up, cupping my left breast through the thin cotton of my sundress and the strapless bra I was wearing underneath. My nipples had already drawn tight and one tug had a pang echoing through my body, harsh and demanding. Wine splashed onto my fingers, but I didn’t care. I pinched my nipple and imagined all of the wonderful things Dominic could do to it.
The door opened.
Lost in the moment, I turned my head and gazed at Dominic through half-lidded eyes. He stared at the hand that cupped my breast as he shut the door behind him. I gave my nipple one final, slow roll and then smiled at him over the wine glass before I took another sip.
I had one brief moment to process the flash in his eyes as he came toward me. Then, just as I went to squeeze my breast, he cupped my hand and did it for me, molding his hand to mine as his mouth came crushing down against my lips.
The wine glass fell to the rug and the remaining few drops of liquid splashed wet against my feet and lower legs.
He spun me around and I said his name, but he cupped his hand over my mouth.
“Shhh…” he said, his voice harsh, rasping.
I went quiet. The sweet, lazy daze of heat that had wrapped around me was gone, replaced by an inferno. The room tilted as he pushed me down, his hand still over my mouth. I caught myself on my hands, but sank to my elbows as he applied more pressure.
I felt the cool caress of air as he flipped up my dress. The touch of h
is finger pulling aside my lace panties. Then he was inside me.
I gasped against his palm, shuddering and twisting as I tried to accommodate him. I wasn’t ready. The light strokes I’d given my breasts had made me wet, but not wet enough. He tucked my butt against the cradle of his hips as he pulled out, then surged back in, deep and hard.
I moaned against his hand as his thrusts drove me face down on the floor, the weight of his body heavy on my back.
He bit the curve of my neck and then rasped against my ear, “Touch yourself, Aleena. I want you to come.”
The angle was awful. He was huge and deep inside me, his upper thighs pinning mine close together. I had to force my hand between me and the floor, the carpet chafing painfully against my skin as he slammed into me, breath bursting from my lungs.
There was no finesse to this. I thought I’d felt his hunger before, but…no. No, I hadn’t.
Not until now.
He wasn't in control and the realization sent a thrill through me.
“Touch yourself,” he snarled again. “I want to feel you coming.”
Pleasure burned me and I circled my clit with my fingers.
The hand muffling my moans moved away and he propped himself up enough that he was no longer crushing me even though his body still pinned mine to the floor. He nipped at my ear, the side of my neck, my shoulder.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I stroked faster, harder, feeling the heavy, furred sac of his balls slapping against me with each hard dig of his hips.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” The words seemed so small compared to what I felt for him. The intensity of it sometimes felt like it would overwhelm me. Shuddering, I twisted against him one more time and it brought of a rush of pleasure so all-encompassing, I thought it would end me.
His cock swelled.
I came and even as I felt myself clenching around him, he shouted my name, sheer uncontrolled desperation in his voice as he began to climax.
I sat up a few minutes later, my legs still too weak to hold me if I tried to stand. I wasn't thinking about that though. Seconds after he'd come, Dominic had pulled out, making my body jerk at the sudden loss. But that hadn't been as bad as seeing him drop to the floor, his eyes empty.
