Sinfully Mine

by Kendall Ryan

  “Yeah. It’s a nice place she found, in a safe area. I think she’s a little worried about how she’s going to afford it without a job, but I cosigned the lease and told her I’ll help if she needs it.”

  I nod. Knowing Macey, she’ll find a way to make it all work, without anyone’s help. It’s just the kind of girl she is. God love her.

  “How was her mood today?” I’m trying not to be terribly obvious, but the memory of our session is still buzzing through my veins, and I feel guilty I didn’t pay any mind to aftercare. It went against everything I knew as a Dominant, but I was painfully aware I couldn’t handle the level of emotional intimacy that comes along with it.

  “What do you mean?” Hale asks, now helping himself to a handful of my candy that’s scattered across the coffee table in a colorful mess.

  I shrug, trying to downplay my concern. “Just curious after our session yesterday—”

  I don’t get to finish, because he rises to his feet, clenching his fists at his sides. “You fucking went through with that?”

  “Of course I did. I told you I was going to.”

  “You’re a selfish asshole, Reece. What the fuck?”

  Confused, I stand as well. “I thought we both agreed it was better that I introduce her to the scene than some sadistic Dom doing God knows what with her.” Was he smoking crack when we met for lunch that day?

  “Don’t you have enough subs on speed dial? Macey’s my sister. Since I apparently didn’t make it clear before, I don’t want you messing around with my goddamn sister.” His voice rises three levels, and if I had any neighbors, I’m pretty sure they’d be able to hear every word.

  He said no sexual contact, and apparently he thought that was going to make me scrap the whole idea. Not that I abided by his request anyhow. The visual of Macey’s full lips wrapped around the head of my cock is permanently burned into my brain. And I can’t even find it in me to feel guilty about it. In fact, I want to do that again and again. Shit.

  Realizing Hale’s still fuming, still watching me and waiting for an answer, I grab my glass, knowing I’ll need a refill to continue this conversation. “Another measure?” I ask, glancing down at his empty glass on the table.

  “Answer the damn question,” he barks.

  I walk to the bar and pour myself another. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. Just Macey.”

  “You make it sound like an ongoing arrangement.”

  Turning back to face him, I try not to flinch when I see the vein in his forehead that only appears when he’s mad. Like fighting mad. Shit. This isn’t what I anticipated when I told him to swing by tonight.

  “It is. I promised her three sessions; I just don’t know how she’s feeling about continuing them. That’s why I asked you what her mood was like. She kind of rushed out of here.”

  “If you did something . . . if you hurt her, so help me God—”

  “I didn’t. I’d never hurt her.” The sincerity in my tone makes him pause, and he looks at me as if he’s looking at me for the first time. For a second, I think he’s going to see straight through me, that he’s going to discover that I’ve held feelings for her all this time. But then he lets out a deep exhale and gestures for me to continue.

  “So, what happened?” he asks, pressing his lips together.

  I take a swig before continuing. “I didn’t hurt her. I just might have . . . pissed her off. Ended the session earlier than she probably expected.”

  “That’s it? You cut it short?” This seems to make him happy, his tight posture relaxing just slightly.

  Staring at my glass, I say, “I’m trying to be careful with her.”

  I don’t explain that my concern has nothing to do with the fact she’s his sister, and everything to do with protecting my heart. The damn thing got crushed the last time she walked away. I can’t go through that again because this time, it would be much harder. She’s living here, in the same city. I’ll see her at holidays and parties, and fuck, will probably have to watch her get married. All at once I feel like punching something.

  “You know my stance on this,” Hale says with a no-nonsense glare. “No good can come of it.”

  I give him the nod he’s looking for; he’s one thousand percent right. “Understood.”

  He frowns and stands. Then without another word, he makes his way to the door, our conversation and our evening over, it seems. The door closes softly behind him, and I’m alone once again.

  Hale and I have never fought. Not once. I’m confused and feeling even more vulnerable than I imagined. When another Dom tells you you’re in the wrong, you stop and take note. Period.

  Alone in the quiet solitude of my apartment, I reflect on all the ways I’ve fucked up lately. First Chrissy asking why I’ve never settled down with a submissive, then my murderous feelings toward Oliver when he touched Macey, and now Hale questioning what I’m doing, coupled with my sullen mood after she moved out today.

  I look down at my coffee table littered with colorful candies and an empty glass of Scotch. This is like a damn post-breakup pity party. All that’s missing is the ice cream and cheesy romantic comedies. I need to fucking man up. I’m Reece-motherfucking-Jackson. I own Crave—Chicago’s hottest sex club. I deliver the pleasure; I decide the punishments. I can’t let one feisty girl who I used to be hung up on call the shots on our arrangement.

  Through my confused fog, clarity emerges. I might have fucked up running from Macey like that yesterday. But in our next session, I will make damn sure I don’t make the same mistake twice. She wants to experience this? Fine. I’ll let her see every ounce of my depraved side and let her decide for herself if she can handle it.

  Chapter Nine

  Macey

  I’m standing in the bathroom, arranging my toiletries on the little shelf above the sink, when my phone rings for the third time.

  “Uh. Fine, I’m coming,” I say to no one in particular, stomping across my new apartment to hunt for my cell phone. I find it underneath a pizza box that has sustained me for the last two days. I’m tired and irritable, considering all I’ve done over the past forty-eight hours is unpack boxes¸ scrub floors, wash windows, and stew over the memory of my awkward session with Reece.

  When I strutted into his club on New Year’s Eve looking for a good time, I never envisioned what could have happened. The Reece I remembered was a diligent, kind, and thoughtful lover. Not the kind of man to just walk away when it was over, leaving me to unbuckle the ankle restraints he placed me in, feeling confused and alone.

  My phone displays a number I don’t recognize.

  “This better be important,” I say.

  “It is.”

  Reece’s deep growl of a voice slams through me, and I have to brace myself with one hand against the counter. “Reece? Where are you calling from?”

  “My office phone. You didn’t answer when I called from my cell phone.”

  “I’m just in the middle of something. What’s going on?”

  “I’m calling about our next lesson.”

  He sounds so formal, as if we’re scheduling a dentist appointment together or something. I want to give him a piece of my mind, and I will. But now isn’t the time. I want to be face-to-face with him when I demand an explanation for the way he acted. He owes me that much.

  “Okay. What about it?” My cool, detached tone matches his. Two can play at this game.

  “Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. We’ll meet in the lounge for a drink first.”

  “Fine. See you then.”

  I hang up, determined to show him once and for all that I might be submitting, but I’m no pushover. Deciding that I’m done with the unpacking and organizing, I text Brielle.

  Hey . . . How about that margarita?

  Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting at a little place called the Lettuce Leaf, munching on organic chips and salsa, and sipping peach margaritas.

  “I’m glad you texted,” she says, taking another long sip of her icy drink. “Aren�
��t these heaven?”

  “They’re delicious. I think I’m almost ready for another.” I’m drinking embarrassingly fast, but dude, these are amazing. Like orgasms in a cup.

  She watches me like she’s looking for clues. “Is something bothering you? You know, other than being cooped up in your new place?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know how much to tell her about Reece and me, though she did seem pretty intuitive the last time. Maybe it’s the generous pour of tequila in my drink, but I’m looking across the table at Brielle, with her bright, inquisitive eyes and easygoing dressed-down style that includes a messy ponytail, and decide why the hell not open up to her?

  “Reece and I had a session a couple of days ago.”

  Her brows rise up on her forehead. “A session?”

  “Don’t act so innocent. I know my brother’s a member at Crave, so surely that must mean you’ve been well acquainted with the kink that goes on there.”

  She blushes and looks off in the distance. “I always wondered what Reece was into . . .”

  “He was intense, unyielding, and when it was over, boy was it over. He just left me in his private playroom and told me to get cleaned up.”

  Brielle frowns. “What about aftercare?”

  “After what?”

  She shakes her head. “Maybe that’s just a Hale thing. Never mind. Continue.”

  “I just wanted to have a little fun, you know, blow off some steam, but now I’m questioning if I want to do that again. Sure, it was exciting. My heart was pounding a million miles an hour not knowing what was going to happen in that room, under his skillful hands, I just didn’t expect to feel so . . . unsatisfied at the end.”

  Brielle chews on the end of her straw, looking thoughtful. “That’s strange that he was so abrupt about it. You know, Hale says that Reece has never settled down, has never taken on a submissive, almost like he’d had his heart broken and swore off anything serious. Which doesn’t make sense to Hale, because he says Reece never had anything serious enough to end badly. Although he did take his parents’ divorce pretty rough.”

  Well, isn’t she just a font of information. It’s interesting about Reece’s supposed lockdown of his heart. I get the sense he’s closed off too. But why? It couldn’t have been my relationship with him. He’s the one who ended things. He could have had me any way he wanted me—geez, I delivered myself on a silver platter, but no dice. Besides, that was a lifetime ago. I’m sure he moved on. Many times.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, taking another long sip of my drink while I gesture to the bartender for another. Fuck it; I’ll be taking a cab home anyway.

  Brielle clears her throat, her expression thoughtful. “Reece turned to BDSM several years ago, and then opened his club a few years later. I don’t know much of his past beyond what Hale’s mentioned. Sorry I don’t have any juicy gossip. I suck at girl talk.”

  I smile at her. “Well, I know something juicy.”

  “What’s that?”

  The bartender sets down two fresh peach margaritas, and I trade my empty glass for a full one. “He’s hung like a damn horse.”

  Brielle chokes on her drink and coughs. “Seriously?”

  I nod, a grin twitching on my mouth. “Seriously. That is one gargantuan slab of male virility. It’s like a huge fucking cock.”

  “Oh my God.” Brielle is chuckling behind her hand. “He’s what . . . . six foot six?”

  “Six four,” I correct. But yeah, he’s a giant. Built, muscular, handsome. And sweet, yet with a dark and troubled side I want to figure out. “And trust me, his cock is proportionate. It’s intimating. I mean, what do I do with that?” Remembering back to the way I made him come so quickly with my mouth, a twinge of pride ripples through me.

  “Good luck with that,” she says, still flushed and grinning at me.

  • • •

  With my shoulders back and my breasts thrust forward, I walk like I’m strutting down the runway at a major fashion show. Confidence exudes from every part of me, and I feel powerful and alive. Now that I know what to expect, I enter the club with more self-assuredness than before. My heels click across the floor as I head straight for the bar.

  Spotting Reece at the bar with a Scotch in his hand, I can’t help but remember the lesson he gave me on how to enjoy his favorite drink. He looks handsome but troubled with his broad shoulders pulled forward as he leans over the bar.

  I stop beside him and lift myself onto the bar stool.

  “What are you craving, sweetheart?” the bartender asks, stopping in front of me.

  “One of those, please,” I say, glancing at Reece’s glass of Scotch.

  Reece nods in approval as the bartender strolls away and grabs a bottle of Macallan, an expensive aged Scotch.

  “Clever line. Is that your doing?” I ask, nodding after the bartender.

  “The line? No, I paid a publicity company twenty thousand dollars to come up with that.”

  When it’s placed before me, I take a small sip of the drink, letting the burn fade on my tongue before I swallow just like Reece showed me. We sip our drinks quietly, a strange energy burning between us. It’s sexually charged, but there’s something else too—something I don’t quite understand yet, but want to.

  “What did you do today?” he asks.

  “Nothing much. Ran errands, then I got a manicure.” I wasn’t thrilled about the expense since I’m not working yet, but unpacking chipped my nails all to hell.

  He lifts my hand to inspect my nails. “Still black,” he says grimly, as if the dark color is a reflection on my mood.

  “Yes,” I answer, though he can plainly see the color hasn’t changed.

  The woman I saw in Reece’s office struts past, her lingerie-clad hips swinging. She treats him to a coy smile, and he nods at her. A flash of jealousy flares inside me. I know she must be an employee of the club, but still, it makes me wonder if he has a past with her.

  “I’m not here for your little games,” I say, snatching his attention away from her like a little kid grabbing for her favorite toy.

  “I thought that’s exactly why you were here,” he says, enjoying another sip of his drink.

  Leveling him with an icy stare, I throw the rest of my drink back. “I’m here because I want a good time. And I think you want that too, need it.”

  He looks down at the bar. “What are you saying, Macey?”

  “No holds barred. If we’re doing this—let’s do it. No cutting out early. No going easy on me. I want the full Reece Jackson experience.” A smile lifts my mouth.

  “You sure that’s what you want?”

  “Positive,” I say, ignoring the wave of nerves fluttering in my belly.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Standing, he offers me his hand, and I take it, rising gracefully from the bar stool. Instead of heading for the elevator like before, he leads me to a stairwell that’s deserted and quiet. Nothing but the sound of our footsteps cuts through the heavy silence.

  When we reach his private room, we stop in front of the door and I turn to him. “Do you ever do this in your apartment?”

  “No.” Reece looks down at me. His expression is impassive, but his tone is harsh. “Do you remember the code?”

  I nod, unsure how to feel about the knowledge that he doesn’t bring women to his place. That’s just weird.

  “Your birthday.” When I punch in the code on the keypad, the door clicks open to reveal the same quiet, dark, and sensual room I remember, and my heart rate kicks up immediately.

  “Undress and wait for me on the bed,” Reece says, his tone sure and steady.

  This is Reece the Dominant, and I fucking love it. My belly is tingling with nerves, and I feel alive and eager.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, then bow my head and cross the room toward the bed.

  After stripping off my jeans, socks, and shirt, I fold everything into a pile and place it on the dresser, leaving my bra and panties in place, remembering that he seemed
to enjoy removing those himself last time. The soft sound of classical music comes from overhead, and I turn to see Reece adjusting the settings on a built-in stereo panel on the wall.

  I sit on the end of the bed and wait for him. Watching him cross the room toward me is a special form of torture. He’s so handsome and strong, but with an underlying vulnerability that tugs at my heart. I can’t help but recall my conversation with Brielle. There’s a sadness to him I want to chase away.

  When he pulls his long-sleeved Henley off over his head, I’m treated to the elaborate ink that decorates his right arm from shoulder to wrist. I haven’t gotten the chance to fully explore it, but I want to. It looks delicious, and I’m eager to trace every inch of it with my tongue.

  “You want to see them?” he asks, smirking at me.

  “Can I?”

  He shrugs. “Sure.”

  Taking his hand, I lift his arm. He lets me drink my fill, turning it to see the designs that wrap around his taut forearm and his thick bicep. There’s a quote in what I think is Latin.

  “What does it say?”

  “It loosely translates to: Chase away the demons.”

  Oh.

  Dark swirls of gray and black designs decorate his skin, perfectly drawn. Whoever the artist was, he or she was very talented. Nestled within thorns and leaves is a vivid red rose, the only pop of color on the whole piece. It’s on his forearm, near the crook of his elbow, as if it’s been deliberately placed in that sensitive spot. I can’t help but feel this rose has a certain significance to him.

  “A rose?” I voice my question, hoping my curiosity will be answered.

  “Macey Rose.”

  Rose is my middle name, but there’s no way he did this for me . . . is there? My heart is pounding, but before I can say anything more, the moment passes.

  Reece leans over and grabs his toy bag. “You said no holding back this time, but I need to hear you say it. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Swallowing my nerves, I nod.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  “I want this.”

  He’s looking down at me so thoughtfully, and maybe it’s this heavy moment, or maybe it’s the beautiful rose permanently inked on his body that might be for me, but I want to kiss him.