by Harte, Roxy
Great. Already problems with the new hires? I can’t seem to get a break here. I’m distracted when the door to The Oasis opens and I catch a glimpse of Kitten, curled on her pillow. It’s obvious she’s upset tonight, and the evening’s entertainment seemed to only make matters worse for her. Distractedly I ask, “Which one?”
“Mistress Morgana.”
My chin jerks and I meet Farris’ gaze. “Excuse me? Did you say Mistress Morgana?”
The muscle in his jaw tightens. “Yes sir. I believe she is in a relationship with another employee.”
“Who?”
“Joshua Lambert, one of the bartenders.”
He knows only that she is one of my most trusted Dominants. Being new to Lewd Larry’s, he doesn’t know the history we share.
When I bought the warehouse that eventually became home to Lewd Larry’s, I expected to have to gently evict a few homeless people and help them find somewhere else to live. After all, the place had been abandoned for years and it wasn’t secure, broken windows and doors off their hinges. In a word, it was a mess.
I didn’t expect to find a thirteen-year-old girl curled up and asleep on the fourth floor. I really didn’t expect to fall in love with her at first sight.
I woke her up as gently as I could, but she jerked away and held out a knife. Her bright-red hair fell in tangles all the way to her waist, but it was her eyes, blazing a bright emerald green, that held my attention. She seemed fearless, and when she commanded me to “stay away” I believed she had every intention of using the knife if she had to.
She was so small.
In every way small. She stood barely four and a half feet and weighed less than eighty pounds. I know because I took her to the emergency room…right after she ran and tumbled down an entire flight of stairs. She’d broken her arm in three places but didn’t shed a tear.
What a surreal night.
She’d begged and pleaded all the way to the hospital for me not to take her. Of course, I guessed she was a runaway.
She’d offered me her body to keep me from taking her for treatment.
“I don’t sleep with children.”
“I’m not a child, not anymore.”
I knew by the tone of her voice she was trying to tell me she wasn’t a virgin, and a rage went through me that anyone would take advantage of such an adorable child. I assumed it had been another vagrant since she was obviously alone on the streets, but as she revealed her story she explained it had been her stepfather and she no longer lived at home because her mother hadn’t believed her.
Her account felt truthful, but I made a few calls anyway and after two seconds on the phone with her mother discovered she not only wasn’t welcomed back, but the woman didn’t even want to hear whether she was dead or alive, sick or well. What kind of person throws away a child?
The night had turned into one of let’s make a deal.
“I’ll tell the hospital I’m your father if you let them treat you.”
“I’ll find you a safe place to live, someplace where you’ll never have to worry about your safety or hunger ever again if you’ll go to school and make good grades.”
The first part was easy. The hospital didn’t require anything in the form of identification once they found out I was paying cash. Getting her registered for school was slightly harder. Finding someone I trusted to give her someplace to live was next to impossible, and so a room was made on the fourth floor just for her. The Attic was just a dream then and room for one small girl was easy. Granted, a fetish fantasy nightclub wasn’t the best atmosphere for a young girl, but it was better than the streets and I’d never planned on her staying forever.
I got her through adolescence, through high school and college.
I’ll never forget the day she came back and demanded a job. She didn’t ask, that wasn’t her style.
I’ve spoiled her too much, I think. She’s always gotten her way.
Fucking Thomas’ brother is the final straw, a direct challenge to my authority. I assume she doesn’t know the true identity of the bartender known as Joshua Lambert. She does know the house rules. Fraternizing between employees is strictly forbidden.
I can’t overlook this.
I find her alone in her room.
“Is it true?” Our gazes collide. Her jaw muscle tightens and I’m sure she is seeing the same sight on my face. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
She glances away, shaking her head, and stands. She doesn’t think I see, but she half smiles before turning back to face me, which only makes me wonder if he is out there waiting for her.
“You know you have to be punished.”
She props her ass against the windowsill. “Are you going to fire me?”
“I should.” I can’t fire him. “You’re demoted.”
Her forehead tightens, making two deep lines between her brows. “You’re demoting me?”
“You can’t obey my rules—you’re lucky you still have a job.”
“Fine.”
“I expect you to break off all relations with the bartender immediately.”
She gives me a look, cold, calculating. If looks could kill…
“No.”
“What did you just say to me?”
“I’m not going to stop seeing him. Fire me if you have to. Throw me out. I should have moved out years ago anyway. This was always supposed to be temporary.”
I can tell by her face she’s bluffing. “Maybe you should go.”
Her expression is a mixture of fear and disbelief that breaks my heart. She wants me to beg her to stay, I want to beg her to give up the damn bartender. Watching her, I suddenly remember so many standoffs as she was growing up…lines in the sand…she wanted a puppy, settled for a goldfish, she wanted to wear eyeliner, settled for lip gloss, she wanted—
“You’re a hypocrite!”
“Excuse me?” I’m still trying to figure out what I can substitute for a man. Another man would be fine, any other man besides Thomas’ brother.
“You want to talk about the rules? All was fine and dandy when you wanted to start fucking Thomas but let any of your underlings get an itch and they get fired?”
“I didn’t say you were fired! We were discussing you moving out of The Attic so that you aren’t breaking the rules under my goddamn nose!”
Morgana bats her eyes at me and smiles. Oh fucking no. I did not just give her permission to keep seeing Joshua, but as her smile grows wider I know that’s exactly what she thinks. She throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. “Thank you for looking the other way.”
I grab her and pull her into a hug she can’t escape. “I don’t want you seeing him.”
“I love him.”
Meeting her gaze, I know she believes she does.
I want to tell her he’s dangerous. I want to ground her and lock her in her room, but I’m wise enough to know that it will take more than me standing between them to keep them apart. The most I can hope for is that Thomas’ brother bores quickly. I kiss her forehead. “Be careful, sweetheart.”
My heart is heavy as I return to The Oasis. Knowing he wants his brother to lay low, I’m going to have to call Thomas. He certainly doesn’t want him to leave the premises. I’m going to have to allow Morgana to stay in The Attic with her lover. It’s only a matter of time before anarchy reigns.
I go back to our table and find Kitten right where I left her. At least I can count on her to obey my will. Patting my knee for her to climb into my lap, I censure myself for being so imperialistic. Am I being too hard on Morgana?
I push my nose against the back of Kitten’s neck, inhaling the scent that is distinctly her. With her pregnancy, holding her is made slightly awkward, but I pull her closer. She breaks house rules when she whispers against my face, “Is everything all right?”
I kiss her nape. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
She angles her face so that she can gaze deeply into my eyes. She thinks I am lying.
I take a deep breath and force myself to relax even more, pushing away the emotion I am feeling. I assure her, “It had nothing to do with Thomas.”
She nods and sighs, obviously relieved, and allows herself to relax against me.
I whisper against her neck, “I’m sorry I missed the rest of the performance. Was it enjoyable?”
I’m surprised when she tenses in my lap. I wrap my arms around her waist so she can’t escape to the pillow at my feet. I squeeze her breasts. “They’re getting bigger. They’re going to fill with milk soon.”
I know she was made uncomfortable by the scene between Jako and Panda, and I find it exciting that there is something new for me to trigger an emotional response to. I look forward to taking her home and discussing her discomfort at length, but then I see Joshua in the elevator with Morgana. He is on his knees, she holds his leash. I allow Kitten to move to her pillow, displeased Morgana has chosen to flaunt her behavior.
Later, at home, in bed, holding Kitten tightly, I try to think what recourse I have with Morgana. I’ll just have to draw the line in the sand, forbid her from seeing him, but immediately remember the desperation Kitten responded with when I forbade her from seeing me—the kitten antics, the phone calls, the computer sabotage—and wonder if Morgana would go to such great lengths to try to keep seeing Joshua. I don’t think she would, but then Morgana has never professed to loving anyone.
“Where are you tonight?”
“Morgana said that she’s in love with Joshua.”
Pulling away from me, Kitten sits up and turns on the bedside light. She is pale and worried. “That’s not good. She has to stay away from him.”
“He’s been well-behaved. There hasn’t been a single complaint about him.”
“He’s dangerous!”
Her hands are fisted tightly into the sheets. I don’t even think she likes Morgana and yet she’s obviously worried about her. Sitting up, I stroke her face. “Yes, he is.”
“Forbid her from seeing him.”
“I tried. If I force her, she’ll leave.”
Kitten shakes her head. “Morgana would never leave Lewd Larry’s.”
I blink at her, remembering when I let her go with Thomas, remembering allowing Thomas to take over ownership of her for three months and knowing he was a dangerous man. The only difference between Thomas and his brother is that I trust Thomas. I don’t know what Joshua would have to do to gain my trust, but I don’t trust him now. I can only pray he doesn’t do anything to hurt Morgana.
Pulling Kitten into my arms, I kiss her forehead. “You asked what was on my mind, I told you, now I think you should help me forget my concerns.”
She doesn’t look happy that I’ve deemed the conversation over, but she complies with my request. Pushing on my shoulders, she presses me back against the pillows and licks a slow, sensual trail down my body.
As she circles my nipple with her tongue, I close my eyes and will myself to relax and forget the day. Joshua. Morgana. Thomas. Their faces flash through my mind unwanted. I crack my eyes open and focus on what Kitten is doing to me.
Soft licks over my rib cage.
Damn it, Morgana, what are you thinking?
“Bite me.”
Our gazes meet. I’ve never asked Kitten to hurt me or top me, though she’s topped me often enough from below. She knows I’m not always dominant. With Thomas I’m almost always submissive. I like the pain, the head games. As I watch her, she grazes her teeth over my ribs, not biting, not yet. I shudder, the sensation not soft enough to tickle or hard enough to hurt, but the look she has in her eyes definitely holds me still and ready.
When she sinks her teeth into me I hold my breath, not wanting the inhale or exhale to cause more damage than she has already caused. I think she doesn’t have enough experience, probably no experience inflicting pain, and I’ve made a mistake. She’s obviously broken skin. It isn’t so much the pain but the warm slide of liquid over my flesh. Blood. My blood. There’s something so special about knowing I am bleeding, about knowing I have allowed someone to draw my blood.
She watches my face intently, not pressing harder or tearing free, or even releasing my flesh from her grip. I consider commanding her to release me, but don’t. I want to see what she does.
When she does soften her bite she licks the wound. She holds my gaze as she licks. There is something in the depths of her eyes, need, savage and unspent. I think she could tear me to shreds. Moving only inches away from my ribs into the soft part of my belly, she bites down again. I moan, the intensity of the pain greater at this spot.
She holds me in her mouth, not biting harder or relaxing her grip, and I wonder where she learned this. I can feel her breath fanning across my skin, across the stinging field of pain she’s created with her teeth, and I realize my body is tensed, ready for more pain, hungry for more pain.
Her hands slide over my skin, so softly it tickles, and I jerk against her mouth. Her fingers slide over my pelvis, over my thighs, lower to cup my scrotum. She squeezes, hard enough to make my breath catch and while she is squeezing she bites deeper, harder, leaving me writhing and moaning against her.
“Enough?” she asks softly and I look to see her licking my blood off her lips. “Do I have your attention now?”
I nod, unable to take my eyes off her as she moves to straddle me. She’s completely and utterly mesmerizing as she pushes herself down onto my erection. She closes her eyes as I fill her. She commands, “Hold my shoulders.”
I push against her shoulders, holding her up as she falls forward. I hold her steady as she starts to rides me. She kisses my forearm, licks and then bites as she increases the pace of her hips.
I push more deeply into her as the pain holding my thoughts captive scatters my pleasure. She rides me harder, faster. She bites deeper.
“Oh God, Kitten.” I cry out as she pulls my orgasm out of my scrotum. “Holy fucking God.”
“Man is only truly great when he acts from the passions; never irresistible but when he appeals to the imagination.”
Benjamin Disraeli, Coningsby
Chapter Ten
Thomas
After two months in Washington, DC I’m a different person and the life I left behind in San Francisco seems like a dream. The world of politics is all-consuming, especially the one I’ve joined. There are agendas within agendas and every meeting is scheduled around a meal—breakfast meetings, luncheons, dinners, cocktails.
Abigail is in high demand and we go to wherever the interest is highest, decided by projected contributions.
Tonight finds us in New Hampshire, and she is expected to walk away with millions in donations for her campaign. I think we’re all in for a long night as I estimate her half-hour speech taking more than two to deliver. After a while she launches into the speech, knowing the clapping isn’t showing signs of dying down. As she talks the room grows completely silent because everyone wants to hear what she’s saying.
Trained in public speaking, she knows just when to project and when to speak softly for effect. She screams into the microphone, “It’s time to bring our jobs back home.”
Enthusiastic applause follows the statement and she speaks over it, knowing the clapping still won’t die down. She continues shouting into the microphone. “How can we support a global market when our local economy is failing?”
I realize I’m smiling. I’m proud of her. I’m even glad I’m here during what I believe will become a defining moment in history. I know that neither Garrett nor Celia would want to hear such sentiment, but my bond with Abigail runs far longer and deeper than what I have with either of my lovers. That isn’t to say I love Abigail, but I do respect her and I do believe she is the right person for the job. If my being here helps her to succeed in winning the election, my time and energy have been well-spent.
Her speech ends and my clapping joins that of those standing on their feet. I’m still scanning for trouble, watching hands, facial expressions, but for now
I feel as though she is safe and when she finally comes offstage, I pat her back professionally and congratulate her.
Eyes wide, smile bright, she demands, “I want a clean getaway.”
I hurry her away from the chaos, leaving her security detail trying to keep up.
It is a long drive back to the hotel. She is shaking with nervous energy and flushed with excitement. She is high on adrenaline and success. It is a dangerous mood, one that could make her reckless, and I want to get her behind the safety of her hotel room door as quickly as possible.
“I want to celebrate,” she says breathlessly. “Before the numbers come out, before I see any news report or any speculation, I want to enjoy how this feels.”
The SUV hits a bump and our knees touch. It is like a lightning bolt shooting down my spine and I know if I felt it, she felt it. There has always been an almost uncontrollable sexual tension between us, and it has only been the boring monotony of daily tasks that has helped us rein in our need in public spaces. I can feel her desire rolling off her in thick waves.
I shake my head in warning. Pouncing on the personal assistant in a jam-packed security vehicle would not be a smart move. Fortunately she glances out the window.
I look out the window on the other side of the vehicle, counting telephone poles, basically the equivalent of a cold shower, but it does little good and by the time I drop her off at her suite I am ready to rip her clothes off, but that wouldn’t do, not at all.
Two bodyguards are posted in the hallway and I go to my own suite unescorted.
I take a deep breath, stepping inside. Waiting in the dark. Hearing everything. Soft voices in the hall, the two guards talking about today’s big game, an interior door opening and closing on the other side of the wall I know is Abbie’s room. A second later the sound of her turning the deadbolt to the door that connects our rooms seems as loud as a gunshot. Crossing the dark room to meet her there, I turn the deadbolt on my side and open the door. We collide, both of us needing to get to the other desperately. We are a tangle of limbs, mouths connected, kissing with desperation I have rarely experienced.
