by Sylvia Fox
“Ms. Thorne?” Nate’s voice demands my attention over the rustle and conversation of people gathering their things at the end of the meeting.
“Yes, Mr. Wellington?” I stand, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs.
“Stay. I’d like to have a word with you.”
Our colleagues filter out of the boardroom, a few of them pausing to glance over their shoulders, brows raised. We’ve tried to be discreet, but our chemistry is scorching. I’m sure half the office knows I’m fucking the boss by now. It’s not ideal, but I care very little for what other people think of me.
Nate gestures to the chair beside him. “Have a seat.”
I do. “Is there a problem?” I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“Not at all.” Nate laughs and smooths his tie. “I want you to come away with me this weekend. My friend has a cabin up in the mountains. He’s offered to let me use it for years now, but I’ve never taken him up on it.”
“Are you asking or ordering, Sir?” I arch an eyebrow and bite my finger, always ready to drive him crazy at work. The more often I tease him through the week, the more fun we have on the weekends.
Nate’s gaze bounces across my face. “I’m asking.”
The fact that he didn’t take my bait makes me sit up straighter. “I’d love to spend a weekend with you, as I’m sure you know.”
“I like spending my weekends with you, too. I thought it was time to mix things up.” He slides his chair back and prepares to stand. “So you’ll come?”
I stare up at him and smile. “Many times, I’m sure.”
I push my chair back while Nate chuckles and then guides me out of the office with his hand splayed wide across my lower back.
The trip to the cabin is peaceful. Nate drives and we spend the time chatting. Sometimes we talk about work, but mostly we talk about life. The more I learn about the boy who started out buying a video game system with what he earned on a lemonade stand, the teenager who worked to help support his family, the man who later became a self-made billionaire off his desire to give the world its privacy back, the more I respect him. His need for dominance does not come a broken place. He’s built a life around taking charge and following the path he knows to be right. Like me, his confidence comes from a place of strength, not pain.
He turns up a steep driveway that winds its way up a wooded mountain. Light filters through the trees and shadows dance as the wind moves through the leaves. Everything is green and lush, alive and thriving. He parks in front of a sprawling estate, all warm wood and windows with balconies and an elevated wrap-around porch. I step out of the car and stare. Birds call to each other and blue sky stretches out endlessly behind the house.
“When you said cabin, this is so not what I had in mind.”
Nate climbs out of the car and stretches, taking a deep breath in through his nose and closing his eyes before letting it out. “Eric—my friend—has called it that since he bought it. I gave him hell for a while, but I guess he wore off on me.” He pops the trunk and hefts our bags onto his shoulders. “The silence is almost eerie, isn’t it?”
I’ve learned that Nate likes to do things for me. As much as I know I’m capable of carrying my own bag, I don’t try to take it from him. It used to irritate me when he held the door for me or carried things I’m perfectly capable of carrying myself. Now that I realize he does it as a way to show he cares, I don’t find it degrading. In fact, I actually like being spoiled a little bit.
He leads me up the stairs leading to the porch. We pass a hot tub that looks out over a jaw-dropping view before he opens the front door and ushers me into a cathedral-ceilinged masterpiece of interior design. The walls are mostly windows looking out over the forest and the sky. Plush furniture surrounds a massive stone fireplace and the hardwood floors gleam under my feet.
“Wow.”
Nate shrugs the bags off his shoulders and deposits them on the floor. “Right? Eric has good taste, that’s for sure.”
The name tugs on a memory. Something ugly and angry, but I can’t remember meeting an Eric before so I push the feeling away.
“My God, you’re beautiful.” Nate grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to mine. I open to him, run my tongue around his bottom lip, goading him into taking more of me. It’s been five long days since he’s been inside me and I don’t want to wait even one minute longer. I reach down and grab his cock—a no-no if he’s being dominant but I know he likes that I still challenge him. It makes my submission all the sweeter.
He thrusts his hips into my hand. “I want you.”
“Then take me.” I meet his gaze and lick my lips.
“Not yet. I have something I want to do first.” He steps back, a devilish smile painted across his handsome face.
I frown. Nate has never, ever passed up sex before. Like me, he’s ready to devour me by the time I walk in the door on Friday evenings. What could he possibly have in mind that’s more important than the two of us coming together?
“I’ll put our bags away.” He bends to retrieve them from the floor. “Then I’d like to soak in the hot tub. You game?”
I nod and watch him walk away, his fantastic ass looking delectable in his jeans. He has something he wants to do that’s more important than sex, but he wants to soak in a hot tub first? What the hell is going on? Jacki’s face flashes through my thoughts. Tear-stained. Digging a spoon into a pint of ice cream.
...and then his girlfriend showed up…hot tub sex…just want something meaningful…
Holy. Shit. Nate’s friend Eric is the same Eric who wanted Jacki to have a threesome with him in this very cabin. I spin in place, taking it all in.
…I thought it was time to mix things up…
Nate’s words.
My stomach clenches and my jaw tightens. While I was busy falling in love with him, pushing myself out of my comfort zone and learning to be softer, was he just having a jolly romp and boasting to his friend about being man enough to break a strong woman? I stare at the front door, half expecting a woman to walk through and order me to my knees.
First, logic tells me that Nate wouldn’t do that and but then it goes right ahead and points out that it’s one hell of a mighty coincidence that his friend Eric just happened to date my friend Jacki. We live in a big city with lots of people. Those kinds of coincidences just don’t happen.
Nate strolls back in the room, takes one look at my face, and stops in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”
I suck in my lips. “Why are we here?”
He has the decency to look confused. Or maybe he’s genuinely confused. I have no way of knowing for sure. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are we here? You said you wanted to mix things up and you bring me here. Why?”
“Because I think it’s important to try new things.” He steps towards me. “Dom. What’s going on?”
I sigh and turn away. “I don’t know. It’s just a coincidence that’s hard to ignore, that’s all.” My pulse races.
“What coincidence? What the hell happened in the one minute I was gone?”
“Your friend Eric? He brought my friend to this cabin, too.” I give Nate a pointed look.
His face falls. “I forgot about that.”
My jaw drops. “You knew!” I take a step back. “What is going on, Nate?” I feel violated. Have I been tricked into letting myself become something I never intended to be? I feel so dirty, I would cry if I wasn’t so mad.
“I knew they went out a few times, but I have no idea what happened after that.”
“How do you even know that his Jacki was the same as my friend Jacki?” I clamp my lips together and wrap my arms around my waist.
“Because Eric was with me the night we met at Cadillac Jack’s. He told me the next day that he picked up your friend.” He takes my hands and pulls them away from my stomach, opening me to him. “I promise you, whatever he did to her here, I have no intention of doing any
thing like that.”
“I want to believe you. I have no reason not to trust you, it’s just…” I trail off. My heart knows that Nate wouldn’t hurt me. After all this time, he’s done nothing but prove himself to be devoted to me.
“I know you trust me.” Nate stares deeply into my eyes.
I nod. “I do. We wouldn’t be where we are if I didn’t.”
“Exactly.” He laughs and shakes his head. “This is not at all how I saw this weekend going.”
I search for something to say.
His gaze sharpens as he puts on his dominant face. “Get on your knees.”
I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Not now. Not when my emotions are so turbulent.
He notices my hesitation. “Do you trust me?”
I nod, my gaze locked on his.
“Then get on your knees.”
I drop my gaze and do as I’m told.
“Close your eyes.”
Again, I do as I’m told, softening into his control. There’s the rustle of fabric and skin and I wait for the telltale purr of his zipper.
“Open your eyes, Domino.” Nate’s voice is closer than I expected, soft and almost reverent.
I blink and find Nate on his knees in front of me. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” I’m so off-kilter, I have no idea what the hell is going on.
Nate takes a breath. “I’ve never kneeled for anyone.”
“Me neither.”
He nods. “I know. And you do it for me all the time and it’s the most precious gift you can give me. You are such a strong woman, it’s your strength that captured my attention first, did you know that?”
I shake my head.
“Well, since you honor me by kneeling for me, I want to honor you by kneeling for you.” He holds out his hand and opens his palm, revealing a red velvet box. “But only if you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
I stare at his open palm. My lips part as he opens the box, revealing a diamond that glitters in the light.
“I love you, Domino. I love your courage and your confidence. I love your brain. I love the way you think. I love the way you attack a problem and don’t back down until you’ve won. I want more of you, all of you, for the rest of our days. I want to make you my queen in the boardroom and my slave in the bedroom.”
A slow smile works its way across my face and I stand, staring down at Nate on his knees in front of me. This is how I used to like my men, but it’s not how I like this man. I reach for his hands and pull him to his feet.
“Marry me, Dom?” He plucks the ring from the box and holds it out to me.
“Yes.” I’ve never been happier in my life.
He slips the ring onto my finger and draws me into his arms, kissing me deeply. “Yes, what?” His lips brush mine as he forms the words.
“Yes, Sir.”
“There’s my good girl,” he says and then sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom. We strip and he lies down on the bed, let’s me straddle him, and calls me a good girl while I come all over my future husband’s cock.
Drill Me, Sergeant
Chapter 1
Snow blasts the windshield of my beat-up Sentra and I flip on the wipers. Not like they’ll help with visibility at all, but I’ve got to do something. The roads are growing more dangerous out here by the minute. I can barely see through the long diagonal streaks my head lights slice through the snow. Apparently not one meteorologist anywhere was expecting this crazy ass blizzard. And who can blame them? It’s still November. Thanksgiving is just one day away.
My knuckles are white and my back hasn’t touched my seat for the last hour and I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath since I turned off the highway—which was a deathtrap of brake lights and skidding vehicles, by the way. As soon as I came slipping down the off-ramp, I let out a long breath I’d been holding for the last two hours.
Boy was I ever wrong to think I could relax.
I skid to a stop at every streetlight and stop sign and I lose control every time I turn the corner. Like right now, I’ve got my foot firmly pressed to the brakes and there’s no way I’m going to stop in time for this red light. I’m going to slide right into the intersection, no matter what I do.
My heart starts its own skid, stuttering around like it thinks it can help the situation by going faster than it’s ever gone in my life. I lean on the horn as I slide through the red light, hoping other drivers will hear it in time to avoid ramming into me. At this point, I don’t even know why I’ve got my foot on the brake anymore. Now that I’m in the intersection, I need out. Like, now. I switch to the gas just in time for another car to slide past me. If the near miss wasn’t so terrifying, it would be fucking hilarious. We slip past each other, staring at one another, both of us wide-eyed and terrified as we pass in a slow-motion version of the Automobile Ice Capades.
While the rest of the drive to my parents’ house is just as tense and treacherous, I make it into their driveway without another incident. The snow is piled high here. It reaches up past the tops of my boots and falls in and melts around my ankles as I tromp around to the trunk of my car. I grab my bag out of the back and trudge through the stuff up to the front door. The porch light is on, as is the light in the living room, but no one’s home. Mom and Dad went to pick up my grandparents this morning and are totally snowed in over there.
It’s just going to be me here tonight.
Thank God.
I love my parents, of course I do. They can just be a little much at times. Add in my grandparents and their constant pressure on all of us to excel and family gatherings become a bit of a pressure cooker.
My grandpa picks on everything my grandma does.
My grandma picks on everything my mom does.
My mom and my dad gang up and pick on everything I do.
I swear, there isn’t a person in our family who can set the table perfectly enough for anyone else to be happy. I mean, how fucking straight does the silverware really need to be?
The only person I’m really looking forward to seeing is Colt Barrett—my dad’s best friend. He knows how to make the worst situations seem like smooth sailing. In his eyes, a fork is a fork no matter how close it’s sitting to the knife.
Plus, he’s hot as sin. Like teenage wet dream, late night vibe-fest kind of hot. Sure, he’s older, but that doesn’t matter one little bit because Colt Barrett is a man that deserves his own classification. Older. Younger. He transcends it all.
He’s a Marine. Or, an ex-Marine, really, but the ‘ex’ part doesn’t really matter. Not only does he have the sex-god body and the short-cropped hair that accentuates his sky-blue eyes, but he’s also got that confidence that comes from being one of the baddest of all the asses in the country. He’s the shit and he knows it. And there’s no shame in him knowing it because not only is it the total truth, but he’s really cool about it, too.
He’s like, oh you want me to hold up that car with one hand while I rescue a litter of kittens trapped underneath with the other? Sure! No problem. Then he just does it like it’s no big thing and then brushes off the gratitude with a smile that feels like the sun has opened early just for you. It’s no secret I’ve had a pretty massive crush on him since right around the time I hit puberty.
Scratch that.
It’s one hell of a major secret.
No one knows. Not grandma. Not Grandpa. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not my diary. And most definitely not Colt Barrett. I fully intend on keeping it that way.
Using the key my parents wouldn’t take back when I moved out for college, I unlock the front door and let myself into my parents’ house. Snow blows right in with me like it’s just as glad to be inside as I am. As soon as I shut the door, the last bit of tension from the drive melts away. There’s something so good about coming home, isn’t there? Especially after fearing for your life for the last hundred or so miles.
My boots are caked with snow, so I pull them off and set them next to the door, jus
t like I used to do when I was a little girl. After draping my socks over my boots and hanging up my coat in the hall closet, I drag my bag into the room I called my own for a good portion of my pre-college years. And then, I head over to my dad’s wet bar and pour myself a drink. Which I never did when I was a little girl.
Okay, scratch that.
I did my fair share of sneaking drinks when I was a teenager. To this day I’m surprised I never got caught.
My parents’ house is gorgeous. One of those towering ordeals made of wood and stone, with dark beams lining the ceiling and recessed lighting set at the perfect angle. Family pictures line the walls, documenting my transformation from gap-toothed girl in pigtails, through the worst ugly duckling phase of all times, to the grinning almost-college graduate I am today.
Colt is in almost as many pictures as I am, flashing that shit-eating grin at the camera like he knows just how beautiful it makes him. There are pictures of him and my dad in their camo, looking young and serious during their first year in the Marines. Pictures of all of us on their first leave, me just a tiny little bundle in my mom’s arms. She was so young when she had me, but powered by optimism like some kind of inspirational Energizer bunny, she never let that bother her. She was suited to motherhood in a way I don’t think I ever will be.
As we all grow older, Colt’s wife Sheila shows up under his arm only to disappear a few years after that. I never knew why they got divorced, but it wasn’t pretty. Looking at the pictures of him during the year she left makes it clear how hard it was for him. His face got leaner, his muscles got bigger, and the light in his eyes died out. Colt Barrett got hard that year, just in time for fifteen-year-old me to start noticing.
And notice I did.
I take a long drink of the vodka and cranberry I poured for myself and head over to the other set of pictures. God, how could no one notice how hard I fell for my dad’s best friend? Instead of standing next to my parents, I managed to tuck myself up closer and closer to him in each and every picture. If I wasn’t in the middle of getting a little drunk and a lot turned on right now, I’d be embarrassed for younger me, being as obvious and desperate as I was.
