“You moved.”
Mia jumped nearly four feet. She turned around to face him, and she wanted to jump another four feet. He stood before her completely naked. Mia’s breathing almost stopped.
“You have a real problem with obedience, don’t you?”
Mia didn’t utter a word, but it wasn’t because she didn’t want to. She couldn’t. His body was the most glorious she had ever seen, and it left her speechless. She took him in, starting with the top of his head. He had a strong, beautiful face. His neck was thick like the football player he had been, but it wasn’t so big that he looked like the typical jock. His shoulders were wide, his arms corded with muscles. His chest and abs looked like solid stone. Any pro bodybuilder would envy his six-pack.
His narrow hips and his legs were simply sinful-looking. A light sprinkle of blond hair covered slightly tanned, muscular legs. He was all muscle, and Mia instantly wondered what all that power would feel like on top of her.
Then her eyes focused on the one thing she’d been trying to see since coming into his basement. His dungeon.
There were bulls on her granddaddy’s farm that couldn’t compare. Good Lord, she was in trouble, but damn it, if she didn’t want him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, coming toward her. She started backing away, but before she could take another step, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to him. “I asked you a question, Mia.”
She swallowed hard and tried keeping her attention on his profile, not his rock-hard penis pressing against her belly.
“Nothing, I was thinking nothing…Sir.”
“Very good; however, I don’t believe you.”
“What are you going to do to me…Sir?” She hated saying it, but it was the only way she could get him to answer her.
“Fuck you senseless. Would you like that?” His wicked smile reached his eyes.
“Yes, Sir.” Oh yes, indeed, Sir!
Chapter Eleven
Brett led Mia to the chaise. “Lie down.”
She did, and the look in her eyes brought a smile to his face. She was hungry for him. He circled the chaise, looking down at her exquisite form. “I don’t know if I want to take you from behind or the missionary position. What do you think? You may speak.”
“I want you on top, Sir.”
“You sound so sweet. Any other requests?” He began playing with her breasts, pinching her nipples as she lay there and thought a moment.
“I would like to do the things in the picture, Sir.”
Brett stopped fondling her. This was a dream come true. He wanted to pinch his own nipples. “Are you sure you can handle that right now?” He got down on his knees beside her and took one of her chocolate buds in his mouth. His hands roamed over her hot, damp flesh. He let go of her nipple and focused on other areas.
“Wait right here.” He went to his desk and pulled out some silk ties. He would prefer chains, something substantial, but he wanted to ease her into this. The silk would do for now, just to give her a taste.
He came back over to her. “Spread your legs for me, Mia.” His voice was a low rasp. He was barely hanging on.
She opened her legs, letting out a feminine squeak as his knuckles barely brushed against her swollen clit. “Put your hands above your head.”
She did. He took her wrists and tied them together. He then bent her arms at the elbows, slowly. “Feel okay?”
“Yes.”
He continued until her arms were directly behind her and pointing down toward the floor. He took the other ends of the ties and secured them to the legs of the chaise. “Try to raise your hands above your head.”
She shook her head in the negative. Good.
He stepped in front of her again, toying with her pussy. “You are so responsive to my touch. I like that in a sub.” He playfully made circles with his finger around her clit. She sobbed each time his finger made direct contact. “You get so nice and wet. You give a man a swelled head—in more ways than one.” He chuckled, straddled the chaise, and looked down at his prize.
“Please, Sir, please fuck me,” she barely breathed out.
“How can I refuse such a sweet request?” He moved back down between her thighs, and with a light brush of his tongue on her erect clit, she came with a yell that nearly shook the walls. Brett parted her slick flesh to expose her button, which was hard and soaking wet. He took it between his lips and suckled greedily.
“Brett, no. I can’t take any more of this. Please!” she gasped, trying to move her bound hands.
Brett stopped just long enough to look up at her. “You’ll take it and love it.” He continued his assault.
After her second climax, her back arched so far up, he thought she would break in half. Finally, after several orgasms, Mia collapsed in a sweaty heap, her breath coming in short pants.
“Hey, don’t get too comfortable. I still haven’t fucked you.”
Mia’s eyes snapped open. “Brett, I can’t take it.”
“What?”
“I can’t take it, Sir.”
“You wanted me, remember?”
“That was before, Sir.”
***
Mia watched Brett chuckle as he spread her legs further apart. Mia sucked in her breath, again unsure if she could accommodate his impressive cock.
Brett patted her opening with the tip of his penis as if testing it for readiness. As if reading her fears, he said, “Relax, babe. You can take all of me.”
He reached behind her, and she heard the sounds of tearing foil. Brett slipped on a condom and kissed her so hard, he pressed her head firmly into the chaise. Then, without warning, he impaled her. She screamed as he filled her.
Brett descended on her mouth again, kissing her like a man whose next stop would be the gas chamber. As his kisses slowed, his movements inside her sped up. He pumped faster, and she spread her legs even wider. Brett released her mouth and began thrusting at a frantic pace. “You want it like the picture, Mia, huh?”
“Yes, Sir, please. I want it rougher.” Mia twisted her wrists, trying to break free.
The look on Brett’s face was feral. This was not lovemaking; this was unadulterated fucking—and she loved it. With each thrust, they inched closer and closer to the edge of the chaise. Before long, they would be on the floor.
She saw stars with each plunge. Brett was magnificent. Where did he learn to fuck like this? She didn’t want to think about it. She would enjoy the moment and her lessons.
He manipulated her pretty well. He had her calling him Sir and speaking to him as she never had to any other lover. But sex like this was worth the price.
Brett’s body tensed, then stiffened. At the same time, Mia felt a familiar pull in her womb, only with Brett it was ten times stronger. Mia thought lightning was shooting through her; her eyes slammed shut. The jerking of her body as she came nearly lifted them both off the chaise. After what seemed like a thirty-minute orgasm, she and Brett collapsed in each other’s arms, well sated.
***
Brett woke up from a full night’s rest to find Mia curled up in his arms. He had to be the happiest man on earth. He finally had what he’d wanted all these years. Yet, it wasn’t enough. He needed her every waking moment. When she’d told him she was willing to indulge in his passions, he knew then that she would be his forever.
She squirmed in his arms. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. The smell of sex and French vanilla bath oil was intoxicating. He had to get up and get busy doing something before they went another round.
“Hey, sleepy head,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
She looked at him with a smile of pure satisfaction. Her smile reached out and touched him like nothing else ever had.
“Get up, and I’ll make us breakfast. I can do mean things in the kitchen.”
“You can do mean things in the bedroom, too.”
“Want to shower?”
“Oh, Brett, I’m sore.”
“I know, that’s why I suggested i
t. I promise,” he said, raising his hands in innocence. “I won’t try anything.”
Brett watched Mia as she stretched that sensual body of hers like a content jungle cat. She reached for the fluffy towel that had been left on the floor the previous night. She glanced at him with a wicked grin and quickly stood up. “I would race you, but my legs….”
“I’ll massage them in the shower.”
***
After a well-deserved shower, they headed upstairs for breakfast, famished. Brett went into the kitchen, while Mia fixed her hair in the mirror on the wall next to the bar counter.
Brett grabbed eggs, milk, and butter. As he closed the refrigerator door with his foot, he noticed Mia going into the living room and taking great interest in his photos from Ghana. He put the food down and walked over to her.
“Like the pictures?”
“Brett!” Mia jumped, almost bumping heads. “You scared me. I was just looking at your travel photos. They’re nothing like I expected.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I sort of expected pictures of you and your family in Paris or London.”
“Not in the poorest part of Africa with a bunch natives?” Brett asked cynically.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Mia moved on to the next set of photos.
Brett noticed how she stared at the ones of the Otoo twins before they became ill.
“It’s what you implied,” Brett said, standing next to her again. He looked at the photos like a proud father. God, he was so glad the twins had come through that epidemic. He didn’t think he could take any more losses in his life.
“Okay then, smarty, why don’t you tell me about the pictures?” Mia turned to him, arms folded, looking every bit the schoolmarm once more.
“I do medical and social work.” Brett let that sink in for a moment. The look on Mia’s face told him everything.
“I see,” Mia said, her brow arched.
“Don’t believe me?”
“No, no. It’s just that I don’t see you…you know.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the photos. “I mean, you mentioned you majored in microbiology, I just didn’t realize how serious you were.”
“Why don’t you just come out and say it, Mia?” Brett was getting annoyed and a bit defensive. It was always the same with people who really didn’t know him. With Mia, it hurt even more.
“What?”
“That you just can’t see a rich, white-bread boy trotting to Africa to hang out with a bunch of half-naked natives, unless of course, he uses the trip as a tax write-off.”
“Brett!”
“Mia, I know the look. I see the skepticism in your eyes.”
“Then explain!” Mia leaned against the fireplace, which had a huge picture of a waterfall. She recognized it: the Blue Nile. The image was breathtaking, and as Brett began to speak quietly, she wondered if he had taken the photo himself.
“As I said, I do research. If I correctly approach the program that I’m in, I could get an actual research center funded and built in Ghana.”
Mia’s eyes widened. She held her head down a bit in shame. “I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t. No one ever does. I’ve been doing this for six years”
“Since high school?
“About a year later.” A smile came to Brett’s lips. “It took that much time to revive my mother from a dead faint when she found out what I wanted to do.”
Mia went back to the photograph. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to disparage you. I do remember you doing a lot of community work when you where in high school. To think it led to this.” She looked at more photos, this time with a sense of pride.
“I know you didn’t mean it. It was just a knee-jerk reaction, I guess. People see this All-American boy and think polo-playing playboy, not philanthropist.”
Brett told her about his travels as they went from picture to picture. Each photograph had a story; some were joyous and some devastatingly tragic. The Otoo twins could have been the latter if it hadn’t been for divine intervention.
“Brett, that speech you made at graduation,” Mia said, looking at him thoughtfully.
“I meant every word.” Brett walked back to the kitchen.
Mia followed and stood staring at him.
Brett turned on the waffle iron. “What? You’re still having trouble swallowing this?”
“No, it’s not that. You mentioned something about your mother. Didn’t your parents support you?”
Brett snorted. “Please, are you kidding? Oh, in public in front of friends, they said all the right things. ‘Those poor people. Something needs to be done.’ Blah, blah, blah. In private, mother got her nails and hair done while Father went to whatever boys’ club was popular at the time.” Brett cracked eggs as Mia moved in a little closer. He could tell she wanted to ask something else. The wheels behind her eyes were turning.
“Brett, about your father. When he died—”
“Did I mourn?” he finished sarcastically.
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but since you answered like that, yeah. Did you?”
“No. Next question.” Brett leaned against the counter, waiting for her to take this all in. He knew she was wondering how a child could refuse to mourn the death of a parent. Of course, these same people never had Brett Wyndam, Sr. as a father, he thought bitterly.
“Well, after that admission, my next question seems trite.” Mia sat down in the breakfast nook. She nervously folded the edge of her placemat. “Okay, why didn’t you mourn?” She turned to him. “I remember when I mentioned your father’s death the other day, your face was so cold, and you seemed so detached.”
“I still am. My father hated me, and I hated him. It was a family secret. I also resented my mother for putting up with him.” He continued cooking, but he knew the third degree wasn’t over.
“I don’t understand. Did he beat you? Oh Brett, if that’s—”
“No, he never laid a hand on me. He knew better. My father was a spineless, selfish, snobby, lonely old man. He saw anyone with a portfolio a dollar less than his as inferior, and he worshipped those who had a nickel more. My dear mother’s only concern was spending time at the spa and coming out looking ten years younger than my father’s mistresses.”
“But I don’t understand; why would he hate you? I can understand why you might have felt the way you did about him.”
“I was the black sheep. I wasn’t even supposed to be born, but I came into the world, and I was the bane of my father’s existence. You see, I had an older brother.”
Mia’s head jerked up, her eyes wide and searching. “Had?”
“He died. Killed in a boating accident.” He shook his head. “Classic, straight out of a bad movie. My mother, of course, broke down. My father looked to me to replace my brother. But I wasn’t anything like him, and I didn’t want to be associated with him. So I was a big disappointment to dear old dad.”
“You weren’t fond of your brother, either? Brett, what was the problem?” Mia went to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Brett stepped aside and continued making breakfast.
“After seeing a swastika in his closet and some white-power literature in his room, I decided I didn’t want to go that route. I told my father, who blew it off, saying that we should all be proud of our heritage.” Brett laughed humorlessly and shook his head again. “We’re not even this Maine Line family like people think. We’re from a very small town in Mississippi. My father just had the brains and guts to make enough money to get us out and buy a place in the social register when the money really started rolling in. He even paid for tutors to make sure we got rid of our backwoods Southern accents. And then we stayed here, ’cause dad knew his crap wouldn’t fly in a place like New York.”
Mia just looked at him with her big brown eyes. She looked so sad, as if she could actually feel his pain. But his father was a bigot. Why would she even sympathize? “I see the confusion in your eyes. You thought I w
as old money?’
“Well…yes!”
“You and a lot of other people. Like I said, he bought his way in. All that upper-crust shit.”
“Brett, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, but he left all of his money to you, even if it was new money.”
“Yeah, ironic, isn’t it? Want to know why?
Mia nodded.
“I threatened to expose him for the lying, cheating, racist bastard that he was. That wouldn’t have looked good in the media, especially since mom and dad had just had the social event of the year celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary. He didn’t want his memory to be scarred. Even after death he wanted the lies to continue, so he reluctantly gave the money to me.”
“Just like that? Free and clear?”
“Now you’re catching on,” Brett said as he checked on the waffles. “Yes, I had to spend my money on genetic research. So I made sure I majored in microbiology. Father was so proud,” Brett said with cynicism dripping off every word.
“You don’t mean…?”
“Yeah, there are still researchers out there who try to disprove this and prove that to keep the races separate. Well, guess what? I am doing genetic research—to improve life for the less fortunate. Dear old dad is probably turning in his grave, while I dance on it.”
***
Mia hadn’t realized that Brett came from such a dysfunctional and hate-filled family. She always knew that the rich and famous had their problems; she read the tabloids and watched the news, but to see it up-close-and-personal was bone chilling. Did that explain why Brett was the way he was? Was he trying too hard to make up for his father?
“Brett, your work, I was wondering—?
“It’s not for spite. I believe in what I’m doing because it’s right, and it needs to be done—period.”
“What does you mother think?”
“Whatever I tell her to think, as long as her clothing allowance and her spa money keeps coming in. She’s clueless, not hateful like my father, just ignorant. She would never burn a cross on a black family’s front yard, but she would not invite them in her house without first hiding the good silverware.”
Detention Page 10
