“Fuck me,” she whispered, and he recognized the deliberate seduction in it. She never said what she wanted, never asked for anything, but she could follow orders. Jesus, she could follow orders and blow his mind. This, asking for it, was different, unlike her. “I’ll make you feel good,” she added.
Sinking inside her body, he’d feel better than good. When he was buried deep, she took him to another plane of existence. No other woman had done that, not even his ex-wife when he’d still believed her to be the woman of his dreams.
He was being manipulated. She was avoiding what he really wanted from her. He climbed from the bed, stood beside it, gazing down at the perfection of her body in her supine position, losing himself in the shimmer of her brilliant blue eyes. He knew he’d fuck her. Because he wanted her, badly. He had from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
But the game would have to change, the rules revised. He wanted more than sex; he wanted everything. And he would have it. Even if he had to order her to give it to him.
After all, he was the master.
1
BREE MASON HAD SPENT HER ENTIRE ADULTHOOD—MAYBE EVEN longer—learning to handle men. Last night, she’d handled him all wrong. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to screw things up. She’d quivered and cried out his name, bucked against his mouth, made all the right sounds, all the right moves. It was so much easier to fake it and give herself the orgasm later if she needed the relief. Where she was the one doing it. Where there was no guilt about a man touching her or making her feel good. She didn’t really like men making her come unless it was part of her punishment. But this time Luke Raven had known she was faking. How?
He was the only man who’d ever wanted tenderness. He liked to make her come just for the sake of pleasure. Sometimes, she thought he was trying to look inside her soul. She was terrified he’d despise what he saw if she ever let him.
“Hey, Bree, can you come into my office a minute?”
Bree almost flipped out of her skin at the voice. As if she were an apparition that had suddenly materialized, her boss, Erin DeKnight, stood in the office doorway, her finger crooked. Bree’s stomach rolled over on principle. Bree always assumed the worst; it was her nature. If you expected it, sometimes you could circumvent it, do some damage control. The last time Erin had called her into her office with that tone of voice, she’d ripped Bree a new one. Of course, that had been Bree’s fault. When you act all weird and secretive, it eventually bites you in the ass.
So she jumped up to follow and do damage control if it was required.
Erin was forty, five years older than Bree, but still slender with vibrant red hair. She was smart and assertive, and ran DeKnight Gauges like she was captaining a ship. Erin never seemed to doubt herself, and she never deferred to Dominic just because he was her husband and a man. They shared the company, fondly called DKG by its employees, splitting responsibilities. Erin managed day-to-day operations, including the assembly of the ultrasonic testing gauges they produced, while Dominic, the engineer in the family, did all the design work on the products and most of the marketing. In the six years Bree had worked for them, she hadn’t noticed a lot of toe-stepping between them. Of course, after losing their son Jay a little over a year ago, things had been hard for them both; it had been hard on everyone at DKG. But in the last few weeks, something was different about Erin. Where before no one mentioned him, the pain too great for her to bear, pictures of Jay had started showing up in Erin’s office again. When she’d brought her WORLD’S BEST MOM mug into work again, it was a complete shock, yet it was almost like an invitation to start remembering Jay again.
Erin closed her door on the roundhouse, which was the central area housing the conference table, shared office equipment, and coffee nook. If you were pouring yourself a cup, you could hear everything that was said in any office that ringed the roundhouse, and sometimes even pick up stuff out in the factory on one side or from the engineering hallway on the other end. When she closed her door, Erin had something to say that she didn’t want to be overheard.
Sitting down in the chair opposite, Bree clasped her hands tightly.
Erin pulled on her blazer before she sat behind her desk. “Damn, it’s cold today.”
Rain spat against the office window. January was usually a nice month in the San Francisco Bay Area; sometimes you could even wear short sleeves. The rains came back in February. But this year was proving to be wetter than the last few. Bree curled her fingers together to warm them.
Erin slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This came in the morning mail, and I just got off the phone with Marbury.”
Denton Marbury was their CPA and tax accountant. While Bree managed DKG’s in-house accounting, she didn’t do any of the various governmental filings except for sales tax reporting, which was fairly easy. Leaning in, she pulled the letter closer with one finger. Close enough to see Internal Revenue Service across the top. Her heart dropped to her stomach where she could feel it beating, making her ill with the incessant throb.
“They’re going to audit us,” Erin said. “I faxed that over to Marbury.”
Even if you haven’t done anything wrong, your pulse automatically races when you see IRS.
“You don’t have to worry, Bree. Marbury says he’ll handle it, but he needs you to collect all the data they’ve asked for. He says he’ll email me a complete list of documentation he’ll need once he’s gone over the letter thoroughly.”
Denton Marbury. Ugh. Of course, he wouldn’t email the list to Bree. No, he’d go through Erin first. It was then Bree realized she hadn’t said a word. She stuffed down her pissy attitude. “That’s fine. When are the auditors coming?” She tried to sound unconcerned rather than bone-deep terrified.
“The audit isn’t until the middle of February, but Marbury needs the backup in two weeks so he can review it first.”
“Two weeks?” Bree almost squeaked. It was Friday, day five of year-end closing. There was all the reporting to do, verifying the new standard costs, including the standards roll reserve to be amortized over the year, analyzing the work order variances since they’d brought the transducer production in-house, a ton of stuff, plus she had to get started on the 1099s for all their noncorpo-rate vendors, which were due at the end of January. The really irritating thing was that she damn well knew Marbury wouldn’t look at anything she gave him until the morning of the audit. He was just that way. He was a big man with a big voice that emanated from deep in his belly until it actually felt like it boomed, and he made her feel . . . less than. She had this terrible urge to cringe whenever she saw him, something she hated herself for. The saving grace was that she never actually let him see her cringe.
“It’s a lot to ask,” Erin said. “Especially with your dad. Do you want me to get Marbury to call them and postpone?”
“No,” Bree said quickly. She could do this. She was organized. She had everything at her fingertips. She didn’t want to be considered less than. “I’ll look over the stuff they want and if there’s any issues, I’ll let you know.” She glanced at the list briefly. “It all looks pretty routine.” She clutched the paper to her chest.
“Bree.”
Bree swallowed. She knew what was coming. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to forestall Erin’s words.
“I know you are,” Erin said kindly. “How’s your dad?”
Bree pursed her lips and hated the expression it gave her. “As well as can be expected.” She didn’t say he was fine; he was far from it.
“Dominic and I are so sorry about this.”
This. Her father’s cancer. His sickness. “Thank you,” Bree said.
“If you want time off, let me know. We’ll accommodate anything you need.”
“I appreciate that.” Her fingers felt numb, like they did whenever she had to talk about this.
They’d discussed it before New Year’s. Okay, they’d talked about her father after that huge disturbance regarding the fact that someone outsi
de the company had hacked proprietary information.
“I know you don’t want to think about it,” Erin said, “but when the time comes, whatever you decide, you’ve got our full support.” That was another recent change in Erin; she’d become so much better at dealing with sympathy and grief.
“I really appreciate that, Erin.” Since the disturbance, as Bree thought of it, Erin had gone overboard to apologize for even thinking Bree was somehow involved with their sales numbers getting out. See, there was that acting-weird-and-secretive thing at work. She couldn’t blame Erin for being suspicious. But they’d gotten over that, and what Erin didn’t have a clue about was how much her acceptance had meant to Bree. Erin had validated Bree’s feelings about her father’s illness; she’d understood the fears. Erin understood all about burying your head in the sand and trying to pretend nothing had happened, or was happening, that everything was absolutely fine.
Erin sat back, putting her hands up as if in surrender. “I’m not going to belabor the point. I know you can handle it all, but if you ever feel you can’t, just tell me. And this audit is no big deal. Marbury will take the brunt of it. He’s assured me.”
Right. Marbury had assured Erin, but how he treated Bree was a different matter. Whatever. She’d handle it. And what she couldn’t handle, she’d fake.
She was good at faking. Isn’t that what Luke had said? Thinking of him made her warm, soothed the savage little beast inside her, which was odd considering how they’d parted last night.
Bree rose. “Okay, I’ve got it. And I’ll have the inventory variances analyzed by the end of the day.” There were a few parts whose valuations had significantly changed in the standard cost roll for the new year. She needed to make sense of it; could be that the routings were incorrect or the bills of material had errors.
Back in her office, she reviewed the list of audit requirements. It wasn’t so bad. The biggest issue was the overhead rates used for valuing their inventory. It would require some explanation, but she’d made good notes in the allocations file, and she’d been using the same methodology since they’d gone onto the new system a couple of years ago. She’d done a demo for Marbury, too.
Her father thought she should be further ahead in her career, at least a controller, but she wasn’t a manager, not even a supervisor. No, she was little more than a full-charge bookkeeper. Except that she knew everything about DKG. The DeKnights needed her. And she was doing well for herself. She even owned her own small condo over in Newark. She was independent. She was happy.
But she didn’t like change.
Her desk phone rang. “Bree Mason here. How can I help you?”
The voice on the other end was barely more than a whisper. “I just can’t do it anymore, Brianna. Please.”
Bree’s insides clenched. Only her mother called her Brianna, and only when she was really upset. “Why didn’t you call me on my cell phone, Mom?”
“Because you wouldn’t have answered.”
All right, she fully admitted she was a shitty daughter. “I’ve answered every day.” But only once a day because she couldn’t handle any more than that.
“I can’t take care of him on my own, Brianna.” Tears bubbled in her mother’s voice.
“He needs to go into hospice, Mom.”
“He wants to die here.”
Bree concentrated on her breathing. “He’ll get better care in hospice.”
“This is his home.”
Her parents had lived in the same house in Saratoga since before Bree was born. They’d paid forty thousand; it was long since paid off and worth a small fortune, even after the housing dump. Her parents should sell it and get something smaller and more manageable.
Her father refused. He always refused.
“You have to put your foot down, Mom, and tell him you can’t do it.”
“I could if you came home and helped me.”
That was it. They wanted her to come home. They wanted her back. Her father had been diagnosed with lung cancer fifteen months ago. He’d had radiation treatments. They’d arrested things for a while. Until two months ago, just after Thanksgiving, when the doctors found the cancer had moved to his kidneys. Now, it was only a matter of time.
Please don’t make me do it, Daddy.
She could not go home to that full time. It was hard enough going over there for the usual Sunday dinner, a habit her mother had pushed her into since Bree had first gotten her own apartment after college. Last Sunday, she was sure her father’d had a stroke. His face had simply collapsed as she fed him his mashed peaches, as if every muscle had ceased to function. He’d looked like a clown, an upside-down smile painted on his face. Then it was gone. He’d finished eating as if nothing had happened. Finally, her heart had started beating again.
She simply could not do that day in and day out.
On the phone, her mother started crying. Bree stopped breathing. Her eyes ached. She sniffed.
“Please, Brianna, help me. I don’t know what to do.”
Bree thought about what Erin had said just before New Year’s, when Bree confessed about her father’s illness, his imminent death. Erin said she wasn’t a terrible person because she didn’t want to go, didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to see it. Erin thought it was a natural reaction for some people.
And maybe it was. But Bree knew she was a terrible person for hearing her mother’s cries and refusing her.
Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.
She was thirty-five years old and praying to God as if she were a little child. God wasn’t going to save her. He wasn’t suddenly going to offer her another alternative. And in the end, she didn’t know how much longer she could live with herself if she didn’t go.
“All right, Mom,” she finally said, “I’ll come. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” Saturday. After she’d packed a few things and watered her plants. She couldn’t let her plants die.
After the disconnecting click of the phone, Bree held the receiver to her chest, breathing, just breathing. She could do this. She could be strong. She could be like Erin.
But if she had to do it, then she needed something to get her through. She didn’t usually ask for two nights in a row from him, but she needed him so badly.
Rising from her desk, she closed her office door with a soft snick. Back in her chair, she hit his speed dial and when Luke answered, she whispered the magic words, “Do you want me tonight, Master?”
2
HELL, YES, LUKE WANTED HER. HE WANTED TO REACH THROUGH the phone lines and touch her, lay claim to her. He sat in the spacious second-floor office of the Silicon Valley company for which he was CEO and dictated to her. “On my terms,” he said.
“It’s always your terms, Master. I’ll do whatever you want.”
He’d thought about what he wanted. He’d thought about what she needed. “You must be punished.”
“Yes, Master.” Excitement lowered her voice to a breathy whisper.
“You will not scream and you will not struggle, slut.” The kick start of heat and desire swelled in him.
He could almost feel the quiver of her body as her voice shuddered across the airwaves. “No, Master, I won’t struggle.”
He would make her beg for release. He would spank her, then he’d put his mouth to her and make her come. He would force the climax out of her.
“What time shall I be there, Master?”
“We’re not going to my house. We’re going to do this in yours.” He heard her sharp intake of breath and felt the pause like a black hole that had suddenly opened up in front of him. “Or we’re not doing it at all.”
“Please don’t make me.” Her whisper had lost all the animation of her excitement.
She might not want it, but she needed it. He needed it. “It’s time. There’s no other way. I’ll be there at eight.”
“It has to be earlier,” she said quickly, ending abruptly as if suddenly realizing she was usurping his authority.
Go
od. All the more time with her. “Then I will see you at seven.”
“I don’t have a headboard or anything you can attach handcuffs to,” she told him.
“We won’t need them. Because you’re going to accept everything without fighting me.”
She hesitated, then finally said, “Yes, I’ll do everything.”
Not Yes, Master. He wondered at the difference and whether it boded ill or good. Not that it mattered. He’d already decided the way things would be done.
“You need to email me your address.” He didn’t know exactly where she lived. But now he would own that secret along with everything else.
“Yes.” She said it so softly, he almost mistook it for her breath.
He pondered a long moment after she hung up. Despite the dominance play between them, he gave her an extraordinary amount of control. He never called her; he always let her call him when she needed him. He never pressured, never pushed, always gave her freedom. That was the problem; he gave her too much freedom. It was time to take off the kid gloves. He would enter her home, he would punish her, he would make her come. Then he would hold her in his arms, and there would be no rushing out of the bed. He would stay until the morning.
Before he could give rein to fantasies of the evening ahead, he had work issues to manage. He punched in an extension number on his desk phone.
“Yeah, Luke?” Beeman’s answer came only seconds later.
“I need preliminary numbers for the board meeting on Wednesday.”
Beeman sighed. “Luke, you know that’s impossible.” No Yes, Master from him. As CFO, Beeman said everything was impossible, then it looked like he was a miracle worker when he came across with what Luke asked for.
“We’re talking prelim, Beeman. They know it’s subject to change.”
“I don’t have an answer from the auditors on that reserve question yet.”
What Happens After Dark Page 2
