What Happens After Dark

by Jasmine Haynes

  His eyes, dark with emotion, traveled her face as if he could read something in her features. “You should have called us. You didn’t need to come in.”

  What did he expect her to do? When he’d lost Jay, it had been so different. A child versus an old man. A sudden tragedy, instead of a cancer the family had known about for months. The beginning of heartbreak instead of the end of a long, bad journey. When Dominic came back to work after Jay, he’d been a ghost you could see through.

  It wasn’t like that for Bree. She didn’t feel sad. She didn’t feel anything except relief and guilt. She didn’t want Dominic to pick up on those wrong emotions.

  “I’m just glad he’s out of his misery.” Like a dog that had to be put down. Oh yeah, she didn’t want Dominic to hear that.

  He nodded, his gaze full of shadows. He was thinking about Jay, she was sure, and she hated to be the reminder.

  Yet he touched her shoulder in sympathy and comfort. “You should be with your mom, Bree, not here.”

  “She had things to do.” Her mom didn’t need her. Her mom was throwing out more stuff. Today, she planned to tackle the garage where her father had kept all his tools and odds and ends. Bree’d had to tell her not to go hog wild and throw out things they needed for the house and yard maintenance.

  But she couldn’t reveal all that wackiness to Dominic. Instead she added, “She’s managing. Mom’s stoic.” Even that didn’t seem like enough explanation and she rushed on. “She’s always got to be doing something. Do-do-do, that’s my mom.” She tried to smile, but it felt oddly stretched across her face. Then she realized she probably shouldn’t be smiling at all. “I think she needs some alone time to assimilate and get herself centered and . . .” She let her voice trail off because she just seemed to be digging a deeper hole with all the meaningless chatter.

  If Dominic noticed she was babbling, he didn’t mention it. He simply shook his head in empathy. “I know how hard it is. That’s why this is a time for family. You go. We’ll be fine.”

  “But I’ve got the check run to set up.”

  He gave her a look. “Erin can do that. Go home, Bree.”

  Suddenly she was glad it was Dominic who’d found her instead of Erin. He didn’t ask any particulars, didn’t probe for details. He had all the right words and none of the difficult ones, no questions that would show her up.

  But God, she was hiding behind nonanswers and idiotic chatter, not facing up and saying what needed to be said. She needed to change, grow a backbone, do something. Take charge. Decide what to do instead of letting someone else make her decisions for her.

  Only today wasn’t her growth day. After a few more pointless words, Bree took the opportunity Dominic gave her and ran. She didn’t even stop to grab her umbrella and raincoat. Yeah, a wimp.

  DOMINIC FOUND ERIN IN MANUFACTURING BREATHING DOWN Matt’s neck. They’d given Matt, one of their techs, responsibility for assembling the transducers in-house. The transducers were the probes that took the readings the ultrasonic gauge measured and were integral to a quality instrument. They’d been outsourcing the production for years with Leon, but Leon was retiring. Matt, a skinny kid in his midtwenties with lank hair and hangdog features, had taken on the transducer assembly with more enthusiasm than they’d gotten out of him in six months. Erin had made the right choice in trusting him, but she couldn’t resist a little mother-henning. It was in her nature.

  Dominic stood for a moment watching her. His wife took his breath away. She always would. They’d come close to losing each other when they lost Jay. He would ache for his son every minute for the rest of his days, but if he’d lost Erin, too, he wouldn’t have survived. Somehow, in the last few weeks, they’d found a way to go on together. Yet it was moments like this that brought home to him once again how fragile life was. When he’d seen the struggle and pain in Bree’s face, the way she’d blurted out the news of her father’s death, then the horror on her face after she said it.

  He’d seen all that. But he’d seen more.

  “Got a minute, babe?” he said to Erin.

  She looked up, her features a mask of concentration, her focus on the task. Until she blinked. And smiled. God, he loved that smile. In ways, they’d regained that exciting sense of newness in a relationship that would normally be long gone after fifteen years of marriage. God yes, he’d have traded his life for the return of his son, but he had Erin, and this time he’d hang on to every precious minute of their life together, taking nothing for granted.

  “What?” Her eyebrows knitted together.

  Dominic crooked his finger until they’d moved out of earshot, closer to the inventory shelving. “I just talked with Bree,” he started.

  “Her father’s dead,” Erin finished for him, putting a hand to her forehead. “Dammit, I didn’t even see her come in. I should have been watching. How’s she doing?” It was so like Erin to blame herself.

  “Kinda abnormal. She talked.”

  “What do you expect?”

  “I mean she talked.” Bree usually said as little as possible to him. “She was downright chatty.” Sort of, at least for Bree. It was hard to put into words what was bothering him.

  “She was like that with me. Almost as if she didn’t know how to say whatever it was she wanted to say, and she actually babbled.”

  “She had this crazy notion she had to take care of the check run,” he said. “I sent her home.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I can do the check run. Is her mom okay?”

  “I guess so. She said her mom had things to do, whatever that means.”

  Erin pursed her lips. “She shouldn’t even have come in. When did he die?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  “So I guess they haven’t decided on when they’re having the funeral. I’ll give her a call later, make sure she’s okay, and find out about the service. We should attend, and send some flowers, too.”

  That was Erin, making sure everyone was okay. Still, he worried about Bree. Never one to wear her feelings on her sleeve, he nevertheless wondered if her father’s illness, then his death, had pushed her to a breaking point.

  “LUKE, THERE’S A WOMAN OUT HERE, BUT SHE DOESN’T HAVE AN appointment.” His secretary’s voice was low, wary, unsure. “I don’t recognize her name from anything I’ve ever seen in your calendar. And she doesn’t even have a business card,” Linda added, low and incredulous.

  “Who is it?” he prompted. Linda wasn’t usually so reticent. In fact, she sounded almost . . . spooked.

  “She says her name is Miss Mason.”

  Bree? In the middle of the morning? Not once during their entire relationship had she ever come to his office. They’d fantasized about it the other day, having her suck him at work, but he hadn’t realized she even knew where his office was located. Not that he’d ever hidden his company’s name from her.

  “Send her in. And hold all my calls until I’m done.”

  His secretary was efficient, but she didn’t like surprises. She certainly wasn’t used to women showing up unannounced, especially without a business card or appointment, good heavens.

  Bree entered, and Linda closed the door behind her.

  Dark circles beneath her eyes, no lipstick, and skin so pale the shadow of her veins showed beneath the surface, Bree, as the old saying went, looked like death warmed over. She’d pulled her hair back in a hasty ponytail but wisps had blown loose, and her black blazer seemed to hang on her frame. His biggest desire in the world was to wrap her in his arms.

  “Master,” was all she said, and he knew his embrace was nowhere near what she needed from him now.

  23

  “LOCK THE DOOR,” LUKE SAID, HIS VOICE DELIBERATELY HARSH AS he rounded his desk.

  She did.

  “Come here.” He pointed to a spot three feet in front of him. She stood there, awaiting his instructions.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing showing up at my office unannounced?” It touched him deep ins
ide that she came to him, that she’d needed him. This was no social call. Bree didn’t understand the meaning of that. She was here because she had to have what only he could give her. And it wasn’t the time to think about why, to feel guilty because of what had been done to her in the past.

  So he pushed. “What do you think my secretary thought of that? Do you realize how you’ve embarrassed me?” He prepared her for the punishment she required, excited by the prospect, here, in his office, his secretary outside, his notebook open on the conference table for the meeting he had in fifteen minutes.

  He strode the two steps to her and stabbed a finger at the carpet. “Get on your knees, you dirty bitch.”

  She went down with an avid light sparking in her dark eyes.

  His heart raced at her eagerness. “Suck me. Do it now, and make it good so that I forget my anger with you.”

  Her fingers trembled as she unzipped his pants, not even bothering with his belt buckle. She pulled him free, and he was already hard, pulsing for her. She would always do that, flipping an on-switch in him with just a look, a word, a breath.

  When she tongued his slit, he growled, fueling her. As her lips slid down over his crown, he tipped his head back and savored her sleek wet mouth. “That’s so good, baby.”

  He didn’t know if he wanted to come. Sometimes, just the feel of her around him was enough. He could let it go on forever.

  She grabbed his thighs, held on, and took him deep down her throat. His legs quivered with the effort it took to stand. She shot him high so fast, he couldn’t think of the right words. “God.” No, that wasn’t it. “Cunt.” She sucked him harder. Yes, dirty, filthy, hot, crazy words. “Cocksucking little slut.”

  She went wild on his cock, tonguing, sucking, drawing him deep, then sliding back out with a suction that made his eyes feel like they’d pop. His balls ached, but he held off.

  “Don’t you dare make me come, dirty whore.”

  She moaned, her mouth still wrapped around him, her tongue working him.

  “Your punishment will be not receiving my come the way you want.” When he didn’t think he could stand it anymore, when his heart was drumming, his pulse pounding, and his breath was a rasp in his chest, he pushed her away.

  She fell back on her ass, her hands supporting her, eyes wide, needy.

  He could barely breathe as he shoved his cock back in his pants and zipped. His skin was hot beneath his white shirt. “Bitch,” he whispered. “Whore.” It felt good, as if he could blame someone else for his own denial, and he wondered if that was one of the things a true dom got out of it, a submissive to blame and take your punishment for you.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  She stood, her skin tinged pink with her exertion.

  “Step out of your shoes and bend over my desk.”

  She kicked off her high heels, pushed his pen holder and stapler aside, then leaned with both forearms on the desk. She hadn’t said a word beyond that first one when she entered. He relished her silence, her need.

  Moving up behind her, he blanketed her body, reaching beneath her abdomen to unbuckle her belt. “This would have been so much easier if you’d worn a skirt. Don’t ever show up here again in slacks. You will always wear a skirt so that I can get at you easily. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, a needy whimper in her voice.

  It fueled him, her compliance, her pliability, her desire to do anything for him. There was so much power in that, and while he liked the equality of sex, a man and woman taking and giving, she’d made him enjoy complete control.

  He pulled her zipper down, then slid the pants over the milk-white globes of her pert ass. “Step out of them,” he said when they were bunched at her ankles.

  She did, and he pushed the pile away with his foot. Then, leaning over her, his lips at her ear and his fingers sliding down the crease of her ass along her thong, he whispered, “From now on, you will wear thigh-high stockings beneath your skirts. And dirty, horny bitches don’t wear panties. I will call you at work and tell you to touch yourself for me.” Beneath him, she shuddered, her breath coming faster. “I might call you while you’re driving,” he went on, “and you will spread your legs for me. You will be available twenty-four/seven, at my beck and call to do whatever I tell you. I might need a blow job after a hard meeting, and you will drop whatever you’re doing to come here.” His cock surged. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before. “Do you understand, my sweet little cunt?”

  “Yes, Master.” Tears of pleasure laced her voice.

  He had them both going with his words. The possibilities overwhelmed him, and as he traced her pussy, beckoning him from beneath the black satin of her thong, he wanted to fuck her, strip her down and take her, shove his cock deep. Now. Forever. He had a condom in his suit pocket, planning for tonight, if he got the chance. But not yet, there was more punishment to be meted out before he fucked her.

  He didn’t even glance at his watch. Beeman would be arriving for their meeting, but he could wait outside. Luke rather liked the idea of making Beeman wait while he had her. He wanted this. Now.

  Backing off, he slapped her ass hard. “Don’t make a sound, you little cunt.”

  She didn’t scream or cry, but reduced it all to a moan in her throat.

  He pulled her panties away, the crotch clinging briefly to her warm, wet pussy. Letting the black thong drop to her ankles, this time he didn’t tell her to step out of it, craving the decadence of the satin binding her feet.

  “I’m going to spank you now for the impudence of coming to my office uninvited.”

  He swatted her hard, then, needing the feel of her, he let his fingers slide down the length of her pussy. All that sweetness, all that moisture.

  “Spread your legs, my dirty slut.”

  She moved them as far as the panties would allow.

  He delved deeper, finding the button of her clit. She moaned and rocked against him, going prone on the desk and stretching her hands out to hang on to the other side.

  The phone buzzed. He held Bree’s hair, forcing her face down. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, then punched the intercom button, his hand still between Bree’s legs, stroking, caressing. “Yes?”

  “Luke, Mr. Beeman is here for your meeting.”

  Bree shuddered as he filled her with two fingers. But she didn’t so much as breathe. A piece of him wished she wasn’t so obedient. He almost liked the heat of being overheard.

  “Tell Beeman I’ll be another half hour at least.” Then he clicked off.

  And clapped Bree’s ass so hard, she squeaked before she managed to cut it off.

  “Do you see what you’ve done, forcing me to cancel meetings? And my secretary has probably guessed what you’re making me do to you in here. Whore.”

  He slapped her again, hard. Her fingers curled white around the edge of the desk, and this time when he delved between her thighs, her pussy drenched his fingers.

  He gave her more of what she wanted.

  BREE COULDN’T BREATHE, IT WAS SO GOOD. HER BOTTOM ACHED, her pussy was so wet and needy, his fingers inside her filling all the hollow places. And the names he called her, the things he said. She was bad, dirty, terrible. He knew she wanted everything he did to her.

  He gave her butt a stinging blow, then slid between her legs to her clit, and she almost screamed with orgasm. Not yet; he hadn’t given permission. She couldn’t come until he let her. Nor could she scream when he finally allowed her to climax.

  She didn’t know what she’d needed when she came here. But Luke knew, forcing her to her knees immediately, his cock delicious in her mouth. And now this.

  She was nothing but sensation, pain, pleasure, his fingers on her, in her, her cream dripping down her legs, the incessant slap on her butt and the stroke along her pussy making her wild.

  “Master, Master, Master, I’m going to come.” She wasn’t even sure if she said the words aloud or it was just her mind cry
ing out to him.

  “Don’t come yet, little bitch. I’m not done.” He punctuated with a particularly hard slap and followed up with the sweetest of caresses against her pussy, her clit, her G-spot.

  She wanted to cry with delight and need, even felt the moisture beneath her eyelids, which she’d screwed tightly shut. But she didn’t come, pushed it away.

  She couldn’t hear all the words, the full sentences, the demands and orders, just the important words, slut, cunt, whore, bitch. They were terms of endearment. They were his special names for her. His slut, his whore, everything for him.

  The moment was so close, she whimpered with the strain of holding off. Only his voice telling her not to come kept her from the peak. She was invaded, taken over, controlled, his touch so perfect, the pain so intense, the pleasure even better.

  Then suddenly the blunt tip of his cock pressed against her. She clenched her fingers around the edge of the desk as he rammed home deep inside.

  “Take this fucking, you little bitch. You’re mine. I can do anything I want with you, anything. You’re my little slave.”

  Reaching beneath her, he played her clit as he stroked deep and hard inside her. The cloth of his pants rubbed the burning skin of her ass, more pain, more pleasure.

  “You will come when I say and not before, slut. I will take mine from you before I let you come.” His voice was like a thread winding through her mind, every cell, tying them all together, tethering her to him.

  “Bitch,” he whispered, and she felt him fill her to capacity.

  “Cunt,” he murmured, and she clenched around him, dragged him deeper, begging, needing.

  She writhed beneath the onslaught of his cock, gasping, tears leaking from her eyes.

  “Whore,” he muttered.