by Tawny Taylor
Rin shook the remote at her sister. “I’m not convinced yet that it’s the huge mistake you seem to think it is. Look at this place.” She did a Vanna White, standing up and sweeping her arm in a wide arc. “We’re living in a freaking mansion. Not that what happened to you was in any way good, but if I hadn’t been in this town looking for you, and willing to listen to Drako’s proposal, I would never have married a man like him. What were my prospects back at home? Honestly? This isn’t bad. I’ll be getting money every week to spend any way I like—”
“An allowance.”
She shot her sister a grumpy-faced scowl. “No, it’s not an allowance. I deserve every penny that man will be paying me.”
“Then you see yourself as a whore.”
“No! No.” How would she make her sister understand? She went to her sister and made sure she was really listening. “This is no different from an arranged marriage, or a marriage of convenience, like you’ve read in those romance novels you’re so fond of. And before you tell me they were set in the nineteenth century, that marriages of convenience don’t exist anymore, I say bullshit. You and I both know women who’ve married men they didn’t love, just so they could have financial security.”
Her sister blinked, drawing Rin’s attention to her eyes, which were growing red and watery again. “I never thought you’d do it though. You had so much more going for you.”
Rin hugged her weepy sister, suspecting some of her tears were more about the hell she’d been through than what Rin had done to get her out of it. “Who says I have to give up all my dreams just because I’m married? If anything, this marriage should allow me to pursue what I want. I won’t have to work some menial job to pay the rent. That frees up all kinds of time for other things.”
Lei stepped away from Rin, crossed her arms over her chest, her body language telling Rin she still wasn’t listening. “I can see where you’re going with this. But still, Rin, I see that look in your eye. I know you’re scared, uncertain.”
“Things will get better with time. It’s all very new. Drako and I both need time to adjust, to understand each other.” The doorbell rang, and Rin, after waving her sister to follow her, headed toward the front of the house. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. In fact, it’ll kill me if you don’t support me in this. Please, Lei. Please. . . .” She stopped at the front door, turning to her sister. “Forget why I got married. For both our sakes.” Before her sister could respond, she pasted on a happy face and opened the door, greeting the delivery guy with a friendly, “Hello.”
She hoped, as she accepted the food from the teenager on the porch, that she wouldn’t need to hone her acting skills, or that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her days living a lie. It would be hell trying to hide the truth from Lei.
But if that was what it took to make her sister happy, then that was what she’d do.
“An unexplained illness has brought at least a dozen people to a local emergency room—”
Drako hit the power button on the remote, cutting off the news broadcast. He needed quiet, to think, to remind himself what was important, and what would happen if he forgot. A knock interrupted his thoughts before he’d gotten past remembering the disappointment he’d seen in his new bride’s eyes earlier, and how good she’d looked, smelled, tasted during the ceremony. . . .
Talen entered without being invited, but that was nothing new. Both of Drako’s brothers knew his door was always open. They kept very little from each other. There wasn’t much need for closed doors and absolutely no room for secrets between them. Talen flopped into the chair opposite Drako’s desk and snatched the book Drako had been trying to read off the desktop. Without reading a word, Talen thumbed through the pages. “Somebody’s been in the old Chimera hangout since Oram was released, digging through some old files and stuff.”
Drako sat a little taller. This was news. There hadn’t been any movement in the old headquarters in months. Drako and his brothers had all basically agreed the place and everything in it—mostly rusted steel desks, broken chairs, and file cabinets stuffed full of worthless documents—had been abandoned. “How do you know?”
Talen glanced at the book’s cover, then returned it to its place. “The boys saw a car parked out back when they were reviewing some of the security camera footage. They went out there and took a look.”
Drako put the book in his desk drawer and shut it. “I don’t know why Oram would go back there. There’s nothing left that’s worth anything. We combed through every piece of paper, searched every corner. It’s all garbage.”
Talen shrugged. “Evidently, he disagrees.”
“Are you sure it’s Oram?”
“Not yet. Could be anyone—curious teenagers, indigents looking for something to sell for a quick buck—but the timing’s interesting.”
Drako agreed with a nod. “Probably not a coincidence.” He ran his fingertip over the trackpad on his laptop, waking it from sleep mode.
“The boys are going through some of the older security tapes to see if we can make an ID. I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t disconnect the cameras yet. I’ll let you know what we find, once we get through them all.”
Staring at his computer screen, but too distracted to really see it, Drako drummed his fingertips on his desk. “Something feels off. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Oram’s been sitting in plain view all these years, until the day our father dies, and next thing we know, he’s disappeared.”
“The timing makes sense to me. Or at least, it doesn’t strike me as illogical. The old guard’s gone for good, and now Oram is ready to slide under the radar and prepare to test the replacements.”
Drako set his elbows on the desktop and steepled his fingers under his chin. Thinking aloud, he asked, “So why go skulking around empty warehouses? Especially ones he has to know we’re keeping an eye on?”
Talen, restless as usual, got up and started pacing the office. “There’s gotta be something important in there.”
“Why wouldn’t he send somebody else?”
“Maybe he knows what he’s looking for but nobody else does?”
That was possible. If Oram hadn’t fully trusted the other members of the Chimera, he might have felt he needed to hide some things to protect them, or to secure his place within the Chimera while he was in the hospital. Still, Drako couldn’t shake the feeling they were looking at only half the picture. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll send Wilkerson and Dobbs over there to check things out. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it.” Talen walked with his usual loose-hipped saunter toward Drako’s desk. “You’ve got other things to think about now anyway.” He gave Drako a little slug on the shoulder. “How was the wedding?”
“Fast,” Drako answered, still distracted as he opened a file on John Dale Oram on his computer. Oram had a gift for deceit and manipulation. His criminal record went back to his childhood, when at the tender age of eight he’d talked some other kids into stealing some equipment from their elementary school. His take, about a thousand dollars worth of electronics. From there, he’d graduated to bigger crimes, more profitable, including embezzlement and fraud. Yet he hadn’t spent a single day in jail, thanks to a convenient, well-documented defense.
“Fast is good, at least when it comes to weddings.”
Drako wouldn’t argue that one. “Yeah.”
Talen strolled over to the bar in the corner and helped himself to a glass of scotch. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Tomorrow night, yeah. But you’re working on your wedding night?”
Drako gave his brother a glance, then went back to skimming the Oram file. “I’m not ready. . . .”
“Not ready for what?” When Drako didn’t answer right away, Talen shook his head. “Damn, is it that bad?”
“No.” Drako scrolled to the bottom of the page as he listened to the clank of ice in Talen’s glass, the thunk of the bot
tle striking the glass as he refilled it. “She’s a decent woman. Knows what to expect.”
His brother grunted. “Sounds like hell to me.”
“Not at all. It’s just going to take some time for her to get used to everything.” Drako stole a quick glance at his brother, emptying his glass again. “That’ll be easier with you two staying at your condos.”
“Are you worried at all about her being at the house by herself, with Oram out?”
“No. He doesn’t know who we are, let alone where we live. That’ll change, of course, if we learn Oram’s snooping too close to home.”
Talen filled his glass a third time, and drained it just as quickly. “It’s been years. If our old man and his brothers had left any trail for him to follow, it’s long gone by now.”
Drako clicked the X, closing the file on Oram. “I hope you’re right.”
“You’ve always been overly cautious. That’s not a bad thing. As long as it doesn’t work against us somehow.” Talen set his dirty glass on Drako’s desk.
Drako snatched it off and set it on a surface that wouldn’t be marked for all eternity. “I don’t see that happening.”
“Me either.” His brother’s head jerked down. He pulled his cell from his pocket. It vibrated with a deep humming sound. “There’s my baby. Gonna head down to the suite for some fun. Maybe you need to unwind a little too.”
Drako shut down his computer. “Yeah, unwind. Good idea.”
7
Her skin was like fine alabaster, smooth and clear, not even the smallest imperfection marring its surface. Even though Rin’s skin wasn’t the color of ivory, he could easily imagine it was her kneeling before him now, waiting eagerly for his touch, his commands, his rewards.
Drako’s gaze traveled the bony ridge of the submissive’s spine from nape to the crease of her exposed buttocks. Lovely. His canvas. He would paint a masterpiece, and in the process, he would provide for her every need.
And deny his own.
This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it was what they both needed—no, they all needed: himself, his submissive, and his new bride as well. If he didn’t exorcise his darker urges, using them as a prolonged foreplay, he would be tempted to try to pull Rin into this world of pleasure-pain and power play. It wasn’t what she wanted; he only played with submissives who came to him, willingly, eyes wide open, knowing it was what they needed. Not to mention, he would become too vulnerable if he scened with Rin. During the exchange of power and control, the submissive wasn’t the only one tested, challenged. The dom’s defenses could just as easily be stripped away.
No, he could not, would not scene with Rin. Not ever.
Focus on the present, on the submissive kneeling before you now.
The first thing this submissive craved was pain. Only a mild burn, just enough to prepare the nerves, to get the blood pumping a little. He selected a hairbrush with metal bristles, the sharp tips coated in plastic. He squatted, leaned over her, inhaled her scent, feminine and clean, no sharp, cloying cologne to burn his nostrils or mask the smells he hungered for. He blew a soft stream of air across her nape. When her skin puckered with goose bumps, he dragged the hairbrush down the center of her back and watched the muscles under that smooth surface tighten ever so slightly.
Ah, yes, she was so responsive. Already, his blood was warming, his body responding to the minute signals hers was sending.
A slight increase in heat emanating from her skin.
A tiny change in her breathing.
The almost-imperceptible spice of a woman’s arousal perfuming the air.
He inhaled again, exhaled, closed his eyes, imagined it was Rin’s shallow breaths he heard as he gently tapped the brush down the canvas, her aroma he was pulling into his lungs.
“Master.” The word, a sweet gift, hadn’t so much been spoken as sighed.
She needed more; he would give her more. More pain. More pleasure.
This submissive had been broken long ago, her defenses stripped away. She freely submitted to him now, eagerly accepting every morsel of pleasure he gave her, and in return, she offered her gratitude in the form of sighs, shudders, and, later, orgasms.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded. “Not with your words. With your body.”
Her shoulders quivered. Her spine arched prettily, pushing her round buttocks out. He stood, set the brush down on the table nearby, and made his next choice—a little whip with a bouquet of smooth satin tails that would make his submissive shiver with expectation at the sound of those ribbons sailing through the air. Its bite, however, was not what she would expect. Instead of sharp nips, she’d feel a soft cascade of taps that would prepare her for what would come next.
He drew his arm back high and brought it down quickly, maximizing the speed of the tails as they rained down upon her upper back. She flinched, relaxed, then tightened up again. Again, he struck her, and, again, her body responded. Over and over. He didn’t stop until he could tell she couldn’t handle any more torment.
As her body coiled with pent-up tension, so did his. Every shallow gasp, every shiver, every swallowed moan did he mirror. His response was completely involuntary, totally out of his control. He was in awe. Enraptured by her surrender. She held back nothing, not a shiver or sigh or moan. By the time he had set aside the satin flogger to take up the leather one, his cock was thick and hard, his blood simmering, his muscles tied into taut knots, his senses hyperalert.
His submissive responded to each strike of the leather flogger as if it were a thrust of his cock. She moaned. She sighed. She tightened until the svelte lines of her torso and arms looked as taut as a runner’s during a marathon. Her skin grew flushed, the dusky rose tinting her back, her cheeks, her chest. Tiny droplets of perspiration coated her shoulders, back, breasts.
He saw her face, knew she was lost in a cloud of pain and pleasure, and loving every excruciating second. He wasn’t with her, and yet he was. This was a journey she would make alone. But he was within reach, her guide. Her escort. Showing her the way to that place deep inside where thoughts couldn’t dull the sensation, smother them like a heavy blanket thrown over a flickering flame.
Many new submissives had asked him why he was a dom, what pleasure he received. He’d tried to tell them, but words could only reveal so much, a tiny fraction. This exquisite moment was what it was all about for him. His reward was in watching a submissive succumb to such deeply satisfying pleasure that every cell in her body vibrated on the perfect frequency. It was music one couldn’t hear with the ears, could only feel with the soul.
As he whispered the words, “Come now,” he knew he was ready to go to his bride, to give her what she needed.
Rin always had a hard time falling asleep. She assumed it was her body’s way of protecting itself, an unconscious response shaped by events she’d long ago pushed out of her mind. Unfortunately, her insomnia only got worse when she was in a new place, a new bed.
It was her brain. It simply wouldn’t slow down. Thoughts bounced around inside her skull like superballs dropped from the Sears Tower. She’d learned a long time ago that only one thing helped. Books. Reading.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought any books with her. In her rush to pack, she’d left them all. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Then again, she’d assumed she wouldn’t need a book tonight.
Ack. This was awful. Even if she had read them cover to cover, several times, rereading an old book was better than lying in bed listening to all her doubts and fears echo in her ears over and over and over.
Drako had left hours ago. Where was he?
She sat up, flung her bare feet over the edge of the bed, and listened to the quiet stillness of her new home. It sounded like everyone was asleep. Good. She could go down to Drako’s barslash-library and take a gander, see if anything looked interesting.
Sporting a T-shirt and cropped sweats, her hair in a messy ponytail, she padded down the stairs, around the corner, and down the hall. She got about ten feet f
rom her destination when she heard his voice. Drako? He was home? He was speaking in a low, sultry tone that made several of her body parts warm up. Even muffled and distant, his voice didn’t lose its ability to spark a reaction in her body.
Where was he?
She slowly pivoted on the balls of her feet to take a look behind her. His voice was ever so slightly louder. He had to be in one of the rooms she’d passed. Which one? Several closed doors lined both sides of the corridor.
He stopped speaking, leaving her to stand there in the dark, wondering who he might have been talking with. It was late. Very late. Or early, depending upon how you looked at it. Right before she’d left her room, she’d checked the clock. . . again. The red glaring numbers had told her it was just after three-thirty in the morning.
What did it say about her new husband that he was awake, just like she, and talking to somebody in the middle of the night? Was he a workaholic? Was he talking to a girlfriend? His brothers? A family member?
Those weren’t the kinds of questions she’d get answers to tonight.
Press on.
She did a one-eighty, crept quietly into the library. Just in case he came out into the hallway, she shut the library door before turning on a light. At the flip of one of the switches on the wall, the pendulum lights over the bar illuminated, providing just enough of a glow for her to read the books’ spines while not completely blinding her. She started at the closest shelf, skimming titles. The Catcher in the Rye. Fahrenheit 451. The Color Purple. Ivanhoe.
Classics.
She moved to the next shelf.
Emma. Jane Austen. Now, that was more like it, something light and fun and diverting.
She pulled the book off and flipped to the first page.
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. . . .
