“Believe me, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.” Turning in his arms, she lifted her face and pressed her lips against his.
With a low groan, he twisted her mouth open, plunging his tongue inside to taste her sweetness. Much too soon, he pulled back, lifting his hand to push her wildly disarrayed hair out of her face before palming the side of her head. “C’mon, sugar, up and at ’em. We have just enough time to grab a quick shower and eat breakfast before it’s time for you girls to be at the spa. Unless, of course, you’d rather just stay here and fuck all day.”
“Oh, God, don’t tempt me.” She turned her head to place a kiss in the middle of his palm. Then she crawled over him, earning a sharp slap on the butt before sashaying into the bathroom with Jesse right behind her.
Sarah, Cassie, and Maggie met Lisa and Heather at Hunter’s Glen Salon and Day Spa. They spent the morning getting detoxified, exfoliated, and immersed in hot mud, while enjoying copious amounts of champagne. After a light lunch in the cozy on-site restaurant, they spent the afternoon getting facials, manis and pedis, and deep tissue massages. They finished up getting their hair and makeup done.
“This is something I want us to do on my wedding day,” Sarah said, studying her image in a handheld mirror. “Maybe not everything, but for sure the manis, pedis, facials, hair and makeup.”
“And the massages,” Maggie murmured, taking a large gulp from her latest glass of champagne. “Gotta have the massages.”
“And the exfoliation,” Heather chimed in. “Please? My skin has never felt so soft. I mean, I’m talkin’ rose-petal soft.” She rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Tucker’s always goin’ on about how silky my skin is. Wait’ll he gets a load of this.” She raised her arm to her nose. “And it smells good, too. Not heavy or flowery, just…clean.”
“Can we add a bikini wax?” Cassie asked, putting her empty champagne flute on the tray being extended toward her, and taking a full one. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
Sarah turned toward her. “Are you sure, Cassie? The first one can be really painful. I don’t want you duck-walking down the aisle.”
“Why don’t you get one when we get back to Boston?” Maggie suggested. “That way you’ll know what to expect.”
“Good idea,” said Sarah, “and if you still want one the day of the wedding, we can add those. So that’s an okay on everything, then. Cocktail hour is at 6:00 p.m., the ceremony’s scheduled to start at 7:00 p.m., so if we get to the spa as soon as it opens, we should have plenty of time to get everything done, plus get to Marshall’s Hill and dress for the wedding without being rushed.”
By the time Adam came to pick them up, the champagne, along with the wine they’d had at lunch, and the cumulative results of all the relaxation treatments they’d undergone had caught up with them and they were talking and giggling like adolescent schoolgirls. And so relaxed, that when they stood to leave, they discovered their legs had been replaced with silly putty.
“Whoa,” Adam said, catching Lisa by the shoulders before she toppled off of her six-inch platform stilettos.
“Oops.” She giggled. “Gravity.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.” He was struggling to keep the amusement from his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, locking her knees and stiffening her spine. “Just relaxed, is all. Re-e-eally, re-e-e-e-a-l-ly relaxed.”
“Just the same, Brian would never forgive me if I didn’t follow you home.”
“Not necessary.” She waved her hand airily. “Heather’s driving. She hasn’t had anything to drink since early this morning. Besides, we brought what we’re wearing to the restaurant tonight with us. We’re all changing at your house.”
“But first, can we stop at Marshall’s Hill?” Sarah asked, “I want Cassie and Maggie to see where the wedding’s going to be?”
“Your wish is my command, my love.” He dropped a kiss on her nose before opening the front door of the spa and indicating with a courtly sweep of his arm that they all should precede him through it. He assisted Cassie and Maggie into the back before helping Sarah into the passenger seat. As he straightened from buckling her seat belt, he gave her a tender kiss on the lips. “You smell so good, sweet pea. And you look absolutely stunning.”
“It’s the makeup,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
He gave her an indulgent look. “No, angel, it’s the woman.”
In the backseat, Cassie and Maggie turned their heads and gave each other a knowing smile.
Marshall’s Hill, the graceful antebellum mansion where Sarah had grown up was surrounded by immense trees, spacious lawns, and extensive gardens. Linc Carter, the elderly black man who’d been the head gardener since before Sarah was born, had retired to Florida last month after Phillip Nugent had forced him at gunpoint to climb into the trunk of his rented Lexus, threatening to kill him if he didn’t comply. The grounds were now being cared for by Ken Bianchi, the new head gardener, a short, stocky man in his mid-forties whose perpetual hangdog expression reminded Sarah of a bloodhound. Nevertheless, he was a genius with flowers and the estate had never looked better.
“Oh, Sarah,” Maggie breathed as they exited the car and looked around. “This is absolutely lovely. It’s the perfect backdrop for a wedding.”
“The wedding’s going to be on the lawn on the south side of the house,” Sarah said, indicating with her hand which way they should go. She followed them down the walkway toward the side of the house. They rounded the corner, emerging out onto an enormous expanse of freshly mowed lawn, with scattered two-hundred-year-old poplar and live oak trees providing welcoming oases of shade. “The ceremony itself will take place under an arbor over there in front of that bank of crepe myrtles. They’ll be in full bloom by then and should provide an absolutely spectacular backdrop.” She turned slightly, pointing toward an eight-foot-tall privet hedge at the far edge of the lawn. “The tents for the wedding supper and the dancing afterward will be set up over there.”
Cassie stepped out ahead of the group, hands pressed to her breast, turning in wonder at the beauty and serenity of the scene. “Oh, God, Sarah, this is so freakin’ gorgeous! You should rent this place out for other people’s weddings! You’d make a fortune! Not”—she held up her hands, ducking her head—“that you need a fortune. But seriously. Have you ever even thought about it?”
“Actually”—Sarah grinned—“I have thought of it. Since I’m no longer living here, Adam, Jesse and I have decided to turn this into an exclusive bed and breakfast with a BDSM theme. We’ll cater weddings, collaring ceremonies, and all sorts of special BDSM-related events—sort of an exclusive playground for the kinky set. Lisa’s husband Brian is drawing up the plans as we speak.”
“Oh! My! God!” Cassie shrieked. “That’s wild! Do you know anybody who’s into that?”
Adam, Sarah, and Lisa all burst out laughing. At Cassie’s look of bewilderment, Sarah stepped up to her and gave her a hug. “Sorry, sweetie, we’re not laughing at you. It’s just that you’ve been surrounded by people who are into that all day. You see Lisa’s necklace?” Lisa had eschewed her dog collar in favor of a heavy silver chain clasped with a small padlock. “That’s actually a collar—a slave collar. She and her husband Brian have a twenty-four-seven Master-slave relationship. As for us, I never told you or Maggie about this before, mainly because I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject over the phone or in an email, but Adam and Jesse are my Doms. We have a sexual D/s relationship.”
Shock widened Cassie’s eyes, but all she said was, “Wow,” before pulling out of Sarah’s embrace. “You’re a submissive? How could I not have known that?”
“Do you think any less of me for it?” Sarah asked tentatively, her old fears of being censured once again coming to the fore, before she managed to tamp them down. It didn’t matter if Cassie thought less of her for it. She was what she was, and Cassie would just have to deal.
; “Hell, no. I think you’re the smartest woman I know.”
“Hey,” Maggie cried in mock protest.
“Sorry, the smartest after Mags here. You’re also the bravest woman I know.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Maggie raised an imaginary glass. “You bested Phillip Nugent. That was beyond brave.”
“I admire you more than you know,” Cassie continued. “But, I mean, BDSM? That’s pretty heavy stuff. It’s certainly not how you used to be, all prudish and uptight and so shy we ached for you. Never going out with anyone more than once, never even letting a guy kiss you good night. When did you figure out you were, you know, kinky?”
“The minute Jesse came back to town. He’s always known what I am—not only a sub, but his sub. His and Adam’s lifetime sub. They’ve been peeling back all the layers of the prudishness and uptight modesty you just referred to, teaching me who and what I am and what my body needs on a primal, elemental level.”
“And what is that?” Cassie smirked. “Whips? Chains? Torture? The rack? What?”
“No, yes, sort of, and no. Trust me, it’s all good—better than you could ever imagine.”
“Oh, my God, I was just kidding!
“I think,” Maggie piped up, putting her hands over her ears, “that this entire conversation falls under the heading of TMI.”
Adam stepped up behind Sarah and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Cassie. Maggie. We love Sarah to the bottom of our souls. She is our heart and our life—and we thank God for her every day. We treasure her and would never, ever do anything to hurt her.”
Wow. Cassie just mouthed the word, looking back and forth between Sarah and Adam towering above her.
“Yeah,” Sarah agreed with an impish grin. “They’re good at reducing me to words of just one syllable, too. My own personal favorite is ‘Guh.’” She reached for Cassie’s hand. “C’mon, girls, a quick tour of the inside of the house and then we’ll go back home and change for dinner.”
* * * *
“D’you mind tellin’ me what we’re doin’ out here, hidin’ in this stinkin’ alley in hundred and twenty degree heat?” Jesse asked for the tenth time in half an hour. He, his cousin Matt, and Ogre, another member of the Brigands biker club, were hunkered down behind a dumpster in the alley behind the deserted building across the street from Matt’s garage. The rank odor of rotting garbage assaulted their nostrils, making their eyes water.
“It’s only ninety degrees,” Matt pointed out, “and I keep tellin’ you, you’ll see. Ah,” he concluded as a battered old Ford pickup truck turned into the alley and started slowly toward them, tires crunching in the dirt. “Here it comes.”
“Here comes what?” Jesse asked irritably, wiping his sweaty neck with the blue and white bandana he pulled from the back pocket of his black cargos.
“The changin’ of the guard,” was Matt’s cryptic response.
The pickup pulled up to what used to be a loading dock and parked next to another, equally beat-up, rusted-out truck. Both trucks had gun racks in the rear window, complete with pump-action shotguns. Two men, their heads so closely shaved they looked bald, got out and vaulted up onto the platform. One of them was so skinny, his clothes hung like a scarecrow’s. The other’s arms were so muscular from lifting weights he couldn’t lower them to his sides.
Jesse smirked. Wonder how he wipes his ass?
From his vantage point less than eighty feet away, he could make out all the crude, black prison tats on their necks, heads, faces, and arms. The skinny one unwrapped two sticks of gum and folded them into his mouth, dropping the papers on the ground. Both men stole a quick look in both directions before jimmying the rusting metal door with a crow bar. It opened with a screech loud enough to wake the dead, and the two men went inside the deserted building.
“They’re watchin’ the compound,” Jesse said.
“So it would seem,” Matt replied, straightening from his crouch with a groan. Crap. He was gettin’ too old for this shit. “We noticed movement in one of the upstairs windows yesterday mornin’, so I sent Ogre over here to put up a camera, and sure enough”—he indicated the trucks with a wave of his hand—“here they are, just like clockwork. They’re takin’ shifts.” He looked at his cousin. “Whattaya s’pose it means?”
“Exactly what I told you. You don’t go anywhere alone.”
“You gonna arrest ’em?”
“On what charge?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Stalking? Trespassing? B & E?” He pointed toward the gum wrappers skittering across the deserted dock in the slight breeze. “Littering?”
“We-e-ell,” Jesse said, drawing out the word as he stared thoughtfully at the building, “as long as they’re in there watchin’ you, we know where they are.” He continued to stare for a long moment before letting out a sigh and looking his cousin square in the eye. “Okay, you two, I’m gonna level with you. Somethin’ big is goin’ down in the next few days—somethin’ those guys in there are a part of. If I arrest them now, it’ll put the others on alert. It could destroy our chance to take this entire group down, and believe me, you want us to take this entire group down. They’re into some really bad shit.”
A loud metallic screech sent them scrambling back behind the dumpster just in time to see two different men exit the building. Gesticulating wildly, they hurled angry insults at each other as they climbed into the other truck, backed out of the parking space and drove off down the alley, burning rubber all the way.
Jesse, Matt, and Ogre stood back up. “Okay,” Matt said. “Whatta you want us to do?”
“Can you just keep watchin’ ’em for me? Give me a daily update and an alert if they change their pattern or if anythin’ unusual occurs?”
Both Matt and Ogre nodded their heads. “Sure, we can do that.”
“Ogre, you were Delta Force, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ve told Matt to stay inside the compound and to be within sight of someone at all times.”
“Yeah, he mentioned somethin’ like that.” He gave Matt a speaking glance. “Didn’t act like it was any big deal, though.” He jerked his chin toward the building across the alley. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that this kinda makes it a big deal.”
“More than you know.”
Matt’s cell phone rang, and he dug around for it in his pocket, stepping a short distance away to answer it.
“We’ll make sure he follows the rules,” Ogre assured Jesse.
Both men watched Matt shut the phone and glance at his watch before he rejoined them. “That was Patti. One of her nurses just called in sick, so she’s takin’ her shift. She’ll call me again when she gets off, probably around midnight. Gotta tell ya, Jesse, she wasn’t real thrilled when I told her she was gonna have to start sleepin’ at the compound every night.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“She just spent a fuckin’ fortune on one of those new, fancy-schmancy memory foam mattresses—you know, the kind you can jump on without spillin’ your wine. Or, in our case, beer.” He grinned a little wistfully. “We were kinda lookin’ forward to tryin’ that out.”
Jesse just shrugged. “Call her back and tell her not to drive home by herself. Tell her to wait until you pick her up. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ogre said, grabbing Matt’s arm when it looked like he was about to protest and pulling him toward the sidewalk.
Until Jesse’s whistle stopped them in mid-stride. “You guys forgettin’ somethin’?” He pointed at the empty warehouse building. “You sneaked out the back way to get over here, you gotta sneak back in the same way. Otherwise those fuckers’ll know they’ve been made.”
Muttering a string of curses, the two bikers took off sprinting down the alley.
* * * *
By the time Jesse and Adam entered the elegant restaurant a few hours later, it was to find a royally pissed-off Sarah arguing with their waiter, loudly demanding to speak to the manager, while the other four wom
en cheered her on. Exchanging an amused glance, the two men stepped up to the table. “Good evening, ladies. I can see we’ve arrived just in time to put down a small rebellion.”
“Jesse,” Sarah said plaintively, “they won’t let me pay the check. Antonio here keeps saying it’s on the house! That’s just crazy! It’s nearly three hundred dollars! What kind of restaurant comps a three-hundred-dollar meal?”
Jesse nodded at the waiter. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll take it from here.” As a relieved Tony turned to go back into the kitchen, Jesse bent down to place his head next to Sarah’s. “The kind of restaurant that let me pay them in advance this afternoon,” he said quietly into her ear, his breath stirring the little curling tendrils of hair at her temple that had escaped her sophisticated, upswept hairdo.
She jerked her head back to look at him. “You–you’ve already paid them?”
At his nod, she erupted. “Goddamn it, Jesse, you’ve got to stop doing this! I’m not ‘the little woman,’”—she air-quoted with her fingers—“who needs a big, badass, macho, alpha-male chauvinist—even if he is sexy as hell—paying my way. I need to stand on my own two feet.”
One eyebrow hiked toward his hairline. “Chauvinist,” he murmured appreciatively. “An oldie but a goodie. I been wonderin’ when you were gonna trot that one out. At least this time you remembered sexy.”
“Jesse!”
His second eyebrow joined the first at the edge of his scalp. “You done?” he asked quietly, his expression, the tone of his voice, even the stillness of his bearing letting her know that, whether or not she was done, he certainly was. They had drawn the attention of all the patrons at the nearby tables, all of whom were watching them avidly.
“You belong to me, Sarah,” he reminded her softly, although loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear, since the ambient restaurant noise of low conversation, jingling silverware, and clinking chinaware seemed to have all but disappeared, leaving behind a breath-held silence. “You’re mine, every inch of you, includin’ those two feet you insist on standing upon. And I take care of what’s mine. Always. It’s my responsibility as your Dom and soon-to-be husband. It is also my privilege,” he continued when it looked like she was going to keep arguing, “and my pleasure to look after you. It’s just one small way I have of lettin’ you know how much I love and honor you.”
Owning Sarah [Sequel to Loving Sarah] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 18
