Caught: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (His Domination Book 2)

by Dane, Cynthia

  The drink was perfect. Amazing that he knew I like vermouth. A lucky guess, really. Monica liked most liquor, so that wasn’t an issue. She even dared to ask to taste his gin and tonic mere seconds after enjoying the first sip of her Manhattan. Henry slid his glass toward her and stole her Manhattan. Unlike her, he did not enjoy both.

  Their intent coming to The Dark Hour that night was not to merely taste expensive drinks. They could do that back at Henry’s mansion. Instead, Henry had suggested the club in town for “the sheer thrill of it.” Although they had spent most of the morning and early afternoon playing on their own, Henry thought they might like to unwind by watching others and being around like-minded people.

  Monica knew his real motive. He wants to show me off. This was their first time being seen together in public, let alone sitting together so intimately. I haven’t been here since… The last time she came to The Dark Hour was when Jackson had it in his mind to watch other people whip each other for a change. Back then, he always made such a show of arriving and spoiling others. He liked to flaunt his wealth. That was something often associated with men of new money, but Jackson, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, fell into those same traps… wanting to be loved for his money, respected… it always bothered Monica to a point, but she could overlook it. For the most part.

  The first show that evening was a Domme and her male sub. Just like being back at the Château. In fact, the woman in leather stepping onto the stage with a young man on a leash looked a lot like the Judith whom Monica stole from this establishment back when she opened her Château. “How would you like to make more money, set your own schedule, and have a fabulous place to live?” The woman down there wasn’t Judith, but if Monica was thinking about hiring more girls, this wasn’t a bad place to poach from. I wonder who that lady down there is. First, Monica wanted to see how good she was.

  So did Henry, as evident when he leaned over Monica to get a gander at the stage.

  The Domme made her sub kneel on the floor, his arms tied behind his back and his head bowed. She told him to do something, and when he did not immediately obey, he received a gentle lash on the bare back.

  “Oh boy.” Henry leaned his elbow on the table. “There’s a man with fortitude. I never cared for being whipped.”

  “You tried it?” That only surprised Monica because Doms almost never flipped the script. “You don’t strike me as the type who wants to be a sub. Ever.”

  “You only say that because I’m a man.” Henry curled his fingers on her arm and spoke directly into her ear. “A long time ago I had it in my mind to try many tastes. At this point in my life I know what I like. Everyone reaches that point in different ways.”

  “Color me surprised that you would rather whip than be whipped, as you put it when we first met.”

  Henry bit her ear as the man moaned below. “That was a good day.”

  “Well look who finally showed his face around here after God knows how long.” A curt voice interrupted their moment of affection, forcing Henry to back off his date and turn around. “Henry Warren, you ridiculous shit.”

  To the sounds of a whip cracking in the air, both Henry and Monica stared up at a man and his date. The man wasn’t very tall, but he wore a slick suit and clean facial hair that suggested he came from as many means as Henry, if not more. His date, on the other hand, was a svelte blond woman wearing a see-through brown dress that did not hide a single thing, including her breasts and thighs that were both pale and pink even under those lights. She wore a diamond-studded choker around her throat. A baby sub. Cute. They always went with the demure – but expensive – collars.

  “James Merange.” Henry stood up and shook the man’s hand before settling back into his seat. Without invitation, both man and woman slipped into the chairs on the other side of the table. “And this must be the lovely Gwen I’ve heard so much about.”

  The blond woman blushed. Flattery always worked, even if a girl had no problems walking around in a public place with her nipples showing through her outfit. “You flatter me, Mr. Warren.”

  Monica bristled. Great. Jealousy already? That didn’t take long. When she lived with Jackson she didn’t get jealous of other women deferring to him. But she didn’t have a special name for that man. “Mr. Warren” was something Monica already associated with her new romance. She took a drink before anyone could see her face.

  “Nonsense. James talks about you all the time.” Once the other two were settled in and had ordered drinks, Henry turned to Monica. “Have you been introduced to Mr. Merange before?” The implication was not lost to Monica. He wants to know if he’s been to the Château. What a sneaky man.

  Monica reached across the table and shook the other man’s hand. “I think we may have met a few years ago. At a fundraiser.” That was always a safe answer in these circles.

  The man down on the stage cried out in pain. Nobody at the table flinched. “Monica Graham, is it?” James sat back in his seat, arms crossed and eyes never leaving Monica’s face. “Boy, I certainly know you. Who doesn’t around these parts?”

  Gwen glanced at him. “Is that so?”

  “Ms. Graham here runs that house of ill repute up in the hills, dear.” James cleared his throat. “Not that I’ve ever been there, mind you.” He then looked at Monica again. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Wait, the BDSM house?”

  “I suppose you could call it that,” Monica said.

  “Oh, I know you! Didn’t you used to date Jackson Lyle?”

  The table fell silent. Monica maintained her poker face but had to look toward Henry before having the strength to answer. “Once upon a time, yes.”

  The pride Gwen boasted for being right quickly fell off her countenance. “Sorry…”

  While James shifted uncomfortably, Monica smiled. “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m hardly doing poorly for myself.”

  “I’ll say.” James perked back up and pointed to Henry. “Didn’t think I’d see you with such a classy lady in a place like this, Henry. Look at you! Becoming a regular Don Juan. Although it’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”

  Henry was not smiling. “What’s funny, James?”

  The server returned with drinks for James and Gwen, as well as refills for the original couple at the table. Monica snatched her fresh Manhattan and nursed it while the two men had a battle of secrets across the table. Business bullshit. Back at the Château she would be taking notes. On a date with her Dom? She was under no obligation to listen to a thing – unless Henry told her to, of course.

  “Oh, you know.” James patted Gwen’s thigh. “Just some things I’ve heard on the grapevine.”

  “I’d ask what those are,” Henry stirred his drink with the thin straw he was given. “but I don’t think I want to know. Not tonight.”

  “Of course.” The knowing smile on James’s face did not inspire any confidence at the table. All Monica knew was that Henry did not look like he was enjoying himself any longer. Whatever went on in his brain right now had nothing to do with her, however. “So how did you two meet, exactly? I’d love to know.”

  “How does anyone meet Ms. Graham in this world?” Monica didn’t like the undertone to Henry’s voice. It was similar to the way he spoke to her in the bedroom, but tinged in anger. Was this the Henry who did business? “We met at her Château, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Tension covered the table. Monica glanced at Gwen, who averted her eyes and pretended to be enthralled with the show wrapping up on stage. What do these two know? Something that Monica didn’t know? It made sense, when she considered the fact that she had only met Henry a few times. A few times, and yet it feels like we’ve been together an eternity already. There was something dangerous about that thought.

  Things didn’t change until another couple arrived. Then another. Men and women from the business world coming together on a Tuesda
y night, of all nights, simply to enjoy drinks and watch people be tied up and talked down to on a stage. Not that many people were watching the shows once they connected with others and made bawdy jokes over drinks. Eventually Monica had to get up from the table and join the new party at a bigger table in another corner. She recognized some of them from work and from her old life with Jackson. None of them were interested in her.

  Because she knew their sexual secrets.

  Because she knew who owed who money.

  Because she heard them make judgments while at her place of business. Or through her girls who would feed her information so Monica could use it to her own advantage. “Oh, Mr. So-And-So, you should really speak to Mr. What’s-His-Name. I think you two would get along really well.” It was in Monica’s best interest to have only good words leave her Château. If other rich denizens heard that good deals – and good times – were made in her home, then more of them would show up.

  If they heard that someone was drunk enough to make a bad decision… somehow that would give her a bad reflection in the mirror.

  Monica was content to sit next to Henry, his arm around her and nobody asking why. They pity him. None of the people at the large table would say so, but they probably thought Henry was being taken in by Jackson Lyle’s leftovers. They certainly spent a good amount of time glimpsing at them and then pretending to brush something off their shoulders or be taken in by their empty glasses. Unfortunately for them, I can look right through that.

  Part of it bothered Monica simply because she didn’t need reminders that she was a pariah around these parts. No, people didn’t hate her. They probably felt sorry for her, maybe even admired her for her business, but they all feared and pitied her because of her relation to Jackson. Lots of these people had to deal with him in their everyday dealings. If he heard on the “grapevine”… Monica didn’t want to think about it. By now he knew that she was seeing Henry Warren. What he thought of that? A part of her didn’t care, but another was afraid.

  Afraid of what? She had no idea.

  “Excuse me, Masters and Mistresses.” A woman dressed in a black skintight suit stepped to the end of the table, where she distributed a couple of fliers advertising an upcoming event. “I would like to remind everyone that our annual auction is coming up in a few weeks. Thank you.” She bowed and stepped back before turning to head to the next table.

  James picked up the nearest flier and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think, my dear?” he asked Gwen, handing her the flier. “Should I auction you off to the highest bidder? Maybe I’ll win and a woman will buy you for a night.”

  Gwen took the flier and folded it in half, lips pursed. “I’m not for sale, my dear. But we should come that night to watch.”

  The rest of the table laughed, including Henry, who glanced at another flier before sliding it to someone else to look at. Monica caught sight of it. “Annual Submissive Auction.” She had heard of this. Every year The Dark Hour put on an event like this, in which a sub auctioned him or herself to the audience. The happier the audience was, the more money they gave the sub and their Dom. It was always one of the biggest nights of the year. Unless I have a lot of appointments, we might as well close the Château that night and come ourselves. Hm, maybe Monica should try to convince one of her girls to auction herself and then split the profits…

  Another drink was placed before her, and that was the end of those thoughts.

  If Monica thought that she was going to get to spend an intimate date with Henry, then she was sorely wrong. Most of the evening was spent entertaining these other people she barely knew and only had a passing interest in. Sometimes she gazed at the stage, hoping for something exciting to happen, but Tuesday nights were slow in that aspect, even when a million people showed up for fun.

  Some people talked to her. Mostly those asking about her business out of politeness. A few asked about her relation to Henry. What do I say? Monica was practical and not about to say that he was her new Dom. Yet calling him her “boyfriend” felt juvenile, especially in their type of relationship. “We’re dating,” was all she said. Two people left it at that, while another glanced between her and Henry before looking away with a snort.

  People could be so rude.

  As the evening wound down, Monica imbibed more alcohol. She wasn’t kidding when she said liquor made her giddy. While there wasn’t much for her to talk about with these people, she wouldn’t say she was bored. Especially when she lost most of her inhibitions and draped herself across Henry’s shoulders, reveling in the way people looked at them – like they had room to talk. Most of them had men and women hanging all over them as well.

  “You should wrap things up so we can get out of here,” she said into his ear, her hand snaking around his thigh. “I wanna make out in the back of your car.”

  They had taken a Town Car there, driven by one of Henry’s chauffeurs. Monica wasn’t above rolling up the partition and giving her Dom whatever he wanted in the backseat. Making out, nipple play, a hand or blowjob… there were some crazy times bending over the seat while the driver turned up the music to save his own sanity.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you got giddy.” Henry rubbed his hand on top of her knee. “Give it another twenty minutes. We’ll wrap things up here and do whatever you want in the car.”

  Twenty minutes was too long. The tingles of arousal were filling her with impatience. I’ll show him to make me wait again. First drawing out her pleasure that morning, and now this? Forget that! Monica was full of booze and ready to party.

  While Henry resumed his conversation with another man across the table, Monica used the cover of darkness to slip her hand between his legs and brush against his crotch.

  Henry froze up, but did not interrupt his conversation. Monica smiled into the back of her other hand. Too easy.

  His zipper came down with little resistance. Monica rubbed her fingers against the silk of his boxers and bit her bottom lip at the scandal of what she was doing.

  Only while intoxicated would she think taking her Dom’s cock into her hand beneath a table felt indecent. Like she was a teenager. A freshman in college getting freaky with her frat boyfriend at a social meant for the brainy elite. Maybe that really happened. Whether it did or not, it wasn’t as good as now when she wrapped her hand around Henry’s cock and drew it out of his pants.

  It was as if she did nothing, if one went by the expression on his face. He was still laughing at one of James’s jokes and reassuring Gwen that she was a beautiful woman who could model for any designer in the world, if that was her pursuit. The other people were either wrapped up in their own conversations or too far away to ever notice what went on beneath the table. Always good to have a nice, public thrill. Alcohol made that more fun for Monica.

  She worked her hand up and down his shaft, her fingers rounding his head until he stiffened in her touch. The man had driven himself into her over and over only a few hours ago, and now he was getting hard again from this? Monica had to contain a grin of self-indulgence. Henry was thick in her grip, and the thought of him taking her like he did that morning made those tingles in her body flow like a strong river, the only dam in its way the public around them. Nevertheless, Monica wasted no time tightening her grip and moving her hand as quickly as she dared without calling attention to her actions.

  Her hand was wet. When she glanced down she saw the gleam of precum on the tip of Henry’s cock. And yet he sat there so coolly, talking about dividends and how they related to a tasteless joke about strippers. The only time he showed any emotion was when James made yet another quip and incited his tablemate to laugh.

  Oh, he was good. If Monica was the queen of poker faces, then Henry Warren was the god. Perhaps there were other things he could teach her outside of the bedroom.

  Not today, however.

  Monica rubbed her palm against the head of his cock. Let’s take this as far as I can. She would do it. She woul
d make Henry come right there in front of everyone. What was going through his head right now? The sheer amount of power he held in front of these people? Who else could possibly have this kind of service from their sub? All the other subs at the table had both hands above the surface, holding drinks, stroking shoulders, and twiddling thumbs as they waited for something to happen. Something’s happening beneath this table. If Monica were feeling really frisky she would lean in and blow into Henry’s ear. That would make him come.

  To her disappointment, Henry put his hand around her wrist and yanked her hand away as his cock stiffened to its hardest point yet. Darn. Monica retracted while Henry covertly buttoned up. She still had her wet hand, and she rubbed it against her bare thigh.

  In the middle of a conversation, Henry cleared his throat and sat up straight in his seat. “Excuse me.” He buttoned up his jacket, probably in order to cover up his erection when he went to stand. “Waitress seems to have forgotten our next round of drinks. Monica?” He looked at her.

  She waited a few seconds before standing as well, her arm going around his as he escorted her away from the table – and nowhere near the main bar.

  Henry knocked on a VIP room door, and when there was no response, he opened it and pulled Monica in after him.

  “Cute,” he said, pushing her against the nearest wall and barricading her with both arms. Monica shrank in front of him, keeping a grin to herself. “And what do you think you were doing back there, hm?”

  His breath was delightfully hot against her cheek, and he was so close, so intruding that Monica felt herself become weak between the legs. “Call it a mild attempt at reading your mind. Are you telling me that you didn’t want that… sir?”

  “In front of all those people?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Warren, we’re in a sex club.”

  “And I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  She gripped his jacket, attempting to pull him down to her level for a kiss. Instead, Henry grabbed both of her arms and held them above her head, pinning her wrists to the wall as his breath increased in intensity against her skin. “I should punish you for being so out of line.”