by Livia Grant
“Wow, five years?” Natalie asked as a crowd formed around her desk. The lit cupcake was ceremoniously placed in front of her, and she made a show of inhaling deeply and moving her head from side to side as she blew out the flames.
Applause erupted, and she blinked against an odd burning in her eyes. What the fucking fuck? She wasn’t getting emotional over the kind attention of her coworkers. No freaking way. Luckily, a few more blinks and the burn faded from her eyes as quickly as it had come.
Helena winked at Natalie. “Five years ago today I hired you. Best decision I ever made. You, my friend, are one kick ass event planner.”
Natalie’s insides warmed at being called friend, even if her boss had a tendency to call everyone in the office friend, buddy, or champ.
Fucking hell, she needed to get a grip. She didn’t need friends. In the end, friends made the worst enemies. She knew that better than anyone. Memories of betrayal cut into her heart like shards of glass, and she gave herself a mental shake but managed to keep her smile plastered on as she fished the candles out of her cupcake.
Her coworkers took turns wishing her congratulations, and Helena passed the cupcakes out until the tray was empty and Mike, a young intern, carried it away. Once they were alone, Helena pushed an extra chair beside Natalie’s and took a seat, her stare intent on the cupcake in her hand.
“I saw the weather. Looks like you’ll be stuck in D.C. for a while.” Helena leaned back and gave Natalie a knowing look.
“Yeah, guess you’ll have to put up with me in person for a few more days. At least until the roads down south are cleared. You know how much I love being a recluse.”
“Mmmhmm. Yeah, well, I’m not convinced you like being a recluse as much as you claim to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s funny,” she said, glancing from side to side, as if to make sure no one could hear. But Natalie’s desk was far enough away from her coworkers to afford them a private conversation, and the woman soon continued, though kept her voice low. “I saw a young woman at Overtime last night, who bore an uncanny resemblance to you. She was wearing a mask, but still…totally reminded me of you. Long dark hair, cute and petite, and would you believe she had a bandage on her left thumb, too? Do you think she also hurt herself while slicing carrots in the break room of the finest nonprofit in D.C.?”
Natalie unconsciously rubbed the thumb in question, then forced herself to stop once she realized her actions. She sat up ramrod straight. Fucking hell.
Well, she supposed there was no point in denying it. But panic soon closed in, the thought of anyone else having recognized her in a popular BDSM club making her feel faint.
Exposure.
Her personal kryptonite.
She inhaled a shaky breath, and her hands started trembling.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Helena said reassuringly, scooting closer to Natalie. “I doubt anyone else recognized you. If they had, it would’ve been in the sleaze rags this morning. I only knew you from your hair, because I’d seen you earlier in the day, you’d styled it wavier than usual, and your thumb, of course. The purple bandage was hard to miss.”
“Well, it’s a relief to hear you don’t think anyone else recognized me. The last thing I need is…” Her voice trailed off and her throat burned with emotion. Her stomach turned, and she lost her appetite for the cupcake sitting in front of her.
“Look, I would have come over and said hello, but I didn’t want to freak you out and spoil your evening. It looked like you were having a great time, especially when you scened with Master John. Honestly, how you’re able to sit down at all today is a mystery to me.”
Natalie squirmed and flushed, embarrassed that her boss had witnessed her getting paddled last night. While strapped down on a spanking bench, her legs spread wide and her charms on display, no less.
“Don’t worry. Once I realized it was you, I kept my distance and didn’t stare. That much. But, there’s a reason I’m telling you all this. You see,” Helena continued, in a hurry to make her point, “you’re too high profile for a place like Overtime. I rarely go to Overtime myself, but last night I got dragged there by a friend who’s crushing on a dom who’s a regular there. Anyway, I prefer spending my time at a much more exclusive, very private, BDSM club.”
“All right.” Natalie breathed out slowly and met her boss’s devilish gaze, a bit taken by surprise that Helena was into the kink scene. “You have my attention. What’s the name of this other club? And why haven’t I heard of it? I mean, I thought Overtime was the best in town.”
Helena shot her a mischievous smile. “Go to lunch with me in two hours. We’ll get a booth in the back of Dmitri’s and talk more there.”
“Fine, but you’re buying,” Natalie said, finally picking up her cupcake, her appetite returning. “It’s my five-year work-a-versary, you know.”
“It’s a deal. See you in two hours.”
Helena stood and headed for her office, leaving Natalie to her thoughts. As much as she valued her privacy, she still risked going to Overtime. When she was in town, she found she couldn’t stay away. Sometimes she played. Other times she watched. But she wore a stick-on masquerade mask, carefully applying it to her face before heading out for the evening. The constant disguise was necessary, but she fucking hated it. Sometimes she wore a black lace mask, tying the ribbon tight underneath her hair, but it wasn’t any more comfortable than the stick-on masks she’d taken to buying in bulk. The damn things itched and bothered her, and she resented having to conceal her face in the first place.
What she wouldn’t give to be free of the mask, to walk into a club without the worry of being betrayed to a tabloid or a newspaper. She finished her cupcake and got to work finalizing the details of the upcoming charity ball. But it was difficult to concentrate when her eyes kept straying to the clock, and even more so when thoughts of former governor Hunter Knox kept entering her mind.
Once again, she squirmed in her seat and relished the soreness.
Chapter 2
Hunter sat in the chill-out room inside the exclusive BDSM club, Black Light, enjoying the feel of the soft, warm submissive in his arms. The petite brunette snuggled against his chest and sighed, her arms wrapped around his center, as she came down from a rough session she’d suffered at his hands.
It had been a good scene, a teacher/student roleplay, during which he’d caught his naughty pupil in the act of pleasuring herself. Justice had prevailed though, as she received a proper scolding and a firm spanking, all capped off with a hard anal pounding. Because bad girls take it in the ass.
And she’d taken it quite well, orgasming three times under his strict tutelage. His cock thickened, but he didn’t have time to scene again tonight. He had an early morning meeting with clients who’d flown in from China, and Jaxson, one of the club owners, wanted to talk to him before he left Black Light. The upcoming Roulette Redux needed a few more Doms, or so he’d heard, and Hunter suspected Jaxson was about to call in a favor.
“How are you feeling, Peaches?” he asked the girl still nestled in his embrace.
“Very relaxed, sir.”
He stroked her back and combed his fingers through her dark locks. He had a serious thing for petite brunettes with big blue eyes, and he’d been thrilled when Peaches wanted to scene with him tonight. It probably wasn’t healthy, seeking out women who looked like the one girl he couldn’t get out of his mind, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He’d once thought fucking enough pretty brunettes would help vanquish his memories of Natalie, but his actions had had quite the opposite effect.
The similarity of Peaches’ features to the young beauty queen he’d once pined for suddenly hurled him back in time, to an evening that had taken place years before.
Natalie Morris stared up at him, her large blue eyes filled with tears and venom. He’d cornered her backstage after the gubernatorial debate, days after her title of Miss Virginia had been stripped from her.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Sorry? You’re fucking sorry? Oh, that’s rich, coming from the man who’s poised to win the election in a week.”
“What happens in our private lives should stay private. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, and if you need anyone to talk to, I’m here. You have my number. Call or text anytime.” He reached out and caressed her hair, the urge to comfort the daughter of his rival in the election overwhelming. Though on opposing sides, they’d maintained a cordial relationship during the election. While her father and mother had publicly blasted him over their differences on issues, Natalie was always more guarded in her responses when giving a soundbite. To his knowledge, she’d never said anything critical about him, or anyone else in politics—publicly, at least.
She stepped back, putting space between them, and his fingertips itched to touch her silken dark hair again. But he dropped his hands to his sides, reminding himself that a stagehand, aide, or reporter might venture by this darkened corridor at any moment. The last thing Natalie needed was another public scandal.
“I just want this to all be over,” she said, almost a whisper. “Tomorrow I have to issue a public apology for being an immodest, immoral pervert and hand back my stupid crown. So much for my momma’s dream of me competing in the Miss America pageant. Now I have to stand in front of a crowd and lie, tell everyone I’m going to seek treatment and pray for forgiveness.” She sighed. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. You’re probably going to use it against my father. I’m surprised you didn’t bring up the pictures during the debate tonight. I’m walking proof that we’re not the all-American family, and, if he can’t control his own daughter and teach her proper values, how can he successfully govern the fine state of Virginia?” Her voice was a thick mix of sarcasm and hurt.
He continued resisting the urge to touch her, fought the desire to gather her in his arms and hold her until this dark time in her life passed. “Natalie,” he said, loving the intimacy of calling her by her first name, rather than Miss Morris, “you won’t hear me speaking badly of you. Ever. Not in private, and certainly not for a cheap soundbite on stage. As for your father though, I don’t care for the man or his backward policies, and I won’t hold anything back when it comes to him. I intend to win next week.”
She surprised him with a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good luck, Mr. Knox.”
“Please, call me Hunter.”
Her eyes twinkled, for a split second, and he heard her breath catch in her throat, a sexy sound that made him want to drag her further into the darkness of the corridor and perform acts on her far more scandalous than the ones in the pictures her scumbag ex-boyfriend had posted on social media last week.
“Until we meet again, Hunter.” She turned and walked away.
That had been the last time he’d seen her. In person, anyway.
His heart ached with the memory of it.
Five fucking years.
Thankfully, the Urban Green Society’s Winter Ball was only a few weeks away. He had recently purchased a ticket on impulse, knowing he would likely run into her at the charity ball. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they crossed paths, but he wanted to make sure she was doing okay.
From what he could tell, she tried her best to stay out of the public eye these days, and she was infamously estranged from her parents. Her father had never forgiven her for the nude picture scandal, even naming it as the cause for his historically low numbers in the voting booths when interviewed in the aftermath of his loss. But the truth was, his numbers had been falling even before the scandal hit. The bastard just couldn’t take the blame on himself, and in his cruelty and cowardice, had turned his daughter into a scapegoat. Unable to let the issue rest, the conservative talk show pundit still brought it up on his national radio program now and then.
Peaches shifted in his arms, and Hunter felt a tug of guilt at holding her while thinking of another woman. Why did Natalie drift into his mind so often? They hadn’t so much as shared a kiss, but the tension between them had been electric at times. Before the scandal had hit, they’d often teased each other at public events and debates. Secretly, of course. Somehow finding a private moment in between the crowds and constant attention. He smiled to himself, recalling the time she’d made silly faces at him from backstage, trying to get him to laugh as he answered a debate moderator’s question. If she’d been his submissive, he would have turned her over his knee, bared her bottom, and given her a sound spanking for such naughty antics.
Maybe that’s why he thought of her so often. Knowing she was a submissive but completely off limits to him, only finding out due to the nude pictures that had shown her in compromising positions—wearing a ball gag, tied to a bed, and holding a crop between her teeth while crawling on the floor, to name a few.
What would he say when he saw her again?
Hunter helped Peaches to her feet, gave her an affectionate pat on the rear, and told her to get something to drink on his tab. She gave him a dreamy smile and traipsed off, leaving him free to track down Jaxson.
Maybe he’d say yes to Roulette Redux. He’d still be in D.C. on the fourteenth, and from what he’d heard of last year’s event, the game could make for interesting matches.
He saw Jaxson exiting the VIP elevator across the room. Catching the owner’s attention with a curt nod, he gestured to a table in front of the bar. Hunter navigated the room, walking past the spanking benches and medieval dungeon stocks, imagining what it would be like to strap Natalie down and push her limits.
Fuck. Her memory was the ghost that wouldn’t leave. He’d publicly condemned the release of the photos, but he could never escape the feeling that he should have done more. He should have reached out to her after the election. A phone call. An email. Something. But he hadn’t, and every time her memory flitted through his mind, years of accumulating regret came with it.
“It’s good to see you again, Hunter,” Jaxson said, shaking his hand before the two men took their seats. “Will you be in town for long? I know you have a house here, but it seems you’re always jetting off somewhere.”
“You mean, will I be in town during your party?”
Jaxson’s serious expression didn’t waver. “Fine. I’ll get straight to the point.” He tapped his fingers on the table and leaned forward. “I sent some business your way not long ago,” he said, referring to the time he’d introduced Hunter to the oil tycoon who’d wanted in on an overseas hotel venture. “You owe me. Sign up for Roulette Redux. You know we had some high-profile participants last year, and we will this year as well. You’ll fit right in. I know you probably don’t give a shit about the free month of membership that winners will receive, but I know you like a good competition.”
Hunter stared at him, contemplating.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing,” Jaxson said with a smirk.
“Fuck you.” But Hunter was already half-decided on the matter, and he couldn’t deny that he needed the distraction. “All right. Count me in,” he finally said. “I’ll complete the sign-up online tonight.”
“Excellent.” Jaxson glanced up as Chase approached to whisper something in his ear that made his jaw tighten. “Thank you, Hunter. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Valentine’s night. Please excuse me,” he said, before following Chase across the room.
On his way to grab a drink from the bar, Hunter noticed Peaches currently licking another Dom’s boots nearby, stripped naked with her reddened ass lifted high on display.
He wasn’t jealous. He never was.
But he wanted to be.
He wanted a connection with a submissive so powerful, he would burn with rage at the thought of her servicing another dom. Maybe he hadn’t met the right girl yet. Or perhaps he had, but he’d been too distracted by the memory of the one that had gotten away—the one he’d never really had.
Natalie. Where was she tonight? What was she doing at this ver
y moment?
Did she ever think of him?
God fucking dammit. Seated at the bar in Black Light, surrounded by people engaged in various scenes of debauchery, an odd sense of solitude resonated in his chest.
He texted his driver to meet him in front of the psychic shop in five minutes, and then his gaze traveled around the room as he finished his whiskey. His senses thrummed with the possibilities of the upcoming competition, taking the edge off his sudden loneliness. He glanced from girl to girl, wondering whose name he would roll on the sub roulette wheel.
Well, Valentine’s Day was in five days. He would find out soon enough.
He gathered his phone and jacket from his locker, said goodnight to Luis, the security guard, and exited through the psychic shop, waving politely to the gypsy woman at the counter as he made his way outside. A blast of cold air hit him as his driver pulled around the corner.
Hunter crawled in the back of the black SUV and resisted the urge to type ‘Natalie Morris’ into Google and discover what she’d been up to recently. He didn’t pay attention to the news as closely as he used to, now that he’d returned to the private sector, and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d missed a recent news story about her.
The Urban Green Society sat only a few blocks away. Not that she would be there right now, this late at night, even if she were currently in the capital. A friend of a friend had mentioned she often telecommuted from her little cabin in rural Virginia.
When she saw him at the charity ball, what would she think? Would he remind her of all she’d lost? He didn’t want to be responsible for resurrecting her demons, but he still couldn’t stay away. He had to at least talk to her. To stare into her bottomless blue depths. To stroke her hair, at least one last time. To get some fucking closure.
Despite her holier-than-thou parents trying to mold her into a meek pretty face, she radiated a beautiful strength from within. He’d sensed it, and he’d witnessed it firsthand when he’d watched her televised public apology. The spark of defiance flaring in her gaze had brought him hope that she was close to snapping, close to bucking the authority that had held her down for so long—namely her controlling and ultra-conservative father.
