Their Famous Dominant

by Nicole Edwards

  “If at any time you feel you need to, I expect you to use it. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, I will always respect it. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about your latest client,” I probed, hoping to settle her nerves. I could sense she was waiting for me to do something and I wanted her to relax a little.

  She grinned as she swallowed. “Very interesting man. He had asked me to review a contract for him. He’d seemed so worried, I thought for sure it was a legal matter.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “Well, technically, it was. But it was only a contract for a storage unit. Month to month. Very basic. I reviewed it and assured him it was standard and there was nothing for him to worry about.”

  “Is that different from the clients you’ve had previously?”

  “Quite a bit,” she said before continuing to eat. She spoke between bites. “I’ve handled my fair share of wills over the years, but I mostly enjoy contracts between agents and their clients.”

  So she was well versed in what I went through. She would definitely make a nice addition to Chatter PR Global.

  The waiter appeared with our food. He hurried to place it, then filled our glasses before slipping away silently.

  Clarissa shifted her salad plate out of the way and pulled her main course closer. We shared a few tidbits of conversation here and there, but I tried not to dig too deep. She was relaxing nicely.

  It wasn’t until she’d polished off at least half of her meal that I slipped my right hand beneath the table while I continued to eat with my left. Since Clarissa was in the far corner closest to the wall, my body shielded her from others in the restaurant. For the most part, anyway. I doubted anyone would detect what I was doing to her beneath the table. They would, however, have a clear view of her face, which was rather expressive.

  I allowed my palm to slide over her thigh a few times. I was taking my time, warming her up, but mostly gauging her reaction. I wasn’t the sort of man to make advances when they weren’t wanted.

  “Do you mind me touching you, Clarissa?”

  She shook her head. “No. I … like it.”

  “I needed to hear you say that,” I admitted.

  I figured the only way to get her to completely trust me was to open up and be honest about my intentions.

  “Why is that?” Her voice was soft, her head slightly tilted.

  “While I understand you on a level most others never will, I’m not one to make assumptions, pet.”

  “I know that,” she said on a rough exhale as my hand shifted higher, my fingertips grazing the inside of her thigh.

  “I hope I didn’t imagine your interest the other day. Or the many times we’ve seen each other at Devotion over the years.”

  Clarissa shook her head. “You didn’t.” Her cheeks turned that pretty rosy pink once again and she found the food on her plate interesting.

  “It seems there’s a definite chemistry between us and I have every intention of pursuing it. Provided you’re willing, of course.”

  She took a moment to chew and I waited patiently for a response. From the outside looking in, we were just two people enjoying lunch, engaged in conversation.

  “I’m willing.” Her eyes held mine and I could see the honesty there.

  “Although I could’ve gone the traditional route, wining and dining and spending ten dates getting to know you before I ever so much as kissed you, it’s only fair that you know I’m not a traditional guy.”

  Clarissa smiled, her eyes lighting up for the first time. “No, you’re definitely not traditional.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not a traditional girl.”

  No, she certainly wasn’t. But she was the only woman on the planet I had ever connected with like this. Somewhere deep inside, I knew what Clarissa needed. How I knew that, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps she was my soul mate.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t sure Clarissa knew what she needed. Not anymore. I’d seen her at the club and I’d detected that she was holding back. It was the main reason I was being straightforward with her.

  “Spread your legs for me,” I instructed.

  When she did, I allowed my finger to graze her mound before slipping between the soft, smooth lips of her pussy.

  “You’re wet.”

  Her breathing had increased and her fork was paused in the air.

  “Do you want me to continue, pet?”

  “Yes,” she said instantly, her legs shifting wider.

  “Are you eager?” I brushed my thumb over her clit.

  “Yes,” she said on a soft moan.

  I nodded toward her plate. “Keep eating. We wouldn’t want anyone to catch on to what I’m doing to you.”

  Her eyes widened as though she once again realized we were in a restaurant. Her legs didn’t move, though, which I took as a good sign.

  I teased her while I continued to eat, enjoying the way she trembled ever so slightly.

  “One of these days, I’m going to have my mouth right here.” I pressed against her clit. “And I’m going to eat you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

  She inhaled sharply and nearly dropped her fork.

  My cock was rock hard and aching for her attention. But I had long ago mastered the damn thing. I was not a slave to my own dick. I was far more concerned about Clarissa’s pleasure than my own.

  “I’m going to make you come, pet. Do you think you can do so quietly?”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  I placed my fork on my plate and lifted my wineglass. I sipped slowly while I rubbed circles against her clit. The faster I moved, the more she began to pant.

  “Quiet,” I warned softly. “Do you want to come for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I want to come,” she whispered, her words clipped as her body slightly undulated as she pressed more firmly against my thumb.

  “Come for me, Clarissa. Let me watch you.”

  She bit her bottom lip as her eyes closed. Only a soft mewl signaled her release as her clit pulsed against my thumb. Her legs trembled and her breaths were labored. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  I didn’t stop touching her, keeping my hand on her thigh as she regained her composure.

  “Are you all right?”

  The smile she shot me was sweet and genuine. “Yes. Much better now.”

  That was exactly what I was hoping to hear.

  Troy

  “YES, I AM HIS ASSISTANT,” I said with a huff. It seemed the man had been questioning that since the movers first arrived at my apartment a few hours ago. “Have been for three years now.” I followed the straggling mover as he finally walked out the front door.

  The guy chuckled. “That’s all you are?”

  “Yes.” Why didn’t he get it?

  “Do most assistants live with their boss?”

  “It’s the nature of the job,” I said, wishing he would shut up and leave.

  The man took two steps backward, watching me closely before spinning around toward his truck. “Have a great rest of your day.”

  “Thanks. You, too,” I called after him. “The guard at the gate will let you out.”

  I watched as the man waltzed to his truck. I hoped like hell his company had the decency to pay him and his mover buddies some of that preposterous overcharge I’d incurred to make this happen today. Unfortunately, I didn’t think that would be the case.

  Yet it was done. Most of my belongings were being stored in one of those PODS things that they kept at their facility. The rest had been delivered here. And my new official residence was with Trent Ramsey.

  Even thinking about it made me feel odd.

  Sure, Trent and I were close. Hard not to be considering I was his personal assistant and handled almost everything that went on in his world. We spent days together, sometimes without the company of anyone else. We’d talked at length o
ver the years and I considered him not only my boss but also my friend.

  Living with him, though? That was weird.

  When the truck headed down the driveway, I closed the front door and locked it. I wasn’t sure how I could still be surprised by the sort of hem-hawing that had occurred when I called the moving company and dropped my boss’s name. Incidents like that happened damn near every day but this particular one stunned me.

  The company had treated me like royalty and I told them up front I was merely Trent’s personal assistant. That didn’t seem to make a difference because once I told them I only had two hours to move my shit from a 540-square-foot studio apartment to the lavish mansion grounds that Trent Ramsey occupied, they had hopped to it, arriving at my apartment before I did. They’d brought eight people for a job that could’ve easily been done with four. However, they did manage to get it done in a ridiculously short amount of time.

  And here I was.

  Granted, I didn’t own much of anything, so packing and moving had been a breeze. In fact, I was almost embarrassed to have those movers see where I’d lived versus where I was moving to. I mean, come on. My apartment had rusted wrought-iron balconies and dumpsters in the parking lot while this place had nine freaking bedrooms, only one of which was occupied. Well, two now that I was here.

  Yeah. Needless to say, I was out of my league on this one.

  Not that I didn’t own nice things. A thirty-year-old man didn’t spend his life living in the lap of luxury with his rich parents and not accumulate nice things. However, I wasn’t a materialistic man, so most of my wealth was in the form of my wardrobe. Apparently, whoever continued to break into my apartment wasn’t a fan of Armani, Gucci, or Prada. Or perhaps I simply wasn’t their size.

  Not that any of that mattered now. Trent had called twenty minutes ago to let me know he was on his way back from lunch and that I needed to be ready to get to work. Now that I lived on the premises, I really didn’t have any excuses as to why I couldn’t be here on time every single day.

  Huh.

  I wondered if that was why he’d done it. I originally thought it was because Trent feared for my safety, not that he was worried I wouldn’t show up when he needed me. But…

  God, I hoped that wasn’t the reason. Considering I’d been diligently arriving for three years, surely he wasn’t rearranging his entire life because of the past couple of weeks.

  I headed for the kitchen when my watch vibrated, signaling a motion sensor outside. A few seconds later, I heard the door from the garage open, the security alarm chime, and then Trent strolled into the kitchen. I stopped at the breakfast bar, glanced at the blank iPad in front of me, then up to him.

  “I passed a moving truck on my way in. I take that as a good sign,” he said as he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of the expensive water he kept on hand. “You get moved?” he asked with that expectant gleam in his eyes.

  “I did, yes.”

  Without so much as a nod, Trent walked right through the kitchen and out the other side.

  I glanced down at myself. Compared to him, I looked like a bum. It didn’t matter that I was wearing a polo and a pair of jeans—both designer labels, of course. The man didn’t have a dress code for me, which I was grateful for. As it was, I’d purchased a few suits over the years, simply so I’d have something to wear on those rare occasions I was seen at an event with him. For the most part, I dressed for comfort while Trent always dressed to impress.

  Still, when I saw the way he rocked those expensive suits, I felt as though I’d found my clothes on the side of the road.

  “Troy!”

  Shit.

  I grabbed the iPad and headed his way.

  “Pull up my calendar,” he instructed as he took a seat behind his desk, his eyes instantly locking on his laptop screen.

  At least I was already one step ahead of him there. “You have dinner scheduled tomorrow night with—”

  “Cancel it,” he stated.

  I quirked one brow and stared at him. “It’s with Michael Bay.”

  Trent’s eyes lifted to my face, his expression something along the lines of So? “Call Mike and tell him I can’t make it. Reschedule.”

  I sighed. This was the part of my job I hated most. Although it wasn’t an infrequent occurrence, having to call people to tell them Trent was cancelling a meeting irked me for some reason. Not that I didn’t take calls from assistants all the time doing the same thing. It happened. The Hollywood elite were busy. I got that.

  I quickly pulled out my iPhone and dialed Mr. Bay’s assistant. Once I relayed the information and identified a good time—at the end of October since Mr. Bay was extremely busy—we disconnected. I updated the calendar.

  “What else is on the calendar?” Trent asked, staring at his laptop screen.

  “Wednesday morning—”

  “Cancel it,” he said before I could finish.

  I wasn’t even going to argue that he was scheduled to be in Austin so he could have brunch with Matthew McConaughey. They were to discuss the possibility of Trent directing one of Mr. McConaughey’s upcoming films. Clearly it didn’t matter.

  As I started to dial the phone, Trent spoke. “Tell him I’ll check back in with him in a couple of weeks. He’ll understand.”

  “Of course.” I dialed the phone, relayed the message to Mr. McConaughey directly, and cleared the meeting from the calendar before disconnecting. “Mr. McConaughey said to tell you you’re a douche and next time he sees you, you’re buying drinks.”

  Trent grinned but his eyes were still locked on his computer screen. “Fucker.”

  It was sometimes hard to believe I worked for a man who could get away with casually calling Matthew McConaughey a fucker.

  It wasn’t that I was new to this gig, because before I came to work for Trent, I’d been a personal assistant to some pretty powerful people. Okay, one pretty powerful person. After all, my father was none other than Franklin Shelton, the owner and CEO of one of the largest technology companies in the country. I had spent the two years after college—obtaining a master’s degree in business management—as his personal assistant. Well, officially, he had been grooming me to take over his company, but when he found out I didn’t want to do that, things had gotten strained between us. Unfortunately, my father and I had a falling-out, and I’d long ago stepped down from that position. It was that or sever our relationship altogether and I wasn’t willing to do that, so here I was.

  “On Thursday, you’ve got the fundraiser for the battered women’s shelter and on Friday night, you’re slated to go to the club,” I informed him. That was all it said, and I had no idea what club he was going to, but I did know it was related to his Dom persona.

  For a brief moment, I considered asking if I could go with him. It would be the perfect opening to discuss the fact that he hadn’t allowed me into that part of his life although I was more than willing.

  “We’re still on for the fundraiser, but the club is tentative,” Trent said.

  Not surprising. Trent’s calendar shifted quite often.

  “Shall I move it to another time?”

  “No, let’s leave it for now. I’d like to get by there if everything works out. We’ll be flying out to Chicago on Wednesday morning. I expect we’ll be back that night. Make sure the fundraiser’s aware I’ll have a plus two for the event. And if it works out, we’ll be able to make it to the club on Friday.”

  “We?” I was sure I had misheard him.

  “Yes, we,” he clarified.

  “I’m… I’ll be going with you?”

  Trent’s gaze lifted to mine. “Yeah. I think it’s time you checked it out.”

  I had to make a conscious effort not to allow my jaw to hit the floor. “I … uh…” I tried to collect myself, to come off as cool and collected as he always did. “Sure.”

  “If you’re interested, of course.”

  “Yeah. Definitely.” Again, I attempted to appear unfazed by this tur
n of events. “If it’s where you need me, then I’m interested.”

  His eyes scanned me briefly and he grinned. “It won’t be official business. Not all the time.”

  I glanced down at my iPad. I really needed to check the thermostat because it suddenly got really hot in Trent’s office.

  “We’re gonna have to find something for you to wear, though. That won’t do.”

  I didn’t bother looking down. I knew what he was referring to. “I’ve got a suit I can wear.”

  He leaned back, looking as relaxed as ever as he chuckled. “Save the suit for the fundraiser. I was thinking more along the lines of leather for the club.”

  Me? In leather? I wasn’t sure he wanted to see that. But it did raise an interesting question. “So, do I get to be a Dom or a submissive?” I asked with a grin as I considered my options.

  Trent’s lip curled up in that devious smirk he was known for, and again, I felt a stirring down deep that probably shouldn’t be there.

  When he picked up his pen and began twirling it between his fingers, I felt the intensity in those eyes as they rolled over me.

  “Which would you consider yourself?”

  I could tell by his tone that he’d already pegged me one way or the other. I was immensely curious as to what conclusion he had come to.

  “Honestly, I’ve never really thought about it.” Total fucking lie. I’d thought about it plenty over the past couple of years. Only because I’d done some research on Trent’s lifestyle, knowing it was so important to him. I wasn’t quite comfortable accepting it, but I knew I fell into the submissive category. The idea of a man like Trent dominating me…

  “How about a test?” he offered, tossing his pen onto his desk.

  I flinched at the sound, then tried to pass it off as a shrug. Although I didn’t know what a test entailed, I offered an acquiescent, “Sure.”

  Trent was instantly on his feet, moving toward me. Although stalking was a more accurate depiction. The man moved with a grace that was quite common with wealthy, powerful men.