And then not a word, until Gregory told her she’d been invited to stay at Trevor Brooks’s home in Westchester.
The train came to a stop in a pretty little town. So this was the country. Even by the train station, she could see they had grass, and not just in one place like in Central Park.
She took her bag, waited for the doors to open, and stepped out onto the platform. Now what?
“Miss Anderson?”
Elisabeth turned at the sound of her name. No one had called her Miss Anderson since . . . well, ever.
An older, friendly-looking black man held up a piece of paper with Miss Anderson written on it. “That you?”
“Yes, sir. Elisabeth Anderson. Just Elisabeth.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Just Elisabeth. I’m Just Carl,” he joked. “Car’s parked down the escalator there. I’ll be taking you to Mr. Brooks’s estate.”
Carl took her bag from her, and she bit her lip to quiet her first instinct to grab it back. The bag was all she had other than the clothes on her back.
“Welcome to Westchester, Elisabeth.”
Trevor stood behind his desk in his home office, glad he was on an audio-only conference call. No need for the CEO of the Japanese company Brooks Wilde Chase had just acquired to see him staring out the huge bay window overlooking the front drive leading up to his estate.
Where was she?
He still hadn’t told Roman and Marc, who were not only his business partners but also his best friends, about his latest venture—if one could consider inviting a submissive to live with him based on the recommendation of a WhipperSnapper old-timer a venture into anything other than his sex life.
Roman would understand, probably. He hated dating and weeding out the vanilla girls from the ones interested in the lifestyle. It was he who had introduced Trevor to the lifestyle back when they were college buddies at Yale. A lifestyle that included domination and submission at the core of the relationship. And Marc would understand that Trevor was hoping to find the right woman, because he also wanted to settle down at some point, maybe make some baby heirs to pass on their hedge-fund wealth to.
Yeah, Marc was a Dom, but he seemed to think if he found the right girl then the sex would come with it. Trevor knew from experience and a failed marriage that that was bullshit. You couldn’t turn a vanilla girl into a kinkster any more than you could turn a lesbian straight just by having a fat cock.
The black town car pulled up in the circular driveway and Trevor smiled, forgetting he was supposed to be working until he heard Roman eloquently thanking and saying their good-byes in fluent Japanese.
“Ah, yes, thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Trevor added in English, his only language, and hung up.
Elisabeth was here. As much as he’d been anticipating her arrival all day, he hadn’t realized just how excited seeing her at his home would make him. He watched her from the window, grateful to observe her arrival without her knowing he was watching.
She stepped out of the car without waiting for Carl to open the door for her and looked at Trevor’s mansion with an expression of wonderment on her face. There really were no houses like his Manhattan, which probably explained her surprise. In Manhattan, wealth was hidden in penthouse apartments, like the one Marc lived in. Out here, there was more space to spread out, and the houses expanded accordingly.
Still, she had to know about his money if he was still being called one of the BAD Boys behind his back. He might be a billionaire and a Dom, but he didn’t consider himself arrogant. At least not too arrogant. Any arrogance he had came from the satisfaction of building his own empire. The wealth he’d earned with Roman and Marc came from nothing but ambition and a damned good education in business. How ironic that Marc, the one they counted on the most when it came to the numbers, had never graduated college.
She looked so beautiful, standing by the car, albeit a bit lost. A bit out of place. Carl picked up her luggage with an ease Trevor didn’t usually see in the older man, but perhaps she packed lightly. Would she be another girl looking for a chance at his money? Or worse, would it intimidate her to the point where he couldn’t get to know her on an honest level?
And then her gaze caught his. He smiled and waved and she waved back—her long black hair, pulled up in a sexy ponytail, swung behind her. How he’d love to grab hold of that ponytail and fuck her from behind. . . .
Focus. First things first. She needed a tour, and to know the rules of the house. He called his house manager Adele’s cell phone and she answered promptly.
“Hi Trevor, what can I do for you?”
“Please greet my guest and give her a tour of the house, then take her to my office to see me. Her name is Elisabeth.”
“New girlfriend?”
Trevor laughed and hung up. Adele had been with him for a long time, and he trusted her with all of the day-to-day management of his estate, but she wasn’t privy to every detail. A man had to have some secrets, after all.
Which was why there were a few cabinets and drawers he kept under lock and key, away from the prying eyes of the cleaning staff. He could take care of his own sex toys. There was the room with the hooks on the ceiling and the special furniture, but if you didn’t know what you were looking at it could look like a regular sitting room. A quilt covering a wooden pony just looked like a quilt on display, after all.
His ex-wife Cynthia had made that quilt, but she’d cried when he asked her if she’d sit on the wooden pony for him, just for a few minutes. Just to show him she would submit to his sexual needs, at least sometimes.
But no. She hadn’t cried from the pain of sitting with the thin wood against her private parts. She’d cried because she’d covered it with the quilt and knew she’d never submit.
It was the beginning of the end for his marriage, and he’d never let that happen to him again.
This time, he’d start with a sub and work from there. The quilt remained, as a reminder.
Elisabeth stared up at the huge window sticking out on the top floor and tried to catch Trevor’s glance again, but he’d turned his back and was on his cell phone. She’d already seen several people running around, and they all had bright blue phones on their hips, even the guy trimming a bush that already looked trimmed to her.
She glanced over at the driver’s hip. Carl. “Is that how people stay in touch in a huge place like this? Blue phones?”
Carl laughed and nodded. “Way better than an intercom. This way Adele has us all on speed-dial and can call whoever she wants to let us know what’s going on. I happen to know, for example, that I’ve got to bring your bags to the Pink Room so someone can unpack them for you.”
“Someone’s going to go through my things? Who?”
“You can ask Adele yourself. That’s her.” He gestured to a casually dressed woman, the blue phone on her hip as well.
Adele stepped forward with her hand out and a huge fake smile on her face. Had to be fake, because why would this woman be happy to have her move in? Elisabeth shook her hand but didn’t return the smile.
“Are you his wife?” Elisabeth asked. It came out sounding like an accusation. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m Elisabeth. Trevor invited me here.” Although she still couldn’t figure out why she was chosen. Why her, and not a woman who would fit into this world of his?
Adele laughed like they were old friends already and shook her head. Her hair moved slightly and then bounced back into place. “No, I’m not Trevor’s wife. I’m his house manager. An estate this big requires a team to keep it running, and a manager to run the team. Here’s your phone, by the way.”
Huh. Elisabeth took the blue cell phone gingerly, like it might bite her. Her name was engraved on the back, as if Adele had a random engraver on hand to quickly write things into metal as necessary. They even spelled it the way her mother had, with an s instead of a z.
�
��That’s in case we find a lost phone, we know who it belongs to,” Adele said. “I have your number, and so does Trevor. I’ve already put all the numbers you’ll need on speed-dial for you.” She started walking up a winding pathway leading to the main doors and looked behind her expectantly until Elisabeth followed.
What had she gotten herself into?
“What numbers are you talking about?” Elisabeth asked. “I don’t know anyone here.”
“If you get hungry or thirsty you are welcome to come to the kitchen, or to have someone bring you what you’d like. So Kitchen is third on the speed-dial. Trevor’s first, I’m second, of course. If you need a ride someplace, Carl is number four, or if you need help dressing or with your hair or makeup, that’s Julian, number five on the phone.”
“Why would I need help getting dressed, from a man? Does Trevor know about this?”
“You’re not Julian’s type, sweetie,” she winked. “And he’s a master at making people look their best. He’s even done me up a few times when I had a special date with my hubby. Julian’s good like that. You’ll like him.”
So Adele was married. Okay. All of the information she’d just thrown at her swirled in her head. Where was Trevor? All those rumors she’d heard about the BAD Boys back at WhipperSnapper mixed her up, not knowing which were true, which weren’t, or even which rumor applied to which of the guys. Who had the dungeon? Who’d been arrested? Who had the fucking airplane?
She didn’t know Trevor at all, yet here she was moving in and already she had a cell phone with her name engraved on it. For someone who’d never had anything, this was overwhelming.
It would have been easier if Trevor lived in the projects somewhere. At least then she’d know what she brought to the table.
“I’m sorry if I sound grumpy,” Elisabeth said to Adele. “I’m usually really nice, I swear.” She forced a laugh and a smile. “I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t know what to expect when I got on that train at Grand Central . . . I didn’t realize it was all so . . . formal.”
“Oh honey, no, you’re not grumpy! And we’re totally not formal at all. Look at me! I’m in khaki pants! Now let me show you around.”
Elisabeth followed Adele around the house for what seemed like forever, although she did admire the movie theater set up in the basement with reclining leather chairs and drink holders, a popcorn machine and a screen that could rival any proper movie theater she’d ever been to. The indoor Olympic-size pool was cool, too.
So is this what men with insane amounts of money spent it on? Running a household like it was a luxury hotel?
Adele smiled at the pool, as if she had a certain fondness for it. “Trevor does laps every morning before work, it’s how he stays in shape.”
“I don’t know how to swim.” Elisabeth winced at the sound of the fear in her voice, as though Adele might think tossing her into a pool would be funny.
Adele pulled out her phone and her thumbs flew across it as she made a note or sent a message or something. “We’ll get you lessons. That reminds me, can you ride? Should we schedule you a riding instructor as well?”
Ride?
The blank stare on her face must have been sufficient answer, because Adele did her lightning-fast thumb thing on her phone as she murmured “Horses.”
Ah, horses. Okay. She liked the idea of horses, and she heard they could cause a newbie quite a bit of pain between the legs if ridden incorrectly, which she was bound to do, so that might be fun. Was that gross? Elisabeth laughed, startling Adele away from her thumbs.
“Sorry. I’m sure I’ll enjoy riding lessons.” She wasn’t interested in the swimming lessons, but she didn’t want to get on Adele’s bad side if she was in charge of the house.
“We also have fabulous tennis courts here. I’ll have Julian get you some tennis outfits, unless you brought your own?”
“No.” It didn’t seem like Adele was the type to tease her, but still, all this talk made Elisabeth feel less and less like she belonged. “I suppose I’ll be needing a tennis instructor too, then?” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Absolutely! I’ll get on that for you.” Adele, phone still in hand, made another note. “I’ll show you to your suite. We call it the Pink Room, do you like pink?”
“I suppose,” she said. Her childhood bedroom had been pink, so the color didn’t hold any good memories or anything. It remained the color of Pepto-Bismol until she became a teenager and painted the walls black in an act of defiance, or depression; she still didn’t know what inspired the ghastly paint job. It made her once-ordinary room into a prison cell.
The high entranceway in front of the double spiral stairways leading up to the second floor was nothing short of majestic, but it was all too big, like Grand Central had been. The urge to look down and focus on the ground, which was so much closer, came over her. She fought it. No need to look up, no need to look down.
Just. Breathe.
Who was Trevor really? What was he into that he lived all alone in a house like this, surrounded by staff at his beck and call? The house seemed like it was meant for a family, not a lone Dom.
“You get a real leg workout if you climb these stairs every day, like I do,” Adele said, not sounding even close to short of breath, as Elisabeth was becoming. Damn, these stairs were high. And Elisabeth wasn’t exactly the exercise type. She preferred to get her heart rate going in other endeavors.
“But there’s an elevator as well, behind the stairs, for when his grandparents visit or for staff with trays, that sort of thing. Still, seems a pity not to use such a beautiful staircase, am I right?” Adele asked.
Elisabeth nodded, breathing hard. Strange to imagine the notorious Trevor Brooks visiting with his grandparents, but then again few people would probably imagine her as she had been only a few years ago, taking care of her mother until she died. Elisabeth’s heart raced, most likely from the stairs, and not the memory of finding her mother’s body.
Breathe.
Maybe she really should take the stairs to build her stamina. Especially if living with Trevor was going to involve swimming and tennis as well as just being a plain ol’ sex-slave.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Elisabeth asked Adele as she opened the door to the Pink Room.
Adele stuck out her jaw, a strange expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Of course! You are Trevor’s invited guest. I’ll give you a little while to relax and get dressed and I’ll bring you to Trevor.”
“I am dressed,” Elisabeth started to say, but Adele had already closed the door behind her, leaving Elisabeth alone in the Pink Room, which was probably the understatement of the year.
A moment of panic hit her, and she rushed to the door to see if she’d been locked in. No, the door opened. Adele was halfway down the hall.
“Yes?” Adele asked, clearly trying to indicate both that she was in a huge hurry but also that she was happy to help at the same time.
“Should I call . . . Julian?”
“That’s probably a good idea. Speed-dial five.” With that, Adele rushed away.
Elisabeth flopped onto a pink satin chaise lounge, grateful for the rest after the long flight of stairs and the tour of the estate. Surely she hadn’t seen all of it, because she had no idea where Trevor was. She had a feeling she’d be more comfortable if he were here.
Maybe that was the point, to let her know her boundaries. She wasn’t his girlfriend or his wife. She’d been brought to serve him, to release Gregory from his feeling of responsibility over her. But even if she no longer wore Gregory’s collar, she didn’t wear Trevor’s. Not yet.
And with only one admittedly-vivid flogging to go by, she couldn’t be sure if she wanted to be his collared submissive or not. Maybe he didn’t want a sub either. Perhaps he just needed another staff member, someone like Adele, but who he could beat the fuck out of an
d have her enjoy it.
Elisabeth’s suite had a huge canopy bed covered with pink lace and wide windows with lace curtains pulled open to allow the sunshine to pour in. Her luggage was nowhere to be found, but her clothing was in one of the dressers.
None of it seemed nice enough to wear around the house, even if the place was as informal as Adele seemed to think it was. Trevor had only really even seen her in her vinyl club-wear, so her street clothes might leave something to be desired.
The bathroom was bigger than her entire bedroom at Gregory’s house. A grand Jacuzzi-style hot tub sat in the center, with a two-headed shower behind a glass wall at the back of the bathroom. A huge vanity table and lighted mirror with a pink-cushioned stool sat beside the sink.
The walls were covered in mirrors. She stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans and frowned at herself naked. Her curves should be covered in welts and stripes and deep blue bruises, not pale and white. Her waxed pussy should be sore, not neglected. Her body looked beautiful only with the aftermath of a punishment coloring her skin, at least to her it did.
Elisabeth picked up the cell phone and pressed the number five, surprised by how quickly it was answered.
“Ohhh, hey girl, this is Julian. I’ve been waitin’ for your call. Where you been?” the voice on the other end of the line said. Everyone was an insta-friend around here, weren’t they? She wanted to be annoyed about it but instead found herself liking Julian instantly, just by his voice.
“Um, hi, Julian, sorry about that. This is Elisabeth. I’m in the Pink Room and I’m supposed to get dressed to meet Trevor, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear or what.”
“Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll be right there with clothes for you. You get all showered up and clean for me, use the hair conditioner, you hear?”
“Okay,” she said. Then, “How do you know my size?”
“I took the liberty of looking at your current clothing you brung and getting some items in a similar style and size on your behalf.”
“Thank you, I think. I guess I’ll go shower and condition.”
Enslaved Page 2
