Dominant Persuasions Anthology: 12 Tales of D/s, Where Mastery Meets Passion

by Anthology

  He wouldn’t acknowledge the offer. “Give Caroline a kiss for me. And tell her I’m all out of those peanut butter cookies she sent me for my birthday last month. Talk soon.”

  Without saying another word J.T. Mastrantonio hung up the phone and turned around in his chair. He stared out his wall of windows onto the cityscape which danced with twinkling lights. It decorated his view just above the harbor like a motion picture of the silver screens of Hollywood. It never ceased to amaze him just how alive and crawling with life this city was, but what struck him now was how distant he felt from the pulse of that lifeline.

  It was like he had an itch that couldn’t be scratched, like the numbness of a scar where only tingling remained and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t find the feeling he once remembered.

  Damn it. What in the hell was the matter with him?

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button as he walked along the outer edge of his office. Each pane of thick glass shielded him from view to the outside world as he stood in virtual darkness. Only a small amount of light illuminated the room from his desk lamp, reminding him of papers he should go over before he called it a day.

  His work ethic had been suffering in these past weeks and tonight was no different. He had about as much desire to look over the contracts laid out for him, as he did to call one of his usual lady friends.

  Running his fingers through his thick jet black hair, J.T. searched for a time in his memory when he could place a similar unease, hoping he could identify and attack whatever the hell was wreaking havoc on his concentration and lack of control.

  “Fuck this!” he muttered in frustration.

  He pulled at his tie and yanked it over his head before tossing it onto one of the chairs which sat across from his desk. His suit jacket was next to go, finding a place on the couch near his office doorway.

  His strides were long and purposeful as he unbuttoned his sleeves and began rolling them up. Rarely did he make an appearance downstairs in Shaken, Not Stirred unless it was business. Tonight he planned on breaking that cycle and he had no intention of showing up as Mr. Mastrantonio, everyone’s boss. Tonight he just wanted to be a customer.

  Stepping out of his penthouse suite and onto the marble tiled floors he caught sight of his reflection in the polished elevator doors while waiting for them to open. The mirrored walls of the metal box which greeted him seconds later only confirmed what he had thought he’d seen.

  Dark circles were etched deep beneath his eyes. More than that, though, he could still see that same vacant stare that had been plaguing him for weeks.

  The empty and unfulfilled feeling that kept him up at night was driving him insane. Never having much control over his childhood, he always vied for control in all aspects of his adulthood. Whether it be business or personal life, J.T. always knew what he wanted, how to get it and who to get it from. This whole business of not knowing what he wanted, or how to get a handle on what was troubling him, was pissing him off to no end.

  The elevator doors opened as he reached the first floor of his five-star downtown resort hotel, The Mastrantonio. Casually he looked down at the polished tile floors in an effort to not be noticed by any of the staff and walked silently through the lobby toward the bar.

  He was just about to find himself a table off in some dark corner so he could be left alone when he caught a glimpse of something that sparkled in the dim light. Sitting in the room and by herself was a woman with some sort of clip in her hair. It held up some of her hair just enough so that he could see the simple diamond solitaire earrings that she wore.

  Unlike his usual clientele, she was dressed to the nines in Chanel or Dior. Her dress, albeit pretty and flattering on her was obviously an off the rack design that probably hundreds, if not thousands, of others owned.

  He could only see some of her face as she leaned forward in her chair, but still he could tell she was a beautiful woman. And as he stared at her for a few moments he sensed a familiarity about her, like he knew her from somewhere.

  Her slender fingertip glided across the rim of her wineglass to the rhythm of the slow jazz playing through the speakers. Her eyes stared off into the darkness, lost somewhere that he wasn’t even sure she knew.

  “Mr. Mastrantonio, how are you tonight, sir?” One of the bartenders asked with a pleasant smile.

  J.T. glanced over and nodded. “Fine. Say,” he walked over toward the bar and noticed the man’s name tag, “Ben, that woman over there. Is she a guest with us, do you know?”

  “Ms. Hunt? Yes. She’s been here for a few days now.”

  “I see. What’s she drinking?” J.T. asked, his mind still staring and searching for what it was about her that seemed so familiar.

  “2005 Domaine Stirn Cuvée Prestige Sigolsheim Pinot Grigio.”

  “Really?” he asked with surprise. The family owned vineyard had been around for hundreds of years but was only well known by true wine connoisseurs. “That's a very specific taste.”

  “I know. Especially considering –.” Ben stopped himself in midsentence.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, Sir. I know you don’t like us gossiping about the guests. I didn’t mean anything by it. She really is a very nice lady.”

  J.T. admired the young man’s forthrightness. He looked for that in his employees and was glad to see he was instilling that message. For the moment though he wished his obedient bartender would forget his manners and tell him all that he knew about this woman who had managed to grasp J.T.’s attention.

  “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you pour me a glass of Dewar’s neat and tell me what you know? It’s not gossiping if the boss is asking. Is it?”

  With a smirk, Ben did as asked. “Well, she comes down here every night at the same time. About a quarter after six. Orders a glass of the 2005 Domaine Stirn Cuvée Prestige Sigolsheim, drinks maybe half a glass, if even that, while staring off and then she leaves.”

  “That's it? She never meets anyone?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not since I've been on this week. I think she's in town for business, though. I've seen her walking through the lobby with a pretty serious looking business suit and a briefcase.”

  “Huh. Interesting. What’d you say her name was?”

  “Ms. Hunt. Sophia, I believe.”

  J.T. had just picked up the glass and stopped it right before his lips when he heard her name. He’d met a Sophia once. It was years ago at one of his hotels in New York City. And now, as he stared across the room at the beautiful, yet unassuming woman that he couldn’t take his eyes off of he knew exactly why she looked so familiar.

  She was the one he’d almost spent the night with three years ago. She was the one who had gotten him so worked up he thought he would die if he didn’t have her. And she was also the one who ran out on him.

  She was the only woman who ever ran out on him. Ever.

  And there she was. Sitting mere feet away from him.

  “Give me the bottle of the 2005, Ben,” J.T. demanded. There was no way he was letting her get away a second time.

  2

  Sophia listened to the gentle hum of the music as it worked its way through her body. There was nothing quite like getting lost in the rhythmic sounds of calm jazz after these stress-filled business trip days. Oh, how she missed being a part of it all. Playing the piano while her father blew his medley into his favorite saxophone seemed like it was such a long time ago.

  His normally gentle face would get red while his cheeks blew out like balloons from years of training. All while her mother looked on in admiration, swaying her head from side to side to the harmony that filled the room.

  Those were the days that she cherished the most. It wasn't the years of working with her father at the firm. Nor was it the countless charity events her mother used to plan before she had gotten sick. It was the times when it was just the three of them with nothing but the music. It was the music that brought them together, mad
e them a family.

  She sighed as she looked down at her wine glass. A tribute to her mother more than anything, Sophia took one last drink.

  Happy Birthday, mom.

  She had just been about to stand up when she felt a presence standing over her. Turning her head she saw only the shadow of a man rounding her table and taking a seat across from her. His entire presence seemed large and imposing. Whoever he was, it was obvious that he was the type of man who was used to getting what he wanted.

  “Excuse me, but I –.”

  “Would like to apologize?”

  It wasn’t so much his interruption that surprised her, or his rather rude intrusion of her personal space. It was what he said that had struck her more curious than anything.

  “Apologize?”

  “Indeed.” He reached over, pouring more wine into her glass before continuing, “I feel I’m owed at least that.”

  “I'm sorry.” Sophia pushed the wine glass away. “I don't know who you are, but I didn't ask for any more wine. And I really don't appreciate the strong come on.”

  He chuckled. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She stood up from the table and turned to walk away. Something about whoever this man was made her feel nervous. So much so that she didn’t stop to look back. Feeling vulnerable had never been her favorite emotion, but she’d worked hard in this past year to mask the anxiety she felt from it.

  Ignoring the increasing beat of her heart rate, Sophia quickened her pace through the bar offering no more than a half-hearted wave to the nice bartender who had served her these past few nights.

  The clicking of her heels seemed to scream through the lobby as she hurried to the elevators. She wondered if she was truly running or if it just felt like she was. Silently she chided herself, angry for forgetting all that she had learned to cope with her fears and anxieties since working with her therapist. Instead of being the confident attorney that everyone back at the firm knew her as she felt like the same scared little girl she used to be.

  Hopping in an elevator just before the doors closed she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as she leaned against the back wall. Her relief was short lived as she felt an ominous presence and her eyes opened to see someone standing behind her in the mirror.

  She swung around to face him. She was ready for some sort of altercation, hoping against hope that she remembered any of the self-defense training she'd spent months receiving.

  “Hello, Sofia.”

  Squinting her eyes, she stared up at the man. His green eyes bore down on her like a predator who had just claimed his prey. She'd seen those eyes before, seen those same darting promises piercing her until she could no longer move.

  “You.” She whispered.

  “Me.”

  “What… what are you doing here?”

  Her words came out far too breathless than she had intended. She’d walked out on J.T. years earlier for this very reason. For some reason unbeknownst to her, she couldn’t talk much less function when he was around. Their one night meeting had contained far too much alcohol and her nearly turning into a woman that she wasn’t.

  “Never mind what I’m doing here. What are you doing here?” he asked.

  His voice. Oh, God!

  How could she have forgotten how deep and seductive he sounded? This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. She had to get out of this elevator and away from him.

  “I’m in town on business. On a case. I’m –,”

  He moved forward closing what little distance there was between them. “Hmm. I seem to recall the last time we crossed paths you were on a case too. Only you didn’t exactly leave me on the best of terms.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I left you a note.”

  The elevator chimed and the doors opened. A surprised couple was about to step inside from the lobby when J.T. snapped that their car was full before abruptly closing the doors.

  “Which floor?” he asked.

  “Umm…Twenty-one.”

  Sophia instantly regretted answering as soon as she had. She didn't want him to go upstairs with her. Something about his glare and body language told her she wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter, though.

  He pressed the button and turned back toward her. The bottle of wine still in his hand as though he was either going to drink it or pour it all over her body.

  “Now, about your note.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit that probably wasn’t the best way to handle it.” She hoped a more sincere apology would get him to leave her alone.

  “Maybe not the best way to handle it? Maybe?”

  “Look, I –.”

  “No, you look. It was shitty. You told me to take a shower so you could slip into something more comfortable and then you high-tail it out of there? And this was after you spent all night getting me worked up. It's not about the tease, babe. Lots of women tease. And I respect a woman's right to change her mind. I get that. It's about the game. I don't like them. And I don't like being played with. So you mind telling me just what in the hell that was that night? Because you didn’t change your mind that night. You wanted me. I know you did.”

  His first few sentences had her believing he was a pretty decent guy. Then he followed it up with the same cocky arrogance she remembered from that night and it all came flooding back to her just how right she was to run out of him.

  “Is that so?”

  The doors opened to the twenty-first floor and Sophia felt an ounce of courage she hadn’t moments earlier. She pushed him aside and took a right toward her room.

  She could feel his heavy footsteps following behind her. The warmth of his body seemed to radiate her entire backside as she came to a stop in front of her door.

  “Yes.”

  Digging through her purse for her key card she glanced over her shoulder. “Yes what?”

  “Yes, you wanted me.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself, J.T. I left didn’t I?”

  His breath tickled the side of her neck as he whispered. “You wanted me then just like you want me right now.”

  She was about to turn and protest when she felt him press up against her. The bottle of wine that he’d been holding in his hand dropped to the floor and he reached around to pull her close.

  His cock, full, thick, and hard pressed against her ass and instantly she felt the warmth flood her. Unconsciously she arched her body into him while his left hand reached through the front of her dress and squeezed a nipple. And his right hand coasted along her thigh, lifting the hem of her dress until he was able to find the inside of her panties.

  His tongue glided along the side of her neck and he began languishing tiny but powerful kisses along the nape of her neck. She moaned, unable to keep the pleasure filled sound to herself when she felt his middle finger slip past her lips and just barely into her pussy.

  “Fuck.” J.T. ground his hips against her ass. “You’re already so wet.”

  Memories of that night three years ago filled her mind like a disc set on fast forward. It had all happened so quickly. They’d met in that bar. One drink after another.

  She had still been grieving from her father's death and trying to heal from the breakup of a two-year relationship. Everything about that night was the perfect storm of things a woman shouldn't do in a strange town with a strange man, but J.T. made it all so tempting. With his sexy body and bedroom eyes, he had been the perfect distraction to her jumbled thoughts. Which was exactly why she’d had to wise up and get the hell out of there before she made some sort of awful mistake and turned into one of the many women who were doomed to the walk of shame.

  “I want to fuck you so bad.”

  J.T.’s muttered words between heavy breathing brought her back to the present and reminded her again of why she walked out on him.

  “No. Stop.”

  Pushing his hands away, she squirmed free from him and fumbled with her key card. Her shaking hands could
barely slide the plastic into the slot as J.T. began to argue.

  “Jesus, again? Are you kidding me? What the hell is it with you?”

  She got the door open and turned to face him. “I’m sorry. We’re just too different.”

  “Too different? I want you. You want me. What the fuck does it matter if we’re different or not?”

  His barking tone made her take a step back into her room. “I think you should leave.”

  He held up his hands and spoke softer. “Okay. I’m sorry. But I don’t get it. You’re obviously not frigid because…well hell, I could feel how hot you were. Just tell me what it is.”

  She knew she should say goodnight. She knew she should say goodbye. There was no good reason she could come up with to rationalize standing there holding the door open for a man who was a virtual stranger to her. Still, there she stood.

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  J.T. stared at her for a moment, as if wondering what to think. “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes. You…” She hesitated for a moment before looking up at him, “scare me.”

  “Jesus.”

  They looked at one another for a long while. Neither of them speaking. Sophia wasn't sure if he was upset with what she'd said or just shocked. She didn't see anger, though. In fact, if she knew him she would almost guess that it was regret that she saw looking back at her.

  “Have you eaten dinner?”

  His question surprised her. “Not yet. I was going to order something from room service.”

  “If I promise to me a gentleman can I bring you some dinner?”

  She thought about it for a moment. Obviously too long for his liking, because he took a step forward and gently took her hand in his.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Let me show you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Do you like seafood?”

  “Most of it, yeah.”

  She realized in that moment she was agreeing to dinner without even knowing what she was doing. That was the effect he had on her. It was what she’d experienced that night. It was what she experienced just minutes ago. And she had a feeling that no matter how much of a gentleman he was, she was about to experience it again.