by Christy Poff
"Thank you,” Brett said. “But I'd like to be there when she opens her eyes."
Cosby thought for a moment.
"All right but remember what we've discussed."
"I respect you and your commitment to her and your other patients, now—on the flip side of this coin—respect mine."
Cosby nodded then motioned Brett inside.
"By the way, I like your work, though the New York piece..."
"You don't have to remind me."
* * * *
Brett had already made the decision to put Ainsley's health and recovery first. He had time before Jim Pearson got him the information he'd requested. In the meantime, he intended to get a hold of his boss, get the leave time he needed and take care of his mistress while quietly investigating the possibility of her being connected to the other girls.
He didn't appreciate Cosby's lecture, though he respected the man's loyalty to Ainsley. He understood the distrust Cosby harbored toward him, happy and grateful Ainsley had a doctor who cared more about her than his exorbitant fee.
Following Cosby to recovery, Brett took a deep breath. His natural hatred of hospitals tried to overpower him but he ignored it—anything for Ainsley.
"Here, put this on,” Cosby said, handing Brett a surgical gown. Brett slipped it on, anxious to see her.
"I see you don't like hospitals."
"Hate ‘em."
"Ah,” Cosby said, then snickered. “We're a little more laid-back here."
"Okay."
"Ainsley is just starting to come out of the anesthesia. I have her on an IV for pain considering the work I had to do."
"I see,” Brett said. “She'll be all right to go home today?"
"Yes, only she can't do anything strenuous over the next few days. She needs to rest and heal."
"I intend to pamper her."
"Good."
Cosby left Quincannon with Ainsley and went to where Alice sat making notes on their patient's progress. He kept an eye on Ainsley while trying to give them some privacy.
You'd better not hurt her.
He went back to his work, one ear open for changes in his patient's condition.
* * * *
Ainsley groaned.
"Ainsley?” Brett said, taking her free hand and squeezing it.
"You're here,” she said groggily.
"I told you I would be."
"I'm sorry."
"For?"
"Doubting you,” she admitted.
"It's all right. I understand."
"But I should never have..."
"Shh, it's all right—really and I do understand,” he repeated, needing for her to know how he felt.
"Thank you."
"Anytime, ma'am,” Brett said. “Now, rest so I can take you back to the hotel."
"Okay,” she quietly said as she smiled and weakly squeezed his hand.
"How's she doing?” Cosby asked as he crossed the room.
"She's tired."
"I want to leave,” Ainsley said.
"I have instructions for you for taking care of the bandaging, restrictions and so on. I want to see you tomorrow and if you want, I can come to you."
"That would be nice,” Ainsley agreed.
"I'll be over after rounds and an appointment at eleven."
"Okay."
"Now, rest until you feel up to moving. I'll have prescriptions filled and waiting for you before you leave."
"Thanks, Doctor Cosby,” Brett said, extending his hand. He deeply appreciated Cosby not mentioning their earlier conversation. “I'll make sure she does everything she's supposed to."
"I'm counting on it."
* * * *
Atlantic City is constantly on the go and under construction in order to bring more people into the resort and the casinos. In direct competition with New York and King of Prussia, a huge mall outside of Philadelphia, many high-dollar retailers had projects in progress.
Workmen at one of the sites near the Tropicana clocked into their jobs at the normal time. Two headed to where a wall would be erected and froze. On a pile of debris in front of them lay the body of a young woman. When police responded, they found she'd been dead several hours.
"What about it, Scotty?” a lieutenant asked.
"Strangulation after a severe beating,” the coroner said.
"Any idea who she is?"
"Her driver's license is in her wallet—says she's from somewhere up near Camden."
The lieutenant shook his head—another cold case.
"Lieutenant, there is something else."
"What?"
"This isn't her first beating. She's got old scars in roughly the same spots as the new ones."
"She's so young."
"This guy doesn't seem to care. He knows he's getting away with it."
* * * *
Peter Holmes headed down I-95 toward Florida. He had a couple other girls to pay his respects to before he went after the one who started this all almost two years before. If the one in San Francisco hadn't turned him down after-hours, none of this would be happening. The others angered him because they looked like her—didn't matter what color their hair or their social standing—if they reminded him of Her, they suffered for it.
So far, he'd silenced five of them with the intent of getting to the others before he went back to the Bay Area. Once he finally took care of Madam High and Mighty, he planned to head to South America where he could hide out and fight extradition if need be.
He turned off the interstate and headed for an address in Washington—a senator's daughter—no less. He went to her street, parked his vehicle and waited. It didn't take long before she walked down the street. He pulled her into his van, knocked her out and drove away. When he finished with her, she looked like the others—lashed over the same exacts spots he'd originally marked on her back. A bloody rock lay nearby, the cause of her untimely death but Holmes didn't care—he had just taken another step closer to his revenge on Ainsley Reynolds, a so-called submissive who did not know her place.
When Holmes finished with her—she wouldn't have to worry because the master had spoken.
"No one ever tells me no!"
Chapter 6
As soon as Brett got Ainsley back to the Four Seasons, he helped ease her into bed.
"Tell me what you want me to do."
"Hold me."
Brett smiled and slid into bed beside her. She curled into his side, her head on his shoulder. He cautiously put his arm around her, careful not to touch any areas where Cosby had operated.
"How's that?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
"Feels good,” she said. “Thank you for being here."
"I'm glad you're not alone."
Ainsley fell asleep because of her weakness after the procedure plus the painkillers.
"Will you..."
"Yes, I'll be here,” he assured her. “I'm with you for the long haul."
"Good."
He held her a while longer then eased away to let her sleep. He needed to put some space between them considering his cock seemed to only care about being embedded inside her velvety heat. He had to hold onto what little control he had left so she could rest and heal without fear of him hurting her.
He went into the sitting area of the huge penthouse suite and turned on the television. He jumped when his cell phone rang.
"Quincannon."
"It's me,” Jim Pearson said. “Where do I send the information?"
"How is it being sent?"
"By messenger. I have to send a detective out there to follow up on an ongoing extortion case in Manhattan. I'm having him bring it out to you."
"Four Seasons Beverly Hills."
"Nice digs."
"It's someone else's. I'm helping them through surgery."
"Then this will keep you busy, too."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
Brett sat back and thought after their call ended. He'd have the files from Pearson
by morning or late afternoon. Until then, he'd relax and worry about Ainsley.
* * * *
Ainsley slept. Several hours after Brett left her to go watch television, she had a nightmare. She relived not one but both attacks or at least, the aftermath. She saw herself bloodied and unable to move. She saw Peter Holmes hovering over her, the strap in his hand.
"Why?” she asked him.
"Because you said no to me."
"I'm sorry. If I had known...” she began. “Noooo!"
Ainsley bolted up, screaming. Brett ran to her, taking her in his arms, though afraid to wake her. She grabbed his arm, squeezing with an iron grip.
"Shh, it's all right,” he whispered. “I'm right here."
"It's awful!” she cried.
"Tell me about it,” he coaxed. “My grandmother taught me nightmares can't harm you if you tell someone about them, because no one can use them against you once they've been brought out in the open."
"I can't..."
"Should a slave not only pleasure his mistress but protect her as well?"
"But..."
"I swear, Ainsley,” he stated, “I will get the guy who did this to you."
"I can't ask you to."
"I have to, Ainsley. I love you. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you or to us. If you leave me, I'll..."
"But this is my problem."
"Maybe not."
"What do you mean?"
"Call it gut instinct,” he answered. “Now, tell me..."
"About two years ago, I went to Diego's club in San Francisco. I needed some domination in my life. At his club, all slaves are equal—no names, no standings. I went there only because of my trust in Diego. He sent me to a room where a man waited. He sat in the shadows and the first thing he had me do was put on a blindfold. I did as he wished then heard him come over to me. He put me in shackles after he tore my clothes from me then he did some things and left me alone, telling me not to say a word. Diego found me and released me later."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No,” she answered. “Out in the parking lot, he came out of the shadows and told me how much he enjoyed the evening and asked if we could go somewhere and continue it. I said no, Diego wouldn't allow it—club rules."
"Did you see his face?"
"Yes, and he told me his name. He seemed nice but I told him the truth. Diego didn't like the slaves to get together with the others for our own safety. If we started into a relationship and it came about over time, fine but not on the first night, especially when I had not been there for a long while."
"And...” he gently urged, holding her tight against him. If she felt any pain, she didn't say a word. He wanted to kill the guy who hurt her, a feeling new to him since he'd spent his life as an impartial observer.
"He'd already torn my clothes off so I stood before him wearing only an overcoat with nothing else. He backed me against my car, trapping me between him and it then tried taking the coat from me. I kept telling him no like I had when he first made the suggestion but then I saw rage in his eyes and began trembling. He stripped me, led me to the bushes then took his belt to me."
"Ainsley, I..."
"He stated no slut ever said no to him, especially a slave like me. I needed to learn my place in the scheme of things. I passed out and woke in a private clinic Diego used for all his girls in the event anything happened."
"Privacy and no police reports."
"Exactly,” she said, taking another deep breath. “Diego told me I had been found near the dumpster by one of his waiters."
"My God, Ainsley, I'm so sorry."
"Diego banned him from the club and had someone keep an eye on him until he disappeared."
"Then he came back?"
"But he had a new face,” she cried. “Peter Holmes came to the club, fooled everyone and did it again, only he left me in the room until Diego and William broke the door in to find me."
"Do you know anything about this guy?"
"He's sadistic and he terrifies me. What if he comes back with another new face?"
"He can't. A face can only take so much. Once he'd have a good-looking face, each successive time—unless he had one hell of a surgeon—would show some element of new work and scarring, like those women who go overboard on the plastic surgery and Botox. Not only that—I plan to stop him."
"Please don't go to the police. If he..."
"He won't and besides, in order to get to you, he has to get through me—your devoted slave."
"I don't want you to..."
"Too late—I am here until old age won't let me..."
"Okay, I get the point."
"What else do you know?"
"Nothing aside from his sadistic side. Diego might be able to tell you what his investigator learned."
"Okay, we'll call him once we take care of you."
"What did I do to deserve this?"
"You stuck with me,” Brett said. “I've seen things about myself and my life I honestly like and regret denying all these years. I want you to be the only one to see me through this. I did a lot of thinking while I waited for you."
"About?"
"Us,” he answered. “I know it hasn't been that long and you don't know much about me but I want to be with you every second I can. Life is too fucking short to deny these kinds of feelings."
Ainsley smiled then reached up to kiss him. He bent his head, his lips covering hers. Their kiss deeply passionate, they both hungered for more. Ainsley rested her head on his chest, her hand on his stomach. Heat coursed through them, their bodies knowing what their minds tried hard to understand.
"I love you, Ainsley."
* * * *
Ainsley woke several hours later. She eased out of Brett's arms and went into the bathroom. When she returned, devilment took over. Your training has definitely been shot to hell.
Lying in bed naked, Brett Quincannon stirred everything in her. His cock throbbed and, in the dim light of the room, she thought she saw a smile on his face. While she watched him, he rolled to his back, his one leg bent at the knee after he stretched. She crept onto the bed only, instead of lying next to him, she knelt at his hip.
Careful not to touch him, she deftly took his swollen shaft into her mouth and slowly tortured him—her intentions set on one glorious and outrageous wake-up call. Once she had him where she desired, she put her hands behind her back, continuing to arouse him more. Ainsley closed her eyes, enjoying the fact he swelled more and languishing in the heat between them.
The light weight of his hand on her drove her.
"Keep this up and not only do Cosby's orders go out the window, but I will be forced to be disobedient."
"Like your training?"
"True, ma'am."
Ainsley continued, her body temperature obviously on the rise.
"Oh, hell, forgive me, Mistress,” he said, pulling her body next to his.
She understood what he wanted, straddling his shoulders with her legs before lowering her hot wet pussy to his lips. His groan sent ripples of pleasure surging through her.
"Mistress, may I fill you?” he begged.
"Yes,” she moaned.
His hot seed burst into her at the same time a powerful orgasm swept through her. His tongue dancing over her clit then lapping at her essence drove her insane. She cried out after she drained his cock, pressing closer.
"Sit up a little so I can squeeze your tits,” Brett said.
She braced herself, her hands on either side of his body. She pressed even closer, needing the contact while he grasped her breasts and teased her hard nipples. She felt another wave bathing her, her body shaking.
"Please, Master, may I..."
"My God, Mistress, yes,” he cried. “Yes!"
Ainsley felt her body obey his, her submissive—or Dominant—drinking from her while he tortured her sensitive nipples. She grabbed his hands, holding him closer while needing more contact.
"Brett!” she cried, insanity taking ov
er. “I need you to dominate me right now. Shackle me, tie me up, anything—just..."
"Your wish, Mistress,” he said. “Tell me how so I don't hurt you."
By the time she finished issuing commands, Brett had her hands cuffed behind her and bound with silk scarves in a position which opened her entire body up to him.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes,” she answered. With her arms restrained behind her pushing her breasts up, she had him bind them with one scarf while using others on her feet. Next, she told him to use nipple clips.
"Mistress?"
"Suck my nipples, get them hard then clip them."
Eagerly, he obeyed. When he had, she told him to add a weight to the chain between them. At the slight pressure, she threw her head back, moaning with pleasure-filled contentment. She ignored the pain from her healing back, not caring so long as he did what she wanted him to do.
"May I ask why your gorgeous tits aren't pierced?"
"I don't know why,” she gasped.
"Would Mistress consider it?"
"I might,” she said, groaning from the sensation he sent through her. The thought of Brett's request caused her breasts to ache for more arousal while her pussy clenched, begging for his cock to be inside her. “Please, Brett..."
"What?"
She told him and a few moments later, she screamed. She'd had him insert an anal plug set on high pulsations. His tongue lapped at her pussy while she had his cock nestled in her mouth. Never had she experienced all three sensations at once but Ainsley realized one very important thing.
"I can't let you go, Brett,” she gasped. “I love you!"
"Marry me then. Let your undeserving slave be your husband and..."
"Yes, Brett, yes!"
With that answer—three words—his cock exploded into her while he drowned in her essence, their bodies one sexual unit. Ainsley shook while Brett held her.
"Ainsley?"
"Yes?"
"You're perfect."
"So are you."
"When?"
"What?"
"Marriage?"
"After I go back to San Francisco. I have a friend who can marry us quietly."
"Perfect."
"How much time can you take?"
"Forever, Mistress,” he said, laving her quivering clit. “For you, forever."
* * * *
While Ainsley soaked in lavender-scented bathwater—one of her listed instructions in order to keep her skin from drying out—Brett went over the file Jim Pearson had his detective deliver. Brett heard a knock on the door, Ainsley totally unaware of it.
