by Logan Fox
Okay, so they weren’t all wearing suits, but three of the obviously-bodyguards looked like extras from Men in Black. One of the men, caught in a half-sitting, half-lounging slump on a pinstripe lounger, wore a full suit too, although his accommodation to the heat was that he’d unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and had loosened his tie.
This was Tanner? She’d been expecting… well… not this. After the commanding air that both Seth and Caden demanded on a person, this man seemed too mild and unobtrusive.
She gave him a smile anyway, and he returned it after a few seconds of hesitation. Then he began studying her, a quizzical frown popping up between his brown eyebrows. He had a dimple in his chin and a broad nose, those dark brows accentuating his slitted green eyes and fair skin.
Pearl heard a small splash from the pool behind her.
The man had begun to study her clothing, his head cocking to the side and his eyes narrowing even further as he ran his gaze over her yellow dress and—
Two cold, wet arms slithered over Pearl’s stomach. She cried out in surprise as she was lifted off her feet and spun around. Two thundering steps later she was in the air, shrieking as the glimmering surface of the swimming pool approached her at break-neck speed.
Cold water snapped closed around her and snatched away her breath. Bubbles and yellow chiffon obscured her vision as her dress floated up around her face. She fought it off, tried to fight off the hands still encircling her waist.
Someone was trying to drown her.
Pearl struggled as hard as she could, kicking out her feet as she made for the surface; for air, for freedom.
Then a hand closed around her wrist and tugged her up.
Her head broke the surface. She drew a ragged breath, spluttering and coughing. She swung around, dragging a hand over her eyes as she tried to spot her assailant, to call for help, anything.
Less than two feet away, a bare-chested man paddled in the water. His gray eyes — crinkled with mirth — latched onto each of her eyes in turn, then her mouth, then back to her eyes. He gave her a lopsided grin and ran both hands through his sandy hair, shaking his head like a dog.
Holy crap.
Pearl spluttered again, forced a deep breath inside her and tried to get her dress to stop bobbing around her shoulders like a deflated dinghy.
“You must be the new girl,” Tanner said.
The little of his body she could make out through the water was covered in a scrawl of dark tattoos. There was a flicker of color — one portion of his complicated hodgepodge of ink was orange, but the distortion of the water’s surface made its shape impossible to define.
He’d asked her a question.
“Yes,” she managed, after clearing her throat.
“Pleasure,” Tanner said.
“Uh, yes. You too. It’s—” her stoned mind fought valiantly for a dreg of memory “—Mr. Stark, right?”
Tanner barked out a laugh and swung away from her. She shivered: his gaze had kept her body in a state of suspended animation, unable to feel the chill of the water he’d dunked her into. Now, however, with him no longer paying her any mind, temperature, wetness, and a rising humiliation all bore down on her in a tempest which she struggled against as much as the water tugging at her.
With a frustrated growl, Pearl wriggled out of her dress. She gripped it in a hand as she swam awkwardly to where Tanner stepped out of the pool.
Water streamed off his v-shaped torso as he left the clinging surface behind. He wore yellow, loose-fitting swimming trunks that almost reached his knees… and nothing else. His arms, calves, shoulders, and back were all tattooed. In some places there were stretches of bare skin, but they looked like an empty canvas waiting for the touch of an artist’s pen. He accepted a towel from a woman who’d appeared out of nowhere and began industriously toweling his head as he turned back to Pearl.
She stalled, on her hands and knees, in the process of scrambling out of the pool.
Their eyes locked, and he gave her another crooked grin. This time, his eyes took in more than just her face: they roamed her breasts and thighs and everything in-between with an indolence that made her blush.
Pearl straightened hurriedly, holding her dress in a bundle at her stomach in an effort to hide at least a portion of herself from his roving gaze.
“You’ve got quite the pair of lungs on you,” Tanner said. He held a hand at shoulder-height and clicked his fingers.
The woman who’d handed him the towel stepped closer.
“Towel, Evie,” Tanner said, not taking his eyes off Pearl.
Evie dropped her head and whispered something to Tanner.
That smile didn’t drop an inch, but Tanner flicked his fingers at Evie and then tossed his damp towel to Pearl. She managed to catch it, dropping her dress with a splat to the paving stones.
“Looks like you’ll have to make do with that, baby girl,” Tanner said in a deep baritone.
And then he turned away from her again, and she had to force her arms to bring the towel up so she could blot her face, wipe mascara from under her eyes where it had run, and try and do what she could to her hair.
God, it was going to look fantastic now: random, wonky curls everywhere.
She wrapped the towel around herself, retrieved her dress, and stood at the edge of the pool dripping water until Seth beckoned her closer.
Tanner spoke quietly to the man in the suit still perched on the edge of the lounger.
The owner of the Fox Pit was shorter than Pearl expected — only a few inches taller than her, in fact. And older. He had to be in his late forties. Or perhaps it had been the ravages of the outdoors rather than time that had drawn such deep crow’s feet at the corner of each dazzling gray eye, his darkly tanned skin a testament to this. His exuberance definitely didn’t suit a man nearing a mid-life crisis. Then again, did billionaires even experience mid-life crises? What did you do when you already owned a garage full of Ferraris and had at least two teeny-boppers for each arm?
“I usually say we pride ourselves on attention to detail,” Tanner was saying, “But it would seem an outright lie after everything you’ve seen today.”
The man on the lounger gave a tight smile up to Tanner. “Not at all. Your staff seems to have everything under control.”
Tanner cocked his head but whether in agreement or not Pearl couldn’t tell.
“Sir, I—” Evie began.
Pearl’s eyes darted away from Tanner to the bespectacled lady at his side. The leggy, ashen blond wore a pale linen dress suit and her hair in a tight bun. She seemed so out of place behind the tousle-haired, swimming-trunked, tattooed man that Pearl couldn’t stop looking between the two. She pressed her fingertips to her lips to stop anything approaching a giggle from sneaking out.
“Evie?” Tanner murmured. “Not now.”
“But I did—”
Tanner’s raised finger cut her off. The woman adjusted her spectacles and sank down onto a nearby lounger.
“Ethan,” Tanner said as he swept a hand in Pearl’s direction. “Meet our newest fox. And there’s another waiting in your den for you, if I’m to believe Caden.”
“Hi,” the man said, rising to his feet. He extended a hand toward Pearl but snatched it away as she lifted her arm.
“Uh,” he began, and Tanner let out a small laugh.
“They’re not made of porcelain,” Tanner said.
Ethan put out his hand again and Pearl shook it clumsily, leaning forward so she wouldn’t have to trust her feet or legs to work properly. His hand was hot and clammy. From the heat or from nerves? His hesitant smile suggested both.
Tanner turned to Seth, giving the handler another jaunty smile.
“Seth? Meet our new handler. Caden mentioned him, right?”
Seth didn’t reply, but stepped forward and held out a hand to Ethan. Ethan seemed even more hesitant to shake his hand, his pale face twitching as Seth’s hand enclosed his. It wasn’t that Ethan was small — in fact,
his shoulders were broader than Tanner’s and he had about an inch on the billionaire — but Seth could intimidate a bear. When he stepped back into place, Seth lifted his hand to the back of Pearl’s neck and gripped her damp skin. The touch was surprisingly calming.
“Evie?” Tanner called out.
The woman materialized by his side with a flustered, “Yes?” as she adjusted her glasses.
“Show Ethan to his foxes, won’t you? Then get him settled in his apartments.” Turning to Ethan, Tanner grinned at the man. “You’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
Ethan nodded, and Tanner slapped him on the shoulder.
“See you at eight. Evie will give you directions.”
Tanner turned back to Pearl. She started, not expecting those candid gray eyes on her again so soon. His smile returned, but there was less mirth and more heat in those lips than before.
“You too, Pearl. Say… eight-thirty?” Tanner glanced at Seth, who gave the barest nod of his head. Tanner’s eyes flicked back to her. “Looking forward to it.”
And with that, Tanner and his retinue of bodyguards disappeared inside the villa, leaving a bewildered Evie, Ethan, and Seth behind.
Beside them, Evie turned to Ethan.
“Let’s get you set up,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice — a far cry from the wheedling whisper she’d used for conversing with Tanner.
Ethan nodded at her, and swept out a hand; it wasn’t nearly as grand a gesture as Tanner’s had been.
“After you. I don’t have a clue where I’m going, Evie.”
“It’s Evelyn,” the woman snapped. And then, as if to make up for the rude tone of her voice, “Follow me, Mr. Brooks.”
The pale-haired assistant led Ethan away, but not before he gave Pearl a long, considering frown.
Seth’s fingers tightened on the back of her neck.
“Doesn’t have a fucking clue,” Seth said.
“Where he’s going?” Pearl asked. “I figured—”
“What he’s doing,” Seth cut in. “Why’d Tanner even hire him?”
Pearl shrugged. “Cheap labor?”
Seth snorted and took his fingers away from her neck.
“You got your first scene this morning, kitten. Let’s go get you ready.”
Seth strode into the villa and, after figuring out the correct signals to send to her feet, Pearl followed.
12
A Dash of Vanilla
Pearl wore her ears and her tail. Her yellow dress, surprisingly, had been replaced with a racy golden corset, thigh-highs, and the sexiest pantie she’d ever seen.
She and Seth were in the dungeon’s preparatory bathroom, where he was almost done with making her ready for her first encounter with the wolf. With a wolf, anyway.
Seth had curled her hair into long ringlets that perfectly framed her face and her fox ears. The makeup was heavier this time: smoky eyes and dark lips. He hadn’t included a black nose.
“I look like a stripper,” Pearl said. “And I should know.”
Seth’s fingers paused in the action of tying a small, golden bow around her neck.
“We get vanillas in here sometimes, but not often.”
“Vanillas?”
“People that don’t have kinks.”
“But I still have ears and a tail.”
“Think of it as a uniform.”
“A uniform,” Pearl murmured, tugging one of her ears straight.
She met Seth’s eyes in the mirror, their reflections staring at each other as Seth lay a large, gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Remember your safe words, Pearl.”
“Red means stop,” Pearl said.
“And yellow?”
She scrunched up her face in a parody of deep thought. “I like it, but don’t go any further. Or harder. Or faster.”
Seth’s expression hardened into a scowl and she blushed faintly at the reprimand in his black eyes. That hand on her shoulder tightened.
“Usually, you’ll only see a wolf once. But some of our clients are regulars. They prefer building relationships with their foxes.”
“I get it,” Pearl said, but her stomach was starting to coil in on itself at the thought of getting to know the weirdos that visited this villa in the middle of nowhere to get off.
“One wolf will always come back. You’ll know it’s him. And you’ll look forward to seeing him.”
Pearl searched Seth’s eyes. That hand on her shoulder hadn’t moved; she could feel his pulse — quiet but insistent — through her collarbone.
“Is this wolf a regular?”
“Don’t know yet. It’s his first time here.”
“Lot of first timers here, lately.” Pearl stared at Seth’s reflection in the mirror. “So what happened to the last handler?”
For a moment, Seth didn’t say anything. When he did, she’d wished he hadn’t: his voice held definite traces of disgust, anger… regret.
“He wasn’t made of the right stuff.”
“What happened?” Pearl’s voice wavered.
“It’s in the past, kitten.” Then Seth took away his hand and began unnecessarily tidying her hair again. “Anyway, this guy just wants you to dance for him.”
“That’s it?”
“Apparently. Though, don’t be surprised if he asks for more.”
“Which I have to give to him,” Pearl muttered. “Except if it’s something really twisted. Then I scream ‘peaches.’”
“That isn’t—”
Pearl’s sigh cut Seth off. “I get it, Seth. I’m just… nervous, okay?”
“Belly breaths,” he said, his hand skimming down her waist and settling over her stomach. He’d touched her breasts on the way down, but didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on hers: obsidian on flint.
“It’s just an act,” Seth murmured, dipping his head down to her ear. “Like when you were dancing. A few songs, and you’re done. So just let it happen and enjoy the freedom.”
His breath stirred the hair around her ears. Pearl shuddered. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the heat of his hand but failing. It spread through her, making her thighs ache and her sex tingle.
Or maybe she was just getting ready for whatever awaited her.
She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. The ears softened her stripper-like outfit to something more playful. Her lips were a dark pink, her cheeks daubed with blusher. Her smoky eyes sparkled.
“You’re beautiful and amazing and sexy, kitten,” Seth rumbled in her ear.
And, just then, she believed him.
Seth opened the dungeon door for her, but he didn’t follow her in. He simply waved a hand to the entrance, gave her a warm ghost of a smile, and closed the door behind her. There was a narrow passage, but it didn’t slant down and curve like she remembered.
Actually, even the bathroom had seemed slightly different. Built the same, sure, but with different decorations. Her footsteps slowed.
If this wasn’t the same dungeon… that false flicker of courage she’d felt in the bathroom threatened to evaporate. How could you prepare for the unknown?
Her hand fumbled over another door, this one wood. It was slightly warm, varnished, and smooth under her fingertips. She pushed it, and it swung open with barely a sound. She stepped inside the gloomy room beyond, her eyes moving frantically as she tried to make out what lay inside the dungeon.
Except… this wasn’t a dungeon.
Her costume had obviously been chosen with care: it perfectly matched the luxurious furnishings inside the intimate room. Here, a small platform had been fitted against the hand-fitted stone wall. It led to a pole, golden and gleaming, set into a small, circular stage. Soft, leather couches surrounded the pole, their upholstery in hues of warm chocolate.
The whole room was less than fifteen feet across.
Pearl moved forward again, climbing the steps at the back of the ramp and standing with her palms touching the stacks of cool stones behind her. The entire right-hand wa
ll of the room was one long, dark mirror. Strip joints always had mirrors. That way, pervs could perv without being pervy. Why had she expected anything different?
The only light in the place was a single spotlight that illuminated the pole and, in turn, a few feet of the stage and the edges of the couches. She could see her own reflection, but nothing behind it.
Her stilettos clicked loudly against the ramp as she shifted her weight.
“Seth?”
After a second or two: “I’m here.”
Pearl swallowed the words, “Oh thank God,” and said, “What now?”
“Warm up. He’s on his way.”
“Fucking great,” Pearl muttered to herself.
Music blared out from invisible speakers, making her jerk. She took a deep belly-breath and began bobbing her head. Not bad. House music always worked.
Who’d chosen the soundtrack for this dance?
She shrugged to herself, closed her eyes, and pushed away from the stone wall. Her eyes popped open a second later as her face slipped into its characteristic, sultry stripper simper.
Pearl sashayed down the ramp, her hips falling into a rocking rhythm perfectly timed with the beat. She grabbed the pole with a hand, swinging around it as she balanced on one heel — a move that always made her feel a little giddy — and dipped back her head.
The upside-down door opened a crack.
There was enough light from the corridor to silhouette a figure against the gloom of the pseudo-champagne room. Having completed a full revolution around the pole, Pearl hooked her leg around it and bent backward, for now deciding not to look at the approaching vanilla man.
Did it matter, after all? His face would be hidden — after all, the Fox Pit valued its clientele’s privacy — so all she would be able to make out would be body shape.
Pearl lost herself in the music, in the dance.
Euphoria slunk into her mind, dashing away her nervousness, her anxiety, her shame; it always did, when she lost herself in the dance.
The music accelerated, and so did her moves. She climbed the pole, dangling upside down as she arched her back and slid back to earth. Her head brushed the floor, and she lifted it up, letting her shoulders slide over the polished stage.
