Velvet Exhale

by Beth Mikell

  Velvet Exhale

  Beth Mikell

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 9781301074426

  Copyright 2013 Beth Mikell All Rights Reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  **Note from Author: The following is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Kardo Designs Copyright 2013

  DEDICATION:

  For my Aunt Terri…I've had your supportive presence in my life, not only as an aunt, but also as a friend, a sister, and even a second mother. I always know you love me, no matter which continent I'm on. My heart always breathes a sigh of relief whenever I hear your voice on the phone and listen to your steady wisdom and affectionate kindness. Every person in the world needs an 'Aunt Terri', really! You love NFL football, four Christmas trees around the holidays and make awesome pumpkin bread! This coming from a girl that won't eat anything pumpkin, you rock! Together, we love Starbucks coffee, Hallmark movies and cooking Ms. Kay's biscuits, yet I've not enough gigabytes in the world to list everything. We've shared clothes, jewelry and Hello Kitty slippers, as well as crazy tattoo escapades where I'm the only one leaving the building with a tattoo (Nice, btw)! Nothing can/will replace the laughter of such moments. You've shaped all my childhood memories with smiles and held me through a few tears (many but who's counting?). Your belief in me is beyond any words I could possibly write. I love you by my heart…always. You are another sample of true love in my life…this one's for you!

  ~~~

  There is nothing more beautiful than a person whose heart has been broken, but still believes in the beauty of love. ~ Unknown

  Prologue

  The Florida summer, humid breeze blew through the tree house, sticky hot over my ten-year-old skin, but I didn't care. A month ago, mommy finally agreed to let Gemma and I spend the night in the creatively built tree dock designed by our father, Frank Lourde. Every Saturday night (weather permitting), my sister and I bundled up our favorite stuff and climbed the steps after our bath.

  It was cool too.

  We had electricity, stringing white Christmas lights by way of daddy's extension cord and plugged in his old lava lamp, though we were told to unplug it before sleeping and I did. At least fifty old CD's hung from the roof, twinkling above in a strange attempt at stars as they swayed in the light breeze given off by a small, electric fan. A thick carpet covered the wooden floor, a red shag rug my grandmother gave our mother--it came all the way from England because that's where mommy was from. Daddy even made shelves to house our dolls, books and other toys we managed to drag up the ladder. But, most of all…it was painted white--our personal ivory tower, just like a princess or Rapunzel (my favorite) with lacy, white curtains on the windows.

  It was perfect.

  Gemma was a princess, daddy always called me pumpkin. I didn't mind. I glanced over at my sister, she was a little princess down to her frilly nightgown, and forgotten plastic tiara pushed aside on her pillow and fast asleep…curled up with Mrs. Lawson's cat, Speck. If mommy knew, she'd be worried. Mommy worried about everything. In fact, she stayed beside her window most of the night reading a book and watching the tree house, so afraid we'd be kidnapped. I wasn't supposed to know that either, but I heard her fighting with daddy when I wasn't supposed too.

  I guess, most mommies were that way…and I liked it when mommy fussed over me. It made me feel so safe and loved. Megan (my best friend), who lived two houses down from us didn't have a fussy mommy and often cried herself to sleep because her mother worked nights and slept during the day. Megan's grandmother moved in to take care of her, but it wasn't the same. And her daddy planned to move out.

  "Reyna? Reyna? Are you asleep baby?"

  My mother's call pulled me out of my thoughts and I scrambled over to the tree house window, grabbing the tin can phone dangling over the edge--another of my mommy's nifty ideas, although I could hear her voice echo from the window. Princess Gemma asked for walkie-talkies, but mommy said this was much cooler, but most likely she and daddy couldn't afford it. Money was tight around our house.

  I placed the can to my mouth, "Hi mommy. How's your book?" I waved at her, loving the way she smiled at me as I placed the can to my ear. In my eyes, she was beautiful. She had amazing dark, red hair to her shoulders with dark eyes she called mousey gray (just like mine). The woman always beamed happiness from the inside out, holding me steady in the strange world around me.

  "Good, darling. I'm on page two."

  I giggled. "It must be a terrible book." None of her books had pictures. How exciting could they be?

  She rolled her eyes. "Horrible."

  I knew she lied. She loved reading as much as I loved Saturday morning cartoons, but I knew she watched our tree house rather than reading. "Where's daddy?"

  "He went to take out the trash, love. How's Gemma?"

  I glanced over my shoulder and my sister's arm hugged Speck close, sleeping soundly. I looked back to my mother, but saw my father step from the shadows below. A grin split his face before he gathered…Mrs. Lawson in his arms…just as he did mommy. I couldn't move--my eyes fixed completely on the moment unfolding before my eyes.

  He snuggled Mrs. Lawson closer and…kissed her.

  Before I could take my next breath, mommy's voice came sharp over the warm air and I jumped.

  "Reyna! Reyna put down the tin phone and go right to bed! Don't look out the window--just go to bed! Go to bed!" She fumed, all but screaming out the window.

  I dropped the makeshift phone, clamoring to my sleeping bag and scraped my knee on the zipper. I cried out in pain, scaring Speck and he leaped from my sister's arms, clawing my other leg in his attempt to flee before flying out the window, stupid cat.

  Great! Blood trailed down my right leg and Speck's claw mark ached as burning pain squeezed my stomach in knots and not just from my injuries, but also from what I just witnessed. I honestly didn't know what just happened, but after a few minutes silence, I heard it.

  Mommy and daddy were fighting.

  My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest may burst and I started to shake, tears forming in my eyes and slid down my cheeks. I could hear them…every word. Even the word…divorce. My hands shot up over my ears, trying to drown out the sounds from their open bedroom window, my cuts forgotten. I didn't want to hear anymore and I cried harder, disturbing Gemma.

  She whimpered, but didn't wake up…thank God. She would only cry too--another princess moment and I'd never get her back to sleep.

  I sniffed back tears and climbed into my sleeping bag, uncaring of the blood sticking on my leg. What did it matter? Nothing mattered.

  I didn't know how long mommy and daddy fought…but I finally fell into exhausted sleep.

  The next morning…it was if…nothing ever happened. Even within my youthful mind, I learned love pardoned and forgiveness erased even the greatest of sins.

  Chapter 1

  I saw an angel trapped in marble and I carved to set her free. ~ Michelangelo

  I was ready to scream.

  "I can't believe I let you talk me into this, Claire."

  I could use a cigarette as I flexed my hands tighter on the steering wheel of my 2009 black Camaro, e
ntering the parking deck beside an upscale, swanky office building in downtown Tampa, Florida. My anger ejected a whopping load of bitter acid up into my throat from my stomach as I curled up the levels looking for a parking space. I gulped fast…afraid I may puke and ruin my chic suit, a gift from said friend and roommate sitting silently beside me in the passenger seat, offering up little comfort to my sparse nerves.

  "I'm sorry, Reyna," Claire whispered.

  Shit!

  Nothing I hated worse than being flung back in the corner with no choice by my best friend of five years, Claire Smith. All for what? An alternative lifestyle I didn't understand, missing work, wading through unbearable traffic and wasting gas as well as precious nerves to be a...a Submissive Advocate? What the heck? What a way to spend a Friday morning, not that my measly manager position at an independent long distance company in Sarasota, FL constituted fun and living on the edge, but it paid the bills.

  I shook my head, throwing a glance over at Claire whom at least had the decency to wince serenely inside her elegant, blonde bob, crystal blue eyes, and expensive black, designer dress suit.

  At twenty-seven, I'm not naive. I've tasted enough of the world to know differences exist, but that didn't mean I wanted to indulge in the darker arts. I have three ex-boyfriends and one ex-fiancé under my past belt to know heartache banged alive and well, opting to travel single-lite instead of beating down so-called love's path or my friend's road of BDSM as a submissive.

  To be fair, there wasn't a submissive bone in my body.

  Last night before bed, Claire knocked on my bedroom door asking me to go to Avalon, a Dom/sub private matchmaking club catering to upscale clientele by introducing individuals via first-rate recommendation (more or less a strange version of speed dating with whips and chains as the incentive package). Claire's last Dom, Jeremy Townsend, gave her a glowing referral after their six-month contract ended in amicable conclusion two months prior. At Claire's request, Townsend submitted her name to Avalon with a five-star reference, highly praising her and in turn, the posh club called her in for Friday morning interviews with seven possible candidates.

  The only thing defecating with clarity on my radar was…Claire needed a Submissive Advocate to attend each interview, which amounted to a glorified guard dog so said Dom wouldn't walk all over her. Or force an unwanted or incompatible contract simply because he dominated the meeting not that he ethically should, but to protect the new client, certain measures were in place. Claire had already given my name without asking me first, perfect.

  Apparently, Avalon currently maintained a hundred percent success rate by matching each Dom/sub with painstaking care (no pun intended). Who knew such things existed! Nice.

  I begrudgingly agreed to take my best friend, not because she coerced me or I hate the whole process (okay I do), but I am more upset Claire never tried beyond her BDSM lifestyle. She'd been sexually abused at thirteen by her uncle, continuing to lock herself away inside her Dom/sub existence without ever allowing herself to experience more. Not that more necessarily meant happiness if judging by my current boyfriend/fiancé ratio was anything to go by, but at least I am not flying blind to other aspects of life--even if vanilla was all I knew.

  I found a parking space on the roof and cut the engine, turning to my friend. "Look, I know how important the interview is to you, Claire, even if I don't get it--I get it, okay? You are a submissive, and you need to find a new Dominant to be happy. I'm sorry I'm being bitchy," I offered, resisting the urge to whine inside my bad mood. "Do you have our Non-Disclosure Agreements we signed this morning?" I hated the thought of signing a legal document that would be kept on file for all time, but they were necessary to protect all individuals in case someone famous or wealthy contracted through the agency--and again anything for Claire.

  My friend nodded her head, holding up her leather binder as point made.

  I offered a sincere smile. "Let's go find you a new Dom."

  We exited my car, while I locked up and tossed my keys in my purse, crossing the parking lot to the elevator. My red stilettos clicked on the asphalt and I smoothed a hand down over my black, pinstripe skirt suit, wishing I could have at least worn pants and comfortable shoes for possible ass kicking, but Claire assured me sophistication was key in presenting a unified front and pants wouldn't do. My long, dark auburn hair flapped in the May wind, an anomaly inside the humid heat of the day, but I breathed deep, cleansing my mind.

  A few steps from the elevator, we bypassed a tall, darkly handsome man in a tailored black suit, standing beside a gray, low-slung sports car (a Porsche, I think), running his hands over his phone. He looked up as we passed, his clear-cut blue eyes narrow, hooded, and his expression impassive. He didn't even offer a polite smile as we glided by and I flushed hot under his imposing stare. In fact, a muscle leaped in his cheek as if he grounded his teeth together. I swallowed hard and hastily looked away. God, I hoped he wasn't one of Claire's candidates. I'm not sure how much advocacy I’d have with him. The man oozed scary and I shuddered.

  Thankfully, the elevator arrived and we made our quick retreat with suave efficiency into the urban-swank building next to the parking deck. We reached Avalon's mundane office door at promptly eight-thirty a.m. with little time to spare.

  As we entered the suite, a tall blonde-haired woman greeted us with a glossy smile painted in red, dressed in an impeccably tailored, white suit inside her black and white polka-dotted stilettos. I'm suddenly thankful Claire insisted I wear my skirt-suit. The place reeked of high-end money at just a glance. Everything beamed glitzy, cold art deco with stark white furnishings. A beautiful waterfall sang nearby with black and white sandstone floors, and our heels echoed with a blunt ring.

  I half expected dim lighting, whips and chains hanging from the ceiling with leather-clad people tied up and gagged, not elegance with a stylish chaser--nothing screamed BDSM here. It reminded me of a doctor's office except without the sterile, clean smell and a waiting room full of sick patients, but rather soothing with a fresh fragrance balmy to the senses.

  The blonde held out her hand to greet us. "Ms. Smith, Ms. Lourde I presume?"

  We shook hands with her and nodded. "Yes, we are here for Claire's appointment. I'm Reyna Lourde acting as...Advocate." I omitted the word submissive, embarrassment riding high on my cheeks as I blushed. I'm nervous and a hasty glance at Claire exposed equal discomfort from her. So noted, I've been elected mouthpiece of the operation, I could deal. I did so every day at work taking calls from irate customers, but I'm out of my depth here, sinking fast.

  The blonde's kind smile never faltered. "I'm Mari, Ms. Lourde, please follow me."

  We trekked down a short hallway and veered to the left down a long corridor, leading us to the last door on the right. We entered a lavish sitting room, complete with creamy leather sofas, dark wood tables and chairs along with a wall to floor fish aquarium and continuation of black and white sandstone flooring. Everything shouted comfort and ease within the intimate setting, but somehow I'm anything but comfortable.

  "Please take a seat, ladies," Mari said.

  I couldn't help but wonder what the hell was next. Were the men going to file through the room with numbers as if a meat auction? Sheesh...I needed a smoke badly.

  "Do you have your Non-Disclosure Agreements?"

  Claire nodded. "Yes we do." She pulled out our documents and handed them to our hostess.

  Mari flipped through the paperwork and flashed another smile. "Everything is in order. First, welcome to Avalon. This is a safe environment on neutral ground where Dominants and submissives may make a face-to-face introduction with complete autonomy. However, just a reminder, each conversation is confidential and may not be repeated to anyone per your NDA. Your first candidate will arrive in less than five minutes, Ms. Smith, and you will have up to twenty minutes with each. If you need assistance, buzz the intercom button on the console located on the coffee table, and I will come. After the first interview, both parties wi
ll have an opportunity to contact each other. If no choice is made, then we will resort your profile, Ms. Smith, for another round of matching. All our clients are screened and matched solely on your mutual interests and desires."

  She drew a breath and locked eyes with me. "Ms. Lourde, your role is to keep order and to be sure Ms. Smith isn't overtaken by a decision not of her choosing. You are welcome to comment, but we ask you to limit your questions as to allow the Dominant and submissive a chance to interact due to the restricted time constraints. If you need assistance, please call. Would either of you care for a refreshment?"

  I blanched. Mari said all that with a smile and I cannot imagine drinking a thing...okay...well except for maybe a shot of Tequila, but it's a bit early in the morning. "No, thank you. Claire?" She shook her head and looked away. What's up with her? I'm here for her and she's acting so strange.

  The first candidate arrived a few minutes later and it took all my strength not to laugh. He's past fifty, scrawny and dressed in an ill fitted suit with a gray comb-over and not at all, what I expected in a Dom hopeful for my friend. He commanded the room with disgusting arrogance on the verge of haughty-perv. With introductions aside, he killed the interview, in my opinion, with his opening question.

  "Aside from your preliminary hard and soft limits, Ms. Smith, how open are you to animal play?"

  I recoiled on the threshold of vomiting, mentally shutting down, and imagining myself pulling out my cigarette pack and lighting up, nicotine so needed by far. Please, God, save me zipped through my mind as I fought hard against Claire's lifestyle. I couldn't imagine anyone wanting or accepting any part of this, but I had to hand it to my supposedly shy, submissive friend--she handled herself well, despite her timid behavior. Thank the heavens she told the guy she wasn't interested in his suggestion or I may have exploded. Note to self, a long, languid bath with soothing Bach playing in the background to cleanse my body and soul needed after this half-baked party.