He started to protest, but I held up my hand to stop him. “I can’t be in all places at all times, and we’ll be spread thin with our available Titan agents. This is the only way to ensure her safety too. You already have me burning the candle at both ends, with little sleep to run on. Plus, I’m just discovering what a shitfest you’re pulling me into.”
Tennison’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he acquiesced, “You’re right. Do whatever you need to do to fix this. I’ll make sure the club extends her an invite.”
I pulled out my extra cell, the one reserved only for my father, and dialed as I handed it off to Tennison. “My father needs to hear all this from you.”
He reached for the phone and nodded.
I walked into my bedroom and glanced out the window to see if I could find movement in Jesse’s apartment. My watch indicated this was about the time she’d either be sitting in her window seat chatting on the phone with her sister or reading one of her steamy romance novels. The idea of her reading erotica had me smiling, wanting to find out what her favorite scenes are and offering to act them out with her. The memories of our encounter lingered in my mind.
I knew I couldn’t let my mind drift back, not with a long night ahead of me. I needed access to the company records and information into multiple individuals’ backgrounds to try and figure out who’s behind everything and if more than one person is involved.
I watched in the shadows of my bedroom as Jesse sat down on her window seat with her phone. Her hands were quite animated, as she seemed to be in a heated discussion. This only seemed to happen when her sister called. I glanced over to one of the laptops on the nearby desk to verify that it was her sister who’d called. I hated spying on her like this. It almost felt like stalking, but I’d do anything to keep her safe. At least I knew I could get started with work, since I heard Tennison wrapping up with my dad in the other room, and I knew Jesse would be busy on the phone with her sister for at least a couple of hours. It was going to be a long night…
“I’m telling you, MaKenna, I feel like someone’s watching me. I can’t explain it, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up a lot lately. Doesn’t that mean something?” I didn’t know how to explain it, but I knew my sister would somehow be able to make heads or tails of what I was feeling.
We always started our conversations with a cordial greeting, and then got right down to the nitty-gritty of what’s bothering us so that we could focus on any positive aspects in our lives. I couldn’t wait until we hit that part, needing her advice regarding my feelings for tall, dark, and yumminess—a.k.a. “The Master of My Dreams.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, sis. I have my own problems to contend with.” Her voice was frustrated, and my sister was never one to fluster easily. To me, she was kick-ass and then some. I would’ve never had the gumption to follow in our uncle’s footsteps and join the Air Force. I knew her detail in the military was something more than she’d let on, always citing she was in “communications”, which I’d learned a long time ago, thanks to our father’s tales of his brother, meant she must be dealing with some covert-style maneuvers.
I could never do what she’s doing. I knew I didn’t have the stamina for the military, and the idea of having to carry a gun made me cringe…don’t even get me started on the idea of potentially shooting someone…leave that to the professionals. I did, however, like the thought of helping design future aircraft for the military and trying to figure out where to put the weaponry the other engineers designed so the plane could have utmost firepower and maneuverability. So I followed my uncle’s path as well—studying aerospace engineering.
I heard Makenna huff on the phone. I knew she needed to vent, so I gave her the encouragement she needed. “Okay, spill it, sis.”
I listened for the next ten minutes as she’d been debating whether she should continue on with her service to our country or if she should just get out. She’d been fed up, for some time now, with them treating her with kid gloves. She’d secretly acquired a team assignment over in the Middle East. She’d been there for half a year before Dad found out. He’d been furious with her risking her life, citing he couldn’t lose another member of his family, so he called on Mr. Prescott and some of his contacts to have her pulled from the assignment and sent back to the U.S.
I’d blanked out for a moment as Makenna rattled on, until her voice rose in frustration, “I’m trained to carry out covert operations and hack the hell out of computers, and what do they have me doing? I’m watching a bunch of military wives like I’m nothing more than a glorified babysitter, carting their asses all over hell’s creation so they can shop and get their nails done. I mean…come on…I’m trained to do more than that.”
“So what do you plan to do?” I didn’t know how to advise her. I learned a long time ago, thanks to our parents both being psychiatrists, most people just needed to vent and already had an idea of what they wanted; they just needed someone to help guide them to making the realization on their own.
Makenna’s voice sounded defeated. “I think I want out. My tenure is up in three months, and I’ve already been asked if I’m reenlisting. The only problem is the difficulty I’ll have in getting a job. Most of my experience is deemed classified.”
“I wish I could give you some kind of path to…wait a minute.” An idea popped into my mind. “You’re comfortable talking with Alexander, right?”
“You mean Mr. Prescott?” My sister was always more formal than me.
“Yes.”
“You do know he diversified his company and has silent-partnered with a couple of business entities right up your alley. One is a security firm that’s expanding to the area. They tend to hire former military operatives to do various duties and assignments. I don’t know all the details, but Dad made mention that he’s branching out like crazy trying to tap into the latest market trends.
“Or, for that matter, you could talk to one of his new employees, Ethan McDonald. He’s head of Prescott’s cyber security team and has his own side business that helps develop software for companies to prevent cyber attacks.” I got so excited I started jumping up and down, “That’d be so perfect for you, and it would bring you back closer to home.”
“Is Mr. Prescott’s food distribution business failing?”
I shook my head, don’t know why since she couldn’t see it. “No, silly. The import/export business is booming, as always. According to Dad, he happened to see a couple potential business ventures and decided to invest. Besides, Alexander is one of their biggest clients, with first dibs on all the latest safety equipment and software.”
I could hear Makenna humming on the other end—one of her tells when she was thinking things through. “This is my last allowed phone call for today. I’ll give him a call in a couple days to see what he suggests, but don’t tell Dad. I’m still pissed at him for messing with my last assignment.”
I laughed out loud. “I know, honey. You have nothing to worry about here. Would you like me to give Alexander a call tomorrow to let him know not to mention anything to dad?”
“Sure, that’d be great. Now onto a change in subject. Did you ever manage to get into the club our parents used to hang out at? What’s it called again?”
I was thankful she finally wanted to talk about something I needed her help with—I just hoped my giddiness didn’t give me away. “The club is Rapture. It’s a darker edge than our family’s club. I can see why they caved into building one of their own, because the drive from Orlando to here would be horrid.”
“So did you get in with the disguise or what?” She always was Miss Impatient.
“Makenna, did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”
“Yeah. So bite me. I want the 411. I can tell by your voice that something’s up.”
I spent the next fifteen minutes telling her the gist of what happened. How I’d taken her advice and dressed entirely different than I normally would, using a friend’s ID to get into the doors with a gu
est pass for the night. I’d told her about getting caught and how “the Master of My Dreams” easily managed to see through my smoke screen, having me completely unglued and willing to do almost anything he asked within minutes of taking me into that room.
I had stopped, wondering whether I should admit to all the sordid details and emotions spiraling around in my mind. “Are you still there, Jesse? What aren’t you telling me?”
I started crying—I couldn’t help it. “I don’t know who I am, Makenna. I just don’t know. I’m not self-assured like you. You know for a fact that you’re a switch and embrace it. I think since I like to be in charge that I’m a Domme, but a few words out of that man’s mouth, and I was submitting within no time.”
“Don’t cry, honey. No man’s worth shedding tears over. But I do have to ask: did you get over your aversion to penetration? Did you finally do it?”
I took a deep breath in, “No. My mind’s still all messed up from that one bad attempt with my ex-boyfriend.”
“Jesse.” Her voice was thoughtful as she tried to impress, “That guy was scum. All he wanted to do was bang you so he could brag to his friends. Because our parents partially owned the club, everyone thought we were easy targets. What they didn’t understand is we both have standards, ones they couldn’t live up to.”
I could just imagine her shaking her head and pointing her finger at me, which is what Makenna always did when she got in lecture mode. We were both guilty of it, picking the trait up from our mom. “The guy was only interested in self-satisfaction, didn’t even try to get you warmed up with any foreplay or anything. No wonder you’re scared shitless that it’s going to hurt. Any man who’s worth his weight in gold knows how to prepare a woman to make the experience beyond enjoyable for both of you. Any Dom, with the right knowledge, would bring you to climax a few times before he ever tried to enter you, and he’d deny his pleasure until you’re satiated.”
I guess what she was saying was true. I’ve let one bad experience prevent me from taking it any further with anyone I’ve dated. It hasn’t been many people, and I’m pretty inexperienced compared to some women my age. Sure, I’ve seen plenty, having spent time in the club in Orlando as a spectator, but never as a participator.
“Listen, my time’s almost up, Jesse, and someone else is waiting to use the phone. I don’t know why the club is trying to block you, but I know there are other clubs down there you could go to. Just follow your heart and let your mind decide who you are. If I was a betting person, I’d say you’re more of a submissive than anything. They’re often strong-willed women in life, but want someone else to take the lead in the bedroom. Heck, look at Mrs. Prescott, her friend Mrs. Lombardi, and even Mom.”
“Eww. TMI, sis, TMI! You overstepped the line with the last one.” I wrinkled my nose up in disgust. I didn’t want a mental image of my mother submitting. It was hard enough to know the other women were submissive.
“Sorry. I’m just suggesting you might want to embrace the idea and see where it goes. You didn’t give me much to go on, detail wise, so I don’t know if he’s the right guy for you. I will say any man that can have you unglued, getting you out of your head for even a moment, is worth a second chance. He may not be your soul mate, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun and let go for a bit. You hear what I’m saying?”
I knew I was high-strung, and she was right. Maybe I should take a chance for once and throw all caution to the wind. “I get it. I’ll try, but no promises.”
“I’ve got to go. Thanks for the suggestion about calling Mr. Prescott. I’ll be in touch soon. Love you, sis!” Her voice was so rushed, and I could hear someone in the background asking her to hurry up.
“Love you, too, sis. Bye for now and be safe.”
The line went dead, and I was sad that our chats were always limited. I was feeling confused and a little depressed on how our talk went. I needed a pick-me-up, so I put the phone on the floor and stretched out in the window seat with the paperback I’d left tucked into the corner of the window.
Seeing the ripped abdominals of the man on the cover brought back visions of him—the Master of My Dreams. A shudder rocked through me, and I could feel my heart rate increase at the memory of him, of his touch, his words, and his smell: bergamot mixed with undertones of musk.
I shook my head to clear my mind and focus on my reading, but I had the creepy feeling that someone was watching me, because the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end again. I looked out my window to see if there was anyone by the pool or looking out their window. I slumped my shoulders in defeat, admitting to myself that I must be imagining things, when I suddenly noticed a dull light on in the window across the way. There was a man, who’d just moved in about a month ago, working away at his computer. His face was mostly in shadow, so I only got a glimpse of his biceps straining against the sleeve of the t-shirt. Wish I could catch the eye of someone with that kind of physique. Silly, have you forgotten how strong the Master’s arms and hands were? You had a ripped guy within your grasp and let him get away. My subconscious was right.
I opened the book to the last page I’d read: the heroine had just stepped into a masquerade party her friends had talked her into joining at the local BDSM club’s open night. She’d never been so uncomfortable in her life—dressed in a skimpy outfit, feeling out of place, and desperate to hide. Boy, did I know that feeling. A man in a mask approached her as her friends went to go get drinks. The instant their hands touched, a surge of current pulsed through her body, lighting her up for the first time. She’d looked up into his eyes and knew he’d felt it too. He offered her his hand and a chance to talk privately, as he led her to a room in the back. She was nervous as he opened the door and…
My mind often separated from reality as I immersed myself in the storylines of the books. I’d place myself in the characters’ roles and try to imagine the experiences they felt. However, the storyline was now so close to what I’d experienced that it had me drifting back to that night in the club.
I’d been scared when he’d grabbed my hand and told me I shouldn’t be there. I was afraid I’d get kicked out again. I still couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed into the club that my parents and their friends had visited when I was younger. Was I not dressed the part? Did I not meet their standards? I was a paying customer; I had every right to be there.
The room he’d brought me to was filled with all kinds of implements meant to punish those for infractions against their Master or Mistress. I knew the items. Heck, I spent many years being curious about what went on in the club my parents co-owned. I’d been a voyeur, too afraid of my own shadow to actually try anything with anyone. I wore a fake collar pretending to be claimed so no one would touch me. That night as a Domme, however, I had to leave it off, or I’d give away my submissive nature. But I wanted to see what the club was about. I’d always heard it drew an edgier crowd.
The equipment in the punishment room hadn’t alarmed me, only that he’d locked the door. I didn’t know him for nothing, but something about him felt familiar, comfortable. I couldn’t explain it. None of the Masters or Doms I’d encountered had ever made me feel at ease. I’d always felt the need to hide, but not with him.
Who was he? All I could see were his gray-blue eyes rimmed with charcoal and speckled with silver flakes, reminding me of one of my favorite dessert toppings: winter colored sprinkles for white chocolate ice cream, yum. It sent a shiver through me, just thinking about the chilled dessert compared to the heat coming off this fine specimen of man in front of me. I watched as he leaned down, as his eyes traveled over the length of my body and back to my face. A half-smile broke across his face, before he returned to his full height of at least six feet.
He was definitely dressed like a Master: black leather pants, boots, and an armband signaling his Master status. Some Masters opted to wear leather vests, while others chose to go without. I was thankful I could see his smooth, hairless chest, defined ripples of six-pack abdomi
nals, and that faint, little happy-trail of hair that disappeared into his pants—which clung to him like a second skin. The sculpted V of his pelvis acted as an arrow highlighting the thickness of his crotch. I swallowed hard, taking in the large bulge of his obvious erection.
I couldn’t understand why he had a mask on, covering all but his mouth and chin. Most knew that what went on behind the doors of a club stayed there because of the Non-Disclosure Policies every member had to sign. What was he hiding? Why couldn’t I see the rest of his face or his hair?
I jumped back quickly, feeling a bit intimidated by his stature. “Why am I here? Why are you doing this?”
He held his hands up in surrender—showing he meant me no harm—as he took a step back, leaning against the door and propping one foot against it for leverage. “Why don’t we cut the act, Mistress? We both know you’re not supposed to be in this club, and there’s no way in hell you’re a Domme.”
He saw right through me without even trying. What was it with him? I didn’t like being called out, and I wouldn’t tolerate being scolded. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, stood tall as I looked him in the eyes and defied his accusation, and stomped my foot, “I could be a switch.”
His laugh filled the room as he pushed off from the door and walked within inches of me. Had I not been wearing fuck-me five-inch heels, he’d have towered over me. As it was, though, I didn’t have to look up that much to see his eyes darken with intensity.
He looked down at the cleavage I was now sporting, thanks to my crossed arms. I just prayed he didn’t see my nipples poking through as they rubbed painfully against the leather of the corset I was wearing. “You could be a switch, but we both know you’re lying. How about a little wager?” His minty breath blew across my face, making me close my eyes and sway slightly. Between his breath and glacial stare, I felt like a piece of ice melting from the intense heat he was stirring within me; a heat I’d never encountered before.
Derrick's Choice (Titan Security Book 1) Page 4
