“Because all of this”—I wave out to the room—“can bring emotion and that creates a release.” I pause, trying to keep this simple for a woman who wouldn’t understand the pleasure that can come from a cane. “Sometimes it can be therapeutic and other times it can simply bring a more intense orgasm.”
She laughs, her eyes warming. “I like the second part of that little speech there.”
“I imagine you would.”
“Then why didn’t you use all of these things on me?”
“Because, for now, I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
I chuckle, brushing my fingers across her cheek. “That’s a good question, and I don’t have an answer.” It’s a question I’m asking myself. Our sex tonight, even if it included bondage and the crop, is very vanilla. But I enjoyed it. A lot. Sex with her, and what I want from that sex, is different from what I want with other women. I just don’t know how to tell her that, or if I even should.
Luckily, she clearly reads my lack of interest in talking about it more than we have, and she changes the subject so I don’t have to explain. “All right, so these women you were with, did you pay them?”
“Not in the sense you’re thinking of.” I stroke my finger over her bare shoulder. “They weren’t prostitutes.”
“What were they, then?”
I slide my finger up her smooth neck to her pulse point, feeling the slow beat beneath my touch. “They’re members of this club.”
“That’s how you met them?”
“Yes,” I reply, watching her face intently, trying to understand what’s on her mind. “It’s how they got on my radar.”
She pauses, eyebrows drawn. Then, “Okay, so how did money factor in?”
“It always came into things at the end of our arrangement.” I inhale a long breath and blow it out slowly, relishing the silence filling me. “The thing is, money tends to buy loyalty.”
She lies straighter on her back now, her head resting on the top of my thigh, eyes curious. “Do you mean that you’d give them money after you ended things with them for their silence?”
“In part,” I agree. “But I also did it because I took care of them, gave them what I could.”
“Because of what they gave to you?” she asks.
I nod.
She watches me a minute and then takes my hand in hers, sliding her fingers against mine. “No one ever spoke out, telling the world what you do here?”
“No. Not ever.”
“And you trust they won’t?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
I ponder, considering how to put this to her. It’s hard to explain a D/s relationship to a vanilla woman. The dynamics aren’t so easily said with words. “There’s a respect there that they have for me because of what I’ve done for them.” I pause. “What I’ve been for them. What I gave to them. They wouldn’t want to hurt me.”
“But there’s no love there, no affection?”
I shake my head. “No. There’s respect.”
She glances away, her expression pinched in thought. Then she finally draws in a deep breath before addressing me again. “Okay, I guess I can understand that. But have any of them ever wanted anything more from you?”
“More money, you mean?”
She nods. “Yes, usually people always come back asking for more.”
I bark an unamused laugh. “Taylor, I didn’t involve myself with random women after my money. The women I entered into this arrangement with were not only vetted, they were also picked by me because of their loyalty to their previous Dominants.”
Silence cuts through the air. Heavy silence in which I’m wondering if I’ve said something wrong. I rub away the tight lines between her eyebrows. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her eyes become pained. “I’m just thinking that sounds really, really sad.”
“Sad?” That’s an unexpected response. “Why sad?”
“Because you’re still being you,” she says gently, reaching up to cup my cheek, “still being the hero. Being the guy who swoops in and saves everyone. Being the man who makes sure a woman has all she needs in the way he can give it to her. But, in this case, you’re giving that to women who are picked by you specifically because you know they won’t love back.”
I freeze, coldness sweeping through me. I don’t like where she’s going with this. I don’t like how it makes me feel. “Believe me, it wasn’t a sad arrangement.”
The look in her eyes tells me she doesn’t believe me at all. Yet she turns back onto her side, returning her cheek to my thigh, staring at the wall of toys. And that doesn’t surprise me. Taylor knows when not to push me. She knows when I’ll shut down.
“Does this type of play still interest you?” she eventually asks.
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a very long time. “I’m not sure,” I tell her truthfully, stroking her hair again. “I’m not sure it’s something that ever leaves you. Being dominant is a part of my personality that I discovered and explored.”
“But maybe it’s been explored enough?” she offers.
“That’s the question that needs answering.” I need something, though. I’m restless lately. Somehow, I feel like the answer involves Taylor or what I feel with her. But it’s all hazy and hard to reach to come to any firm conclusions.
She sighs deeply. “You know, I’d offer up some fabulous advice here, but I don’t think I’m in any position to give anyone advice on their life.” She tenses, clearly reminded of her situation.
And that’s not what I want. “Your life is fine. You’ve just hit a speed bump, that’s all.”
She snorts. “It seems like I’ve hit a lot of them ever since I left…”
You remains unsaid. But she’s wrong. She didn’t leave me. I made her leave. I broke her heart. I was a foolish young man on a quest to rule the world. I wanted money. I wanted sex, in any way I wanted it. Now, though, as I lie here with her, I can’t help but wonder if I would have had all those things with her.
If I had listened to her back then and didn’t push her away, what would we have become? What would she have become? She fights her way back because she’s a survivor, but if I’d just been what she needed back then her life would be very different now.
I failed her.
I could never fail her again.
She adds softly, “But things are getting better.” Her eyes twinkle up at me. “And I have you to thank for that.”
Fuck, I don’t deserve her affection. I give her a small smile as the only answer I’m prepared to give.
Obviously she feels the growing tension, and she wiggles to move, and I close my hands in her hair. “Stay still.” A long sigh issues from deep within her chest, and she once again lets go and rests against me. “I like this,” I tell her, opening my fingers to drag them through her soft, silky hair.
“You like this?” she repeats.
Two things can relax me this way. A cabin in the woods where the only noise is birds chirping, and Taylor. “You quiet me.”
I hear the smile in her voice. “Is that a compliment? That sounds boring.”
“Believe me, it’s not.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because you’re the only one who makes me feel this calm.”
Silence.
And I let there be silence, because sometimes it’s through the silence that so much gets said.
Chapter 11
Taylor
On Monday, after a long busy day of meetings and getting to know all the bigwigs at Bennett, Inc., I’m standing in the break room, stirring some sugar and cream into my coffee, wanting to be anywhere but here. Mondays are a punishment that no one should have to endure. This day has felt extraordinarily long. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. But at least my mood’s good. Hell, I’m sore in places I didn’t know could hurt after sex. It’s a yummy kind of sore. It makes me think of my weekend with Darius, and how we’d shut out the
world, spending all of Sunday together in my bed and very naked.
Warmth slides into my veins at the memory of his touch and his whispering naughty words in my ear with that low sexy voice, just that easily. God, what a man he is, and how alive he makes me feel. My skin begins to tingle and my panties begin to feel wet, instantly reminding me I shouldn’t be thinking these things at work.
Later, I tell myself with a grin, just as my cellphone beeps.
I grab it from my back pocket, looking at the screen, seeing it’s from Allie, and feeling a world of guilt. I’m going to have to tell her about Darius and me. Hell, I want to tell her, but I also need to figure out what we are first. She won’t be happy, and of course she wouldn’t because Darius hurt me before. So I know I need to find a way to tell her, Listen, I’m sleeping with your brother because he’s friggin’ hot as hell and rockin’ my world, but this is strictly a friends with benefits type of thing and you have nothing to worry about. That seemed pretty easy in my head, but not so easy getting it out of my mouth. Because talking about Darius to Allie is weird. And that’s just a fact.
I push the thoughts away for now, knowing I have a lot more to deal with than my great sex life with Darius, and read her text: Missed chatting with you this weekend. Where were you?
Spending it getting banged by your brother, I want to say. Instead I reply: Just lazed around the house. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday when you texted. I wanted to unplug. You?
We worked on Saturday and then yesterday we spent the day on Micah’s boat. I called you to come. Man, I sunbathed, swam, and snorkeled. Amazing day! Maybe we can go out next time.
While it did sound like an amazing day, I wouldn’t have changed my day with Darius for anything. Next time for sure. I wouldn’t miss it.
Okay, just heading into a showing soon, but Micah wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go to the movies with us tonight. Total guys’ movie, but it has Alexander Skarsgård in it.
Sold, I text back. Not only might it not be a bad thing for me to be photographed with Micah and Allie, showing that I’m very much single, but staring at Alexander Skarsgård for a couple hours sounds great to me. Want me to meet you there?
Nope, we’ll come get you after dinner. Cool?
Cool. See you then.
I place my cellphone in my back pocket. Plans made for the night, and kinda happy with myself too, considering it does make me feel independent not waiting around for Darius to call. I reach for my mug, grab the file folder on the countertop, and leave the break room. I make my way toward my last meeting of the day, so ready to be home again.
In a few short steps, I enter the meeting room, spotting my four o’clock interview, Sally Higgins. She’s sitting at the rectangular table, applying for a secretarial job to the Director of Project Management. She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I give her a quick study. Young and cute, the brunette looks no more than twenty years old. She’s dressed in a fashionable ruffled blouse, wearing big, gold hoop earrings, and she’s got a handful of gold and silver bracelets on her wrists.
I wait for one of my co-workers to walk by me in the hallway before I clear my throat to gain Sally’s attention. When she lifts her head, her round blue eyes, surrounded by dark black lashes, begin to widen. “It’s you.”
Convinced she’s talking about someone else, I glance over my shoulder, checking to see if someone is behind me. “Me?” I ask, turning back to her and pointing at my chest.
“Yeah, you.” Her Juvederm-filled lips curve. “You’re the girl who dated Darius Bennett before he started dating the other chick.”
I blink, realizing she’s talking about Alex and Darius’s attempt to stop the tabloids from focusing on me. I’ve already decided not to hire Sally because of that one line. Darius doesn’t need anyone working for him who cares about the tabloids as much as this girl does.
Sadly, I also can’t walk out the door now. I have a job to do.
Not too happy about it, I shut the door behind me. “Yes, that would be me,” I say, taking my seat across from her.
“Do you hate him?” she asks, all bright-eyed.
“Um, no.” How is this any of her business? Trying to stay on task, I begin, “Today, we’re—”
“What was it like dating him?”
I hear the awe in her voice, and I restrain my sigh. This girl clearly doesn’t care that Bennett, Inc. will fulfill her career goals. She’s here for relationship goals with the guy I’m sleeping with. I’m holding back my glare when I open the file folder and smile tightly at her. “Today, we’re here to discuss a secretary position—”
“Amazing, right?” she asks. “I bet he spoiled you rotten.”
I’m beginning to frown at Sally. “Why don’t you tell me—”
“You know, it’s really terrible what he did to you,” she’s saying, clearly not catching on that I’m doing my best to avoid this conversation, and looking at her long red fingernails. “Being with that other girl.” She lifts her head then, swirling her chair from side to side. “You know, with all that happened to you.”
A chilly shiver run downs my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I don’t know why I’m taking the bait, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “What do you mean, with all that happened to me?”
“You know”—she leans forward a little, her big fake breasts nearly falling out of her blouse—“being beaten up and all.”
That shiver now turns ice-cold, my hands gripping the armrests tight. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, is that not true or something?” She leans back in her chair, as if she hasn’t dropped a bombshell on me. “I’ve heard that you shouldn’t always believe what they print in the tabloids.”
I can barely breathe, my heart hammering in my chest. “What are you talking about?” I ask, firmer now.
“Damn,” she drawls, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Girl, have you not seen today’s magazine?” She reaches down into her big flashy purse and pulls out Gotcha!, flipping through the pages. “They’ve written a story about how your ex-boyfriend hit you.” She lowers the magazine, her eyes scanning my face. “But there’re no bruises on your face.”
Only because I have makeup on to ensure no one sees them. “Can I see that magazine, please?” I keep my voice as calm as possible and flex my muscles so my hand doesn’t shake.
“Oh, yeah, sure.” She hands me her copy of Gotcha!
I glance at the cover first, seeing another photo of Darius and me sitting outside of Allie’s condo. Of course they had to reuse the photo. Darius and I had been careful not to give them another story. But then I flip the page and read the article: Did Darius Bennett become a superhero and save his new girl from years of abuse? Our sources say, YES!
There’re more words written on the page but I can’t see them. Black noise sounds in my ears and the walls are closing in on me. Questions begin racing through my mind: How do they know about this…and so fast? Yes, I knew they might find this information out. But to dig into my life that quick seems not only very unlikely, but also impossible. Why didn’t they print the story with Alex? It seemed like the logical choice. My boring story? Or Darius’s interesting love life? Why are they still going after me?
I slowly feel my world spiraling out of control, as the weight of all this slams into me, when an annoying voice says, “I guess the tabloids got it wrong, huh?”
I glance up, tightening my fingers around the magazine, hoping that stops the shaking of my fingers. The world knows…my parents will know…“Pardon?”
“The tabloids”—Sally gestures at the magazine with a flick of her hand—“they obviously got your story wrong. You should sue them. I’ve heard people are getting a lot of money from them.”
That’s the last thing I’m thinking of doing. Crawling into a hole and hiding sounds more appropriate. “Maybe I should,” is my reply as I hand her the magazine.
I want to run. I want to get out of here and go home where I know I’m safe. But not only do I have a job to d
o, but I refuse to give the tabloids another story. I can only imagine that Sally will run, telling them how I reacted, if I melt down now.
I shut my eyes and draw in a deep breath, regaining my composure. Then I look at the file folder in front of me. “All right,” I say, pretending to be interested in what this girl has to say. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
Sally grins, flashing me sparkling white teeth. “I’ll be the best secretary you’ve ever seen….”
After that, I don’t hear a single word, but nod and smile absentmindedly. My mind is fixated on the repercussions from this story being unleashed onto the world and the shitstorm I’ll be facing.
I had told Darius, There are some things even you can’t protect me from. And I realize that I’d never hated, more than this moment right now, to have been right.
Darius
I enter my condo after my workday, not wanting to be here and wanting to support Taylor after the tabloid article came out earlier today, but knowing I have no choice. My home is the only place I know is safe, and I need privacy for the conversation ahead of me tonight.
The elevator doors shut behind me as I step into the grand living room of the waterfront condo that I purchased after Allie moved out. We had lived in the suburbs because that’s how she’d been raised, and it felt right to keep her in that environment. But this condo, with its curved glass walls and the 360-degree view of the bay, including the Golden Gate Bridge, is more my style.
When I enter the chef’s kitchen, gazing over the Carrara countertops and charcoal-hued cabinetry, my heavily accented Polish housekeeper says, “Dinner is in the oven and ready in five minutes, Mr. Bennett.”
“Thank you, Barbara,” I say, not having the heart to tell her I already ate. She’s worked for me for the last five years, ever since I bought this place, and she’s as close to a mother figure as I’ve ever had. She even bakes cookies for me every so often. “It smells delicious.”
She gives me her big warm smile, her pale blue eyes sparkling, before she grabs her coat off the back of the chair. “Have a good evening, sir.”
Tied to His Betrayal Page 13
