Five Weeks In December

by Blue Kincaid

  Chapters

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Taming Drew Sneak Peek

  Links

  Copyright © 2013 by Blue Kincaid

  For Queen Kate, Minx, Inez and all my Divas

  Thank you for the support, the belief,

  the patience and the help.

  Without you all, this book would never

  have happened.

  Chapter One

  She stood outside his door, unseasonably early snowflakes catching in her dark hair as he peered through the peephole…and Harry’s heart thudded inside him. Afraid. Not of her, specifically – she was all pale skin and wide brown eyes and soft curves. Hardly a menace to a man of his size and strength. The reason behind her presence, however, struck terror into his ever-so-weak soul.

  You invited her, Harry. Open the door.

  He wanted to ignore the little voice, but for once it told the truth. He’d set this particular ball rolling and he couldn’t not open the door. However tempting he found the thought. So he rubbed his palms on his thighs and turned the knob. Considering she’d already been waiting for five full minutes, the warm smile she gave him surprised him.

  “Hello. You must be Harry Everett.” Her breath frosted the air and an errant snowflake landed on her lashes before melting a split second later. “May I come in?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Yes. Come in.”

  He took a step back, eyes closing briefly as she breezed past in a soft cloud of cinnamon, as though she’d been baking prior to turning up on his doorstep. Which of course she hadn’t, but the scent both comforted and aroused him. Harry shut the front door as the heat kicked in with a rattle no amount of money could excise from a DC row house built one and a half centuries ago.

  “Your home is beautiful, Harry.” She unbuttoned her coat and he held his breath, wondering what she wore underneath. A simple red dress, it turned out, and he felt a little foolish for thinking it might be something more daring. Brown eyes smiled, as if she knew what he’d been thinking. He felt like a schoolboy caught ogling the teacher’s legs. “My name is December. And for the next five weeks, I belong to you.”

  Her matter of fact statement hit him like a punch to his stomach, whisking away his breath and yanking him back into the past where he’d spent hours worshipping women like December, savoring those words – ‘I belong to you’ – from their lips. One woman in particular.

  He shook the memories off before they veered into very dangerous territory and instead held out his hand. “Let me take your coat.”

  She seemed to sense he was uncomfortable and simply watched him as he turned and hung her coat in the hallway closet next to his own. For a second, the sight of it hanging there beside his made him lose his breath yet again. It was the wrong color, the wrong size, but its presence there felt familiar in a way that made him slam the closet door shut a little harder than he’d intended. Silence hung heavy in the air for longer than was comfortable. He sighed.

  “I don’t know what happens next.” He turned to face her, frustrated by himself. Everyone said most things in life were like riding a bicycle, that you never really forget, you just…wobble a little. Well, he wobbled, all right, and he hated the feeling. Once upon a time there’d been no man as in control as him. For all the good control had done in the end.

  December held out one hand. “I know. Most people don’t. Why don’t we start with you showing me where I’ll be staying?”

  Harry hesitated, then took her hand. Her skin reminded him of fine silk, warm against his. Oddly, he felt better holding her hand. “Jeremy said you wanted a hotel room at first.” His good friend Jeremy¸ who had floated the idea that perhaps he needed a professional submissive to ‘get his groove back’, whatever that meant. “I appreciate you accommodating my preference to have you stay here.”

  December smiled. “It’s fine. I have the key to the room you paid for. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.”

  A room at the five star hotel a few blocks over was their compromise. December stayed with him, at his disposal for the next five weeks, while Harry paid for a suite at the hotel as insurance on her part that she wouldn’t end up in a strange city with nowhere to go if things didn’t go well. For her that meant protection if he turned out to be a freak or left her high and dry. For him that meant if he came to his senses and backed out of this ridiculous idea, he didn’t have to feel guilty.

  Harry wasn’t as confident that they wouldn’t need that room.

  When she squeezed his hand, he realized he was still just standing there instead of doing what he ought to be doing – showing her the guest room. Christ. “Sorry, upstairs. This way. Here, let me take your bag.”

  She didn’t say anything, not that he gave her much of a chance to. He tried to let go of her hand, but she distracted him by asking a question about the history of the house and before he knew it, they were standing on the third floor landing while he went into detail about the fire in 1873 that swept the entire neighborhood of Adams Morgan, how the section of row houses that included his own had been some of the few left unscathed, though most all had been rebuilt eventually. After a few minutes, he trailed off, realizing he’d been rambling.

  December lifted her brows. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Harry. If you’ll show me which room is mine, I’ll freshen up and meet you downstairs and we can discuss expectations, all right?”

  Harry’s jaw tightened. He turned and gestured to the bedroom behind him. “This one here. There’s a private bath attached.”

  She squeezed his hand again before letting go. “Perfect. Go and relax, Harry. I’ll be down in a little while.”

  Relax. Oh so much easier said than done. He had a submissive in his house and that hadn’t been the case in…two years, three months and twenty-one days. Give or take eight or nine hours.

  He ended up in his study, leaving the door open so December could find him when she came down. December. He wondered if that was her real name. Doubtful. Harry didn’t even know why it mattered. For what he’d paid her, he ought to be able to choose her name. He immediately felt like an asshole, which wasn’t like him at all.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected, but definitely not a soft-eyed, sweet-smiled girl with snowflakes on her lashes. When Jeremy had mentioned a ‘professional’, Harry’s immediate thoughts had been of a Vegas escort or a Julia Roberts type walking Hollywood Boulevard.

  “That’s not what she is, Everett. She’s a submissive, not a whore.”

  “Does she sleep with her clients?”

  “Sheridan says it depends.”

  “That’s a yes. Sounds like a whore to me.”

  Sheridan was Jeremy’s long-term, long-distance submissive. December lived with Sheridan in LA. It could be a little strangely incestuous, but the Lifestyle worked that way – sort of a game of six degrees of separation. Harry had, of course, heard of professional subs but never thought he’d need one. Never even considered it.

  Things changed. Lots of things.

  He glanced up at the sound of bare feet on the wood floors and inwardly flinched. Keeping wood floors warm in the winter bordered on impossible. Then his mind immediately jumped to why her feet were bare. Which reminded him she’d mentioned ‘f
reshening up’. And about the time he made the connection between bare feet and what her definition of freshening up might be, possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever met filled the doorway of his study…in nothing but what might amount to a handful of inches of lace and satin.

  December smiled and Harry noted she wasn’t wearing any lipstick. Her lips were pink and full and made his cock ache. “Is this what you were hoping I had on under my coat earlier, Harry?”

  He nodded, even though he really didn’t want to admit he’d thought something so cliché. Her mostly naked body acted like some kind of erotic truth serum and he didn’t stand a chance.

  She came closer, around to the side of the desk he sat behind and leaned her bare hip on the warm mahogany. Lucky desk. “What else did you hope for, Harry?”

  He lifted his brows. “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “I hoped this wouldn’t be necessary. I don’t pay for sex.”

  December’s smile faded. “Do you often accuse your submissives of being prostitutes?”

  Which… Of course he didn’t. That was insufferably rude. Harry let out a heavy breath. “I apologize. I’m…unsettled. I didn’t really know what to expect. That’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

  It took a few more seconds, but gradually her smile came back. “You give good apology. You’re forgiven. So I take it you didn’t come up with this idea?”

  Harry shook his head, trying not to get distracted by the sleek, soft curves on display fewer than two feet from him. “No. I agreed, obviously, but, well… Jeremy came up with it.”

  “I’m not surprised. Sheridan says he’s a troublemaker.”

  Harry relaxed a little. “He is, yes. I’ve known him since college and he hasn’t changed much to be honest.”

  “Have you?” she asked, one hand reaching out to trail along the smooth edge of the desk, drawing his eye.

  He cleared his throat, meeting her gaze again. “Well, I’d thought so, but I was as much of a little asshole as him and I just called a woman I met ten minutes ago a whore so… I guess not.”

  She laughed, the sound low and sultry. She had a laugh like sweltering summer nights in the deep south, with an accent to match. “I guess not. First things first, Harry. I’m not a prostitute. I’m not an escort. I don’t sleep with clients regularly and those I do sleep with are ones I would choose to sleep with above and beyond my job. The scenes are business, the sex is recreational. All right?”

  His hands lifted in supplication. “Understood.”

  “Which means I haven’t decided if I’m going to sleep with you yet.” Her smile flashed, eyes dark fire. “In case you haven’t noticed, Harry, I’m not a soft, demure sort of sub who’ll crawl for just any Dom and beg prettily for more. I’m a bit more on the mouthy side. From what I hear, you like that sort. True?”

  God, yes. Had, anyway. “Once upon a time, yes.”

  She tilted her head, eyes assessing. He got the feeling she saw a lot. “Not anymore?”

  Here’s where it got sticky. He had no intention of spilling his soul to this woman. Not now, not five weeks from now. “It’s a long story. I haven’t been in the Lifestyle for a couple years. For personal reasons.”

  “I know. I’m your transition, am I? It’s why I took this job even though normally I don’t take jobs where I don’t know the client personally. Sheridan and Jeremy vouched for you and… I think we can help each other.”

  That caught his attention. “Help each other? What is it you need help with?”

  December shrugged. “You have your secrets, Harry. I have mine.”

  He chuckled, nodding. “Understood yet again.”

  She pushed away from the side of the desk and moved around to sit on the arm of one of the leather bound reading chairs in the center of the room. “So…why don’t you tell me what you like? I know that’s a little cliché, but there’s really only one way to start that discussion.”

  Harry frowned. He’d never been asked to lay his fetishes and kinks out like that before. The very small handful of subs he’d had in the past had been girlfriends first, subs later, so they’d known what he was into before the conversation of limits and rules came up. He decided it was best to keep going with the honesty thing and hope that accounted for whatever stumbles he made.

  “I’ve never really had to make a list, so to speak, so bear with me.” She gave him an encouraging smile and Harry took a deep breath, rising from his chair. “You’re right that I like a sub who’s…a challenge. Not necessarily bratty for the sake of being bratty but one who’s demanding.”

  December tilted her head. “Demanding how?”

  “So I have to work for it. Someone who doesn’t just accept, but who demands I be the best Dom I can be for her, not the best Dom for me.” It was harder than he’d thought to have to explain himself this way. “I like a woman who’s hard to take in hand but once she’s in my hands, gives herself completely over to me.” He moved closer, their eyes locked. Something heavy simmered on the air between them. It’d been a very long time since he’d felt anything like it.

  December drew in a breath, head tilting back to look up at him as he stood in front of her. “A girl’s got to know when to concede the battle. And to the victor go the spoils.”

  His cock stirred inside his pants hard enough to draw her attention and she glanced down, then back up with a smile.

  “What else do you like, Harry?”

  He liked her, if he was being honest. And since he was… “You.”

  She laughed, in a way that didn’t seem as if she was laughing at him so much as encouraging him to laugh with her. “You like me right now because I haven’t been anything but a pretty, smiling, sweet little thing. We’ll revisit this conversation in a week or so and you can tell me whether you still like me.” She reached up to thread her slim fingers through his hair. “For the record, though, I like you, too, Harry. I think we’re going to get along very well.”

  Twenty minutes ago, Harry wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he might have told her she was a little bit mental and escorted her off his property. But now? Now he thought that yes…they might get along better than fine.

  Chapter Two

  He gave her Henry Cavill vibes. Before that awful Superman movie. Henry in The Tudors when he defined ‘rake’. Except December thought Harry pretty much defined the exact opposite of a rake.

  No, her new client was a different breed altogether. Proper. Controlled. Afraid.

  It was the fear that had lured her here to Washington DC. What caused a man so in love with control to quake inside at the faintest touch of her hand? December didn’t know and she’d taken the job because she didn’t know. In a line of work that involved a lot of catering to men’s fantasies, this was one client who catered to her own fantasy, the one where she didn’t just allow a man to live out his deepest fantasies, but by… She didn’t even know how to explain it, really. This burning need to do something more. To change a life in some unalterable way only she could. Her momma would say it was because she’d always been the caregiver, the one bringing home every stray, every bird with a broken wing, wanting to heal. To save the lost and the damaged. She suspected Harry wouldn’t be happy to hear himself described that way. What he didn’t know was that she could relate far more than she’d ever admit.

  December looked up at him, her fingers trailing down his strong jaw, the scrape of a day’s worth of beard growth catching with a rasp against her fingernails. “You still haven’t told me what it is you like, Harry. Maybe you’d rather show me.”

  Immediately the heat in his eyes – a stunning Caribbean blue-green – turned up to eleven, making her sweat a little just being so close. “Take off your bra.”

  December’s stomach clenched pleasantly at the quiet, commanding tone. Oh, of course he had a tone like that. This wasn’t a man who shouted or snapped or barked his orders. He purred the words, as if his tongue was lazy and had all the time in the world to wrap around each and
every syllable.

  She wondered if his tongue would be so thorough on a woman’s body.

  Their gazes remained locked as she reached behind her to flick the clasp of her bra open, teeth catching her lower lip as she let the straps slide down her arms and the bra followed, dropping in a small pile of lace and satin on the floor beside her foot.

  Harry looked. Oh, did he look. A long, lingering gaze sweeping down her body and back up, catching and hovering on her now bared breasts. It was always strange being naked – or partially so – in front of someone for the first time. No matter that she knew on a realistic level she possessed a certain amount of conventional beauty, there remained that split second of doubt. Of worry that perhaps he didn’t like what he saw. Were her breasts too large, nipples not small enough, stomach not quite flat in the way Cosmo liked to tell women it ought to be? All those awful, insidious things no man in front of a naked woman for the first time ever thought. She was naked, he was happy – it didn’t usually get more complicated than that. Only women were so cruel to themselves, and December was no exception. As a child, growing up in the south, she’d never worried about her hips or how big her thighs were, but seven years in LA could instill doubts in even the most confident woman.

  One look at Harry’s face told her he fell firmly into the category of “Naked woman = life is beautiful.” The doubts disappeared and she subtly drew her shoulders back, as if presenting her breasts to him, a lush offering. Then Harry did something unexpected. He took a step back.

  Then another, and another, until he sat behind the desk again, leaning back against the leather of his tall chair. Still looking. Still commanding without a word. She was wet and he hadn’t laid a finger on her.

  For several long moments they remained like that. Her half-sitting on the arm of the chair, him leaned back behind his desk just…looking. Her nipples tightened and she actually blushed when he chuckled softly, telling her he’d noticed.

  “Raise your arms.”

  The light bulb went on then and she swayed slightly as a wave of arousal swept through her. Objectification. She slowly raised her arms above her head, crossing her wrists as if she were bound to some invisible hook in the ceiling. She wondered if somewhere in this lovely old home a room existed where eventually she would be bound that way. She hoped so.