I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  A moment later, I realized I could. Should, even.

  But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

  "Laughing wouldn't be professional," I said. "You'll probably want to try your standup routine on someone else."

  Just as we got our drinks, I felt someone clap me on the shoulder. As the vodka sloshed over my shoes, I turned around, irritation written across my face.

  "Hey, my man! I'll talk to you later!" the culprit called out, as he disappeared into the crowd.

  I turned to Jenna, ready to answer her unspoken question in the form of a rant, but she was still staring after him. Her mouth was hanging open slightly. "You know Spencer Holloway?" Her voice was tinged with awe.

  Briefly, I racked my brain for a reason why she'd know that name. "Yes," I said, looking nonchalant about it. He was certainly a bigger deal than I was - richer, and more influential, so it was only logical she'd be a bit star-struck. Still, a little twinge of jealousy wormed its way through my chest. "Why, are you a fan?"

  Jenna's eyes were like saucers. "He owns two of the biggest film studios in the world, Ben. Did you seriously not think to mention that you happened to know the guy who controls half of the film industry?"

  I'd actually forgotten. Spencer put more of his effort into the telecom side of things, so we'd never talked about his entertainment empire. From what I understood, he was mostly hands-off.

  "I don't think he pays too much attention to all that," I said. "It was just a series of lucky acquisitions. Why, do you think he'll give you career boost?"

  "He could give me a career," she hissed. "Period. At least introduce me to him."

  Honestly, I was surprised. I'd never seen this side of her ambition, and I'd always assumed she would have too much misplaced pride to care if I had any useful industry connections. Instead, she was like a shark who smelled blood in the water.

  "I'll do you one better than that," I said, smoothly. "But you have to do something for me."

  She frowned. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not looking for any special favors. Just a chance to talk to him. If I can't win him over on my own merits..."

  Oh, fuck no. Spencer Holloway could charm the clothes off anyone. Literally. I couldn't let them be alone together, or I risked the whole thing blowing up in my face. Hell, just a picture of them with their heads together at a party would be enough to raise Daria's suspicions. I wasn't the jealous type, but I never let her near him. I didn't like to tempt fate.

  I shook my head. "I'm here to tell you, that'll never work. Let me handle this. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you don't want to botch it. I'll give him your reel, but he won't pull any strings for you unless he really likes it. He doesn't me any favors. You won't be getting any special treatment - just an opportunity. No different than this, except he'll actually remember it, because he'll ideally be sober at the time."

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, considering this.

  "Fine," she said. "So what do I have to do for you?"

  "You already agreed to do it," I said, mildly. "Doesn't matter what it is."

  "Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes. "We're not doing playground rules. That was clearly a conditional agreement."

  "No playground rules? What is this, Thunderdome?" I protested. She just glared at me. "Agree right now, or it's no deal."

  "You don't play fair," she said. "You know if I don't like it, I'll just walk away, right?"

  I knew. I knew all too well.

  "That's fine," I said. "But you know I'm a reasonable man. Do we have a deal?"

  "Yeah." She smiled, secretively, lifting her empty glass. "We've got a deal."

  ***

  Oddly enough, Jenna didn't stay glued to my side the entire night. She actually started talking to people, and at times, we drifted far enough apart that I lost track of how much she was drinking. But after a few hours, when I ran into her again, the shine of her eyes made it all too obvious.

  "I think you might've been right about the women in the room," she purred, sauntering up to me with an unsteady gait. "I've been getting some eyes."

  The mental image was enough to send me spiraling back down to the same insanity that had overtaken me in the limo. I shook my head to banish the thoughts. "I'm tired of everyone in this room staring at you like they want a piece of what's mine."

  A moment later I realized what I'd said, but Jenna didn't correct me. "Oh, don't pretend like you wouldn't love it."

  "Honestly? The only thing I'd love right now is something I probably shouldn't talk about. Since we're in public, and you're drunk, and all."

  "I'm not drunk," she insisted, in the way only drunk people do. She seized my hand, taking the opportunity to draw little circles in my palm with her finger. "I could stand to go home, though."

  "That's probably for the best." I had to get away from her. This wasn't a fun game anymore, now that I knew there was no chance of a satisfying ending. She was too far gone. She needed to go home and sleep it off, and hopefully forget about how many times I tried to devour her with my eyes.

  We said our goodbyes, as quickly and discreetly as possible - not that she was the only one there who'd overindulged, but I didn't want her to feel embarrassed in the morning.

  Tim had the town car waiting, and I bundled her in before taking my seat.

  "Time to take you home," I said, as I held her seatbelt buckle steady for her. She still managed to stab the metal connector into my hand several times before hitting home.

  "What about our deal?" She was pouting. "I want to know what it is."

  "We'll talk about it tomorrow," I insisted. "Tonight, you need some rest."

  I'd planned for her to come home with me, very visibly, so no one could mistake our inevitable trajectory towards cohabitation. But now, it didn't feel right. I'd never take advantage of her like this, no matter how much I'd spent the night salivating over her. But it didn't look good - did it?

  "I don't wanna go home," she protested, flopping against me. "It's cold there. And too quiet."

  "Turn up the heat." I dutifully removed her hand from my thigh. I'd spent so much of the evening in a haze of denied arousal that it hardly even affected me anymore. I wasn't sure if my dick would ever go completely limp again. I wondered if this was the sort of scenario you should call a doctor about.

  She just giggled.

  "Did you want to take her home, boss?" Tim was stoic, as always. God love the man.

  "NO!" she protested, loudly. "I wanna...I don't wanna go home."

  Her hand was creeping up my thigh again.

  We were dating. It wasn't weird for me to take her home falling-down drunk. No one would think I was an asshole. Good boyfriends were supposed to do this.

  "No, that's fine, Tim. She'll stay at my place tonight."

  "Yaaaay," she said, softly, her head resting heavily on my shoulder.

  For a long time, the car was completely silent except for the soft, abstract humming of road noise.

  "Were you thinking about spanking me?"

  My whole body jolted to attention. I frantically stabbed the button to raise the partition, although I wasn't sure why I cared so much.

  "What?" I hissed, pulling her hand off my thigh again.

  "Earlier," she muttered. "In the car, when you got all hot and bothered. Were you thinking about spanking me?"

  Oh, God. Was it that obvious?

  Hell. She asked. With any luck, all of this would fade in the morning anyway.

  "Yes," I said, gruffly. "Among other things."

  She smiled, eyes still closed. "I don't know why, but I like that."

  I know why.

  "I don't want to talk about this right now," I said, that frustrating throb rising in my groin again. "I've been fighting to keep my hands off you all night, and now I'm fighting to keep your hands off me."

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I shouldn't. It's just...it's nice to pretend." She sighed. "But we have to talk about it now. Now's the time when it's safe. I know you wo
n't let anything happen. You're an ass, but you're not that kind of ass."

  "I won't," I assured her. "But that doesn't give you free license to torture me with what I can never have."

  "Never?" she repeated, opening one eye. "What makes you say never?"

  My heart was throbbing now, too, as much as I didn't want to admit it.

  "I don't know," I said, cautiously. "Just a safe assumption, I suppose."

  "Never is a long time," she said. "Can I tell you a secret?"

  I had a feeling I was going to regret this. "Yes."

  She grinned. "I think you're gonna have to buy me a new dress every time we go out. It's this Pavlovian thing. Every time I put on the other one, I get all..." She made a series of vague hand gestures. "A-flutter. You know what I mean."

  Unfortunately, I did.

  "And now this one's gonna have the same problem," she whispered. "You know how I can tell?"

  Please don't say it. Please don't say it. Please don't say it.

  "I know I should bite my tongue." She sighed, gripping my bicep like she was drowning, and I was her only lifeline. "But damn it, Mr. Chase, I want you so bad right now."

  I groaned out loud, letting my head hit the back of the seat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ben

  It didn't take as long as I'd feared to get her trundled into bed, with a bottle of water and ibuprofen waiting for her on the nightstand. She was sleepy and pliant by the time we got home. Her eyes shone with trust, which I hadn't earned, but would never dare betray.

  Of course, I had my limits. I let her kiss me goodnight. Once. On the lips, but no tongue.

  And once I was locked in my own bedroom, I didn't even bother to shuck off my jacket or loosen my tie before I sought the relief my body so desperately craved. My clothes had felt like a prison all night, chafing against my skin, my collar too tight, and my jacket might as well have been asylum-issue. But now, with my back against the door, all I did was unzip with shaking hands and bring myself off with a few vicious strokes.

  It was embarrassingly quick, even considering the ordeal I'd just been through.

  Ordeal. All I did was spend the evening in the company of an attractive woman. I was thinking about it like I'd been through a war. What the hell happened to me? When did I become such a pathetic sex fiend?

  I couldn't let this happen again. Another night like this, and I'd actually lose my mind. It was like junior high all over again. I had no self-control, and no ability to think beyond the various ways in which my body craved to connect with hers.

  As if that wasn't enough to make me feel like a waste of space, there was the way she reacted to me. And the fact that it just felt right. Of course she liked me. Of course she wanted me. That was the way it should be.

  Look, it's not like I was some caveman, but I grew up watching the same movies everybody else did. Work hard, get smart, triumph over those who want to drag you down, and you win a girl.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  Her wants and needs, hell, her personality, didn't even seem to enter into the equation. She was always just sort of wandering around the sidelines with a vacant smile on her face, waiting for more poor schmuck to discover that the power was inside him all along. And then, boom, the bra and panties went flying off.

  I knew the real world didn't work that way, but nobody ever bothered to explain how it did work. So I guess when I met Daria, and she seemed to already like me for some inexplicable reason, I figured my work was done. I didn't have to keep working to hold her interest; I'd won her already.

  But you should know better, Chase! You're a God damn billionaire scientist - what's wrong with you?

  Hell, how should I know? The smartest men in the world turn stupid when women are involved. It's a proven fact. What chance did I have?

  ***

  Amazingly, by the time I came downstairs, Jenna was already awake.

  I'd taken my time getting ready, assuming she'd be asleep well into the mid-morning. But I'd forgotten that conversation with Maddy that implied they'd once both been veteran drinkers, and even if Maddy had fallen behind because of her pregnancy and breastfeeding, that didn't mean Jenna had.

  I froze in the kitchen doorway when I saw her, perched on one of the stools. "Good morning," she said. "I made coffee."

  She had, indeed. While her face stayed mostly buried in her own mug, I could feel her eyes glued to me as I navigated my way around the kitchen, looking for...something. How was it that I was the one feeling embarrassed?

  Now that I knew her size, I'd bought a few more outfits for her and stocked the guest room she'd chosen. She looked phenomenal in dark jeans and a simple cream blouse, which was no surprise. But seeing her in that dress last night had opened up a whole new level of appreciation for her beauty on all levels.

  "No rush, but I wanted to talk about the terms of our deal," she said, matter-of-factly. "Whenever you're feeling up to it." Her eyes narrowed a little. "Speaking of which, are you feeling okay?"

  "Fine," I said, pouring a cup of coffee. "I know you probably don't remember this, but..."

  "I remember last night." Her voice was remarkably calm, and it was like she was watching me for a reaction. What the hell? Why did this woman leave me feeling so unsteady? I was supposed to be the one in control. "You put up that asshole alpha male front, but you're really a perfect gentleman." She smiled.

  "Thanks," I muttered, staring into my coffee. "But I don't know if that really qualifies as gentlemanly." A sudden thought came to me, and I glared at her. "Were you acting?"

  Her cheeks went slightly pink. Finally. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "I did have quite a few drinks, though."

  "Oh, my God." I buried my head in my hands. "Well, I know who I'll be nominating for the Oscar."

  "Come on, don't take it like that." She reached out and nudged my arm. "It was only, like, thirty percent played-up."

  "Which thirty percent?" I looked up, blearily. "Or do I not want to know?"

  Her mouth twitched. "A good magician never reveals her secrets."

  "Fuck me." I gripped my coffee mug. "You're not a magician, Jenna."

  "We'll let the Academy be the judge of that," she said. "When you're ready to talk turkey, meet me in the library."

  Well.

  That settled that. I had a few ideas of how could sweeten the pot, so to speak, to merit the extra favor on my part. Given her behavior, it seemed appropriate to pick the most devious one.

  Two could play at this game.

  After a series of deep, calming breaths, I walked into the library and sat down at my desk. She watched me with mild interest, until I folded my hands and spoke.

  "I thought of a way you could lend some credence to our relationship," I said. "But as a fair warning - you're not going to like it."

  Shrugging, she waited for the bomb to drop.

  "You know a little bit about the lifestyle I lead. I have friends there. Professional associates, even, although we follow unspoken rules of conduct when it comes to keeping business and pleasure separate. There's one club in particular that I typically visit, at least once or twice a month. If you come with me, nobody will doubt our relationship's real. My ex-wife still knows a lot of the people there, and word travels fast in the community. If you show up by my side, that's practically half the battle."

  She crossed her legs, leaning forward as if she was a journalist about to uncover a particularly juicy tidbit. "You want me to play your submissive?"

  She was smiling, a little. She wasn't running away. I shifted in my seat, suddenly overwhelmed with an image of Jenna in a beautiful little collar, connected to a delicate silver chain - and me on the other end, showing her off to the club.

  "I'll be honest," I said, trying to slow my racing pulse. "I was expecting more of a fight."

  "It makes sense, though. I mean, your ex-wife might believe I've cured you of your wickedness, but it seems like an easier sell if she thinks you've corrupted me." There was something playfu
l in her tone, but I also knew it was rooted in her actual feelings about my proclivities. "So, what are the terms?"

  I considered for a moment. "Twice a month, I'll take you to the club that I frequent. It's a social event. You won't have to do anything except be there, and you won't be expected to watch anything that would make you uncomfortable. We'll mingle, we'll let ourselves be seen, and we'll go home."

  She was chewing on her lip again, a rosy blush rising up her neck and slowly spreading across her cheeks. "What do you mean, I won't have to watch anything that would make me uncomfortable?"

  Shit. I shouldn't have even brought that up. The live scenes were a small part of the gatherings I went to, and she wouldn't ever encounter them unless she went snooping around in the back rooms. I was losing ground, and fast.

  "I mean, whatever insane orgiastic scene you're picturing with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, that's not going to happen here." I was recovering quickly; her face relaxed a little. "It's just a chance for like-minded people to have a few drinks and unwind. No one will bother you. The Doms won't even talk to you, unless they have my permission."

  Her brow furrowed again. Damn it, I was losing her.

  "It's a sign of respect," I said, practically tripping over my own words. "It's not because you're a woman, it's because you're my..."

  Wow, was I ever getting ahead of myself.

  "...it's because they'll think you're my submissive," I modified. "Doms don't talk to subs, as a rule, unless they've been given permission."

  She folded her arms, stretching her legs out in front of her as she leaned back on the sofa. "It sounds complicated."

  "It's actually very simple," I said. "The thing is, when you're out in the world - just interacting with people, trying to navigate this massive tangle of cultural mores and personal hang-ups, it's a complete nightmare. There are all kinds of power structures and unspoken rules and expectations. But then you step into my scene, and everyone's open about it. There's an actual rule book, and we've all agreed to follow it."