Savage Prince

by Meghan March

  I drop my head and pretend to cough so I can cover the bottom half of my face in a last-ditch effort to conceal my identity and avoid what will certainly be an awkward conversation with Keira.

  “Ain’t gonna work, chérie. We’ve got some talkin’ to do.” Magnolia crooks her finger. “Come on.”

  “But—” I protest, but she turns around and strolls out of the entryway.

  Over her shoulder, she adds, “Don’t worry. You’re not gonna be late. He ain’t here yet.”

  I swallow as my stomach flops. How much does she know? If I had to make a wager, I’d assume everything. Because that’s how Magnolia operates.

  She leads me down a hallway on the first floor into a richly appointed room that looks like it’s half office and half boudoir. Gold-and-red wallpaper gives it a bold air, which suits Magnolia’s personality, or at least what I know of it.

  “Close the door behind you.”

  I push the wooden panel shut and lean against it, anchoring my purse to my side. “Please don’t tell Keira I’m here. This doesn’t have anything to do with work. It’s . . . personal. And, honestly, I really don’t want to have to explain any of this. You know?”

  Magnolia turns away from my rambling pleas and lifts a crystal decanter from a mirrored brass bar cart. From the scraps of information I’ve pieced together, I know Magnolia has been a madam for years, at least before an incident left her—and Keira and me—injured a few months ago.

  I open my mouth again to fill the silence, intending to ask her how she’s doing, but my lips seal shut when she speaks.

  “Everything that happens here is personal, chérie.” She looks over her shoulder at me as she replaces the stopper in the decanter. “Keira doesn’t need to know anything. Her man either. I know how to keep a secret.” An eerie feeling creeps up my spine as she turns and raises the tumbler to her red lips. “I’d offer you some, but we both know you’ll decline.”

  Her statement—and knowledge of my drinking preferences—reinforces what I suspect is the God’s honest truth. Magnolia Maison isn’t someone I should underestimate.

  She uses the glass to gesture at a leather chair with its back to an unlit fireplace. “Sit. Let’s have ourselves a little chat.”

  I don’t know why I’m obeying, but my feet move and I lower myself into the chair. Magnolia takes a brocade chaise longue. She sips the liquor and studies me.

  “Who knows you’re here?” she asks, not at all the question I expected.

  “No one.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “When you’re meeting a dangerous man, you should always let someone know where you’re going. That’s just being smart.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Oh, girl, you don’t have a clue what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

  I think of the man who was at the distillery earlier tonight. The one who invited me back here again, and I couldn’t resist.

  Not wanting to sound as naive as I must appear, I straighten. “I can handle myself.”

  Magnolia smiles before throwing her head back and filling the room with rich laughter. “Lord, you’re just as stubborn as Ke-ke. Once upon a time, I had to tell her how things worked. Didn’t suspect I’d have to tell you. You should already know that people aren’t always what they seem.”

  That eerie feeling returns. “What do you mean?”

  “I know about you. Your people. Where you come from.”

  I stiffen, lifting my chin. “So?”

  “Lock down your attitude, girl, I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to help you.”

  “How?” I’m beginning to lose my patience.

  “By giving you a helpful piece of advice. Keep whatever you’ve got going on here in the club. Don’t take it outside. That’s when things get dicey.”

  “Sounds like you don’t think I should even be in the club.”

  She takes another drink before replying. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. Come and fuck to your heart’s content. I’m the last person who’ll ever judge you for that. But you need to be careful. Be smart. Realize that this isn’t your world, and you aren’t equipped to handle the consequences of your actions if you take it outside the club. That man you’re addicted to is smooth as hell but twice as dangerous.”

  A million questions surge to the forefront, but as I open my mouth to give voice to the first one, someone knocks on the door.

  Magnolia glances toward it before meeting my gaze once more. “That’s my next appointment. You ever need anything, you got my number. He should be here by now. Enjoy your night, Temperance. Be smart.”

  Chapter 11

  Temperance

  With Magnolia’s warning dogging my every step, I follow a man up the first flight of curving stairs.

  I’ve worked hard to stay out of the danger that rules my brother’s life, but apparently I went and stepped into something dangerous all on my own this time. After what she just told me, I should be walking out the front door, snatching my keys from the valet and flooring it down the drive without looking back.

  But I’m not.

  Magnolia’s warning is having the opposite effect.

  No part of me wants to flee. Instead, with every step I take toward this man—a dangerous man—my senses are heightened and my heart pounds.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but the edge of danger beckons me. Probably like a moth to a flame where I’ll end up burned, but maybe that’s what my life is missing. Excitement. Risk. Because I haven’t been living. I’ve been existing.

  Add on to that, there’s a false sense of security that also stems from her warning. If I keep it within these walls, I can flirt with danger but not get hurt.

  I’m not dumb enough to take big chances with my safety, but the thought of pushing the boundaries I’ve set for myself and living dumps a shot of adrenaline into my blood. After months of sleepwalking, I finally feel awake and alive.

  As my escort brings me closer to where I assume my stranger is waiting, the memories of the last time I was here unfold in my mind and my blood heats.

  By the time we stop in front of a door on the third level of the club, I’ve decided that Magnolia’s warning isn’t going to change a damn thing for me tonight. I want what this man can give me. I’ll take it and walk away, no regrets.

  “Enjoy, madam,” my escort says before he leaves.

  Enjoy? I’ll do more than that. I’ll revel.

  With a secret smile on my face, I reach for the knob and turn it. The scent of old paper washes over me as I take in walls of books inside. A library?

  Once again, there is only one lamp emitting a pool of light, this time over a pair of large leather chairs—both empty. But I know better than to assume I’m alone this time.

  “Where are you?”

  “I wondered if you’d come.” His voice arises out of the shadows like it lives there. Belongs there. Like he belongs there.

  Maybe I can too . . . for now.

  I spin toward his voice, power filling me. “You doubted me?”

  “I assumed you’d doubt yourself. Glad to see I was wrong. Drop your purse and turn around.”

  As soon as he delivers the order, the warnings and the worries fade away. I need this.

  Because in this room, I don’t have to be me, the responsible and respectable Temperance Ransom. I don’t have to fret over doing the wrong thing or messing up. I’m not in charge here, and it’s a heady feeling.

  Especially because he is calling the shots.

  I lower my purse to the floor and give him my back.

  “Good girl.” The approval in his voice washes over me. “Now, sit. Right chair.”

  I step around the chair and lower myself into it, my fingers gripping the cushioned arms.

  The large black rectangle directly in front of me brightens like a television screen coming to life, but instead, it’s a window into another room.

  Another voyeur’s paradise. My excitement rises until I realize what ro
om I’m looking at.

  It’s the office we were in before.

  “Oh my God. People watched us?” My voice rises an octave as my heart rate skyrockets. I whip my head to the side, but I can’t see him beyond the wide back of the chair I’m seated in.

  “Would you have liked that?”

  “I didn’t have on a mask.” My mind races, attempting to remember the layout of the room and where the window I’m viewing through could have been. “They would’ve seen—”

  “Everything,” he finishes for me, his voice coming closer. “But I don’t like an audience. Not my style.”

  A relieved breath escapes my lips as I sink into the plush chair, my heart no longer feeling like it’s going to explode.

  “Thank God.”

  “But if they had . . .” His voice comes from just over my shoulder, and my spine stiffens as goose bumps rise on my exposed shoulders and arms. “What a fucking beautiful sight. You, bent over the desk. My handprint on your ass. Your sweet cunt on display as you spread your legs. The vision has been burned into my brain for days, but nothing makes me come harder than when I think about how you looked when you watched them. I need to watch you watch again.”

  Heat floods my system at his words, and doubles down when the door to the other room opens as the grandfather clock in the corner gongs the one o’clock hour.

  I sit up straighter in the chair as a woman in a prim skirt suit, not unlike the one I wore the other night, enters the office followed by a man in slacks with his shirtsleeves rolled up over his forearms.

  Watching my stranger—who I know in a biblical sense but not in any other way—roll up his shirtsleeves the other night over his thickly muscled, tattooed forearms was one of the most erotic sights I’ve experienced in my life. Actually, everything that happened in that office and everything I watched happen in the room beyond it makes that list.

  I cross my legs tightly as the woman comes to a stop in front of the desk, and my movements take on more significance when I remember he is watching me. I turn to find where my watcher has decided to perch.

  “Don’t worry, I can see you just fine. Watch them.” His voice has retreated once more to the shadows, but this time in the opposite corner of the room, where he must have a direct view of my chair but no vantage point to see what’s happening in the office.

  How the hell does he move so soundlessly? He’s practically a ghost.

  “It’s different knowing you’re here. I can’t just forget that part.”

  A gravelly laugh is his response. “I dare you to try to forget me. Now, watch them.”

  I take his dare and tear my gaze away from his outline in the darkness. I focus on the man unbuttoning his collar as he paces a half circle around the woman in front of him.

  “You think I wouldn’t notice the way you were touching yourself under the table in the meeting?” he says, already immersed in the role-play.

  Unless . . . is there a boardroom in Haven as well? The possibility springs into my mind, but I file it away to wonder about later as he stops next to her beside the desk.

  I’m failing at the dare, for the record. His stare takes on a life of his own, even as the scene plays out in front of me.

  “You couldn’t keep your fingers off your greedy little pussy while we were in front of people, could you?”

  Her eyes stay downcast, but there’s an obvious air of excitement buzzing around her as she squirms in her tall heels. Is that how I looked when I stood there and the scene started?

  “Answer me, or I’ll double your punishment.”

  She bites her lip. “No. I couldn’t.”

  “You wanted to touch yourself where anyone could’ve seen you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, but there’s no shame in it, more like triumph. “You know I like—”

  The man steps forward. “I know what you like, pet. And you’re going to get your audience. Turn around and spread your legs.”

  Oh my God, they know we’re watching them. The thought pops into my head, followed by, Well, I would hope so. Especially considering I wouldn’t want to be watched without my knowledge.

  Wait, I would want to be watched if I knew? I stiffen in the chair at the uncomfortable thought, but it takes a back seat when the woman follows his orders and he touches a hand to her lower back, then presses her chest down on the desk.

  That was me before.

  “Do you remember how it felt to have your tits pressed against the desk? How it felt to spread your legs as you waited for whatever I wanted to do to you?”

  His voice deepens, taking on that raspy quality, making my nipples tighten into sensitive points as I shift in the chair, uncrossing my legs.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Good.” The sound of a zipper hissing catches my attention, but it’s not coming from the other couple.

  Oh my God, is he . . .

  “Your eyes just got so fucking big,” my stranger says. “Are you wishing you could see my cock in my hand?”

  My fingertips dig into the leather as I soak my panties.

  “Spread your legs,” he orders.

  “But—”

  “You’re not in charge here, princess. Now, spread your legs.”

  The reminder demolishes any resistance, and I uncross my legs and inch them apart until my skirt is stretched to its limit.

  The man in the office pulls off his tie and lowers it to the woman’s back. “Roaming hands means that I’m going to have to tie them up so you can’t break the rules anymore.” He wraps the binding around her wrists and knots it together.

  “You like that? Seeing her tied up?” my stranger asks from the corner.

  I clear my throat to find my voice. “Yes.” The admission produces another wave of moisture.

  He groans, and I tear my eyes off the man checking the restraints to stare into the darkness again, wishing I could see him.

  “Pull up your skirt. I want to see more.”

  I bite down on my lip at his order. His words are rougher now, and the tone evokes something in me that only he ever has. The urge to let go and obey.

  I don’t question. Don’t hesitate. My fingers release their tight grip on the arms of the chair and pinch the hem of my dress.

  “High. Show me everything.”

  I drag the fabric up my spread thighs until the lacy tops of my stockings appear. With every inch, I feel bolder.

  “More.”

  I keep going and, finally, my black thong is visible.

  “Look at them. Not me.”

  Cool air sweeps over my skin as I force my gaze to the window.

  Why is it I couldn’t take my eyes off the couple in the bedroom, and now I find an outline in the darkness even more magnetic than the erotic scene happening in front of me?

  Because it’s him.

  The sound of skin smacking skin, followed by a woman’s moan, forces my attention straight ahead.

  Oh God. He’s spanking her ass.

  My stranger’s comment from earlier—about how someone watching would have been able to see his handprint on my ass—slams into me. Who knew that a visual could be so hot?

  “Touch yourself. I want to see your fingers buried in your panties.”

  My gaze jerks back to him.

  “Don’t watch me. Watch them, or you’ll earn a punishment.”

  My hips rock back into the chair because I can’t squeeze my legs together.

  “Fuck, that turns you on even more than they do. You’re a dirty little surprise. Now, move those fingers.”

  Like he controls my hand, I lift it from the arm of the chair and reach between my legs. I’ve never done this before. Never touched myself while someone watched. The closest I’ve ever come was when I nearly touched myself in the office before I knew I wasn’t alone.

  My fingertips hover over the lace.

  “One . . .” His deep voice rings out. “Two . . .”

  I know without asking that his count
signals my punishment for hesitation.

  When I slip my fingers behind the lace, he releases another groan.

  “Fuck. You have no idea how goddamn sexy you are. With your skirt up, legs spread, and fingertips an inch from that tight cunt I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. Fuck me.” He breathes the last two words like a prayer, and they embolden me.

  Beneath my panties, I skate one fingertip down the seam of my lips, sliding effortlessly through the wetness gathered there.

  I bite down on my lip, but a muffled moan sneaks out anyway. My lips part and my mouth drops open as I touch my clit.

  “How wet are you?”

  The scene in front of me blurs into a chorus of moans as a stronger wave of boldness seizes me. I pull my hand away and hold up my glistening fingertip.

  “Soaked.” My lips curve into a catlike smile.

  His growl sends another flood of wetness between my legs.

  “Naughty fucking girl. Suck it off. I want to know how it tastes.”

  A rush of breath leaves my lips as my confidence falters.

  “Now.”

  I raise my trembling fingers to my mouth and suck one clean of my own tart-sweet slickness.

  “Tell me how it tastes.”

  The urgency underpinning his question spurs my boldness again.

  “Why don’t you come find out for yourself?”

  Chapter 12

  Temperance

  With my dare, I’m testing boundaries. I can’t help it. He’s set off something inside me I can’t control.

  “I’m calling the shots here, princess. Lose the panties. I want to watch you finger yourself.” His voice transforms into a deep growl.

  Does that mean he’s losing control? Do I want him to?

  I stare into the darkness, debating.

  No. I want him to be strong enough to take control from me and keep it.

  “Now.”

  The word comes out of the shadows like a growl, and I snap into action. I drag the black scrap of lace down my legs and kick it off my ankles.