by Dani Wyatt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Mastering Her Heart
C H A P T E R O N E
C H A P T E R T W O
C H A P T E R T H R E E
C H A P T E R F O U R
C H A P T E R F I V E
C H A P T E R S I X
C H A P T E R S E V E N
C H A P T E R E I G H T
C H A P T E R N I N E
C H A P T E R T E N
C H A P T E R E L E V E N
C H A P T E R T W E L V E
E P I L O G U E
ANGEL
Valentine’s Rose
Other Titles by Dani Wyatt
FOLLOW ME
Thank You.
M A S T E R I N G H E R H E A R T
___________________________________________________
By
Dani Wyatt
Copyright © 2017
by Dani Wyatt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
www.daniwyatt.com
Cover Credit PopKitty
Editing Nicci Haydon
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Mastering Her Heart
C H A P T E R O N E
C H A P T E R T W O
C H A P T E R T H R E E
C H A P T E R F O U R
C H A P T E R F I V E
C H A P T E R S I X
C H A P T E R S E V E N
C H A P T E R E I G H T
C H A P T E R N I N E
C H A P T E R T E N
C H A P T E R E L E V E N
C H A P T E R T W E L V E
E P I L O G U E
ANGEL
Valentine’s Rose
Other Titles by Dani Wyatt
FOLLOW ME
Thank You.
A NOTE TO MY READERS:
I appreciate every one of you.
Dedicated to N.
You are the wind beneath my wings.
And you understand my Daddy fetish.
xoxo
.
Stalkers welcome.
Sordid fun and other dirty shenanigans
Follow me here: FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE
Be my Friend here: FACEBOOK FRIENDS
Visit my author page
Dani Wyatt on Amazon
C H A P T E R O N E
PIKE
I haven’t felt my heartbeat since I left. Almost six years have passed since that day, and I still haven’t forgiven myself. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. It was the only way, even though it broke me but saved her. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I left my heart there.
But took my shame with me.
My cock hasn’t risen at the sight, sound or scent of another woman since the day I married her mother. The day she poked her head into her mother’s office, just as we were putting our signatures on the marriage certificate.
Marriage.
Might as well have been a merger. That certificate was a business document, nothing more. I think we celebrated with a glass of bourbon, but it could have been rye.
As ashamed as I am to admit it, even before my feelings for her turned more intimate as she grew into a woman, my interest in any other females in the world evaporated the day I married her mother and saw her sweet face for the first time.
Who would ever have guessed that a college pact with a friend would truly come to pass? A mutually beneficial agreement at that particular point in both our lives. Margaret and I never shared a kiss, certainly never shared a bed. It should have been simple.
Only, the one part I hadn’t planned on in our deal was her.
Willow.
I knew that day. I remember the word repeating in my head at the first glance of her. Its meaning changed over the years as she grew but it still remains branded into my memory. Never before and never again will that word apply to anyone but her.
Mine.
I swallow hard and take a deep breath through my nose, trying to re-gain my bearings. No one around me would know it, but I am in a tailspin, out of control.
The famous Lord Tower, about to crack his façade right here in front of a few hundred of my nearest and dearest.
Truth is, I know none of them. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know their names. We spend time together. But I give none of myself to them. To anyone.
I’ve saved that for her.
Unconsciously, yes. But now I’m done pretending.
Because she’s here.
And I can hardly believe my eyes.
I’m riveted, watching her move through the crowd. She has three friends with her, or to be more precise it looks like she’s with them, following with wide eyes on the room, taking in the sights, smells, sounds. I know how intoxicating it can be. Inside my head the room goes silent.
I reach to the pair of binoculars I keep on the table of the balcony. Using them allows me to be sure even from a distance that the rules of the club are respected. That no one is in over their head. Consent is king and it is my ultimate responsibility to keep a keen eye out for everyone that comes through my doors.
At a moments notice I can push single button and all activity with my club will stop. From my perch above the floor of the club I raise the binoculars and tighten the sight onto her face.
The face that’s swirled in my dreams for so many years.
The face I imagine as this woman I see now, only dripping with my cum. Covered in me as I am with her.
In my dreams she is feral, mewling, writhing at my feet as I coax her to show me who she is. Who we are.
Together. Always together.
My cock is fully erect. Tearing at the cloth of my vintage Armani tuxedo trousers with claws that seem to have sprung to life since she came through the door of my club and straight back into my life.
Where she belongs.
I know in this instant...never again will I live without her light in my life. There exists no force on Earth strong enough to keep me from her this time.
“Sir?” The young woman in front of me registers only the most essential amount of my attention. The rest is reserved for Willow.
“Yes, Vexxie, thank you for coming so quickly.”
She’s a petite, delicate thing, well put together and loyal to a fault. One of the few members of my staff that I trust with the most important aspects of my life.
“Of course, Sir. How can I be of service?” Vexxie lowers her eyes, as most of the staff do when I look directly at them.
The dress code for staff is all black. That’s non-negotiable. Her above the knee, skin tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination. Black latex. High neck. It’s appropriate attire, designed to flatter and reveal, not to cover. But from me she draws nothing but professional attention.
“You will service table seventeen tonight. I want you to give them your most impeccable service.”
“Yes, Sir. Friends of yours?” She blushes as her voice quivers.
A simple conversation with me has her barely able to form words.
I consider the question for a long moment, then speak softly. “No.” The simple word is tinged with regret. Whe
n I continue, my jaw is tight. “Not friends.”
With a tip of my head the conversation is over. Vexxie lowers her eyes and dismisses herself as I step back onto the balcony of my office, half hidden behind the black velvet drapery pulled around the gently curved corners.
I’ve owned this club for twenty years. In this world, our public names are rarely used. Here, I am known as Lord Tower and this place is the House of Tower. A mansion I purchased, renovated and opened specifically for the purpose of entertaining the elegance and dignity of the Lifestyle. Not the carnival ride of taboo and sex it has become elsewhere. No, I am from another school. An ancient time when respect, authority, wisdom, honor and reverence were the character traits most valued in this life.
It’s not just about the sex as so many wrongly assume. That’s a perversion that’s taken on a life of its own in the last decade. I am a single minded, decisive, dominant man. I want one woman, one individual, and if nothing ever comes to pass between us then I will not touch another. Never. It will be that way until the day I die.
“Lord Tower?” Sir James stops just outside the open office door.
The staff know I am available to them at all times. I care deeply about each one of them. Well, I am available unless the red light is on outside my door, but that’s only happened once in twenty years. It wasn’t because I brought someone here with me. No, it was when I felt most alone and wished for that loneliness to punish me.
I smile at James. The genial smile comes easily for me but for too long it’s been merely a facial reaction without the depth of joy it should represent. “Yes. Come in.”
“May I ask a favor?” James is attired in a black suit that absorbs any light, seeming to stay pressed and sharp without a single crease as he moves forward into the room and takes a seat in one of my white wingback chairs. My office is a blend of purity and decadence. Fresh cream and white, splashes of gold, moments of rich red the color of blood.
Seems that is the theme in my life and it repeats itself in places I didn’t realize until right now.
“Of course, Sir James. What can I do for you?”
My club has kept the old school dignity of the lifestyle alive in this area. This world is not what it once was. She changed everything for me the day she swept my heart from my chest with a single glance.
I am still the Lord of this House, but I have not raised a hand, a tool or a touch to anyone since that day I met my stepdaughter. She was too young then, of course, and my feelings toward her were simple, pure, paternal. Nonetheless, the essence of her heart shifted something in my very DNA. My being changed that day.
At first I was her protector. A custodian of her in every way. I took joy in her joy. Pain in her pain. I provided for her. Loved her. Kept her safe. I knew she was destined to be mine. A part of me in some way for the rest of my life.
As the years moved by, what grew in my heart shook me to my very core. As she grew into a woman, my wanting changed.
Then, the want became too much. Too acutely painful. As she blossomed under my very nose, the beast inside of me grew and roared to life. It was wrong. She was too innocent and I knew I would destroy her if I stayed.
So, I left. My shame multiplied tenfold as I said goodbye and kissed the tears from her cheeks. Secretly dying inside as I tried to explain to her not only why her mother and I were parting, but why I was leaving.
As I struggled with the decision to stay or go, my fate was sealed. My other life, my life as Lord Tower threatened to be exposed by a former business advisary who wandered into my club one evening. Most in the life are discreet, respecting the decency of keeping this part of our life out of the public eye.
Unfortunately, not all men are honorable. Imagining Willow being exposed to this other part of my life at her age made me realize just how much she would be hurt by me if I stayed. If it wasn’t this person, I feared it would eventually be someone else that would bring to a public forum my status as the owner of Club Tower. If it were to happen, I wanted the damage to her to be minimized. Couple that with the growing desire I had for my stepdaughter, the pain I was sure to cause her if I stayed, I could no longer put my need to be close to her in front of her need to be safe. To enjoy her innocence and find a life for herself.
Because if I stay I will hurt you. And I will kill myself a thousand times before I could ever let that happen, my sweet Willow. My Caramia.
Thinking of the endearment I’d given her so long ago, a true smile lights my lips. I recall how she’s corrected me with that sweet, sassy nature. Making sure I knew that the correct Italian words were ‘cara mia’. I knew she was right, but the name I gave her was for me. A deliberate alteration of the words that represented what she meant to me.
Today, as I stand here looking into her face through my binoculars, I feel a pain like being crucified. Or redeemed. Perhaps both. Because she’s walked into my life again.
The aching I’ve pushed away for so long is balled now into a fist of iron and spears, deep in the pit of my stomach.
I want her. So strongly it’s as though she invented wanting itself.
She has brought the life back to my beast in the space of a few seconds. He roars inside of me with a vengeance and the word that has repeated itself in my head every day since I met her pound like hammers in my temples. My fear now is she will never understand. But, I will not lose her again. If it takes the rest of my life, she will understand the true meaning of the that word.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Now, it’s time for my stepdaughter to meet her destiny.
C H A P T E R T W O
WILLOW
I’m not sure what started it, but in the limo ride over to the club we got into a discussion about happiness. Specifically, are we happy? Like, each of us, and what does ‘being happy’ mean, exactly, anyway?
Once we got down to it, none of us really seemed to know. The three friends I had with me couldn’t come up with anything. And the only thing I could think of after the conversation turned from existential to downright absurd was how that question actually applied to me.
The best thing I could come up with?
Meh. I’m happy.
Ish.
Happy-ish. Let’s leave it at that.
And I have left it at that. As all of us have, because we’ve all gone a bit quiet, which is leaving me looking out of the window and staring in awe at a mansion so enormous it puts Downton Abbey to shame.
Once the limo comes to a stop in front, and we have been escorted through a ten foot tall door that looks like it belongs somewhere in Mordor, the first thing I see inside has my girl parts tightening up and my head tossing up a whole stack of question marks.
“You’re going to cum for me again, aren’t you?” A man’s voice, such a deep bass that it shakes my core, coming from a frame dressed impeccably in a dark suit that isn’t quite black. He’s standing behind a gorgeous blond, his hand touching her only at her neck as her head rests back onto his shoulder. Her dress is black and white lace, an evening gown that covers everything and yet somehow seems to accentuate her sensuality.
I note the veins on the back of his hand, standing over the bones. I’m that close as we pass by that I see him squeeze. The woman’s eyes roll back in her head and I watch her shudder. And this is no ‘When Harry Met Sally’ fake-it, restaurant orgasm. The woman cums so hard she passes out and the man behind her smiles, catching her before she crumbles to the floor.
I’ve never been to a club like this before. When my friends said let’s go out, they didn’t give me specifics.
It’s an invitation only club and we have an invitation for four. Club Tower. I’ve been dying to go.
I should know better than to trust Murphy. She’s been my alter ego since we were ten. We met in the bathroom at the country club where our parents belonged. Well, my mom and Murphy’s mom and dad belonged. I didn’t have a dad. Not until later.
That single thought has my belly flipping. All these years later just the thoug
ht of him sends my senses into overload.
That day in the bathroom, Murphy was smoking and I was crying. I don’t remember why, because it happened so often. Something my mother had said to me. I remember that much. Enter Murphy, the sarcasm to my sweet. The next year, we ended up at Wentworth Academy in the same class and the rest is history.
“What the heck.” I mumble, tearing my eyes away from the beautiful couple and such a public intimate sight. They were completely unaware of the throngs of people around them. The depth of his attention to her almost scared me.
How can someone cum, fully clothed, from just a few words and a hand clutched at her throat? It seems unreal, and yet it was ever so real.
The scent, sound and vibration of lust is everywhere here. It’s in the spaces between the words I hear all around me. Twisting into the perfume of my friend Whitney, who is leading me through the crowd. My eyes dart to and fro. I’m not sure how I feel. I want to gawk. Rubber neck and giggle like a nervous little girl.
Instead, I grab the back of Whitney’s perfect little black dress and let her drag me along. She’s as tall as most of the men around us and my own five feet two inches dwarfs me in the crowd. Even if there are women here my height, with all the six inch stilettos I see you would never know it. I’m the token munchkin it would seem.
I’ve been back in New York two weeks and it’s already home again. My two years in Paris were wonderful, but my Manhattan heart is beating again and it’s amazing to be back with old friends as so many things in my life are new.
I compare my own outfit to Whitney’s and roll my eyes. When her limo picked me up outside my mother’s apartment on Central Park South I knew I was out of my depth.
All three of my friends were dressed in black. Me? No one bothered to give me the dress code, did they? So here I am in my boho-chic, multi-colored patchwork skirt and hemp tank. Both of which are a bit too tight. The button on the back of my skirt threatening to pop off and nail one of these uber elegant club goers in their lustful eyes.
My matching canvas shoes top off my elegant ensemble. I’m surprised they let me in the door. A sore thumb would blend in better. My entire body feels tight and a headache is threatening to erupt behind my eyes. This is so not my world. And yet, I’m captivated by everything here.
