Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2
Page 18
I don’t need Mr. Anderson to come up and give me a hard time right now.
“Knock it all down,” Veronica repeated in a softer tone.
“You can move—” His voice was weaker, less confident.
He knows the truth.
He’s seen this before. He knows how the game is played.
“I can’t pick up and move. I chose that area because there’s no competition for a few blocks around. Even if I could find a prime location, I can’t make my staff stay. It’ll take weeks to relocate, to get set up again.” She let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m done. Finished.”
Another wave of nausea broke free, and she coughed, forcing herself to hold it in.
“I can’t—”
“Shush,” Oliver said, still in the kitchen. “That’s enough talking for now. Stay quiet and let the headache pills take effect. You need to calm down, and we’ll wrap our heads around this together.”
Veronica stayed silent despite the frantic stampede in her mind.
I can’t—
I need—
“I wish I wasn’t on suspension.” She sighed. “I’d give my left arm to be able to get into Boots ’n’ Chains and relax, just go with you there and—”
The warring factions in her head crashed together.
Do what?
Be a Domme?
Be a submissive?
“I don’t know what I’d do.” She leaned forward and cradled her head with both hands.
But I’d be there with you.
The throbbing intensified, threatening to push her into unconsciousness.
“Here.”
She heard noises in front of her, on the table.
A weight landed beside her on the couch. “Lean on me.”
She allowed Oliver to pull her back and rest her head on his shoulder. The smell of toast hit her senses, and she swallowed hard.
“Weak tea’s here as well. It’ll all hold until you’re ready for it.” Oliver pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Rest.”
Veronica stayed silent, not knowing what to say.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” he said softly. “On both fronts.” He stroked her arm. “I was always expected to take over the family business. There was no option given to me, no question about my future. Good thing I liked books.”
She smiled but said nothing.
“My grandfather opened the first to fifth store. My father opened the sixth through to the fifteenth. Before they both died, they made me promise to keep expanding the business. And I have.” He let out something akin to a sigh.
“But it’s hard when real estate prices are so high and our profit margin’s slowly decreasing. I’ve spent a boatload of money on advisors and researchers trying to make Greenwood Books more alluring to the public, but they like to go online and buy their books there. It’s an ongoing battle to draw them into the store with book signings and special events. But it’s all I can do, because I don’t want to fail my father and grandfather. Even though they’re dead and gone, I can see their disapproving looks every time there’s anything less than a decisive win, a profit to show.”
Veronica reached up and patted his hand. “They’d be proud of you.” She looked up at him. “Greenwood Books is one of the best independent stores in the city.”
“Thank you.” He nudged her toward the tea and toast waiting on the table. “Try to eat a little bit. You’ll feel better.”
The headache had subsided to a dull mumbling in her brain, but she forced herself upright. As soon as his arm fell away, she missed it, the sense of safety and security.
The tea was lukewarm and held only a hint of flavor, but it tasted wonderful. She managed a mouthful of crumbling toast, washing it down with the tea.
“Good.” He pulled her back against him. “That’ll help both your headache and the hunger.” His low chuckle rumbled through her. “I’d think you’d be sick of tea and coffee after working with them all day.”
“You’re not sick of reading books,” she retorted.
“Point.” He cleared his throat. “As long as we’re putting all our cards on the table—” His voice trailed off.
“You don’t have to say anything. I was just rambling.”
“No. No,” he repeated, his voice stronger. “I think it’s time to put all our cards on the table. Professionally and personally.” His arm tightened around her. “I suspect you checked into me, my history. Don’t blame you a bit—I did the same, after all. I know Hooded Pleasures do their own background check, but there’s nothing wrong with doing your own research to feel safe.” He chuckled. “Safe, sane, consensual. Right?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, but I was curious.” Veronica shifted on the cushions. “You have to admit, you’re the odd one out, like a unicorn in a herd of zebras. Rich man who doesn’t need the money working for Hooded Pleasures. You’ve already got a club membership, so—” She quieted at seeing his sad expression.
“So why haven’t you seen me there with some sweet young thing? Why am I working for Wendy and spending my weekends with women when I could snap my fingers and have someone at the club with fewer restraints, fewer rules?” Oliver said.
She nodded.
“I told you most of the story before. How I became a Dom.” He paused and chewed his lower lip for a few seconds before continuing. “Melissa was more than just my wife. She was my lover, my submissive, my best friend. We used to go to the club as a couple. After the accident, I went once or twice, but it wasn’t the same.” Oliver grunted. “Most of the people we knew at the club were in a relationship, collared and uncollared. I was a lonely man standing out like a sore thumb. You can guess what it’s like to be a third wheel.” He gave a tired shrug. “And I wasn’t interested in those other options.”
Veronica nodded.
It wasn’t hard to imagine the scene. She’d seen it too many times in college.
Boy breaks up with girl, and both go back to friends who are already hooked up. Boy/girl feels like fifth wheel. Boy/girl goes off and feels miserable not only because they’re alone but because they can’t hang out with friends.
“But—” She took another sip of tea to soothe her throat. “You could have anyone on the floor. Anyone,” she repeated. “All you had to do was ask. No commitment, no promises. Just a good time for the two of you.”
A flare of jealousy broke free at the mental image of Oliver heading off to one of the club’s back rooms with a woman in tow.
Mine.
The thought jolted her like a lightning strike.
What am I thinking?
He’s only mine as long as the contract lasts.
“I know,” he admitted. “I did it a few times to fit in with the crowd. Our friends suggested some of the ladies. Fine women. Wonderful women. I appreciated them, and I hope they did the same of me.” His head dipped down. “But it wasn’t the same.”
“It shouldn’t be,” she argued. “None of them were your wife. You couldn’t duplicate the magic, the love.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “You can’t expect the same.”
Oliver looked at her and smiled. “You’re wise beyond your years. You figured that out by listening to me.” He put his hand atop hers. “It took me a bit of time to realize it for myself. The problem was that it was a part of me I couldn’t put away, couldn’t deny. Then I met Wendy.”
So that’s where she finds employees, Veronica’s internal voice murmured.
Oliver’s stare snapped her back to reality. His frown startled her.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t about charity or me wanting to get my rocks off.” He squeezed her hand. “If you’ve learned anything over the past few sessions, you know it’s more than just the physical.”
She nodded, unable to find the words.
“
HP offered me a sort of therapy, a way to help myself while helping others. I could satisfy my dominant side while helping women to realize their inner beauty, the submissive side of themselves. They only needed direction, a way to navigate through their emotions to realize there’s nothing weak about being a submissive, that a submissive is, in a way, the more powerful one in a relationship.” He stroked the top of her hand. “I’ve been trying to explain that to you throughout all our visits. I hope it took.”
“It took.” She sighed. “Even though I’m a little thickheaded.”
Oliver gave a knowing nod. “Sometimes it takes a bit of time to sink in.” He reached for his own cup of cold tea. “I’m glad I was the one to help you out.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. Worst. Day. Ever.”
Oliver chuckled as he pulled her close to him. “I’d like to think I’m making it a bit better.” He stroked her hair. “You should go lie down for a bit now that you’ve got something in your stomach. Let things settle in your mind and body. Do you still have the headache?”
It’d diminished slightly but was there. “Not much of one now,” she confessed. “Sort of an annoying hangnail.” She smiled at his confused expression. “When you have a hangnail, you keep snagging it on everything even as you’re trying to avoid it. That sort of headache—as long as I don’t focus on it, it’s not too bad. Think about it, and it’s taking over my brain.”
“As long as you’re feeling better.” He rose and stretched out his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
Veronica had enough strength left to arch one eyebrow.
Oliver laughed. “Yes. This is all part of my diabolical plan to finally get you into bed and have my way with you. Because there’s nothing sexier than a woman who’s been crying, obviously upset, and with a headache.” He smacked his lips. “Nothing sexier.”
She felt her cheeks burn because of her previous fantasies about the two of them in bed.
“When you put it that way—” Veronica took his hand and pushed herself upright. “Thank you for all your help.” She wobbled for a second, and he jumped forward to catch her.
“Whoa there. Definitely time for a lie-down.” His tone left no room for discussion.
Oliver led her to the bedroom. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll talk more about cabbages and kings.” He gave her a sly wink.
The reference to their first meeting warmed her heart even as she kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed fully dressed.
Oliver tucked the blankets in around her. “I’ll be outside. If you need anything, just sing out.”
“I’ve got cable,” she mumbled, the exhaustion beginning to take hold. “Help yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Sleep.”
The command rolled over her like a wave and pulled her under.
“Yes, Sir.”
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver pulled the door halfway shut. He wanted to be able to hear her if she cried out.
That jackass.
He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about her father in that way but there was no other way to get around it.
He’d seen this sort of end game before.
His father had used it to get the city block their main store stood on now, the mammoth keystone in their own little empire. Jack Greenwood had torn down an Italian restaurant and swallowed up a small independent bookstore in order to create the store he now owned and ran. It wasn’t anywhere on the same level as Alfred Locksley’s acquisition, but his father hadn’t cut the feet out from under Oliver’s new business. Jack could and had been a tough old man but he’d never done anything to Oliver that came close to what Veronica had experienced.
Oliver shook his head.
How could you do that to your own child?
He finished his cup of cold tea.
There was no way Veronica could win this battle.
Lawyers were expensive, and he knew how City Hall worked from his years of dealing with politicians.
SuperSmartMart would win in the end.
They had too much financial clout, too many city officials on their side.
Holding back a megastore in the downtown core with the excuse one little coffee shop needed to survive wasn’t going to work.
Even if he tossed in his own knowledge and connections, it couldn’t happen. He could delay the inevitable, but it would happen at some point and be just as devastating to Veronica’s business.
Why would you do that? Why would you use your limited political clout to help keep Java Jive alive? his conscience demanded.
Oliver picked up the remaining piece of cold toast and munched on it as his inner voices warred with each other.
Your contract with her is for two more sessions. After that, it’s done.
Two visits and you’re finished.
He picked up the empty plate and two mugs and retreated to the kitchen, a cold shiver invading his thoughts.
Not just with Roni. With Hooded Pleasures.
He’d told Wendy this was his last hurrah, his last customer.
The last woman he wanted to help.
Oliver started the water and prepared to wash the handful of dishes in the sink. He looked around the small kitchen, enjoying the rustic domesticity of it all. Goofy sayings painted on wooden signs made him smile despite the situation.
One proclaimed the benefits of being single; a second affirmed Veronica wasn’t a housekeeper and to clean up your own mess.
A third notified him that when he was stressed to remember it was someone else’s circus and someone else’s monkeys.
It gave off a comfortable feel, a homey sensation he’d missed since Melissa died.
He finished up the dishes and wiped his hands on the red-and-white-checkered towel hanging from a small rack nearby.
His chores finished, Oliver leaned back, hands on the counter.
So when she wakes up, what do you tell her? What great business advice can you offer her?
Suck it up, sunshine, and go to work for your father?
You could offer her a job at Greenwood Books—
His conscience shot that line of thought down with a bazooka.
She’s not going to want to work for you. There would always be that shadow hanging over her head, hanging between the two of you.
The sessions.
The feelings, the emotions she’d created—
Oliver shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind.
Where did that come from?
This was just a job, an assignment, a favor for Wendy. For Matthew. For the club.
Nothing more than that.
The nagging voice in the back of his mind sang a different song.
You let her into your house. You let her into your office, into your personal life outside of Hooded Pleasures. You never let any other woman in like that.
Why?
He went back to the living room and sat down.
I can’t—
I can’t be—
I can’t be in love with her.
It’s not right.
He rubbed the back of his neck, sorting through his emotions.
You’ve been fooled before.
Deborah.
Mentally he flinched at the memory of his first HP client. She’d been a handful and a half, a high-priced criminal lawyer with a top-notch record and a new partner at her firm thanks to a good run of successful defense wins.
Deborah thought she was a submissive but was too afraid to go to the clubs to find out. Instead of risking exposure, she’d found Hooded Pleasures and signed up to see not only if she was a true submissive but to train as well. She wanted to go to the clubs but needed the knowledge and the push to get where she wanted to go.
It wasn’t hard to get excited about their sessions.
Wendy had called him into the office after the second week, curious as to how he was doing with his first assignment.
His enthusiasm betrayed him, and she’d warned him not to get too emotionally involved with the clients.
“Help them find their truth, but don’t join them there,” she’d said. “And no sex,” she snapped, reminding him of an angry schoolmarm, ruler in hand and ready to strike. “Don’t forget the rules.”
He would have laughed except for her stern expression.
“Don’t,” she admonished him again in a softer and gentler tone. “Because if you let them in, they will take hold of your heart and never let go. Ask yourself how much you can afford to lose of yourself when they leave.” She glared at him. “And make no mistake. They will leave.”
He’d taken on two other clients while working with Deborah. She quickly went to the top of his class, obedient and eager to learn.
Deborah had taken six months of training to work up the nerve to go to a club—Saints Row, where wearing masks was an accepted part of the environment. It helped alleviate her ongoing fear of being recognized.
Oliver was there.
It’d been Mel’s idea to have memberships at all three clubs in town, allowing them a bit of variety.
They could afford it.
He hadn’t been back to Saints Row since the accident, but had forced himself to go this one night to see Deborah’s coming-out, as it were. It was a busy Saturday night, and he’d slipped in the back and gone to the bar, gotten himself a drink and watched through the eye slits in his superhero-type mask as she’d appeared.
She’d been…beautiful.
The black lace mask hid her features from the others, but he knew what she looked like, what she smelled like—what she sounded like when the whip landed on her bare back.
Oliver remembered the pain in his mouth as he bit down on his glass, nearly shattering it and sending whiskey all over the place as various Doms approached her and she chose one, a tall blond with tattoos speckled all over his naked chest. Dropping to her knees, she’d waited patiently as he inspected her and urged her back to her feet with a wide grin, obviously pleased with both their decisions.