Enthrall Secrets (ENTHRALL SESSIONS 7)

by Vanessa Fewings

“But you’re touching me?” He leaned back and reached out to either side of the Saint Andrew’s Cross and slid his wrists back into the leather cuffs. “I need to be touched, Scarlet.”

  I knew what it was like to lose a loved one, to feel powerless as they were ripped from me, the unfairness of life overriding my dreams and sabotaging my happiness.

  What he was asking was such a little thing. Easy, really.

  If Cameron had taught me anything it was that there was a gray area that occasionally warranted exploring. Sliding my hand down past his waistband, I cupped his balls first, and then gripped his length, beginning that gentle gliding motion to get him hard.

  And get him into subspace; the place where those occluded emotions would begin to clear and then heal.

  “You can stop now.” The starkness of his voice forced my hand away.

  He slid his hands out of the cuffs and sidestepped me. “My name’s not Jones. I’m a District Attorney and I’m going to make sure there’s a warrant issued for your arrest, Scarlet Winters.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “What? We didn’t do anything!”

  “I’m actually trying to be your friend here. Might wanna listen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Money was exchanged.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “No, you’re a client.”

  “Who runs this place? I want their name.”

  I shook my head, thoughts swirling in confusion. I felt a dreadful sense of betrayal at the threat of having this cruel man in the center of our sacred space.

  “You know what happens now,” he said.

  Defiantly, I placed my fisted hands on my hips.

  “LAPD are on their way. They’ll rip this place apart. And if you think your life is bad now, Scarlet, wait until I’ve finished with you. Make it easier on yourself and comply.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Get your phone. Make the call.”

  “I’m escorting you out.”

  “Scar - can I call you that?”

  “No.” You can fuck right off.

  “Great hooker name by the way.” He stepped forward. “I want to know who’s in charge of this place.”

  “You can’t bully me.”

  “Give me what I’m asking.” His gaze lowered to my lips. “Or suffer the consequences.”

  A cruel reminder of the manipulation I’d confused for chemistry. His jaw clenched as he leaned in to kiss me. He was so close - that intoxicating cologne sparking my arousal and lowering my defenses all over again as his lips brushed mine. He took my mouth fiercely, his tongue plunging inside as though his threat hadn’t been spoken. I responded to his kiss, fighting with every part of my will to draw back the power.

  Ethan pulled away and shook his head. “That didn’t happen.”

  “I can help you.”

  He measured his words. “I have everything I need.”

  “For what?”

  “It must end, Scarlet. This place. It’s over.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Ethan Neilson.” He headed off toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to wash off your fucking perfume.”

  Chapter 2

  CAMERON’S EXPRESSION HADN’T wavered and that familiar “calm in a storm” attitude I always drew strength from remained a constant as he strolled toward me through the foyer.

  I’d paced beneath the low-hanging crystal chandelier, trying to stifle my panic and wondering who was going to make it here first: the LAPD or the Director.

  Luckily for us it was Cole.

  Within half an hour of my phone call, Cameron had walked through the front door of Chrysalis with the command he was known for, without any cruel accusations of blame - just a hug for reassurance.

  Those who underestimated this thirty-three year old stunner of a man were fools. Cole’s black short, mussed hair and perfectly chiseled features enhanced his ability to enforce supreme domination. The tailored suit that rounded out his tall, well-defined frame, along with his highly professional demeanor, proved he was a powerhouse of control.

  I’d helped Cameron evolve Chrysalis into our sacred sanctuary, and it was not lost on me that I could be responsible for its downfall.

  He led me into an alcove for privacy. “Where is he?”

  “Your office.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Not alone, right?”

  “Dominic’s with him.”

  “The staff?”

  “All left. Except for Pilar.” I glanced back at the front door. “What are we going to do? The police are going to arrive any second.”

  Cameron held my shoulders. “I’m here now.”

  I leaned against his chest again and closed my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me. Ethan’s threat had rendered me too distraught to think straight.

  That asshole was about to meet his match.

  Cameron Cole ruled this empire with an ironclad fist right alongside his best friend, Richard Booth, both of whom were not only masterful dominants in their own right but also brilliant men. Cameron was also the Director of a Beverly Hills psychiatric practice - and if that wasn’t impressive enough, his father was a world-renowned tea baron. Cole’s fortune made Richard’s wealth look tame. Richard was the Assistant Director and ran Enthrall, our smaller club in Pacific Palisades. He’d say he dabbled in stockbroking but in truth he’d turned all of the employees’ savings into impressive profits. He gave his time and expertise freely.

  Whereas Richard’s father had gone down in history as a villain of Wall Street, Richard had proven you really can make a shitload of money by being honest.

  Though I’d soon be losing my condo when I had to pay for the legal team I was going to need.

  Walking through hell was inevitable.

  “How did Neilson book a session with you?” Cameron’s voice was calmer than I deserved.

  “He was screened at Enthrall.”

  “Who by?”

  “Sandra Reynolds. H.R.”

  “We can stop the hemorrhage at least.”

  “You’ll fire her?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Ethan’s going to close us down.”

  “Well, we’ve had a good run.”

  Nausea rose in my throat and I turned on my heel and made my way down the hallway.

  Bursting into the restroom, I leaned over and retched into the sink, anger rising that this stranger had turned our world upside down with his insidious attack on all I held dear.

  Goddamn it, people needed this place.

  Strong fingers trailed through my hair and pulled it back from my face. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” soothed Cameron. “I’ve got this.”

  “He’s going to send me to prison.” I struggled through a wave of panic.

  Cameron stared at my mirrored reflection. “When have you ever known me to fail you?”

  Those were more than words. That was Cameron’s call-to-arms. And not surprisingly he wouldn’t waver, wouldn’t show any weakness. I’d never known him to lose a fight and if I knew one thing about Cameron Cole he never lost hope.

  “Wash your face. We have work to do.”

  I splashed my face with cold water, and when I braved a glance at my reflection again I hated the distraught look still in my gaze. I’d always prided myself on bouncing back quickly from the crap life threw at me, but this was out of my league.

  Cameron handed me a soft linen napkin.

  Taking in all the gold-plated faucets, trimmings and marble tile, I felt another wave of guilt. This place had cost a fortune to furnish. Chrysalis was a place of luxury and wowed anyone privileged enough to make it over the threshold. Black and burgundy drapes and low-hanging chandeliers rounded out the decadence. This was one of the world’s most opulent clubs and we hosted political leaders, sportsmen, CEOs, A-list actors, and even royalty. Our members were ensured privacy and very often undertook the kind of sessions that healed their childhood traumas and returned them to society as highly functioning
individuals.

  No one was ever supposed to know of their connection to us. That had been our promise from the start and Cameron’s ingenious management ensured it.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “Tell me about your time with him.”

  I threw the soiled napkin in the basket. “It was our first session. It was going okay right up until he dropped the bombshell of his true identity.”

  “Any irregularities before that?”

  I swiped a stray hair out of my eyes. “He wouldn’t submit. No subspace.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why didn’t they send an undercover cop?”

  “Doing the job himself means no one fucks up. He’s a control freak. Now, was there anything else I can use?”

  “He mentioned a loved one being shot in front of him. Used it to manipulate me into touching him. Lying bastard.”

  “Did you perform a sexual act?”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth.

  “Oh, come on, Scarlet, it’s me you’re talking to.” He gave my arm a comforting squeeze.

  “I broke the rules.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m always breaking them.”

  I looked away. “I touched him.”

  “His dick?”

  “Yes.”

  He mulled that over. “Did he come?”

  “No. I touched it for ten seconds. He never once entered subspace. No arousal whatsoever.”

  “No erection?”

  “No.”

  “At any time?” He arched a brow.

  “No.”

  “Gay?”

  “Alpha as they come.” I shook my head, trying to help with his troubleshooting, but was too nervous to see a way out.

  “Tell me more about that event in his life.”

  “He mentioned something about wishing he’d gone in first. Didn’t make any sense. He mumbled it to himself. Looked like he was working through some private issue.”

  “Neilson used the truth mixed with a lie to convince you to break the law, which is entrapment.” Cameron pulled out his phone and scrolled down the screen.

  “He’s going to ruin me.”

  “Oh, shut up.” He winked at me. “I’ve already ruined you. And you loved every second of it.”

  A thrill fluttered through my chest - a momentary break from torment. “You’re looking to see if there’s anything on him?”

  “Come on, Scarlet. This will be fun. You know how much I love a challenge.”

  “Are you going to fire me, too?”

  His eyes rose to meet mine.

  “I deserve it.”

  “Scarlet,” he snapped. “He could have been a psychopath. And you were alone with him. Am I angry? Yes. But not with you.”

  I leaned over his shoulder to see what he was reading on his phone’s screen. “Is that him?”

  “Well, look at that. L.A.’s finest.”

  “You couldn’t have profiled him that quick?”

  “I kind of feel sorry for him.”

  “His wife was the one shot in front of him?” I read on in horror. “The murderer got off on a technicality. How the fuck did that happen? So much for justice.”

  “Guilt’s a cruel bastard, isn’t it?”

  I rested my head against his arm. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I always do. Psych the shit out of this.”

  Chapter 3

  CAMERON INVITED ME to stay in his office with Ethan.

  He’d asked Dominic to leave and his moody attorney had hesitated at first, but then had complied with his wishes. No doubt he was off to put together a legal brief that would be set in motion as soon as the police got here.

  Cole offered me a reassuring smile and gestured toward the seating area at the rear of his office where a circle of ten leather chairs faced in on each other. He chose to sit and I sat beside him.

  I usually loved it in here with all the high shelves stacked with medical compendiums and books on psychiatry. An antique oak desk with carved legs sat in the center, squarely on a Persian rug. Old photos of respected therapists hung here and there on the walls.

  There was a complex structure in the corner that could flip a sub upside down. Scattered about were antique accoutrements that had once served as barbaric therapies. An old rope from a straightjacket, or the antique thumbscrews Richard always coveted and threatened to steal.

  I shuddered, thinking how all of these rare collectibles could be lost because of Ethan’s attack on us. He had no understanding of what we did and his arrogance made him a great threat.

  Neilson lingered at the back of the room, fidgeting with his shirt collar. He’d probably dressed in a hurry. His hand slipped into his right jacket pocket to retrieve his cufflinks and he weaved them into the buttons neatly. When he raked his fingers through his hair it made him look more vulnerable.

  He’d stepped into the lion’s den and he knew it, realizing he had nothing left to lose.

  Piping hot coffee was being served by Pilar, Chrysalis’s loyal housekeeper. After setting the tray of three mugs and a plate of freshly baked cookies on the coffee table, she was ready to go home - well before the police got to question her.

  She gave Ethan a nervous look and then left.

  From the way Ethan kept checking his watch, it seemed he, too, was wondering where the police were. He strolled over to the Chinese cabinet and opened the door.

  I gave Cameron a wary glance but he seemed unconcerned. He had every right to shut down Ethan’s snooping until he handed over a search warrant, but he didn’t seem perturbed by his inquisitiveness.

  Ethan reached into the cabinet and removed the small leather saddle. “What’s this?”

  The erotic design of a small cock gave away its use, and as he turned it over he frowned in realization.

  Cameron dropped a cube of sugar into his coffee cup and stirred it.

  “People strap this to their back?” asked Ethan. “Why?”

  “A form of punishment during horseplay.” Cameron smiled. “As you can see, for the rider the punishment turns into pleasure. The rider can’t get off the galloping stallion so they have to endure forced orgasms.”

  “This lifestyle of yours is not only fucked up, it’s obscene.” He shoved the saddle back into the closet.

  Cameron took a sip. “Matter of perspective.”

  “What about STDs?”

  “We use protection. We screen.”

  “Glad you’re admitting what this place is.” Ethan sat opposite us and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, as though ready to spring up if needed.

  “What do you believe this place is?”

  Ethan waved his hand through the air. “Private club. Exclusive members. Debauchery.” He glanced at his watch.

  “They’re not coming, Ethan.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The police.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “If that’s true,” he said, scowling, “and you have members with that kind of power, go ahead and inform them I’m taking them down too.”

  “Cookie?” Cameron raised the plate. “They’re home baked.”

  “Laced with drugs?”

  “That would be unethical.”

  “Cole, you can expect to be prosecuted.”

  “Perhaps I can offer you a free membership?”

  Ethan glared at him. “You have an issue with reality?”

  “Let me speak frankly, Ethan. I’m going to run through the reasons why we are so important here.”

  “Feel free. Talk away.”

  Cameron’s genius was legendary, and having seen the way he worked I’d also learned a few tricks. Still, Ethan wasn’t going to be dissuaded - and if I could see that, so could Cameron.

  This would be a waste of time.

  “In 1965,” Cameron began, “a small boy in France was locked in a cupboard by his mother. It actually ended up being for the first twelve years of
his life, which I’m sure we can both agree was bad. Now, this boy was incredibly smart…”

  He was talking about one of my dearest clients, Monsieur Trourville, who continued to have sessions at Enthrall. Our relationship was sacred. I squirmed in my seat, unhappy that his story was being shared with this asshole.

  Cameron continued. “As you can imagine, the abuse, which included a great deal of violence, rewired his brain. After his mother’s funeral he continued to live in the same house. He didn’t leave it for another fifteen years. His agoraphobia was debilitating. While he was trapped in that cupboard, he was given a flashlight and some books to read, including an encyclopedia. He read it from cover to cover - memorized the damn thing. His I.Q. is well over 165.”

  Ethan scoffed. “So he’s a client now? This place cured him?”

  “We did.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Psychologist?”

  “Psychiatrist.” Cole sipped his coffee. “But I digress. Our client’s treatment was so successful he emigrated here and began working on groundbreaking discoveries. Many of them proving Einstein’s theories. He’s also a great chess partner. Do you play?”

  Ethan refused to answer. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other in relaxed arrogance.

  “Well, we know you play the saxophone,” said Cameron.

  “Bravo, Cole. You read my bio.”

  “I did, and I’m sorry about your wife.”

  “So you read tabloid fodder?”

  “The L.A. Times ran a piece on you. You like to give drug cartels a run for their money, apparently. But it backfired, so shouldn’t you be in hiding? Under police protection?”

  “I don’t run.”

  “Quite the risk.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Does it feel like a threat?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not. I’m too sophisticated to use such a banal technique. Perhaps feeling threatened comes from a self-punishing mechanism? Guilt wields a mighty sword. But you already know that.”

  He leaned forward. “Me being here has nothing to do with my wife.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Seriously? You believe it’s appropriate to go there?”

  “Subconsciously, you know I can heal you.”

  “I’m all good here, thanks. There’s nothing wrong with me.”