by René, Dani
I don’t blame Savannah though. I told her that this is nothing more than an arrangement, but I’m lying to myself if I believe last night hasn’t done something to me. It’s fucked with my head, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
This woman who’s walked into my life and consumed my every thought is a mystery, and even though I shouldn’t make an exception, being who I am, I no longer care. All I want is her.
When my office door opens, I look up to find Mason staring at me. My partner and friend. He’s the only one, besides Oliver, who knows who I really am. When I first arrived, he took me in and made sure my life got back on track. When we opened Sins together, I knew there was no one else I could put my trust in.
“You’re going through with it?” he asks, stalking into the space, shutting the door behind him. Leaning back in my chair, I nod. He doesn’t need to know my motivation to take Peyton on. We may be best friends, but there are some things I like to keep to myself when it comes to my submissives. Even though he knows I fuck a lot of women, I can’t tell him the real reason Peyton has jarred me so much.
“I didn’t think I needed your permission.”
“You don’t,” he says, settling himself in the seat opposite my desk. There’s nothing left to say, but I know Mason, and this is not something he’s going to let go. I don’t blame him. I’m not a long-term Dominant. Never have been. After what happened with Aurora, I have never had an inkling to take on anyone in my life. Allowing myself a situation to even utter the words I own you does not present itself to me any longer. It’s easier to indulge in playtime, and then move on.
“But?” I ask, knowing he’s waiting to say something more. He drags his gaze over to the wall of toys, implements I use on the toys who enter my office asking for it.
“I don’t know, Carrick. You tell me.” He turns his gaze back to me. “This isn’t like you, and it intrigues me.” The corner of his mouth lifts an inch as he regards me with a smile. Curiosity clear on his features.
“Well it shouldn’t, Mason. There’s nothing to tell. She’s beautiful, she asked me to train her, and I agreed. You’re reading too much into this.” I hope he’ll drop it because I can’t give him more than that. Even though I know where he’s coming from. I know why he’s so confused, so intrigued. It’s been years since I’ve even looked at a blonde woman, let alone a submissive.
“I’ve known you far too long to believe your bullshit,” he counters easily. “And I know when you’re lying too, Rick. The last time you were this caught up in a woman was Eva. But, you see, what I don’t get” --he says, leaning his elbows on his knees-- “never, and I mean never, have I seen you with a blonde. Not a toy, not a sub that’s walked in here asking for you. So . . .” His words trail off into tense silence, leaving me guarded. He’s close. Too fucking close. “Who was she, Rick?” And there it is. The question I knew Mason would ask. I knew he’d figure it out.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Rick. I’m not stupid. I know there must be a reason behind what you do. There always is, and something tells me you’ve been burned. Tell me how? And why now suddenly do you take on a woman like Peyton. Who is she a ghost of?”
Pushing up from my chair, I stalk toward the bar and pour a double shot of Scotch. Downing it in one gulp, I turn to Mason. “This isn’t something I talk about, man. The past stays where I leave it. Behind me.”
“Tell me, Carrick. If you’re doing this to get some sort of closure, that’s fucked up. Peyton doesn’t need you to use her for your sick games.” He’s right. I nod.
“What if she was using me as much as I am her? Did you ever think of that? Yes, she may be innocent to this life, but Peyton Moore is hiding something, and I intend finding out exactly what it is.” He doesn’t respond, merely glares at me with those dark green eyes that seem black in this low light.
“You know, all these years I’ve known you, I never pegged you for a masochist.” He sighs, rising from the seat, stalking toward me. He grabs a tumbler and pours himself a drink. Clinking his glass on mine, he lifts it to his lips and downs it in one swallow.
“What makes you say that?” I question, turning toward the window overlooking the club. There, sitting in the corner booth, are Peyton and Savannah. They’re giggling like school girls, and I wonder if she’s told her friend I took her virginity last night.
“You’ve spent eight years avoiding the ghost you were running from, but now you’re walking straight into hell holding her hand,” he utters from beside me as he sees his girl with Peyton. “You know, Rick, there’s a time to let go of the past and move on to a new future. Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe this girl will drag you out of the self-destruct you’ve been on for so long.”
“Only one thing will ensure I let the past go, Mason. And that vengeance is coming soon. As for Peyton, she’s a toy I’m training. Nothing more.” My words are cold, devoid of emotion, because if I allow myself just an inkling of what she’s making me feel, I’ll break.
Mason doesn’t say any more. Instead, he pats me on the shoulder and leaves. I’m alone with my thoughts. With the fear that Peyton Moore is going to unravel me. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.
* * *
Stalking into the club, I find Mason and Savvie sitting at the bar. It’s still early, but there are a few people in the booths. As I reach them, my best friend’s green gaze lands on my gold one. He leans in, planting a kiss on Savannah’s forehead, but his stare is on me all the time.
“Mason,” I smirk, knocking once on the bar to get Dylan’s attention. He knows what I want. A gin and tonic. It’s the only drink I have when I’m down in the club. “Savvie, looking beautiful as ever.” She turns her attention to me. Her big sapphire eyes look up at me.
“Rick, I’ve missed you.” She rises, wrapping me in a hug I don’t expect. When I flit my gaze to Mason, he just shrugs.
“And this?” I question her, chuckling as she steps back and smiles.
“Look after my best friend, Anderson, or I’ll have your balls,” she warns me. She pierces me with a serious stare, and all I can do is nod.
“Of course, I will. I’m not a complete asshole, you know,” I whisper in her ear, loud enough to get a snort from Mason.
“Are you going to be around tonight?” Mason asks, his expression filled with worry. If I respond, he’ll know where I’ll be. But if I don’t, there’ll be more questions.
“I may stick around. If something comes up, then I won’t be.” The glass Dylan poured earlier is empty. He gestures for a refill, but I shake my head. “Later,” I say. I’m not a fan of drinking. I’ve seen too many submissives and Dominants fuck up by getting wasted and heading into the rooms.
I’ve spent one too many nights pulling them out of there and having to ban them for life. Even though there are contracts in place ensuring they can’t sue, I feel like shit for it because I’ve lost the client.
When I reach my office, I push open the door and stop dead in my tracks. On the floor, kneeling like the perfect submissive is Peyton. She’s dressed in a white corset that has pink ribbons threaded through creating a zigzag pattern. Her tits are covered, but they’re barely contained in the tight fabric.
Her head is bowed. Her lashes flutter, and I know she’s aware of me. As she should be. Her legs are spread beautifully, and the scrap of material covering her cunt is taunting from between her thighs. Both her hands are behind her back. I’ve seen women kneel for me many times. I’ve allowed them to present themselves to me, but never has a woman new to this life ever captured my attention like Peyton.
“You’re early,” I say, finding my voice in the shock still evident in my tone. She doesn’t respond. Instead, she stays silent, just like I expected her to. I haven’t directly asked her a question, so there’s no need for her to acknowledge me. Stepping into the office, I shut the door with a gentle click.
Her perfume, the scent of a rare orchid, invades my senses. She is a delicate flower amon
gst this darkness that will only tear her apart, petal by petal. All the men downstairs are not good enough for her. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, neither am I.
“Eyes up.” She obeys. Her big jade eyes meet mine. They shine with excitement and yearning. I shouldn’t be training her, but I can’t help myself. Her obedience is more than intoxicating. It’s addictive. “You look beautiful, Kitten,” I tell her with a smile.
A soft blush paints her cheeks, and she offers me an innocent grin. “Thank you, Sir.”
I’m not a sadist, but I want to mark her more than I have anyone else before. Even Aurora. I shouldn’t do it. Her training shouldn’t be met with harsh punishments, even after last night when I lost all fucking control. But deep in my gut, all I want to do is see her creamy skin that reminds me of porcelain marred with beautiful red welts.
I have a plan of what I’ll be offering her tonight. I thought about it earlier, and it’s got me hard already. Knowing she’ll experience all of this for the first time with me is heady. For some reason, I want all her firsts with me. When I left her last night and walked into my apartment still marked in her bloody innocence, I jerked off again and again, and even seeing her in my sanctuary right now, I know I can’t allow her to walk away from me. I don’t want to be rid of her.
I don’t say anything. Instead, I walk over to my desk, set down my phone and keys, and shrug off my jacket. She’s silent. Beautiful. Fucking perfect.
All my life, I was in love with one woman. My heart had molded itself to hers, and I believed I’d never feel that way about anyone again. Perhaps I won’t. Agreed, this is not a relationship, but my feelings for Peyton are completely different.
10
Peyton
“Stand for me, Kitten,” he utters in a tone drenched in lust. I rise to my feet. The lingerie I bought earlier today feels exquisite against my skin. Carrick stalks around me, silently taking me in. Every inch of my exposed skin tingles with anticipation of what’s to come. “I’d like to take you to my apartment tonight,” he informs me when he stops in front of me.
“Okay, Sir,” I tell him easily. The words fluid on my tongue. He smiles with satisfaction clear on his handsome face. Stepping behind his desk, he shuts his laptop off and grabs a set of keys. He takes his suit jacket from the back of his black leather office chair and drapes it over my shoulders. His scent, spicy and warm, wraps around me.
“Can’t have anyone seeing what’s mine,” he says, murmuring the words in my ear. He leads me out of the office and down a long, dark hallway. We reach a small elevator, which we take silently to the top floor of the building. As soon as the doors slide open, we step out into a private corridor that has a faint scent of orchids.
“This is yours?” I ask, trailing my fingertips over the petals of a bright pink flower. Orchids are beautiful, rare because they’re so difficult to grow.
“I love things that aren’t easily found.” Carrick’s voice carries a hint of something. I can’t pinpoint it just then, but he’s gripped my attention more than anyone ever has. “Come, Kitten.” He ushers me inside his apartment.
The space is elegant. Nothing I’d pictured it would be. Slate gray walls are adorned by intricate modern art. Two large pillars of open brick offset the living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows with their black frames overlooking the city are draped by flowing cream curtains which don’t look like they close.
There are two large sofas, both a rich magenta—dark, luxurious pink. A black shag rug sits under a glass-top table, and a modern fireplace overlooks the scene. It’s open plan, and the kitchen to my right is black and chrome, with hints of color coming from the cabinet doors. A fine pattern of the same pink adorns the seating.
“Do you like it?” Carrick asks after my perusal of his apartment lands back on him. The low lights that sit flush in the ceiling glow a soft cream, which turns the contours of Rick’s face from human to a statue carved from marble, and my fingers itch to touch him.
“It’s beautiful. I didn’t pin you for an art lover,” I tell him, padding toward the one piece of an abstract woman, sitting with her back to the viewer. She’s naked, and the curve of her spine is a perfect slight S, giving way to the white sheet she’s sitting on, which hints at her bare ass. Her hair is pinned atop her head, with thin tendrils which frame her delicate neck.
“Those are all Mason’s work,” he tells me. I’m shocked, because I had no idea. Savannah has never mentioned his art to me. I was clueless Mason even knew how to hold a paintbrush, let alone create such beautiful paintings.
“I didn’t know.”
Carrick joins me, his body cocooning me from behind. His body heat calms my erratic heartbeat as he slips the jacket from my shoulders. His hands on my shoulders steady me as he holds me in place. The gentle kiss he places on my neck causes goosebumps to rise in its wake.
There’s never been a time I’ve been surer of what I want. The man I want. Every suitor my father brought to the house was after one thing--our money. They saw me as the innocent little girl. Not wife material. And I didn’t prove them otherwise. I didn’t want to be paraded around like a trophy. Deep down, I needed to feel wanted, desired. A woman, and not a girl.
Carrick gives me that in spades, and I’ve not been around him for very long. He’s offered me the one thing I most desired. To feel beautiful. When I first thought about submission, it wasn’t about the sex. I believed it was about the emotion that comes from it. Kneeling for one man, allowing him to offer you pleasure is not a weakness. There’s a strength in it. When I waited for him in the office, I felt real for the first time in years. Knowing I’m the one who holds the power, because if I don’t allow him to spank me, fuck me, he can’t take it.
He reaches for my hair, his fist gripping the wavy tendrils. With a harsh tug, my head falls back against his chest, and a whimper of need tumbles from my mouth. This man will be my undoing, unraveling me bit by bit until all that’s left is my need for him.
“Come, Kitten,” he orders, turning me to face him. His fingers lift my chin gently, forcing me to lift my gaze to his. “Tonight, we’ll learn how you enjoy different sensations.” His words elicit a tingle that trickles down my spine. My body is already trembling with anticipation at the thought of what he’s going to do to me.
“What do you mean?” My brow furrows in confusion.
“Have you ever heard about or read about sensation play?” he asks, as if teaching a small child. I guess I am. Each step I take into his world is another learning curve, and if I have to be honest, I’m excited.
“Not really,” I answer honestly. If there’s one thing I know it’s that I need to tell him how I’m feeling or what I’m experiencing for this to work.
“Okay, let’s go to my bedroom. If you feel out of your depth and need to use your safe word, then you do it at any time. Do you understand me, Peyton?”
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur, teasing him with the words that seem to turn his eyes molten. It looks like liquid gold trickling through the depths of his gaze.
“Good girl.” Carrick slips his hand in mine and leads me down a long hallway into a bedroom the size of my apartment. It’s massive.
The opulence of his bedroom is breathtaking. A king-sized bed sits against a brick wall. The headboard is made of tufted velvet. Black sheets adorn the bed with pillow cases the same dark magenta as the sofa. Four steel posts sit on each corner of the bed, and I know what they’re used for before I notice the leather cuffs locked to them.
Two large pink orchids sit on either of the jet-colored nightstands. The carpet is thick, plush under my bare feet and the color of ash.
Once again, I’m greeted with floor-to-ceiling windows with the same view as the living room.
“This is . . .” I can’t find words to describe the bedroom.
“I’m glad you like it. I want you on the bed, Kitten. On your back. I’ll be binding you to the four posts,” he tells me easily, strolling over to the window, oozing confidence like
it’s a cologne. I move quickly, finding that the sheets are cool against my skin. The silky material is delicate and shiny. I lie back, unsure of what I’m doing. He doesn’t move, merely stands looking out over the view with his arms folded in front of his chest. He’s still dressed in his blue shirt and black slacks.
I take a moment to admire him. Over six feet of lean muscle. His hair, the color of warm chestnuts, sits messily atop his head. His profile of a chiseled jaw, sharp features, and his softly tanned skin gives the illusion that he’s perfect. Beautiful.
But I know no person is perfect. We all have flaws.
“Close your eyes, Kitten,” he tells me without turning. I shut them immediately, and that’s when the anticipation kicks in. Silence echoes loudly in the darkened room. My skin skitters with a cool shiver when I try to picture where he is, or if he’s moving. I can’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t perhaps shifted on the spot.
A shuffle of material sounds like a foghorn to my ears.
“If you open your eyes, I’ll whip your ass. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir,” I purr like the kitten he calls me. More shuffling of material, and then I feel his hand on my ankle, the cold leather wraps around it like an ominous sign.
“Breathe, Peyton. I won’t hurt you.” His assurance eases my tension somewhat. I’ve never been tied up before. But then again, I’d never been spanked, and I loved it. He continues to bind me to the four corners of his bed. I’m spread open to his gaze. “You look beautiful against the darkness, my sweet little Kitten.” I can’t help smiling.
“Perhaps I’m your light.” I don’t know where the words come from, but the air in the room shifts. It changes as soon as the last word falls from my mouth.
“Perhaps.” It’s the only response. He’s not angry, I can tell, but he sounds almost pained by the prospect. His soft footfalls on the carpet are now as loud as if they were on tiles. When he returns to me, soft material covers my eyes. “Lift your head,” he orders. Once the blindfold is in place, he rises from the bed, and then I’m once again met with silence.
