Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Sinfully Mastered

  Naughty Nookie

  Serena Akeroyd

  Copyright © 2019 by Serena Akeroyd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  I. A Bitch In Time

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  II. Just A Woman

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  III. Frustrated Instincts

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  IV. End of the Beginning

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Also by Serena Akeroyd

  I

  A Bitch In Time

  Prologue

  “It’s about time you brought her home, Nathan. And don’t try to lie to me. I know why you fly out to Chicago every couple of months or so.”

  Even though Nathan Conroy could feel the red starting to crawl over his cheeks, he refused to let the blush out. He narrowed his eyes at Samuel Denison, Marina’s uncle and the guardian of the ranch while the real owner pissed around in Manhattan. Marina had been out of the state for nearly a decade and the Boss Man, as Sam liked to call himself, had decided enough was enough.

  For himself, Nate was getting sick and tired of the endless bitching and the earache it caused.

  Sam really knew how to whine.

  “What do you want me to do, old man?” he bit out, thoroughly pissed off at yet another argument revolving around Marina. “Hog tie her and bundle her on to the plane? You’ve never managed to get her out here full-time, so what makes you think I can?”

  Samuel snorted. “That log between your legs has to be for more than just denting your pants. Get her back here. Do what you have to do, whatever you need to do to get her home. I’m too old to be looking after this damned place. I never wanted the responsibility when I was younger, so I sure as hell don’t want it now.

  “She’s had ten years of freedom. Now it’s time for her to get her ass over here and sort this place out.” He nodded stoutly, sure in his words as though it were God himself who’d decreed them. “Anyway, my research has just come back from the committee. I’m up for swag in Sweden. I might need to fly over there for the ceremony.”

  Only here could the Nobel Prize be dismissed as something to collect. Or a free air ticket to Sweden. These guys collected awards like they were baseball cards.

  “If you know why I go to Chicago, you’ll also know I’ve been making the damned trip for nearly five years. In all that time, Marina has never wanted to come back. What makes you think she’ll change her mind now?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. But you’re out of a job if you can’t get her back home.”

  Nathan glared at the older man. “That threat won’t wash. The community would fall apart without me.”

  “Well, think of them, then. They need a leader. You. They can’t have you if I fire your ass. They need the real head of this place, too. Christ, how Marina can stand to be away from Blue Ridge is beyond me.” The old man shivered, his revulsion at the city where Marina lived was a palpable thing. “No, that place is no good for her. She needs to be home and she needs to take control of the community. I’m too old for the weird shit that’s been going on down here.”

  Nathan had to withhold a snort. Samuel certainly had a way with words. A weird mixture of modern slang and old-fashioned jargon. Anything from being down with the kids to refusing to be a Big Daddy, a.k.a old person, he would and could butcher the best of phrases.

  In this instance, by weird shit, Samuel meant homosexual relationships between some of the members of the community. As of July, they had fourteen same-sex couples. That was fourteen too many for Sam’s liking, but then, the old bastard belonged in the Old West, not in the new millennium.

  Marina wasn’t likely to condemn the members of the commune who had come out, so what changes Sam thought she’d implement, Nathan didn’t know.

  He didn’t say that, though. It wasn’t worth wasting his breath. With the bit between his teeth, Sam could be worse than a yet-to-be-broken-in yearling.

  Samuel sat back in his old leather desk chair. It creaked under his substantial weight; most of it centered about his gut, as he leaned further back and settled his legs atop the desk. “No. She has to take care of the breeding program. I’m too old for that shit.”

  On a ranch, the breeding program Sam should have been discussing was between the cattle. But not on Blue Ridge. He was talking about the human genetics experiment that had been taking place on this land for the last hundred and twenty years. Ever since Marina’s great, great, great granddaddy had decided the world was full of too many idiots. He’d taken it upon himself to rectify the situation.

  Blue Ridge had been the home to over seven thousand geniuses since its inception. Three hundred currently rested their heads here. Everything from artists to writers, mathematicians to scientists used this place as their base. There were labs and studios, classrooms and writing rooms...Blue Ridge protected each of its members, and only asked that more genius stock should be propagated to ensure the IQ Commune never died out.

  As well as act as unpaid ranch hands on the business that funded the entire project.

  But Samuel was referring to said propagation when he made those comments. Ever since Mark and David, two of the commune’s members, had flown down to LA to get married, and then returned to the ranch, the old man had been concerned. Homophobia was still alive and kicking in these parts. But at Blue Ridge, it was a different variety to the usual kind.

  The older folk tended to be more vocal about their disapproval, but no one ever came to blows. It wasn’t that sort of place. And the problem didn’t stem from their dislike of the idea of two men or two women together. It was the lack of necessary reproductive organs that concerned the older generation. Two men or two women couldn’t have a child. As such, there was talk about a sperm donation service amongst the same sex couples.

  The idea of letting Sam deal with such a delicate situation gave Nate a migraine. His bluntness would do more harm than good. Thankfully, while it concerned Samuel, his focus tended to stray unless he was deep in the throes of a discussion on molecular chemistry.

  Nate scrubbed a hand over his face. Knowing the old bastard was concerned, he muttered, “I’ll see what I can do.” Samuel’s face lit up but he shook his head at the sight. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  The warning went unheard.

  Samuel smacked his hands together and gleefully rocked back and forth to the squeaks of a complaining desk chair. “You’ll get her back here. Don’t you worry about that. I have faith in you, my boy. You might be from the East, but you’ve proven yourself time and time again.”

  Nathan wasn’t too sure, but he’d given up trying to change the obstinate old goat’s opinions, when h
is mind was made up. Especially when he’d just been on the receiving end of Sam’s highest compliment. There was nothing better in Sam’s eyes than being from the West.

  Sinking back the shot of brandy Samuel poured him, something he should have realized came with conditions, he left the old man to it. Stalking out of the office, he strode down the darkened hall and up the stairs toward his own quarters.

  He couldn’t deny he’d like Marina to get her ass back home. He was damned tired of making the journey to O’Hare. Chicago was a long way away from Blue Ridge but sad-sap that he was; he’d continue doing it to keep on seeing her.

  Nate had never imagined he’d get entangled with a woman the way he had with Marina; but then, she was unique enough to make a man lose his head. Not that she knew that and not that he intended to tell her.

  No, soft words weren’t his way, and they weren’t Marina’s either. He’d have to scare her to get her back home. He didn’t like the idea of it, but there were plenty of things he didn’t like and still did. Moreover, Sam was right. He was too old to be running the ranch. His ideas were out-moded, and his views were too traditional. Already four families had left the ranch, even though it had been their home and their ancestors’ homes for the last sixty years, because Sam had managed to insult them. Usually over the pettiest of arguments.

  If Marina wanted a home to come back to, then she’d have to see to the messes her guardian created. It was her place, in her blood, but even so, she was unpredictable enough for him to doubt the likelihood of success on this particular mission.

  When he’d first come to Blue Ridge, he’d had an ulterior motive for chancing his luck by applying for a position he wasn’t physically capable of holding. As time passed, his reason for being here diminished, and the reason for that was the woman who had grasped him by the balls the instant she’d sat in front of him at his interview.

  Cool, calm, and collected until their eyes caught and held. Flames had shimmered in the pretty hazel orbs, augmenting the brown so the blue was almost swallowed up in the fire of her desire. And it had been desire. He’d seen it, felt it, and his body had reacted to it.

  They’d been together, off and on, ever since.

  With her back at the ranch, taking control over some parts of the day-to-day management, maybe he’d have time to see to the matters that had brought him here in the first place.

  Who was he kidding?

  He’d never relinquish all control. He’d grown to love this place as much as he loathed it. And any excess energies he had wouldn’t be wasted on solving a twenty-year old mystery. No, it would be focused on fucking Marina until the cold, little bitch turned to fire in his arms again. Until staying in the depths of Montana was no longer a chore for her, but a pleasure.

  As he toed out of his boots, a grin crossed his jaw at the thought of Marina here at the ranch. Every night. His cock stiffened at the prospect and as he kicked out of his jeans, he grabbed his shaft and tugged. If he weren’t on the brink of a visit with Marina, he’d jack off. In four days, he’d have her at his sexual beck and call, and he’d be at hers.

  And she was always as ravenous as he was. That alone was a turn on and enough to have him groaning as he crawled into bed and slipped under the chilly covers. His cock made a tent under the sheet as he laid back, arm behind his head propping him upright.

  He thought of the last time they’d visited, and another smile curved his mouth at the memory of her pert little ass. The caustic but engaging conversation. The attitude that could have arousal revving through his system and his cock hard in zero to two seconds.

  No, he felt no compunction in calling her a bitch, but she was his bitch. Cold, calculating…she was everything he hadn’t realized he wanted in a woman.

  She kept him on his toes, sexually and mentally. She was his equal.

  What that made him, Nate didn’t know.

  A bastard?

  He’d never considered himself as being that; but then, Marina was more than just a bitch. At heart, she was soft.

  Think rock hard dark chocolate with a gooey caramel center. Hard on the outside, the shell brittle, but molten at the center.

  Full of secrets was his lover. He’d long ago promised himself he’d figure out what they were; and now, he had the chance. Marina wasn’t the woman she portrayed to the world. She was something else, he just didn’t know what, and maybe that was why she’d held his attention for far longer than any other woman had.

  She was complex, a puzzle. A riddle wrapped up in slight curves, with breasts that filled his hands to perfection, an ass that didn’t quit, and a pussy that almost burned him as soon as he slipped inside her.

  No, Marina was different. And she was worth fighting for, even if he didn’t know what secret battles he’d have to undertake to win her.

  He pondered the thought as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes drooped and with it, his cock. Before he drifted off to sleep, a thought occurred to him. If he did succeed in getting her back here, then he’d get to climb into her bed every night instead of once in a blue moon.

  No more blue balls. He grinned. Now that idea was one worth fighting for.

  Chapter One

  Well, well, well.

  Who’d a thought it?

  Senator Robert Davison has a cock piercing.

  The eight gauge Prince Albert on the staid fifty-year old’s stubby five-incher was a sight for sore eyes. Or, it would be if I was in the blackmailing business.

  I’d have made a small fortune if that was my game, but who am I kidding? My net worth is currently four million dollars and that isn’t through bribery or blackmail. I wish I could say that I’d earned the money honestly and legally, but I’d be lying.

  It isn’t my fault that prostitution is a misunderstood business. The oldest profession in the book…you’d think people would have come to terms with it by now. However, society’s inability to accept it is the reason I’m in business. And I do love my job.

  A high-pitched squeal cuts through my musings, but there’s nothing odd there. If I received a dollar every time I heard a moan or groan, a whimper or a faint mewl, then I’d probably have four billion dollars in the bank. Not just four million.

  Sniggering a little at the thought, I continue to gaze through the peephole into Jenna McCartney’s quarters. One of my most popular girls, Jenna rakes in nearly thirty thousand dollars a night. Safe to say, she works once a week. And because clients are perverse—and I don’t mean perverted; yes, there is a difference—the fact she only works the one night, means her tips are astronomical. She’s wealthier than me but you couldn’t hope to meet a nicer person. Her bank balance hasn’t changed her nor has her status at Papillon.

  A mother, a good one at that, Jenna epitomizes the old metaphor; salt of the earth. She’d give you her last penny, if you happened to need it. But good, so-called decent folk who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, call her a whore.

  As stomach-burning, eye-twitching as that is —the injustice of it could give me an ulcer— Jenna gets the last laugh. Hell, we all do. That the son of a ‘whore’ rubs shoulders with the kids of the nation’s political and business MVPs is a delicious irony we all enjoy.

  I think Jenna enrolled her son at the Pinemount High School on purpose. She’s like that. Anti-authority, even if the guys and gals she fucks for a living are the authority. It floats her boat to dominate them and to be in charge of the powers that be.

  If it wasn’t for me, she probably would be in a backstreet. Giving guys blowjobs for twenty dollars and getting a decent tip for going without a condom. Beaten by her pimp, controlled through her drug addiction, her baby boy left alone to eke out an existence as his mother’s life imploded... Thank God, that is so far from the truth.

  Thanks to me, Jenna is working in a property worth fifteen million bucks, her kid has a nanny and she can afford to send Jeremy—an undeserving brat, if ever there was one—to a snobby school. She has to work one night to pay for one term at that ove
rpriced institution, but it is her choice.

  I’m only here to protect. That’s my role.

  Madam.

  I always get a sick thrill from the title. No one ever calls me it, but the part of me that is akin to Jenna, the anarchist, loves the term.

  Sex is an art form. Few people realize that. Mostly because they’re uptight prudes who think a decent fuck takes place under the duvet in the pitch black.

  Not here. My girls are artists. Only they don’t have to die before they get the recognition they deserve. As well as the paycheck. Hell, their salaries would make most city boys’ eyes water.

  The truth of it is; I’m the worst paid person in the building. I take ten per cent of each girl’s fees, and I have four women working a day, with a team of twenty-four on rotation. If I’m honest, I feel guilty about the ten per cent, but the mortgage on this place is crippling, and I have to make a living too. The girls don’t resent me, in fact, they’re grateful. And I get that. Because of me, they’re earning six to seven figure salaries.

  Something the average ‘whore’ can only dream about.

  I glance over the ten-inch dildo in Jenna’s hand and wince in commiseration. Ouch. Not that the Senator wants my pity. He looks as though he’s about to start drooling with pleasure.

  Shaking my head at the sight, I move on down the passage, knowing that all is safe and well in that particular room. Well, it is for Jenna. Not so much for the Senator.