by Leigh Lennon
Chapter 4
Marcel
I’d not expected that sort of reaction. But then again, I’d not been sure how she’d respond to my presence at her family’s brunch.
And I stand in front of her, her eyes glossed over with what I assume are tears of embarrassment. There’s this desire to touch her ivory skin or interlace my fingers with hers. I don’t. Who knows if her thoughts were invaded by me, as mine were of hers.
“Well, chéri, that was quite the entrance.” When I have nothing else to say, I revert to humor.
She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments only to open them as she turns her lips from the cutest little frown to an out-and-out breathtaking smile, falling all over her entire face.
“Yeah, well, the last thing I thought that would happen at brunch with my mother and father by my side was to meet the man who….” She trails off. “And you hadn’t called me cherry, but chéri. I should have known.”
“Yes, I called you chéri at first. But, cherry is appropriate, too. But, please continue. I’d like to hear the rest of that first sentence, Molly O’Hennessey.”
“Why is it my name falling from your lips in your French accent is sexier than it really should be?”
“Well, that, Molly O’Hennessey, is a wonderful compliment, but don’t think changing the subject will get you off the hook. Please finish your sentence, little girl,” I almost demand.
She’s squinting at me. “Are you attempting to come up with some sort of fib because you don’t want to share what was on your mind?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh,” I sigh. “We’re going to gloss over that. Okay, I’ll let it go for now because I’m sure seeing me today was a shock, and I had the element of surprise.” I reach my hand to hers, turning it up. “Can I have your phone?” She still has her purse in her hands, and she continues to stare at it. I don’t say much more and simply wait.
Fishing through her phone, she taps a couple of numbers, and she places it in my hand. It’s unlocked, and I find her contacts, programming my number in it. “I expect you to text me after you leave. I’d like to meet up with you today and just chat.”
I place her phone back in her hands, and she’s simply staring at me without a word.
“What?” I ask.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re rather bossy?” There’s an inner glow with a twinkle of mischief in her mesmerizing gray eyes.
I let out a small chuckle at her witty commentary. “Oh, hell, chéri, all the time. Now, will you be texting me later? Because I don’t have time for fun and games. Fun, yes, but games, fuck no.”
This garners me a little huff mixed with a small smirk. “Yeah, Gramps, I’ll be texting you.”
Oh, this sass—and if ever given the opportunity, I can’t wait to spank it out of her.
I excused myself after the meal, simply because I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Her brother had already started tracking my gaze when I appeared right after Molly. He’s not dumb, and if I were to wager a guess, the wild streak runs in the family. And by the affection of the whole entire little clan, I’d also wager her brother knows her rather well.
I have a little work to attend to back at the station, but my heart isn’t in it, viewing my schedule for the next couple of weeks and all the feature stories. My thoughts race to how we woke up on the floor of a bar of all places. Not the most romantic, but there was a special rarity in this hookup, and I’ve yet to place my finger on it.
“Ahem.” The voice in my doorway has me peering over my computer. Ah, shit. I should have known.
“Good afternoon, Connie.” My voice is void of any sort of emotion. When will this woman get the clue that number one, that very few of her colleagues take her seriously because of her snake-like ways, and number two, there’s no way we will ever be a we.
“What did you think of Leela’s feature last night?” she asks, leaning in a way I can’t miss. Her tight ass T-shirt displays breasts I have no interest in.
“Yeah, she did a good job, that’s for sure.” I position my head in a way that I can’t see her, hoping to give her a hint I’m busy. Yeah, busy thinking of a woman twenty years my junior.
“So would it be too soon to chat with you about my next feature piece?”
“Um, you’re still covering the good Samaritan, who’s speaking out on bullying. You are also on rotation with filling in for the morning anchor and breaking news. Isn’t that a full plate?”
Not to mention, no one wants to work with her.
“Yeah, that’s all great and such, but I never seem to be able to compete with Leela. She’s the golden girl, and no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
She doesn’t get the hint, and I have to deal with this head-on. But it won’t hurt for me, but my words will hopefully give her the perspective and the needed impact to understand she’ll never be Leela Cesarea.
“Listen, Connie. Comparing yourself to Leela is like comparing yourself to Mother Teresa. It’s like apples and oranges. She broke the biggest story in Seattle in the past ten years. She did her work, came up the ladder, and hasn’t looked for a shortcut, like you. Keep doing what you’re doing, and one day, you will get the praise you want.”
My words are softened from the stern come to Jesus moment I had planned just minutes ago. But she still doesn’t like my message by the way her mouth gapes open, standing still, waiting for more from me.
My cell pings, and I look down, just enough to see an unknown number. I want to open it right away, but then again, I still have this brat in my office, and I can only assume a tantrum is in her immediate future.
“Connie, that’s all for now. I have a call I need to make.” And I’m hopeful, thinking this may be Molly.
“But…” She stammers, and I don’t have the tolerance to pacify Connie Weston today.
“Can you please shut the door behind you?” I ask and turn away, not giving her another bit of my attention.
I open my text, ready for anything, and when I read it, I’d not been wrong. It’s the sassy little girl who is asking to be put over my knee.
Unknown Number: Okay, you bossy old Gramps. I’m texting. This is my number. What’s next?
I type my reply instantly.
Me: Meet me in two hours at my home. Address is below. I only want to talk for now. Don’t be late.
Her simple reply is that fucking thumbs-up I hate with a passion. Yeah, that’ll be yet another thing we discuss when I lay out my plan to her. And I can’t wait.
Chapter 5
Molly
What a bossy and sexy son of a bitch! I’m muttering to myself after telling my parents I’m exploring the city alone. Yeah, I’m exploring alright, something and everything to do with my silver fox of a man.
My mind goes from this is a bad idea to I’ve thought of him all week. And anyway, never did he force himself on me. I continue listening to the English accent directing me through GPS and the almost cliff-like homes. They are just not merely luxurious, but I can’t imagine they are cheap either.
The GPS continues until it has me take a right, at one of the biggest houses right off the street. I understand money. My brother used to have more than he knew what to do with. Thus, the Mercedes I’m currently driving. He’s certainly not hurting for money, not like a second-year kindergarten teacher does, but his contract was cut when he was fired from the team and signed with Seattle for a fraction of what he made in New York. But he’s paid his dues, showing the free-loving world that he’s a changed man.
But Marcel, I knew he radiated old money, and the house proves it. As I pull up to the side of it, it’s encased with more windows than siding. The modern home, complete with a double door, suits what I know about the sexy Frenchman, who, until today, I had no idea what his name was or his nationality. Leela said something about her boss, yet all of my listening skills I preach to my students day in and out stopped working, and I didn’t hear much.
My text al
ert goes off, just as I pull up to the house, and I’m early. Pulling for my cell, after placing my car into park, it’s my brother, and not the man I can’t stop thinking about.
Kier: Hey, I have a teammate, a good guy, who wants to take you on a date. Can I give him your number?
I reply right away.
Me: Um, let me guess, he saw me on the news last night?
It’s funny. My brother never sets me up, so I’m not sure what his angle is.
Kier: Yeah, and I’d not set you up with him, if he wasn’t a stand-up guy? What do you say?
I think for a second, looking at the door to Marcel’s beautiful home.
Me: Let me think on it.
I pocket my phone, in the hopes I can stop this conversation with my brother, and concentrate on more pressing matters.
I slide out of my Mercedes, having changed into a darker pair of skinny jeans, heeled booties, and an emerald green satin button-up top with a nice V to my cleavage. I didn’t think jeans and an older T-shirt would do for Mr. Silver Fox who is also Mr. Money bags. Not that his money would ever be a motivating factor to me. I keep on trying to stop Kier from buying me a house. It’s something I’m more than capable of providing myself when I’m ready.
I step to the front door, and as my hand almost makes contact with it, it swings open to the man who has done nothing but invade my thoughts for the entire week.
“Did you find it all right?” he asks as his greeting, and I give him a bob of my head as he waves me in. I can’t concentrate on him as long as the windows frame the front of the house. The same can be said for the back part of the Seattle skyline.
“Wow, Gramps, this is quite impressive.” I turn to him, and the little bit of gray in his more than five o’clock shadow makes him not only good looking but distinguished.
“I’ve been lucky in life, though I’ve worked hard, too. But thank you, Molly.”
I turn around, and there’s not a bad view from anywhere in the house. Even out the front, where I’d just come from, the flowers that line the driveway and house are immaculate and brimming with colors of white, blues, and light yellows that play on the skyline.
I stop right in front of the best view of all, the Frenchman of my thoughts. His body is pressed up against me. I felt it the first night in the bar, his cock is impressive, like every bit of him. And now that I’ve had it, I want it again. His hand moves just a little, and I think he’ll tip my chin back, or find his way to my taught nipples, straining against my bra. I lift my eyes up, to watch his. The blue in them is deeper, an almost deep sea blue. I want him to kiss me or undress me. And when I think his hand will land on some part of my body, he brings his arm back to his side. He said we’d be talking only, and I guess he’s going to stick to his word on this one.
“Let’s sit on my deck. It’s a nice day, a little breezy. Shall we?” He sweeps his hand toward a door, and if I’d thought the views inside were nice, it’s nothing compared to outside.
He points at a pitcher of something and pours me a glass. “Should I be concerned?” I ask, always one to watch what I drink.
“I guess in these days and times, it’s a wise decision, and I surely can bring you a can of soda if you’d like…”
I’m yanking his chain. “Nah, I’m kidding with you.”
He raises one eyebrow at me. “You may be paying for that little comment later.” He imparts the quickest yet carnal wink my way, and like before, this man can do things to my body with his mere presence.
“Okay, Molly, I’m going to be as direct as I can be right now. I’m not designed for commitment, yet you have messed with my thoughts all week long. And you never finished your sentence in the powder room at Leela’s, but I’d say something similar was on the tip of your tongue, too.”
I nod, yet his direct eye contact changes. A flash of something in his eyes I can’t read.
“Words, Molly, I need your words, chéri.”
Hot damn, his commands, demands, and stern warnings move from just not sexy but to almost animalistic.
“Yes, you’re right. And if I may,” I continue, “I’m not looking for anything serious at all.”
“Let me ask you another thing, my sassy little one. I think you get off on being dominated, controlled, and if I may dare say, your body reacted to it, too.”
Can he read my body and the way I respond to him this easily? There’s no denying it, and honestly, I’m not sure if I should.
“You’re right again, score two for the Frenchman,” I tease, and as I flash a smile his way, a small chortle leaves his full lips, his erotic mouth I remember vividly on many parts of my body.
He leans forward as we sit kitty-corner from one another. He tugs at my hands, pulling them to his lips and peppering kisses on each finger.
“I’m a Dominant. I demand control in everything I do. It’s why I’m so successful.”
Nothing he’s said is a surprise to me. I realized by the way he commanded my body that there was a Dom deep down inside. “I’ll admit I’m surprised, but I liked it. I loved it, actually.”
A small whine escapes his mouth. “Yeah, I’m pretty in tune with a woman’s body. And honestly, I can’t walk away from what the Dom in me wants from you, Molly.”
I lean forward, and his eyes dart from my plunging neckline to my face. “You want me to be your submissive?” My mind is yelling at me—the part that thinks this is a bad idea. I don’t do commitment. Not at this stage in my life. I’m twenty-three. I have many years ahead of me to live the suburbia dream. For now, I’m happy on my own. Yet the more sensual part of my mind tells me he could be fun, and fuck, do I love fun.
“No, not in the traditional sense. I’d train you, show you what a life of submission looks like in the bedroom.”
“And we’d part ways after you trained me?”
“Yes. We both admitted not wanting more. Am I correct?”
I close my eyes, running my hands through the loose red locks that are wild—not pulled back. “And what is it you’d get from this? I’d be the one receiving the training? Reaping your rewards.”
His hand is still laced with mine and he pulls me toward him, depositing me onto his lap. “Oh, no, dear, believe me, I’ll reap the rewards of training you, taming down your sass. Giving you what you need in this world.”
“And what is that?”
“A real man who can own your body and care for it all at the same time.”
His lips crash with mine, and I allow him access.
He pulls away slightly, his face touching mine. This little position seems cozy and intimate as hell, but I don’t pull back. And I’m not itching with discomfort over letting him in for a brief second.
He pulls back slowly, moving me to his side, pushing to his feet and extending his hands to help me up.
With his hand still joined with mine, he walks me back to the front door, carrying an envelope in his hand.
“I’m sure you have many questions in your head. And I’ll answer them. But for now, I’m going to give you a week to think about it. Inside is information about my lifestyle, my hard lines. And because you are three hours away, I’d like you up here in Seattle for the next four weekends. That’s negotiable, of course, if you have other commitments. And because I’ll always provide for any submissive, whether I’m training them or they belong to me, I’ll make travel arrangements for you. If you want to give it a try, one weekend with me, and decide it’s not for you, you can walk away—no questions asked. And honestly, submission is about you giving up the power, but believe me when I say you have the full control to stop it at any time.”
My head is boggled with all the information he’s sharing.
“I know it’s a lot. But, there’s a phone number for my personal assistant. She’ll make the arrangements for you to travel here Friday night, then depart on Sunday afternoon. If you want to explore this side of your desires, call her. If not, I wish you all the luck in the world.”
He pulls me in for another
kiss, this time chaste and almost too innocent. He opens the door for me, and I take my leave since it’s obvious this little meet and greet is over.
I drive back to the hotel on autopilot, thanks to the GPS, but my thoughts only radiate around one entity, and it’s my sexy Frenchman who wants to train me. Only the heavens know what he’ll do, but I want him to do every kinky little thing to me.
The rest of my time in Seattle is a whirlwind, and by Sunday night, after my brother showed all of Seattle that he not only is a changed man but he’s still on the top of his game, I take the three-hour drive back to my home. My parents are spending a couple more days in the Emerald City, but my job and twenty kindergarteners need me. The envelope from Marcel sits in my glove compartment of my Mercedes, and I’ve not looked at it. I couldn’t chance my parents finding it in my hotel room. I was sure to lock it up for safety.
I’m barely through the door of my childhood home when I tear through everything he’s provided me. There’s a sample contract, one that piques my interest right away. On it is a sticky note that reads—Don’t sign. This is simply an example. We will go through this if you decide you want to try it out.
Underneath the sample contract is his lists of hard line items as he called it.
You will not see, date, or sleep with any other person while I’m training you. I, in turn, will not sleep with anyone else during this time.
You will not masturbate or find release by yourself.
You will spend four weekends with me in Seattle. Preferably, four in a row, but I’m flexible. I’ll provide either airfare or a driver to take you to and from your house in Vancouver. You’ll not stay with me, yet I’ll provide your hotel room near the club I’m a member at.
We will do all physical training at the club. I’m a member at Club Temptation.
You’ll adhere to the following rules: you’ll commit to eight hours of sleep a night. You’ll commit to an hour of physical exercise five times a week, and you’ll eat three proper meals.