by Cynthia Dane
“You know a place we can go?” Alice felt overdressed in her flirty cocktail dress. Even though she had moved her old clothes into the penthouse, she was still drawn to the shiny new designer dresses she had steadily accumulated since reuniting with Monroe. She consoled herself by saying her husband’s clothes were clearly designer as well. They would be the best dressed couple no matter where they went.
The night was as dark as the lights of downtown would allow. Monroe shifted gears with a deft hand as he pulled out onto the avenue. “I know where we can go. Haven’t been there in a long time. I must be overdo for an appearance.”
“Let me guess. Another place you own?”
“Absolutely not. What, you think I own all the nice places downtown?” He sent her a flirtatious glance before easing into traffic. Was he already getting into the freeway lane? “That’s ridiculous. There are other billionaires in town. The Andrews alone own like half this city.”
“Forgive me, sir.” Could she bat her eyelashes any harder? They were going to fall out!
“God,” he muttered, stepping on the gas once they were on the freeway. “I love it when you call me that.”
The windows came down as soon as they reached top legal speed – actually, it was probably faster than that. If Monroe could barely contain himself in the boardroom and the bedroom, what the hell was keeping him from going illegal speeds on the freeway? Wasn’t it called a freeway for a reason?
Cool summer night winds blew through the car, roaring above the engine, above the voice yelling in Alice’s ear whenever her husband attempted to speak. Nope. Doesn’t mean a thing right now! Alice laughed, feeling like she was on a roller coaster tearing through the city. On either side of the freeway were the shining windows of high-rises, some of them familiar, some of them still nameless as far as Alice was concerned. The scent of the river coming in from the passenger side hit her as they veered toward the bridge. Everything was so fresh, so renewing that Alice couldn’t help but forget a few of her troubles for the few minutes it took to drive to the old industrial district.
“Should’ve known,” she said, once they were back on the quieter streets. “You wouldn’t own anything around here. Too dirty for you.”
“Excuse you, Mrs. Monroe,” he admonished, picking a parking spot right next to a convenient valet. “I’m dirty in plenty of other ways.”
“So you’ve proven time and again.” The engine shut off, the passenger side door lifting up. The valet came up to take Monroe’s keys. One hand deposited the keys while the other felt up the back of Alice’s dress. Already the deep thumps of club beats vibrated out of a nearby converted warehouse.
The line was out the door. Young men and women, dressed in short skirts, nice shirts, and doing last minute preparations for the bouncers talked about their new college classes and how hard they wanted to bang that night. Alice couldn’t fault them for this sound logic. She was thinking about a good bang too.
By now she anticipated the drill. She and her magnificent husband would stroll up to the bouncer, exchange nods, and be admitted right into the club, ahead of anyone in the line. Lines? What were lines when everyone could instantly recognize someone of Monroe’s commanding stature? When the bouncer said, “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe,” more than one person tittered. Alice may have been one of them.
Alice knew they could have received the full five-star treatment. The club was upscale enough – the kind of place she and Candice would have constantly talked about going to, but never had the guts to try – and offered a variety of VIP rooms stuffed with professional party-goers and alcohol, but Alice had made it clear she wanted to act as normal as possible. Skipping the club line not included.
“You wanted to dance?” Monroe gestured to the crowd of dancers getting down and dirty to an Usher song. “Then let’s dance.”
“I want a drink first!” Alice shouted over the music. “Get me a mojito!”
“Why, Ms. Culver.” Her husband pulled her into his arms and shared with her a delicious grin that could’ve easily melted half the panties in the room. Get away, ladies. He’s all mine. You hear? I’m going to grind against this Adonis in more ways than one tonight. “Not only are you being incredibly rude right now, but aren’t you supposed to be pregnant?”
She took his hands, gentle kiss tapping his fuzzy chin. “May I please have a mojito, sir? I promise I can suspend any fake pregnancies for the night.”
“You are so damn cute.” They were already rocking together on the edge of the dancefloor. Not rocking to the beat of Usher, but rocking to their own rhythm that only they could feel. “You also won’t be faking nothing if I have anything to say about it.”
Alice was pulled between being turned on and impressed that he could sound like a casual guy for one damn night. “Go ahead and try, Mr. Monroe.”
“Come on.” He bit the bottom of her ear before leading her toward the bar. “I’ll get you a drink to keep myself from fucking you right here in front of these nice people.”
Oh, the people who were having vertical sex on the dancefloor? Those nice people?
The mojito wasn’t as good as Alice hoped for, but that may have been because her stupid taste buds had gone totally Monroe since getting married. I can’t function unless my drinks are bitter like my corporate soul.
What Alice couldn’t finish, her husband downed in one shot. When that wasn’t enough, Monroe bought a whisky sour for them to share at the bar. By then, Alice was already tipsy enough to twirl her hair on her fingers and sidle up next to the sexiest man in the club.
“You are killing me in these clothes. Why haven’t you worn them before now?” Alice couldn’t keep her hands off the leather and soft cotton beneath. Next she would be feeling up that denim and whipping his cock out in front of these supposedly nice people. Right behind her two co-eds vied for the same young stud. The three of them were about to go grind on the dancefloor at this rate. Alice couldn’t wait to go join them.
“You seemed content with the expensive suits.” Monroe sipped his drink before kissing his wife’s lips. The taste of whisky was strong. “Maybe I didn’t want to upset our balance.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to know that deep down you’re a normal guy, Damon.”
“Am I? Darn. There goes my façade. This whole time I thought I was raised a billionaire, silver spoon and everything.”
“I like it when you get rid of any façades.” Alice wanted this jacket off him and on her. “You have to think of things from my point of view. I’ve married into one of the richest families in New England. I constantly feel like I’m wading through a mire of ways I can fuck up. Nice to know we can be on the same level sometimes.”
“Oh, my sweet love,” he purred into his drink. “We are always on the same playing level. You still have no idea how much I feel like a fool deep inside when we’re together.”
“A fool? How?” This had to be good. The idea her husband could be a fool was so absurd.
“Easy. I see you…” he touched her nose, “and I want to do all sorts of disgusting things to you.” Mm, he was getting tipsy too, wasn’t he? Excellent. “It’s all I can think about when you’re sitting next to me. How soon can I get my cock inside you, Alice? You want to know why I like leashing you? Because then I get the veneer of control. It’s what keeps me separated from the animals.”
“Here I was going to say you’re free to ravage me like a beast any time, sir.”
“I thought I was already doing that?”
“When we go on a real honeymoon, I’m hoping you’ll do more than what is considered socially acceptable.”
“Yes, a real honeymoon.” He put their empty glass down on the bar. “Until then, it’s Friday nights in the club.”
Alice glanced at the crowded dancefloor. “Shall we, sir?”
“Always, my pet.”
Alice was absolutely convinced that she had the hottest date in the room. Sure, there were other good looking guys scoring chicks on the dancefloor a
nd then luring them away for a more private time in a corner, but did any of those guys have the V-shape of her husband’s abdomen, the rock-hard chest, the chiseled jaw, the unrepentant facial hair, or those searing amber eyes? Only Alice could say she had the intense pleasure of dancing with a man as sexy as hers. From the way he continuously felt her up, whether it was to the loud, raunchy beats of a house song or the smooth tones of an RnB jam, Alice remained entranced with only one man in the room.
“Still thinking about me?” They were locked together, her legs straddling his as they sank down toward the floor. Some sultry Lana del Rey remix sent them into this stupor they could not get up from. “Or should I help you figure out what you really want, sir?”
“I know what I want.” He kissed her with such famished intensity that she almost forgot where they were. “I want you every damn day. In my bed, of course.”
“Excuse you. Our bed.”
“Yes.” He dipped her, letting her hair spill onto the floor and her breasts almost spill from the top of her dress. “Our bed, precious.”
When she snapped back up, her thighs slid all the way up his leg and bumped into his erection. “Oops. Look what I did.”
“Yes.” Alice loved it when he growled like that. “Look what you did, Alice. I used to be a lot more in control of my life than I am now. Ever since you walked into my club that night, I was a fucking goner. I had to have you.”
Her fingers weaved through slick, silky hairs. “You did have me.”
“It wasn’t enough, was it? For either of us.”
“No way. I never once stopped thinking about you.”
“So it’s agreed. We’re meant to be together.”
“We better be.” For what I’m going through? Alice didn’t want to think about that. “’Til death do us part, Damon. That better be later rather than sooner.”
“Alice.” The music continued to play. People continued to dance. Yet as far as Alice and Damon Monroe were concerned, there was nothing beyond the two of them. No music. No people. Only them, and the passion emanating between their helpless bodies. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I swear it. I’ll cut off my own arm if it means protecting you and our family.”
“You promise?”
He promised with another kiss, this one refusing to let her go.
So much for their normal night. Or perhaps it was normal to run up to an employee and demand a VIP room. Maybe it was normal to shove a wad of bills into someone’s hand to ensure that they weren’t bothered for an hour. Was it normal to take a whole hour? Was it normal to rush into a tiny room, bombarded with club beats and the scent of sweat and sex for the sole purpose of making more sweat and sex? It was probably normal to rip off half of Alice’s dress and have two fingers inside her before she could emit a moan from her throat.
Nothing felt more normal than pulling up his shirt and whimpering against his hot skin and feeling his cock replace his fingers. Alice was back against the wall in a club, like the first time they made love.
Because that’s what it was then, and that’s what it was now. So what if they didn’t know what to call it back then? Alice was naïve and Damon was closed off from what his heart desperately wanted him to have. It didn’t matter if they were in bed, having spirited, vanilla sex or in The Dark Hour exchanging verbal BDSM. Alice wanted to spend the rest of her life experiencing what it meant to be the object of Damon Monroe’s affection. No other woman in history could say she had this man’s love.
She had it. She had his love, his money, and… yeah, that was him coming all over her, inside and out. (To be fair, she did her share of coming too.)
“There’s nothing fucking better,” she mumbled against his breathless lips, “than how I feel with you.”
Monroe lowered her to her feet but did not let her go. His arm remained slung around her, his words as potent as his virility. “We’re going to take over the world, you and I,” he said.
“One thing at a time.” Alice ran her fingers up and down his sweaty muscles. So. Much. Power. She had felt it between her legs once already that night. Would he be ready to go again when they got home? (Who was she kidding? Of course he would be! The man was fit and barely in his thirties. He was going to ram her pussy until she couldn’t feel it anymore!) “Let’s start with taking over your company.”
“Stop talking so sexy. How did you know hostile corporate takeovers get me hard?”
“Because you’re a lion who saunters up to some other shit lion’s pride and kicks his ass out of there.”
“And then gets all the women.”
“You only need one woman.”
“That’s right.” Monroe’s thumbs massaged her naked thighs. The man was always so fascinated with his own work. He’s got a fetish. He totally does. Even if I go back on birth control he’ll be fantasizing about knocking me up. Alice wouldn’t disagree that it was hot. “One woman to take over the world with. Just what I always wanted.”
“I thought you wanted a woman to build a stable home with?”
Monroe hoisted her legs back around his waist. Why, was it time for round two already? “What makes you think that’s not the same thing?”
Much to Alice’s relief, her husband was more than ready to take her for another round when they arrived home. Not only was he ready, but he fully intended to put those handcuffs to good use. And the paddle. And the brand new spreader bar he had kept hidden in the bottom of his drawers.
Alice stood no chance. Thank goodness.
Chapter 10
Alice may not have been a runner like her husband, but she could hold her own on a treadmill, even when she was heavily distracted by the binder opened before her and obscuring her speed and time.
The company gym was not the most private place to work, but Alice was eager to have a good workout that didn’t include her legs being spread around her husband – who currently lifted weights with one of his bodyguards a few yards away. (Dee? She was taking an early lunch.) Monroe was not happy that his wife insisted on bringing her study materials down to the gym, but after he cleared the place of anyone he didn’t approve of, they got down to their (separate) physical business.
I can’t remember all these names. Yes she could. She did it all the time when she was a hostess. Remembering names earned her extra tips. Now she needed more than tips. She needed to impress the remaining shareholders that she and her husband had yet to buy out.
“Ow!” She tripped on the treadmill, but caught herself before falling. Monroe dropped his weights with a loud clang! that shook the whole floor. By the time he raced up to her treadmill, Alice had already begun to run again. “I’m fine,” she insisted, catching that look of undying concern in her husband’s eyes. I’m not supposed to resent the color of your eyes, dearest husband. “I said I’m fine, Damon.”
He pointed to the binder spread open before her face. “You’re too distracted.” Alice didn’t have time to protest with more than a “Hey!” as her husband snatched the binder, closing it beneath his arm. “Focus on your goal. Right now your goal is to run for another ten minutes.”
“What are you?” she snapped. “My personal trainer?”
He shrugged. “In a way.” There was little mirth in his voice. So much for his joke. Or was it a joke? Monroe was probably dead serious about that. “If you want a real personal trainer, though, I’ll get you one.”
“I can get my own.”
“I know the best ones.”
They were on the verge of a petty argument in the middle of the gym, Monroe in his sticky white T-shirt (damn him) and Alice in an increasingly restricting sports bra. This thing fit me two weeks ago! She was gaining weight. She knew it. Totally gaining weight, and it was starting in her tits.
The fight never fully erupted. Alice wanted to say that was a good thing, but the reason it was interrupted was because Mr. Clayborn (whom had been relatively distant since Alice’s fire mishap) strutted into the gym wearing his dapper little suit. The more Alice saw him, th
e more she thought of how readily he did Russell’s bidding. Like starting fires? Alice would probably never know who was paid to do that, like Julia Monroe never got answers about her own accident.
“Sir,” Mr. Clayborn said, tapping on Monroe’s arm. Alice’s husband tore his attention away from her and to his frequently absent assistant. “Your father has sent me to tell you and Mrs. Monroe that the shareholders’ meeting has been moved up to eleven.”
“Ele…” Monroe was redder than when lifting weights. “That’s in twenty minutes!”
Alice shut off her treadmill. “What?”
Mr. Clayborn did not look upset to have to report this news. That’s it! You don’t work for my husband anymore! Did Alice have the authority to decide that? She better damn well have that authority!
“The shareholders came early and want to hold the meeting now. Your father told them that you and Mrs. Monroe are currently unaccounted for. So, they told me to come find you and let you know that the meeting will start in twenty… eighteen… minutes. Sir.”
“Don’t you fucking sir me, Mr. Clayborn.” Monroe grabbed both his and Alice’s duffel bags. “Or I’ll shoot the messenger right in front of me.”
They raced to the locker rooms to take the quickest showers and change back into their business wear. Alice fought with pantyhose and a bra that refused to click shut.
“Coming!” she cried, racing down the hallway with her shoes in hand. Monroe held the elevator open. Bastard had more clothes on than she did, but he didn’t have to put on makeup and do his hair. Or at least do more than comb it with some water. The man only had twenty minutes to get ready and put the whole conference room upstairs to shame. His wife could hardly compare.
God. The shareholders.