by Shandi Boyes
My insides clench in delight when Marcus thrusts his hand out in offering. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Garcia, but only a foolish man would turn down an offer like that.”
I have no chance of holding in my giddy smile, so I set it free. After sealing our deal with a shake of our hands, I spin on my heels and race into the hallway. My overworked muscles scream in protest, but a hurricane couldn’t slow me down. My excitement is too great to inhibit.
22
Lexi squeals in fright when I barrel into her room, not bothering to knock.
“Over already?” she mocks, her tone thickly doused with wit. “He must have used up all his ammo last night.”
I don’t bother answering her, my attention is too focused on her bursting-at-the-seams wardrobe to configure an appropriate response.
“Florida is still warm this time of the year, right?” I ask, yanking open the two doors of her closet.
When she nods, I mumble, “Great.”
Her eyes bulge when I spread my hands three feet apart, launch them into her closet and pluck as many of her clothes as I can from their hanging spot in one fell swoop.
“Not my vintage Indian hipster dress,” Lexi grumbles when she spots her favorite summer dress sitting on top of the twenty or so outfits I harvested from her wardrobe.
My steps out of her room grind to a halt when I see the devastated mask slipping over her face. “I either borrow half your summer wardrobe or stay here. The choice is yours.” I perk my lips and pivot on my heels. “I guess I could stay and hang out with you and Jackson the rest of the week. Since I’m on an unknown amount of leave, I’ve got nothing better to do with my time.” My mouth forms into an O as my eyes widen. “We could borrow the Notebook from Ms. Rachet. I’m sure I saw it in her collection of DVDs last month.”
Lexi dives off the bed, her pace so frantic, she ripples the air. Clasping the tops of my shoulders, she spins me to face the door and barges me towards it.
"I love you, Cleo—so much so, I drew a gun on a man I thought was hurting you—but an entire week of you meddling in my love life is more than I could handle," she groans, reacting precisely as I had hoped.
My mouth gapes when the entirety of her sentence is deciphered by my lust-fuzzy brain. I dig my feet into the carpet, thwarting her attempts to shove me out of her room. Although we have identical features, I’m a little curvier than Lexi and two inches taller, which means her small frame and lack of height has her at a disadvantage.
Huffing, Lexi drops her arms from my shoulders and crosses them over her chest. I adjust my grip on her clothes before turning around to face Lexi. Her eyes are wide and bright, and her lips are curled into a smirk, but I know she is aware of my sudden change in plans. Her eyes are as telling as mine. They are the gateway to her soul.
“Your love life?” I ask, my interest highly notable. If her throat didn’t work hard to swallow, I wouldn’t have believed she heard my question.
“You’re in love?” I push on, ignoring her malicious glare warning me against prying into her private affairs. “Come on, Lexi. I’m not leaving until you spill the beans, so you may as well get it over with.”
Her glare turns evil, charring my soul from the inside out. But I push on, more determined than ever. “Are you in love?”
Lexi waits a beat before barely whispering, “Yes.”
If I didn’t see her lips move, I wouldn’t have known she’d spoken.
“I love him, goddammit!” She locks her packed-with-panic eyes with me while muttering, “And it’s scaring the shit out of me.”
I squeal, startling Lexi so much she flinches. Dumping her clothes onto the floor, I charge for her. Her delightful giggle overtakes my girlish squeal when we flop onto her bed before rolling onto the floor with a loud thud.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I mutter in shock. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. I’ve been so tied up in Marcus the past two months, I wouldn’t have noticed if the world was coming to an end.
"I can't believe you didn't notice," Lexi fires back, her voice void of its earlier panic. "How do you think I recognized the glint in your eyes last week?" She bounces her loved-up gaze between mine. "Because I've been denying the same gleam the past four weeks."
Blood oozes into my heart, beyond smitten my little sister has fallen in love. “Does Jackson know?” I ask, unashamed of my prying.
Lexi’s eyes flick to the door, ensuring we are void of any nosy spectators before she shakes her head. “I nearly blurted it last night. I could have been forgiven for that one, though. I don’t care if you have a heart made out of stone, when you’re riding your third orgasm for the night, anything that leaves your mouth can be excused.”
Pretending she didn’t just share way too much information, I curl my arms around her shoulders and give her a tight squeeze. “I know this isn’t something you wanted, but if it makes you feel any better, you couldn’t have picked a more perfect man to fall in love with. Jackson is a wonderful guy. Caring, sweet—”
“Great in the sack,” Lexi interrupts while waggling her brows.
Laughing, I reply, “I guess I’ll have to take your word on that.”
My heart bursts when Lexi’s eyes narrow into a scowl. I’ve never seen her get jealous over a guy before.
I gather the arsenal she is throwing out, storing it for a more appropriate time before saying, “Jackson is a great guy, Lexi. You should tell him how you feel. Then he can reciprocate it.”
Lexi takes a moment considering my suggestion. Her lips are pursed into a considerate pout, and her brows are stitched. Heat blooms across my chest when she nods a few minutes later, agreeing with my advice.
"What about you? Are you going to tell Marcus how you feel?" she queries, adjusting her position so she is facing me head on.
I grimace. “Things are a little different between us.”
Lexi doesn’t need to ask for clarification. Her eyes speak on her behalf.
“The BDSM lifestyle isn’t about love; it’s about sexual compatibility,” I explain, the hammering of my heart echoing in my tone.
"Which you guys have in abundance," Lexi inputs, her tone more heartfelt than usual.
I nod, supporting her assessment. "But Marcus has unambiguous rules stipulated in our contract. Love is notably absent. That isn't part of our agreement."
“I thought you didn’t sign the contract?” Lexi probes as her brows inch together.
“I didn’t,” I respond, my tone low.
Lexi quirks her lips. “So what’s the problem? He stayed with you last night knowing you haven’t signed the contract. He invited you to go home with him, once again, knowing you haven’t signed the contract. I also heard what he said to you out there,” she says, nudging her head to her door. “Maybe he wants more than just a contractual agreement as well? Have you ever thought of that?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “He mentioned something about us dating,” I admit, chewing on my bottom lip.
Lexi's brows hit her hairline. "Well, there you go."
I grimace. “It was sweet, but I am afraid if he finds out I’m falling in love with him, he will leave. A BDSM lifestyle is all Marcus knows. It’s easier for him, and a whole heap less complicated. Once he reached his quota with his previous subs, he moved on without a hesitation.”
My heart clenches in my chest. It hurts a lot more admitting your feelings out loud than bottling them up inside.
“Life is complicated, Cleo; you know that better than anyone,” Lexi mutters, sounding more mature than her twenty-one years. “Remember what Daddy always said, ‘there is an exception to every rule.’” She waits for me to nod before adding on, “When Chains pulled you behind him last night, I saw the fear that crossed his face. You’re his exception, Cleo, whether he likes it or not.”
After brushing a stupid sentimental tear from my cheek, I place a kiss on Lexi's temple and pull her into my chest. My dad was as wide as he was tall, and he had a heart that matched his size
. He was a wonderful man who taught us that love isn't just about flowers, compliments, and regular dinner dates. It's about respect and understanding and putting the needs of others before yourself. That was what I was trying to do with Marcus earlier. I was trying to give him up to save him. But no matter how hard I tried, my selfish heart couldn't let him go.
Lexi and I stay huddled together for several minutes, comforting each other in a way she pretends she despises, but inwardly adores. Once I’ve secured enough sisterly love to get me through the week, I pull back from our embrace. The tightness crushing my chest eases when I lock my eyes with Lexi. Her gaze is as cheeky and determined as ever.
“Are you sure you’re okay staying here? It doesn’t feel right leaving you after your attack this morning.”
Lexi gasps out a whine. “Shut up, Cleo,” she demands sternly. “I don’t need any more lectures on my condition. I’ve had enough. First Jackson, then Chains, now you.” She loudly gags, showcasing our variance in maturity isn’t just based on our difference in age. “I have an appointment with Dr. Spencer first thing tomorrow morning. Jackson is driving me there himself.”
“Okay, good. I’ll transfer some money into his account tonight,” I blabber while attempting to recall how much Dr. Spencer’s appointment cost and praying I’ll have enough to cover the expense.
Lexi rolls her eyes. “Jackson doesn’t need your money; but even if he did, it wouldn’t be necessary. A lady named Debbie called not long before you arrived home. She blubbered something about my health coverage being returned to its previous level?” Confusion is evident in her low tone.
My heart rate surges as my jaw gapes. I did it. I made the Wicked Witch yield.
Not giving me the opportunity to articulate my excitement at her admission, Lexi stands from the ground and gathers her clothing left strewn on the floor. My backside protests about sitting on the rock-hard surface when I move to assist her. Although Lexi's eyes put up a protest to me borrowing her clothes, she hands me the extensive collection she amassed from the floor.
“Thank you,” I praise, accepting the dresses from her grasp. “For everything,” I add on, my exhilaration at finally making head waves with both Delilah and Lexi’s health portrayed in my high tone.
“You’re welcome.” Lexi’s voice is doused with sentiment, mistaking my praise as thanks for borrowing her clothes. “It’s about time you let me contribute to our relationship. As Daddy always said, ‘one-sided partnerships never work. They all require a bit of give and take.’”
I hug her with as much gusto as her words awarded me with before heading for the door.
“My cell is broken, so I’ll FaceTime you . . . a minimum three times a day.”
The small smile on my face breaks into a full-toothed grin when Lexi groans at my disclosure. My brisk pace stops halfway out of Lexi’s room when the hairs on my arms bristle and my breathing shallows. There is only one person my body responds to in this manner. Marcus.
Suppressing the unease creeping up my windpipe, I continue my journey. Just as my body intuited, I discover Marcus standing right outside Lexi's room. From the way his brows are furrowed and his intensely beautiful eyes are clouded with anxiety, I know he overheard my conversation with Lexi. He looks the most fretful I've ever seen him.
I attempt to fire some reassurance that he doesn’t need to be panicked about my declaration of love, but not a syllable escapes my lips. I like to pretend I’ll be perfectly fine when it comes time for us to go our separate ways, but, in all honesty, it will kill me. Our week apart saw me at my lowest; I don’t know if I will survive it a second time.
Some of the dread thickening my veins gets a moment of reprieve when Marcus questions, “Are you ready, Cleo?”
I stare at him, surprised he still wants me to go with him when he knows I'm breaking one of his most essential rules of a D/s relationship: no falling in love.
A large chunk of the agitation in his eyes vanishes when I nod. His pleased response soothes the churning of my stomach.
"Let me grab my cosmetics bag, and I'll be good to go."
Marcus locks his knee-weakening gaze with mine. “Hurry, Cleo, you only have thirty seconds remaining before your agreed time runs over.” He steps closer to me, enveloping me in his freshly laundered scent. “If you negotiate a term and fail to adhere to the terms stipulated during the negotiation process, some form of punishment must be issued.”
Snubbing the way his threat increased the excitement pooling between my legs, I race into my bathroom to secure my makeup bag. Even though I appear frantic, I’m mentally counting down the remaining thirty seconds of our agreement, guaranteeing there is no chance I will leave this bathroom before the agreed time on our negotiation lapses.
Marcus's presence may make me heedless, but it doesn't make me reckless enough I'd miss out on the opportunity of being awarded one of his punishments.
23
Since no one is expecting to see a world-famous celebrity drive through a local Montclair burger joint, our commute from my home to a private airstrip in New York is done without incident. Although Marcus's flashy-looking car was enough to encourage curious glances in Montclair, once we melded into the sea of millions traveling to New York, his car became one of many high-valued vehicles rolling over the asphalt.
Just like he did last week, Marcus drives us to our location. I find it surprising a man of his stature doesn’t have a fleet of drivers at the ready. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. The visual of Marcus driving a high-performance car will incite wicked dreams for years to come. I’m just stunned he doesn’t use his celebrity status to its full advantage. Driving in New York is a challenge for even the most skilled drivers. I avoid it at all cost.
Diverting my perverted gaze away from the way Marcus’s cut arms flex as he shifts down the gears, I move them to peer out the window. The greasy burger I consumed during the drive feels heavy in my stomach when my eyes lock in on a private jet idling on the isolated tarmac. It's white in color and has extremely dark tinted windows. When Marcus pulls his car a few feet away from the jet, a fleet of men in black suits move out of the airport hangar on my right, their sole focus on Marcus clambering out of his car.
I’m silenced by shock when Marcus throws his keys to one of the men scampering to follow his every command, while another aides in removing his coat. Once the unnamed middle-aged man has Marcus’s suit jacket folded over his arm, Marcus moves to my side of his car to assist me out. I blush, incredibly pleased by his chivalry. Our whole scene is the type you’d expect to see in a blockbuster Hollywood movie. It thrusts Marcus’s wealth into my face, but in a giddy, I can’t help but be excited type of way.
After removing my hazardously packed luggage from the trunk, Marcus's sports car glides into the hangar to be stored until his return. My knees clang together with excitement when we climb the small set of stairs leading us to the galley of the jet. Enthusiasm isn't oozing out of my pores because it's my first time in a plane, much less a private jet. It's because Marcus hasn't relinquished his firm hold on my hand the past ten minutes. I thought the instant we secured the curious gaze of the people surrounding us, he'd be yanking his hand away. He doesn't. He keeps his hand curled around mine, making me feel more valuable than the expensive plane we are entering.
“Wow,” I mumble, no longer capable of holding in my excitement. My eyes eagerly drift over the highly polished wooden cabins and pristinely clean galley. “This is beautiful.”
After we make our way down the thin aisle, I use my spare hand to fiddle with the buttons on my well-worn winter coat Marcus returned with my luggage. With the heating system set to a scorching temperature, sweat is beading on my nape.
Just outside the open cockpit door, I release my grip on Marcus’s hand, wanting to remove my shrugged-off coat bundled around our joined wrists.
“Thank you,” I praise when Marcus assists me in removing my coat before handing it to a man standing on his right. My brows scrunch, a
stonished the pilot has been downgraded to a coat clerk when he stores my jacket into a small closet concealed by his broad shoulders.
"Have all the preflight checks been done?" Marcus asks the man who just housed my coat.
The man nods, sending a strand of blond hair falling into his eyes. "Yes, everything is buttoned up, and the flight is ready for pushback," he answers, handing Marcus a set of papers to peruse.
“Precipitation?” Marcus queries, his eyes remaining arrested on the documents in his hand.
The unnamed man in his early to mid-thirties lifts his shoulder into a shrug. “The aeronautical charts show a little bit of activity around Philadelphia, but nothing that will alter our flight plan.”
“Good. I don’t want to get stuck in a holding pattern like we did last week.” Marcus hands the documents back to the man. “Give me five minutes to get Cleo settled, Cameron, then we will get this bird into the air.”
Cameron smiles a blazing grin. “I’ll run some last-minute checks while you iron your kinks,” he chuckles with a wink.
After slapping Marcus on the back, he strides into the cockpit, his steps boastful and full of assurance. Marcus waits for Cameron to be out of earshot before turning his eyes to me. The instant our eyes lock and hold, the excitement caking my skin with sweat catapults to a new level. Hearing him talk pilot jargon with Cameron was a thrilling experience, but it can’t compete with the confident control his eyes are carrying now.
“Do you want a drink? Something to eat?” Marcus questions.
Not waiting for my reply, he signals for the attention of one of the two female flight attendants watching our exchange from afar.
A lanky blonde with vibrant red lipstick arrives at his side like magic. “Yes, Mr. Everett?”
“Can you get Ms. Garcia some reading material from the galley? Perhaps a drink and some light refreshments,” Marcus instructs her.