Links

by Shandi Boyes

  I smile, glad I’m not the only one he struggles to give a title to.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cleo,” Abel says, soundlessly requesting my attention back to him. “I am Mr. Everett’s butler. If you require anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to call me.” He holds out his rheumy hand in offering.

  I loosen Marcus’s grip on my hand so I can accept his kind gesture. “Thank you. I won’t be too much of a bother. Hopefully, you won’t even notice I’m here.”

  I grimace when my declaration doesn’t come out as confident as I am hoping. Up until a week ago, I wouldn’t have said I was a screamer in the bedroom. Now, I’m not so sure. From the pillow crease in Abel’s beautifully colored skin, I’m confident my cries of ecstasy were sufficient enough to wake him from his deep slumber.

  Abel squeezes my hand as his eyes meet mine. "Now where is the fun in that, Ms. Cleo? Life is about noise, mess, and chaos." He flicks his eyes to Marcus, the heavy sentiment in them undeniable. "He needs to learn that more than anyone."

  Denying Marcus the chance to refute his statement, Abel spins on his heels and exits the room. “Breakfast will be served at 7 AM and not a minute past,” he informs us before he disappears into the darkness of the night even more quickly than he arrived.

  I turn my eyes to Marcus. Stupid giddiness is making my skin a clammy mess. “I like him.” I rock on the balls of my feet.

  Marcus smiles a grin that causes my heart to skip a beat. “That's because he is as disobedient as you,” he replies with laughter in his tone.

  He adjusts his position so he is facing me front on. "Would you like a tour?" he asks, nudging his head to the grandeur of his home spread out in front of me.

  I nod a little overeagerly. “But first I need to use the restroom. I need to wash up.” The grimace on my face guarantees he can’t mistake what my request is pertaining to.

  I’d like to say the vibrant red coloring heating my cheeks is solely based on my embarrassment, but that would be a lie. Most of it's centered on the spark of lust rapidly reforming in Marcus’s eyes.

  25

  Marcus's home is as beautiful as I imagined. There are four bedrooms all facing the moonlit ocean, 4.5 bathrooms, a huge state of the art kitchen with a bamboo roof and granite counters, and three well-appointed living spaces. As suspected when I first roamed my eyes over his property, a Balinese feel has been incorporated in each room. The house is large in size, but with the furnishings being just as bulky, it doesn't feel airy. It feels inviting.

  “I have a studio in a shed at the back of the property,” Marcus explains while guiding me down an impressively long hallway with his hand on the curve of my back. “It’s positioned next to the garage we pulled in front of earlier.”

  We stop outside a large wooden door that's an exact replica of the one hanging in his foyer. “And this is the master suite,” Marcus advises, swinging open the thick hand-carved door.

  I gasp as my eyes drink in the magnificent room. A large king-size bed sits in front of a dark wooden wall that flows up from the richly polished floorboards. The ceiling is done in a pitch roof design, held in place with large sticks of bamboo, and all the linen is a crisp white design. It's stunningly beautiful, enough to render any girl speechless.

  My nostrils flare when I step deeper into the space, eager to absorb Marcus’s freshly laundered scent wafting in the air. The opulence of his room becomes even more apparent the further I pace inside. Its grandeur was impressive from the doorway, but I didn’t comprehend the enormity of the space until I fully immersed myself in it. I could host a party for twenty in this room and still not feel claustrophobic.

  My bewilderment increases when I notice a bottle of my favorite perfume sitting on the dresser on the far left-hand side wall. It's positioned next to a gathering of my cosmetics.

  Marcus extends my shock by pacing to a set of large wooden drawers at the side of the room. "I had Abel clear some space for you. You can have these two drawers for your personal belongings," he advises, gesturing his hand to the top two drawers. "And there is another set of drawers and a section of hanging space in the walk-in closet for your clothing. Abel does a dry cleaning run every second day, but if you have anything urgent to be done, there is a laundry room downstairs."

  Since my mouth is refusing to cooperate with the prompts of my brain, I nod.

  Marcus moves to stand next to his gigantic bed. “I noticed the indent in your mattress signaled you prefer sleeping on the left-hand side, but would you mind changing it to the right, as I prefer sleeping on the left?” he asks, peering at me like he hasn’t noticed my stunned-mullet composure.

  Dumbfounded and mute, I once again nod.

  “Good,” Marcus replies, pleased by my agreeing gesture.

  This could be my vulnerability talking since I’m still reveling in an orgasmic high, but I can barely contain my excitement that Marcus is inviting me to sleep in his room when he has four other unoccupied rooms in his house. Is it just me, or does this feel like a mammoth step in the right direction for our relationship being more than a standard D/s affiliation?

  Marcus motions his head to a set of doors hidden behind the wooden wall of his bed. "The bathroom is behind there. It's been stocked with your body wash, shampoo, and conditioner; the only thing Abel couldn't find was the cream you use to remove your makeup. He got the alternative suggested by the pharmacist, but if isn't to your liking we can--"

  “I am sure it will be fine,” I interrupt, grateful my mouth is finally liaising with my brain. “Everything is perfect, and the tour was wonderful, but aren’t you missing a room?” I query, spinning around to face Marcus, my tone incapable of hiding my happiness.

  I don’t need to expand on my question. His eyes relay that he understands which room I am referring to: his playroom.

  “This is my private residence, Cleo,” Marcus informs me, his tone low and a little snappish.

  “Yes. I understand that,” I respond through scrunched brows, alarmed by the sudden change in his tone. “But that doesn’t answer my question. This is your residence, so where is your playroom?”

  I nearly do a jig on the spot, proud I articulated his sexual tendencies without breaking into hives. My playful mood is reeled in and stored away for a later date when I see an indistinguishable cloud forming in Marcus’s narrowed gaze. I watch him for a moment, categorizing every emotion pumping through his forthright eyes. Although his eyes are raw and honest, they do nothing to quell my confusion.

  Still dumbfounded at what caused the resolute change in his demeanor, I say, “When discussing the terms of our contract, you said half of our time would be spent at your Florida residence, while the other half would be at hotels assigned by your studio. Correct me if I am wrong, but at one stage in our earlier discussions, you stated you have a clause in your contract that stipulates any sexual contact will only occur in a playroom environment.”

  Marcus nods, agreeing with my assessment. “That's correct. But this is different. You didn’t sign our contract, so the rules cited in that contract no longer apply,” he replies guilelessly.

  I stand in silence for a minute, too stunned to move forward with our conversation. What does that mean for our relationship? Does my rejection of a legal contract mean we won’t have any sexual encounters in his playroom? If so, that stinks.

  “I have a playroom, Cleo. It just isn’t here,” Marcus says, seemingly reading my silent thoughts. “It's in my apartment on Hyde.”

  Shock gnaws at my stomach as I stand mute. "Your playroom is in another location?"

  “Yes.” Marcus hesitantly paces toward me. “It’s where my subs stayed during the length of our contract.”

  “So did you stay here while they stayed there?” I continue probing, seeking answers to questions I hope will help settle my confusion. “Or do you only stay here while seeking a new sub?”

  “They stayed there while I stayed here,” Marcus answers as his eyes flick between mine.
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  He watches me quietly, seeing my confusion winding up from my stomach to my throat.

  “By keeping my personal life and business life in separate locations, it ensured they remained two separate entities. You're the first person to meld them together.”

  Although I appreciate his honesty, it doesn't stop sick gloom wreaking havoc with my stomach. I saunter to his bed and sit, where I stay for several moments silently contemplating. I’m at a loss on how to continue with our conversation. Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic he is acknowledging there is a difference between me and his previous subs, but I'm also confused. Is it just me, or does it seem morally wrong he kept his subs hidden away from society like dirty little secrets? Kind of like how our relationship must remain hidden?

  "It's not even close to being the same thing, Cleo," Marcus utters, intuiting my inner monologue. "My previous subs understood our agreement. It was clearly outlined so there was no possibility of confusion. And contrary to what you believe, Doms are not the only people in kink seeking a sexually compatible relationship without strings attached. To some subs, the provision of no contact outside of a playroom is just as important as outlining their hard limits."

  Confused by his confession, my brows stitch. "So they wanted to be separated from you?" Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be lavished with Marcus’s attention 24/7?

  "Not all of them," Marcus admits. "But they understood if they signed to be my sub, they had to follow through with our agreement as cited. Although I was happy to discuss adding provisions to a contract, my living quarter clause was not negotiable. If they didn't agree to that term, our contract would not go through."

  “They?” I stammer out, swallowing harshly. “How many are we talking?”

  Marcus arches his dark brow, his stare violent. “Would you like me to ask you how many men you’ve slept with, Cleo?”

  My pulse quickens from the clipped undertone of his voice. It's curt and brisk and should have me quaking in my boots, but with my mind still trapped in an orgasmic high, my stupid body strums in excitement.

  Even knowing the number of men I've slept with isn't anything to be ashamed of, I shake my head. Not because I don't want to be honest with Marcus, but because I can't be confident I can stomach his reply if we were to travel down this road. It was also an insulting question for me to ask.

  The mattress dips when Marcus takes a seat next to me. Even with my mood a little edgy, I can’t deny the current surging between us. Something like that's unmissable.

  “I brought you here as I thought it would be the best place to show you the real me, but your responses have me doubting my decision,” he mutters uneasily, making me realize he isn’t angry, he is unsure. I need to remember this is all new to him as well. This is a learning process for us both.

  “Don’t doubt your decision. I’m just being stupid. Everything is perfect. It’s all perfect.” I stand from the bed and pace away from him to give myself a few minutes to reel in my spiraling composure.

  “Cleo. . .” Marcus grinds out, freezing my steps midstride. His tone appeases my anguish way more than his words ever could.

  The tap of his feet is so quiet I don’t realize he is moving for me until the heat of his body warms my back. “I can’t help you understand your issues if you don’t explain them to me,” he mumbles into my hairline.

  The urge to forget the niggling doubts in the back of my mind bombards me when he curls his arms around the front of my body and draws me into him. I lean into his chest and close my eyes, letting the frantic rhythm of his heart soothe my unwarranted irritation. I don’t know why I am being so irrational? He invited me into his private sanctuary usually only reserved for him, yet I’m being a catty, emotional cow.

  Standing still, I rack my mental calendar. I inwardly huff. Now it all makes sense. Although I still have a few days left until my period is due, I’ve always had a horrid neurosis of being extra bitchy the week leading up to my cycle.

  I gulp, soothing the burn of my throat before saying, “I’m sorry for my crazy moods. I’m due for my period next week, so I’m letting things bug me more than normal.”

  A suspicious grin curls on my lips when Marcus freezes for the slightest second. Surely this can’t be the first time he’s dealt with a hormonal woman? Suddenly, my spine straightens. With his subs being housed separately from him, it could quite possibly be the case.

  I spin on my heels to face Marcus the best I can in the protective cocoon he has me wrapped in. I keep my focus on the rise and fall of his chest as I attempt to gather back any shrewdness I have left. It's a pointless effort the instant my eyes connect to his. He stares into my eyes, once again turning my brain to mush from his predatory glare. I am needy and hot, and willing to do anything to feel the friction of his skin against mine.

  “I don’t have any issues, per se, I’m just a little taken aback you don’t have a playroom,” I blubber out before I can stop my words.

  When Marcus's deep growl rumbles through my chest, my pupils widen, and a raging wildfire takes hold in my stomach. It's lucky he has his arms wrapped firmly around my waist, or I may have gone toppling to the floor.

  “You’re upset because I don’t have a playroom?”

  I peer up at him sheepishly through a set of long lashes. “I wouldn’t say upset, more disappointed,” I admit, my tone as shuddering as the pulse between my legs. “I enjoyed our time in your playroom. Very much so.”

  Relief engulfs his gorgeous green irises as his grip on my waist loosens. His relieved response surprises me.

  “Why, what did you think I was upset about?” I ask breathlessly. I'm not breathless because of his tight hold; I'm winded from having his strikingly handsome face so near to mine.

  Marcus's eyes glide around the room, stopping momentarily on each item he purchased to make me feel at home. "I thought you were upset about my request for us to share a room."

  “God no,” I reply, not even thinking. “I love the idea of sharing a room with you.” Another declaration of love sits on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back—barely!

  Hating the unease dampening his usually bright eyes, I say, “As I said earlier, forget I said anything. It wasn’t me talking; it was the red witch preparing to wreak havoc with my womb in around six days’ time.”

  Marcus screws up his nose as his Adam’s apple works hard to swallow. Clearly, he is uncomfortable discussing women’s matters.

  I fist his ruined dress shirt in my hands and pull him close to me, filling the last portion of space between us with his impressive body. “You do know what this means, though, don’t you?”

  Marcus’s eyes float between mine, his recklessness growing by the minute. “We have six days to work through the crazy sexual tension bouncing between us.”

  I take a step backward, seductively prancing to the bathroom door he motioned to earlier. Since I still have his shirt clutched in my hand, his movements mimic mine.

  “Do you think six days will suffice, Cleo?” Marcus asks me, his voice alone enough to kickstart my chase of climax.

  "Not at all," I reply. My hair clings to my sweat-slicked neck when I shake my head. "But I've got a few tricks up my sleeve I can use when our time is up."

  I drop my eyes to the extended crotch of his pants before seductively licking my lips. My hunger to taste him in my mouth is unmissable.

  A girly squeal rumbles up my chest when Marcus suddenly launches for me. His firm pecs crash into me with enough force, my feet lift from the ground. I'm not concerned I’m going to fall. his grip on my backside ensures there is no possibility of that.

  After guiding my legs around his waist, Marcus strides into the bathroom, grinding his hips upwards with every step he takes.

  26

  A soft groan simpers through my lips as I snuggle into the heavenly soft pillow my head is caressing. I've known for years my mattress was in pressing need of an upgrade, but after sleeping on a bed like a cloud, the first thing I am doing when
I return home is purchasing new linens. I'd love to buy a new mattress, but that would be a little more than my budget could stretch.

  After pulling my arms out of the comforter, I have a leisurely stretch. The weary muscles I've awoken with the past week aren't as antagonizing as usual. The hour-long soak I had in the tub last night with Marcus made quick work of their tautness. I feel deliriously wonderful. Marcus was so attentive last night. Don't get me wrong, I know from my research into the BDSM lifestyle that a nurturing Dom is as common as a sadistic one, but last night felt different. He didn't seem as if he was washing my hair because it was part of his role; it appeared as if he was doing it because he wanted to. I swooned nearly as many times as I came last night.

  Peeling the heavenly soft high-thread-count sheet off my body, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I gag when I see my disheveled appearance in the wooden framed mirror sitting on top of a chest of drawers at the side of the room. I don’t know what Marcus sees in me. My hair is a ratted mess; my eyes are plagued with dark rings from my lagging sleep cycle, and the faint bruise on my cheek isn’t the only blemish on my skin.

  Shrugging off the desire to book Marcus an optometrist appointment, I stand from the bed. My sexually satiated muscles are more noticeable in a standing position. While rubbing the kink in the back of my neck, I saunter into the sizeable walk-in closet positioned behind his floor-to-ceiling headboard. Matching his residence in New York, most of the space is lined with fancy suits and pricey polished dress shoes. I pad to a stack of drawers to secure a pair of Marcus's black running shorts and a plain white undershirt. With my grumbling stomach unable to be contained, my desire to shower and dress more presentably must wait until I have eaten.

  Not wanting to startle Marcus too much with my ruffled morning appearance, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. An inane grin curls on my lips when I realize he purchased an exact replica of the hairbrush I use at home. I bet that was an interesting endeavor for Abel? I’m sure it’s not very often a rock star’s butler takes a trip to Walmart.