by I. T. Lucas
Letting go, she handed him her purse. “Please put it in my bedroom. When you unpack the luggage, take the clothes to the laundry. Everything is dirty and needs to be washed or dry cleaned.”
He bowed. “It will be done immediately, mistress.”
Of course, it would.
As she made her way out to greet her mother, Amanda shook her head. Annani was probably lounging outside and hadn’t felt like getting up to welcome her daughter home. And it had nothing to do with her being pissed at Amanda for leaving the way she had. It was just Annani’s normal diva attitude.
Having a goddess for a mother had its advantages and disadvantages.
Not that Amanda had ever questioned her mother’s love. Annani was very generous with her affections, both verbal and physical. It was just that sometimes, not often, Amanda secretly wished for a mother that wasn’t so grand—one that would go shopping with her, or out for coffee, or just call to chitchat about things of no particular importance.
Would’ve been nice—would’ve alleviated some of Amanda’s loneliness.
It was dark outside, but Amanda found Annani sprawled on a lounger as if she was sunbathing in the middle of the day. Her mother was holding a book, her own glow providing the illumination.
“Good evening, Mother, what are you reading?”
Annani lifted the book and turned it so Amanda could see the cover—The Abbreviated History of Humankind.
Amanda chuckled. “As someone who has witnessed humanity’s formative years in person, you could write one yourself.”
“Perhaps one day I will.” Annani shook the book. “This one contains so many untruths and misconceptions while omitting some of the most critical events that changed the course of history, that I suspect no one would believe an account of how things really happened. They would think it was all fictional.”
Amanda pulled out a chair and turned it to face Annani. “I bet.” She sat down and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “How mad are you at me? For running off on you?”
Annani put the book down and sighed. “You were not running away from me, my dear child. You were trying to run away from yourself. One cannot do that, you know.”
Amanda snorted. “Tell me about it.”
Annani lifted one red brow. “I thought I did.”
“It’s just an expression, it means that I know you are right.”
“Of course, I am. I am never wrong.”
This conversation was going nowhere fast. She’d better get to the point.
“If you’re so wise, tell me what to do about Dalhu.”
“I cannot. It is not my place to decide matters of the heart for you. Only you can do it.”
Annani could be so frustrating at times.
“Can you at least help me figure things out?”
Annani inclined her head. “Certainly.” In one fluid motion, she lifted her legs and swung them around to sit sideways, facing Amanda. “Would you care for some sparkling water?” She poured some from a carafe.
“Yes, thank you.”
Annani filled another glass and handed it to Amanda then took a few small sips before putting her glass down. She then leaned forward and rubbed her palms. “Let us figure out things together, my dear.”
CHAPTER 19: ANDREW
“Is this for me?” Bridget took the grocery bag from Andrew.
“My modest contribution to a meal that”—he inhaled deeply—”smells delicious.”
“Thank you.” Bridget stretched to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Please, come in.” She pivoted on a very spiky high heel.
Damn, the same red fuck-me shoes from last night.
In response, his shaft punched out an erection that was about to pop his zipper. Apparently, he was like those Pavlov’s dogs that salivated when the bell rang even when it no longer coincided with their meal delivery. Though in his case, it wasn’t food, but a pair of spiky red heels on the feet of a deliciously compact female. They made her ass look so good that he felt like giving it a little love bite.
With an effort, Andrew managed to tear his eyes away from Bridget’s sexy butt and take a look at the table that was set for a romantic dinner for two—including a fancy tablecloth, two crystal wine goblets, two lighted tapers, and a vase of fresh flowers.
Oh, hell, this doesn’t look like a setup for a hookup.
Bridget had obviously put a lot of work into this dinner, and he was starting to think that maybe Amanda was right and he had somehow misjudged the doctor’s intentions.
“Everything looks so nice,” he mumbled, suddenly deeply embarrassed about the brown paper bag his gifts had arrived in.
Always listen to a woman’s advice on matters like that.
Bridget’s cheeks reddened. “I know, I went a little overboard with this, it’s just that I never had an opportunity to entertain a guy in my apartment before. Other than my son, that is. But he doesn’t count.” She took out the wine bottle from the bag and put it on the table. “Thank you for the wine.” Next were the chocolates. “Ah, Godiva.” She turned to Andrew. “You certainly know the way to a girl’s heart.” She licked her lips in a way that had his shaft pulsate—reminding him that it was still extremely uncomfortable and waiting to be taken care of.
But then what she’d said registered in his blood-deprived brain. “You have a son?”
And where was that son of hers? Sleeping soundly in one of the bedrooms? Damn, he hated hooking up with a mother—at her home. It was like having guerrilla sex, stealthy and rushed. Major bummer.
“Yes, Julian. He is a student at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. In fact, he’s about to graduate.”
For a moment, he was taken aback. It was hard to reconcile a woman that appeared to be in her late twenties with someone who had a son in medical school. But for all he knew, Bridget could’ve been hundreds of years old…
How was that for weird?
“Like mother, like son. You must be proud.” He managed to sound conversational.
She beamed. “Very. And he is graduating at the top of his class. Though I’ll be damned if I know how he pulled it off.”
“Really?”
The boy must’ve been a genius to be at the top of a graduating class of a school that admitted only the best of the best.
“Julian still gets lightheaded if I approach him with a needle in hand. He is like a baby when it comes to his own blood. But it seems that he is unaffected when it’s someone else’s.”
“Do you visit him often?”
“Not really. It’s hard to explain a mother that looks like me. We figured it would be best for him to come home when he can. But between the schoolwork, the lab work, and having a semblance of a social life, he doesn’t have time—just the commute from Baltimore to LA takes half a day. Not to mention that he can’t afford being jetlagged when he goes back to school.”
“I bet you miss him.”
“We talk on the phone and we video chat.” She lifted her hands in the what-can-I-do sign.
Something started beeping in the kitchen.
“Take a seat, Andrew. I’ll go check on the soup.”
He did as he was told and waited for her to come back.
That beeping had sounded a lot like a microwave oven, and Andrew chuckled when a suspicious thought flitted through his mind. Bridget must’ve bought the meal from some restaurant and was just reheating it. Not that he minded. In fact, he was glad that she hadn’t gone to all that trouble on his account.
And here I am, sitting like a schmuck instead of helping.
He started to get up. “Do you need help in there?”
“No! I’ve got everything under control.” Bridget’s panicky answer confirmed his suspicions.
As he lowered his butt to the chair, he couldn’t help imagining Bridget burying restaurant containers deep under other trash to hide the evidence. Should he play along?
Yeah, he should. She would be so embarrassed if she knew he figured out her secret. But what
would happen when he complimented her cooking? Which he’d have to do or she’d think he didn’t like the food.
He wondered how good of a liar she was. Not that she could ever deceive him. He was just curious to see her try. Would she avert her eyes? Blush? Fidget with her hands? There were so many tell-tell signs if one knew what to look for.
“Here is the soup, I hope you like it. It’s cream of mushroom.” She placed a steaming bowl in front of him and sat down on the other side of the table with her own.
The table was smallish in size, which was good because even across from him Bridget was still close and he liked the intimate setting. Scooping some of the thick, brown liquid together with the dried onion flakes she’d put in the center of each bowl, he brought it close to his mouth and blew on it to cool it. The soup was hot and he didn’t want to risk burning his tongue.
It was important for that particular part of his anatomy to remain in good working condition because he was planning on using it expertly on her later tonight. Maybe if he gave Bridget several orgasms this way, she would be satisfied with his less than spectacular staying power. Even with the energy drinks he’d chugged, Andrew doubted he could keep up.
Damn, with the images this line of thinking was evoking, dinner was the last thing on his mind. Andrew would’ve gladly skipped straight to the main dish on tonight’s menu, but Bridget was eyeing him from across the table, waiting to hear his opinion on her culinary skills.
“It’s delicious,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it. I used four different kinds of mushrooms. The texture is creamy, but there is no butter or milk in it, just the blended mushrooms.”
She hadn’t lied about cooking the soup.
After all the effort she’d put into this, he couldn’t just tell her to forget it and drag her to bed. But he could sure as hell speed things up. It took him half a minute max to reach the bottom of the bowl, and he got up to carry it to the sink. “Are you done?” he asked, and reached for hers even though it was still mostly full.
As she glanced up at him, Bridget’s lips curled up in a knowing smile, and she handed him her half eaten soup. “Impatient for the second course?” Her voice was husky.
Was he a lucky guy or what? A sharp brain and a lustful predisposition were such a sexy combination. “You have no idea.” He bent down and took her lips. They instantly parted in invitation. He entered. Her mouth was still hot from the soup, and the short kiss he’d intended turned into a lingering, passionate one, even though his back was painfully contorted from bending sideways while holding the two bowls up and away.
Eventually, she pulled back and smiled. “How about you put these in the dishwasher while I serve the beef Wellington with roasted fingerling potatoes.” Bridget affected a British accent while describing the dish.
He moved to let her get up and followed behind her to the kitchen. “Sounds interesting, though I have no idea who that Wellington guy is, and what’s his beef.”
She chuckled. “It’s a filet mignon and some other stuff put together and wrapped in puff pastry. I’m not exactly sure what goes in it, I didn’t make it, I got it from a restaurant.” She cast him an apologetic smile. “My cooking skills are limited to a few simple vegetarian recipes I can count on the fingers of one hand, none of which I thought would satisfy a manly man like you. But the soup and the salad are mine.”
Well, she’d fessed up. Good girl. Not that it would’ve mattered to him if she hadn’t, but he was glad that she had. Except, it made him even more uncomfortable realizing the extent of effort and thought she’d put into this dinner.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but you shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble on my account. I’m not choosy about food. I would’ve eaten whatever you served.”
“Think nothing of it. I do the same for Julian when he visits. He likes to eat steaks and ribs and I can’t stand to cook them.” She shrugged. “Would you grab the salad bowl, please?” She lifted the tray with the fancy beef dish and carried it into the dining room.
Andrew followed, put down the salad bowl, and took his seat. “You know, I was under the impression that all of you guys stayed away from meat. Bhathian said something to that effect the other day when he invited me to share leftover lasagna with him. He said that that’s all the cook serves. But then when I asked him if you had a cook he said not really. Not much for talking, that guy.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. The story Bhathian had told Andrew was still haunting him. He couldn’t imagine carrying such a burden, not knowing whether he had a child or not. Finding closure for the guy was important to him.
He piled his plate with the beef whatever it was called, and the tiny potatoes. Bridget’s had only salad.
“That’s all you’re going to eat?” he asked, motioning to her plate.
“Yeah, I would’ve eaten the potatoes if they weren’t cooked together with the beef. But that’s okay. I usually eat only salad for dinner. And as for the rest of the clan, some are vegan, some are vegetarian, and some are omnivorous. It’s a matter of personal preference. Kian is vegan, and his butler Okidu cooks for him and sometimes for the other Guardians, but only stuff Kian eats.” Bridget chuckled. “Bhathian eats everything—as long as someone else cooks it—so he really shouldn’t complain.”
Andrew cut a piece of the pastry-covered beef and put it in his mouth. It was so good that he closed his eyes and felt like moaning in pleasure.
“I see you like it.”
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Well, food wise, that is.” He winked.
“Oh, yeah? And what might that other thing be?” she teased.
“You’ll find out after dinner.”
“Oh, you’re such a naughty boy.”
Yes, he was.
CHAPTER 20: SEBASTIAN
Clipboard in hand, Sebastian took the stairs down to the newly completed dungeon. Inspecting each of the small rooms and their compact attached bathrooms, he imagined them populated by beautiful girls and bursting with activity.
At first, he’d planned to simplify things by furnishing all of the rooms identically, but now that his vision was taking shape, he had second thoughts. Diversification would add spice to the clients’ experience.
He pulled out his phone. “Tom, contact that hotel furniture supply store and tell them to cancel the order. I want to take another look at their catalogue.”
“Sure thing, boss. But I want to make sure that you’re aware it will cause a significant delay. You wanted the dungeon to be ready as soon as possible.”
“Good point. Have them ship four sets of what I’ve selected before. I’ll let you know about the rest.”
“How about the linens and towels and other small stuff? Do you want to change that order as well?”
“No, plain white will make handling cleanup and laundry simpler to manage. But I’m considering ordering a variety of colorful bedspreads and decorative pillows, as well as framed reproductions to hang on the walls. I want the girls to be able to personalize their rooms.”
“That’s very nice of you, boss. You want me to take care of it? Or do you want to make the selections yourself? It’s in the same catalogue as the furniture—under accessories.”
“I’ll make the selections and forward you the links.”
“Good deal.”
As Sebastian returned the phone to the back pocket of his jeans, his lips curled in a sardonic smile. His decision had nothing to do with being nice. It was about good business practices. And there was no better model to emulate than the success their exalted leader Navuh had achieved with Passion Island. Other than fear and intimidation, a little kindness and some degree of personal choice regarding inconsequential things went a long way toward ensuring the girls’ cooperation.
Besides, Sebastian’s team, as well as his future business contacts, would surely appreciate the variety, not only in the selection of girls providing services but in their rooms’ decor as well. For the place t
o function as an effective incentive, it had to provide an atmosphere of luxury and exclusivity. Esthetics was a crucial factor toward creating that effect.
With this in mind, Sebastian had dedicated a sizable section of the dungeon to a bar and cigar lounge, sacrificing some of the space that could’ve been used for more private rooms. He’d had one hell of a ventilation system installed to suck out the smoke so the cigar fumes wouldn’t poison the whole area. Personally, he wasn’t overly fond of the things, but a lot of Passion Island’s patrons were, and he wanted to provide his future clientele with similar experience—his own miniature replica of Navuh’s success story.
Robert’s heavy footsteps on the concrete stairs announced his approach. The guy stomped like a gorilla. He was tall, but not as bulky as his footsteps implied.
“The first batch of soldiers has arrived, sir. Would you like a word with them before I show them to their quarters?”
What he would’ve liked was for Robert to drop the honorific. Perhaps punishment would drive the lesson home. “Robert, from now on I’ll impose a one-hundred-dollar fine for each sir.”
“Yes, S…Sebastian.”
Sebastian sighed. The guy was hopeless. “How many have arrived?”
“Five, s…shit…” Robert dropped his head. “Why is it so hard?” he mumbled, addressing his boots.
“Tonight, after you’re done with your duties, I want you to stand in front of the mirror and practice. Your trouble is that you’re programmed to say sir after a yes; try responding with words like okay, sure, and no problem. Or even I got it, or I’m on it.”
“I got it.” Robert sounded like he was talking with a mouth full of spaghetti.
“That’s a good start.” Sebastian clapped the guy’s shoulder.