by Tillie Cole
“Miss, are you okay?” he asked.
“I need to see Harry Sinclair. Can you please call to see if he’s in?” The concierge did as I said, and I turned to the mirrored wall beside me. My mouth dropped open seeing my mascara running down my face.
Grabbing a tissue from the concierge’s desk, I ran to the mirror and began wiping my cheeks, but I was unable to do anything about the red in my eyes and the flush on my cheeks.
“Mr. Sinclair is not in,” the concierge said.
Spinning around, I said. “Are you sure?” I wasn’t entirely convinced he didn’t think I was a stalker.
“Mr. Sinclair is not in,” he repeated.
Digging out my cell, I tried to call Harry’s number, but it went to voicemail. Just as I hung up, I noticed the time. “Of course!” I whispered to myself before returning to the street to hail another cab. When none stopped, I took a deep breath. “It’s only a couple of blocks. How hard can it be to run there?”
I started running, quickly realizing I was severely unfit. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop until I was outside a familiar townhouse. I leaned over, gasping for breath. My throat and chest were raw with the deep inhales and exhales I had to endure to return my pounding heart to a normal speed. I could feel my thick and naturally wavy hair beginning to frizz in the humidity and imagined I looked quite the picture. But I didn’t care. I needed to see him. I just desperately needed to see him.
Realizing I had to go through the underground lot, I stared at the long street before me, knowing I had another mountain to climb. Putting my Converses to good use, I started running again. I ran to the entrance of the parking lot and down the long underground road that led to the basement of the townhouse. By the time I had reached the private elevator, I was close to passing out. But I reached into my purse and found my NOX card, which I had forgotten to take out of my wallet.
Thank. Fucking. God.
I swiped the card in the elevator, the doors opened, and I stepped inside, groaning with pleasure at the air conditioning kissing my flushed skin. I viewed my reflection in the mirror, almost scaring myself. I combed my frizzy hair with my fingers and made sure my face was free from streaks of mascara.
When the doors opened, I pushed through to Maître’s room. As I stepped inside, everything was quiet. I was used to music and Andrea Bocelli serenading me with “Ave Maria.”
Then I saw a sliver of light under the door to the room Maître had always come out of. Heart filling with hope and love and all the mushy stuff that dreams are made of, I burst through the door.
Harry looked up in shock, his cell to his ear. He was dressed in a suit, his jacket off, his collar unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Faith,” he said, whispering my name like a prayer. “I was just trying to call you. My cell was dead, and I just read—”
I ran at him. I didn’t give him time to finish that sentence before my arms were around his waist and my cheek was to his chest. He was strong and muscled and smelled of mint and sandalwood and musk…and he was mine. He was actually mine.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice breaking. I closed my eyes. “I don’t know how to repay you for what you’ve done…done for my parents.”
Harry tensed, and I lifted my head. His jaw clenched, his eyes wary. I placed my hand on his cheek, and he covered it with his palm. “I know it was you. I know it was you.” I swallowed the emotion climbing up my throat. “Thank you. I…just thank you.”
My eyes watered, and Harry pushed a falling tear away with his thumb. “Faith, I…” He exhaled and, fighting his own emotion, said, “I did it for you. Everything I have ever done, it has all been for you.”
Pulling his head down, I kissed him. Through trembling lips and salty tears, I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until I could barely breathe. When I broke away, Harry cradled my face. “I have just finished reading your feature.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Did you mean it? You love me? A forever kind of love?”
“Yes,” I said and gave him biggest fucking smile. “I meant every word.”
Harry closed his eyes and quoted, “I went to NOX a willing slave, ready for my eyes to be opened to the world of sin and pleasure. What I didn’t know was that it would lead me to the great love of my life. My soulmate. My master. My Maître of Manhattan.”
Harry dropped his forehead to mine. “What I didn’t know is that I would leave my inhibitions at the door, but not my heart.” Harry smiled and radiated happiness, and I thought I might die seeing the joy on his face. “Because although the world may have heard of the infamous Maître as the king of the sexual underground, to me, he reigns as the king of my heart, the commander of my soul, and the keeper of my eternal love...”
“And I am his queen,” I finished for him.
“Are you?” Harry asked nervously.
“Yes, yes, and even more yes.”
“You mean it?” Harry said, expression guarded. “Have you had enough time to truly think about how your life will change, how…”
I took a step back and made sure Harry’s eyes were firmly fixed on me. Knowing I had his full attention, I said, “I’m just a really, really, really terrible sub, standing in front of her master, asking him to spank her for the rest of their lives.” Fighting a smile, I asked, “Is that enough of an answer for you?”
I watched the twitch of Harry’s cheek, the hook of his lip, and suddenly I was being swept into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist, being carried to the four-poster bed in the chambre. As my back hit the fucking god-awful PVC covered mattress, Harry climbed over me.
“You signed it Anonymous,” he said, referring to my article. “You signed it Anonymous.” He repeated it twice like he couldn’t believe what I had done.
“It seemed fitting.”
He searched my eyes, all humor gone. “But it was your dream to have that feature, to be recognized for your writing.”
I shrugged and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Dreams change.”
“Or sometimes they don’t,” he said, pressing kisses to my cheeks and lips. “Sometimes you have a bloody crazy dream that you think can never come true, then suddenly it does, and it’s right in front of you asking you to spank them for the rest of your lives.”
Loud laughter spilled from my throat. “We’re so fucking romantic it makes me sick.” When my laughter died down, I started taking off his clothes. Harry watched me with blazing heat in his eyes. When he was naked, I bit my lip and stripped down to nothing too.
“I’m naked, Maître. What do you want to do with me?”
Groaning, Harry picked me up and carried me across the room to the St Andrew’s Cross. Without breaking eye contact, he cuffed my wrists and ankles to the cross. Excitement and exhilaration tingled through my body as always. But this was different. As Harry’s bright blue gaze, which I adored so much, devoured me, everything about this moment was different. He was Maître; he was dominant and in control as always. But here, right now, with no masks or cloaks or veils, he was also my Harry. My Harry Auguste Sinclair, the man who I loved more than life itself.
I moaned, feeling every synapse in my body flaring to life as Harry kissed my calf, then peppered kiss after kiss on every inch of my skin. When his lips pressed against mine, I sobbed in happiness. Maître had never kissed me, had never even come close. But now Maître was smothering my lips, tattooing me with his taste, and placing himself permanently in my soul.
“Faith,” he moaned, placing himself between my legs. Hands sliding down my waist, then back north to cup my face, he pushed inside. As our heavy breathing filled the room, I submitted to his touch, to his body, and to his love. Harry kissed me as I moaned into his mouth, feeling the telltale pressure building at the base of my spine.
“Harry,” I whispered against his lips, feeling a stray tear slip from my eye. It was so much, him and me and the future that now lay before us.
“I love you,” he murmured, and I splintered apart. My w
rists and ankles pulled against the restraints. Then Harry stilled and, calling out my name, came, his forehead falling to the crook of my neck. We were hot and breathless in the aftermath.
One by one, Harry untied the cuffs fastening me to the cross. When I was free, he carried me to the bed, lying down and guiding me to his chest. When I had gathered strength, I ran my finger down his sternum, smiling as his glistening skin bumped at my touch.
Harry kissed my forehead and ran his hands through my hair, completely contented. “It’s different,” I said, disturbing the pleasant silence of the room. I tipped my head so I could see Harry. He met my eyes. “This,” I continued. “Being in here with you, making love with you like that.” His addictive scent wrapped around me, holding me close. “Before it was fun, it was exciting, now…” I trailed off.
“Now?” he said, voice husky.
“I have always loved this. This side of you, of us.” I saw the stocks and the floggers and canes on the walls. “But just then, trusting you so fully, and having your eyes on me…” I shook my head. “Love,” I said, realizing I was rambling. “It made it different.” I kissed Harry’s cheek, then his lips.
Becoming lost to his taste, I managed to pull away, his hands cradling my face, and said, “It made it so much more. You and me, like this, in here, in love and no secrets between us…” I smiled. “It made it perfect.”
Harry rolled on top of me and kissed me. He kissed me until my lips felt bruised. “I’ll never get enough of you,” he said against my mouth. “In any way. In here tied up, at home in our bed, anywhere, Faith. I just want you.”
“You have me.”
Harry watched me with so much love in his eyes it made my heart skip a beat. He gathered me in his arms again, like he would never let me go. He moved my hair from my face and said, “My father is giving me HCS Media.”
“I know.” He didn’t even seem surprised by that; it confirmed something.
“I will have to split my time between New York and England.”
Bringing his face closer to mine, I said, “I like England, so I approve of this way of living.” I pretended to think. “Now if only we had a twenty-three-bedroom palace we could occupy whilst we are there. Anything less grand simply will not do.”
“It’s a stately home, not a palace. There is a difference.”
“Tomato-tomato,” I sang.
“But your column,” Harry said, being as ridiculously chivalrous as always.
“What about it? The good thing about writing is you can do it anywhere. And Harry, I know you’re an expert and everything, but there are sexually frustrated people all over the world needing Miss Bliss’s help. By taking us global, I’m doing the world a service, actually. I’m a goddamn superhero to the horizontally challenged.” I mock sighed. “If only we had more estates to escape to, we could take on the world.”
Harry hesitated. “Well, we have my mother’s estate in France that I inherited.” I stilled and realized he wasn’t joking. “Then there’s my villa in Monaco, my penthouse in London, and of course my penthouse here—”
I smothered Harry’s mouth with a kiss to cut him off before I had an anxiety attack at how friggin’ rich he was and he needed to bend me over to calm me down. When we pulled away, his cerulean eyes were the brightest I had ever seen them. “And the prospect of being a duchess one day doesn’t scare you?”
As he said the word duchess my stomach clenched a little. I mean me, a duchess. But when I looked at that handsome face and saw the smile on those lips, it really didn’t faze me. “As long as you’re okay with taking a peasant girl for a wife someday, I can be too.”
“Society may frown upon us, and we may only be invited to the lesser royals’ weddings,” he said dryly, never losing that playful sparkle in his eyes.
I fought back laughter. “I always felt like they seemed more fun anyhow.”
Harry laughed too and shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I get to have you.” He stroked his finger down my cheek, “I can’t believe I get to love you and you love me back.”
I ran my hand down his chest, lovingly, softly, then cupped his length. “And I can’t believe I get to have this servicing me for the rest of my days, and nights, and afternoons, and mornings, of course…” Harry pursed his lips, his head shaking in mock exasperation. “Forget the Sinclair Estate, we could build an entire palace on the girth of this.”
“Faith,” Harry said in his serious, most British voice, “have you quite finished?”
“Not even close.” I placed my hand on his cheek. “You have me and I have you, you love me and I love you, forever and ever amen, times infinity and yadda yadda motherfucking yadda.” I clasped my hands over my head near the headboard. “Now tie me to the bed and spank me with your flogger. I’ve got another orgasm building with your name on it.”
“Just one more orgasm, mon petit chaton?” he said seductively, causing my nipples to stand on end as his perfectly spoken French hit all my good spots.
Deliciously naked, and in all his noble pompousness and olive-skinned gorgeousness, Harry took my favorite flogger from the wall and walked slowly back to the bed. “Is that a challenge?”
“Always,” I said and felt the room temperature rise.
Harry tied me to the bed with silk scarves and gave me a long, loving kiss on my lips. Then he stood beside me, smile fading, dominance pulsing off him in waves, and my beloved maître took over.
“Challenge accepted.”
Epilogue
The Sinclair Estate, Surrey, England
Two years later…
“We’ll see you in two weeks!” Mom said as she and Papa jumped in the town car that would take them to the airport. They were off to Parma, Italy, Papa’s hometown. It was the third time they’d been there this year. The rental income from the building Harry had bought them was giving them the ability to travel like they had dreamed. Even if they hadn’t had the building revenue, I knew Harry would have made it possible anyhow. He was the kindest, most giving man on the planet.
I waved at them from the drive and took a deep breath. When I turned, Harry was approaching me with his dimpled smile. His forearms were bare, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing khaki shorts and loafers.
I glanced down at my wedding ring, glinting in the summer sun. We’d been married last year on this estate. And like we had planned, we split our time between England and New York. Harry had taken to running HCS Media as well as we’d always known he would—flawlessly. And I still wrote “Ask Miss Bliss.” She was my sarcastic wench of an alter ego, and I refused to give her up. But I also wrote features. I couldn’t have been happier.
“Lady Sinclair,” Harry greeted, wrapped me in his arms and kissed me. I was a ‘lady’ now. An actual title owning lady, which was the most hilarious thing on the planet. I moaned into his mouth, dizzy when he pulled away. “Did they get away okay?”
“They did,” I said and led him to our favorite place on the estate, our fairy-tale bridge. “And tomorrow the troops descend from New York for two whole weeks of carnage.”
Amelia, Novah, Sage, and Nicholas were coming. Nicholas now ran the New York office, and from what I could gather, gave the orders to Sage in the bedroom too.
I laid my head on Harry’s chest and waved to King Sinclair, getting in his ridiculously expensive sports car and driving away, off on another adventure. Or a day at the bowling club, I was never sure. “You’re looking particularly gorgeous today,” Harry said and curled a strand of my hair around his finger. “In fact, you’re glowing.”
“Must be from the thorough ravishing you gave me last night. I can barely move my legs today. I think you broke my pelvis with Private Harry.”
“For the love of all that is right and holy, please can you stop calling my member Private Harry.”
“Well, I have to say that Private Harry is better than member. What are you, eighty?”
“I’m reserved,” Harry argued.
“R
eserved!” I snorted. “Tell that to my permanently red ass, which you’ve systematically spanked the shit out of for over two years.”
Harry’s lips twitched in amusement; then he gave me a hard look of admonishment. “Anonymity is key, Lady Sinclair. One must keep these things behind closed doors.”
I eyed him incredulously. “If ‘behind closed doors’ means a chain of sex clubs that now spans the world, bringing awful masks and annoying cloaks to the rich and perpetually wet, if you mean that ‘behind closed doors,’ then I understand.”
Harry growled and dropped a kiss to my temple, and I had a sudden attack of nerves over what I was about to tell him. As we walked over the bridge, looking back at the house, I let contentment wash over me and took Harry’s hand.
“Faith?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Nothing’s wrong. I mean, quite the opposite. If you take away the sickness and sore nipples, that is—oh, and the fact that every smell makes me want to rip off my nose—”
“Faith?” Harry held my hands more tightly.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out. I watched Harry closely for his reaction. Shock quickly morphed into pure, unadulterated happiness, a beaming smile spreading over his face, making my husband look all kinds of impossibly beautiful.
Harry scooped me up in his arms and spun me around, laughing into my neck. Even now I could hardly believe he was mine. My own slightly sadistic, sexually deviant Prince Charming.
When he placed me back on my feet, he kissed me deeply and dropped his forehead to mine. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Faith. I…” He stumbled over his words. “I can’t believe it. I’m…I’m so happy.”
“As am I,” I said and let him kiss me again. When Harry broke away, he kept his hands on me like I was suddenly made of glass. He led us to a patch of lawn near the bridge. He sat down, gently guiding me down too and I lay down beside him, head upon his lap and his hand stroking my hair.