by M. S. Parker
“I probably shouldn't have said hell, huh?” I grinned at him. “I have a feeling your parents both swear more than that, but we'll keep it our little secret, okay? You won't tell on me, right? I mean, I am your favorite aunt.”
I glanced up at one of the pictures above the fireplace. Dalton, Juliette, Cross, and Hanna. I called Cross a couple days ago to let him know about the gift I'd left in the house, and he'd let me know that everything was going well with Hanna and the baby. I had a feeling I'd like the two of them even more once I got to know them.
“Okay, so Hanna can be your favorite aunt on your mother's side,” I told Anthony. “I can settle for being your favorite on your dad's side.” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We just won't tell Aunt Lia.”
Anthony made a grab for my hair, and I laughed, tossing it over my shoulders as I turned him around to face the soft fabric blocks I'd found. He laughed again and grabbed at them. I leaned back against the couch and watched him play, appreciating the downtime.
Even though I hadn't been babysitting all week, I hadn't been taking a vacation either. I liked the idea of living in LA, but I knew the only way my parents would be okay with me staying here would be to prove that I was responsible.
Maybe okay was too strong a word. They wouldn't like it no matter what, but if I had things under control, they'd most likely just sit back and wait for me to screw up. They wouldn't say it like that, of course, but they'd remind me that they would be here when I needed them. They'd tell me to call them when I ran out of money, or when I got tired of staying with Dalton and Juliette. They'd try to make me feel guilty for crashing at my newlywed brother's place, even if this apartment was so huge that I could live in a guest room for a month and never see anyone else.
Since I knew that's how my parents would be, I'd spent the week working on preempting problems. The first one had been looking for an apartment. I knew that it'd be smart to do what I'd done back in Cambridge and find something small and unassuming, the kind of thing that I could believably pay for with a regular job. After all, I had the sort of degree that normally equaled a good-paying job. Now that I had a doctorate, I should've been able to get a better paying job than the one I pretended to have in Massachusetts so I could've found something decent.
But I didn't want decent.
I wanted to finally have the life I could afford. I was tired of hiding, of pretending to be something I wasn't. Moving here would give me the opportunity to find my own place, figure out who I was without all of the school and family stuff. Dalton would be a safety net – one I didn't intend to ever need – and my parents would be less likely to freak out when I told them. Besides, I planned on taking a page from my brother's book and reminding them that LA was closer than where I'd gone to college.
So I spent a few days looking at places before putting down a deposit on an apartment almost as amazing as this one. Which made sense since it was located just one floor below. Discretion regarding just how much money I had would've been a good idea, but I'd fallen in love with the place the moment I'd seen it and decided it was well worth the risk. Besides, Dalton had a new wife and an energetic almost one-year-old. I doubted he'd pay much attention to what I was doing.
I scrambled to my feet as Anthony made a beeline for the entertainment center. “Hold up there, speedster.”
I grabbed him around the waist and tossed him into the air, smiling as he let out a huge belly laugh. He was such a happy baby. My parents had always said Dalton was like that. The perfect little angel. Lia too. They'd lulled my parents into a false sense of security so that when I came along, they thought it'd be exactly the same. I never had to wonder what sort of baby I'd been because they loved telling the stories.
Like how I'd had colic for weeks and kept everyone up all hours.
Or how I'd gotten my days and nights mixed up for three whole months.
My personal favorite was when they'd tell people about my childhood habit of stripping off all my clothes and running around stark naked.
Cute.
Even as I thought the word, another word came to mind.
Gorgeous.
And, of course, I heard it in a British accent. Because half my damn thoughts this past week had been in that fucking accent. I heard it in my dreams.
Heard him in my dreams.
I'd had a couple of sexual encounters in my past, but Dean had blown them all away. I'd been able to feel his body for days afterward, so I knew that it was a good thing that he'd only been visiting LA. If I'd known he lived here, known that I had a chance of seeing him again, I would've wanted to, and that wouldn't have been a good idea. He hadn't struck me as the sort of guy who wanted to get involved with anyone, and I didn't want to taint the memories I had.
The sound of the door opening caught my attention, and I pushed thoughts of Dean aside. I stood, Anthony stirring in my arms. He hadn't really been asleep yet, so as Dalton and Juliette came into the living room, he peeked over my arm.
“There's my boy,” Juliette said as she reached for him. “I've missed you.”
“We had some fun aunt and nephew time,” I said as I handed him over.
“You know,” Juliette said, “you're welcome to babysit anytime.” She winked at me.
“Be a bit of a drive just to babysit,” Dalton said as he ran his hand over his son's head.
If that wasn't a sign to share, then I didn't know what it was. “Actually,” I said, “it wouldn't be long at all.”
My brother gave me a surprised look. “You're not going back to Cambridge?”
I shook my head. “Better than that. I'm moving here.”
“To LA?” Still surprised, but at least he didn't seem annoyed.
I shrugged. “You know how it is. I want to make my own way but figured it'd be nice to know some people.”
“Well, I think it's great,” Juliette said. “You're welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
Dalton didn't look too happy at that, but I couldn't blame him. He and Juliette hadn't had the most traditional relationship, what with her getting pregnant before they'd even dated. They didn't need his little sister hanging around right after they got married.
“I don't need to,” I said. “I found a place.”
“Already?” Now it was Juliette's turn to sound surprised.
“I had some time on my hands this week.”
“I'll want to check the places out with you before you make a decision,” Dalton said, his big brother face firmly in place. “Make sure they're safe.”
I couldn't resist. “You already did.” I kept my expression bright. “There was a great place available one floor down. I'm moving in tomorrow.”
“Here?” Juliette glanced at Dalton. “Not that we won't be glad to have you close by. It's just...”
“Where'd you get the sort of money for a deposit?” Dalton put it out there.
“I've been saving,” I said, hedging the truth. “I worked a lot during school, and I had a good scholarship.”
He still looked worried. “If you need any help–”
“I'll ask.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt. I knew he just wanted to help, but he could look less like I was some clueless kid who was in over her head. “I lived on my own back East. I'll be fine.”
Dalton opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but Juliette put a hand on his arm, and he closed it.
It looked like I did have an ally in my sister-in-law, and I was looking forward to getting to know her better. Yet another reason why staying in LA was going to be good for me.
Chapter Four
Dean
I'd intended to give myself a day to recover from my trip, but that hadn't really worked out. Sure, I thoroughly enjoyed my night with Kyndall, and she'd left without any drama or expectations, but that should've lent me to a restful night's sleep leading into a lazy day on Sunday, making me ready for work first thing Monday.
Except that hadn't happened. Sure, I'd falle
n asleep not long after Kyndall had left thanks to a nice combination of jet lag and great sex, but it'd been a sleep filled with dreams of the American with the honey-blonde hair and amazing body. Which meant I'd woken up with a massive erection far beyond the usual morning wood. That one hadn't gone away until I'd jacked off in the shower – twice – like some randy teenager.
That'd ended up being only a temporary solution, however. Walking back into the bedroom made me think of how Kyndall had looked on my bed, which had made me hard again. I went to the hotel gym and managed to distract myself for a bit. Then a redhead had come in and started flirting with me, but all I'd been able to do was compare her to Kyndall.
I'd gone to work then, knowing that my relaxing day would otherwise be spent trying to find something to do that didn't involve my hand and fantasies about that tight pussy.
So for the past week, I'd scheduled and attended meetings with investors and directors and producers, searching for independent films worth my investment. Then, I'd toured various non-profits and talked to their founders. I'd spoken with lawyers from a dozen different firms and specialties. I'd drawn up proposals and business plans, researched what sort of non-profits were needed in this area.
Every waking moment had been scheduled to ensure that I wouldn't have time to think about Kyndall, to wonder what she was doing and who she was with. That last one had been the thought that'd always set me off. I'd gotten distracted. Paced. I'd always been a high-energy person, needing to stay busy to keep from being restless, but I'd never had problems focusing. I had a professor once describe me as a textbook example of a type-A personality. Driven. Ambitious.
But now, even with everything I'd been doing all week, there were times I hadn't been able to stop something from triggering a memory. Like nearly every damn time I smelled espresso, I remembered how her mouth had tasted. And that would make me think about how her pussy tasted. Then how it'd felt.
And I'd be off in my own head until someone or something brought me out of it.
It wasn't every hour, or even every couple, but it was still enough that it annoyed me. I wasn't sure who I was more hacked off at, Kyndall for being so distracting or myself for not being in control.
By the time I finished at the gym this morning, I still couldn't shake the restless energy that'd been humming around me all week, and I knew I needed to go out and blow off some steam. This wasn't just too much energy in general. It was a sexual tension that I couldn't quite get rid of, and that meant I needed something more than exercise and masturbation.
Which meant I was going out tonight.
I'd first come to LA several years ago, and I'd met Cross at a business meeting then. We'd kept in touch on and off, so when I'd come back to California on a slightly more permanent basis, I'd looked him up. It'd taken only a few conversations before he introduced me to Hanna, Dalton, and Juliette, and invited me to the BDSM club they sometimes frequented. I purchased my own VIP membership not long after, and while I didn't generally go with them – being the fifth person in a two couple group could be a little awkward – I often saw them there.
Tonight, however, I hoped I didn't. I was trying to figure out how I'd spent nearly half a year knowing Dalton and Juliette but hadn't been introduced to Kyndall. If any of them were at the club, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop myself from asking about her. For all I knew, she was some college friend of Juliette's who'd only been up for the wedding and was half-way across the country by now. I wasn't sure I wanted that disappointment...or how I felt about the fact that her being out of reach would be disappointing.
Then there was always the chance that Kyndall lived here in LA, but we'd never had the opportunity to meet. I was better friends with Cross than with Juliette, so it made sense that I wouldn't know many of her friends, especially since Kyndall didn't frequent the club. And I had to consider that was the reason Juliette hadn't introduced us. Juliette knew I was a Dom, and as one herself, she'd be a good judge of character when it came to the sort of person who might be interested in the lifestyle. There was a good chance that Juliette knew Kyndall wasn't into BDSM and assumed that meant the two of us wouldn't be a fitting match.
I didn't know if that was the case or not, but the only way I'd ever find out was if I asked. And I couldn't ask. There were so many possibilities that I didn't want to consider.
I needed to go to the club and get rid of this tension, clear my head, and then move on with the rest of my life. Kyndall had been a one-time encounter, and her quick exit had suggested that she preferred it that way. The way I was supposed to have wanted things to go.
So I was going to do what I always did when I felt like I was wound too tight. Go to the club, let loose in my own way. I nodded at the doorman as I walked past, letting the club music wash over me. It wasn't obnoxiously loud, but it was enough that I could feel the bass thudding against my heart. Enough to drown out a lot of my chaotic thoughts, which was the entire point of me being here.
It was Saturday night, so the place was packed, and even the air conditioning couldn't keep up with the press of bodies writhing on the dance floor. I rarely danced and wasn't in the mood to do it tonight, so I skirted the floor, making my way up the stairs to the VIP level. A show would be starting soon, and I was in the mood to watch for a while. Watch the show and see if I could spot a Sub I wanted to take into one of the club's specialty rooms.
I had to admit, one of the things I missed about having a house of my own was having my own playroom. When I decided to leave London, I sold my house, but I put all of my things in storage, ready to be shipped as soon as I had a place here. I hadn't minded being in a hotel since I'd gotten here, but I couldn't deny thinking that it would've been nice to have had Kyndall at a house, a place where I could've asked her to stay, a place where I could've taken her to play.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I needed to find someone else to play with. Someone who knew the game.
The music downstairs shifted, lowered, and I focused my attention on the stage downstairs. A familiar couple was making their way up the steps. Miranda and Jason, a pair of regulars I'd met the first night Cross had brought me here. With a pang, I realized that Miranda's hair color was similar to Kyndall's, but at least the similarities ended there. Miranda was short, slender, almost petite.
And she was a Dom. Her dark-haired Sub was barely average height, with a lean build. Both looked barely old enough to vote, but I put their age closer to mid-twenties. No matter how old they were, they'd apparently been performing here for a few years and were a couple outside the club as well.
They wore matching leather outfits, though hers covered a lot more than his. I was strictly straight, so the fact that Jason was pretty much wearing what amounted to a jockstrap didn't do it for me. I could, however, appreciate the way Miranda dominated him. Brisk commands that resulted in complete submission, the sort of trust that a lot of couples could envy.
She took him over to the padded bench that'd been set up and strapped him in, restraints around both wrists and ankles. When she pulled something out of her bag, a ripple of approval ran through the crowd.
A pair of nipple clamps, and not the nice soft ones. These had metal teeth. I let out a low whistle. I liked a little pain for my Subs, but that was a bit more pain than I liked to inflict. Judging by the loud groan that came out of Jason's mouth, however, it was the exact right amount for him.
Then Miranda brought out a pair of small weights and hung them from the clamps. Jason's body jerked, which made the clamps move, which, in turn, made him moan.
“Too much?” Her voice was quiet but carried enough for me to hear.
He shook his head, and she smacked his ass hard enough to leave a red mark.
“No, Mistress.” Jason's fingers flexed.
“Tell me what you want,” she instructed.
“More, Mistress. Please.”
She went back to the bag and pulled out another clamp. I sucked in a breath, suspecting where that one was
going to go. She didn't disappoint. My own balls tightened in sympathy as she attached the clamp to Jason's balls. When she hung a weight on it, the sound Jason made wasn't a pleasant one, but he still didn't use the safe word I was sure he and Miranda had established.
For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to have Kyndall here with me, to have her sitting at my side as Miranda gave her Sub what he needed. What Kyndall would say if I told her I wanted to find out what she needed, that I wanted to take care of her like Miranda was taking care of Jason.
What would she think of Miranda's expert use of a crop on Jason's ass and cock? Would she be able to recognize that the cries he made weren't solely pain, no matter how violent Miranda's treatment might've seemed? If I slipped my hand between her thighs, would I find her wet or would she be so horrified that she'd run as far away from me as possible?
I shook my head. I couldn't be thinking like that. Kyndall wasn't someone I was casually dating or a friend with benefits. She wasn't anything to me other than a girl I spent one great night with. One night. That was all we planned on, so there was no reason for me to be thinking of anything else.
A sound from the stage caught my attention. Miranda had pulled a giant strap-on out of the bag and was liberally applying lube to the slick surface. I'd always considered myself to be well-endowed – and the women I'd been with had supported that opinion – so I knew how much preparation needed to go into anal sex, but Jason and Miranda had clearly done this before because the thick shaft disappeared with relative ease.
And that brought up another question.
Was Kyndall the sort of woman who'd find it hot, but only for the domination quality, or would she think of it as something she'd want to do herself? She was confident, but that didn't mean she wasn't submissive. It didn't mean she was either. She could've been neither.
Hell, for all I knew, she'd think that the whole BDSM lifestyle was disgusting and be appalled that she'd been anywhere near me, spoiling the memories of what we'd shared.