Decadence After Dark: The Complete Collection (Dark Romance box set) : Owned, Claimed, Ruined, Lie With Me, Elicit (Decadence After Dark )

by M Never

  “I won’t force you.” I lightly place my hands on her bare hipbones. London inspects me as if trying to read every single line on my face. There’s no fallacy. What I say, I mean. But it’s clear it’s going to take time and trust before she fully believes in me. And I have a feeling London needs both those things to feel completely at ease.

  She glances at the water one last time before she resigns. Helping her step into the deep whirlpool tub, I watch as she slowly submerges herself in the steaming bath. She stifles a sigh as the warmth washes over her muscles.

  “It’s okay to enjoy it. That’s the point.” I sit on the edge of the tub and touch her shoulders. She jumps unexpectedly. Whoa.

  “Relax.” I use my most soothing voice. “Trust me. I know we just met, and a lot has happened, but you need to trust me.” I massage her tense shoulders, discovering knots the size of boulders.

  “Today was nothing,” she mutters like a zombie. “I’ve been through worse.”

  “Want to elaborate on that?” I concentrate on a knot under her shoulder blade, and she expels a pained moan. It shouldn’t be, but the sound is so fucking arousing. I could massage her all damn night just so I could listen to it over and over again.

  “No,” she states bluntly.

  Not ready for a heart to heart. Message received. It may take a little while, but I’ll wear her down eventually. I always do. She’s not the first woman with issues to walk into this house.

  She may be the most beautiful, though.

  Once the water level covers her chest, I rinse my sudsy hands and turn off the faucet.

  Leaving London to soak in the moisturizing lemongrass bubble bath, I grab what I need. Two towels from the linen closet, a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, and a rinsing cup.

  She finally looks relaxed with her head resting on the curve of the white tub, eyes closed, breathing steady. I leave her be for a few minutes, secretly watching the rise and fall of her chest. She really is something else. An ethereal entity walking among un-extraordinary mortals.

  I wait as long as possible before the craving to touch her becomes too much. Even something as simple as washing her hair, my fingertips itch to feel her. Sitting back on the edge of the tub, the lip substantial enough to balance on, I touch London’s shoulder. “Sit up and tip your head back,” I direct her. With a cautious glance at me, she shifts upright and dangles her long red hair directly in front of me. She takes direction like a pro. Like a tried-and-true submissive.

  Earlier, I received a taste of what she has to offer, and I haven’t stopped fantasizing about her since. I can’t remember the last time a woman took me by surprise. But London rolled in like a thunderstorm, breathtaking and majestic, lightning striking me with every move.

  From the first moment it was clear—she’s a force of nature you run toward, not away from.

  I squirt some shampoo into my hand, then lather her long red hair with the aromatic soap. Taking my time, I circle the pads of my fingers from her hairline, over her scalp, and down her thick mane. She sits perfectly still, not a sound slipping from her lips. She’s such a peculiar creature, full of zest one moment and distant the next.

  London inhales and exhales deeply as I thoroughly attend to her. Using the slickness of the soap, I slide my palms over every inch of her head, neck, shoulders, and back.

  “You’re an extremely beautiful woman.” It’s not a come-on. It’s an observation. An appreciation. I love beautiful things, whether they are objects or people. And London Erickson is the upper echelon of beauty. Her eyes fly open at my compliment, an enigmatic expression marring her ethereal face.

  Our gazes lock as I rinse the soap from her hair. It’s a fierce test of wills. An in-depth exploration of authenticity. Eyes are the window to the soul, and my sincerity is there for everyone to see. Give trust to gain trust. It’s as simple as that.

  I have nothing to hide. Well, nothing to hide when it comes to genuinely caring. I want London to see that. Feel that. I’m as real as I can be. There’s nothing to fear. I run my fingers gently through her hair as the suds wash away.

  “I’ve heard that my entire life.”

  “What? That you’re beautiful? It’s the truth.”

  She finally drops her eyes. Her mood drowning in the hot water. I continue with the conditioner. Using the creamy consistency to detangle her knots, I comb through the entangled tresses, hoping to assuage her grief on some unconscious level.

  Silently and soothingly, I rinse the conditioner from her hair. Wrapping the long locks around my wrist, I wring out the moisture, resisting the urge to yank. Sooner rather than later, I’m going to have her bound, in my bed, shouting my name.

  Perks of being the boss.

  I get who I want, when I want, however I want.

  London drops her head with her hair still wound around my wrist. The look in her eyes is haunted, but her face is pure perfection.

  “I was tied to a bed once,” she unexpectedly shares. “I don’t know for how long. Could have been hours. Could have been days. I was blindfolded so I never saw who they were. But there were a lot of them. They were all different. Smelled different, felt different, sounded different.” Her face is impassive. “All just coming and going.” She smirks darkly at the bleak, offhanded double-entendre. “Tonight was nothing.” The depth of oblivion in her gaze is actually frightening.

  I release her hair, impulsively running my thumb lightly down her cheek. My heart beats faster from the simple touch and the non-effect it has on her.

  I could say a million shallow things, but I refrain. I’m sure even attempting would insult her intelligence.

  “You always have a choice here,” I reassure her. I know that’s probably hard for her to believe. It’s probably hard for anyone to believe. That a person in their shoes, who sells themselves for sex under the roof of an employer, ever has a choice. But my girls do.

  I know what you’re thinking—“employer” is a code word for pimp. And I guess on many levels that’s true. My business makes its profit from sex. It’s the ugly truth. But at least I can sleep with a clear conscience knowing I choose who walks through the door. I choose the clientele my women hand themselves over to, and I allow them to decide. I give them power and I empower them.

  I’ll empower London, too. If she’ll let me. I can’t change her past, but I can definitely influence her future. Her sharing that little tidbit gives me hope. Proves my methods work. Keeps guiding me in the right direction.

  “Let’s get you dried off.” I deliver a warm smile.

  She nods silently in agreement.

  Once I have London wrapped head-to-toe in Egyptian cotton, I pull out a nightshirt for her to wear. The armoire in her room is chock full of clothes. I keep the girls’ rooms stocked with sweatpants and T-shirts and shorts if for nothing more than normalcy. And that time of the month. For the most part, they prance around in designer jeans, tight tops, and expensive shoes.

  Leaving little for her to do, I dry her body with rapt attention, leaving no drop behind, using the opportunity to examine every curve and slope and delectable pathway.

  Once she’s dressed in the soft gray T-shirt, I lead her to the vanity and have her sit in front of the mirror. “Last bit.” I wink as I pull a hair dryer from the drawer. The look on her face is priceless. It’s one I’ve received many times from many women. The what is this man doing? I’m used to it by now. It’s all part of my master plan.

  I flick the on switch and proceed to eliminate the wetness from her hair, sending her red strands flying all over the place in a playful way. This she seems to like, pulling her leg up in a relaxed position and throwing her head back into the stream of hot air.

  It’s over all too quickly, and before I know it, I’m urging her to bed. But as I tuck her in, there’s no indication of exhaustion on her part. In fact, her eyes are wide and alert as if it was midday.

  “Not tired?”

  London looks up at me with big, bright, captivating eyes. The mo
onlight peeking through the window highlights her incomparable features.

  “It takes me a little while to wind down.”

  “Would you like me to stay until you do?”

  There goes that inscrutable look. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure? I’ll only offer once.”

  A deliberative pause.

  “I’m good. I think I’ve monopolized enough of your time.”

  “Nonsense. It’s what I’m here for.”

  I reluctantly stand up. Her eyebrows pull together as I drop a kiss on her forehead. I wonder if she notices how I let my lips linger a beat too long.

  “This has been a very strange first day,” she muses as I straighten to my full height.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Take advantage of your downtime tomorrow. I have a feeling, after your performance tonight, you’re going to become a very sought-after girl.”

  If I know Trent, word of Mansion’s new it girl is going to spread like wildfire.

  “I can handle it,” she assures me.

  “Something tells me that’s more than true.” And I can’t wait to watch. “Sleep,” I instruct.

  London is going to need all the rest she can get.

  I WATCH JETT LEAVE THE room, still as awake as I was this morning. Sleep. Yeah, right.

  I toss the covers off and slide out of bed. I pace the room, inspecting every nook and cranny of my new abode. It’s spacious. And elegant. Warm, comforting. A good haven. I almost can’t believe it’s all mine. The vibe of the house is very much like Sasha’s, with attention given to the girls’ well-being. Only on a grander scale. With more expensive clothes and more demanding clientele. A gangbang isn’t anything new. Those guys were puppies compared to the pit bulls I’ve come across.

  I sit on the velvet-covered bench framing the bay window and look out over the manicured grounds. The silvery lawn seems to go on forever under the moon’s pearly glow. I breathe calmly through a fleeting moment of insecurity. For the moment, I’m safe. I’m hidden and was able to survive one more day clutching onto my freedom.

  I rest my head on the window. Am I really free? To a point. Maybe. More so than before. But I still wouldn’t risk walking down a busy city street. A mansion in the middle of Nowhere, New Jersey, is much safer.

  I roll my shoulders, surprised at how loose they feel. I can’t remember the last time tension didn’t reign over my body. My new employer definitely has a way with his hands.

  And his words.

  And his presence.

  I still can’t believe I confessed one of the darkest experiences of my life to him. A man I barely know. A man who is going to make a profit by sexually exploiting me.

  At that specific moment, none of that mattered. At that specific moment, I was lost in my own head and the feel of the most non-threatening male hands. I don’t think a man has ever touched me like that. I can’t recall one time a member of the opposite sex ever cared about my well-being. Ever pampered me or tucked me into bed. Not even my own father.

  I don’t want to believe I can trust him, but something deep down whispers that I can.

  Which is terrifying. No man has ever proved his worth, and I’m skeptical an affluent pimp is going to be the first.

  But the way he watched me tonight. Those vigilant turquoise eyes. The way he lingered in the background, a residing presence over the proceedings, spoke volumes in an authoritative and overpowering way.

  That presence ensnared me. It turned me on and made me feel powerful. It created an unspoken connection I wasn’t aware of until he put his soothing hands on me. Until he washed away the night with more than just soap.

  How can a man in his position possess such talents? And why am I so drawn to him?

  The answers don’t really matter for a girl like me.

  A girl who’s nothing.

  No one.

  I SIT AND WAIT ON the tarmac as the plane taxis.

  Kayne has been gone for three days.

  We’ve had zero communication, and although I don’t portray it, my worries have been running rampant.

  When the potential to run with one of the biggest drug lords in the world landed in our laps, we couldn’t refuse the opportunity. This is the break we’d been waiting for. But with bigger fish come a bigger sea and a whole host of new dangers. Like Kayne boarding a private jet and flying to an undisclosed location in Mexico with no communication to the outside world. This was Javier’s specifications.

  El Rey is one of the most elusive and wanted men in the world. And if we want to get to him, we need to go through his right-hand man, Javier. No last name. Just Javier.

  Not shady at all.

  With a renewed nervousness, the door to the jet opens. I’m praying they don’t throw Kayne out in a body bag. These are people you do not fuck with. Ever. Yet here we are, trying to pull off one of the most dangerous ruses known to man.

  The plane is parked several yards away from the limo. This is the guise. Kayne is the face of the operation, and I’m the backbone and brains. Not to say he isn’t smart or cunning, but one of us has to be responsible for the shady shit while the other keeps a polished persona. Our arrangement has worked wonders for over five years, and our strategy is finally reeling in the whales.

  The door opens, and I wait, watching anxiously as Kayne stumbles then sways at the top of the stairs.

  What. The. Fuck? He looks like complete shit. His suit is disheveled, his tie is loose, and he’s paler than a goddamn ghost.

  Not good.

  I climb out of the driver’s seat as he clumsily makes his way down the stairs. I open the back door, keeping up with the chauffeur act as he ambles closer. There’s a frigid chill in the late February air, but I barely seem to notice. My focus is locked on Kayne and his bloodshot eyes and tormented scowl.

  Once he’s close enough, I catch a potent whiff of alcohol.

  “Are you drunk?” I murmur just before he flops into the backseat.

  Kayne regards me with a ghostly expression. “If I said no, would you believe me?” He grips the edge of the door for dear life.

  “For Chrissake, get in the car.” I huff, scanning the area. This is the last thing anyone needs. A slowly unraveling, already unstable man.

  I pop back into the driver’s seat and hit the gas. We need to go. Pronto.

  I glance back at Kayne through the rearview and watch as he pours himself an entire rocks glass of brandy straight up.

  “Think that pour is big enough?” I ridicule.

  Kayne slides his eyes up to meet mine, pinning me with a harrowing, threatening, don’t-fuck-with-me glare. “There isn’t a pour big enough on this goddamn earth for me at the moment.” He drains the glass with his eyes still on me.

  “What the fuck happened while you were there?” The distress in my own voice surprises me.

  “Atrocities.” He pours another hefty shot.

  “Explain,” I demand.

  “A fucking entire compound of sex slaves. Abused, neglected, defiled.” He spits out the words with disgust. “He killed one. While I was fucking there. He made sure I heard her scream. Wanted to communicate his fucking point. Savage.” Kayne stares off into space, the glass bouncing unsteadily in his hand. “If there wasn’t a house full of innocent women, I would order an airstrike. Fuck, I’d steal a fucking missile launcher and take the fucking place out myself.” He swallows several large gulps of the amber liquid all at once.

  Holy shit. I grip the steering wheel to keep it together.

  “We need to eradicate these fucking people,” Kayne continues. “Wipe them right off the face of the earth.”

  “Did you get the leverage we need to do that?”

  “I’m still alive, aren’t I? I proved my worth.”

  I want to ask how exactly he proved himself, but I think that question is better left for another time. Like when he’s sober and not looking to drop a bomb.

  “So Javier is going to be in touch?”

  Kayne
curls his lip menacingly. “Yes.”

  “Then mission accomplished.”

  “Yeah.” He grunts petulantly before swallowing the rest of the brandy in one gulp.

  I sigh pensively as we drive, watching Kayne sink further and further into blight.

  “We got a new girl,” I casually tell him.

  “Out of the blue?” He’s half interested.

  “Sort of. Sasha sent her.”

  “Every body helps, right?”

  I curl my lip. His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed. “Yes. Especially since we’re on the brink of losing another girl.”

  Kayne grunts. “Well, if you would stop playing matchmaker, maybe we could hold on to them.”

  “It’s not my fault we mold women into highly desirable deities.”

  “You mold.”

  “True.” I shamelessly take all the credit.

  Kayne shifts in the backseat, clearly frustrated and uncomfortable. Kayne frustrated and uncomfortable is never a good thing.

  “When was the last time you got laid?”

  He pins me with a cautionary glare. “Why the fuck do you care?”

  “You know why. Now tell me when?” I don’t back down. Kayne can be as pissy as he wants.

  He bristles. “Not sure. A few months. Not since Sage left.”

  “That’s not a few months. That’s six months,” I nearly snap.

  A menacing glower is his only response.

  I don’t usually log Kayne’s sex life, but I equate his celibacy to a squib load. One catastrophic weapon malfunction waiting to happen. And by the looks of him, he’s one round away from a spontaneous detonation.

  I let Kayne stew the rest of the drive, concocting a plan to mellow him out. I need him sharp, in the game, and prepared for what’s to come. If we’re going to take on one of the world’s most dangerous drug lords, we need to be in it to win it.

  “Go take a shower and then come to my room,” I order him as we walk through Mansion’s heavily stocked garage. We have every toy you can imagine, from sports cars to motorcycles to four wheelers.