The Dom's Secret: A Light BDSM Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Because that was an option for sure.

  Imagine it.

  Carrie, living in my apartment every day.

  There when I got home nights.

  There when I woke up in the morning.

  Moaning. Swallowing. Crying out my name.

  But it was more than that.

  Carrie, that sweet smile making my heart pound.

  Her caring nature, the way she brought out the best in people.

  Always an optimist, even with losers as parents.

  Because I’m drawn to the female in more ways than one. She’s magnetic, entrancing, and oh so sweet, rolled into a beautifully curvy package.

  And suddenly realization burst to the fore of my brain like an explosion gone mad.

  She was more than a sugar baby. She was more than a mere sub. The woman was more than a plaything, a fuck toy that I used and abused.

  Sure, I pay the brunette, but what’s wrong with that? It’s not like wives don’t get paid. They do, it’s just sanctioned by society.

  And suddenly, realization clomped down on my head like a load of bricks.

  I love Carrie.

  Absolutely, one hundred percent, balls to the wall.

  That type of love.

  And suddenly, the plane couldn’t fly fast enough.

  Bolting in my seat, I lean forwards.

  “I have to see her,” are my furious words, eyes blazing. “I need to talk to her.”

  And one of the benefits of being a billionaire is that there’s an in-flight phone. Immediately, the blocky piece of plastic was in my hand, fingers fumbling as they dialed.

  Oh shit, oh shit.

  What do I say?

  I didn’t mean it, baby.

  I didn’t mean to be so crass and cruel, to cut you off like you were nothing.

  I didn’t mean to shut you out like you’re worth zero.

  You’re not worth nothing, pretty girl.

  You’re worth everything to me.

  And I’m coming home … because we belong together.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Carrie

  I stare straight ahead, seeing nothing.

  Because there’s nothing.

  Nothing to life.

  Two weeks ago, Mason said goodbye.

  He hasn’t kicked me out of this apartment. He hasn’t asked me for any clothes or jewelry back.

  But I know it’s coming.

  He’s been in Paris, too busy to deal.

  But it’s coming because he’s a businessman, and he put a bet on me that went sour.

  The sugar baby who was his kept woman? Now the press is painting me as a helpless victim.

  And my parents have been on TV, saying all sorts of nasty things.

  Our daughter was whisked off her feet by an older man.

  She didn’t know.

  She’s too young to know.

  She might have been a minor.

  Mason Channing must have drugged her, it’s the only way.

  But it’s not true. I was always eighteen. And no, there were no drugs. No cocaine, no pot, no date-night drug.

  Just him.

  That dominating masculinity.

  The harsh blue gaze that made my skin sizzle.

  The palm of his hand. The toy box. And that massive dong.

  Oh god, it felt good inside, and even now, my pussy aches from emptiness.

  But it shouldn’t be like this.

  I shouldn’t have fallen in love.

  That’s the cardinal rule of being a sugar baby. Do not develop feelings.

  But it happened anyways.

  Oh god, oh god.

  How did things get so fucked up?

  A knock sounds softly on my door.

  I don’t answer at first, but then the knock comes again, more insistent this time.

  “Carrie?” comes my sister’s voice. “Carrie? I have some soda for you.”

  I sigh, sitting limply on the bed.

  “Come,” is my listless murmur.

  And slowly, the door swings open to reveal Nicole, eyes worried, her figure barely visible.

  Because I’ve been sitting in the dark in my room. It’s light outside, but the shades are drawn, and I haven’t left this space for a while now. Maybe two days. Three days. Maybe more, I don’t know, I lost count.

  “Hi,” comes my tired greeting. “How are you?”

  Nicole slips inside like a wraith, taking a seat on the bed next to me.

  “I’m okay,” she says softly. “But how are you?”

  My eyes look off into the distance at nothing.

  “Good,” is my barely audible reply. “Good.”

  Nicole shoots me a long look before taking my hand.

  “You and I both know that’s not true,” she says softly. “You’re not okay Carrie. You’ve been in this room for a week now.”

  Oh my god.

  Has it really been a week? A week locked in this darkness, without seeing a soul? A week where I can’t get out of bed, where even the energy to roll over seems too much?

  I smile wanly at her, running a hand over my curls. They’re tangled and sticky. I must have forgotten to shower.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’m gonna come out. I promise. Everything okay out there?”

  But Nicole shakes her head.

  “Carrie,” she says softly. “You have to snap out of this. This isn’t healthy. I’m worried. For you. For me. But especially for you.”

  My hand grips hers tighter, fingers cold.

  “Thanks Nicole,” are my toneless words. “But I’m gonna be okay. Just let me take a shower and get cleaned up. I’ll be right out.”

  But both she and I know that’s a lie.

  Because I’m not going anywhere.

  I’m going to sit here on my bed, soul crushed, heart broken until the end of time.

  I’ll never be the same.

  They’ll carry me out feet first, that’s where this is heading.

  And Nicole squeezes my hand worriedly again.

  “Carrie,” she says urgently. “It’s not that bad. I promise it’s not that bad.”

  Slowly, my head turns to look at her, and I see my sister for the first time. I see the big blue eyes, filled with worry. I see the crease between her eyebrows, how her chin trembles.

  So summoning some strength, I reach a hand out to caress her smooth cheek.

  “Oh Nicole,” I say. “This isn’t just a break-up. It’s so much more than that.”

  My little sister’s silent for a moment. But then she takes a big breath and speaks.

  “Carrie,” she says tentatively. “I always knew what you were doing. I knew you signed up on the site the day you did it. I knew you were sleeping with someone for money. I didn’t know it was Mason at first, but I figured it out.”

  My head snaps towards her.

  “How did you know?” is my low voice. “How did you figure it out?”

  Nicole looks down first, but then meets my gaze straight on.

  “I logged on as you,” she says simply. “We were sharing a laptop, and I know your password. I’ve known it for ages,” she admits. “So I logged on as you and saw what you were doing. But it’s okay,” she adds quickly. “You were doing it for us.”

  The realization strikes me to the heart. So all this time, my baby sister’s known about my whorish ways? She knows that I’ve been slutting myself out for money? Selling my body so that we’d have a place to stay?

  And like she can read my mind, Nicole nods.

  “Yes, I knew. But I don’t see it that way. I don’t see it like you were doing anything illegal or wrong or bad. I saw it as my big, brave older sister doing what she needed to do so that we could survive. You’ve done so much Carrie,” she says with a lump in her throat. “I’ve never told you thank you.”

  Tears begin to form in my eyes. Because I didn’t want my sister exposed to this. There’s an innocence and naiveté to Nicole that needs to be protected, and I don’t want her to be dragged into this
. But the mess is too big now. Santa doesn’t exist, and the truth is out of the closet.

  “I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice. “I suspected you knew, but I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. Like an ostrich with its head in the sand you know?” I say, my voice trembling. “I sort of knew, but didn’t want to believe.”

  And Nicole takes a deep breath before looking at me squarely.

  “You don’t have to do it anymore,” she says in a steady voice. “Not for me. Not for us. And not for you, either.”

  I look at her blankly.

  “What do you mean?”

  My sister takes another deep breath.

  “I’m old enough Carrie. I’m almost sixteen now. I can take care of myself, you don’t have to worry.”

  My head shakes slowly with disbelief.

  “That’s it sweetheart,” are my soft words. “You’re not even sixteen. You’re not old enough. You don’t know.”

  But Nicole shakes her head resolutely.

  “I am,” she says in a firm tone. And then she fixes me with a wavery yet stern glare. “When you were sixteen Carrie, you already had two jobs. You were already going to school, working part-time afterwards, and then getting up early to put in a shift at the bakery before classes. You did all that so that I could be in Girl Scouts, so that I could have a nice uniform like everyone else. You did all that because Mom and Dad didn’t have any money, and we needed cash. So I can do it too,” she finishes in a rush. “I’m not afraid.”

  But I shake my head.

  “No. You’re my baby, and I don’t want you to go through that like I did. Do you know how tired I was every night? How I could barely keep my eyes open during class? I don’t want that for you. You’re college bound, and you need to study.”

  But Nicole shakes her head.

  “I already have a job,” she says softly. “It doesn’t pay that much, but they said I can study while I’m working.”

  My head shakes.

  “What job is that?”

  In my experience, an employer pays for your time and wants your full attention. Like Mason.

  “At the library,” Nicole says firmly. “I’m going to work the circulation desk. But when no one needs help, they said I could study.”

  And cocking my head, I stare at my baby sister. That doesn’t sound so bad. It’s safe for sure, and the library is generally quiet and peaceful. Nicole should be able to get a lot done.

  So I nod.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Okay, but let’s see how it goes first. Just take a few shifts a week, and then let’s re-consider.”

  She nods happily.

  “I’m glad you approve,” are her delighted words. But then the smile falls from her face. “But Carrie, I didn’t want to talk about me. I wanted to talk about you, and all this,” she says, waving her hand in a vague circle.

  “All what?” are my words, suddenly flat.

  Nicole gulps.

  “You know, all this,” she replies helplessly, still gesturing. “This apartment. This life we live. And Mason.”

  Her words practically die on the word Mason. Like she’s afraid to say the name, afraid to open Pandora’s box, releasing the furies.

  But instead, there’s just silence. Dead air.

  “What about it?” are my tuneless words.

  Nicole tries again, eyes getting desperate.

  “You don’t have to do this anymore,” she says in a brave voice. “I have a job. You can get another job. Don’t put yourself through this anymore.”

  But Nicole has it all wrong.

  “Are you worried about money?” I say carefully. “Are you worried that we’ll be out on the street?”

  And eyes swirling with emotion, my sister nods.

  “We’ll find a way, I promise,” she says softly. “I’ve researched hostels, even apartments on Staten Island. If we scrimp and save, we can make it work. It won’t be anything like this,” she says, gesturing to the king bed and floor-length mirror, “But I’m okay with that. I just don’t want you to be like this,” she adds in a small voice.

  And suddenly, I burst into laughter. Maniacal, crazy-woman laughter that makes my sister sit up with a jerk.

  “What?” she asks. “What’s going on?”

  But again, Nicole’s got it all wrong.

  “I don’t care about our surroundings. I don’t care about this apartment or the clothes or the jewelry. You know that, missy,” I say with a sad smile.

  Nicole nods.

  “Yes, but what else could it be? All that stuff with Jim and Rhonda, and what they said about Mason,” she starts in a quavery voice. “He’s going to kick us out.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Yes, but that’s not what has me down.”

  My sister’s stumped.

  “But then what it is? I thought that’s why you were on the sugar baby site,” her voice breaks a little. “Money for … well, you know,” she flushes, embarrassed.

  I smile gently at her.

  “It started that way, sure,” are my soft words. “But it grew into something more. I’m not sad because we’re leaving this place, or that we have to live on Staten Island. I’m not sad that we’ll be eating cheese sandwiches and stale white bread. I’m sad because I fell in love with Mason,” are my soft words. “I fell in love with my Dom, and that’s the ultimate no-no.”

  Nicole’s stunned, at a loss for words.

  “Really?” she asks in a hushed voice. “So you love him?”

  And slowly, my head nods.

  “Really, really,” I say in a sad voice. “I fell in love, and that’s not what you do in this line of business. I really messed up Nicole. So that’s why I’ve been in this room for a week now,” are my sad words. “That’s why I’ve been unable to move.”

  Nicole takes my hand, squeezing it gently.

  “It’s not so bad,” my sister says softly. “There are worse things than falling in love.”

  I choke back a sob.

  “Not when he doesn’t love you back,” are my unhappy words. “Not when –“

  But suddenly there’s a growl at the door.

  I look up and oh god, but Mason’s there, massive form looming, casting shadow upon shadow.

  How long has he been standing there?

  How long has he been watching us?

  Did he hear what I said?

  Did he hear my admission?

  Suddenly, my cheeks flush bright pink, everything going hot.

  Because I just declared myself. He must know.

  And sensing the electricity in the air, Nicole mumbles and excuses herself.

  “I’ll be in my room,” she says hurriedly, zipping her hoodie before dashing out of the room. “You know where to find me.”

  And then the door closes.

  Silence, heavy and thick.

  Me and Mason alone in the room together.

  The air pulsing, sizzling with energy.

  Oh god, I must look a mess. My hair hasn’t seen a comb in ages, and my face is streaked with tears. Self-consciously, I raise my hands to my curls, trying to pat them into some sort of shape. Big help that is, the rat’s nest can’t be tamed that fast. Plus, my nightie is dirty and stained after a week straight in bed.

  But the alpha doesn’t see it. Because Mr. Channing drops to his knee by my side, eyes penetrating, voice hoarse.

  “Did you just say that, sweetheart?” he rasps, big hand grasping mine. “Did you say that you love me?”

  My face flushes, and I squirm, hotly embarrassed. But there’s no denying it. Because what’s done is done. He heard everything, every word that came out of my mouth, every confession from the bottom of my heart.

  And there’s no use in denying it. The billionaire’s done with me. He doesn’t care. All he wants is for this to end smoothly, to send me on my way with a minimum of tears and recriminations.

  So I nod, taking a deep breath.

  “I do love you Mason, but it’s okay if you don’t love me back. It
wasn’t part of our deal to begin with, and I don’t expect ---“

  But then the billionaire’s mouth slams down on mine, hard, hot and hungry, like a ravenous man who can’t get enough.

  “Mas--?” is my helpless cry. “M--?”

  But he’s not stopping. The alpha’s relentless, tasting and touching, his hands already beginning to wrench the nightie over my head.

  “Mas--?” I pant this time between hungry kisses, unable to believe what’s happening. “Mason?”

  And finally, he stops for a moment, blue eyes seizing mine.

  “I love you, Carrie Newman,” he growls, gaze on fire. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

  My body’s still with shock. Wha--? How? Why?

  But the billionaire shakes his head again.

  “Ever since the moment I met you,” he repeats. “You were nothing like a regular sugar baby. Those girls are trash, females that you keep in a seedy hotel, feeding them cash. But you were different from the very beginning. Your caring nature, your sweetness.”

  I interrupt, grabbing at his hand.

  “Mason,” I say breathlessly. “What do you mean?”

  And the billionaire throws his head back and laughs then, more of a harsh bark than real humor.

  “From the very beginning,” he says slowly. “I wanted to parade you around. I wanted to show you off to my friends, my coworkers, fuck, even my employees. I was proud to have you on my arm. I wanted people to know that you were mine.”

  I’m speechless, gaping at him. But the dark man seizes my face in those big palms then.

  “I fucking fought your parents for you. I beat Jim to a pulp, and almost did the same to Rhonda,” he says fiercely. “Because you were mine, and they were abusing my property. They treated you like a ragdoll to be thrown around, worth nothing. I couldn’t take it, so I moved you out next to me.”

  That was true. This penthouse was just down the street from Mason’s apartment. But still, there were so many unanswered questions.

  “But what about Jim and Rhonda?” I ask slowly. “My parents have called you a ch- child molester.” The word stutters on my tongue, like poison making me choke.

  But Mr. Channing just laughs again.

  “I don’t give a shit about them. Because you know what? You were never underage, and the world will know the truth soon. You were a sweet thing who entered into a submissive relationship with a much older man, but that’s not illegal.”