by Nikki Sloane
The loyalty in her words was disarming. She was a daddy’s girl, and I found it charming. “And your stepmom?”
She smiled pleasantly, but it was empty. “He loves her very much, too.” There was so much weight in what she wasn’t saying, it nearly crushed the table.
“Why was your sister in the papers?”
Her expression turned serious. “It was a misunderstanding. She’s young, and her mother spoils her, and like I said, she’s taking the separation hard. She was a mess when she came over to my apartment in a cab, and got into an argument with the driver when he recognized her. He thought she hadn’t tipped him enough.” She glanced down at the menu, then her eyes flicked back to mine. “That happens a lot. People think money means nothing to us, just because we have some. Everybody wants something. That’s part of why I didn’t tell you my name, or . . . where I live.”
I studied her critically. “I don’t know where you live?”
She shook her head, looking guilty. “Becca was arrested for being combative and intoxicated while underage, right outside my building. My dad kept it out of his papers, but the picture was in the Trib. You didn’t recognize me the night we met. But Becca and I look alike and I thought if you saw my building, you might put it together.”
I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Put what together?”
“That I’m Becca Rosso’s sister.”
My dad kept it out of his papers. Her last name was Rosso.
Holy, fucking, shit.
chapter
TEN
My body turned to stone. “You’re Anthony Rosso’s daughter?”
Noemi Rosso, my newly-minted sub, nodded back. She stared at me with concern. “Is that a problem?”
Yeah, it was a problem. It was huge fucking problem, so enormous I couldn’t get my stupid head around it. I’d fucked Mr. Red’s daughter. I’d asked to be her Dom. The Payton issue I’d recovered from and been able to salvage my relationship with Mr. Red, but this? My empire would be gone in a blink of an eye. He could destroy me. He would, if he found out.
How had I not seen it? I couldn’t find any words, and Noemi’s worried expression grew.
“Joseph, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, but it wasn’t convincing. “I’ll be right back.” I rose from my chair, needing to find some air. All of it had evaporated from the room.
“Should I order for you?”
“That’s fine,” I mumbled, hurrying from the table and down the staircase to the main floor. My heart raced, and I didn’t notice a damn thing as I blindly stumbled to the restroom. I had myself locked in the stall before I felt the panic begin to ebb.
What the fuck was I going to do?
My hands balled into fists. Less than ten minutes ago she’d accepted my offer, and I’d been thrilled. Fucking excited. I’d wanted to race through the meal and get her back to my place so I could start executing my plans. There was so much I wanted to explore with her.
That couldn’t happen now.
It wasn’t like I could explain. Maybe down the road, I’d let Noemi know about all of my clubs, once I knew how she’d react, but now? I couldn’t tell her that I knew her father because he bought pussy once a week from my brothel. I could be cold and ruthless in business, but I wasn’t about to destroy a family.
Perhaps I could fake being sick and drive her home right now. Erase her number from my phone and just be done with it. It wouldn’t be a lie, I did feel sick to my stomach, but the thought of erasing her number intensified the feeling.
You can’t have her, the logical part of my brain warned.
What if she was worth the risk?
No, forget it. I made up my mind. Get through the dinner, drive her home and tell her that it isn’t going to work. I’d fought too hard to have everything taken away from me a second time. It fucking sucked, but I’d have to get over it. Nothing lasted forever.
I washed my hands at the sink and pulled in a calming breath. By the time I’d returned to the table, I’d told myself a dozen times I could do this and act as if nothing was wrong.
“Sorry about that,” I said, slipping back into my seat.
Her pretty eyes focused on me, and she looked relieved. Fuck. This was going to be difficult.
“I ordered you the special,” she said. “Crab alfredo. Please tell me you’re not allergic to seafood.”
“No.”
Her relieved look expanded into a smile. “I’m realizing we don’t know that much about each other.”
“That’s the fucking truth.”
She seemed displeased. “If you use that word all the time, it loses its power.”
Her attempt to lecture me made it slightly easier to want distance. I snatched up my wine and drank, then set the glass down, watching the liquid roll side to side. I’d look anywhere but at her. “You said you had questions for me.”
“Why do you want this?” she asked. “What do you get out of it?”
Looking at her was unavoidable, and when I did, I began to ache. It was so cruel to give me a taste and then take it away.
“Do you want an honest answer?”
She took her napkin and dropped it in her lap, and then set her gaze on me. “I looked some stuff up on my phone while you were gone. Honesty seems to be an important aspect of this arrangement.”
This sensible, restrained version of her. Christ, it echoed him.
“I like the power. I like to be in control.”
“Since the time in your life where you didn’t have any,” she said. “I want to know about that.”
“No.” It was sharp and aggressive.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like talking about it, so we won’t. What other questions do you have?”
My short tone had set her aback, and she scrambled to adjust. “Uh . . . you mentioned you’d control the scene, and I’d control the limits.”
“You’d tell me what was and wasn’t allowed. I take you to your limit, and decide when you’re ready to push further.”
Her eyes heated a degree. “How do I set the limits? I haven’t done much.”
“You won’t know your limits until you reach them. We would find them together.” Shit, no we wouldn’t, I thought bitterly.
Subtle pink colored her cheeks. It would be so much better if she wasn’t getting turned on, because it turned me on. I had to start shutting this down.
“Do you have limits?” she asked. “Other than talking about yourself?”
“You better watch that smart mouth, little girl.”
“Or what?” she challenged back.
I couldn’t stay on task. “I’ll discipline you.”
“How?” This single word from her wasn’t condescending, it was curious. Intrigued.
“I’ll think of something,” I grumbled. “I don’t mind talking about myself. What do you want to know, beside what I said I didn’t want to discuss?”
She rattled off a list of questions, and I gave her curt answers. Where I lived, if I’d gone to college, which I hadn’t, and how many businesses I owned. I told her about the front for the blindfold club, my membership-only wine bar.
“Does your family live around here?” she asked.
“No. My parents live in Florida. My older brother is a naval officer, stationed in Hawaii.”
“Are you guys close?
“Not really.”
“You make me feel like I’m interrogating you,” she said, “with your short answers.”
I gave her no rebuttal, which seemed to only make her more displeased. It was interrupted when our food arrived. My gaze fell away from hers and I stared down at the plate of pasta before me. My brother Conner and I had been close growing up, but when all the attention turned to me, he’d enlisted, and now the distance added to our divide.
Noemi twirled the noodles on her fork and took a bite. “Wow, it’s good.” The conversation fell in a lull, and she scanned the dining room. “You didn’t answer my questi
on,” she said softly, “about whether you have limits.”
“Everyone has limits. A person who says they don’t is naïve, or insane.”
“So, what are they?”
I took another sip of my wine, finishing it. “We can also find those together.” Again, no you can’t, the voice in my head reminded.
I watched her eat, fighting the urge to test her as I would if I was really her Dom. The long, white tablecloth hung over her lap. The command for her to touch herself beneath the table stuck in my throat.
She set her fork down and it clattered on the plate. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, of course not. Why are you asking?”
“You look upset.”
I was pissed with the situation, and doing a terrible job of hiding it. I leaned toward her. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, I’m sorry for the shitty conversation.” I struggled to ease the tension she’d picked up on. “How’d your case study go last night?”
She blinked at my question like it was the most bizarre thing she’d heard. “Fine. Uh, good, actually. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, but we should be ready to present soon.”
“What’s it about?”
“Contact lenses,” she said, her lips pulling back into a slow smile, “for chickens.”
I froze. “Come again?”
She laughed, and I didn’t want to like the sound of it. Her soft, warm laugh was infectious.
“It’s not a real case, but a farmer has the option of getting contact lenses for chickens that distort their eyesight. Apparently, chickens are picky about their feed, so they’ll eat all the good pieces and leave the rest. The lenses make it so when they peck at a good piece, they come up with the one on the side of it.”
“It cuts down on food costs.”
“Exactly. We’re supposed to figure out if the cost of the lenses and labor of administering them balances with the saved cost in feed.”
“So, does the farmer invest in the lenses?”
Her eyes sparkled. “It’s actually looking right now like he should, but we’ve got other factors to consider, such as some of the chickens figure it out, and you have to redo the lenses.”
“Do you like your classes?”
She nodded. “I do. It’s not really a surprise that I like finance and accounting.”
“Because of who your father is,” I said. Hopefully she didn’t notice me gritting my teeth.
She spun her fork in her pasta, but didn’t lift it to take a bite, almost as if stalling. “Making my choice to stay with my dad, it kind of forced this career path on me, but luckily I happen to like being in the boardroom.”
“You’ve sat in on board meetings?”
She smiled knowingly. “My father hopes one day I’ll run the business he worked so hard to build, and I want that, too.” The confidence I’d seen flashes of in my office returned, pouring through her. “You should know, Rossos are used to getting their way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” But her statement felt like a challenge and I couldn’t let it go. “Put your hand in your lap and touch yourself.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open.
“I’m not going to repeat myself when we both know you heard me.”
The air heated and crackled with intensity, swirling around us. Would she do it? Obey my first command as my submissive?
Her shoulder shifted hesitantly, and I felt hot on the back of my neck. She was doing as told.
“No,” I snapped, when her gaze darted away, checking to see if anyone was watching. “Eyes stay on me. It’s my responsibility that you don’t get caught.”
The outer rim of her irises were a soft, celery green, giving way to tan just before her dark pupils, that dilated now. I pictured her fingertips below her dress, rubbing herself over her panties.
The corner of my mouth tugged upward. “Do you like being a bad girl for me?”
Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing, her gaze fixed on mine. She nodded.
“Are you getting wet? Is your tight, little cunt aching for my mouth?”
She jolted. “I don’t like that word.”
“Are you telling me that’s a limit? Pull your underwear to the side and get your fingers in there.”
She swallowed a breath and blinked rapidly. The war inside her head was visible in her beautiful eyes. The want to give in, versus the desire to stay appropriate. If things were different, I’d train her so her want to submit would become need.
Her bicep flexed subtly. Power flared and burned in my veins. Now I pictured her finger sliding inside her body.
“It’s not a limit,” she said, her voice tight. “I just don’t care for it. It’s vulgar.”
“Says the girl fingering herself in a crowded restaurant.” I finished the last bite of my dinner. “Go faster.”
Air was sucked in through her parted lips. She wouldn’t come like this. Not sitting up, with other people around, and from penetration alone. But, goddamn, it was hot as sin watching her.
“I want that to be my cock that’s fucking you right now.” I wanted it with every cell in my miserable body. “Do you want that?”
“Yes.” Her dinner had been abandoned. Her other hand clutched the edge of the table.
“Yes, Sir,” I corrected.
Her eyes hooded. “Yes, Sir.”
And . . . I was hard as steel. Fuck.
“Stop,” I commanded. “Keep your hand exactly where it is.”
Puzzlement flooded her eyes, and quickly turned to anxiety when the waiter appeared tableside.
“How is everything?” he asked, his attention on Noemi as he cleared my plate.
She had no choice but to answer. “It’s great.” Her strained voice was enjoyable.
“Are you all finished?” He gestured to her plate, and she nodded quickly. “Any dessert this evening?”
“No, just the check, please,” I answered. He was gone a moment later and her tight shoulders relaxed, but I wasn’t ready to release her just yet. “Put your fingers in your mouth and clean them off.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, both nervous and excited.
Her hand came up quickly, darting to her mouth, but not fast enough. I’d seen the moisture there. She sank them in her mouth, closed her lips around the first knuckles, and drew them out slowly. Like her meal had been so good, she wanted to lick every last trace from her hand.
“Have you tasted yourself before?”
She flushed, broke the gaze, and looked guilty. “Yes.”
“Look at me.” The edge in my voice was dark, and it came out just louder than I wanted it to. If we’d been alone, I would have delivered a physical, negative reinforcement, but I couldn’t do anything from across the table. “Yes, Sir, my filthy girl.”
Her gaze snapped back to me. “Yes, Sir.”
“Are you ashamed? You shouldn’t be. That’s hot, Noemi. So, fucking, hot.”
We had to get out of this restaurant, but closing us in together in my Porsche was a bad idea. How the fuck was I going to drive her home while keeping my hands off of her? Without running my stupid mouth?
She argued to pay her half of the bill, but I shook my head. “Not a chance.” As I tossed down my credit card, I realized grimly it didn’t matter in the end. Rosso was footing the bill one way or the other, as most of my money came from him.
The wind chill was dangerously cold, and we waited inside the atrium for the valet to pull the Porsche up. She slipped an arm behind my back and lifted up on her toes so her mouth was beside my ear.
“Thank you for dinner, Sir.”
Something inside me snapped, but I should have been prepared. I was aware I had no control around her. One more time. I’d already fucked her, the damage was done. I turned my mouth into hers and felt her body melt beneath me. Every layer of her kiss rationalized the concept more. Persuaded and seduced.
What difference would one more time make?
chapter
ELEVEN
NOEMI
Last night the thought of Joseph possessing me had sent me over the edge, and tonight he’d asked for exactly that. Making that choice hadn’t been difficult in the slightest, but as I stood in his luxurious living room, I started to have doubts.
Throwing yourself headfirst into an unusual sexual arrangement with a virtual stranger had side effects, the biggest being that he still felt like a stranger. Yet, I wanted to trust him. He’d never done anything to make me feel threatened or unsafe. Joseph often had demanding eyes, but he also had soft, warm ones, too. He was straightforward, but didn’t treat me like I was inferior just because I was inexperienced. I somehow felt equal with him.
His living room was that of a man, not a college-aged boy, which is what I was used to. A black leather sectional sat beneath an oversized black and white print. The room was open to the kitchen, which had a butcher block island. Everything was tasteful and exacting. Every space was distinctly masculine. From what I knew so far, this place was one hundred percent Joseph.
“Do you want some more wine?” he asked, helping me out of my coat and hanging it in the front closet.
“Sure.”
He shrugged out of his own coat, and my gaze lingered over his black V-neck sweater and charcoal gray dress pants. “Red or white?”
“White would be great.”
I continued to scan the room, searching for clues to the enigmatic man who was now my Sir. God, it still sounded so foreign. He strolled to the side-by-side fridge and pulled out a bottle, checking the label.
I was vaguely aware that he was opening the wine with one of those electric cork removers, but my focus went to the hallway, where a picture hung. I stepped out of my heels and padded silently across the hardwood toward it.
“That’s me and my brother Conner,” he said, passing me a glass of chilled wine. “Our parents took us whitewater rafting in North Carolina one summer.”
Joseph looked to be about fourteen or fifteen. He sat at the front of a large inflatable raft, a white helmet on his head, an orange vest buckled on, and a paddle in one hand. Beside him, his big brother was a few years older, and he had a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. Easy, excited smiles were captured on their faces.