Young, Allyson - Madness [Club Pleasure 2] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Allyson Young

  “I can’t do this, Cameron,” she said as clearly and calmly as possible for someone with her hands tied behind her back with her own bra, naked except for panties and slacks now hanging down around her ankles.

  “I can’t accept that, Olivia,” Cameron said inflexibly, the dominance again showing itself. “You submitted beautifully to me. You knew you deserved correction and you accepted it. You are a natural sexual submissive, and you must be beginning to accept it after our time together. What made you panic when I was about to claim you?”

  Olivia choked. “You were about to claim me? By shoving your cock up my backside?”

  Cameron laid the back of his hand against her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. He smiled and said, “Yes. In the most intimate way a man can claim a woman.”

  Olivia wondered at it. Was she wrong? Did Cameron want more than a fling? Did she really? A tap at the door sidetracked her and Cameron cursed.

  “Mrs. Foster? The staff are all assembled.” Maurice’s irritating voice penetrated the old wooden door.

  Olivia made herself answer in a professional voice that belied her trembling body. She called out, “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Thank you, Maurice.”

  “We aren’t done here, Olivia,” Cameron grumbled.

  “I have to go, Cameron. Please. This is my business.”

  “I’ll wait here for you then. We need to talk.”

  Olivia squirmed off his lap to stand and present her bound hands to him. “Untie me. I’ve got to make myself presentable. I own this place, Cameron, and I intend to make a go of it. You aren’t standing in my way.”

  She felt his fingers loosen the knot and then slide the straps up her arms and over her shoulders. When his big hands pulled the cups up to encase her breasts and fasten the clasp, she shuddered at his touch. Quickly, she bent to pull up her underwear, wincing as the silk rubbed her buttocks, but persevered and buttoned her slacks into place. The gauzy top was none the worse for wear and she yanked it over her head and then went to the small, attached bath to try and fix her hair. The flushed face that stared back at her scared her. It was like someone else lived beneath her skin and had come out to play. She was totally aware of Cameron’s brooding presence but refused to let it get to her, influence her.

  “Come back here once you’ve finished,” he said.

  “Go and have a drink, order some food, Cameron. I don’t know how long it will be. I promise I’ll join you as soon as possible. But we will just talk, am I clear? You’ve had your retribution, and, well, you had an orgasm, too.” She bit back the fact that she hadn’t. “We’ll talk.”

  “I’ll hold you to it, honey.”

  She pushed past him, ignoring his discerning stare, and unlocked and opened the door. She was certain half the place knew what had happened in Maurice’s office, and that the other half was speculating. But she was damned if they would be able to read her. Olivia Foster kept her secrets, and Cameron Fraser would soon learn that.

  * * * *

  The staff meeting had gone well. No one gave any indication that they suspected she had just serviced a man in the manager’s office, and had her bottom spanked to boot. Her anus tingled and her clit ached, and while she was sure her lips looked bruised, Olivia had successfully presented herself as the confident and competent new owner, if the response was anything to go by. People seemed relieved to hear that their jobs would be there for them, although depending upon the renovations, many of them would need to take paid vacation when the clubhouse shut down for the more major repairs. She alluded to higher wages and better benefits once she better understood the business, and talked to them about confidentiality and loyalty. She explained that it was her intention to attract people from outside of Aspen Grove to stay and play, and not simply provide a course for the locals. There had been a few raised eyebrows and the odd mutter about that, but everyone had brightened when she reminded them that bigger demand meant more employment opportunities.

  Olivia had been slightly overwhelmed by the number of individuals assembled to meet with her. Waitstaff, the two chefs, greenkeepers, three golf pros, several women in housekeeping, two maintenance men, and many others she had yet to place. The golf course clearly contributed to Aspen Grove insofar as employment went, and Olivia was determined to continue the tradition and better it. She entered a note on her planner regarding special holiday events, as people filed out of the room.

  “Mrs. Foster?” Maurice hovered at her elbow.

  Olivia turned to him. “Yes, Maurice?”

  “Mr. Fraser is waiting in the dining room. He has ordered you lunch.”

  “Thank you.”

  Olivia made every effort to walk away from her manager casually, careful not to show how annoyed she was by her body language. She hadn’t forgotten Cameron was waiting for her. Her whole body had prickled with awareness during the entire damn staff meeting, knowing that he was waiting. To talk. Right. He had ordered her lunch. Might as well pee on her and let everyone know he was marking his territory. She was no one’s territory. She hadn’t given Maurice any explanation for Cameron’s presence. She didn’t want to attach any importance to him. And now they would talk, openly, in the very public dining room of her damn clubhouse. Hers. It was her territory and he wasn’t marking her in it. She had a split second to wonder at her resistance, coupled as it was with her increasing arousal when he rose from his seat to come around and pull out a chair for her. His hands touched her gently as he helped her sit down, and Olivia bit her lip. She needed space, distance, if she was to make her point in this conversation. Cameron’s fingers whispered across the nape of her neck before he resumed his seat.

  “Your salad should be here momentarily, Livy,” he said.

  Olivia opened her mouth to insist that she wanted a sandwich, and then realized a salad was exactly what she did want. She said, instead, “I haven’t got too much time, Cameron. I have several things to do this afternoon.”

  “That’s fine, honey. I’ll come back to pick you up in time for dinner.”

  “No!” Olivia quickly looked around her to see if anyone had heard her nearly shout her dissent. The hostess was staring their way, but her eyes were on Cameron, so maybe she hadn’t yelled as loudly as it had sounded in her ears. “I have things to do this evening as well.”

  Cameron simply looked at her. Olivia thought about a piece of art she wished she had purchased. Then she thought about replacing the worn carpet in the dining room with something durable yet suitable for the architecture. She was just trying to get her head around the idea of a spa being incorporated into the place when Cameron gave in and spoke.

  “We need to spend time together, Olivia, in order to explore what we have,” he said in a low voice. “We need to talk.”

  “So talk,” she said and immediately regretted her flippant answer at the flash of anger that crossed his face. She wasn’t being reasonable. It had been an intense experience with Cameron, and he clearly wanted more, even if she didn’t. For certain she didn’t. Really. She couldn’t just blow him off by being flippant and casual. She closed her eyes and then opened them when his hand covered hers.

  “All right,” he said. “We’ll start talking here. If you’re comfortable with people overhearing us, I’m good with it. I don’t pretend to be anyone I’m not, Olivia, so perhaps talking in public will encourage you to drop the pretence.”

  She felt herself flush. The fear and anger literally flooded up from her chest, over her shoulders, up her neck and across her cheeks. How dare he? He had made his choice over twelve years ago. She had made hers based on that choice. And now here he was, the arrogant jerk, surmising that she would just fall at his feet and tell all. Well, she’d already fallen at his feet, and on his cock, but damned if he was going to pry anything else out of her. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of what she had done. She wasn’t. She hadn’t been forced into that life. She had chosen it, and she had done well, flourished even. There was no reason to feel ashamed that she had f
led and hidden from her desires. Andrew had loved her, and she had lacked for nothing. Except for…but she wasn’t going to think about that. To tell Cameron that his choice twelve years ago had put her on the path that she had taken would give him the ultimate power over her, and it simply wasn’t happening. Olivia welcomed the interruption of her chicken salad being carefully set in front of her. She smiled at the waitress and assured her there was nothing else she required. Cameron’s steak sandwich was deposited with equal care, and then there was nothing left to do but try to eat and spar with him verbally. Olivia Foster excelled in this format. Bring it on.

  “Why are you resisting this, Olivia? Resisting us?”

  “I’m not resisting, Cameron. I am simply choosing not to pursue this form of relationship with you.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t feel what we have?” Cameron’s voice was calm, but Olivia could hear the dark emotion threading through.

  She wouldn’t lie to him, but nor would she give anything up. “I felt it, Cameron. I felt it two nights ago, and I felt it this morning. I simply do not have time for it and, by extension, you.”

  When his face darkened and his posture stiffened, Olivia hastened to flesh out her explanation. She needed to be clear with him and make this final.

  “I am in the process of entering a new chapter in my life. I have purchased a home and a business in a fairly small city after the death of my husband of nine years. I am neither ready nor do I have time for a relationship, particularly one of this nature. I promised you one night, Cameron. Nothing more. I regret that what transpired afterward has affected our friendship.”

  “That’s one of the prettiest speeches I’ve heard in a long time, Olivia,” Cameron replied. “It’s also the biggest line I’ve ever had anyone try to feed me. Oh, no, honey. I hear the actual truths you scattered in there, the ones you thought you would distract me with. I hear them. The very best of liars use that technique, but I well know how that works. And you are ready for this type of relationship. You are ready to have it with me. You promised me a night, and then you ran. I intend to find out why. I thought at first it was because I had minimized my request, referring to it as an experiment. That was to ease you into things. I realize now that was a mistake. This isn’t a fling, Olivia. This is us. It’s hardly casual if you are honest with yourself. There is so much more for us to have together. Don’t label it as just a friendship. I am willing to be your friend but also so much more. I’m not going away, honey.”

  Olivia felt a frisson of worry. He wasn’t being reasonable. He wasn’t just going to go away. Not that she really thought he would give up easily, but she was determined. She needed to push harder.

  “I want you to go away, Cameron. I don’t want you. I don’t want what you want. I won’t betray my husband’s memory so easily. It is a question of honor, and perhaps you can relate to that, what with your lifestyle. You can harass me, bother me, and cost me my reputation with stunts like you pulled this morning. If you do, I’ll sell and move. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. No matter what you believe, no matter that you now say this isn’t a fling, I am not consenting. So, please enjoy your lunch, on the house, and leave. Don’t contact me again.” It took all of her considerable poise to stand up, fold her napkin, and place it on the table without allowing her eyes to meet Cameron’s, but she did it. She nodded in his direction and walked away.

  * * * *

  Cameron watched Olivia put distance between them in the more literal sense. He made no move to stop her. She was lying to herself, but there was also a sense of desperation in her words, and he didn’t want to make her feel that way. She had submitted to him again that morning until he had attempted anal sex, and he had spent the time waiting in the dining room in one of the most uncomfortable chairs he had ever sat in, deep in thought. He had thought she was totally ready, and he had been wrong. He accepted that he, too, had more to learn in this serious relationship. He knew that he could bend Olivia to his sexual will, and that was essential, but he wanted the whole woman, the woman he remembered so well from that summer. Olivia was still that woman, albeit more seasoned and experienced, but there was something about her he didn’t know. Cameron didn’t want to control her outside of their sexual relationship. That wouldn’t make their connection what they both needed. She had given him another hint. This was about her husband, and she was drawing the strength to resist him from that now-deceased man, and was shoring up her resistance further with anger. She was clearly determined not to share with him, and Cameron didn’t want to use passion to make her do so, although he was certain he could. He didn’t know how her husband and her anger were intertwined, but he hadn’t worked security for so many years without making connections and learning a thing or three about background checks. He would discover Olivia’s secrets, and once they were out in the open, she would surrender to him. She would then have no reason not to. Cameron conveniently ignored the urgent reminder his brain immediately put forward. It was something about trust being the foundation of every relationship.

  Chapter Ten

  Olivia spent a good part of the next week splitting her time between her house and the golf course. And looking over her shoulder for Cameron. She hadn’t seen him at all since lunch that day, but she sensed him. It was stupid to think it. Cameron had taken the hint, as blunt as she had been, and left. Olivia kept trying to convince herself that it was for the best, and succeeded part of the time. She felt like her body was in a dialed-down state of arousal when she did think about him and masturbating each night felt like such a forlorn, empty act. But she knew she had made the right decision. Andrew Foster’s widow could not be involved with someone who did things with women in a sex club. Andrew probably wouldn’t have cared, but she had kept his secret well and wouldn’t risk it now, even if the consequences were minimized since the sale of his galleries. She had come to accept that her anger toward Cameron was rooted in several things. He should have taken her twelve years ago and she wouldn’t be in this position now. She couldn’t let herself believe that he meant for this thing they had begun to continue beyond his total domination of her, whereby he would move on. Besides, she had developed strength and confidence as Andrew’s wife and didn’t want to reconcile surrendering herself to Cameron, no matter how deep the need. It frustrated her beyond belief. She wanted and needed and couldn’t have, so she blamed Cameron. If that made her petty and immature, so be it. When her house was finished and the golf course renovated and running well, she would then take stock of her needs. If she still craved a dominant touch, she would find a club that guaranteed anonymity. In the meantime she would subjugate those needs with hard work, and remember how she came to have this wonderful, present opportunity.

  She had met Andrew Foster when his investment portfolio was assigned to her boss. As Deacon’s executive assistant, Olivia shouldered considerable responsibility for many very large accounts. Andrew’s had been one of the largest. Andrew was a hands-on kind of guy insofar as his money was concerned. He came from a family of blue bloods who expended their energy on being featured in the society papers, travelling to faraway places and spending as much of their fortune as was feasible, and who relied upon bankers and lawyers for their business acumen. Not so Andrew. He wanted to ensure that his money worked hard for him so that he could pursue his much-vaunted interest in art. The Foster galleries were known worldwide for their patronage by the rich and famous.

  Andrew and Olivia connected like kindred spirits from the distant past. While both inspired loyalty and respect from others, neither encouraged close relationships, so they were very cautious about the unexpected connection until Olivia delivered an updated portfolio to Andrew’s palatial home one evening on her way to her own less-spectacular apartment. She found him drunk and morose and quite frankly near the dark edge of despair. He confided his deepest, most shameful secret. Andrew Foster was gay and in love with his gardener. It was almost funny, the way he bemoaned his fate, and it took some t
ime before Olivia understood what it would mean if Andrew’s secret came out. His family would disown him and besmirch the name of his galleries. Andrew wouldn’t become impoverished, but having his life’s work attacked and possibly ruined would be the beginning of the end and could conceivably create resentment toward the love of his life. Andrew’s sexual orientation wasn’t actually the main issue but rather his choice in life partners. His family would have been able to tolerate a discreet arrangement with someone more like “them.” Such hypocrisy was disgusting. After she had joined Andrew in drowning sorrows, Olivia found herself telling him all about the night at the beach house. He then became the consoler, the comforter. He was the only person she confided in. The only person she told about her certainty that she would never want anyone other than Cameron, and how she had walled off her sexuality.

  Andrew called a week later and invited her to dinner at his home. Olivia accepted, and when she got there, Esteban, Andrew’s lover, was in attendance. He was not at all obsequious but rather related to her with a quiet, calm demeanor. He was almost courtly and incredibly handsome. His chiseled features resembled those of a Spanish conquistador, in Olivia’s opinion. That dinner changed Olivia’s life. Andrew proposed that she marry him. She would then be regarded as his wife and assume all of the duties of one, with the exception of sex. Andrew insisted that her social skills, honed by her early years of living in various countries because of her father’s diplomatic positions, her business degree, her flair for fashion, and her demeanor were perfect for the role. Plus, he liked her, trusted her, and believed her to be a very good friend. In addition, Andrew wanted her to continue to manage his investments.