The Hot Sergeant (Second Chance Military Romance) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #2)

by Alexa Davis

  "Really? Chanel!" Olivia was beaming with excitement and it made my heart smile, although I kept my face like stone.

  "Yes, now go before I change my mind."

  She left with a happy skip in her step, and I struggled to concentrate on my work. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my mind off of her. My engorged cock was throbbing and I thought about hiring an escort to come suck me off, but the thought disgusted me. I didn't want anyone else ever again. From now on, the only woman that would satisfy me was Olivia. I just wished she felt for me what I felt for her.

  Chapter Three: Olivia

  "Come out and do something with us," Clara called through my locked bedroom door. "It's not healthy to stay cooped up in there all the time."

  "Yeah, it's been five whole days since that stupid newspaper article came out. Probably nobody cares about it anymore, anyway. You can't hide away forever," Suzanne said, pounding on the door forcefully in an attempt to get me to exit my private sanctuary.

  My roommates’ concern for me was touching, even though it was annoying. I knew they had my best interests at heart, and the truth was that they were right. Ever since the article came out last Friday, I'd spent every moment hiding in our apartment, afraid to go out into the world.

  My visit to Tristan's mansion in Beverly Hills hadn't been what I expected, at all. He was so cold and distant, far from the man who had given me glimpses into his vulnerable soul, but I knew that underneath the callous bravado, he still cared for me. When Adam took to shopping on Rodeo Drive, I had the time of my life buying designer dresses, shoes, and accessories that I never would have been able to afford in my lifetime. It was like a dream come true, but then I heard the whispers and the gossip and my fantasy quickly turned into a nightmare.

  "It's that girl from the newspaper... You know, the bondage whore who sleeps with Tristan Porter. What sick and twisted things do you think they do to each other?"

  The whispers and not-so-subtle glances angered me, and I told Adam I was tired of shopping and asked him to take me home. Tristan had ordered a team of security guards to blockade the entrance to my apartment complex so that no one could get in to disturb me or try to take my picture, but I knew that if I left the sanctuary of my walls, I would once again be exposed to whispers and stares, and I just didn't know if I could take it.

  Oh, let them talk about me all they want, but not Tristan. I alone knew what hell he had been through during his dark years with drugs and his ex-wife. I alone had seen his sensitive and vulnerable side. I knew how tenderly he could touch me with his lips and fingers and how thoughtfully he put all his efforts into caring for me and giving me the most exquisite pleasures. None of these harpies knew the true Tristan Porter, so they didn't have any real right to talk about him. He wasn't fodder for gossip. He was a man with a heart and soul, and he deserved to be treated with compassion and respect. That's what I gave him when I promised to serve and obey him, and what he gave me in return was nurturing, protection, caring, and the pure pleasure of his physical love. So what if it came wrapped in a kinky package and was carried out with floggers and chains? It was still exquisite pleasure and the most incredible lovemaking anyone could experience, and I wouldn't let them sully it with their suppositions and prejudice. I loved Tristan too much for that; and so I would stay hidden away like a princess in her tower until he summoned me again to appear at his service.

  I opened my bedroom door and both my roommates gasped in surprised delight.

  "Wow. You look incredible! Where did you get that?" Clara exclaimed as she admired my new cocktail dress by Chanel. It was made of shimmering white chiffon and it flowed over body with seductive elegance, clinging to the curves of my breasts and ass, while making my waist and hips look narrow and sleek. The short hemline made my tan legs look supple and lean, while the five-inch spiked heels on my feet only made them look longer. The slim fit of the gown pressed my ample tits together, amplifying my cleavage while the plunging neckline provided everyone with a clear view of my most prominent feature. I'd left my blonde hair down in loose curls that hung to my shoulders and kept my make-up light with just some pink lip gloss to highlight my lips and black mascara and eyeliner to accentuate my eyes. For jewelry, I wore a silver choker necklace comprised of wide metal rings like a collar and wide silver bracelets to adorn both my wrists like a pair of shackles. I knew it would peak Tristan's interest and be a nice throwback to the BDSM relationship everyone knew we shared. A white silk lace thong was my only undergarment, and a white leather handbag served to hold my lip-gloss and mirror in case I needed any touch-ups throughout the night.

  "Where are you going looking so hot? Do you have a date?" Suzanne whistled in admiration.

  "Sort of. I'm going to a party at Tristan's house, but it's for work."

  "Work? You mean you're still working for that guy after everything that's happened?" Clara cried out, and I immediately felt on the defensive.

  "Why the hell not? The money is terrific and besides, you told me you've done worse for less money and that you didn't judge me for it. Don't tell me you've joined in on the masses of hypocrites out there."

  "No, I don't judge you for it and if you want to do it for the money that's fine. It's just that I got the impression from the way you talked about him the other day that you were falling in love with him. Are you sure you should keep prostituting for a guy your falling for?" Clara put her arm around my shoulder.

  "You're right, I am, and maybe I should quit, but he's all I've got right now. My parents are refusing to answer my phone calls ever since the article came out and have disowned me. No one else will hire me after all the bad publicity I've gotten and with Whip as the only job experience on my resume, I'm screwed as far as getting any other kind of job. Tristan still has the reserve on me so no other client can hire me. So, it's him or nothing. I need the money to survive and if I have to debase myself like this, then it might as well be with a man I love who makes me feel good while I'm doing it. The orgasms he gives me are indescribable and so it the terrific way he makes me feel as a woman and as a lover. I know what we have isn't real, but since I can't have more, I'll take as much of the fantasy as I can get as long as it means I get to be with him.”

  My friends hugged me, and I knew that they understood why I was doing what I did, even if they didn't agree with it. I called down to Adam, and he chauffeured me on the long drive from my crappy apartment to Tristan's luxurious mansion in the heart of Beverly Hills. A line of limousines filled the circular driveway as guests were dropped off at the front door one by one where Tristan himself stood to greet them. He looked fantastic in a tuxedo tailored exclusively for him by Dolce and Gabbana and his smile exuded charm and charisma as he welcomed each guest by name.

  "Olivia, you look breathtaking." Tristan's eyes fixated on me as he kissed the back of my hand and drew me to him. He drank in the sight of me from head to toe, and I felt the electricity between us. He wanted me as much as I wanted him and instantly, I became wet. He must have felt it, too, for he told me in a husky whisper, "I can't let you out of my sight when you're looking this sexy. Stand with me, will you?"

  "Of course. You're the Boss; whatever you say goes," I said, giving him my most charming smile as I squeezed his hand.

  The next guest came up to the door, and Tristan welcomed him with a hearty handshake. Then he turned to me and said, "This is my companion, Olivia Harte. I'd like you to meet the CEO of the television network that airs Pick Me, Walter Bennet."

  "A pleasure to meet you, dear." He took my hand and kissed the back of it, and I felt myself flush to realize what an important and wealthy man he was, as was every other guest here. I was in way out of my league, but Tristan introduced me to them all with grace and charm and everyone made me feel welcome and festive.

  When the last guest had entered, Tristan and I entered the ballroom of his estate to find the music was swinging, the alcohol was flowing, and everyone was having the time of their lives. I recognized many of m
y friends from Whip wrapped around the arms of distinguished executives or dancing seductively with them on the dance floor. Some of them were even entering guest suites together. Tristan showed me off to everyone, complimenting me lavishly, including me conversations, and plying me with wine and gourmet hors d'oeuvres.

  I flirted with the men and chatted with the women, many of whom were curious to know about me and my relationship with Tristan. It was no secret that we had met at a BDSM club, after all everyone had heard the story even if they hadn't read the article, and I was surprised by how gracious everyone was about it. Many seemed sincerely curious, but didn't want to be impolite, so they tip toed around the question carefully. As the evening wore on and the alcohol took effect, we all became more free in our conversations and talked about it brazenly.

  Just a year ago, when I was living in Ohio and engaged to Scott, talking about sex mortified me. I would have blushed bright red and been unable to speak given the topic of conversation. Now, thanks to Tristan, I had been reborn as a woman who was confident of her sexuality and able to share about my experiences openly. I was no longer afraid or embarrassed. Being Tristan's sex slave and surrendering my power to him had freed me from the shackles of society. I no longer felt bound to be the good and perfect girl my upbringing had told me I needed to be. It was okay to be naughty, dirty, or kinky. It was okay to embrace one's sexuality and admit to finding pleasure in it. I found that the more I talked about it with Tristan's friends and colleagues, the freer I became and I even started to attract a small crowd. Everyone wanted to know what BDSM was like and many confessed to being curious to try it.

  "I recommend it to everyone," I said with a merry laugh, and everyone around me joined in. Suddenly, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see Tristan smiling down on me.

  "I just realized we haven't danced yet," he said with smiling eyes. I excused myself from the crowd and let him lead me out onto the dance floor. The music flowed through me, and the alcohol had freed me of my inhibitions. Our bodies undulated and pulsed in rhythm, and then the music slowed and Tristan pulled me into his arms so we were dancing cheek to cheek. In a quiet voice, he asked me tenderly, "You looked beautiful out there. Are you having a good time?"

  "I am," I said with a smile, and it was true. I'd never been to a party like this one, and it was everything I had dreamed it would be and more. I felt like Cinderella at the ball, but I couldn't help but wonder when the magic would end and it would all disappear.

  "You're the hit of this party. All my friends love you," Tristan said, caressing my cheek. "

  "They love you. They're just being polite to me because they know about our relationship." I blushed. "They really do care about you. Not one person here seems to care that we met at a BDSM club. In fact, I think they like you even more knowing that you have such a human flaw."

  Now it was his turn to flush. I took it one step further and said, "And, not one of them believe the allegations that you beat your ex-wife. They all know it was bullshit. You have a strong support system of loyal friends. You should be grateful and proud."

  "Thank you for saying that," Tristan said, and I could feel the relief of tension leaving his muscles. "I needed to hear that more than I knew. I am grateful for my friends, and for the loyal support you've shown me tonight, too. What do you say we go into one of the bedrooms and I show you my appreciation?"

  "You're the Boss; whatever you say goes." I smiled at him with sultry lips. He led me down a hallway to one of the guest suites leading off the ballroom. He locked the door and ordered me to take off my panties.

  I stepped out of the lacy silk garment and set it in his open palm. He grinned at me lustfully and said, "Good girl. Now bend over and grip the bedpost."

  I did as instructed and he used the lacy thong to bind my wrists to the carved oak post, forcing me to maintain the bent over position. He stood behind me and delighted in sliding my white chiffon dress up to my waist, exposing my naked ass and pussy to his exploring hands.

  "You’re wet," Tristan observed in a husky whisper as his fingers caressed my labia and then slid up inside my cunt to slowly fuck me. "Did you like talking to all my friends about BDSM tonight? Did it make you horny, my little Bitch?"

  "I did," I breathed between moans of pleasure.

  "Tell me what you liked about it," he commanded, increasing the speed of his fingers as they thrust in and out of me.

  Gasping and moaning, I said, "I liked talking about being tied down by you and being spanked by you. Just thinking about it made me want you to fuck me."

  "How very naughty of you. Tell me, are you a naughty little Bitch who needs to be spanked right now?"

  Just hearing the playful words sent thrills of sexual excitement coursing through me. "Yes, I am. You're the Boss; are you going to punish me for being naughty?"

  Tristan stood behind me and pulled the belt out of the trousers of his tuxedo. He folded it in half and gripped it menacingly in his right fist. "I'll punish you only if you want me to."

  My pussy rippled with desire and my skin tingled with anticipation of the pleasures to come. "Yes, I want you to."

  "Not good enough. Let me hear you beg for it."

  "Please punish me. Please spank me for being a naughty, dirty little Bitch. Please, I beg you to."

  The leather belt came crashing down against the tender flesh of my exposed buttocks and I gasped with painful satisfaction. Again and again, Tristan spanked me with the belt as come ran down the inside of my thighs and my body spasmed with pleasure.

  Then, he plunged into me powerfully from behind, sinking his rigid cock deep into my dripping wet slot with one mighty stroke. I leaned back into him, drawing him even deeper into me than either of us would have thought possible, begging for him to fuck me harder. He gripped my hips and plowed into me with deep, powerful strokes that I feared my split me apart even as they drove me into orgasm. My gasps and moans echoed off the bedroom walls, and I was grateful that the loud music from the band would drown them out and mask our activities from the other guests. As my orgasm lasted on and on, I found myself not caring who heard me and I moaned and screamed Tristan's name as I felt him shudder and blow his seed with a mighty eruption.

  "I love you, Tristan Porter," I whispered as his body shuddered and pulsed.

  He whispered something indistinguishable back to me, and I thought for a fraction of a moment that I had heard him say "I love you, too, Olivia Harte."

  Chapter Four: Tristan

  The sun was just coming up when the last guest finally left. My mansion ballroom was trashed and so were several of the guest rooms, but the maids would clean it up later. I'd even hired an additional crew to help them out. The party had been a huge success and despite the mess, I was extremely pleased. Several reporters had managed to sneak their way in, but that's exactly what I wanted to happen. I had my security guards take away their phones, cameras, and video recorders so there would be no unauthorized pictures of the private activities of any of my elite guests, but my PR agent Carson made sure all the reporters were all given the opportunity to take selective photos personally authorized by him before they left. This gave them all the feeling they had an exclusive over their competitors while providing me and my guests with some positive free PR. I had complete confidence in Carson's discretion and left the matter completely up to him.

  The biggest hit of the night had of course been Olivia. For a small town girl who claimed never to have been to big party, she was a natural born hostess. She was charming, gracious, and had an innate talent for making anyone feel comfortable in a conversation. I even caught her talking staunch Mrs. Boyles into trying a blindfold the next time she had sex with her husband.

  It took all my effort to focus on my guests and keep my eyes off of Olivia. She drew my attention like a magnet, and no matter where I went to mingle among my guests, my gaze kept falling back on her. Her long legs looked so damn sexy in that short white dress, and when she sat and crossed and uncross
ed her legs, the hemline rode high up on her thigh and I felt my boner twinge in my slacks. God, how I just wanted to take her and fuck her. Her breasts were two perfectly round mounds and the outline of her taut nipples could just barely be seen through the thin white fabric. It made my mouth water, and I fantasized about taking those perfect round nubs into my mouth and sucking them till she moaned with pleasure. Everything about her was sexy as hell, but what I loved about her most was her sweetness. There was no guile in her. Nothing jaded or calculating. Just friendly, naive, goodness dying to break free and be kinky. All I wanted to do was nurture and protect her and make sure that no one ever hurt her; that, and of course, fuck that delicious body. She was the first woman since Janice that I hadn't gotten tired of. Her body was always new, fresh, and arousing. I never got bored with her or longed for someone different. In fact, since being with Olivia, I never wanted anyone else again.

  She was the only person left in my house now that the party was over, and I was glad of it. We plopped down on one of my leather couches in the living room off of the ballroom and sighed with exhaustion.

  "Thanks for being here tonight." I smiled at her, still feeling drunk. I was exhausted, but happy and relaxed.

  "Thanks for having me. I had a really good time."

  "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." I grinned, taking her delicate hand in mine and squeezing it gently. It felt right and I kept holding it, grateful that she didn't pull it away.

  "I always enjoy myself when I'm with you," she said flirtatiously, and I shook my head at the cheesy line.

  Looking deep into her eyes, I tried to see past the flirtation into her soul. In a quiet voice, I asked her, "Do you really enjoy being with me, or is just because I've hired you to like me? Tell me the truth. I won't be hurt."