by Selena Kitt
“Seems like it.” Tilly wanted to tell her about Erich not honoring his agreement, but there was no way to do that without saying that she’d specifically requested a certain dom. And of course, Frankie would want to know who that dom was… It was impossible. Besides, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Erich was walking some sort of tightrope with Beast, trying to keep him happy.
The same tightrope they all walked with Beast.
“Hey, what about the non-dating rule?” Tilly asked, remembering what Mark had said.
“Oh that.” Frankie waved it away as a non-issue. “Erich mentioned it was standard, but he said not to worry about it. Exceptions probably apply to the club owner. Or… maybe he just wants me that much.”
Frankie smiled to herself at that thought, a small, secret smile. Then she looked over at her friend, as if just remembering, “So what do you think of Mark?”
“He’s pretty hot,” Tilly lied. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hot, but she just had no enthusiasm for him. What had she gotten herself into? She wondered. She’d wanted something wonderful with Beast, but now she was going to have weird sex with someone she didn’t really know? Ugh. This wasn’t in the plan.
“You should call him up and see if he’ll go out with you,” Frankie suggested.
“What? No! We’re not allowed.”
“Oh Em Gee, the horror!” laughed Frankie. “Be careful, you might break a rule!”
For a moment, Tilly envied Frankie. She knew what she was doing. She could have a great relationship with a sexy, rich guy and not have to explain herself to the world or struggle with a recalcitrant stepbrother and social taboos.
Frankie had walked into The Block that night with Tilly, and, next thing they knew, was dating the owner of the place. Tilly, on the other hand...
But Tilly stopped herself there. She didn’t want to indulge in self-pity or have negative feelings about her best friend’s happiness. But she remembered something about Beast, the way he had held his jaw a moment ago when he had said “I can’t protect you” and something hot and sorrowful surged within her, an ancient longing...
Tilly choked it all down and smiled at her friend.
“I can’t wait to get home,” Tilly said. “I could use a tall, cool Margarita by the pool right now.”
“That shows how little you’ve learned from our bar raids over the years. Margaritas come in deep, wide glasses that—”
“I don’t care if they make them in troughs.” Tilly grinned. “It’s time to go home and drink like a pig!”
The two of them made oinking sounds like pigs and giggled madly.
Tilly was still in a bit of a dark mood for all her forced cheerfulness, although she tried not to let it show as they went upstairs to her room to change into their bathing suits.
Her whole plan, such as it was now, had been kind of a dark one to begin with. Tilly was still hurt by Beast’s rejection, and her scheme to get him to be her master was really only an attempt to force him into that role. If only he’d wanted to! If only he’d wanted to spank her ass every time he saw it! But like the obstinate fool he was, after they’d made love, he’d insisted they never do it again.
But Tilly wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t. It was a dark place indeed to try to take what could only be valuable if freely given, but in her bitterness she couldn’t help herself. Submissive she might be, but she wanted what she wanted.
It was a hot day and Tilly was starting to feel a little better about things when she and Frankie mixed a couple of drinks and splashed around in the pool for a while. They pulled out the air mattresses and floated around, and then sat by the pool in comfortable lounge chairs under huge sun umbrellas.
Tilly steered the conversation carefully away from anything that might remind her of Beast, but that wasn’t difficult, because Frankie was greedy to talk about Erich. The two of them talked and laughed and made jokes about the things they’d seen at The Block—straps, restraints, and other bizarre items like gigantic, elaborate vibrators. It was funny, but it was also strangely exciting, especially talking about it all right in the open.
“It was the size of my fucking forearm, for crying out loud,” Frankie exclaimed.
“I know, I know! And then there was this one Mark called ‘The Rocket’, I mean...”
“And the industrial sized tubes of lube...”
“And talcum powder? What was that for?”
“Getting into rubber suits, I think,” Frankie said.
“Oh no!” Tilly put her hand to her mouth and laughed. “I wonder if Mark will want me to be a horse?”
“You mean a pony girl?”
“Did you see that one, the first night we...”
“Yes.” Frankie nodded, eyes widening. “I talked to her mistress. It takes her forever to get into that getup. She’s got another slave to help her do it.”
“Oh no!” Tilly laughed. “I just had the weirdest thought.”
“What? What?”
“What if they want the two of us to do something like that, you know, dress the other up, or...”
“Ewww!” They laughed together, screwing up their faces.
“That would be just too weird,” said Tilly, feeling curiously excited.
Then she heard the sound of Beast’s Mustang pulling up.
“Ughhhh he’s home.” Tilly sighed. “Watch. He’s going to come back here and start in on me. Guaranteed.”
“Not again.” Frankie shook her wet head, rolling her eyes. “Stand up for yourself, girl!”
“I do!” Tilly protested. “He doesn’t hear a word I say.”
“Just tell him, ‘You’re not the boss of me!’”
They both laughed, clinking their glasses together.
Beast arrived poolside, where Tilly and Frankie sat on their lounge chairs under their enormous umbrellas and smiled at him from beneath big sunglasses, drinks in hand.
“I don’t know what the hell the two of you think you’re doing,” he said, crossing his arms and glaring down at them.
“We’re sitting by the pool enjoying our drinks,” said Frankie impishly.
“Well bruh,” said Tilly, just a little drunkenly. “Hello to you, too.”
“You know I’m talking about the club.”
“Look at you, hypocrite.” Frankie smirked at him when he glared in her direction. “What about you? What do you do at the club? You’re a fine one to poke your nose into our business.”
Tilly found herself wondering if Beast had ever handled “The Rocket” and what the look on his face was when he did it.
“Christ what a mess.” Beast shook his head. “You two are just too young and stupid—you’ve got no idea what you’re doing.”
“Says aged Beast.” Frankie snorted a laugh. “Anyone would think you’re our wise old grandpappy or something.”
“She’s right, Beast.” Tilly piped up, ignoring his look of warning. “Just stop. You don’t get a say in what we decide to do.”
“Hey, how did you get involved, Mr. Hypocrite, if it’s such a terrible thing?” Frankie demanded, sliding her sunglasses down her nose to peer at him over the rims.
Beast was saved from answering by Tilly’s cell phone ringing. She picked it up off the little table by her chair. It was Mark.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s Mark,” said Tilly to Frankie, feigning more enthusiasm than she actually had. “Just fine.” She was getting sick of forced smiles, but the margaritas made it easier.
“Do you have any questions?”
She knew what he was doing. He’d said he would call and check in on her. It was standard operating procedure.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. You’re clear about our next meeting?”
“Yes.” She nodded, looking up at Beast. He was listening, arms crossed, still glaring at her. But that glare had something else in it now. He didn’t like her getting phone calls. From men. Maybe especially men from the club.
Or was it Mark he was fuming about?
His reaction inspired her to start flirting a little.
“Well… actually… now that you mention it… I do have some questions.”
“Oh?” Mark sounded genuinely surprised.
“Actually, a lot of questions.” Tilly smiled sweetly at Beast. “Can we get together? Just so we can talk a little more? There were a couple things I need clarified, and thought, you know, it would be easier in person. Maybe we could go see a movie?”
Beast stiffened at her suggestion, a storm cloud practically hanging over his head. Tilly was enjoying this immensely.
“Ahhh… no, I’m afraid not.” Mark sounded rather regretful. “That kind of violates that no dating rule.”
By this point, Frankie was eagerly leaning her ear towards the cell phone and making faces of one sort or another, trying to coach Tilly not to give up, to go for it. Beast looked at Frankie like he wanted to tear her apart with his bare hands.
“Oh, I know, I know,” said Tilly. “I totally understand. You’re the dom.”
Beast looked relieved, sensing Mark’s rejection even if he couldn’t hear what he’d said. Frankie, on the other hand, frowned at Tilly, but Tilly gestured to her impatiently to hold on, she wasn’t going to give up that easy, even though she made it sound like she was. “But, you know… I was thinking… I mean, Frankie and Erich are dating. You knew that, right?”
“Well, yeah, but...”
“I don’t think it’s really fair that Erich gets away with it, but we can’t, do you?” She posed her question and waited. Frankie gave her a big smile and a thumbs up. Beast looked like he might be grinding his teeth.
“I see your point, baby, but...”
Baby. Whoa. She really had him going.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she went on. “I mean, I know Erich owns the club and all. But didn’t he sign the same contract?”
“Well, sure…”
“And he’s breaking the rules, right?” she breathed, hoping he was buying her leaps in logic. “I think it’s because, you know, he really likes Frankie. I mean, really, a lot. And I kind of got the feeling that… well… maybe… you might like me…”
She let her breathy voice trail off and waited again. Beast was pacing now, back and forth, grumbling to himself. Frankie was slack-jawed at Tilly’s performance. And Tilly herself was rather proud of it, too, although it was all a horrible lie, and leading poor Mark on. That part wasn’t fun.
“Tilly…” Mark said, and hesitated. “I’m really not supposed to date clients. But if I could…”
“You would?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I would.”
“Well… nobody needs to know. Do they?” Tilly looked at Beast as she said this, biting her lip, seeing him narrow his gaze at her. “But you know, I understand, if you really think I’m not worth—”
“Fuck it,” said Mark suddenly. “What time should I pick you up?”
“How’s seven?”
Tilly made the arrangements and gave Mark the address while Frankie made clapping motions with her hands, not putting them together enough to make a sound. Then Tilly hung up.
“If you go out with him…” Beast stopped and actually shook a finger at her. “If you go out on that date, you’ll be taking your life in your own hands.”
Frankie and Tilly laughed at this apparently melodramatic pronouncement.
“Well, Beast, I think it’s about time I did.” Tilly slipped by him, feeling how he tensed as she passed, something hard and restrained in the way he stood still and let her go by.
She almost hesitated, but Frankie had her by the arm, urging Tilly that they didn’t have a lot of time to get her ready for her date.
Chapter 11
When Mark dropped her off at the foot of the long, curving driveway, she got out, a little unsteady, remembering why she’d sworn off dating in the first place as Mark peeled out in his Jeep. She heard him shifting gears, trying to get away as fast as he possibly could. Not that she could blame him. She never should have asked him out to begin with. The whole thing had been a dumb idea, from beginning to end.
He probably would have dropped her off up at the house, but she asked to be let off at the end of the driveway. As unsteady as she was on her feet, she wanted to walk. She needed the night air to cool her head, and her cheeks. She slipped her heels off, walking barefoot on the pavement, carrying her shoes.
It was hot and humid—the curls Frankie had put in with hot rollers had relaxed into gentle waves—and she pulled her long hair around, across her shoulder, off her sweaty neck. She took more of a walk, around the back of the house, near the pool. The water looked so inviting, she had a sudden longing to strip down to her underwear and just dive in, but she was too drunk.
Never swim alone, Mathilda. That was her mother’s voice in her head, although it was so familiar, it was hard, sometimes, to differentiate it from her own, inner voice. She could usually tell it apart because her mother’s statements often started with the words Never or Always.
Then there was Beast’s deep, warning tone: No! Christ, Tilly! Do you have a death wish? Don’t swim drunk!
She stood still for a moment, looking at the pool, always illuminated at night from below, like something surreal and alien—unless you turned the lights off manually. She remembered the times Beast had done so, waking her up in the middle of a hot, sticky summer night to go for a midnight swim. Then she remembered the last time she’d been in the pool with him, how he’d grabbed her to him and kissed her like he was drowning.
The memory made her body flush with heat and she closed her eyes, sighing. She didn’t like to think about what had happened afterward—how she’d run into the house, away from his rejection. Wasn’t that always the way things were with Beast? That seemed to be the natural pattern of their relationship—approach and avoid; embrace and repulse.
Tilly went into the house through the back door, using her key. The French doors that went into the sun room were already locked. She closed the door behind her as quietly as possible, punching the code into the alarm. The foyer was long, leading from the front to the back of the house, with a door on each end—she used to ride her tricycle on the hardwood, back and forth, and would roll balls from end to end, as if she had her own bowling alley. There actually was a bowling alley, on the lower level of the house, along with a spa, gym, and another pool, this one smaller, just for laps, but she hadn’t had access to that when she was a toddler.
The lights were off, except for the one at the other end of the large foyer near the stairs. There was a back flight of stairs on this side of the house, but that led to the servant’s quarters. Tilly started moving quietly in the dimness, stumbling over something in the dark. She glanced down, seeing her own heel. She’d dropped it and hadn’t realized.
That seemed to be the law of being drunk and trying to be quiet— the harder you tried, the more noise you made. She sighed, reaching down to pick up her shoe, and stopped, seeing something in the darkness, through the open door to the sunroom. She gasped, seeing the unmoving silhouette of a man sitting at the table between her and the moonlight. He was reflected in the French doors that led out onto the patio.
For a moment, she was terrified, sure there was an intruder in the house, but he was so still, a hulking figure at the little table. For a moment, she thought she must be seeing things, but no—he was there. She could hear him breathing, now that she was quiet.
It was Beast.
Tilly moved into the sunroom, one slow step at a time. A light from out back shone through the French doors—it was fitted with a motion sensor and had switched on when she’d come into range on the patio—throwing a slatted slant of light onto the table. She saw a bottle of Tequila sitting at Beast’s elbow.
She wondered how long he’d been sitting there. Waiting. Waiting for her?
There was always something very ominous about Beast when he was so
still. Only when he started moving, however slightly, would Tilly be able to tell exactly what sort of mood he was in. It was odd how well she was attuned to him, even after all this time. She stood there for a moment, watching him, realizing he had to know she was there, but she waited for some small movement on his part. Something. Anything.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Silently, Tilly moved forward, picking up the shot glass sitting next to the bottle. She picked up the tequila, uncapping and pouring it. Funny, that was just what she and Mark had been drinking at The Block. Then she knocked it back, wincing at the burn. Beast glanced up for the first time since she’d come in, nodding to the chair next to him.