Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  She looked blank. “Dunno. She doesn’t have a manager, so she sets her own times. She’ll ’ere, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” he hissed and turned away from her. Fuck, why did I agree to this? He stalked off and sat in the chair with Bo’s name on it. A minion approached him but he scared him off with a stare. How long was he supposed to wait for this woman?

  An hour and a half later, just when he was seriously considering ditching the whole thing, there was a commotion. Laughter, raucous cackling and cursing, and there she was. For a second, all Kit could see was fake fur coats and fingernails, then finally, she reached him. He stood up, fury racing through his veins.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Everything went silent. Bo looked at him, expression blank, but with her eyes challenging him to shout at her again and see where it got him. She was gorgeous, Kit reluctantly admitted. All breakneck curves, soft pillowy breasts with a cleavage you could lose yourself in, and the face of an angel.

  “’xcuse me?”

  “You were supposed to be here two hours ago! Do you think I have the fucking time to waste waiting around for some torch singer?”

  Silence again. He seethed, refusing to back down. Not looking away from him, Bo called to the rest of the room. “Who got the time?”

  “One minute twenty,” said a voice from somewhere in the back. Bo smiled.

  “Fucking brilliant. I win!” She turned and raised her arms to the room, and they all cheered. Kit had no idea what was going on and it showed in his face. Bo turned back to him smiling. “I bet these fuckers that I could get you to lose it in less than two minutes. You’ve just won me a hundred bloody quid!”

  Again with the cheering. Kit drew in a breath, trying to calm himself. Losing it now—again—would not help anything.

  “Look, can we just start?”

  Bo waved him away nonchalantly. “You take your shirt off and look pretty; I'll just be a minute in makeup, then we can get down to it.”

  Hell, why, why, why did his cock just jump to attention when she said that? This bitch was insane, a pain in the ass, slovenly, over-the-top, spoke like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins … Fuck. He gave a stiff nod. “Fine.”

  She was true to her word this time and when she emerged, in a stunning red dress which clung to every curve and lit up her face, her honey-blonde hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders, it didn’t do his erection any good. And of course, as soon as they got into their first clinch as the music played back, she would sing along with the backing track and her voice was so smoky, so divine, that, despite himself, he lost himself in the role. Bo was utterly professional—and a great actress, he was surprised to find—and their chemistry was undeniable.

  At the end of filming, there was a scene where his character, dejected and abandoned by his love, sits alone in their bedroom (all artfully shabby chic, of course) only to look up and find her waiting in the doorway for him. Kit played the part perfectly, glancing up as Bo waited. He stood and walked to her and took her in his arms.

  The moment their lips met, it was as if lava covered their bodies and they kissed passionately, for real. She tasted so good, so sweet, and God, the scent of her skin was driving him mad. He pulled her closer, not hearing the director shouting cut. Bo, her lips curving up in a smile, made no effort to pull away. Unseen by anyone else, she slipped her hand down to his pants and cupped his cock, squeezing the hot length of it through the fabric. A small growl escaped Kit and he fisted her hair in his hand and ground his mouth down on hers.

  “Guys … guys? Yeah, that's a wrap.” The director coughed awkwardly.

  Kit released her and Bo stepped back, grinning. “Get what you needed?” she said calmly to the red-faced director, who nodded. “Good.” She looked back at Kit then very deliberately looked down to his groin and smiled. “Thanks for coming. You were great ... impressive.”

  She turned and walked off the set, shouting her thanks to everyone, who applauded her as she left.

  Holy fucking shit. Kit couldn’t believe what had just happened—and now she was just leaving? The hell? He obviously couldn’t go after her—what, was he supposed to chase her? Him, Kit freaking Mallory? Hell, no.

  Instead, he plastered on his best smile and thanked each and every member of the crew before leaving. He toyed with the idea of taking the PA back to his hotel-- she’d looked at him eagerly when he'd shaken her hand, but he found he didn't want to—despite the necessity of getting rid of the worst aching boner he'd ever had. Damn you, Bo Kennedy, ballbreaker and prick tease.

  It was only back at his hotel that he felt bad. Why are you such a douchebag all the time? he said to himself as he looked into the bathroom mirror. You never used to be like this. The truth was, ever since he lost Asia, he’d been lost. He’d covered up his devastation and guilt by becoming this unbearable untouchable pig. Bo Kennedy was neither a ballbreaker or a tease. She was a goddess who had now bested him three times.

  And, God, he’d absolutely love it if she did it again …

  Bo Kennedy was, at that moment, back in her massive home in the north of the city. Face and body scrubbed clean in the shower, she went back downstairs and grinned at the woman sitting on the floor with an angelic blond-haired toddler playing with some trains. Bo sat down with them.

  “Thanks, mum.” Bo kissed her mother's cheek and then tickled the little boy's feet. ’Ello, you. Got a kiss for Mummy?”

  The boy, Tiger, threw himself into her arms, and she rolled back, cuddling him and blowing raspberries on his cheek until he screamed with laughter.

  “He did drawing at school today,” her mum, Daphne, said proudly, “and he won a prize. Show Mummy what you won.”

  Boo made an excited face. “Oo, what did you win? Show Mummy, go on.”

  Tiger skipped merrily up to his room to find his prize. Bo sat back against the couch and sighed. “He’s been okay, Mum? Have you?”

  “We’ve been just fine, darlin’. You look exhausted. How was the movie star?”

  Bo grinned. “Movie starry. Big-headed, bit of a wanker, but very, very shaggable.”

  Daphne went red but giggled. “Bo, you are naughty.”

  Bo ran a hand through her hair, scooping it up into a ponytail and fixing it with the band she had around her wrist. “Mum, I wish I was naughty. Do you know how long it’s been?”

  Daphne made a sad face and Bo laughed. “You’re no help.”

  Daphne got up and started to tidy the boy’s toys. “Bo, I’ll tell you what I told your aunt. She kept on at me after your dad left to find someone else. I told her, I’ve me own money; I’ve me own ’ouse; and I have full access to the Ann Summers website. Who needs a man?”

  Bo screeched with laughter, rolling on the floor. “You never said that to Auntie Rose.”

  “I did too. And I’m saying it to you—you’ve made your success, my girl, and you’ve got that little angel upstairs.”

  Bo waved her hands. “I know, Mum. Just sometimes, you know?”

  “I know. That’s why I’ve got a dog.”

  “Eww, Mum!”

  “To cuddle, you idiot,” her mom grinned wickedly. “Look, if you're okay, I'd like to get home.”

  Bo checked her watch. “Oh, right … what is it tonight?”

  “Supernatural,” her mum said excitedly, “Carry on my wayward son … especially if it’s Dean Winchester.”

  “Dirty. Old. Woman.” Bo said but laughed. “I hope that vibrator runs on batteries. I don’t want the National Grid going out on me.”

  “Cheeky cow.” Daphne kissed her daughter. “Bye Tiggy-Tiger,” she called as Tiger came back in the room, dragging a massive bag of candy with him.

  After her mother had left, Bo sat with Tiger, trying to persuade him not to eat the whole bag of candy at once—she checked the sugar count and wondered why someone at school would think it was a good idea to give sugar as a gift. Maybe it was a rogue teacher hell-bent on revenge on the parents who sent the ki
ds to school all hopped up on sugary cereal.

  Later, when Tiger was asleep, she lay in her bed and allowed herself to think about Kit Mallory. Yeah, the guy was a dickhead but … Jesus … when he kissed her, she’d felt it right between her legs. Never shy, she’d decided on impulse to check out his goods … and he wasn’t lacking. At all. Good thing the director had come up to them—if Mallory had fucked her right then, right there, she wouldn't have been complaining.

  She flicked her phone round and round in her hand. She knew where he was staying in London … she could call him … no. Don’t do it. You left him wanting more. Don’t offer it on a plate.

  “Just don’t be too fucking long, Kit Mallory,” she groaned into her pillow. Sighing, she sat up and flicked the TV on. Then on a whim, switched to Netflix … search Kit Mallory films …

  There was one, about twenty years old, right at the start of his career. Bo put it on and settled back to watch it. After half an hour of watching his blond-haired perfection, she nodded to herself.

  “Yeah, Kit Mallory … don’t you take too long … '

  In Seattle, Randall was having dinner with his eldest and youngest sons. Jakob and Grady—Gray, to his family—had always gotten along best of all his sons and he delighted in their company.

  “I haven’t met Quilla yet,” Grady said to Jakob. “I’ve heard she rivals Helen of Troy.” Grady’s amused grin made Jakob grin.

  “You heard correct. She’s with her friend Marley. Marley’s been away on a research trip, so they want to catch up.”

  “She fully okay now? Quilla?”

  Jakob nodded, but Ran exchanged a glance with Grady. “We still have nothing on Gregor Fisk. He keeps sending threats, vicious, evil things he says to both of them.”

  “I never knew,” Jakob said, the desolation in his voice making it scratchy. “I never even imagined he would be this twisted, this full of hate.”

  Grady put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Bro, we got this. If he thinks he can hide anywhere in the world, if he thinks he’ll hurt any of us again ...”

  Jakob winced, obviously recalling the terrible night his beautiful girl was stabbed by his ex-partner. Ran changed the subject. “So, Gray, where’s the next adventure to?”

  “Local … well, somewhat. New Orleans. A huge estate sale is coming up with some pretty serious pieces. A couple of minor Rothkos, some Georgia O’Keefe sketches.”

  Ran’s eyes lit up. Even now, art was his first love—the same as his youngest son. Grady had spent his life as a nomad, going to all corners of the globe to first learn his craft, then to help his father build up their portfolio. Rarely did they keep what he found—except for the Hoppers that hung both in Jakob’s and Ran’s home and some Kahlos in Grady’s. Their business was to buy and sell, and they had both made billions doing it. “Rothko,” Ran said now, “Always a favorite.”

  Grady grinned. His dad was like a kid in a candy shop when it came to art. “Say, Dad, have they lifted your restraining order?”

  Ran looked confused. “Who?”

  “Every major art gallery in the known universe,” Grady intoned, and Jakob laughed loudly.

  “'Excuse me, sir, but you seem to have picked something up by mistake.”'

  “No, no, officer, my jacket has always been this boxy,” Grady replied in an uncanny impression of his dad’s voice.

  “Sir, that’s the Mona Lisa,” replied Jakob, and they both howled with laughter as Ran chuckled.

  “Remind me to write both of you out of my will,” he mock-scowled. Then he smiled, sighing. “God, it’s good to have you back, Gray. You’ll stay for a while?”

  “Couple of days, then I gotta get to NOLA,” Grady said. “But I promise, afterward, I’ll be back for a good long time.”

  Quilla Chen pushed the pizza box away. “No more, there’s no space left in my belly.” Marley Griffin, her oldest and best friend, grinned at her. They sat in Marley’s apartment, the scene of many of their fun times together over the years. Now, though, it had been months since they’d gotten together. Marley had left town as soon as she knew Quilla was going to be okay, for a three-month long research trip to the Brazilian jungle, and now she was regaling Quilla of tales of the Amazon jungle, her research fellows, and the many, many bugs she saw.

  “Size of my fist,” she told a cringing Quilla, “and its legs were another five or six inches as well.”

  “Gah, stop, I do not want to know about the tarantulas.” Quilla clamped her hands over her ears. “I won't be able to sleep.”

  Marley grinned wickedly. “Don’t forget the jumping spiders ...”

  Quilla threw a pillow at her. “The words ‘jumping’ and ‘spider’ should never be in the same sentence, ever.”

  Marley sat back, satisfied she’d scared her friend enough. Apart from the face, she was pulling now, Quilla looked good, if a little tired. Marley fiddled with a slice of leftover pizza.

  “How’s the love life?”

  Quilla beamed. “Truly, truly fantastic. Jakob is … God, I wish I could tell you how he makes me feel.”

  “Stabbed?” Marley couldn’t help the sarcastic comment that fell out of her mouth. Quilla blanched, and she immediately regretted her words.

  “It wasn't Jakob's fault,” Quilla murmured. “Please, Marls, don't hate him.”

  “I don't hate him; I just think he was careless, and you paid the price.”

  “How was he careless? Should he have not fired Gregor? Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”

  Marley was annoyed now. “He knew that asshole for years, and he didn't see that side of him until that day?”

  Quilla squirmed in her seat, not wanting to get caught between her best friend and her lover. “Marls ...”

  “And he’s still out there.”

  “The police, the Mallorys, they’re throwing everything they can at the search.”

  Marley got up and went to her window. Outside, she could see the black sedan in which sat the two huge, silent bodyguards that had delivered Quilla to her door. Marley shook her head.

  “How can you live like this? I know you; you hate being watched or supervised or … '

  Quilla sighed. “Make up your mind, Marls—do you want me protected or dead?”

  It was Marley’s turn to flinch. “God, Quilla ...”

  “He calls me, Fisk; he calls me and says the most disgusting things, most vile, barbaric things. He describes exactly how he intends to kill me and I listen to it because I can’t stop listening, because in between the threats he might give something away. And if he thinks I'm not the only one on the call, then he'll hang up and we'll lose the only chance to catch him. He's a psychopath, Marls. If someone else were Jakob's girlfriend, she'd be the one with the scars and the threats.”

  Marley went to her friend, seeing she was getting upset, and hugged her. “I just worry.”

  Quilla struggled not to cry for a moment. “Please, Marl, now that you're back, come meet the rest of the family; get to know them. I promise you'll change your mind.”

  Marley sighed but smiled at her friend. “For you, anything. For you, I'll make friends with the billionaires.”

  Quilla laughed. “Thank you. I promise, you'll love them as much as I do.”

  It had been two days, and Bo Kennedy still hadn't called. Kit, stalking around his hotel room—he had found himself deliberately extending his stay—couldn't believe that he, Kit Mallory was waiting for a woman to call. Him!

  Fuck it, he was sick of waiting around like a lovesick teenager. He grabbed his cellphone.

  It rang eight times before she answered. ’Ello.”

  “Bo?”

  Silence. “Christopher Mallory, I presume,” she drawled and laughed. It was a thick, throaty, sensual sound. Kit closed his eyes and imagined how the vibration from that laugh would feel with his cock inside her. God, he had to fuck this woman and soon, or his balls would explode.

  “That’s me,” he said lightly. “Listen … I figured I should
maybe call, thank you for inviting to be in the video, maybe take you to lunch.”

  Lunch followed by an afternoon of fucking. That's what he was offering, and he was pretty sure she knew it, too. There was a silence on the other of the phone.

  “What hotel are you in?” she said shortly, and he grinned and told her, knowing she already knew.

  “Good. Order room service. I like steak. An hour.” The line went dead.

  Kit grinned. “Victory is mine; victory is mine.” He did a little dance and then pulled himself up. Don't be an idiot—this, after all, is what you do best. The Art of Seduction.

  It was his turn to win.

  Bo Kennedy sat in the cab to the hotel, still not sure she was doing the right thing. Maybe just screw him and then leave; you both get what you want. Finito. Over. Itch scratched.

  She hoped.

  Kit opened the door to his suite and smiled. Not a smug smile. A friendly, conciliatory smile. Okay … Bo went in, confused, and saw he had indeed arranged room service. Two covered plates sat on a table in front of the massive wide screen TV.

  Kit nodded towards it. “I thought we might eat in front of the TV, watch some trashy program.”

  What was this, a move? Bo narrowed her eyes at him, but his gaze was steady. “Hey, you wanted steak, we have steak and fr—I mean, chips.”

  She grinned at his attempt to Anglicize French fries. “You had me at steak.”

  Kit's mouth hitched up in a grin. “Promising.”

  The meal was heavenly, Bo had to admit a half hour later, and Kit was surprisingly easy to talk to. True to his word, they watched some trashy tv—some of which Bo had to translate for him, as the regional British accents stumped him.

  'What is a 'gobshite'?”

  Bo couldn't help but giggle. “It's English for a jerk.”

  “Got it.”

  Finally, he turned to her, leaning back on the couch, his arm along the back of it. His fingers were almost touching her hair.

  “So, like I said on the phone … thanks for inviting me to be part of your video. The song’s great, by the way.”