Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

“… He enjoyed it. God.” Quilla looked like she was going to throw up. “Can we change the subject? I hate feeling like a damn target.”

  Asia squeezed her hand. “Sure, honey.”

  Quilla shot her a look. “How’s Sebastian?”

  Sebastian Winter was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, from old New Hampshire money. In essence, he was a money man in the city, but really, he was a party boy and a socialite.

  Asia sighed. “Sebastian is very, very pretty. Also, very, very gay, but don’t tell anyone that. He asked me to accompany him to a couple of things to help throw his father off his scent—he thinks his dad knows about Sebastian’s boyfriend and doesn’t know how he will react. His father is, well, old school.”

  “Bigoted, you mean?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Asshole. So what’s Sebastian like?”

  “Like a little boy lost. Underneath all the glamor, he’s a sweet kid who reacts to his lack of paternal love by acting the big man.”

  “Gosh,” said Quilla hiding a grin, “never let it be said you have a type, Asia Flynn.”

  Asia conceded with a grin. “Kit can’t claim lack of paternal love, just a rampant immaturity. I think Joel stole it from him in the womb, because he never has trouble stepping up to the plate.”

  “I know. How sweet are he and Nan? I swear to God, one moves and the other moves with them.” Quilla sounded almost jealous, but Asia decided not to push it.

  “Yeah, so, romance wise … I’m just doing a favor for a friend. Nothing else happening.”

  “Shame.” Quilla shot her a sideways look. “You know, Ran and I were having a chat, and he tells me Grady is in New Orleans for a week or so.”

  Asia chuckled. “You are two are like scheming old matchmakers, sitting around hatching your plans.”

  Quilla laughed. “Can you blame us? We love both of you and now that Kit’s, er, ‘moved on’ ...”

  Asia snorted. “Don’t remind me of that damn interview. You know, people were coming up to me, this look on their faces like … oh poor, poor thing, you must be devastated. Ugh.”

  “If you want, I can bust some moves on him, kick his ass?” Quilla looked like she was serious but Asia smiled, shaking her head.

  “Nah, leave it alone. I suspect Kit’s being handled properly now.”

  Quilla giggled. “I love Bo Kennedy. You’re right; she won’t take any crap from him, will she? Did you see that video of her taking down that pap who tried to take photos of her kid?”

  Asia nodded. “Warrior Woman.”

  “Kit’s going to have his ass handed to him if he tries to do what ...” Quilla broke off, looked over at Asia apologetically. “Sorry. I’m about as sensitive as ...”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They drove in silence for a couple of minutes. “You know,” Asia said thoughtfully, “maybe it isn’t the worst idea to reconnect with Grady. As friends, I mean, before you get excited. I miss our talks; we were always such good friends.”

  Quilla tried not to grin. “Just so happens I know where he’s staying.”

  Okay, this is not happening. No way, nuh-uh. Grady Mallory did not lose out when he went to auction. Ever. Something about having a vast pot of money to dip into, but … it was happening. He’d had to stop when the two pieces already auctioned went way past their reserve … way, way past even what they were worth for two rare O’Keefe sketches, and that was saying something.

  And what was bugging him, even more, was that he didn’t know who was bidding. He’d scoured the room every single time, but no one apart from him was even signaling. Every time Grady nodded at the auctioneer, the man would check the ledger in front of him and hike the price another twenty thousand. In the end, Grady had to forfeit.

  Not this time, though. The Rothko was being brought out. Jesus, it was magnificent, a monument to color, depth, abstraction. Grady got that feeling he always did when he saw a piece that spoke directly to his soul. His heartbeat would quicken, his breath would catch in his throat. Only two human beings in the world had ever had that effect on him: Molly and Asia. He struggled to think of one piece of the artist’s which didn’t incite that reaction in him.

  The auctioneer introduced the piece, then looked around the gathering. “So I’ll start us off at thirty-two million dollars.”

  Even though the starting price had been expected, there was still a hum of awe around the room. Grady nodded, and the auctioneer signaled to him. “Thirty-two, I’m bid, thank you, sir, thirty-three.” He glanced down at his book.

  Not this time, buddy. Grady gritted his teeth. “Thirty-four.”

  “Thirty-five ...”

  The bidding went on, Grady refusing to back down even when the price went past one hundred million. Finally, just as Grady thought he had it at one-hundred-and-seven, the auctioneer was tapped on the shoulder by a clerk who handed him a piece of paper. The auctioneer’s eyebrows shot up.

  “We have a bid … goodness gracious … a bid of five hundred million.”

  Afterward, Grady would swear you could hear the collective jaws dropping. He felt sick. There was no way he could justify spending that much on a painting, no matter what it was. His dad would kill him. Shit, shit, shit. Grady shook his head as the auctioneer looked questioningly at him. It slightly cheered him that the auctioneer knew he could afford it if he wanted, but Grady hadn’t made his fortune by being reckless.

  He sat through the rest of the bidding, occasionally making a half-hearted attempt to bid, but whenever he did, he was quickly outbid. It was hard not to think someone was messing with him.

  At the end, he got up, and as he stopped to let people pass, he saw her. The girl from the café. Grady blinked. This auction was an invite only, an incredibly exclusive gathering for which you had to have a clear few billion in the bank to be allowed entry. What the hell? The way the girl had been bashing her ancient computer the other night, he was certain she didn’t fit the brief. She moved toward him, her gaze flicking left and right, but never at him.

  “Hey,” he said as she passed. She nodded briefly, and then disappeared. Grady shook his head. This was so damn weird. The secret buyer with the seemingly bottomless pockets and this girl, who looked like she had fallen asleep in her clothes.

  He was still shaking his head as he walked back to his hotel. The sun was hidden behind some pretty black clouds, and a few fat raindrops hit him as he entered the hotel. Still preoccupied, he was about to press the elevator call button when he heard his voice being called.

  A familiar voice. One that made his heartbeat quicken. He turned.

  Asia Flynn was standing at the reception desk, smiling her beautiful smile at him, and to him, the sun came out again.

  Skandar Mallory was watching his girlfriend Hayley trying to figure out how to work his very expensive, very complicated espresso machine. And failing miserably. She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “You could help.”

  Skandar grinned his crooked smile. “I could, but then I’d miss your perfect little tush jiggling when you move.”

  Hayley tried to look mad. “Sexist pig.”

  “That’s me.” He grabbed her and swung her up into his arms. They had been living together for a month, and though neither would admit it, both were waiting for the day when they’d regret moving so fast. So far, neither of them had, even the slightest bit.

  He hustled her over to the couch and lay down on top of her. She giggled as he rained kisses down on her. “Dude … I have a lecture at nine, and if you keep doing that, I’m going to be late.”

  “Ssh, I’m using my best moves.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at practice? Carlos will never take you back if you don’t keep up … what are you doing?”

  Skandar was pushing up her skirt and tugging her panties down. Grinning widely, he kissed her. “Just sending you off to class with something to think about ...”

  She gave up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Hard and fast, then
, soldier.”

  “Damn, you sure got a dirty mouth, Hayley Applebee.”

  “Get busy, Mallory.”

  Later, as she walked into her lecture hall, she was still smiling, her body buzzing from the high; she didn’t notice the stares of her fellow students. Or rather, she ignored them. They’d been staring at her since the ‘sex tape’ had hit the headlines. Fuck ’em, Skandar had told her, and she had laughed. Still, you’d think, the novelty would have worn off by now, she thought. She sat in the middle of the class defiantly, staring down each student as they glanced at her. So what if she had no special friend here, she thought; jealousy was an ugly thing. That’s what she told herself. She had Skandar. Who cared if these idiots judged her?

  The professor—a guest speaker today—was running late. Hayley pulled her iPad out of her bag and flicked to her email. Like a lovesick teen, she had set up email alerts anytime there was a news story about Skandar. She didn’t particularly relish the myriad of real and fake exes who daily slammed him. She could tell which was which by what they were complaining about. The real exes were complaining about him being the champion of the one-nighter. (Not with me, she thought smugly); the fake ones were complaining about his … performance. Those stories just made her snort in derision.

  She flicked down the list, then her heart seemed to tremble and freeze. Tennis Ace Corrupted My Daughter. Fuck, no, no, no … her damn mother was selling her own kids out—again. Hayley shoved the iPad back in her bag and got up, and as she stomped down the stairs, she caught the eye of a particularly creepy jock, who smirked at her.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she hissed and ran out to her car. Locking herself in, she yanked out her phone and called Nan.

  “Our goddamned mother is at it again. I’m coming over.”

  Grady looked over the breakfast table at Asia and grinned. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Did you sleep okay?” The hotel had been very accommodating and found Asia a room at the last minute.

  Asia smiled. “I’ll say. I’ve got to give it to you, Gray; you always know the best hotels to pick.”

  She dug into her fruit salad, and as she ate, she studied him. “I had some vacation time owed and nothing better to do so I thought, why don’t I go see my old pal, Grady?”

  He tapped her juice glass with his. “Good decision. Hey, this is exciting, I can take you around Orleans, do the tourist thing. I do have some more auctions coming up … God, I hope they’re not like yesterday’s.” He told her what happened, and Asia frowned.

  “That is unusual … but then again, there might just be a new player on the scene, someone who’s just made their fortune, wants to get in on the game.”

  Grady shook his head in disbelief. “Half a billion, though? For a painting, even if—and this pains me to say—it’s a Rothko? Damn, I keep thinking about it, Asia; it was glorious. Whoever, he or she is, they’re no fan of etiquette. Went straight in, bang, knocked everyone else out of the running.” He sighed, and Asia reached out and touched his cheek.

  “It is just a painting, Gray, don’t get down. You’re so like Ran, sometimes.”

  He caught her hand and held it against his face, closing his eyes. “It really has been too long, Asia.” He was gratified when she didn’t move her hand away. He opened her eyes and saw her expression; soft, loving, wondering. He lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Asia …”

  She shook her head. “Don’t say anything. Let’s just see what happens.”

  A thrill flooded down his body. She wants me, too. God, he had been waiting for this day for years. He laced his fingers between hers, his heart thumping against his chest. Asia’s lovely face was flushed, her dark eyes, soft, full of desire.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Slowly, she met his gaze and shook her head, the flush on her cheeks deepening. He said nothing more but stood and led her back to the elevator. Inside, he pressed the button to his floor and then took her in his arms. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but instead kissed her, tasting the lips he had dreamed about for years, his fingers sliding into the soft, dark hair that clouded around her. Asia returned his embrace, her gentle tongue caressing his, her hands on his chest, her thumbs brushing over his tightening nipples.

  His cock was ramrod hard, and as he pressed her against the wall, his body curved into hers, the feel of it pressing against her soft belly made him moan with desire.

  “God, Asia...”

  In his room, they undressed each other slowly, taking their time, Grady kissing her shoulders as he removed her bra and let her full breasts fall into his waiting and eager hands.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” his voice broke as his emotion overcame him.

  “Ssh,” Asia stroked his face, “It’s okay...”

  He swept her into his arms and laid her back on the bed, not able to tear his eyes away from her incredible body. Athletic but with gentle curves, she was slim, slight, her skin a lovely olive color. He covered her with his body, his cock erect against his belly and as she stroked it with her hands, his own hands slipped between her legs to find her already wet for him, her sex swelling and pulsing with her desire.

  The moment his cock pushed into her, Grady knew he’d found what he had been looking for all these years. As her legs curled around him and they kissed and fucked and sweated and cried out the other’s name, he could hardly believe it was happening at last.

  Asia, Asia …

  Half a world away, Asia’s ex-husband was sitting backstage at a concert venue in Paris, watching his girlfriend get ready to go out and sing for some of the most important VIPs in France. On Kit’s knee, Bo Kennedy’s son, Tiger, slept, Kit’s arms tight around the sleeping child.

  Bo grinned back at Kit in the mirror, and then turned. “You’re a natural at that.”

  Kit smiled. “Who knew? But it helps that your kid is awesome.” Bo flushed with pleasure and went to kiss him.

  “You surprise me every day, Kit Mallory, and I adore that.”

  “I adore you, Miss Kennedy. How’re you feeling?”

  “Shit scared,” she said bluntly in her London accent, and he chuckled. “I’m serious; I feel like I could chuck up me lunch. It’s bollocks that you can’t smoke inside anymore. I could do with a Gauloises right now.”

  Kit shook his head, grinning. “You don’t even smoke. And think of your voice.”

  To be fair, she did look a bit green. “How do you do it, then?” he asked, curious. “How do you stand up in front of all those people every night and not throw up?”

  “Not helping,” but she grinned and turned back to the mirror to put on her mascara. “Well, it’s like … you know what it’s like when you go out on stage? You must have done theater?”

  He shook his head. “Not once.”

  She turned, obviously shocked. “Never?”

  “Not even at school.”

  She blinked. “How’d you get into acting then?”

  Kit looked uncomfortable. “At the risk of sounding like a complete asshole … this.” He pointed at his face. “I got ‘spotted’ at a charity benefit by my agent, Naomi. She put me up for a part, and that’s that. It turns out I’m okay at it. Please don’t hate me.”

  Bo laughed. “I ain’t gonna hate you for getting a lucky break. Pretty boy.”

  Kit grinned. “It’s painful being this beautiful.” He flicked his long hair back, and she threw her makeup brush at him, giggling.

  “But you’ve never fancied doing a stage play?”

  Kit shook his head. “Stage fright. So come on, tell me the secret.”

  Bo still looked surprised. “Well, it’s different than acting because with a music set you can really build up the anticipation of the audience. That’s why it takes so long for the singer to come on, building that atmosphere. It’s great for the audience, but not only that, it gets my adrenaline going and that is crucial to overcoming stage fright.”

  Kit was fascinated. “Huh. Always tho
ught it was an ego thing, that ‘I’m going to keep you waiting so you can beg for me to come out and stroke my huge ego.”

  Bo nodded. “Oh, there’s definitely some of that going on, too; we’re artists, after all, as insecure and as monomaniacal as the next.”

  She got up and grabbed her stage outfit, a long, midnight blue sheath that slithered over her body. Kit watched her dress, admiration all over his face. Man, he’d known her only a few weeks, but he’d changed his plans and cleared his schedule—much to the disgust of his agent—so that he could accompany her on the short sold-out world tour. When she wasn’t performing, they’d take Tiger to all of the tourist spots in whatever city they were in. Tomorrow, it was Disneyland, Paris, and Tiger, who had been hyper all day, was finally exhausted from excitement.

  There was a gentle knock on the door and Tiger’s nanny, Felicity, poked her head around the door, saw Tiger asleep and grinned. “I’ll take him back to the hotel,” she whispered, “give you two some privacy.”

  “Cheers, pickle, you’re a peach.” Bo kissed Tiger’s forehead. “Night, sweetie. See you in the morning.”

  When they were alone, Bo checked her watch. “Half an hour till kick off.”

  Kit took her in his arms. “You’ll knock ’em dead, gorgeous.”

  She tilted her head up for a kiss. “Christopher Mallory, you know what? I bloody love you.”

  “Beatrice Fenella Kennedy,” he made up her middle name and she giggled, “I am so in love with you, it’s pretty gross just how much, actually.”

  “Who’d have thunk?” She grinned. “I’m still not convinced the real Kit Mallory wasn't kidnapped by aliens and you got sent in his place.”

  “Was I really that much of an ass?” Kit was slightly stung, and then conceded. “Yeah, I know.”

  Bo kissed him. “Don’t be sad; you were never really like that, you just built up a mask.”

  Kit shrugged. “Tell Asia that. I did not treat her the way she deserved.”

  “No, you didn’t, but that’s in the past.” Bo’s voice had a little edge, and Kit looked at her curiously.