by May Sage
It couldn’t have been the Black Forest in Germany, or somewhere particularly gloomy in Russia; no, they had to go to the single sexiest place he could think of.
Screw Paris; it was always windy whenever he made it up the Eiffel Tower. Venice, with all its boat rides along the canals, its many palazzos dating back to the days when Italy had been the center of the civilized world, ought to have been called the City of Love.
Of course, fate was a bitch, so they’d gone in February, right in the middle of Carnival. They were invited to a dozen balls where it was customary to wear colorful silks and masks. The sort of thing one normally only saw in a dungeon.
Fucking torture. He was basically hard around the clock, and jerking off three times a day to take the edge off.
Lexi was a personal assistant and she attempted to look the part. She wore simple black dresses, and the least extravagant masks she could find. If it was in the hope of seeming demure, she failed. She looked like she belonged on her knees, in front of him, mouth open so he could feed her strawberries, grapes. Or something else altogether.
He was in hell.
Everything about this place made his volatile attraction to the little goddess ten times worse. Venice whispered in his ears, corrupting his mind with visions of decadence. His imagination, generally lacking, was working overtime, making him visualize the hundreds of ways he could have her. It was becoming something close to an obsession.
So, Mav did what he had to do, ignoring the shit out of her when he could, being rude when he couldn't. From time to time, she caught him looking her way; he couldn’t help himself. So, he just frowned, as though he’d noticed something that displeased him. If only.
He was an absolute dick to her, but at least he knew it. It was for her own good. She couldn’t handle him.
Although the words had been at the tip of his tongue a thousand times, he’d never inquired about her, past the basic background check he'd run. He hadn’t even looked her up on the Tower’s system while no one else was around, to confirm that she was, like he'd thought, a sub. He deserved a fucking medal for that. But still, he could guess.
She was new to the scene. Shy, unsure of herself. She’d caught the eye of various subs, doms, and everything in between in the Tower, and she knew it, but each time she was approached, she clammed up.
A curious little thing, with very little experience. She might not even have fucked anyone but the ex-fiancé, who, from what Mav had seen in his files, was as vanilla as a supermarket cupcake.
That shit was dom crack. Experienced subs knelt a certain way, inclined their head at a specific angle. Being able to mold a sub from the start was an invaluable present. They all knew it. They were circling her like sharks smelling blood. Maverick watched the whole thing with an equal degree of frustration and amusement. Shy little Lexi had the pick of the litter at the Tower.
And despite that, there was only one person whose gaze she met. One person who made her blush and bite her lip when he caught her staring.
Him.
She wanted him, and he’d never met a woman he desired as much as her. This was hilarious and had made him punch a wall or two. Because he couldn’t have her. Not now, not ever.
If he’d met her at a bar, at the gym, walking an imaginary dog, he would have taken her home and fucked her until neither of them could move. He might have tried to hang out with her, and maybe, who knew, they could have had a chance at something more. But no, he’d met her at the Tower, because she was interested in the lifestyle. She wanted to be tied up, spanked, flogged. Dominated. And he’d sworn he was done with that.
Mav wasn’t like Cal, who could be a dom over the weekend, and go back to a chilled-out persona on weekdays. He wasn’t like Des, who was quite simply a dom with everyone he encountered in his life, male or female, employee, business partner, or stranger in the street. His temperament was a mixture of both: he was one person in the eyes of the world, but to his partner, his sub, he was a dom - always. There was no off switch. That was the reason why casual fucks had held no appeal to him; he was monogamous, faithful, and could easily ignore every other woman in the world when in a relationship with someone.
No one was surprised that, although he was the youngest of the three brothers, Mav was the first one to get serious with his partner. So serious he'd bought that damn ring and planned on popping the question. Tying himself to the woman he cared for had been a natural inclination.
Sarah had suited him. She liked when he bent her over and fucked her in his office, or hers. She liked when he whispered orders in a public ballroom, telling her to go to the bathroom and remove her thong.
He would never have abused that dynamic, endangered her in any way, or even made her uncomfortable. Pushing boundaries was at the very core of the dom/sub balance, but there was a time and a place for that. He would never have made her do anything she might feel uncomfortable with in public. In five years, he never so much as earned himself a slow safe word outside of the bedroom.
If he had, he would immediately have backtracked. Kissed her temple and told her he loved her. Oh, how he’d loved her. For everything she was, everything she did. Sarah hadn’t been stunning. She was no Lexi. She was his age, just under thirty at the time and it would have taken a zombie apocalypse to make her run. She felt that way about most exercise. She was lush, round, with incredibly heavy breasts he’d loved to bite. Her face was also rounded and shaped like a heart. There were thousands of Sarahs in the world; she didn’t make entire rooms turn when she entered. But she was his. They’d fucked once after meeting in a club and she’d made him pull her hair as he pounded her from behind. She’d made him watch as she masturbated in front of him. He’d known then.
It had been heaven, until that night.
Mav still had issues comprehending exactly what had occurred on that fateful night.
They’d talked about it for a long time. Mav had been a little reluctant at first but it was what Sarah wanted - needed - and it wasn’t a hard limit for him. He would never have chosen to do it with his fiancé, but what sort of person asked a woman to push her limits on a daily basis only to recoil when she asked the same?
Sarah wanted to fuck three men - one black, one large-framed, one muscular. And she wanted him to watch as she did. She wanted him to jerk himself off as he saw her getting fucked by other guys. The very idea had made him hard, and disgusted him.
He’d caved, eventually. They’d planned her little party for their joint birthday. He still remembered every second of it. At the time, he’d felt foolish for even questioning why they shouldn’t do it. He couldn’t remember a hotter moment in his entire existence.
Then, the next day, at dawn, he’d kissed the side of her cheek and gone to grab them breakfast. She’d said, ‘see you later’.
And she’d fucking killed herself, leaving him nothing but a goodbye letter full of shit.
Close to six years, and the words were still burned through his mind. She’d explained things - things she should have told him. A terrible abuse in her youth. She’d wanted to relive it, while being in control this time. While taking her pleasure. This was her version of winning against her demons, before the end.
Mav would have fucking applauded the effort, if she’d chosen to actually win. If she’d chosen to live. But she’d cut her wrist and bled out in their bathroom, ending her life and his.
It was his fault. The shrink, the police, his brothers didn’t think so, but it was. He was her partner, her lover, her dom. He should have seen it and helped her through it. Prevented it. However much he thought, though, he still couldn’t see the signs. Not in his bubbly, happy Sarah. And, as he’d missed that, how could he ever be a dom again?
The lifestyle could be healthy. The divorce rate amongst their ilk was incredibly low for a reason. They shared a relationship based on trust and openness; not the norm outside of their community. But a lot of people ended up looking at BDSM because they were fucked up one way or the other. Mav wasn’t
; he’d been born into it. His parents had had a very healthy switch relationship neither of them hid, although they’d never been sexually obvious in front of their children. In the King household, dominance and submission were taught alongside the ABCs. But the rest of the world didn’t work that way.
He couldn’t risk harming another beautifully broken soul. So, he was staying far, far away from Lexi, regardless of how good her ass looked in that dress.
Inconvenience
If there was any feasible way of doing so, Lexi would have kicked her own ass until that unrequited crush disappeared for good. Seriously. Grown-ass women didn’t pine over men who looked at them with disdain every time they occupied the same space. She had to stop that shit. Now.
Or, okay, tomorrow, when he wasn’t wearing a tux. Because yum. Double, major yum.
“They’re fine specimens of manliness,” said Tori, standing next to her, and following the direction of her gaze.
The woman was smiling somewhat smugly. Maverick stood next to her hubby, who, admittedly, was just as hot as Mav. Tori had every reason to smile, the lucky bitch.
Lexi barely noticed Bryant anymore, honestly. She was no Laura; knowing that her friend had her claws in Bryant had been enough for her to shove him in the “don’t drool” part of her brain. But now that she paid attention, he certainly wore the grey and silver shimmery suit very well. His white, Phantom-style half-face mask added a layer of mystery and hotness.
Still, next to Maverick King, he might as well have been Samwise Gamgee hanging out with Aragorn.
Mav wore black - as was his way. Every time she’d seen the King brothers, Desmond had been dressed in white, and Maverick in black. Callum hadn’t signed up for the monochromatic shit; he’d worn blue, red, and black, from what she recalled. Lexi wondered if it was some sort of a brother code going on there. One of the million questions adding up in her mind about the mysterious, handsome, ridiculously rich, charismatic, powerful, and somewhat intimidating brothers.
They probably just did things like that to make girls like her stay awake at night, pondering upon their secrets.
Seriously, this was getting pathetic. She’d barely slept a wink, although they were staying in an amazing palazzo, with a mattress and pillows so comfortable she should have immediately passed out. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, wondering about the man sleeping next door.
Pa-the-tic. And possibly slightly neurotic, too.
From the bar on the other side of the ballroom, Mav looked up towards her and Tori, so Lexi suddenly found her nails fascinating.
What was it with him and his ability to turn her into a twelve-year-old with goddam starry eyes?
“You guys are seriously going to have to fuck someday.”
She just snorted, rather than starting the same old argument with her delusional friend. Tori was sweet and awesome. She refused to believe that Maverick could be indifferent to her, because, quote, “Lexi, you’re so hot I’d fuck you, and I’m totally into sausage.” Tori just wouldn’t acknowledge that some men didn’t go for short blondes. Some men were into willowy models, movies stars, and famous singers, instead. It was the way their world worked.
She might or might not have googled him and seen which sort of woman he'd been photographed with in the past. They might as well all have been called Not-Lexi.
Lexi wasn’t into the whole false modesty thing, and she knew she was pretty; pretty enough to get most guys’ attention. The Kings weren’t “most guys,” though. They could literally get absolutely everyone they wanted. They belonged with glittery, famous people, heiresses, or, at the very least, kick-ass professionals like Tori. Not assistants who did their job and left at one past five o’clock every evening. Lexi practically lived pay check to pay check; Croft Advertising paid her well, but she lived in NYC. Although she shared her shoebox apartment with two other women - one who worked in the financial district, the other one who taught yoga - rent and transport took up most of her salary. Broke country bumpkins didn’t land the Maverick Kings of the world in this universe. And she was just fine with that. Really. As she'd told Tori, countless times. She was just enjoying the view - no harm in that.
Eventually, she’d stop looking. She’d only known him for a little under a month, and, in that period, they’d seen each other a handful of times before the European trip. Of course she was still a little dazzled. She’d build an immunity to him, eventually, if he stuck around. And he probably wouldn't; from what she knew of him, the man spent most of his time in Europe. Who could blame him, really? She liked America well enough, but the atmosphere here was incredible. They had nothing like these century-old buildings on their side of the pond.
He'd leave soon and she'd resume her life. Or, he'd stay and she'd grow indifferent to him. She attempted to convince herself of that as her body tensed; the men were crossing the room to get to them. Each of them had two drinks in their hands.
Shit, shit, shit. Imminent contact in three, two, one…
“One frizzante for my beautiful wife.”
Lexi sighed and threw up in her mouth a little as Bryant gave Tori her drink, before pulling her against his chest and kissing her forehead.
“I could get sick just watching you guys,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Maverick handed Lexi her bubbly wine wordlessly. For one half second, his blue eyes locked on hers. She forgot how to breathe, so it was just as well that it ended as quickly as it had started.
“These taste better with some hugs and kisses, you guys should try.”
She was going to murder Tori. Slowly. While laughing uncontrollably. What were they now, high schoolers?
After a stunned beat, Maverick laughed. It was forced as fuck, but hey, if he could do it, so could she.
Lexi started something that made her sound like a hyena on crack, and wisely decided to stop mid-hysteria. “That’s a no, by the way,” she translated, just in case they didn’t get it.
“How will my ego survive this rejection, I’ll never know,” Maverick replied, his tone bored and indifferent. He took a sip of his manly-amber-liquid-no-rocks, and then something happened that messed with her brain, big time.
The left corner of his mouth hiked up, ever so slightly, in an adorable crooked smile. He was smiling. At her. While his eyes were looking right into hers, like they were exchanging some sort of a joke.
Okay, she was dead. Or dreaming. Or she’d stepped into an alternate dimension.
Like none of that had happened at all, Maverick turned back to Bryant, and started to speak Boring, their favorite language. Stock market crash, good time for investing our billions, Trump sucks, yada, yada, yada. Tori weighed in; her friend was fluent in Boring. Lexi drank her fizzy wine in silence.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand what they were going on about. Finance and politics, along with legal issues around the country, had been the subjects of choice back in Louisiana. Her family was getting by, but the Millers were perfectly fluent in Boring. She just refused to pretend to care now. Screw the perfect southern debutante who could bat her lashes and then say the right thing at the right time to impress Mr. Moneybags and advance her family. She wanted to yawn, so she did.
“Keeping you up, are we?” Bryant teased her.
She shrugged. “Pretty sure watching paint dry could be more interesting than fluctuations in the market.”
Maverick shifted, and stared at her, lifting a brow.
“So, you wouldn’t be interested in putting some money down right now and multiplying it exponentially within a short few months?”
She laughed, and rolled her eyes. Hard. “Oh, goodie, one of those guys. You’re going to explain to me how investments work.”
He was, of course, entirely unapologetic about it. “I think everyone ought to consider putting money aide and seeing it grow, to secure their future.”
“I’ve joined a company that pays for my pension; that was me securing my future.”
He had to insist. “Perhaps,
but you’re what, twenty-five? You won’t get to your pension in more than a quarter of a century. Buying shares at the right time would mean making money - fast.”
“Twenty-eight. And, sweetheart,” she drawled, her inner debutante taking over, finally knocking down the ridiculous shy barrier erected between them, “After bills, I have three figures left per month, and most of it goes into buying, you know, food. Besides, investments may be wise for some of us, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s fucking boring.” Then, recalling that she was, after all, at work, she shot an apologetic glance towards Tori, who just winked.
Maverick glared at her, as though what she said personally offended him.
“Wouldn’t you want to do something so that you can buy a house next decade?”
“I live in New York City. I could sell pussy, crack, and sweeties, and I still wouldn’t be able to buy a house in a century.” She pointed to her own chest. “Normal person, here. I wasn’t given a handout at any point in my life. No offense to those of you who did, it’s awesome that your family helped, one way or another. Just don’t put us in the same basket. Having a hundred dollars extra at the end of the month is my definition of luxury.” And to nail her point, she did add, “And when I do have it, I spend it on something fun that makes me happy.”
There was a little silence after her tirade. Oops. She probably shouldn’t have said all that in front of Tori and Bryant Parker, and a damn King, all of whom had received a hand out. Tori had twenty percent of Croft Advertising from her father, and she'd also never had to worry about paying for school or expenses. Parker was his rich-as-fuck father's heir, and had gotten some help from his elder brother, too. The Kings might have grown their father's empire, but they'd gotten it on a silver platter to start with. Whereas she had gotten $250 a month back in college, and that was it. Even then, she knew that she was one of the privileged ones.
"Sorry. Should I have pretended to drink the Kool-Aid and said we're all born equal?"