The Greatest Risk

by Kristen Ashley

  It didn’t seem very fast to Stellan.

  “Too fast,” Aryas went on.

  “It’s as it needs to be,” Stellan replied.

  “She’s sub, man,” Aryas said quietly, like he was breaking a confidence.

  Which he was.

  “Just leave it at that,” Stellan returned. “You go deeper in this conversation, she finds out, it would cause harm, and I’m trying to avoid that.”

  “She’s also straight-up Domme.”

  “I’m aware of both.”

  “Yeah. Took her to the pit. Gave her a warrior. Got her a toy for your party.” There was a pause when Stellan imagined Aryas was shaking his head before he said, “Fuck. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Deciding it was best to change the subject, Stellan did that.

  “I need a Mistress.”

  “Say again?” Aryas demanded.

  “For the warrior I gave Simone. She wants to find someone for him that will work well with him, in a playroom and out. As she describes, someone who’s not psycho-crazy in one zone or the other. My take is it would be something like Leenie gives to Dillinger, perhaps more hardcore, though I can’t know how Dillinger likes it played. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “You two are finding another Domme to be with the sub you got for Sixx to work?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he muttered.

  “It’s what she wants for him.”

  “And who’s she gonna work, brother?” Aryas asked.

  Stellan said nothing.

  Aryas didn’t let it go. “Those times she needs to work someone over, what’s she gonna do?”

  “We’ll sort something out.”

  “You do know that we’re talkin’ about her and you. Her and you. How long’s it gonna take before you can’t take it anymore, Stellan, watchin’ her do her thing with another guy?”

  “Our thing is not even a week old, Aryas. So I’m a little focused on a number of other variables that take precedence. We’ll deal with that when it happens.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He was finished with this conversation and thus moved to draw a line under it.

  “I’ll do anything to make her happy, so yes, Aryas, fuck yes. I am absolutely sure.”

  Aryas fell silent.

  He also broke that silence.

  “There’s that story, the thorn in the paw,” he began. “It may play that way for you, and I hope it does. But other side of that coin is the beast rips his healer’s throat out. Have a care, my man, and I like you, I respect you, you’re good people. But I love her. If you fuck this up, and she tears into your throat, it’ll hurt like fuck, but you’ll heal and move on. She’ll never forgive herself. She’ll never let anyone close again. And we’ll all lose her forever.”

  Yes, Aryas knew far more than Simone thought he knew.

  Before Stellan could form a reply, Aryas had dropped the line.

  “Sage bastard,” Stellan growled at his phone.

  When he did, a beep came with a text that showed a tiny picture on his screen.

  At the name, and the picture, he pulled it up.

  There he stared at a selfie of Simone winking at the camera cheekily from behind a tempting, windswept hank of hair under which it said, Adorably fuckable.

  And the conversations with Susan and Aryas were lost when Stellan burst out laughing.

  He was still doing it as his finger moved over his phone.

  He texted her back with X.

  And then he saved the picture to Simone’s contact and changed the name to “Adorably Fuckable.”

  * * *

  That night, walking into Buck &Rider with Sixx wearing a white leather, body-skimming slip dress with a scooped neck, thin straps and a hemline to her knees paired with gray snakeskin pumps, he knew every man whose eyes followed her did not think she was adorably fuckable.

  They thought she was just fuckable.

  And he had never walked into anywhere with any woman on his arm feeling the way he was feeling escorting Simone to their table.

  Like a lion roaming the savanna taking in his domain.

  His father didn’t understand this feeling.

  He wanted it, even so far as convinced himself he had it, but deep down he knew he wasn’t strong enough to earn it.

  “Hey,” she called after he seated her and took the chair at the angle to hers.

  Stellan looked at her, saw his mark at her neck, and felt his cock stirring lazily at the memory of how it happened and the knowledge that every man whose eyes followed her to that table, every man who was surreptitiously watching them now, knew how she’d earned his mark.

  As much as he liked that, he also saw her throat bare and decided to have collars custom-made just like the one she’d worn Saturday night, but in real rose gold. And yellow gold. And platinum.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He took his napkin, shook it out, and put it on his lap.

  Then he turned again to her.

  “I’m never going to be my father,” he announced.

  Her chin jerked back into her neck, and her brows drew straight down like she’d personally been insulted.

  “Of course you’re not,” she snapped.

  His father didn’t understand that kind of reaction either.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Stellan,” she said quietly, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the side of his hand. “The stuff that came up this morning is messing with—”

  He turned his hand and gripped her fingers hard.

  “It’s not.”

  Her fingers gripped hard back.

  And his father would never have that either.

  “Then why are you talking about it?” she asked.

  A server approached.

  Stellan stared him down.

  The server retreated.

  Stellan looked back at Simone.

  “My assistant means the world to me, and I’d like for us to have dinner with her and her husband, perhaps next week.”

  “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

  Whether her hesitancy came from the change of subject or his statement, it didn’t matter.

  She was meeting Susan, and they were done discussing his father.

  “I order for you,” he instructed. “Before the server returns, tell me what you want to drink, and before he comes back, tell me what you want to eat. You sit there owned by me tonight, darling.”

  Her fingers tensed in his, she wriggled a little on her seat, heat flared in her eyes, and she repeated, quieter this time, “Okay, baby.”

  He liked her response.

  And he was very much looking forward to that weekend when he’d be breaking her into that part of their lives.

  But they had other things to get straight.

  “I asked Aryas to help us find Ami a Mistress. He’s good for another session or two with you, but that’s all, Simone. For his sake, you’ll need to cut him loose. We’ll find a way to meet that need for you, but you’ll be losing Ami. You decide the when, you can have him in a playroom at the Honey with the blinds down or my playroom at home. Either way, I’ll be with you. Watching.”

  “You have a playroom at your house?”

  “I should have given you the full tour. I’ll do that tonight when we return home.”

  She gave him her cat’s smile, and again he didn’t know if she was giving it because she wanted him to play with her there, or if she wanted to play there.

  That didn’t matter either.

  “I’ll be dismantling it, Simone. When I work you, the way I’ll work you, it’ll be in our home and in our bed. We’ve got the resources to assuage your alternate needs, and when we want a change of scenery, we have the resources to find that too.”

  She nodded and held fast to his hand, her expression turning searching.

  “Stellan, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course. There’s no reason not to be. I’m a man wh
o has everything,” he replied.

  “Seemingly,” she returned. “But no one can have everything.”

  He stared her straight in the eye, squeezed her fingers tight, and repeated, “I’m a man who has everything.”

  She understood him, he knew, because her gaze grew warm, her face soft.

  But her lips murmured, “God, you’re impossible.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know that happy you’re so determined for me to have?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” she started like she was grousing, “I’m actually beginning to see the path, it is bright and cheery, which means you were right, within less than forty-eight hours, and that’s annoying.”

  As he was finding he often did with Simone …

  Stellan burst out laughing.

  nine

  A Force onto Him

  SIXX

  Sixx sat in her car, her digital camera with the long telephoto lens attached to it up and aimed.

  Thus she took a variety of pictures of the man who was doing yardwork two houses down—mowing the lawn, blowing debris, bending, bagging and hefting the bags into the back of his truck.

  When she had a number of snaps, she lowered the camera and muttered, “People are so stupid.”

  Particularly that man, who had taken yardwork-for-cash jobs when he was alternately suing his employer for supposed injuries on a manual labor job that left him physically unable to work, at the same time collecting disability checks from the government.

  What was on her camera meant at least the lawsuit was over.

  Now she needed to send the photos to the attorney on the case, check her email, and tie things up for the weekend.

  And considering she didn’t have a workspace at the firm, mostly since her work happened in the field, if she had to hook in she usually opened her laptop in a coffeehouse or bar somewhere. This was because she didn’t have Wi-Fi at her “hovel.”

  But since she was done for the day, she decided she’d just go back to Stellan’s and deal with everything (he did have Wi-Fi, and about a gazillion Wi-Fi extenders, so it was fast as a shot throughout the house). He’d be home soon anyway, and then they could have dinner, hang, fuck, sleep, and then …

  She stilled her mind, set her camera on the passenger seat, and shifted the Cayenne into drive, putting her foot on the gas to head to Stellan’s.

  It was Friday.

  The end of the best week of her life.

  Bar none.

  So much the best, it blasted everything out of the water.

  Not that there was much competition.

  It was just that living with Stellan was …

  Sublime.

  It was not a surprise the man was phenomenally talented in bed. She’d only seen him at play, but what she’d seen, the veneration in which his subs held him, that two and two definitely equaled four million, and the reality proved that.

  But it wasn’t that.

  It was that he thought she was funny.

  God, every time she made him laugh, she felt like a god, like she’d wrought some miracle.

  He was happy. Happy to be with her.

  She’d never made anyone happy in her entire life.

  She was a definite smartass, so she’d had occasion to make people laugh.

  But it was different with Stellan.

  It moved her completely that she could give that to him.

  It was … she couldn’t describe it even in her head.

  It just meant everything that she could make Stellan happy.

  The rest, regardless of how much of it there was, and there was a lot, was frosting.

  Not the sex. Sex with Stellan was definitely moist, rich, delicious cake.

  But the rest felt like she was on a game show, and she’d jumped through all the hoops to win the million-dollar prize, and then the confetti dropped and the band played and she’d been told she’d also won the fabulous all-expenses-paid vacation to Italy, the new car and the yacht.

  Seriously, he looked like he looked, dressed like he dressed, fucked like he fucked … and the man could cook and he liked to cook, but mostly, he liked to cook for her.

  He also adored his assistant, spoke about her like she was a beloved member of his family, with humor and devotion in his voice and a look on his handsome face that Sixx felt pierce right through her heart (in a good way) and warm her down deep in her belly.

  He further spoke with respect and amused affection about “M,” (though Sixx had not seen Margarita since she arrived at the pool party, she’d seen the effects of her taking care of Stellan … and now Sixx).

  There was also how attentive he was to Sixx. And how he didn’t hide he found her fascinating. How he listened actively to anything she said, like he wasn’t just interested but absorbing it, breathing it in like it was as essential as oxygen.

  Not to mention she simply just loved watching him. He was comfortable and confident in any surroundings—his home, the restaurants he took her to, everywhere (she’d now had three “dates,” if you included when they went to the pit, though two of them were dates where she went home with her date—Stellan liked to cook but he also liked to eat out).

  And last, he could make a mean cocktail.

  They hadn’t gotten into anything heavy after their Monday morning together. He asked about her day and listened. She asked about his and definitely listened. He read, so she bought some ebooks for her laptop, and she read on opposite ends of the couch to him, their legs tangled. They cooked (or she sipped the cocktails he made her while he cooked, Sixx didn’t cook if she could avoid it, and so far in her life, she’d been able to do that). They took night swims in his pool. They had lots and lots (and lots) of sex (including sex in the pool).

  It was awesome.

  It made her …

  Happy.

  But last night, while eating Stellan’s astounding hamburgers (he even made hamburgers extraordinarily, the insides having homemade bacon bits, sautéed mushrooms and onions, and cheese, they were incredible), he’d told her that, “Your weekend of submitting to me, darling, will start Saturday morning, the minute you wake.”

  Tomorrow.

  It was not lost on her that he’d been guiding her toward what would be happening over the weekend all through the week. He had a commanding personality naturally, but the things he said and expected of her were not entirely about that being simply a part of who he was. Not to mention, he’d tell her straight when he wanted her in her role, when he was slipping them into a modified scene, like he did at Buck &Rider when he took control of ordering for her.

  She was not only a Domme who had worked subs; she’d been to a variety of sex clubs seeing other Doms work their subs.

  And she’d seen Stellan work his.

  But that was in a playroom at the Honey.

  He’d told her he’d be dismantling the fully kitted, seriously-the-bomb playroom in his house because the way he’d work her would be “in our home and in our bed.”

  Sixx had no idea what that meant.

  But it was making her nervous.

  For a variety of reasons.

  She forced herself not to think about it as she made the trek to Stellan’s house, and then she had to force herself to buck up when she saw the Toyota Camry in the drive as she headed toward the four-car garage where she now parked her baby.

  She suspected that Camry belonged to Margarita, and she suspected it had not been lost on Margarita that someone was sleeping with Stellan in his bed considering the fact the half of his closet that hadn’t been filled was now full of leather and designer fabulousness and his clothes hamper had women’s panties in it (as well as other things).

  She parked in the garage next to Stellan’s Maserati (when did something like that become part of her life?), took a breath, grabbed her workbag, her camera, and pulled herself out.

  She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting, black leather short shorts and an oversized dark gray tank that d
ipped so low in the front it nearly showed cleavage, these with a pair of simple black T-strap sandals.

  And for the first time in her life, she wondered what someone would think of her outfit (this did not count Stellan, she always wondered what he thought of what she wore, at the club, in a playroom, and especially recently—then again, recently, she was in no doubt. He could express a good deal of appreciation just using his eyes).

  She hit the button to close up the garage and entered the house through the door that led to a laundry room that would bring many women to tears. The area offered so much counter space, cabinetry and mounted drying racks that even Sixx got excited when she saw it, and laundry was never exciting.

  She came into the back hall that led to Stellan’s home office, which was nicer than her boss’s office-office, and bigger than her entire apartment (then again, nearly every room in Stellan’s house was bigger than her apartment; there was a powder room on the lower level that wasn’t, but that was it), a library, a game room and the door to what was very unusual for any home to have in Phoenix—a basement.

  Along with a home theater (yup, he had a four-seat home-freaking-theater), a walk-in wine cellar and a lot of storage, Stellan’s vast playroom was down there.

  She hit the kitchen with some trepidation because she knew Margarita made the bed every day, dealt with the laundry, and tidied up breakfast dishes as well as kept the entire place spotless, so there was a possibility she could be anywhere, including the kitchen.

  And Stellan respected and adored her, and thus Sixx felt the bizarre need for Margarita at least to respect and like Sixx.

  She wasn’t even letting herself think about meeting Stellan’s assistant, Susan, and her husband, Harry.

  The only good first impression she’d ever cared she’d make was getting the man behind the money who was hiring her for a job to do just that.

  She’d never had to make people like her.

  She didn’t know how to do it.

  And Margarita was a Mexican-American grandmother who had the opportunity to see Sixx’s entire collection of leather, knew she’d moved in and was sleeping out of wedlock with Margarita’s employer (though, Stellan shared, he kept the playroom under lock and key, and Margarita did not have that particular key).

  She didn’t think that was a good first impression already.