by Lena Black
“This is a crazy idea,” she comments just before the door opens and Marlena appears looking all business in her onyx suit. She isn’t wearing a camisole under the jacket, her impressive cleavage peeking out of the top. She’s all sex and Dominant bravado.
“Hello, kitten,” she purrs, giving me the fuck me eyes she has down to a science.
“Hello, Marlena,” I greet her.
Her eyes move to Brooke standing so close to me, you’d swear we were Siamese twins.
“You’re looking well, Miss Evans.” She smiles at her.
I think Brooke is unsure of her authenticity, but smiles tightly back at her.
“Hello.”
She straightens out her shoulders and lifts her head up high, retaining the Brooke I know and love.
“Please, come in.”
She steps aside to let us enter. The club, which never seems to be without members, is unusually quiet and empty.
“I’ve closed the Manor for the afternoon. I thought it was appropriate for the occasion.”
“Is everyone here?” I ask, taking off my rain sprinkled coat and hanging it on the coat rack next the front door.
“The last arrived ten minutes ago. I’ve seated them in the dining room.”
“Thank you for doing this, Marlena.”
“Anything for you and Damian.”
We walk toward the back of the grand entryway and enter the final room before the kitchen. Marlena slides open the doors dramatically and steps inside the room of nine women arranged around the long dining table. Every one of them is exceptionally beautiful and holds themselves in a confident manner, that’s about where their physical similarities end. Each woman is different in appearance, ranging from tall to petite, supermodel thin with breasts of the smaller variation to luscious curves...everywhere, and every shade in the ethnic rainbow.
I am the only blonde.
Interesting.
I suppose he was looking to add one to his diverse collection. I giggle at the thought, but stifle it before any of the women even notice I’ve entered the room. Their eyes are trained on Marlena. She has that ability. Just like Hunt.
“Welcome, ladies,” Marlena greets them. “I won’t make a long speech about why you’re here. Instead, I’ll let my guest explain.”
Brooke takes a seat at one of three remaining chairs and Marlena sits on the opposite side, leaving the head of the table open for me. I glance at the Mistress of the house, checking if she’s really allowing me to head the table. She has a whisper of a smile on her lips and nods to the seat. I suppose it really doesn’t matter where she sits. Her ability to capture a room comes from her strong female awesomeness.
I take a seat and clear my throat.
“I should probably start by introducing myself. I’m…”
“We know who you are,” a red-headed beauty speaks up, “Mrs. Hunt.”
I’m pretty sure she’s on this month’s issue of my favorite fashion magazine. I shouldn’t be surprised Damian dated a model. He’s extremely attractive and extremely rich. He’s model kryptonite.
“Then you know why you’re here,” I continue, trying to mentally hurtle over the idea I’m sitting in the same room as every woman (minus one) that Hunt’s ever been with in the bedroom. This would be an easier pill to swallow if his sexual tastes weren’t so…flavorful, my brain inundated with lewd images of these women in scenarios I’ve experienced with Hunt.
“It isn’t hard to figure out,” another says, her auburn hair chopped into a chic pixie cut.
“Believe me, this isn’t a situation I thought I’d find myself in. I can’t imagine this is comfortable for any of you either. Truthfully, I’m thankful for the opportunity to see you ladies in person. You’re more than images on walls and lingering memories.” I’m curious which female belongs to which picture. Damian has since moved them into his studio, filling the bedroom walls with the two of us…mostly me. “Anyway, from what I was told by Miss Evans and Mistress Marlena, personal information about my husband has been leaked. Perhaps it was done to ruin his reputation in the community, to hurt his business, or simply mess with his life. Whatever the reason, it needs to stop. Now, luckily, it hasn’t reached the press yet. Though we know it’s only a matter of time before it does. But the why doesn’t make sense. Why, after years of silence and respect for the intimacy of your relationships with Hunt, you suddenly spill everything.”
I pause, giving them the chance to clear the air and explain themselves. But none of them speak. The room is heavy with anxious silence. Their eyes shift from one woman to the next, waiting to see who would have the nerve to talk first.
Brooke jumps up, her face crimson with anger. “So you can speak ill of Master Hunt, but none of you are willing to say shit now? After everything he’s done, this is our thanks?”
“You don’t understand what we’re going through,” one blurts, Nikki, a Japanese beauty with bone straight midnight hair. “He threatened us.”
“I understand exactly what everyone is going through.”
“If he found out we’re here, he’d…” another says.
“You can say his name,” I insist. “He won’t appear. Dante threatened you. I’m guessing something you love or want to keep hidden in exchange for information on your relationships.”
“And to tell anyone who would listen.”
“Why wouldn’t he go straight to the press with this?” Brooke whispers near my ear.
“Because he probably wants to bribe us or ruin Damian’s standing in the public eye. This is eventually going to spread all over the internet if we can’t get things under control first.” I look back at the table surrounded by Damian’s former lovers. “This is what I want. I want you to deny the rumors at all costs. Lie if you have to. Tell people you were scorned lovers and wanted revenge on him and his new bride. I want you to be as convincing as you’re capable of. In return for your cooperation, I will pay each of you two million dollars and protection against Dante.”
“How will you protect us from him?”
“I’ll hire a well-trained staff of security detail to watch after you until this situation with Dante has been handled. But this has to stop. You aren’t to speak to anyone about this except to deny what’s been said. I’ll give you ladies a few moments to discuss everything and come to a unanimous decision.”
I rise from my chair, Marlena and Brooke following suit, and walk out of the room. I step into the foyer, my cheeks flush and heart pounding, and take a breath. I need these women to agree to my proposition. I need to know Damian’s reputation is safe. Though I’m sure he’d be less than pleased by my being here with his ex-lovers. But he’s away and will never have to know about this afternoon.
Brooke asked me why this was so important to me, why I couldn’t let Hunt take care of this. I simply said, “He’d do the same for me.” And it’s the truth. He’s done so much for me over the past year, cleaned so many messes, handled so many situations, this is something I can do for him. And maybe he’ll see I’m able to handle whatever comes our way.
I arrive back at the penthouse as the skies outside turn dark and gray. I’m greeted by Hunt in his office. He managed to get back a few hours earlier than expected. I undress, take a hot bath, and dress in one of my old concert tees and a pair of gray sweats. I settle on the couch in the main room with my laptop while I wait for Damian to tie up a couple (work-related) loose ends. After an afternoon with the ghosts of Hunt’s past, I want to rest and spend time with my husband for the rest of the night.
But life has other plans.
My cellphone goes off, and I retrieve it from the deepest recesses of my pocket, pressing it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Ellie,” Sloan’s voice whimpers out, “are you home?”
Damian descends the stairs as I answer, “Yeah. Why? What’s up?”
He shoots me an inquiring look, and I mouth her name. He gets a look of clarity as he walks over and takes a seat next to me.
I’d be caught off guard by her surprise visit if it hadn’t become the norm. She has been really emotional being seven months pregnant. With twins, no less. Hunt and I have been trying to help her with whatever she needs for the babies’ arrival.
“Sure. I’ll see you in a few.”
A few moments later, the elevator doors open, and I spot her vibrant, soaked, cherry red hair. Her head is down, staring at the ever-growing baby bump. When she looks up, her large amber doe eyes meet mine. They’re red and watery from hard crying. Her normally fair skin looks pale, sickly pale.
“What’s happened, Sloan?” I ask, worried.
Her arms fall to her side. “He doesn’t want them.”
“What?”
“Shane told me he’s been having doubts about being a father.”
“Oh…honey, I’m so sorry.” I scamper over and enclose my arms around her, allowing her a shoulder to cry on, literally. The instant her face hits it, she begins to bawl her big eyes out. I guide her over to the couch, holding her up with my arm grasped firmly about her shoulder, and ease her onto it.
I grab the touchscreen pad on the couch beside me and hit the button to start the fireplace. It’s still pouring sheets out, and she’s drenched. I help take her jacket off and toss a throw over her shoulders, warming her up before she catches her death.
“I was blindsided. Everything seemed fine,” she utters, staring down at her belly. “When I came home from my doctor appointment today, he unloaded on me. He never really wanted a kid, especially not twins. Then he said he’d met someone else and she was moving in. I was so shocked and devastated, I ran. I’m such a loser.”
“You are not a loser, Sloan. He is. One day, he’ll wake up, his life fallen apart around him, and realize he made the biggest mistake of his life letting you and those beautiful children go.”
She takes a large gulp of air and then looks up at me with terror in her eyes. “What am I going to do, Ellie? I have no place to live…I can’t raise these babies on my own.”
I see panic starting to set in her eyes, and the last thing we need is her to freak out and induce early labor.
“You won’t have to.” Hunt’s voice slices through the fearful tension. “You can stay here as long as you need. And we will help you with whatever you choose to do.”
“That’s too much,” she insists, attempting to argue with him.
Cute. She thinks she can argue this with him. Hunt does what he wants. Your thoughts and opinions aren’t necessary. I’d hate it if he weren’t always right…and it wasn’t so damn sexy.
“I won’t hear anything about it. I have a guestroom here on the first floor where you have full access to the kitchen, library, anywhere you like. You can also call anyone, anywhere in the house from the touchscreen system in your room, so when you go into labor, we can get to you instantly.”
I feel her relax in my arms.
“Damian,” I murmur with an awestruck, aroused look on my face. Watching him take control and protect someone I love excites and delights me. There’s something in his dominance that ignites a need in me to please, to submit to his every desire, not only sexually but emotionally and mentally.
I smile up at him, and he smiles back, but you can see the hurt in his eyes. I think in some ways she reminds him of Vanessa, his ex-sub/girlfriend who had been pregnant with their child. Sadly, the child was lost. I know he feels betrayed by her, stabbed in the back by her association with Dante. I’m happy to say we haven’t heard from her since the party at the Montgomery’s vineyard, when I grabbed Hunt’s manhood and staked my claim, sending her stomping off in an infuriated huff.
“You both need something hot to drink,” Hunt states, heading toward the kitchen before we say a word. What’s so amusing about it? His mom did the same thing to us during Thanksgiving. He’s more like Vivian than he realizes. She’s loving and nurturing too. Yet she knows how to take a situation in hand and make it hers.
“Kinda dominating, isn’t he?” Sloan comments with a nod toward the kitchen.
“You have no idea,” I retort with a roll of the eyes, and we giggle. It’s nice to see her happy. She’s been so stressed and down lately. But I hope that’s about to change for her. Hunt’s promise is good as gold.
“Are you feeling better, now?” I ask, rubbing her back in an encouraging circular motion.
“I feel…relief,” she says with a long exhale.
“Good. And we’ll get whatever you need from the bastard’s apartment. We’ll take care of everything,” I promise her, taking her hand in mine.
“How will I ever be able to thank you?” She grins softly at me, tucking a drying, Kool-Aid red hair behind her ear. I actually think that’s what she uses. When we first met a few years back, it was an electric blue then purple, orange, green, and hot pink. But, I like the red best. I don’t even know her real hair color.
We relax back into the couch and stare out at the storm, letting the warmth of the fire take the chill out of her bones. Hunt enters the room with two large colorful mugs and hands them to us. The chocolatey scent of my cocoa wafts into my nose. I take a sip, the warm, rich chocolate filling my mouth and trickling down my throat and into my tummy, warming me from the inside out. I moan and glance up at Hunt grinning down at me with a devilishness.
What is his obsession with my moaning…? Oh, right.
“This is delicious,” Sloan states with a tiny cocoa mustache. She licks it off, savoring every drop.
“I’m pleased,” Damian says, smiling warmly.
“You’re really a great guy, Mr. Hottie.” She smirks up at him, referring to the name we gave him that first night in the club. Hunt laughs, throwing his head back.
“Does that make me Mrs. Hottie?” I ask her.
She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. “I guess so.”
Chapter Six
In Heat
I hate doctor’s offices. I know they’re here to help, but they still make me uncomfortable. I sit in the waiting room of my new doctor, Damian’s doctor. She’s supposed to be the best private physician in San Francisco. I would expect no less.
I’m here for the initial checkup, physical, etc.
I fill out the forms as thoroughly as I can, giving every bit of medical history I remember. But when I get to the parents’ section, I hesitate, the tip of the pen hovering over the blank spaces. It’s natural to write Marshall Hyde, but he wasn’t my blood. Caleb is, and I know nothing about him.
I leave it blank.
Once I’ve handed in my paperwork, a young woman calls me into the back, “Gabrielle Hunt, Dr. Charles will see you now,” and then escorts me to one of the back rooms. As she’s readying to take my vitals, the doctor steps into the room.
“I can take care of Mrs. Hunt, Jolene. Thank you.”
The medical assistant smiles sweetly at me and then takes her leave.
The surprisingly older female doctor, places down my chart, giving it a quick onceover before taking my vitals. I expected someone younger, stunning, but this woman reminds me of my grandmother, a few wispy gray hairs falling around her face.
“I’m guessing you don’t do this with all your patients.”
“No, only my special ones.”
“I guess money talks.”
“You misunderstand. You aren’t important because of your bank account, Mrs. Hunt. You’re important because I’ve been Damian’s physician for years, and his parents’ before that. I helped bring that young man into this world.”
I smile at her. “Then I owe you a huge debt of thanks.”
She smiles up at me. I suddenly feel less nervous. I like her.
“Your vitals are strong and steady, Mrs. Hunt. I’d like to talk medical history with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
She goes through the easy stuff first (allergies, surgeries, broken bones) and then starts on the hard
stuff.
“You left your father’s name and history blank,” she states, scanning the paperwork to double-check.
“It’s a complicated situation,” I admit, my hands rubbing up and down my thighs anxiously. “I have two fathers.”
“Ah, I see. We would need your biological father’s information, Mrs. Hunt, to be sure you aren’t at risk for any genetic conditions. Especially since women tend to take after their father.”
“I’m not familiar with his history. I was unaware he was my father until recently and we haven’t really had time to sit and get to know one another on that level.”
“Were you raised by a step-father?”
“No, I was raised by my dad, Marshall Hyde, but unfortunately, my parents couldn’t have children. My mother told me his…” I pause, unable to think the word, let alone say it when it pertains to my father.
“Sperm?”
“Yes,” I confirm, grateful she didn’t make me say it myself. “And her eggs weren’t compatible.”
“So they went to a donor.”
“That’s correct.”
“And is this donor anonymous?”
“He was up until about seven months ago.”
“Could you contact him and find out anything he may know about his family’s medical history?”
“I’ll get the information to you as soon as possible.”
“Fantastic. Alright,” she glimpses back down to my chart. “It says here you were admitted to the hospital during your college years, for severe injuries.”
“Correct.”
“You were pregnant, but due to the extent of the injuries, you lost the child.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Did your doctor speak with you about the possibility you may be unable to conceive and carry a baby to term?”
“Um, no. Is this something I should be concerned about?”