Rough Ride (Let it Ride Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  I’d stalked her online, in the name of pre-employment research, of course. Potential employees wrote down their social media profile handles. The company’s image had to be protected. We couldn’t let anyone’s online activities tarnish our reputation.

  New York is a surprisingly small town. Her father and I had attended more than one function, and I can’t say I was impressed by him. He always had a newer, younger woman on his arm. According to Kate’s Facebook profile, the man didn’t make time for her.

  The neglect made me think she might appreciate an older male figure in her life, a role model. And I happened to know an eager volunteer.

  Stop it.

  I kept running. The sweat felt good, the momentum, even better. I loved taking care of my body—exercising, eating right. A month shy of his fiftieth birthday, my father had a heart attack at his job site one terrible Monday morning. He was an electrician by trade. The crew had called an ambulance, but it was too late. My father was gone before the paramedics arrived.

  It’d scared the hell out of me, and my lifestyle changed overnight—no more junk food, no more processed meals, no more sitting around. And no excuses. So far, I was in good health, but I was vigilant against backsliding.

  I only had one vice left—my fetish.

  It wasn’t even a vice, really. While some people considered it a sickness, I called it a Friday. I sexually dominate submissive women. So what? Its consensual adult fun and all above board.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t had the opportunity to indulge myself lately.

  Work took up most of my time, and finding a kinky, discreet submissive had proved impossible.

  While I’d had professional success, my love life was crap. The past couple of years I’d been casually dating Angela. It’d never gotten serious—decent vanilla sex and pleasant companionship for the occasional evening out. She could be a bit dramatic at times, but I sensed Angela was treading water too, waiting for someone special to come along.

  Someone like Kate.

  Sex with Angela did the job, but it didn’t move me. Dominant/submissive relationships were intense, maintained by absolute trust. It isn’t all about the sex. There’s a strong emotional attachment and a mental compatibility. I’d had the good fortune of having a loving BDSM bond with a sub once, but it’d ended, and I’d been chasing another one ever since.

  No, Kate wasn’t an option.

  She was half my age, and I didn’t have the slightest idea if she’s kinky or not. But the brash way she challenged me made my blood boil, and not with anger. Since I met her, I’ve been distracted by dirty fantasies—taking her hard on my desk, smacking her pert little bottom.

  I ran faster on the treadmill, but I couldn’t outrun my needs.

  Kate had a point. I should’ve fired her weeks ago for insolence, but I wanted her. And I thought…or maybe hoped, she was submissive, beneath all the mouthy bluster. She struck me as a brat—a bottom who likes to challenge her Dominant. She had all the hallmarks—Type A personality, daddy issues from her father’s indifference, and a high achiever. It was only natural she’d need to relax in her social life, let someone like me lead the way.

  As the weeks went by, my preoccupation with her grew into an obsession. Kate had the starring role in all my sexual fantasies. I hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a very long time.

  After I wore myself out, I slung a towel over my shoulder and powered down the machine.

  Kate was still snoozing away. I wasn’t sure if she trusted me enough to sleep while I was in the room, or if she was merely exhausted and gave in to the need to sleep.

  Regardless, I loved having her here with me.

  I placed a Mickey Mouse cupcake on the oak coffee table. On impulse, I’d bought it for her downstairs when I stopped to pick up the Wall Street Journal this morning.

  From my online snooping, I knew she had a thing for Disney. She’d gone to the Magic Kingdom multiple times, I’d seen countless pictures of her in Mouseketeer ears, and she’d listed all the Disney Princess movies as her favorite.

  I’d intended to give her the treat, along with an excuse for buying it, during the meeting, but she’d looked so dejected I’d forgotten.

  I’d had my share of shitty birthdays, so I empathized.

  God, she was heartrendingly beautiful.

  Her guard was down. Kate’s skin was lovely, a glowing porcelain, and she reminded me of a china doll. She’d piled a couple of decorative pillows underneath her head, and one hand rested beneath her soft cheek. I wanted to kiss her, capture her lush mouth.

  Stop it.

  I had the urge to smooth her short, curly hair. And I thought about leaning down and sneaking a kiss, but it would cross a dangerous line.

  My imagination caught fire, and I had a sudden vision of her pressed against the glass windows, me behind her, a hand beneath her skirt.

  The thought alone got me hard. I stifled a groan.

  She’d be blindfolded, no panties, helpless as I teased her, tormented her vulnerable flesh. Then I’d fuck her against the windows. We’d come to the building after hours, and I’d have her all over this office—slung over the arm of the couch, lying on my desk.

  And then I’d take her into the shower with me, clean her off, kiss her. There was something sensual about comforting a sub, caressing them, kissing away the hurt. I wanted her to be vulnerable with me, let me in.

  Fuck, I needed to let loose—but not with her.

  What the hell was I thinking? Well, I knew what I was thinking with anyway. I felt like an old letch standing here staring, salivating over her.

  So I locked myself in my private bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Although a cold one would’ve been more appropriate.

  I should transfer Kate to one of my account managers. Sooner or later, I’d fuck up and overstep the line, but I couldn’t let go of her. Not yet.

  I needed to go to Ravage tonight.

  Hell, I might book a couple more sessions this weekend. If I wanted to survive the rest of Kate’s internship, I’d have to satisfy my desires, one way or another.

  I was going to let the beast out of its cage before it went after Kate.

  Chapter Three

  Kate

  “Your stepfather’s hot.”

  Giving Poppy Bishop a hard time was always fun. She silently fumed, and I waited for the explosion.

  Hours had passed, and I was at the club with my friends. As a marketing major, I always noticed how a business presented itself to the public.

  Vagabond had a stage in the center of the room which often featured local up and coming acts— as well as famous ones touring in the city. The club had an upmarket wine and piano bar kind of crowd—wealthy Manhattanites in their thirties with money to burn.

  If I wasn’t so restless, I’d be enjoying the ambiance more.

  The rest of the day had passed without incident. I didn’t see Malcolm again, and under normal circumstances, it would’ve been good news.

  Yet I was fighting the strangest urge to talk to him again. I was even tempted to show up at his apartment on one pretext or another. After all, I had a key to his place, and I knew his girlfriend wouldn’t be there tonight. I could say I’d forgotten to pick up his mail or the non-fat Greek yogurt he wanted.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  The man was kind to me once, and now I’m a pushover? Malcolm was the last guy on earth I should be thinking about. Maybe this was a bit of crazy leftover from my bout of birthday blues.

  “Stop calling him that.”

  I chuckled. “Calling him what?”

  “You know what.” Poppy shifted in her chair. “He’s not my stepfather. Sebastian’s just a man my mom married.”

  Poppy was a petite strawberry blonde with warm hazel eyes. No wonder Sebastian Cross couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  And I was calling bullshit on her comment, which I communicated with a disbelieving look.

  A second ago, she’d been just as riveted as the r
est of us by his sexy rendition of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me.” I hadn’t missed the significance of the song—a man’s obsession with a younger woman. Sebastian had crooned the words along with spicy glances in my friend’s direction.

  Poppy and I met at Trinity Prep and roomed together our freshman year at Columbia, where we’d met Darcy James and Iris Davenport. The four of us had been best friends ever since. Right now, we shared an off-campus apartment, but the lease was up in May.

  Who knew where we’d be this time next year?

  The thought was depressing, and I washed the bitter taste from my mouth with Korbel. If I kept drinking like this, I’d have a hangover tomorrow morning too. I wondered if Malcolm would offer me another coffee nap.

  Somehow, I doubted it. His generosity was bound to run out sooner or later.

  “I’ve told you a million times—they aren’t really married, it’s a publicity stunt on steroids to help both of their careers.” Poppy frowned. “By the way, it’s over in a few weeks. They’ve agreed to a polite, public break-up, and then they’re going to do this whole elaborate staged friendship thing for the next few months to make it look real. They’ll go to movie openings and lunches for show. ”

  Not a bad idea. I bet it would trend on Instagram. I could even picture the hashtag—#breakuplikeaboss.

  Poppy’s mom, Bettie, was an actress. In the early nineties, she’d been on a huge sitcom but got fired for a coke habit, which led to a couple rounds of rehab. By the time she’d cleaned up, her career had taken a big nosedive, until she’d starred on a bachelorette type of show, Lovesick.

  Bettie had gotten hitched to Sebastian during May sweeps. After the ratings success, she’d been offered a role in a smash Broadway musical.

  Sebastian had benefited as well. In addition to owning Vagabond, he was working on a solo album. Since his own stint in rehab, he’d semi-retired from his band, Mutiny. According to Poppy, Sebastian had written a bunch of new songs. And she said they were good—maybe the best work he’d ever done.

  Or maybe Poppy was a bit biased, since she had a raging crush on the man.

  We were right beside the stage, and he winked at her before he started strumming the opening chords to “Jezebel,” one of his band’s biggest hits. The crowd went wild as he began to sing.

  Poppy blushed.

  Like I said, she had a thing for her stepfather. Kinky.

  And I couldn’t blame her because…damn. Sebastian had coal black hair, big brown eyes, a wicked smirk, and bonafide rock god status. She’d be stupid not to take a ride on the Sebastian roller coaster.

  Then again, I’ve never met a bad decision I didn’t like.

  “But he’s still your stepfather on paper and, like I said, he’s objectively hot.”

  I couldn’t resist ogling his tight behind. Although Malcolm had a better one, but I might be prejudiced. And insane.

  “Can we talk about something else, please?” Poppy turned hopeful eyes on our companions.

  “Dr. Sterling is advising me on my senior thesis project.” Darcy drained her champagne flute and promptly filled it again.

  I didn’t bother hiding my smirk.

  Since I was a business major, I hadn’t had a class with the literature professor, but I’d scoped Sterling out online. Not my type, but I could see why Darcy found him so intriguing—he was hot in an older sophisticated man sort of way.

  Although she’d never do anything about it.

  If I was the wild child in the group, Darcy was the perfect good girl. She was the most dedicated student, always did the dishes when it was her turn, and she’d already applied to the master’s program in literature.

  I liked her, but we didn’t hang out much together on our own. Poppy and I were close, while Iris and Darcy gravitated toward one another.

  Speaking of Iris, she hadn’t said much all night, and she’d hardly touched her drink. It wasn’t like her at all—she had Southern charm and a bubbly personality.

  “Okay, what’s up with you?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” Iris shook her head. “I'm okay.”

  She had dark auburn hair which appeared almost black in this light. Her eyes were wide-spaced, green, and somehow innocent. She was the only non-native New Yorker amongst us. Iris had come to Manhattan from Mississippi, and it must’ve been a culture shock.

  “Is it Will?” Darcy asked gently.

  I groaned.

  Iris had dated William Theodore Archibald III and fell in love with the dirtbag. Although dating was a strong word for it— more like a series of hook-ups.

  I never said so, but I wondered if he never dated her openly because of the weight issue. Iris had gained a lot more than the freshman fifteen. With her beautiful face and flare for style, she would be a looker at any weight.

  Although, I suspected Will had another prejudice, though. I’m betting it was her lack of money and “breeding.”

  I’d grown up with privilege, and I didn’t give a damn about other people’s money—or lack of it. But a lot of individuals in my tax bracket did—as though other classes were lesser mortals for not making gobs of cash. I suppose the snobbery came from generations of privilege. They’d never had to struggle to get anything they wanted.

  “Yes, I got some bad news today. Will’s engaged.” She swiped at her eyes. “He’s getting married this summer in Martha’s Vineyard.”

  This news landed like a kettlebell on the table.

  We all took a moment to process it. Will had been her first love, and he’d been screwing around with Iris while dating his brand new fiancée, Jolie Irving. When Iris had found out, she’d broken off the relationship, but not before her heart had been shattered.

  “Well, fuck him. He’s a bastard.” Iris could do a hell of a lot better than that stuck-up prick.

  Her lower lip trembled. “Yeah, I guess.” Iris didn’t sound convinced, though.

  Darcy squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” She wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “I thought I’d moved on....”

  “But?” Poppy prompted.

  “I don’t know—I’m conflicted. I guess I wanted to show him. I had this whole plan.” She shook her head. “It sounds stupid now, but I wanted to run into him on campus, and I’d be looking fantastic.” She smoothed her satin skirt. “I’d make him want me again so I could tell him to shove it. I wanted to break his heart this time.”

  I scratched my chin. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

  A plan was forming in my mind.

  “Yeah, well, seeing as how he’s engaged, I guess that’s off the table.”

  “Is it?” I didn’t think so.

  We were all graduating, and my meltdown had me thinking about the great unknown. This had all the makings of a watershed moment, a junction. It might be our last opportunity to let loose, do something crazy, careless, wild.

  What can I say? I’ve always been an instigator, and I’m betting the alcohol didn’t hurt in my decision-making process.

  I tapped a spoon on my champagne glass. “Ladies, we owe it to ourselves to do something exciting, the last gasp before we have to get serious about this adulting thing.”

  They all stared at me.

  Hmm. I’d expected more enthusiasm from the troops.

  Darcy grimaced. “How is that any different from what you always do?”

  Okay, she had a point, but I refused to surrender.

  “It’ll make a great story someday. Something to think about when you’re old and wrinkly. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “Yes. What about the time you convinced us to short sheet the RA’s bed?” Iris offered.

  “We were her bitches for the rest of the year.” Poppy crossed her arms over her chest. “We wound up doing her laundry and cleaning her room until May.”

  “Yes, but when you look back on it, it’ll be a cool college memory. Come on, live a little—do something crazy. Poppy and Darcy both have a forbidden romance they haven’t been pur
suing.” I drunkenly slapped a hand on the tiny black lacquer table we were all huddled around. “I say, they should go for it.”

  Poppy sunk down in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about. He’s my stepfather—and that’s it.”

  “Me either.” Darcy’s cheeks flamed. “Dr. Sterling and I are strictly professional.”

  “Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “You two should bone the older men, and Iris should get revenge on Will because he’s a total dick. Come on, it’ll be perfect. What do you say?”

  “And what are you gonna do?” Iris asked.

  Suddenly, an image of Malcolm dripping wet with sweat and half-dressed popped into my head.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Something else, that is.

  Chapter Four

  Kate

  Later on that night, I wandered home all by myself.

  It was a little after one in the morning, and I couldn’t find a cab. I wrapped my wool pea coat tighter around my body and trudged through the streets. I didn’t have far to go, and I wasn’t too worried about being stopped by some jerk. I lived in a decent neighborhood, and I had a can of pepper spray in my pocket, in case some dumbass crossed my path.

  I shared an apartment with the girls in Morningside Heights near the university. Nothing fancy but pricey due to its proximity to Columbia.

  Location, location, location, right?

  Iris hadn’t been able to afford a quarter of the rent, so we’d chipped in to cover what she couldn’t handle. She promised to pay us back someday when she became a celebrity chef. I didn’t doubt it—she made scrumptious food, and making a weekly dinner was her way of saying thank you.

  Speaking of my friends, they hadn’t agreed to my wild plan, but they hadn’t totally rejected it either. Darcy had left to finish a paper. Poppy had gotten a drink with Sebastian, and I’m not sure where Iris went.

  I had a feeling sooner or later they’d come around to the idea.

  I was grateful for the walk because I needed to think. I kept replaying my conversation with Malcolm in my head. Somehow, I couldn’t stop—like a switch had been flipped between us somehow.