by Avery Gale
Seeing Lawton Hill and Brodie Walsh approach the back entrance of the club, Tristan pressed the button hidden under his desk unlocking the door knowing his friends would be slamming into his office in less than a minute. Law might be one of the richest men in the country and would top the list by the time he was forty at his current rate, but he was also one of Tristan’s closest friends. Despite his aristocratic background, Tristan quite enjoyed Lawton’s balls-to-the-wall ambition—the man was one of the most professionally focused men he’d ever met, but his Achilles heel was currently squirming in the lobby like a child caught with her pretty little hand in the kinky cookie jar. Tristan particularly enjoyed the way she kept glancing at her watch, as if that might hurry up the man who’d kept her waiting far longer than she’d expected. Patience, poppet, your future Masters have finally arrived.
Brodie Walsh was following Law as the two men stomped down the hall toward Tristan’s office. Brodie was as intense in his private life as he was professionally, which seemed to intimidate those who weren’t in the young legal shark’s inner circle. Tristan had seen Brodie reduce subs in the club to tears with just a look—on several occasions.
Just as his friends stalked through the door, Cressi Walker stood and Tristan knew she was about to bolt. Directing Lawton’s and Brodie’s attention to the bank of monitors, Tristan grabbed the small radio on his desk. The handheld device connected directly to the earbud Dozer wore and he needed the man to stop their beautiful visitor before her impatience and fear won the battle over her curiosity. Even though he wasn’t sure how it would all play out, Tristan was certain it had taken an enormous amount of courage for Cressida Walker to call the club, and if she walked out the door now she might never find it within herself to try again.
Tristan had talked to far too many women over the years who regretted they hadn’t had the courage to question why they had always felt as if they were missing some large piece of themselves. Some had made an attempt or two, but being shut down or told what they were looking for “didn’t exist” had caused them to cede defeat before they’d ever had a chance to really fight for what they needed. Most of the ones he’d met had waited years before trying again and some had simply settled into mundane vanilla lives that bored them to distraction. “Stop her. Give me five, then escort her back.” Anyone who didn’t know Reis Stratham, AKA Dozer, might have missed his subtle nod of acknowledgment, but Tristan knew his second-in-command had heard him and would follow suit. Dozer had earned his nickname not only because of his intimidating size, but he was also as tenacious as anyone Tristan had ever met.
Turning to the men standing beside him, Tristan smiled, “We don’t have long, here’s the plan.” He proceeded to outline his strategy, noting his friends eyes darkened with both concern and lust. Tristan knew it was an all or nothing proposal—not something he usually considered a blueprint for success, but there wasn’t enough time to debate the details—it was show time.
Chapter Two
As usual, the Universe was conspiring to make her insane—the moment Cressi got up the courage to stand and walk out of The Knight’s Club, the hulk behind the counter informed her he’d be taking her back to Master T’s office in five minutes. Collapsing back onto the bench like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Cressi debated whether or not to just call it a day. But her blasted sister’s shocked expression kept playing through her mind. Good grief, it’s like she is on a continuous loop and it’s crazy-making. Dealing with Carli intermittently was enough to challenge the Pope, but to have her haunting Cressi’s daydreams was enough to push her right down the path to the cracker factory.
She could still hear her sister saying, “If you don’t try you’ll never know if you can be what they’ll expect you to be.” Cressi had tried to play dumb, giving her older sister the most baffled expression she could manage, but it hadn’t worked. “Don’t even try that faux innocent conneries with me.” At least Carli’s slip into French had earned her a legitimate look of confusion—“Sorry, bullshit. Your first dufus look was phony, and why the hell didn’t you take French in high school and college instead of Spanish?”
That was easy to answer, because she didn’t have her sister’s flawless features and the chances of her modeling haute couture had been absolutely zilch, so French had seemed an unnecessary challenge at the time. Oh sure, they were occasionally mistaken for one another but not by anyone who was really paying attention—after all Carli was several inches taller and flip-flapping perfect. And pushy. And perfect. And cultured. And immediately becomes best friends with every camera she meets. And perfect. Did I mention perfect? And there was that treacherous inner voice mimicking her father—again. Carli had been the golden child even before their mom died, but after Calinda Walker succumbed to cancer, Carli had been elevated to the status of Saint. Thankfully her sister had used her position of power in their family to help her younger sister because for all intents and purposes, Brandon Walker had ignored his youngest daughter as much as possible. Cressi understood why—at least she understood on an intellectual level, but it had still hurt. After all, it wasn’t her fault her personality was so much like her mother’s—or that, as the youngest, she’d always been her mother’s ‘baby’. She’d never fully understood why he hated her so much—it wasn’t as if she had given her mother cancer, after all, she’d been little more than a toddler when her mother died. But in the end, Cressida knew she was a walking-talking reminder of everything he’d lost, and Brandon Walker had never accepted losing well.
When Cressi realized the giant man from behind the desk was now standing in front of her, she quickly blinked back the tears she hadn’t realized filled her eyes as she followed him down the hall. Right or wrong, she was at least going to ask her questions—damn it, she deserved that much. She might not have ever had sex, but she knew what turned her on—maybe she was reading too many erotic romances, but she’d been saving for two years for this day and she wasn’t going to walk away from the only chance she’d probably ever have to spend time in The Knight’s Club.
*****
Tristan watched Cressida Walker’s eyes widen when she stepped into his office. The room was large but it also served several purposes, the large windows behind him looked out over Central Park and that peaceful view was a sharp contrast to the windows at the opposite end of the room, which looked down over the club’s main room. Of course there were times when that particular view calmed him—but for a far different reason. He’d moved around his desk and motioned for her to have a seat in the chair he knew would give his friends two different camera angles from the security control room where he’d sent them. At Brodie’s urging, his office was closely monitored during interviews with potential members, those recordings had saved their backsides more than once. Evidently seeing themselves reviewing their hard and soft limit lists jogged the memories of subs who’d experienced a change of heart for whatever reason and threatened to sue the club.
“Have a seat, Cressi. I have to say, I was surprised when you called.” Her bright green eyes widened in surprise, then quickly changed to wariness and Tristan fought his smile. Good instincts, poppet. Tristan had to give her credit, she didn’t take the bait—she just sat quietly waiting for him to continue. Smart girl. “Would you mind telling me where you got the phone number you called?” As soon as he’d spoken the words, Tristan knew he’d made a mistake phrasing it as a question rather than a command, and the shift in her expression told him she’d seen the opening and intended to walk right through it.
“Yes, actually I would mind.” He wanted to growl in frustration at her one word answer, but he simply raised a brow at her and waited. She gave him a knowing smile and as childish as it seemed, he wanted to roll his eyes in frustration—the woman had definitely worked for Brodie Walsh far too long. “You asked me a closed question and I answered. Now, I need to get back to work. I’ll call and reschedule when we both have more open timetables.”
Tristan wanted to laugh out loud�
�the only other woman who’d ever given him such a polite verbal slap-down for being late, was his mother. Cressida stood and extended her hand to shake his in a move so smoothly calculated to dismiss him, he no doubt she’d used it countless times in her professional life—but it certainly wasn’t going to work with him and he knew it wouldn’t fly with the two Doms he planned to “assign her to” either.
“Sit. Down. Now.” Tristan deliberately used a tone he was sure the submissive in Cressi would respond to before her mind had a chance to interfere. And just as he’d expected, she literally dropped back into her chair. He nodded once, “Good girl. I realize I’ve kept you waiting past our appointed time, but it was unavoidable. I’ll smooth over your bosses’ ruffled feathers—and since I’m one of them, it shouldn’t be too difficult a task.” Perhaps he was an ass for reminding her that he was in fact one of her bosses—but there you have it, he could be a manipulative bastard when it came to helping his friends. He saw the flare of panic in her eyes at the thought of him outing her to the men she worked for—he could tell her it hadn’t been a secret longer than the minute it had taken him to get them on the phone, but she’d find out soon enough.
“Now, let me rephrase my question—where did you get that particular phone number?” This time her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as the tip of her dainty chin tipped up and a look of pure defiance lit her sparkling green eyes. Ahh, there is a spankable brat in there. Oh, your Masters are going to really be in for a fun go with you, aren’t they, my lovely?
“Just for the record, I’m fully aware you are one of four partners/owners of T.E.G. But we both know I work for Lawton and Brodie.” Tristan wanted to shout ‘Halleluiah’ because he and Parker had listened to their friends talk about this woman incessantly for two years, but they’d steadfastly refused to make a move on her out of fear. They’d managed to convince themselves she wasn’t ready for an array of reasons that had bordered on absurd—Parker had finally suggested the two of them take up fiction writing because their reasoning had gotten so creative. Yes indeed, that evening they’d all ended up in the boxing ring at the gym. He’d ended up with six stitches in his chin and Law had gotten four at this hairline—and the instigator had walked away with nary a scratch. Cretin. Hearing that she’d mentally claimed them as well—Perfect. This time perhaps he’d leave Parker out of things and avoid another round in the ring—after all, he hadn’t particularly enjoyed his time in the local emergency clinic. Aside from that, he’d always believed if you were going to be injured fighting over a woman, you should at least get to enjoy the spoils of war. The next time he willingly stepped into the ring to settle a difference about a submissive, he fully intended to make sure fucking her was his reward.
“Touché. But just for the record, I still expect an answer to my question. And I’ll only warn you once, I will know if you lie—so don’t.”
The twinkle of defiance in her eyes made he want to smile, but he held back. A part of Miss Cressida Walker definitely wanted to go down with the ship. But Tristan studied her closely and he knew the exact moment she realized she might win the battle, but she’d lose the war. In the end she still wouldn’t have what she wanted—no, make that what she needed. And any Dom worth his salt would recognize the hunger in those pretty green eyes. Tristan had seen the look before, eyes that sought guidance—the tongue that continually snaked out to wet lips begging to be kissed. Those plump lips would certainly get a workout, his friends might have differing specialties, but they each had their favored ways of using a woman’s mouth.
Cressida finally took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she sighed, “Both of my bosses have that number programmed in their phones for the club.”
“And you went through their phones?” Tristan hadn’t meant for his response to sound so accusatory, but he really was surprised she’d be so audacious.
“Of course not!” She was equally shocked by his assumption, but he could also see there was something she wasn’t saying—yet. “Well, not in the way you mean. I do their updates on my computer. They don’t like to wait for the phones to backup—for techy guys they don’t much care for the busywork side of it, if you know what I mean.” He did indeed, they’d teased Lawton about it for years—he wrote all the damned programs and then refused to deal with the bothersome side of upgrades he was often responsible for creating. Exasperating man. “Well, it was quite easy to look up the number. But in my defense, I had tried calling the number from your website, and if you want to know the truth, the woman I talked to wasn’t helpful at all. She probably thinks I’m pushy, but that’s fair because I think she’s evasive.”
This time Tristan didn’t even try to hold back his laughter, “Well, poppet, she was simply following the orders of her ogre boss. Now—let’s get to the real reason you are here before we are both explaining to your bosses why I kept you away from the office for the entire afternoon.” He watched her pupils dilate and her cheeks flush the prettiest pink before he continued, “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll tell you whether or not The Knight’s Club can meet your needs.” There wasn’t a chance in hell they wouldn’t be able to give her more than she’d ever ask for—unless he was way off base, she wasn’t terribly experienced. He’d be willing to bet her only exposure to Dominance and submission had been through fiction and fantasy—if she belonged to him, one of the first things he’d do would be scan her e-reader. He’d learned a long time ago that those little devices were fonts of information about their owner.
She still hadn’t answered his question, in fact she was inordinately interested in the hem of her skirt. Oh, sweetheart, you’ll not get away with avoiding eye contact with a Dom who really wants to give you what you need—the eyes are the windows to the soul and they are better than any lie detector ever invented if a Dom had enough experience to read them. “Cressida, if you can’t tell me what you want, how am I going to help you? It strikes me as odd, the invaluable assistant my friends have described—the one who doesn’t hesitate to go toe-to-toe with them would be too timid to state what she wanted. I’d very much like to talk to the woman Lawton and Brodie see every day if you don’t mind.” He was pleased to see her eyes pull quickly up to meet his, the resolve in her gaze easy to read—this woman was well accustomed to fighting her own battles, and she wasn’t going to back down from the challenge he’s just issued.
“I want—well, I want what the women in my books find with their Doms.” And there you have it, mates. You really need to get your hands on that lovely little device of hers. “I want to feel that connected to someone. And well, to be honest, my sister sort of pushed me. But that’s sort of her usual M.O. I know she has that angelic face that all the men think means she is all goodness and light, but she is bossy and pushy I tell you. Anyway, when she heard that I had never—umm, well experienced what I was looking for, she sort of challenged me. And you know how it is when your sister dares you—wait, you don’t have a sister do you? So I guess you don’t really know, but anyway it was probably only the push I needed to finally pursue this—but don’t you dare tell her, God there’d be no living with her then.” She finally paused just long enough to take a deep breath and Tristan wanted to grin because he doubted Cressida had a clue how revealing her rambling had been.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and I’ve saved up enough money to buy a month’s membership. I sure hope you do them by the month because if not—I won’t be able to afford the annual fee for another…ummm, twenty-four years…unless you increase your rates and then it will be longer. Or unless I get a raise, which doesn’t seem likely since I haven’t ever gotten one. Oh damn, I’m really rambling—that happens whenever I talk while I’m flustered or nervous. That’s why I try to keep quiet if I’m off-base, shit¸ I’m doing it again.”
By the time she stopped to take a second deep breath, Tristan was practically dizzy from his efforts to follow her train of thought. If ever there’d been a woman who needed the peacefu
l mental respite subs often described, it was this one. How she hadn’t collapsed in a heap from a lack of oxygen he couldn’t help but wonder, but oddly enough the thing that stood out in her random thoughts was the fact she wanted this badly enough to have been saving money for two years just for a month of sexual exploration. He was impressed with her conviction to pursuing what she needed, but it saddened him also.
Tristan knew Parker was in the security control room with Lawton and Brodie, which meant all four founding members of the club had just heard her confession. Any of them could write a check for her membership fee without thinking twice—so the realization she’d been making sacrifices for two full years was humbling to say the least. And he fully intended to talk to the two dimwits she worked for about the fact she hadn’t had a raise since she’d been at T.E.G. How is that even possible? Are they really that disconnected? And I think the director of human resources needs a good swift kick in the backside as well. For just a moment he considered giving Lana Hill a call, Lawton’s mom was a successful woman, married to an even more successful man—but most of all she thought the sun rose and set in Cressida Walker, she wouldn’t hesitate to kick her son’s ass for this oversight.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right—you have been sacrificing clothing, food, travel, and entertainment opportunities for two years in order to hand that money over to this club in hopes of finding the sexual fulfillment you’ve only read about in the erotic romance stories I suspect fill your electronic reader. You are willing to hand over your savings to a kink club that will only provide you with eight evenings of entertainment and a quarter of those will be devoted to training sessions. Does that about cover it?” He wasn’t trying to be harsh, even though the glittering tears in her eyes told him it was the way she’d interpreted it. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Cressida—really, I am not. I just want you to realize you aren’t going to get very much return on your rather significant sacrifice.”