by Avery Gale
It suddenly occurred to Lawton how difficult it was going to be to keep their relationship with Cressida a secret. If they weren’t careful, the female sharks that continually circled them would eat her alive. One of the things he’d learned over the years was just how ruthless wealthy, entitled women could be to one another. He didn’t have any intention of exposing Cressida to the vipers who freely offered themselves up to any man whose bank balance would allow them to continue living the privileged lifestyles they’d become accustomed to. Shaking off his disgust, he refocused his attention on Cressida, watching her pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down until he knew the delicate bit of flesh would be swollen when she’d finally worked through whatever was troubling her.
Right now their lovely assistant was debating whether or not she could trust Tristan to match her with a man who could introduce her to a lifestyle she was obviously curious about. Tristan had already hinted he’d be assigning her to two Dominants, but Law wasn’t entirely sure she’d grasped that fact yet. And as if his thoughts had wished it in to reality, Cressida looked up—eyes wide as her spine seemed to go ram-rod straight, “Wait. Did you say men? As in plural?”
Tristan’s predatory smile would have intimidated most women, but at this point Law wasn’t sure the potential threat had penetrated her shock. “I did. Do you have some particular aversion to ménage? More often than not, I’ve discovered most women harbor at least a latent curiosity about the possibility. Most wonder what it would be like to have two men focused on their pleasure. If two hands are better than one, then surely four are even better than two.”
Parker shook his head, muttering, “Christ, sometimes I really wonder about him. He’s yammering away and she is just sitting there blinking at him like she’s trying to bring his words into focus with her eyes. I keep telling him to leave that left of center British humor of his at the door of the club because it confuses the hell out of subs, but as you can see the bastard doesn’t listen to me.” Brodie and Law both nodded—this was an on-going point of contention between the two men, and a never-ending source of amusement for everyone around them.
Law wasn’t entirely sure why he found so much solace in the normalcy of listening to Parker grumble about Tristan having another “Benny Hill moment”, nor was he convinced his friend hadn’t milked the situation just to distract both he and Brodie from the tension playing out on the screen in front of them.
Chapter Four
Cressi felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath her, she was determined to keep her gaze from dipping just to be sure the beautifully woven Persian rug was still present and accounted for. Damn, I’ll wager that rug cost more than I made last year. Tristan’s words had somehow finally managed to penetrate through the fog of nervousness and hearing she would be learning from not one, but two men automatically brought to mind the men who had been starring in her fantasies since she started working for them two years ago. In the beginning it had been easy to separate her wishful erotic delusions from her professional interactions with her bosses because she hadn’t really known them. But the better acquainted she’d gotten, the more difficult that distinction had become because she genuinely liked both Lawton Hill and Brodie Walsh.
She had respected them before she’d even walked through the enormous glass doors of Templar Enterprises. Stepping into the gray and black marbled lobby had told her even more than the homework she’d done. The employment agent she’d worked with had been practically giddy with excitement when she’d called Cressi to set up the interview. The woman had made it crystal clear how important the opportunity was—though Cressi hadn’t been sure whether the older woman was referring to Cressi’s career or her own. The woman’s reaction and the fact the interview was scheduled for the very next morning had Cressi up most of the night researching everything available on Templar Enterprises Group and the men who owned it. She’d studied the company’s stratospheric rise and been particularly impressed to find out it was still a privately held corporation—meaning the four friends discretely referred to on the social pages as “The Knights of the Boardroom” were almost unimaginably wealthy.
Walking in to their office suite had been so intimidating, she’d almost turned around and walked right back out. She’d been forced to accompany her dad several times after her mother died and she’d seen the inner sanctums of some of the most powerful men in Washington, but none of those offices held a candle to the simple elegance of T.E.G. Entire walls of the office suite were floor to ceiling glass and the view overlooking the city and Central Park had taken her breath away. Stepping off the elevator she’d been greeted by a very pregnant woman who’d looked at Cressi with a hopeful expression and wished her luck before escorting her into the office conference room. Cressi had almost laughed when she’d realized the other woman was probably hoping her bosses would hire her replacement before she was forced to give birth on her desk. After Cressi had been hired, she’d spoken with Desirae Carter several times over the first few months and learned her first impression had been correct. Desi’s husband, Dan, still worked for the company, but with the raise T.E.G. had given him upon the birth of his daughter, Desi wouldn’t have to return to work unless she chose to, and so far she was enjoying her time with their little girl. But it had just been during the past six months Cressi had learned Desi and Dan were also members of The Knight’s Club. Despite all of Cressi’s probing questions, Desi had remained extremely tight-lipped, steadfastly refusing to divulge even the smallest tidbit, but she’d been an open book discussing her personal view of the their D/s lifestyle.
Realizing she’d lost focus, Cressi blinked up at Tristan hoping he hadn’t realized she’d taken a meandering mental road trip while he’d been speaking about the benefits of ménage. Was he kidding? Of course she’d fantasized about being with Lawton and Brodie—wait, that wasn’t what he’d said. He’d said two men—not the two men she’d been lusting after like a sad puppy begging for someone to pet her.
The contract he’d given her to sign had been relatively simple and if she was being honest, she really had only skimmed it looking for obvious legal red flags. The document wasn’t legally enforceable, that had been easy to see, but that didn’t matter if safe words would be used in the same way she’d read about and Tristan had patiently explained the point would be more thoroughly explained by the Dominants she’d be working with. He had mentioned the club used the standard stoplight system she’d read about, so she tried to squelch her concerns.
The bottom line was, she knew Tristan wouldn’t deliberately put her in danger, so she was going to shake off the lingering suspicion she had that he was withholding some vital piece of information. All she could do was hope like hell her trust in him didn’t come back to bite her in the ass—literally. “I don’t like pain.” Cressi didn’t have any idea what had possessed her to blurt that out, but her words had been close to a shout so there wasn’t any way he hadn’t heard her. Damn, her sister was right, she really needed to work on her social filter.
“Well, I just…well, I thought maybe I should mention that. Because, well maybe that might make a difference on who you assigned to help me. Maybe some Doms don’t want to work with someone they can’t hurt. I have to admit I’m not convinced by all that ‘pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin’ nonsense. I mean, really—that’s just not even logical. Maybe you won’t be able to find someone who wants me—and that will sorta suck, but I promise I won’t hold you to this.” She’d waved the contract back and forth as if he might not know what she was talking about—good Lord sometimes she really was disconnected.
Cressi hadn’t realized she’d dropped her gaze to her lap again until she noticed her fingers crumpling the edges of the contract he’d handed her. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, she was surprised to see him smiling. “Cressida, it’s really quite simple—you either trust me to help you or you do not. Now what’s it going to be?”
Well, damn. That sure hadn’t been th
e reaction she’d been expecting. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she was fairly certain his simple statement was low-balling the reaction she should have gotten. A part of her felt like a sullen five-year-old who’d been spoiling for a fight and denied the privilege. Yeah, her inner kindergartener was a whiny little thing who seemed to becoming acutely aware of the fact she might not be in charge for the next month.
Cressi had been dealing with that particular demon child long enough to know that she could throw fits that often registered on the Richter scale despite adult Cressi’s best attempts to rein her in. Sighing, she scooted forward to the front edge of the chair and nodded as she quickly signed her name. “I trust you. I wouldn’t have signed this contract if I didn’t. Words just seem to jump out of my mouth sometimes, it’s like my brain goes on break and my mouth takes advantage of the opportunity to sneak in the chance to say things it shouldn’t.”
The tension she’d felt a moment earlier seemed to slide to the back of her mind when Cressi realized this time his smile was genuine. It had been a long time since she’d trusted someone enough to take a chance and in the end, it was only a month—how difficult could it be to meet a couple of days a week with men who could show her all the ins and outs of Dominance and submission.
Cressi was self-aware enough to know there wasn’t anyway she’d ever be able to attract the attention of men like Lawton or Brodie, but at least this way she’d be guaranteed some sexual instruction for a month. Unless she didn’t live up to their expectations—that thought sent a cold chill down her spine and for just a moment she was close to panic. Would they call Tristan and complain about being assigned someone so inexperienced? How would she ever face Tristan Harris again if that happened? In one of the chat groups she’d joined, she watched a conversation play out between several submissives bragging about how their extensive sexual experience prior to visiting kink clubs had given them a huge advantage. They’d openly criticized subs with less experience who tried to compete for the favored Doms in the city’s various clubs.
Cressi had rarely participated in any of the discussion groups, preferring to simply follow the conversations hoping to pick up any small bit of information about The Knight’s Club but she hadn’t once even seen it referred to by anyone except those wishing they could score an invitation. When one of the members had accused her of lurking, Cressi had deleted her profile and been grateful she’d not only used a nondescript screen moniker, but she’d created the account under an assumed name as well. Of course no alias was one hundred percent safe from discovery, and she could only hope the men who’d tried to engage her weren’t hackers—because a couple of them seemed way too intense for her peace of mind.
Pushing the memory of her discomfort to the back of her mind, Cressi started to stand, but Tristan raised a brow and she quickly settled back onto her chair. He slid a small stack of papers across the desk to her and held his hand out taking the contract she still held. “You need to read over all of these. Read them carefully because, just as you are responsible for the content of this contract, you will also be held accountable for what’s contained in these documents as well.” He promised to answer any questions she might have and assured her he’d call her tomorrow to verify the men’s agreement. “Since this contract is only for one month, you will all need to make yourselves available to each other as much as possible. If you don’t, I’m concerned you may feel shortchanged at the end of this trial period. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider such restrictive time constraints because they will be far more limiting than you realize.”
Cressi wasn’t sure she understood what he meant and her expression must have told him as much. “I know you have saved for a long time for this opportunity, you had hoped to get a month long membership so that’s what I’ve offered you. Even though you aren’t actually spending the money, your mind is going to weigh the sacrifices you’ve made against your experience over the next month and I don’t want you to feel as if all the things you’ve given up were set aside in vain.”
On some levels, Cressi knew Tristan was right, but on others she wasn’t altogether sure there wasn’t an insult buried somewhere in his words. As she thought back over what he’d said, she felt herself frown. “Cressida, I assure you I have nothing but respect for you. It takes an incredible amount of courage to admit your sex life isn’t working out and it takes even more moxie to actively seek out a solution.” She tried to completely blank her facial expression, keeping it devoid of any reaction, but when he quickly cut off what he was saying, Cressi worried she hadn’t succeeded. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Tristan Harris—or anyone else for that matter. He watched her—no, he studied her with an intensity that she found quite unnerving. He finally seemed satisfied and tapped on of the two small appointment cards he’d set atop of the papers he’d placed in front of her, “Don’t miss the spa appointment I’ve made for you”
“Wait—spa appointment? When did you do that? Why did you do that? I can’t afford to go to a spa.” At least not one you’d pick out. Damn, you have more money than God and I can only imagine what sort of place you’d choose. Cripes, Cressi—why don’t you just throw a conniption fit right here in the man’s office? “I’m sorry. I know you are trying to help, but really if there is an outline of requirements in there somewhere I can just hit the drugstore and take care of everything myself.”
“Cressida, I can see you think I’m being presumptuous, but you’ve just signed a contract giving me the right to not only make the appointment, but to insist that you keep it. Until you hear otherwise, you are my responsibility and I assure you that is something I take very seriously. I know you are very competent legal aide, but if I had to make a guess, I’d say you only read the contract for legal points and not the finer points of becoming a submissive. Those were the implications of care and protection and might have been a good place to start asking questions—that’s something you should consider in the future.” There was a teasing quality to his tone and Cressi narrowed her eyes at him, but he seemed unfazed by her pique.
“I’d advise you to consider the various ways those terms are likely to be interpreted by a Dominant, because I assure you the scope of the way that goal can be achieved can be staggering. Many women discover they feel an enormous sense of security knowing their well-being is their Dom’s number one concern.”
“And others?” Cressi wanted to kick herself for asking, especially since her voice sounded breathy even to her own ears. There wasn’t any reason to give the man a legitimate reason to doubt her commitment, if there was one thing she’d learned working for Lawton and Brodie, it was they could smell fear a mile away and she assumed Tristan was just as intuitive.
He surprised her by simply shrugging, and she saw something that looked too much like sorrow and regret flash in his eyes before it was gone. The look of vulnerability had been so fleeting, she quickly convinced herself it hadn’t been there at all. “Cressida, you’re a very bright young woman, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this lifestyle isn’t for everyone. Some women want the perks of a D/s relationship without any of the responsibilities. They want to be pampered and protected, but only on their terms—it doesn’t work that way. Anyone pretending to be submissive when all they really want is to be manipulative is going to be sorely disappointed.”
Tristan paused for several seconds, seeming to weigh his next words carefully. “You’re a successful, independent woman, but I’m going to encourage you to let that go during this next month and give this a chance. I believe you’ll find a tremendous amount of joy in submission if you are just brave enough to embrace it.” He paused again and then Cressi had the impression he was looking at something over her shoulder as he spoke—his words were haunting as though he was apologizing to someone she couldn’t see, “It’s important for you to remember, a good Dom will always keep his word—even when that means punishing you when he doesn’t want to, even when it has the potential to cost him in unim
aginable ways.” Cressi could practically feel the sadness radiating from the man sitting in front of her. Evidently her first impression of that fleeting look of regret had been correct and now she wondered what ghost from his past had just waltzed through his thoughts. She wasn’t sure he had intended to speak the last part out loud, but those words had given her an unguarded glimpse into the burden Doms evidently felt at times in their relationships.
Taking a deep breath, Cressi nodded and gave him a small smile. Darned her soft heart—here she’d been all ready to battle him about the damned spa but now she felt like a heel for dredging up what was obviously a very painful memory for a man who was trying to help her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop.” His sharp command effectively halted her apology but his expression softened and it was easy to see he wasn’t angry with her. “Poppet, don’t ever apologize for being sincere. One of the most fulfilling parts of my job is watching women like yourself become more comfortable in their own skin. A big part of that is knowing you are not responsible for everything that occurs around you. Apologize only when you have done something you genuinely wish you hadn’t or something you should have known would hurt someone else. While it is true that our conversation brought back a painful memory for me, that’s my issue—not yours. You didn’t cause it, nor could you have possibly known to avoid it.”