by Kira Blakely
Slipping my clothes on, I hurried down the halls—glad I was beginning to get a feel for the layout of the estate—and followed my nose to a new kitchen. This one must be for prepping for guests, since it wasn’t anywhere near where Leonard had taken me last night. As I entered the kitchen, I had to marvel at the fact that it wasn’t Leonard or Mrs. Johnson cooking. No, instead, I watched as Drake, dressed in jeans that hugged his ass and that same tight tank from this morning, finished flipping bacon in a pan and started hunting for a plate to set it on.
“Well, don’t you have people for this?” I asked with a coy voice.
He finished saving the bacon from dying an overcooked death and turned off the stove before turning to face me. “I figured you might be hungry. To be honest, I was starving when I woke up, and Mrs. Johnson is at the market getting ingredients for dinner and Leonard is overseeing the groundskeepers today. Besides, I can cook.”
“Can you?” I said after taking a seat at the table set up across from the massive stove setup. The thing had to have at least six burners. “I think a taste test would be in order.”
“Oh, you’ll be wrong about this, princess. I’m quite the chef,” he said. Then he set the plate of bacon and waffles before me. But it didn’t stop there; he also set out fresh-squeezed orange juice, a collection of chopped tropical fruits, and of course strawberries and clotted cream for the waffles. “I’ve been up for a couple hours. You are about to lose a bet in the most delicious way possible.”
I chuckled and sipped the juice and had to keep myself from moaning, much as I had this morning. Damn, he was right. I’d only sampled the O.J. and it was already better than any Tropicana I’d ever had. Then I dug into the bacon, my stomach hankering for some morning grease, and I nodded my approval.
“I guess I was wrong. You know,” I added as he dug into his own plate. “If that whole billionaire PR guru thing ever fell through then you always have the culinary arts.” I started into the waffles and decided I might just marry Drake if only for the room service. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“You assume I’ve never cooked because I have staff now?”
“Well, yeah. I also didn’t learn to cook myself until I came home from college. Mom was done with cooking,” I hedged, not wanting to admit it was a survival skill since Mom was actually too sick to cook. “I spent a year practicing not just turning food into charcoal briquettes. You’re really good. I’ve eaten at restaurants that have ripped me off compared to this.”
He nodded. “Well, believe it or not, I sometimes have a hot head.”
“Do you now?” I said.
“Maybe some of it, I dunno, I bottled since I came home from my post. I sometimes have those spells… that trauma bubbles up and I can’t control it. That’s different, but I never was a fan of having people tell me what to do. I joined up with the Marines after 9/11 because I felt that I had to, that my country needed me.”
I wasn’t sure if he noticed that his fingers were tracing over the scar over his eyebrow as he spoke, as if that tangible connection to his time in the service was something he needed to keep speaking about it.
“That’s so noble,” I said. I’d only been about six or seven when it had happened. I barely remembered anything, except my parents watching the TV and crying, which had made me cry because my parents never did things like that. Reaching out across the table, I slid a hand over his. “Thank you for doing that.”
“I don’t need thanks,” he said curtly, pulling his hand back. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. I tended to mouth off a lot in basic. I learned eventually to finally keep my mouth shut, but that was after more turns at mess hall duty than I could count. Turns out I have some cooking skills. Marines: Be All You Can Be, even if that’s Emeril Lagasse.”
I snorted at that and sipped more juice. “I definitely don’t think that’s gonna catch on with their recruitment flyers. I… you don’t have to talk about that time. I can tell it affected you.”
“Thanks. But I can definitely relate my harrowing tales of peeling potatoes and making sloppy joes for an angry fort of recruits with no hesitation. It sucked, but at least I can fend for myself when Mrs. Johnson takes the weekends off. Now,” he said as he stood up and began cleaning his own plate in the sink. “Hurry up. The boat leaves in an hour.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.”
***
The water was warm, like slipping into bath water, which kept my mind focused on the oversized goggles slipping over my eyes and the snorkel gripped awkwardly in between my teeth instead of everything else going on with my life. But my inexperience with snorkeling didn’t matter, not when huge sea turtles with hints of algae stuck to their shells and brightly colored fish in hues of yellow and orange swam inches from my face. I brought my head up and slipped the snorkel and goggles off, taking my first break in almost fifteen minutes. For an environmental nut like me, this was one of the coolest things I’d ever done.
I just kept accidentally sucking in a bit of seawater as I did it.
God, I wish I was just a little more coordinated.
“You done already, princess?” Drake asked, amusement coloring his words.
“I just got a little saltwater in my mouth, needed a break,” I called back, turning around in the water to get a better view of his yacht. “Aren’t you getting in? You’ve been delaying the inevitable for almost an hour.”
“I like getting a view of your assets.”
I blushed, heat flaring in my cheeks, as I looked down at the red and gold bikini that I’d found in my fabulous closet. “You picked it out.”
“Indeed, and I was right. It does look fabulous on you.”
“But you’re still getting in, aren’t you? These sea turtles won’t see themselves. They’re so cute.”
“You’re that type, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” I asked, running a hand through my wet, tangled hair.
In a couple minutes, I was going to poke my head back into the water whether Drake joined me or not. It was so amazing to see the variety of life in the coral reef—from the kelp all the way up to the small nurse sharks. Maybe he’d done this tourist trap thing a million times, but I didn’t have access to a private yacht or the Bahamas, so I was going to take advantage of the day he’d set up for us.
Drake stood up and went to the table on the deck to retrieve his own flippers, snorkel, and goggles. “You’re that bleeding-heart type who probably tears up when you watch documentaries about turtles in the Galapagos and how the odds are against them. I think I have you pegged.”
“I have always been big into conservation,” I admitted. “Besides, turtles are adorable. So slow, but so determined; they never give up!”
He laughed as he finished slipping on his gear. I noticed that he wasn’t taking off his t-shirt though and that it remained on over his swim trunks. He hadn’t taken off his shirt early this morning either. All that struck me as so odd. He didn’t seem to have a lack of confidence in any area. Besides, it wasn’t like he was out of shape. He could probably become a P90x instructor tomorrow. The man had muscles for days, a mass of sinew that would make any straight woman’s mouth water. Besides, it was the Bahamas and warm enough even for me in a bikini. Surely, having that cotton tee on him would both weigh him down and feel stifling hot.
Wouldn’t it?
Shaking my head, I squealed a little as he landed beside me in the water, his cannonball splashing me thoroughly. It wasn’t my business to ask anything, to pry. I’d already dug into his footlocker and things had gotten dangerous from there. Poor Drake still had the swollen nose and the puffy, bloodied lip to prove it. If he wanted to tell me about the shirt and the insistence on it, then he would.
I could be patient and wait.
Really, I could.
Chapter Nine
Drake
The day couldn’t have gone better. It floored me how different everything was from the cluster fuck that had unraveled l
ast night. I’d thought I’d lost her, that she’d flee the Bahamas when I’d screamed at her over my footlocker. Then I’d almost been too late to save her. I wasn’t even sure if she remembered everything from the night before or if she just wasn’t mentioning it. I’d almost beaten one of those men to death, pounded into his eyebrows and nose until they cracked and blood flowed. All those things like back in the desert, back in my post.
If she remembered that, she wouldn’t still be here; she’d know how fucked up I was.
Still, we’d swam in the ocean, snorkeling and enjoying the wildlife. I’d done it dozens of times, but it had been a year or more since I’d had time. It was odd the things you could get used to. I didn’t think about how amazing it was to see, or how that sight could bring a smile to someone’s face until I’d seen Belle so excited. She really was an eco-nut, but it was cute on her, the way she kept swimming after a family of turtles and cooing when she touched a baby’s shell.
Definitely worth it.
I just had to remember all the good things in my life sometimes. I tended to forget, or maybe my wealth just left me always looking for the next high, the next big thing. I got too used to how beautiful everything could be and seeing Belle so excited woke something up in me. Her enthusiasm bled into mine, actually prodded mine back to life.
Dinner on the boat watching the sunset had been pitch perfect as well, but now I wasn’t nervous, not exactly. I just didn’t want to deal with any more fallout; I didn’t want to chase her down again if she didn’t like what I was showing her. My playroom, where I kept all my bondage gear, was a sacred space to me. I had one arranged in every estate or apartment I had. It was the defining detail I held out for. If I was going to buy a property, then it had to have the right bones to be remodeled to allow me to play, to practice control.
Some days it felt like being a Dom was the only way I could do that. I couldn’t stop my PTSD episodes from losing control. I couldn’t always fight back the darkness that consumed me, but I could be as cool and collected as I wanted to be when I was in charge, when I had a lover bound before me and obeying my every command.
I wasn’t going to start that intensely for her, but she needed to see everything about me, at least if we were going to continue with our negotiations for this month.
Belle looked up at me and frowned as we stood in front of the thick oak door. I pulled out a skeleton key and patted it against my hand.
“This is the only thick door here,” she noted. “Even your… the room in the library,” she corrected, clearly trying to gloss over last night. “Even that has a normal door. So, is this your secret lair?”
I shrugged and tried to keep my composure. I was best at that.
Maintain control at all costs.
It was what I needed because sometimes an animal slipped out when I didn’t keep that leash on it, when I let myself grow weak.
“Actually, it is.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
I turned the key in the lock and twisted open the knob. As the door swung wide, I let her take in everything from the black painted walls, the cuffs and whips, the chains and the paddles, the floggers and the cluster of satin blindfolds. I didn’t look back when I entered into my playroom. This was my refuge. If Belle wanted to come, then she would. She’d cross that boundary between us or she wouldn’t.
There was a gasp behind me.
“Is this what I think it is?”
I nodded. “It’s my room, where I want to be, where I have to be.”
Her voice was quiet, subdued. “This is where you do everything, isn’t it? Bring your subs?”
“It’s where I’d like to bring you. We can start slower, but you wanted to do negotiations. I figured we needed to cut to the chase. Either you can handle the idea of this room, can handle going further, or you can’t.”
She crossed the threshold. I knew because her hand was on my shoulder. “I want to. I said I wanted in on negotiations and I meant it, but I can’t just get chains and—is that a cat-o’-nine-tail?”
I turned around and placed a hand under her chin. Those blue eyes of hers were as intense as ever but seemed to have some humor in them, too. She seemed to be game for this, even if I could see the fear lurking there, too.
“There’s a little bit of everything. I can’t wait to show you everything Ben-Wa balls can do someday.”
A blush streaked across her cheeks, and I knew then that I was getting my way with her, that her walls were coming down. She wouldn’t have followed me this far, into this room, without wanting to be here. I wanted that as well. I craved her, like a fresh hit of heroin in a junkie’s arm. Somehow, some part of me maybe even knew that at the first negotiation. I knew it for sure when I pulled that asshole off her.
“I don’t even know what those are.”
I nodded and crossed behind her to shut and lock the door. Mrs. Johnson and Leonard knew better than to wander in my wing of the house. There were certain places I kept sacred and certain things only I handled. This room was one of them.
“Do you want to play with me, princess?” I lowered my voice to a rumble and loved the way she seemed to fidget from foot to foot. I knew what that meant, had seen it in the others I’d brought here. I bet she was fucking wet already, her juices flowing freely and ready for a hard fuck, even if she wasn’t ready for the whole nine yards.
“I don’t want to be tied up, not yet, and I’m not sure I can handle pain.”
“You’re not ready for anything that intense,” I said. “But you can lie down on the bed.” I gestured to the massive four-post monster covered in red silk sheets. “I’ll be right with you.”
She did as she was told, for once not offering me her counter perspective. Of course, that was Belle as well. She wanted to argue and take the moral high ground but, deep down, she also wanted—no, needed—my touch the way I needed hers. While she settled herself on the bed, I rummaged through the shelf, pulling out the toys I’d need for the night; the basic things that would help integrate her to my world. Then I turned on the stereo to something melodic and low, but still sensual.
Something primal.
After all, it matched what we were doing here.
Turning, I couldn’t help but smirk at the veritable feast laid out before me. Her delicate pale skin seemed like paper against the blood red of the sheets. Her breasts heaved with every breath, and my cock twitched at the glimpse of her dusky rose nipples. I wanted to lick them, to trace my tongue over every fucking inch of her succulent areolas. She was a gift from the gods, and she was mine.
“So, what do you have there?” she asked, her voice anxious and higher pitched than normal.
“A blindfold and the basics for sensory play. I promise nothing painful, no stings unless you ask.”
“I don’t think I will,” she said, a pout making her lips stand out even more, making me daydream about what they’d feel like wrapped around my dick.
“We’ll see on that, I promise,” I said. Then I set out the toys on the bedside stand: two gloves, one satin and one of rabbit fur and a blindfold. “Now, Ms. Fontaine, we’re going to see how sensitive your senses are.”
***
I wasn’t sure what I was doing. A few days ago, the last thing I’d have done was go into a sex dungeon—okay, the room was better than that, the bed as fine as in a luxury hotel—but I’d never thought I’d be here. I came to the Bahamas to save my mom and my father’s company. I’d never thought about giving in this far into what Drake desired, but he’d saved me and then he’d made me feel better than I’d ever felt in my life. No, more than that, Drake left me craving him like I was a kid craving a sugar high. I needed more from him, and I was ready to go further.
Besides, it’s just a couple of gloves and a blindfold. I can do that.
He slipped the blindfold over me and it took a couple minutes until I realized that he wasn’t touching me yet.
“Wait, did I do something wrong?” I asked, sitting up in b
ed.
“No,” he replied. “Part of the scene is about anticipation, about the buildup of need as much as the experience. With the blindfold on, I want you to open your other senses. Hear the velvet in my voice, the low drums of the music. You can feel the softness of the silk under your skin and taste the need in the air.”
“Smell the incense in the room, too,” I pointed out, realizing that he’d lit something.
“Candle, actually, a cinnamon one.”
“Of course, you’re a wild rebel.”
“Princess, I’ve always been wild. You bring it out in me more than most, but I’ve always had it surging through me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
I stilled on the bed, and I felt bad. I had seen glimpses of what he was capable of, and that still lay underneath our banter, that side of him I couldn’t quite reach. And maybe I didn’t want to, not after the shouting and escalation in his footlocker room.
“I don’t,” I finally replied.
“Master,” he said.
I quirked my head in the general direction of his voice, even as the cinnamon scent continued to tickle my nose. I caught a whiff of that same hint of musk that always clung to Drake. “Really?”
“That’s part of this room, princess. I’m your master here, if you agree, so the label applies. When you speak with me, when I allow you to ask questions, you have to address me as ‘master.’ You will do that,” he said, his voice a growl that left my heart pounding and my clit throbbing.
“Yes, Master,” I gasped, that word tripping easily off my tongue, as if I’d been destined to say it.
“That’s exactly right, princess. I have you here. I control what goes on. So, you’ll call me master because that’s what I am. You belong to me right now.”
“I do!” I said, feeling sparks arch across my skin, as if static electricity were lighting up my body, firing up every nerve.