Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  “Keep your voice down.” I hush my friend, aware that I’m being watched by my half-siblings. They report every infraction, imagined or real, to my father, hoping he’ll finally withdraw his support and his love. “You’re in charge because I need, no, I deserve one evening to relax.” This isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the full truth either, as I will be banging my billionaire tonight. “I don’t know why I must be the one to make all of the decisions.”

  “Because you have a keen brain in that pretty little head of yours.” Benoit winks. “Which is why I chose to work for you, and why your Mr. Ross guards you closely. Your man doesn’t want stupid children.”

  “He’s not my man.” Logan doesn’t think of me as marriage material.

  “Tell that to him.” My friend shrugs. “Speaking of decisions we must make, we’re running low on the eighty-two. We only have three bottles left.”

  “Then serve the eighty-three.” He opens his mouth, a refusal written all over his pretty face, and I hastily add, “I realize that vintage of champagne isn’t as rich as the eighty-two, but it’s late in the evening, and very few guests are as discerning as we are.”

  “They’re ignorant buffoons,” the Frenchman grumbles.

  “Who are generously supporting our educational programs.” I pat his tuxedo-clad arm, trying to pacify him. “That was my last decision of the night, my friend.”

  He frowns.

  “You agreed to this,” I remind him. “And I trust you to handle any minor problems.” He knows I consider almost every problem to be minor. “If there’s an emergency situation, speak with Cindra.”

  “Not Cindra, anyone but her.” Benoit glances over his shoulder at my half-sister and shudders dramatically. “I’d rather drink the seventy-eight.” Seventy-eight was one of the worst years for champagne in recent memory.

  “There’s no one else.” Frederick, my half-brother, flat out refused to help. Kayla, the youngest half-sister, couldn’t make a decision to save her life. “I doubt there will be any emergency situations.”

  My friend mutters under his breath.

  “You’ll manage, Benoit. I have faith in your abilities.” I walk away, ignoring my guilt. He knows the routine, having shadowed me at dozens of similar events. He can handle this responsibility.

  I approach my half-siblings, my dread carefully hidden behind a polite mask. Frederick, Kayla, and Cindra watch me with a disturbing level of interest, as though they expect me to embarrass myself, to shame our father.

  I won’t be their entertainment tonight. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I’m no longer a child they can tease and torment.

  “Your boy toy looks unhappy.” Cindra throws the opening verbal punch, her blue eyes glittering with malice. “Are you having a lover’s tiff?”

  Guests, hovering nearby, twitter behind their hands. Her words will be embellished and repeated, tarnishing my reputation even more.

  “Benoit was consulting with me on a gala issue.” And he prefers men. I keep this information to myself, his personal life being no one’s concern but his.

  “He was consulting with you?” Kayla supports Cindra as she always does. “Is that what you’re calling your activities now?” She looks down her perfect nose at me, a glass of champagne clasped by her well-manicured fingers.

  I wish it was the seventy-eight.

  “His unhappiness is to be expected.” Frederick joins the fray. “According to rumors, you’re having nightly private consultations with Logan Ross.” His lip curls.

  “Daddy won’t like that,” Cindra sings.

  “Our father knows those rumors aren’t true.” Tomorrow I won’t be able to use this defense. The gossip will reflect reality.

  My half-siblings laugh, causing a wave of whispers to roll through our audience. I don’t know why I respond to their jibes. No one believes a word I say. They all think I’m fucking Logan.

  “You’re just like your mother.” Cindra, the eldest and the meanest, is the first to bring up my ethically-challenged parent. “When Daddy finally sees that, you’ll be cut off.”

  That’s their goal, to drive a permanent wedge between our father and me, his unwelcome slut-spawn. It isn’t enough that they have the bulk of his affections. They want it all, begrudging me the gold teardrop-shaped pendant I wear while our father drapes them in diamonds, complaining about my economy vehicle even as they stand in front of their luxury cars, contesting my five percent share in St. James Communications using income earned from their ten percent ownerships.

  I stifle a sigh. I’m weary of being attacked, weary of being alone, untouched and isolated, starved for affection. A movement catches my eye and I glance upward, hope and longing coloring my soul.

  It isn’t Logan. My burst of happiness fades. Benoit lurks in an alcove, signaling that he wishes to talk to me. I shake my head, refusing his request. My workday is done. I told him I’d made my last decision.

  He frowns and beckons again, his movements more exaggerated and frantic. I’m not in charge, I silently scream. For once in my life, I don’t want to be responsible for anything other than my own pleasure.

  The Frenchman waves his hands in the air, almost clipping a passing waiter with his elbow. His mouth is moving. I can’t hear his words, he’s too far away, but I see his desperation. He needs my help. I take a step toward.

  “Oh my God,” Cindra gasps. The mood in the ballroom shifts, the air thickening with expectation. “He did dare to show his face.” She sounds almost giddy. “Daddy’s going to blow a gasket.”

  Only one man can cause our father to lose his temper. I mouth a clear no to Benoit, adding a hand chop for emphasis. If the newcomer is who I think he is, my friend will have to deal with his problems on his own.

  “He has some gall,” Kayla chimes in. “He might have been able to sneak into the other events, but this is our gala. Everyone knows he has no business being here.”

  It must be him. I look over my shoulder and my breath hitches. It is.

  Logan Ross, billionaire investor, thirty-five percent shareholder in St. James Communications, and my father’s sworn enemy, has arrived.

  My heart races and my senses tingle, my body awakening as though from a long sleep. The man I’ve chosen to be my first, perhaps my last, lover, stands in the ballroom’s doorway. He draws every gaze, his shoulders barely contained in his black form-fitting tuxedo, his stance deliciously dominant, his feet braced apart like he’s preparing for battle. The lights from the crystal chandelier shine a spotlight on his thick mane of black hair.

  He suits the venue, a man as darkly elegant as the gothic revival-style mansion he’s entered. I shiver with feminine appreciation. Several lifetimes ago, Logan Ross might have been a warrior, standing on the battlements with his hands clenched behind his back, watching over his domain. The woman he defended would have been safe, protected, cherished. No enemy would have dared to storm his gates.

  Tonight, those gates will surround me. I’ll be the woman he defends and he’ll expect my total submission in return for his protection. He hasn’t been shy about his sexual preferences, sending me links to websites, murmuring his plans for us against my cheek. This won’t be a vanilla first taste of sex. He’ll restrain me, spank me, force me to service him.

  My pussy moistens, the possibilities exciting me. He’ll tell me what to do, his commands supplanting my inexperience, ensuring we both leave his bedroom, his dungeon, as I privately think of it, satisfied. It will be glorious. I won’t disappoint him and I won’t be required to make any decisions.

  “I know he wasn’t on Father’s guest list.” Frederick interrupts my fantasies. “Arianna must have invited him.”

  “No one invited him.”

  Logan does whatever he desires, fuck guest lists, fuck getting permission. Father refused to grant him security clearance for St. James Communications properties. Logan had his own passcard made. Father wouldn’t allow him to access the database. Logan instructed his team to hack into the system. />
  The billionaire takes what he wants, and tonight, he wants me, the family-run charity event be damned. My toes curl.

  “Father is in a private room, negotiating a deal.” Kayla stares at me. “If Ross leaves now, Father won’t realize you invited him.”

  I didn’t invite him. Knowing they won’t listen to me, I remain silent, my gaze drifting to Logan. He searches the crowded space. Beautiful women flip their hair and smile enticingly, trying to attract his attention. He doesn’t notice them, his focus on finding me.

  “Once she gives him what he wants, he’ll go away,” Cindra states loudly, her inference that I’ll grant him a fast fuck irritatingly obvious. “We’ll allow her to manage him.”

  I doubt anyone can manage Logan. He’s dominant and determined down to his well-clad feet. “I’ll talk to Ross, ask him to leave.” I smooth my moist palms over my evening gown, don a polite society smile, and step forward.

  Logan turns his head and his gaze locks on mine. His brown eyes gleam with awareness, appreciation, and a thrilling possessiveness, as though I’m already his, I belong to him.

  This is only one night. I repeat this mantra in my mind. Don’t get emotionally involved. I glide toward him, putting distance between my half-siblings and me, not wanting them to overhear our certain-to-be outrageous conversation.

  My billionaire isn’t patiently waiting for my arrival. He stalks across the marble floor, his gait fluid and smooth, his gaze fixed on my face.

  Bejeweled society matrons and gray-haired business titans step out of his path, their eyes widening with curiosity. Couples stop dancing. The band valiantly continues to play, choosing a waltz as their next piece of music, the haunting notes filling the silence.

  Guests expect a scene. They won’t get one. I’ve watched my mom in action. I know how to handle a horny man.

  “Mr. Ross.” I hold out my right hand, proud of how steady it is. “I’m glad you could come.” My voice lowers, accentuating the innuendo. “To our little event.”

  Logan clasps my fingers, his palm warm and intriguingly calloused. “I knew you’d be here.” His deep rumble rolls through my body, tightening my nipples. “It wasn’t a hard decision.”

  Is he hard? I resist the urge to drop my gaze and verify, knowing other people are watching us. “Did you receive the agenda for tonight?” Does he understand that no one is to know about our liaison?

  “I did.” He lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles, his breath wafting across my skin. “I incorporated it into my plans.” Gold flecks glow in his eyes as he straightens. “You have no reason to worry, Arianna.” He doesn’t release my hand. Instead, he places my palm on his forearm, his muscles flexing under his tuxedo jacket. “You can trust me.”

  “I know I can trust you.” I study him, this man I’ve chosen to fuck. “That’s why I sent you tonight’s agenda.” Our texts alone, private exchanges with the dreaded enemy, would damn me in my father’s eyes. “You would never hurt me.” I know this in my soul.

  “I won’t allow anyone to hurt you,” Logan makes one of his infamous vows, promises he’s been known to bend laws to keep. “You won’t regret your decision.”

  We stand in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by people. I see only him, entranced by the emotion in his brown eyes, his passion, his need, and something more, something I don’t dare believe in.

  “Was this my decision?” I muse. “Did I have a choice?” Or was this inevitable, our fate, our destiny?

  “No, you didn’t have a choice.” Logan’s lips lift into one of his rare smiles. “Dance with me.” This is a command, not a request. He leads me onto the floor. “It’s expected.” He swings me into position, his maneuvering graceful and sure.

  It is expected. In the past, he has arrived at events, sought me out for a dance, and then departed immediately after our exchange.

  His focus on me means nothing. If I say this statement enough times, I might believe it. I bend my left arm, layering my limb over his. Logan clasps my right hand tightly. Our bodies come together and we move as one.

  This isn’t the rigid proper waltz I learned at ballroom dance class. It is rolling and sensuous, like the undulation of muscle under skin. One, two, three. One, two, three. There’s no thinking, no talking, only feeling, reacting. Logan steps forward. I step back. He turns. I follow.

  Our hips brush together, my skirt swirling around his black pants. I gaze at his sharp chin, firm lips, feeling delicate, womanly, trusting him to guide me, to keep me safe.

  Logan dips me and I fall back, confident he’ll catch me. “You’re exquisite.” His eyes gleam and he draws me upright, twirls me across the floor. If dancing is a sign of companionship, we’re ideally suited. I’ve never had a partner know me like he does, reading my abilities, fulfilling my wishes.

  The music fades and he sweeps me toward the edge of the dance floor. Before the song ends, he’s concealed us in the crowd. “Escort me from the room.” He covers my hand with his. “As you’ve been instructed.”

  My gaze darts upward. How does he know I’ve been given that order? “I can’t climb into the limousine with you,” I murmur, aware that we’re being watched. “People will gossip.”

  “People already gossip.” Logan leans into me. “They see how we dance, speculate that we fuck as passionately.” His crudeness stimulates, rather than shocks me. “They suspect your sweet pussy is filled with my cum, that my love bites decorate the curve of your ass and my scent is on your skin,” he breathes into my hair and I warm, all over. “Everyone here knows you’re mine.”

  I stare at him, my thoughts obliterated by his words.

  “Looking at me with your fuck-me face won’t stop the gossip.” He chuckles softly and I blush. “No one will see you enter my limousine.” Logan steers me across the crowded ballroom, his stride shortened to match mine, his hold on me steady. “We’ll leave through the gardens.”

  “Someone will follow us,” I express my worry, unaccustomed to giving another person control.

  “No, someone won’t. I’ve taken precautions.” His certainty eases some of my concerns. “People will speculate, they already are, but no one will know.”

  Speculation has been dogging me since birth. Heads turn and people whisper as we pass them. This isn’t a new phenomenon. I’m always being observed.

  Except tonight, the murmurs aren’t as loud. The disdainful looks aren’t as direct. I glance up at Logan, knowing he’s the cause. The billionaire investor scares the shit out of everyone, and, by being with him, I’m protected. I’m no longer alone.

  Logan opens the balcony door and we step onto the terrace, the structure overlooking the gardens. The cool night breeze sweeps over my flushed cheeks, a thousand ghostly fingers stroking my bare skin, fluttering my knee-length skirt.

  I shiver.

  “You’re cold.” He shrugs out of his jacket, his shirt stark white against the darkness, and he drapes the garment over my shoulders.

  I draw the tuxedo jacket closer to me, savoring his body heat, his cologne, a mixture of spice, musk, and him, clinging to the fabric. “Thank you, Mr. Ross.” Wearing his clothing feels decadently intimate, the act arousing me.

  “Thank you, Logan.” His tone is stern. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me by my first name. When we’re in a scene, you’ll address me as sir.”

  He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to demand it. My body hums with appreciation. I can please a man like him. “How will I know when we’re in a scene?” The BDSM websites he directed me to never explained that detail.

  “You’ll know.” Logan grazes his fingertips over my cheeks, his touch agonizingly gentle. “It’s like dancing. I’ll lead and you’ll follow.” He traces my lips, I open to him, thirsting to taste him, and he smiles. “Your body already knows what I want.” He pulls his fingers away from my mouth, the loss of his caresses reverberating throughout my body, amplifying my loneliness. “It accepts that you’re mine.”

  “I’m your
s.” I am breathless with need. “For tonight.”

  “Tonight is merely one more step in our relationship.” He opens the tuxedo jacket and brazenly brushes his knuckles over my taut nipples. I shudder, his touch felt through the thin fabric, and his dark eyes sparkle. “We’ll both want more.”

  Chapter Two

  A woman laughs loudly. This sound pierces my erotic haze, drawing my attention to my surroundings, to the danger of discovery. Oh, shit. We’re standing too close to the building, in view of the windows. I reluctantly pull away from Logan, missing his warmth immediately.

  “You won’t want more than one night.” I strive to sound more casual than I feel. My father’s passion for my mom was sated with one fuck. My billionaire’s lust for me will be appeased as quickly, and then I’ll be back to being alone, always alone.

  “You have no idea what I want, Arianna.” Logan’s voice is decadently deep.

  “You’re a man, and I know what men want.” I descend the stairs into the gardens, placing one foot in front of the other, swaying my hips seductively. “I’m the St. James slut, remember?” I play the role I’ve always rejected. “According to rumors, I don’t sleep in the same bed twice.”

  My billionaire follows me closely, his form tall and broad, his presence protective, stimulating, exciting. “According to my observations, the St. James slut has slept in her own bed for seven months and five days.”

  I stumble over nothing, shocked, surprised, secretively pleased. We met seven months and five days ago. I thought I was the only one who noted that date. “How do you know where I’ve been sleeping?” I ask. “Are you having me followed?” Why does this thrill me?

  “Yes, I am.” Logan flicks his fingers. A massive man with a scarred face separates from the shadows. They talk, their voices too low to hear. The man nods, looks at me, and fades back into the night.

  I widen my eyes, silently asking my billionaire for more information.

  “My team will ensure we’re not disturbed.” He guides me into the gardens, his left palm pressed against the small of my back, his touch comforting me. “No one else will know about tonight.”