The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  “I’ve been hurt, yes. Have there been times with you in which I thought of that man? Yes, and they frightened me. I won’t mince my words – I am scared. I’m scared to not only love but to also be dominated. I’m not scared to be submissive. It’s my nature to want to serve others, especially men. Do you know which wonderful ways I could serve you?

  “I will bring you what you want, you need, and even put the spoon to your mouth so you don’t have to move another muscle at the end of a long work day. I will put my hands on you, gently, massaging whatever you please as I begin to fantasize about the other things you will ask of me. Serving makes me so needy. The moment you force your hand, Mr. Warren, is the moment in which I belong wholly to you and am ready for you to use my will and body in any ways you please.

  “The other day here in my room I wanted you to not only dominate me, but to use my desires to fuel your own. Why didn’t you ask me to take off your clothes, to take off my clothes? You could have asked me to do anything. I would have pressed my lips and tongue to your manhood the moment you asked for it. I would have bent over, climbed on top of you, even turned myself upside down for you. Just thinking about it now drives me insane, Mr. Warren. I need you. The fact that you are not coming through that door right now to use me is breaking my heart, not you doing it.

  “Nevertheless, you are right. I should not rush into anything. We shouldn’t rush into anything. Perhaps I am a delicate flower who hasn’t taken root again yet. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t scared to know exactly how you will use me and make me serve you. Trust. That’s the word, isn’t it? I barely know you. I have your word, but I long learned that a man’s word may as well be dirt. My fantasies are only that. What do they mean when you’re hurting me anyway?

  “See? I assume that you will. I’m pathetic.

  “Give me some time. In the meantime, I should like to hear from you again like this. Please write to me any time.

  “Patiently waiting, Monica.”

  ***

  “Dearest Monica,

  “You flatter me with your fantasies while also confirming what I suspected. Don’t think I don’t know how you would have behaved that day. I wanted it too. Tonight I came home from the office and imagined you giving me that massage before we bathed together. What man doesn’t want to imagine a beautiful woman serving him in the tub? Don’t mistake me for a man who gives nothing back. I will serve you too, in a way. Not just with my body, but with my mind. Or at least I hope you think I’m a good conversationalist. I want to know your opinions, your personality. Tell me what your favorite season is and why. Tell me what you think of recent stock prices, for God’s sake. I know you keep track of them. Maybe you have a portfolio. How’s it going for you? I love to talk business.

  “I will give you my heart. It’s frightening, isn’t it? This heart exchanging business. It’s been a while since I was last properly in love. I want to make that love with you.

  “I also want to ravage you, as you asked. I want to know what you feel like beneath me, your body on the other end of mine as I reach deep into you and touch your soul. Do you moan? Do you cry out? Do you whimper? I want to know. I want to know how warm you feel inside and how you sound in my ear as you cling to me and dig your nails into my skin. There’s nothing more exciting than getting to know a woman for the first time. There’s nothing more rewarding than knowing that same woman over and over again.

  “Don’t take me for a man who only wants to use you, Monica. I’m not a casual love kind of man, especially at this point in my life. I want to build a life and sustain it. I’m a lifestyler, like you. An equal partnership that expresses itself in a different way. I may tie you up and tell you what to do, but I will also turn to you as my confidant. I want you to trust me like that too.

  “Trust is a funny thing. To have a woman’s trust is a bigger deal than most of my fellow men give it credit. But I want to earn it. I will prove myself to you over and over until you know to trust me wholeheartedly. Even if it takes me years, I will do this.

  “Is this a courtship? Are these letters our way of working up to that moment when we truly begin? You may not have let me be your patron, Monica, but I certainly hope that you let me be your intended. However you wish to interpret that.

  “Please continue to take care. I am waiting.

  “Yours, Henry.

  “PS. I have included one of my private numbers. It is text and email only.”

  ***

  “My dearest Henry,

  “You speak to my romantic sensibilities. Perhaps you’re that much of a smooth talker. Your charisma certainly leaves nothing to desire. In fact, I would venture a guess that you don’t usually have such difficulties getting a woman’s attention. Not that you had difficulties getting mine. As you say so yourself, it is not as easy as we would like it to be for us to simply be together. This cat and mouse game we willingly play will be the death of me.

  “Just yesterday I was thinking of you while we had our monthly patrons’ dinner. I can’t believe it’s been a whole month since you came into my life. Mr. Witherspoon was here, but I did not dare ask about you. I assume that you have not told anyone about us. Although I hadn’t mentioned it yet, I prefer things this way. I can’t afford for people to speculate and say things about me. I already pushed boundaries being so open with my dinners with you.

  “When I think that it’s only been a month, I’m both surprised and accepting of it. You and I, Mr. Warren, are people who know exactly what they want and how to go about getting it. We’re practical, aren’t we? Waiting until the time is right. As frustrated as I was with you for leaving me that day, I understand why you did it. I will continue to improve myself until I can fully love you without hesitation.

  “Should I use that word? Even though I am a romantic, I am also a sensible woman. ‘Love’ is something we can’t know about until later. I loved too easily the last time I was in a relationship. It was that naiveté that led to me being taken advantage of.

  “I’ve been doing some research about you, Mr. Warren. You’re a hard man to track down on the internet. I like that you’re not a public persona. They can be exhausting to deal with.

  “This past week I decided to start doing some redecorating in my room. You might not recognize parts of it the next time you come by. The decorations are the same, and I have no desire to give up my recently acquired items… I’ve merely started adding in a few things here and there. It created a commotion when I had a single contractor in here giving me a quote on the work he could do. I haven’t added any crosses, but there is good potential for the hook in the ceiling above my bed. Eventually I want to convert some of my closet space into a… well, you’ll see once my plan has come into fruition. I think you will like it, assuming I have pegged you as a certain kind of Dom.

  “Even though we cannot meet face to face right now, please know that I look forward to every one of your messages. Sometimes I convince myself that this relationship of a sort is completely in my head and that you don’t even really exist. Perhaps I made you up after all. A man I created in my mind because you were cool and kind to me, when so many men weren’t. I fill my heart with images of our life together, like any silly girl in young love would do, but at the end of the day I see your letters and know that this is real. This is true. One day, when I am ready, you will come to me and give me everything that I crave.

  “Or at least I desperately hope so. When you’re in my position, Mr. Warren, hope is all you have.

  “Truly yours, Monica.”

  ***

  “Monica,

  “As long as we’re sharing, I will tell you that I too thought you might have been an illusion. Never before had I seen and spoken with a woman as elegant and intelligent as you. I am only more attracted to the fact that you wish to enter that sort of lifestyle with a man, let alone me. When I think about you, I also convince myself that I have it all in my head and heart. I’m supposed to be a composed man. I
can barely keep myself together in my business meetings, because suddenly my thoughts turn to you, and then I am transported to a world where we share our thoughts and then make love. I’ve had lovers who entertained me at the dinner table but lacked in the bedroom. In turn, I’ve had lovers who were everything I wanted in bed, but bored me to tears outside of it. I believe you could be both good things and so much more.

  “I don’t mean to put pressure on you. It’s how I honestly feel. The sense I get from you is unlike anything I have ever felt before. Rarely does a woman make me feel the rush of lust and the intrigue of a new friend at the same time. It’s usually one or the other. It’s funny, because I’ve never considered myself a man with a physical type. I’ve found all sorts of women physically beautiful. After knowing you as I do now, however, I can safely say that I think you are my type. Should I never see you again, I would want to eventually find a woman who matches you. Not to replace you, but because I can’t imagine finding any other woman attractive than one who looks like you.

  “Is that a strange thing to say? I’m sure it came out the wrong way. I’m sorry, Monica, but when it comes to talking to you, I discover that I suddenly lose my vocabulary and write the arguments of a university freshman who has yet to learn what a thesis statement is. Did I ever tell you that I have an uncle who is a professor at Harvard?

  “I, too, look forward to our correspondences. I feel like a kid waiting for the mail every day. Your words, although they do not tell me what I wish to hear, make my evening. I go to sleep thinking of them, and in the morning I am rested after only having good dreams.”

  “I hope your business is doing well, and I hope that Sam isn’t giving you any trouble.

  “Henry.”

  ***

  “I disgust myself with how much I think of you.”

  ***

  “I see you decided to email me. I miss your beautiful handwriting, but this feels delightfully direct.”

  ***

  “I’m serious, Henry. I’ve become an unnatural creature. You appear in my thoughts even when you have no business doing so. Tonight we had a full house, with a party in almost every room and my girls working themselves dead. I could hear one of them with her patron when I passed by her room. I don’t know what he was doing to her, but I could only imagine. Fucking her, I suppose. Whatever it was, she genuinely enjoyed it. I know the difference between her patron placating moans and her real ones. The longer I idled there, listening like a pervert, the more I thought of you and my desire to have you. I almost feel inhuman.”

  ***

  “And if I were there, what would you have me do?”

  ***

  “No, that’s not how it works. You’re the one who decides.”

  ***

  “What would I do to you? I’d begin by tying your wrists together, and then blindfold you until all you can rely on are your ears and the top of your skin. I’d disrobe you, moving my hands over your body, exploring every inch of your curves until I know you in ways I never imagined.”

  ***

  “And then?”

  ***

  “And then I would bend you over my knee and test your limits for that kind of pain. You’d cry out, but I think you would like it, yes?”

  ***

  “I do love a good spanking. Then what?”

  ***

  “I wouldn’t go easy on you, not even the first time. I want to deny myself as much as I want to deny you. I’ll take you to the brink of release again and again, making you beg until I can’t stand it anymore. When I finally unleash myself upon you…”

  ***

  “For God’s sake, what?”

  ***

  “Use your imagination.”

  ***

  Monica didn’t want to use her imagination anymore. She was tired of tossing and turning every night, losing sleep because all she could think about amounted to one of two men. She already dreamed of Jackson every night. Sometimes they were the rogue dreams of fancy, the kind that said, “Things could have worked out so much better,” while others turned into absolute nightmares from the onset. The hateful things he said to her, the way he treated her in public, the way he shut her up in his guarded palace to ensure she had no agency. Love had trapped her with him. No amount of reasoning could have saved her, until he went out and brought another woman home.

  Maybe I’m not ready. Monica sat at her desk, wishing she had a crystal ball to tell her what to do. This was why she didn’t like having relationship balls in her court. Too much pressure. Too much anxiety for a submissive like her. She wanted Henry to set the rules and then follow through once the conditions were met. If only there were some magical words Monica could say to make him appear.

  I’m desperate. A slut. An easy woman. She was sure that’s what people would say about her. The first man to pay attention to her like that after Jackson… and she goes running into his arms? Shit, Henry was right. If she were him, she would have abandoned the situation as well, no matter how hard her cock got.

  Except there was a fallacy to his way of thinking. If he waited for Monica to be completely over Jackson, then he would be waiting forever. There was no way she would ever be completely over a relationship like that. Wasn’t that part of the reason she hid herself away in her brand new Château? So she could stew in her misery while watching other people around her enjoy themselves?

  What did other women do? Did they force themselves to move on? Did they go up against men who told them that they weren’t ready? Did she insist that they were, then live happily ever after? Monica wasn’t even sure she believed in happily ever afters. She wanted to build a life with a good man, yes, but she also wasn’t a naïve little girl anymore.

  Henry might hurt her. He might break her heart and cast her out. At one time Jackson was a kind, attentive lover who seemed to love nothing more than pleasing his sub. Who was to say that all Doms weren’t like that? Monica would like to see someone try.

  She pressed her face against her hands and contained a sob as best as she could. She wanted to be much younger again, back when she first discovered the lifestyle and instantly jumped into all of the possibilities. Her first boyfriend had been as clueless as her when it came to domination and submission. At least those mistakes could be explained away with inexperience. What Jackson did to her later… there was no excuse for that.

  Monica didn’t want to make that mistake again. She owed it to herself to find a man who both understood and respected her. If such a man could be found.

  Either stop hoping or give it one last chance. Monica wouldn’t say she was jaded. Just cautious. In her lifestyle, she had to be cautious.

  ***

  “To Mr. Henry Warren,

  “You are cordially invited to attend a party thrown by Madam Monica Graham at Le Château on the night of Friday the 27th. Parking and dinner will be provided.

  “Formal wear is to be expected. Black tie not necessary.

  “Failure to arrive may mean a severance from all future invitations. Please RSVP.”

  ***

  “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 8

  To Serve And Be Dominated

  Butterflies danced in Monica’s stomach that Friday night when she descended the staircase to greet the first guest. Contrary to what her invitation to Henry said, it was simply another night in the Château. Two patrons were scheduled to come in for appointments, but otherwise the only business that night was two walk-in clients who happily walked away with Chelsea and Judith to their rooms.

  Mr. Carlisle entered, although he was early and thus Sylvia was not ready for him yet. Not until Monica took his hat and coat for him did he speak besides the usual greetings.

  “That is a lovely shawl, Madam,” he said, gesturing to the light red shawl adorning Monica’s otherwise bare shoulders. “The color suits you.”

  “Thank you.” Monica bowed her head, but Mr. Carlisle’s attentions were soon taken by Sylvia, who bou
nded down the grand staircase in her little black dress, pearls, and freshly curled hair. Her ecstatic greeting was probably half truth, but Mr. Carlisle didn’t care. He paid for her time, and he was here to take what he paid for.

  Monica waited in the front hall for Grace’s patron Mr. Andrews to arrive. He brought his wife with him again. This time Mrs. Andrews, in her fur stole and emerald necklace, looked much more comfortable standing in a house of damning pleasure than the first night she came. And how many times she came… If she believed Grace, anyway. I should start charging by the orgasm if we’re getting more female clients. Monica’s girls were talented.