by Kira Blakely
Chapter Eleven
Belle
The beeping of Skype buzzed to life as the screen flickered before me. I’d been so busy with all the negotiations with Drake that I hadn’t been able to talk to my family. We’d spent the morning going over figures. He wasn’t happy yet and could maybe meet us as far as sixty cents on the dollar, but we’d have to go back to the drawing board if we wanted the full eighty that Carol and I were hoping for. I hadn’t broached what roles Dad, Carol, or I would play after the merger. I didn’t want any of us to be just figureheads, remnants of the old company shoved in an office, but never given any projects to work on. That would come later. I still had to figure out a way to slash and hack or butter up the budget—whatever I could—in order to increase what Drake was willing to pay us.
“Hey,” I said, offering a neutral smile and hoping I didn’t look as glowing and sexy as I felt. A lot of sisters had a radar for that sort of thing, for when you just got laid or did something wrong or both. I didn’t want Carol to realize that I had gone that far and twice now with Drake. “How is everything?”
Carol sighed and offered me a tight grin back. “Actually, better than I’d have thought. Yesterday, well, I don’t know what kind of arrangement you worked out but Drake did give us an advance on merger funds. I think he must be leaning that way and seeing the rest as details.”
Really? Why hadn’t he said anything to me? Had all his “overseas business” been just a smokescreen?
“That’s good. I still can’t get him to come up yet for more than sixty cents on the dollar, but I’m going to see what I can do. I figure if I keep working at it then there’s nothing I can’t get him to do.”
Carol’s posture went rigid. “I bet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Belle, you know what it means, even if I don’t want to put a fine point on it. You’ve only been there about forty-eight hours, and he’s sending advance payments for a deal he couldn’t really stand when he was in the States. I… you didn’t have to go that far.”
I blushed, wishing my thoughts weren’t so easy to read. My sister had always been able to read me like an open book and there was a reason why. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“I can tell, Belle. You’ve been grinning since we started like a kid who got a pony for Christmas. I can’t believe you. Do you have that little self-respect?”
I swallowed and steadied myself. Whatever was happening between me and Drake was complicated, and even I couldn’t explain it most of the time, even to myself, but Carol didn’t have a right to judge it.
“I know you’re still frustrated that Drake didn’t ask for you to be here, Carol, that you couldn’t be the one to be in talks,” I started, trying to keep my voice level and hoping it was working. I couldn’t be sure because it felt like I was seeing red. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m the better strategist for the company,” she countered.
The more ruthless one, you mean.
“I know that, sis.”
“You’re better than this, Belle, than to negotiate using your—”
“Don’t finish that sentence because it’s not like that.” Okay, it’s a little like that. “We’ve been discussing figures all morning and going over spreadsheets. This is not 9 ½ Weeks today.”
Technically true. We hadn’t had time to play yet, although he promised he had something planned for tonight in the playroom and I couldn’t wait.
“I’m just so disappointed.”
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I countered, but even I could tell how tinny my voice was, how thin the lie sounded.
“Dad’s going to be so disappointed, too.”
I shook my head and held my chin up. “Carol, I know you’re my big sister and you’re trying to look out for me, but what I’m doing here is very complicated. It’s not about sex or about manipulating it to save Mom and Dad, but whatever happens for this month is frankly between me and Drake. That was the way the setup was arranged, and that’s the way it should be.”
“You’re better than this.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I said, my voice loud and clear.
That much I knew was true. Dad might need Drake’s money, and I might love the orgasms he gave me, but it was far deeper than that. He’d saved me, protected me from the worst night of my life, and he needed me, too, needed someone to reach him in this exile he’d created for himself, from the way his days in Iraq haunted him.
No, there was no way that Carol could possibly understand that.
“Fine, but it won’t do. You know that sixty on the dollar is not what we want. Even with his upfront generosity,” she said, lengthening the words as she spoke. “Even with that, we need to meet that eighty cents compromise.”
“But of course, Mein Fuhrer,” I said. “Now can you please put Mom on the line?”
“Sure, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Belle. Drake’s a shark, and he preys on women. Everyone knows that.”
I kept the smile plastered on my face, trying to work out my best Stepford/Barbie look so that when Mom did get on the line, I could sell the “all is normal and fine” image. However, it took everything I had not to bite back with a snarky remark. After all, the Carol I knew would do anything to keep the business going and to follow the bottom line. She was just being hypocritical and overprotective. I knew how to take care of myself through all of this; I did.
Mom sat down before the computer, and I changed my demeanor from frustration to genuine happiness. Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed healthier today, as if she had more energy. Her skin didn’t seem quite as pale.
“Hi, honey, how are you?”
“Mom, seriously, how are you? Because you look really good,” I said, working to make sure that I controlled the conversation. I didn’t want her to ask questions about me and Drake that I couldn’t answer yet. A good defense was the best offense, after all. “Did you start a new medicine?”
Mom nodded. “With the advance Mr. Drake provided, I was able to get into the trial yesterday. I took the first dose this morning. I don’t know exactly if it’s early enough to see results, but I feel hopeful for the first time in a while so that probably helps, too.”
“Maybe a little bit of self-fulfilling prophecy?” I asked, my good cheer spreading through my voice. I was so glad that Dad hadn’t wasted any time in contacting the trial docs and getting her the help she needed. “Anyway, you look amazing and I’m so glad you’re happy.”
Mom nodded and then paused. “You look well. The sun favors you, honey, because you are definitely getting quite the tan.”
“We went out snorkeling two days ago and I maybe got a bit too much sun. I have a bit of a red spot on my shoulders actually, but it’s gorgeous here. I think you’d really like it. Maybe if the therapy does well enough, you’d want to travel here someday. Not gonna lie, I completely recommend it.”
Mom laughed. “Well, have you swam with dolphins yet?”
“I haven’t done everything,” I said, hoping I didn’t blush thinking about the double entendre involved. “We’ve been locked in negotiations today, trying to figure out how to make the merger best for both parties. We did make progress, but not enough on our side. It’ll be a long month.”
Mom smiled a beatific look I hadn’t seen on her face in far, far too long. “Well, you make sure to pace yourself and not to let Mr. McManus boss you around. You need time to rest, too. It’s been very stressful on you, hard, too. You deserve to see the island and enjoy the sun as well, honey.”
“Trust me, Mom,” I replied, winking at her. “I’m having the trip of a lifetime. Now, tell me more about your doctors.”
***
This time, the playroom was set up differently when I entered it with Drake after dinner. The four-poster bed was still in the corner, a monster like that couldn’t be moved once it was set up, I was sure. However, there was also a makeshift bed, like the tables masseuses would set up for
clients, set out in the center of the room. I frowned back at Drake as he locked the door behind us.
“You seem confused, princess. What’s going on?”
I shook my head but then slipped off my light shift and kicked off my flip flops. Maybe living with Drake was getting to me. I hadn’t worn underwear at dinner, knowing that we’d be going to the playroom afterward and that they’d be both redundant and ultimately slow us down.
Drake whistled appreciatively and then stroked one of the globes of my rear. “You’re a woman after my own heart. Christ, if I’d known, I don’t think we’d have eaten at all.”
“Maybe, but I was very hungry and those conch fritters shouldn’t go to waste,” I replied, winking back at him.
Drake nodded and then handed me a hair tie. “You’ll need this.”
“For?” I asked, as I swept my long, chestnut hair up in a high ponytail.
“I love that you’re exploring your kinks with me, princess, and tonight I wanted to show you something else, let you know that BDSM and kink can be truly beautiful,” he continued as he gestured toward the makeshift bed. “Would you?”
Shrugging, I got up on the masseuse table as he asked and lay back. “All right, but I’m not sure what this is for. I have to admit that I’m such a newbie when it comes to all this.”
“Then,” he said stalking over to where a few metal cans were cooking over burners, much like something set up on a catering table, “I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you. Would you like that, princess?”
“You know that I would, Master,” I replied, the eagerness for the next session sweeping through me, making my clit throb and coat my thighs with wetness.
“Good, that’s exactly what I want to hear,” he said, his voice a low, sensual purr. “I’m going to pour different colored wax over you, make a bit of abstract art. The wax is safe, special for this purpose so it’ll be warm but won’t scald, I promise. It’s been cooking, so to speak, for a bit, so it’s more than ready for our session, to make you a masterpiece.” He paused as he slipped off his dinner jacket and tossed it to the four-poster. “Of course, Belle, you’re already quite the revelation.”
“That’s so sweet, Master,” I said, letting my voice fall into a sultry alto register.
“It’s the truth,” he said, as he came to the first container and stirred the wooden stick inside of it, which was flat and almost like a giant tongue depressor in shape. “Even with the added coloring, you won’t be any more gorgeous in my eyes.”
“Show me,” I said. “I want to see what you can paint with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask, princess.”
Then Drake sauntered over, his hips rolling in easy movements that oozed sex appeal. My heart thudded in my chest as waves of pleasure began to lap at every part of my body, teasing my limbs. He picked up the first of the three containers and brought it toward me. At first, he started by only taking the stick and flinging the wax against my stomach. Flecks of pink wax hit me like a Pollock painting, creating an abstract stream of color over my abdomen and the swell of my hips. I hissed at its warmth, no hotter than a warm bath that was unexpected, yet pleasant on my skin. My clit throbbed, and I wished I had permission to touch myself, to ease my need some because the anticipation was killing me.
Drake was a master of that, in making me wait for what I wanted most. It was the most devious form of torture I knew of.
He set the pot back on its burner and picked up the second one, this time using the stick to spread the thick violet wax up my knees and over my thighs, stopping just short of the apex of my thighs and my mons.
“You’re the perfect canvas, princess. No man could help but be a fucking Renaissance master when you’re spread out before him like this.”
I nodded and arched my hips up. “Yes, Master.”
“Such a good girl, too, so compliant. That’s what I love about you, that you’re always so eager.”
“Anything for this,” I conceded, feeling the wetness flow eagerly between my legs.
“And we have one more color to go,” he finished, collecting the final pot. “I think you’ll find this is my favorite color.”
He took the stirrer stick and pulled it slowly out of the container, a thick strand of crimson wax hanging from it. Drake grinned and rubbed the thick concoction over my left nipple, my areola and bud going rigid with the flush of heat. He did the same against my right nipple. The heat of the wax made them pucker as well as sent a jolt of pleasure arching straight to my most sensitive bundle of nerves.
Helpless in his spell, I moaned and thrust my hips up, offering myself to him both body and soul. Drake took the hint and eased his body down between my legs, but angled downward so that his face came up to my vaginal lips. He reached down and parted my thighs, chuckling as his fingers slid over the cooling colorful wax that coated the skin there. Leaning his head low, he let out a breath. The warm air hit my most sensitive lips, and I hissed at the pleasure cresting over my body, my clit pulsing with need and almost burning with desire.
“What are you going to do, Master?” I asked, falling fully into the role he’d established for our relationship, for our sessions and games.
He chuckled again and nuzzled my secret lips, the stubble of his beard grazing against them and sending an arc of pleasure through my core. “You know what I’m going to do, princess. I can’t see you laid out for me like the best work of art and not feast on you.”
I nodded and spread my legs as wide as they would go, and then closed my eyes, steadying myself for the sensation. “Go ahead, Master, ravish me.”
His tongue traced delicate patterns over the silk of my labia, lapping at me like I was a saucer of cream and he was a thirsty cat. I writhed underneath him and my hands wrapped tightly around the edges of the bed. I felt as if my fingers were going to dig through the cushion there, everything was so intense and pounded through me. Then Drake reached down and spread my lips, his tongue coming into contact with my engorged clit. I mewled like a kitten and took in a deep breath. The constant scent of the room was there, that musk of Drake’s mixed with his potent cologne, but so was a different scent, the soft hint of lilac wafting overhead from another candle he had to have lit. Then his mouth wrapped around my nub of nerves and I bucked wildly on the bed, thrusting my hips up to meet his face.
His tongue traced over my clit, lapping delicately at first, teasing darts that caused the waves of pleasure to undulate through me, but didn’t satiate me, not yet. Drake knew how to draw things out, how to make a girl want for more. I think he prided himself on it, on making me beg. I was more than pleased to oblige, as long as he kept pleasing me.
“Master, more,” I moaned.
His lips pulled tighter around me and he suckled at my clit, at the juices seeping from me. Then he twisted his tongue counterclockwise in a circle, and the waves of ecstasy beat against me like those on the sand when tossed by a hurricane.
He plunged forward, his tongue slipping into my channel. It wasn’t a slow, soft entering. No. Drake wanted to dominate me in every way, to take this other type of virginity and mark me as his own. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of him beneath me, his neck arching fast and almost seeming to blur in and out as his tongue plundered my core. I moaned and dug my heels into the bed, the slickness of his tongue filling me in a new way, no less fulfilling than when his length had been inside of me.
Then he suckled hard on my clit again, going for a full and deep succor, and I lost it. It was like a tsunami of not just ecstasy, but also emotion sweeping over me. I was caught up in all the power of the sensations, of the feeling of his tongue on me, the strength of his hand on my thighs, and even the wax cooling over me.
I fell back to the bed, the cries of delight dying from my throat, and lay there for a while as he cleaned himself off at the sink and then worked to prepare rags and other things to clean me off. It took a while and I relished the intimacy of it, the trust. He wasn’t wrong about how the Dom/sub dynami
c worked. I was growing to trust him, at least in the playroom, in ways that I had never trusted anyone before. He ran the cloth over my body with extreme tenderness, with devotion that was almost reverent until I was clean and then taken back to his bed. He curled up with me and stroked my hair, his fingers tangling in my long, chestnut locks.
“You did well, princess.”
I nodded and traced my fingers over his shirt and eased back out of my role. There was a time to be Master and submissive, but not now. This was the after, the time I could slip back into being myself, just Belle with Drake, albeit with still one more thing between us.
Drake paused and considered me, his dark eyes troubled like storm clouds. “You’re so quiet. Did I tucker you out already?”
“No,” I said, biting my lower lip. “I just… I had one request and maybe I am pushing too much, but I’ve been more exposed to you than I’ve ever been to anyone, believe me. I’m stretching limits and running over boundaries that I didn’t know I had.”
“I know,” he said, holding me more tightly. “I never expected you to take to it all this well, to be so invested in it.”
I laughed, a rueful sound escaping my list. “I didn’t expect it either. But we’re here and intimate… but not even. I want you to take off your shirt.”
He started to push away from me, but then I reached my hand out and grasped his forearm. “It’s not because of me wanting to see you, it’s not about that. I think it’s important because it matters so much to you. I want you to know that you can be yourself around me. You don’t have to hide with extra layers or clothes or turning off the lights at the right time. I want you to know that I can care about you, all of you, and nothing else matters to me.”
“I don’t…” he started.
I leaned forward and kissed his lips, letting my tongue tangle with his own. “Please,” I said, pulling back. “Show me everything.”
Chapter Twelve
Drake
I was fucking shocked. I thought we’d gotten past all this, gotten past her curiosity. There was no way I wanted to show off my wounds, the marks from what had been a living hell. The physical therapist kept telling me that I’d been spared. The other old timers at the VA kept bragging about war wounds while I was in recovery and having a nurse wipe my ass when I was still wheelchair bound. I didn’t see any of that; I just saw the permanent truth they’d left on me.