by Holly Hart
“It’s my dad,” I admit, my throat choking up, as if fit to burst into tears.
Harlan pushes back. “Oh, Skye…” He says with a crushing look of pity on his face that hurts more than any words of his could. “You told me, I just –”
“Didn’t understand,” I say briskly, straightening myself up and preparing for what’s about to come. “It’s not your fault. There’s no way you could have. But I need you to leave.”
Harlan blinks. I can’t tell if he’s hurt or relieved. “I can stay,” he says firmly. “Help out.”
I shake my head and step back, wringing my hands. “No – it’s better if you don’t. And…” I tail off.
Harlan frowns, “And…”
“When you leave, just pretend –, pretend –”
Harlan nods his understanding. “Just pretend this was nothing more than a friendly dinner,” he says.
I nod. “I’m sorry, Harlan,” I say. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to end…”
Harlan hugs me and gets ready to leave, “me neither, darling. But I’m not going anywhere.” He grins, as if realizing the absurdity of what he just said. “In the long run, I mean.”
“I know,” I smile wanly. “I know.”
There’s another – “thud” – outside, and then my dad’s voice echoes in the hallway. “Skye…” he slurs, “Skye!”
“I’ll go,” Harlan says, grazing my cheek with his lips. “And about tomorrow… it can wait.”
“No!” I say, startling myself with the intensity of my reaction. Somehow it feels like if I let dad disrupt tomorrow, like he’s done the last ten years, then I lose. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Okay then,” Harlan smiles. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And just like that, he turns to leave. I walk to the door without another word needing to be said. I kiss him once on the lips, close my eyes briefly, and then loosen the latch. I mouth, “thank you…” silently at him.
Then louder, I say. “Thanks for coming around, boss. And –”
I stop, my mind drawing a blank. I’m no good at this playacting thing.
Harlan takes my cue and runs with it.
“It really wasn’t a problem,” he says – while stepping over my father’s drunken body. I wince at the sight of the man’s matted ginger hair. “I’m just glad I got you the papers in time for you to sign.”
“Yes, yes,” I say, latching onto Harlan’s idea. “The papers. Thanks again.”
We share a smile at the absurdity of this role-playing. After all – of all the role-playing I thought I might do with a man like Harlan Wolfe, this is pretty tame! And then he walks toward the stairs.
I let my head drop forward for a second, then my eyes pass over my dad’s sprawled body.
“Skye…” He moans, holding his thumping head. “Who was that?”
“No one, dad,” I mutter. “Let’s get you inside.”
224
Harlan
Today’s the day.
I can barely believe it. Poppy is still on her school trip for another couple of days, almost the longest we’ve ever been apart. But that’s not why I’m excited. I’m excited because today’s the day I’m going to give Skye her first orgasm ever.
It sure as hell won’t be her last.
Because when I make her pop, I plan to keep on going. Skye’s going to be my girl – forever. I’ve never seen a girl as beautiful as her. And she will be just as beautiful when I walk her down the aisle as Skye Wolfe.
Hell, that’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it?
Skye Wolfe.
My wife?
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. First thing’s first – I need to make her come. I need to show her what she’s been missing all these years. I’m going to.
I’m going to give her a night she’ll never forget. Then again, I’m going to fuck her so completely I doubt she’ll even be able to remember it!
My assistant, Jennifer, sprints into my office with a small black box in her hands. “I’ve got it,” she pants, thrusting the item towards me.
“The one from your top drawer, just like you asked.”
I open a door that looks like it should lead to a walk-in filing cabinet, but is actually just a pullout mirror. Just one of the little toys I had installed in this place, and one of the boring ones, at that.
“Thanks, Jen,” I say, checking myself out in my reflection.
I’m wearing a black tuxedo, white shirt, and leather shoes that have been shined within an inch of their life. For some reason, that’s one of the things I still do myself. It is strangely therapeutic – just a man, a tin of polish, and a rag.
It’s like meditation, I guess.
“Um, boss?” Jennifer says, chewing her lip anxiously.
I throw her a look over my shoulder. “Is everything okay? Because if it is, head home. I’m done for the night.”
I see a tumult of emotions play out on Jen’s face. I think I know what she’s about to ask me, but I want to hear if she’ll actually say it. I’ve given her an out, an opportunity to walk away without possibly provoking my anger.
She doesn’t take it.
I knew she wouldn’t. Because if Jennifer was the kind of person who could be that weak, I simply wouldn’t have hired her. After all, I do my homework.
“Boss – did I screw up?” She asks. “Only, I don’t see anything on your calendar for tonight, and –”
She tails off.
I grin, shooting an ostentatious look at my dinner outfit. “I’m all dressed up like I’m going on a date,” I say.
“Yeah…”
“Don’t worry about it. Tonight is…” I pause, thinking about how best to phrase what’s going to happen. “…Private.”
“Okay.” Jen breathes a sigh of relief. “I guess that’s fine, then.”
I smile at her. “Thanks, Jen. You did a good job today.”
Then I frown. Something’s been bugging me all day, and I’ve only just realized what it was. “Hey – did Garibaldi ever call back? It slipped my mind.”
Jen’s face turns ashen. I know that’s how I should feel about the prospect of tussling with a man that devious, but somehow I don’t. I’m way too excited about tonight.
“Shit –! I mean, no. Nothing through my office, anyway.”
I chew the inside of my lip. That’s strange. I knew I should have returned the man’s call straightaway. He’s too dangerous a player to simply leave hanging. Hell, I almost spilled the beans to Skye last night, and that would’ve been a terrible idea.
There’s no good in involving her in matters like that, after all. I’m supposed to be protecting her, not throwing her to the wolves.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “We can sort it out tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” Jennifer asks anxiously. “I can stay late –?”
“Don’t worry about it. If he needs to speak to me that badly, he’ll call back,” I say, though I don’t truly believe it myself.
The fact that he rang in the first place is enough of a warning – a warning that apparently I’m too drunk on lust to take.
But what could one more night hurt?
“You head home,” I smile, dismissing my assistant. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Yes boss.”
I turn back to the mirror, straightening my jacket, and trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that is now gnawing at my stomach. The smart thing to do would be to cancel tonight and make sure that all my bases are covered. But the smart play is rarely the right one.
And the right thing to do is to give Skye the release that has eluded her all these years – the release that only I can give her.
I turn, bend down, and unlock the bottom drawer of my desk. A single gold-embossed, ivory black enamel box sits inside it, a small envelope on top. I haven’t touched it since it was delivered – hand-couriered – to my office two days prior.
I glance at the envelope, and tuck it into the breast pocke
t of my dinner jacket. I don’t need to look at what it contains. It’s an invitation – an invitation to Manhattan’s most exclusive club – to a club that doesn’t even have a name.
It has a very simple list of rules – a list that’s only one line long. You never, ever reveal the Club’s existence.
I open the box to reveal two finally sculpted masks. Skye’s is more elaborate – black, lined with gold thread, extending all the way to her cheeks. My breath catches in my throat as I picture my beautiful girl wearing it. Mine is rather simpler – a black and silver eye mask.
Ribbon streams out behind them as I pick them up. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize the significance of what I have planned for Skye tonight. It’s going to be the first night of the rest of both our lives.
Because it’s no masquerade ball I have planned.
Tonight’s the night that I pledge myself to Skye Warren. And the night she places herself in my hands, and surrenders – mind, body and soul.
225
Skye
I feel like a hurricane is raging through my stomach. Screw butterflies, if they were flying in the tumult I feel in my gut, they’d be ripped to shreds. I don’t know what Harlan has planned for me tonight, but I have a feeling that it is going to test my every last boundary.
Will I be able to handle it? Will I be able to handle him? I’m picturing Harlan unleashed, and that’s as terrifying an image as it is tempting.
I just don’t know the answers to my fears. How can I even hope to ask the question without a hint as to what Harlan has in store for me?
I simply can’t.
I check myself in my bedroom mirror one last time. The black silk dress Harlan had sent over for tonight – a throwback to the early days of our relationship – is elegant, yet luxuriously sexy. For once I don’t mind that he’s picking out my clothing.
Especially when he sends jewelry as magnificent as this necklace now kissing my throat...
I have a feeling that everything is about to come to a head, that Harlan’s plan is going to be made clear. Harlan was so struck by our breakthrough on the topic of control a few days ago that I know if he’s returned to it, there must be a reason.
For now, I’ll just go with the flow.
The beautiful, silk evening dress caresses my ankles, almost completely hiding a pair of thousand dollar Italian heels that look so delicate it’s hard to believe they can bear my weight without snapping. My ears sparkle with tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and my hair tumbles gleefully over one shoulder.
And that’s just what’s on the surface.
Beneath the black silk dress is black lace – lingerie I wouldn’t have dared to wear just a couple of weeks ago. The underwear isn’t so much skimpy as it is forthright – a statement of sexuality so dominant I can’t help but wonder if I have any right to wear it.
It seems made for another woman – a more confident woman, a girl who knows how to use her body, not someone who’s barely scratching the surface.
But then, I muse. Maybe that’s who I’ll become tonight.
My phone buzzes on my wooden bedside table. I glance down, stepping back out of my own head, and free the phone from its charging cable. A simple message is written on the lock screen.
“I’m downstairs.”
Harlan doesn’t bother signing his name. After all, who would dare interfere with his woman? No one in this city, I daresay. I tremble with a mixture of fear and delight at the thought of what his wrath would be like if someone threatened me.
I can’t help but think they wouldn’t last the night.
I rush downstairs. The elevator ride is a blur, and when its doors open, Harlan’s waiting for me, dressed in a black tuxedo that seems to have been sprayed onto his body. His shoulders are outlined perfectly by the expensive material, his bowtie messily knotted with rakish exuberance.
“You made it,” he growls. His eyes widen, and flicker across my body as he appreciates my new look. “I thought you might back out of our little agreement.”
“Should I be worried?” I ask.
The tempest in my stomach has abated slightly, but it’s still rumbling away. I trust Harlan, but maybe that’s the thing that will bring me down…
Harlan holds out his arm and beckons me to join him. “Quickly,” he grins. “Before the elevator steals you back up…”
I link arms with him, and elbow him gently in the torso. It feels like hitting a brick wall. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Harlan guides me to the limo waiting outside, and opens the door for me. He holds his tongue until we are sitting next to each other on the back seat. The privacy screen is up, and we’re hidden in our own world. The limo engine rumbles and we start to move.
“Maybe nervous,” Harlan allows, “would be a better word to use than worried.”
I hike up my eyebrow. “So I should be nervous? That’s… disconcerting.”
“Yes, and no,” Harlan says softly, stroking my forearm. “Everything I’ll do tonight is for a reason, Skye. I’ve never done this with any other woman, I promise you that. But…”
“But what” I say, my tone of voice hard and only somewhat questioning. “I don’t like the sound of that…”
Harlan chews his lip, as if wondering how much he should tell me. Then he gives me an almost imperceptible shrug. “But you’re going to need a safe word,” he says.
As I process Harlan’s comment, my heart rate spikes. It feels ragged and uneven, and I can tell my body has just dumped as much adrenaline as it can find, but there’s nothing to fight and nowhere to run.
“A … safe word?”
Harlan smiles sweetly. “Your choice,” as if this is a concession.
The storm builds in my stomach again. Between that and my jagged, pounding heart, I feel on the verge of panic.
Harlan squeezes my hand reassuringly.
“How long have I got to decide?” I ask, clenching my teeth and swallowing hard. This has all suddenly become very, very real. Up until now, I’d treated it as a game. Now I realize it’s anything but.
Harlan glances down at the watch peeking out of his tuxedo jacket’s left cuff. “Oh…” He drawls. “Not long. I’d say about three minutes?”
I dig my fingernails into Harlan’s palm to express my disapproval – and near-panic. “Three minutes!”
“It’s only one word, Skye,” he grins. “It shouldn’t take you that long…”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and breathe deeply, searching my mind, as I struggle to regain control of my chest. A few moments must pass like that, in silence, because before long the limousine begins to slow. I open my eyes and look out the window. The distinctive stone-fronted buildings of New York’s SoHo district slide into view.
“We’re here, Skye,” Harlan says softly. “Did you make your choice?”
I stay silent a second longer and bite my lip. Then a wicked thought enters my mind. “Oh,” I say, turning to my lover with a mischievous smile. “I’ve got an idea. How about dirty doctor?”
Harlan’s eyebrow darts upward and his eyes widen slightly. “Dirty doctor?” He says. “I guess that’s exactly what you are… I like it. You have my word – the moment that escapes your lips, I’ll get you out of there. Do we have a deal?”
I hold out my hand to seal it. “Deal,” I say, shaking Harlan’s hand firmly.
The limousine slows to a halt. Harlan makes as if to exit the vehicle, then pauses. He reaches over to a black enamel box I hadn’t noticed, opens it, and hands me an object I can’t make out until I’m holding it. I glance down to see a masquerade mask.
“You’ll need this,” Harlan says, setting my heart rate off again. I start to wonder whether he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like he’s got my emotions on a yo-yo, and just when I think I’m all spooled back up, he sets me off spinning once again. “Let me tie it.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I don’t say a word in reply. I just turn my neck away from Harlan and let him
loop the black ribbon around my head. As his fingers work, I squeeze my eyes shut and take one last, long, lingering breath.
A second later it’s done, and Harlan’s donned his own mask. “It’s time,” he says, leaning over to me and grazing my cheek with his lips. “Just know, Skye – you’re the only woman in there who’s worth a damn.”
And with that, Harlan opens the limo door and steps out, leaving a thousand questions raging in my head. What does he mean, the only woman? And more importantly, what the hell is about to happen to me?
Harlan opens my door and I step out in a daze, clutching at his offered arm. I barely take in the architecture. Heck, there’s not much to see. The building we appear to be heading for is fronted with elegant white stone. It looks like a fancy hotel.
As we get closer to the doorway, I see a brass plaque marked with only two words: The Penthouse.
It’s not much of a clue.
I hold onto Harlan’s arm for strength. I haven’t got much of my own. I feel seasick, as though someone’s knocked my land legs out from underneath me.
A uniformed doorman appears from nowhere to let us in as we approach. He doesn’t say a word. We enter a wide lobby lit only by flickering candlelight.
Where am I? And what the hell is going on?
This is so far out of my wheelhouse that I don’t know how to respond. My heart rate is erratic, my breath uneven, and my palms sticky with sweat. I play my eyes around the room, trying to make out what I can in the dim light, but it doesn’t hold any more answers. It’s bare, apart from the marble dresser decorated with a vase stuffed full of fresh red roses.
Harlan ushers me into the waiting elevator. There’s only one button, marked P for Penthouse, I guess. He pushes it, and the doors ping shut. I finally regain my voice.
“What is this place, Harlan?” I whisper, clutching to one of his tree trunk arms. “What the hell’s going to happen to me tonight?”
I have my own ideas. I just need Harlan to confirm them for me, or at least give me the barest hint of a clue. It’s pretty clear that the Penthouse is some kind of – my cheeks burn even thinking about it – sex club.