by Measha Stone
“I’m sorry,” she said on a hard breath. Her heart raced, her lungs pumped to take in air as he continued to fuck her with his fingers. “Oh. God.” The pressure. The pleasant build up to the impending explosion.
“Oh, I’m sure you think you are, but not yet.” He unraveled his hand from her waist and spread her ass cheeks, thrusting harder and faster into her. The chair squeaked from the force of their movements.
“Oh! Oh!” She sucked in air, waiting for the damn to burst.
His hand. The forceful, thick fingers of his hand disappeared.
She cried out, “no!” and tried to wiggle off his lap.
He wrapped his arm back around her waist and laid into her ass again, delivering twelve sweltering swats before he stopped. She wiggled and cried out, but by the time he’d gotten to the last smack, she was a puddle. Tears ran down her face, either from the loss of the most explosive orgasm she’d ever been so close to having, or the raging sting taking over her ass. It didn’t really matter; she was miserable.
When she’d finished crying, he pulled her up to her feet and moved her to stand between his knees. He held her hands in front of her, stopping her from getting any ideas about rubbing the soreness away—or finishing what he’d started.
“Do you not want to see me?” Vulnerability weaved through his words.
“No!” So much for the suave demeanor. “I mean, that’s not it. I do—did—do want to see you. I just…” She sniffled. “It’s not going to work, Jamison. It was fine for a fun night like the Christmas party, but not for long term, not in real life. These things don’t last.”
He sat back in the chair, pulling her into his lap. “What things?” He produced a handkerchief, wiped away her tears and wiped her nose.
“These things, couples who meet at the dungeon. They don’t last, and I’m tired of pretending they do. And besides that, you’re uptown and, well, I’m not. What would your family think, what would your friends think?”
“Don’t bring money into this, that’s a line of bullshit and you know it. As for the other, I know plenty of couples who have lasted a long time,” he said.
“Sure. They dated for a few months, maybe even a year, but that’s it. Once the fun wears off, it’s over.”
“Garrick and Jade are making a go of it,” he pointed out.
She shook her head. “Yeah, but they’ve known each other forever. They aren’t the same as people like us.”
He tweaked her nose. “You are the first woman I ever met who didn’t want to date because she was afraid of commitment. Most girls I’ve known start hinting at collars and wedding rings a few months in.”
“That’s because they know that if they don’t get that ring on, it’s not going to last. Hell, even if the ring goes on…” She sniffled and shook her head. “Look. Long term doesn’t work in this kind of relationship, and I don’t want a vanilla relationship, so it’s better if we just don’t pretend. I mean we can play when we see each other but other than that…” She shrugged to finish her sentence. “I don’t want to get attached.”
“You’re serious about this? You’re just looking for a play partner?” He pinched her chin between two fingers and pulled her face closer to his.
“If that doesn’t interest you—”
“I don’t think it interests you.” The firm way he spoke got her attention. “I’ve seen you, Carissa. Over the past few weeks, I’ve seen you here in the club. Guys come up to you, you talk with them a bit then ditch them. If what you were really looking for was some quick session, you wouldn’t have turned them all down.”
“How did you see me? You weren’t here.” And all her cards were on display.
His eyes widened just a hair, and he shook his head. “I’ll admit it. I usually have the security cameras on in the background when I’m working here. Whenever you popped onto the screen, I took a little extra time watching.”
“But you weren’t even here.”
He tilted his head. “And how do you know that?” He wiped a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t answer, I already know. Steve mentioned you’d asked a few times. He didn’t realize we knew each other.”
Her stomach sank. She had asked Steve nearly every night she’d come to the club, except for tonight. She’d been so nervous when she’d checked in, she had forgotten to ask.
“Why’d you turn down all those men? They’re good guys. I know most of them, and not a single member of this club doesn’t get screened thoroughly.”
Time to get the spotlight off her and back onto him.
“I’ve seen you around, too. Before we met at Mistletoe Madness. You aren’t the relationship kind of guy either. You rotate subs like you change your sheets.” Snark would have to be her line of defense against him. Just his fingers on her, touching and cradling her chin, was enough to make her resolve weaken, and she didn’t want to be weak. Not for him, not for anyone.
“I may have been with my share of women, but it was never because I don’t want to end up with someone.”
“I know.” She smiled. “It’s because relationships like this don’t last.” Point—Carissa!
“I think you need another spanking.” His grin cracked through the seriousness of his words. “Give me a month. You take us seriously for one month and then we’ll decide what to do.”
“A month?” She wanted to laugh, but he still had her chin and didn’t seem willing to let go any time soon.
“Yes. One month, fully invested.”
“Why would you want to do that for me?” She searched his expression. “Is it because I said no? You want what you can’t have?”
His grip tightened on her chin. “Do you think you scare me, little girl?”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
“You don’t think anything lasts, so why not take a chance? You put up with me for one month, and then we will decide together if we end or we continue.”
So much could happen in one month. What would she do if she actually fell for him, started to believe what she dreamed of being could come true?
“I don’t see how one month proves anything.” She would have to remember the expiration date. Everything ended—never forget that.
“Maybe it doesn’t, but maybe it proves everything. Only one way to find out.” The corner of his mouth turned up.
“You still haven’t answered me. Why me?” It sounded like a demand, even to her.
She wasn’t one of those girls who fell for every pick-up line a man gave her. If Jamison had really been waiting to get his hands on her for two weeks, he needed to tell her why.
He sighed, pushing one of the thick curls that had come loose from her braid during her spanking behind her ear.
“You’re nothing like any woman I’ve ever met, and I want to get to know you better.”
No pick-up line. No false flattery meant to make her panties wet and her heart thump. Just simple truth.
Her mind raced, going through lists of reasons why it wouldn’t work, checklists of ways it would go bad, and a laundry list of hurts she’d suffer if she went through with it.
His thumb stroked her cheek. “Don’t overthink, Carissa.”
Sound advice.
Terrifying advice.
“Okay. One month.” She put up a single finger between them.
He chuckled and let go of her chin to grab the finger and bring it down to her lap.
The thick kissable lips she’d dreamed about earlier pressed against hers. Electric shivers ran through the length of her body, heating every fiber and waking every nerve ending. She clenched his tuxedo jacket in her fists, leaning into the kiss and giving over when his tongue brushed against her bottom lip. His fingers never let go of her chin but his other hand wrapped possessively around her body. The building could have burned down around her and she wouldn’t have batted an eye.
When he broke the kiss, pulling back and ending the spell, she blinked a few times. Her lips felt swollen and chilled with
him gone.
“You understand this makes you mine.”
She licked her lips, wanting more of his taste. “Yes.”
“No, no, if you’re mine, you answer properly.”
Her cheeks flamed, her heart quickened. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Now, about that wine…”
Chapter 4
Jamison pushed open the door to his father’s home office and stepped inside. As was typical for Barron Croft, he sat at his desk, the deep mahogany mirroring the dark soul that resided in him. He’d sent for his only son with a message to come over for dinner. Jamison had been reluctant but knew Barron would only continue to hound his assistant until the details were finalized. His attempts to avoid his father for at least another week had died once Barron started calling the office.
Jamison didn’t know what his father wanted but knew the general topic would be business. The last time his father had called him to discuss anything of a personal nature, he’d been ten years old, and the current Mrs. Croft, second in line after his own mother, had flown the coop. All in all, not bad news.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked stepmother number two, but her leaving had meant he didn’t have to spend the summer at Camp.
Considering Jamison no longer lived at home, and his father had dispensed with the idea of further marriages after his fourth divorce, it was certain that whatever Barron wanted had nothing to do with his personal life.
“Ah! There you are, I was just going to have Danielle call you.” His father looked up from his laptop and stood.
Jamison reached across the massive desk to shake hands with his father before heading to the bar.
“Traffic on Lakeshore was a nightmare,” he said, pouring brandy into a crystal glass. The room was stuffy, not only in temperature but with the arrogance that came with the amount of wealth his father possessed. Portraits of members of his long dead family hung on the walls, covering most of the room. Jamison couldn’t name the men if he tried, and he wondered if his father could.
“Sit, I have something to discuss, but bring me a brandy as well.” Barron pointed to the carafe on the bar.
Jamison threw back the rest of his own drink and poured two fresh glasses, handing his father his before taking his seat across from him.
“Okay, I’m here. What is this big deal that you can’t tell me over the telephone?” He sipped his drink, loving the burn as the dark amber liquid traveled down his throat.
“This.” His father turned his laptop around to point to a map of the city. He reached over the top to point at a tiny blip on the screen. “The perfect place to build our own resort.” Before Jamison could lean forward to look at the location, his father had turned it back around and started pulling up finance reports.
“We don’t build,” Jamison said. He hadn’t built anything, ever… aside from Dark Lace. Their remodel of the warehouse they’d bought for the club meant they had pretty much torn it down and put it back together, but that was an investment he hadn’t shared openly with his father.
“Not yet, but I think it’s time. We’ve done well buying and selling real estate, but I think we need something more permanent. Something we can stamp our name on!” Barron hadn’t looked so excited about anything since the IRS’s audit had been concluded without finding a single transgression.
“So, you want to build an apartment complex?”
The wrinkled cheeks of his father puffed out in a scoff. “Apartment? Like in rent to ordinary people? No! I’m talking about a high rise catering to the elite. Two-floor apartments, the best of everything. See here, this is the first year’s projected revenue.”
“You’ve gotten bids from the builders already?” Jamison pulled the computer closer to look at the numbers. His father didn’t obtain bids if he wasn’t already set on moving forward with a project. Why such a change in goals?
“No, no, not firm ones, just preliminary estimates.”
“It sounds interesting, but why do you need me for this one?”
“Need you? Because it’s going to have the Croft name on it. It’s going to be ours, and it will open the door to a whole new avenue. We can build Croft Towers in every city across the country, Europe even!”
Jamison sat back in his chair. His father’s perfectly styled graying hair seemed a little thinner than the last time he’d seen him, the circles under his eyes a bit darker. “You’re really excited about this,” he mused. If his graduating as the college Valedictorian had elicited as much excitement from Barron years ago, perhaps their relationship would be a tad stronger.
“You should be, too. It’s going to mean big things for us.”
“How much is the plot of land selling for?” Jamison crossed one foot over his knee and scooted down in his chair. Once his father started talking money, it was going to be a long night.
“Well, that’s the only hitch. The attorneys are looking into it, but I should have a better idea by the end of the month.”
“Hitch?” Jamison’s phone started to buzz in his back pocket and he dug it out while his father started talking around the question.
Just got home. Thanks for lunch, but you didn’t have to do that.
He didn’t have to, but he’d gotten one text from Carissa in the morning telling him how crazy the ER was because of a car accident on the Eisenhower. Sending a pizza to the hospital for her so she could grab something quick to eat was the least he could do. She needed to eat, and she’d already confessed to skipping her break because of the chaos of the emergency room on most shifts.
Barron continued talking while Jamison typed out his response.
Little girls need their nutrition.
“What was that?” Jamison looked up to find his father in the middle of a self-absorbed conversation. He was clicking away at his computer and rattling on about profit and return on investments. “I think it’s a fine idea. Let’s get some actual numbers and then we’ll see about going forward.” His father sat at the head of the realm of Croft Enterprises, he didn’t need Jamison’s approval. Nor would he desire it.
“Excellent!” Barron grinned. “I’d rather not take on this project without you, you know. You have a solid head for investments.” As a compliment, it was as strong as Barron Croft would give.
“Thanks.” Jamison stood from his chair. “Was there something else?” His phone buzzed again in his hand.
“You’re not leaving, are you? I had them make dinner.”
“Oh, I suppose I have time for a quick bite.” Jamison checked the clock on his father’s imposing desk. If she’d just got home, she’d need at least an hour or two to shower and rest a bit. He sent her a quick message asking if he could come over.
I have plans tonight, maybe tomorrow?
Plans? On a Tuesday night? His fingers started to type out the question, wanting to know where she was going, but he stilled himself. Would it be moving too quickly to ask where she was going and when he could expect her to return home?
Oh? Where are you headed?
“Let’s go, I think I smell roast beef.” Barron shut his laptop and rounded the desk. Not a small man in stature by any means, he stood almost as tall as his son, and his shoulders were nearly as wide, but age seemed to be shrinking him.
Just out.
Just out? In what world did she think that counted as an answer?
Call me when you get home. No texting. Call. He put his phone in his back pocket and followed his father down the hall, passing more dead people hanging on the walls and an occasional diploma or certificate on the way to the dining room.
Just out. He plunked himself down in his chair at the far end of the table, facing his father who sat at the opposite end of the table, six feet of well-polished cherry wood between them, and stewed.
Just out.
Well, he’d see about that.
Jamison drummed his fingers on his desk, glaring at his computer screen. He’d already been in his office for two hours and had accomplished exactly nothing.
The clock on the lower corner of the computer screen mocked him.
Nine a.m. It was nine a.m., and he still hadn’t heard from Carissa. He’d been clear in his message for her to call him when she returned home. He’d even sent a text when he’d woken up for work and hadn’t heard from her. But still, at nine a.m. he was sitting his desk, staring at the digital clock on his toolbar.
Just as he was about get up and march down to the hospital to check on her, his phone buzzed on the desktop.
“Carissa.” While a part of him relaxed, knowing she was safe, the other half remained irritated at her behavior.
“Hi. Sorry.” She yawned into the phone. “Sorry. I got in later than I thought, and it was too late to call.”
“It’s never too late to call me. Are you at work?” He didn’t bother containing the clipped tone.
“What? No. I took the day off. Shirley, another nurse, needed some overtime to pay for her daughter’s braces so I offered her my shift.” The woman sounded downright exhausted.
“Exactly what time did you get in?” He prepared himself to dislike the answer.
“I don’t know. Eleven? I was beat so I went to bed.” Another yawn.
“You’re home now?” He turned around to look out the expansive windows of his office at the city laid out before him.
“Yes. I called you as soon as I woke up.” At least a sliver of apprehension had entered her voice. He didn’t want her scared, never would he want her afraid of him, but she should at least understand when she’d crossed a line.
“Carissa.” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried when I woke up and you hadn’t called, and even more so when I texted you and you didn’t respond.”
“Did you think I ran away again?” He could hear the levity start to creep back in, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“I was worried something had happened to you.” His office door opened and his secretary walked in, Garrick trailing behind her with an obnoxious grin.