I look down to find his dark head bent between my legs. His fingers smooth over my pussy, gently parting me. He looks up at me, a wicked half smile making his eyes dark. I shiver with the realization that he’s up to something.
That’s when I smell it. The faint whiff of smoke and the sweetness of beeswax. He holds a small round candle in a metal tin. My heart flips, but it’s too late to resist. With a flick of his wrist, he tips the candle and a stream of hot wax runs down the tip of my pelvis and over my clit.
I can’t cry out or draw a breath or do anything but stare at him in shock. The burn flashes with an intensity I’ve never felt before. Brent purses his lips and blows on the wax, cooling it, yet inflaming the heat until I’m torn up with sensation. I can’t.
I just can’t…
“You asked for this,” he croons, blowing another stream of air over my clit. “When you pulled yourself free from the desk, you gave me permission to punish you. Didn’t you, Erica?”
I can’t speak.
I can’t think.
I can’t move.
Brent moves and brings my legs together. My thighs touch and cradle the warring sensations between them. The pain has begun to change, and I can’t decide if it’s pleasure or torture. Both. The same.
Brent digs his fingers into my knee. “Answer me.”
I don’t know what the question was. Covering my eyes with a shaking hand, I remember.
“Yes. Yes, I gave you permission.”
Softly, he pets my thighs and splays his fingers over my hip. He ordered me come earlier so my body would be extra sensitive when it received the hot wax. He knew exactly how to punish me. But now a new sensation was developing. It’s taking its time, teasing me with how amazing, and delicious, and indescribable it is.
“Turn over.” Brent helps me lie on my stomach. Involuntarily, I press my pelvis into the mattress. The pressure flames the newborn pleasure between my legs and I moan. How can he be so cruel, yet give me so much gratification?
I hear the flick of a lighter. He kneels beside me on the bed and takes his time moving my hair away from my shoulders and back. My stomach flips at the idea of what he’s going to do. I’ve never had wax on my skin before, but I’m willing to try. After all, if the burn results in this same floating-type of pleasure as it did on my clit, then I’m all for it.
The first stream of wax crosses my back in a hot line. I flinch at the sensation. There’s a flash of discomfort that instantly fades. Brent drizzles another line, and then another. Each drop of wax on my skin pops hot and fades cool, leaving behind a tail of discomfort mixed with incredible pleasure.
It’s impossible to relax completely, but I try. Minutes pass, maybe an hour, and my back is stiff with a layer of cooled wax. But Brent doesn’t stop. He decorates my arms and the backs of my thighs. Every now and then, he sets down one candle tin and picks up another. I’m breathing hard, and a moan slips out now and then.
When he finally turns me onto my back, the wax breaks into pieces and cool air assaults my tortured skin. It burns all over again until I press into the comforter. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but I don’t have time to think about that.
“Hold very still.” He blows out the flame and tips a candle over my peaked breast.
I tense and try to prepare myself as liquid black wax drizzles over my nipple with fierce, consuming heat. I push at him, but he leans down and takes my other nipple in his mouth, soothing me with the heat of his mouth. I’m so conflicted. I want it to stop, but I never want it to stop.
“Relax, beautiful. Take your punishment.”
“I’m trying,” I sob. I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional. This isn’t hard; it doesn’t even really hurt. He makes a soothing sound and moves back. The wax pours down onto my naked breast, quickly wrapping me in luscious heat. I look down as he coats both breasts in ribbons of wax, crisscrossing and masking the one part of my body I’ve always hated.
I barely feel the heat anymore, just the soft weight of the wax as it cools. He adds red on top of the black and the web it creates is beautiful. Suddenly, my small breasts are remarkable. Lovely.
That’s when I realize that Brent is like the wax. Unpredictable, and sometimes painful. He consumes me fast and completely and no matter how he hurts me, I crave more. He covers up the worst parts of me.
He smiles, as if wondering what’s going through my head. I fork my fingers through his hair and pull him to me. I barely give him time to set the candle down before my lips find his. I kiss him with a longing born of love that I can’t confess to him. I kiss him with my lips, but also my soul. I don’t worry about slipping out of my role, or that he’ll be upset. I just feel and give him everything I can in that one, simple kiss.
Brent cups my face and takes my mouth softy, gently. Something snaps inside of me at the tenderness of his touch, and it comes back together again as he parts my legs and brushes the wax away before filling me.
Rocking me.
Leading me to the place only he can take me.
He comes with a gentle fierceness, and I do too, and together we lay on the wax dotted bed. I slip in and out of sleep, but the sound of water running finally pulls me from the lull.
“Come here.” He lifts me in his arms and carries me into the bathroom. He’s filled the large, round tub, complete with floral scented bubbles. Setting me on my feet, Brent holds my hand while I step into the water, and then he slips in behind me and cradles me back against his body.
We sit like that for a long time. I don’t feel the need to talk. I’d say something that I’d regret later anyway, like “I love you.” It’s too dangerous, so I keep to myself and enjoy the feel of his body against me.
Brent makes a sound as if he’s going to speak, but doesn’t. Instead, he grabs a loofa and takes his time washing me. By the time he’s done, I’m languid and relaxed but too energized to sleep.
“I’m going to get out. Do you want to stay in?” He pulls my hair into a long ponytail and arranges it over my shoulder.
“No. How about some dinner?” I’m starving.
“Order out?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’ll cook. It’ll be a…surprise.”
Really, because I’m not the best cook, but I’ll figure something out. Cooking for him seems exactly right considering I’m now living with him. Plus, I want to do something nice. If I botch dinner, takeout will be my backup.
“Okay.” He pushes himself up on his impressive arms and steps out of the tub. I take my time watching water and tiny beads of soap bubbles run down his sculpted body. He dries off before wrapping the towel around his hips and walking out. I enjoy the water a few more minutes after all, before getting out and going back to my room.
Pondering what to make for dinner, I dress and decide to pop into the office and pull up my food porn board on Pinterest. Something there will spark an idea. Sitting behind my desk, I take a moment to study the faint red marks the candle wax left behind on my pale skin.
I log onto my computer and the download screen pops up. Realizing I’d left the flash drive connected to my computer, I take a minute to scroll through the file it dumped onto my hard drive.
It’s a spreadsheet of an expense report. A recent one, from the date.
I frown as I peruse it. Why haven’t I seen this before? I reconcile all expenses into the master worksheets. But I don’t recognize these entries.
There’s an entry for maintenance and others for construction and waste removal. The largest expense is marked personal, and it amounts to close to half a million dollars.
“What the hell is this?” I utter. There are over a million dollars’ worth of expenses listed here. All of them to someone marked HtesLLC.
Absently, I stare at the wall. Why does that sound so familiar? It’s possible this is a personal account instead of a business one, which would explain why I hadn’t seen it before. Brent’s personal finances are nothing I have anything to do with. Except that this spreadsheet was
created under the Casino heading, so by all appearances, it’s business.
I should just ask him. He put the flash drive in my bag so he must want me to reconcile this somehow.
Closing the laptop, I get up and decide I’ll bring it up during dinner. My stomach rumbles, but then something crosses my mind and nausea takes over.
I know that heading. HtesLLC. Htes.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it immediately. Those few letters, so innocuous. So innocent. Just a few letters that contain a multitude of evil. Because of course, those are the letters printed on the window of Georgios’ office door. The name of his shell company, the one they launder the money through.
I grab my middle and double over as bile creeps into my throat. Brent’s been working with him all along. He’s paying him off.
My nightmare is coming true—all my worries, my suspicions—are coming into light.
Bret is still working with Georgios.
Volume Five
1
I’m torn between the need for action and the overwhelming desire to curl into a ball and pretend this isn’t happening.
Brent—the man I fucking love with all my heart and soul—is betraying me by working with the man who killed my sister. All this time, I allowed Brent to lead me and mold me into what he wanted me to be, what he needed me to be. He knows I crave to submit, and damn him—he used my own proclivity to manipulate me.
He lied to me. He used me. He fucked me. And now, I could be a dead woman. Just like Nathalie and Liz. I wonder why he put the flash drive in my bag. Why would he give me proof that he’s lying to me? Is it part of his sick game somehow—part of some twist to lead me into my own death?
A fresh rip of pain goes through me as my mind races…
Who will be the one to finish me off? Georgios…or Brent? Maybe they’ll take turns, like cats with a dying mouse, before they flip a coin to see who gets the kill shot.
My heart begs me to trust him, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but my head reminds me that this kind of trust may stop my heart. Forever.
The thought spurs me into involuntary action. I straighten, finding strength somehow. I quietly start tossing things back into my computer bag. Palming the flash drive, I realize it’s all I really need. My computer can stay. Everything else can stay. Everything but me. I’m a sitting duck. There’s no doubt in my mind that Brent knows I’ve seen the files by now, but I can’t make it look like I’m preparing or planning to leave.
No. I need to go along with the norm. I can’t tip him off that I’m scrambling to find a way to blow this compound and get to freedom. It dawns on me that the guards downstairs weren’t just hired to keep bad guys out. They’re here to keep me in. It’s all part of Brent’s plan, and even though I have no idea what his end game is, I know I can’t hang around to figure it out.
But how am I going to get out of here?
Nausea returns, hard. My temple starts to throb. I can’t do anything tonight. I’m not in any shape to make a run for it. I need rest and time to plan. Remembering that I’m supposed to make dinner for Brent, that he’s waiting just rooms away for me, I realize I won’t be able to act casual when my whole body is shaking this hard. I grab my cell and pull up his number. Just looking at it makes the nausea worse.
My screen shows a list of our past text messages. I scan them and the pain welling inside me nearly makes me double over. He could be so sweet and convincing.
You looked incredibly fuckable today.
Thank you for taking care of those files.
Your hips are a work of art.
There’s more, but I can’t bear to read them. Instead, I type, I’m so sorry. I’ve got a massive migraine out of nowhere. Head throbbing. Can’t keep eyes open. I’m going to lie down for the night. I ordered Chinese to make it up to you. and send it. Then, I pull up the app for the Chinese place Brent loves and order his usual sweet and sour chicken for delivery. Mary should still be here, so she can handle the delivery when it arrives. I’m going to bed, with the door locked, not that it could keep him out. But it will give him a hint that I don’t want to be disturbed. And if he comes in, I’ll pretend to be asleep. If he wakes me, I’ll be complacent—but curt. I’m going to grab the gigantic pair of stainless steel scissors I found in the desk and hide them under my pillow.
Let the bastard try and kill me. I’ll slice him to pieces.
Grabbing the scissors, I tuck them into my clothes and hurry to my room. A reply from Brent comes just as I lock my bedroom door.
Rest well.
I’m trembling. That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say? He’s not even going to try and come talk to me in my room? I immediately wonder if he’s suspicious of me, but that’s crazy. His lack of an offer to get me medicine or give me a back massage or something isn’t that surprising, really. It’s Brent after all.
You never know if you’re going to get sweet or sour. I guess I’m fucking relieved to get sour right now, even if it does sting a little bit.
Slipping into bed, I put the scissors under my pillow and lie under the covers completely dressed. Honestly, I don’t think anything is going to go down concerning my safety tonight, but how do I really know? I can’t wait around for Brent or Georgios to make their next move.
Is this how Liz felt? Hiding under her covers with a tumult of fear and other emotions pumping through her? I can’t not think of her and the mysteriousness of how she vanished. All this time, I’ve despised myself for being jealous of her, and for suspecting Brent of doing something lethal to her. I don’t feel jealousy as I think of her now, just a profound sadness that she paved the road I’m walking.
Like her, and my sister, loving the wrong man is going to end very, very badly for me.
I shut down thoughts of Liz and refocus on my plan for escape. Even though my mind is racing, I finally begin to doze off. Soft sounds in the house seem unusually loud and I can’t get comfortable, but somehow I manage to sleep a little.
With the first rays of sunlight, it dawns on me what I need to do.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Nighttime might as well have not happened at all, because my body aches and my mind is blurry. Lying there, I focus on keeping my breathing calm. I know what I’m going to do and there’s comfort in the power.
Soon I’ll be free.
I wait an hour until Brent’s normal time to leave and then I wash my face and freshen up before going downstairs. As I head down, I sniff the air to see if I can catch a whiff of Brent’s cologne. I don’t, and it’s relieving. But I’m disappointed, too, because the part of me he has conditioned craves the elation his scent gives me. It’s a high I can’t get from anything or anyone else.
Even though it’s bad for me, I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss him.
A weight settles behind my ribs and expands, filling me with displaced grief and sadness. How can I feel so much bitter longing for a man who quite possibly wants me dead?
Just how fucked up am I?
I don’t waste time pondering as I go down the hall. I almost run directly into one guard as I round the corner into the kitchen—the one who is usually fiddling with the security panels. I startle away from him—an overreaction that draws his attention. He gives me a skewed glance and sweat breaks out on my hairline. I’ve always been cordial to the guards, so it’s no wonder he notices the shift in my behavior. It’s not every day that I plan something devious. The guards are here to keep me in…expertly placed under the pretense of keeping the bad guys out. I need to get my shit together.
“Spider!” I say with a grimace and brush at his shoulder with my fingertips like I’m swiping off an offending arachnid. He follows my movement and raises a brow, but otherwise says nothing and continues on to go guard stuff, or whatever. I’m just glad he’s gone.
Pausing outside the kitchen entrance, I pull up the Uber app on my phone and type in my information. I wait to submit it, though, until the time is right.
Inside t
he kitchen, Mary-the-housekeeper is exactly where I hoped she’d be, by the sink. She’s drying silverware and humming softly to herself. She gives me a basic smile as I help myself to coffee. I grab some creamer, and for the sake of my plan, a bottle of Hershey’s syrup, from the fridge. She doesn’t pay attention to me as I add some creamer and syrup to my coffee and conveniently forget to mix it up. She’s about my height. A little wider in the hips and bigger in the chest, but overall, our statures match up fairly well.
My pulse ticks up as I pretend to sip from my mug, and walk nonchalantly in her direction.
“Good morning,” I chirp as I sidle up to her. She’s standing on an oval rug which offers the perfect excuse. I slide my left foot forward, snagging on the edge of the rug and lurch forward toward her. She jumps back with a startled gasp, but it’s too late. My coffee cup jolts forward, hot liquid making an arch and splash across the bodice of her uniform. The unmixed syrup drags down the fabric while creamer and java create something Monet would be proud of across her breasts.
“Oh my God!” I shout, reaching for her even as she draws back farther from me. “I’m so sorry!”
I’m sure the coffee scalded her some, and I feel bad about that. But at least she’ll live, which is more than I can say for myself if I don’t follow through here. Whisking a towel off the counter, I make a show of trying to blot the mess off her uniform, but she pushes my hands away.
“I can’t be seen like this!” She looks at me with wide eyes. “Mr. Masters is having a meeting here this afternoon and I—”
A meeting? With whom? Luckily, I won’t be here to find out.
“Please,” I interrupt her. “Let me wash that for you. It’s absolutely my fault. Stay right there.” I put my hands out and give her a stern look and she leans her butt against the counter and nods. I bet she’s still a little stunned and I don’t want that to wear off. Stunned people are malleable and more impressionable than when they are in their right minds.
I should know. It seems I’ve been stunned during my entire time with Brent.
Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Page 19