Follow Me Darkly

by HELEN HARDT

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  I follow Betsy to the counter and set my baguettes down. “I don’t have a dog, but I’ll buy some treats for a friend’s dog.” I place a bag of small bone-shaped cookies on the counter.

  She rings me up quickly. “Eleven dollars and thirty-eight cents.”

  I insert my credit card into the chip reader. “What are you scared of, Betsy?”

  She doesn’t look me in the eye. “I’m not scared of anything.”

  “Look at me.”

  She hesitates a few seconds but then meets my gaze and speaks quietly. “I like you, and I like Tessa. We all clicked so well, and I’ll miss you guys, but I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Hang out with you guys anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t.”

  “Whatever Addie has on you—”

  “She doesn’t have anything on me. It’s me, Skye. I’m the one who has something on her.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Then what do you care what she says?”

  “She’s a huge influencer. She could ruin me.”

  Betsy’s hands tremble slightly. Only slightly, but I notice. She’s frightened of Addison. But why?

  “Maybe she’s afraid you’ll ruin her,” I say quietly.

  Betsy looks around the store. Two customers are browsing. One leaves. When the other chooses a few items and then pays for them, Betsy thanks him politely and then locks the door to the shop, placing the Closed sign in the window.

  “Closing for lunch?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Want to join me?”

  She nods again.

  “You just said you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”

  “I said I can’t hang out with you anymore. Big difference.”

  I nod. I get it. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “I like you guys a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve met any new friends. My shop keeps me busy. I only have one employee and he’s part-time. He works a couple of evenings a week. The shop is doing well, but without Addie’s influencing, I’m not sure I’d stay afloat. Every post she does brings in a huge influx of business.”

  “You’re local. Why not expand?”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Sure you can. Expand into online shopping. Addie brings business to big companies like Susanne who have stores all over the world, plus their website.”

  She widens her eyes. Has she truly never thought of this?

  “Do you think it would work?”

  “Everyone shops online these days. And people love their dogs. They’re always looking for ways to pamper them.”

  “True. I do great business during the holidays. You wouldn’t believe how much people spend.”

  “Think of how much more you can sell online. You can set up an Etsy shop, too!”

  She hesitates. “There are a million online pet stores out there.”

  “But there’s only one Betsy’s Bark Boutique.”

  She smiles. “You think I can do it?”

  “I do. We can discuss it over lunch.”

  …

  I return home after lunch. I didn’t press Betsy to talk about Addie, and we spent the whole lunch talking about expanding her business. She returned to her shop excited, with an agreement from Tessa—we called her—to run some numbers.

  My cell phone rings.

  “Hey, Tess,” I say.

  “You’ll never guess what I did.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, Betsy’s a doll, and I’ve been feeling super guilty about lying to her about having a dog, so I took a late lunch after you guys called and went to the shelter. I found Rita!”

  “You adopted a dog?”

  “Yeah. She’s an adorable little terrier mix. I pick her up tonight after work. Want to come along?”

  “Absolutely. But what about your apartment?”

  “I can have a pet.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah, and it’ll get me out to walk, which is good. Besides, she’s already two, so house training won’t be a huge thing.”

  I laugh. “It just so happens that I picked up some treats today at Betsy’s.”

  I spend the rest of the afternoon working on my posts until I leave to meet Tessa at the shelter.

  I both love and hate the shelter. I adore seeing all the dogs, but I end up wanting to take every single one of them home with me, and I can’t.

  Today is particularly difficult. I fall in love.

  A small puppy sits alone, away from the rest of her litter. She seems to cry to me, and her sad brown eyes sear into my soul. She’s black with white markings, probably a heeler or border collie mix.

  She’s my dog. I feel this so deeply, but my building doesn’t allow dogs.

  “Can you take her as well?” I ask Tessa.

  “You know I can’t handle two dogs.”

  “Please, Tess? My heart is breaking.”

  “Call Braden.”

  “No way.”

  “He’s super into you. He’ll probably take her, and you can visit her all the time.”

  I give her idea brief consideration. Braden’s still in New York. It’s after six, though knowing him, he’s probably still working. Or he’s out to dinner on business.

  In the end, though, I can’t do it. I can’t be the needy girlfriend who begs for a puppy.

  A shelter worker brings Rita out for Tessa. She’s white and gray, maybe a Scottie or highland mix, and her tail wags nonstop. She’s so happy to be going home, and I can think only of my sweet Penny.

  Yeah, I’ve already named her. I’m a glutton for punishment.

  “I need to get out of here,” I tell Tessa.

  “Okay. I get it. I’ve already done all the paperwork, so we can go.” She puts Rita on the leash she brought, and we leave.

  I planned to go home with Tessa and help her get Rita settled, but I can’t. I beg out.

  I lost my heart to a sweet little pup.

  Just like I’m losing my heart to Braden Black.

  And I still don’t know the secret he and Addison are keeping.

  What the hell have I walked into?

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I haven’t heard from Braden, but I assume our date for the gala is still on.

  I do my makeup and sweep my hair into a slightly messy bun. Then I don the black dress. I paint my lips with Cherry Russet to do the “formal” post for Susanne. I go into my hallway, take a quick selfie, and type in the copy I wrote earlier.

  Wearing my Cherry Russet lip stain by @susannecosmetics again. My go-to color is perfect for everything from a day at home to a formal evening! #sponsored #lips #kissme #formal #littleblackdress

  I return to the bathroom and remove the Cherry Russet. Only then do I paint my lips bloodred and fasten the pearls in place.

  I’m transformed.

  And a knock sounds on the door.

  Shudders rack my body as I open the door, my hand trembling.

  My jaw drops.

  Braden stands in the doorway, clad in his black tux and looking delicious. A plain black mask covers his eyes, and in his arms he holds a bouquet.

  Of roses.

  Bloodred roses.

  They match my lips perfectly.

  He walks in swiftly, closing the door behind him.

  His dark demeanor fills my small apartment. He owns this room. He owns me.

  He’s going to kiss me. I see it in his eyes. I feel it.

  He comes closer to me, and I inhale his spicy, woodsy scent. His leans toward me, his firm lips ready to take mine—

  Only a millimeter away, and he stops.

  “I won’t,” he says gruffly. “I won’t ruin thos
e perfect lips. Not yet.”

  I sigh. “Please.”

  “Not yet,” he says again, this time in his dark voice.

  I tremble before him. My body responds to everything Braden. I’m ready to give in right here and right now. To hell with the gala. Let’s just fuck.

  “I missed you,” I say softly. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I was busy,” he says.

  “You couldn’t find two minutes?”

  He grabs my cheeks. “Baby, if I’d called, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from getting on a plane and flying back to you.”

  I inhale swiftly. His words send an erotic thrill through my body.

  “I couldn’t do that. I did it once, and I nearly lost a deal because of it. I had to take care of business.”

  I nod. I know he was busy. But God, I’m hopelessly into him. Hopelessly in lust with Braden Black.

  Hopelessly falling for a man who has a secret he won’t divulge.

  He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want a relationship. He doesn’t—

  “Christopher’s waiting,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  I grab the bag I packed.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “Oh.” My cheeks warm. “You said for me to bring over some clothes and stuff.”

  “And you assume we’ll be going to my place?”

  “Yes,” I say boldly.

  “You assume correctly.” He stares at me, his eyes blazing sapphires against a sea of white foam. “Remove the top of your dress.”

  I slip one strap over my shoulder, going deliberately slowly. He sucks in a breath. I hold back the smile that wants to split my face as I slide the other strap over my shoulder and urge the fabric downward. The only thing standing between him and my breasts is a strapless bra.

  We stand there, gazes locked, until—

  “Fuck it.” He crushes his lips to mine.

  My lips are already parted, and he thrusts his tongue between them. My whole body responds. My nipples protrude, and I remember the nipple clamps. Did he bring them? Already I tense in anticipation.

  He unclasps my bra deftly and tosses it to the floor. Then he cups my breasts, thumbing my hard nipples as he deepens the kiss. Our mouths are one, giving, taking, licking, kissing. I reach downward, toward his crotch, and grasp the bulge beneath his slacks.

  He groans into me, a low melodic hum like the beginning of a rolling clap of thunder.

  I revel in his warm mouth, his spicy flavor, his velvet tongue twirling around mine. I arch, my clit throbbing, searching for something to rub against. Yes, his thigh. His hard and taut thigh. I grind into him, still holding his clothed erection—

  He breaks the kiss and inhales sharply. “Damn, Skye.”

  I steady myself, force my jelly legs not to tumble over.

  He pulls the chain from his pocket. “Your tits are so beautiful, your nipples so hard. God, I want to suck and bite them until you can’t stand it.”

  “Go ahead,” I say boldly.

  “Later. For now…” He positions one of the clamps around a nipple.

  I jerk.

  “Easy,” he says. “This won’t hurt.”

  “It won’t?”

  “Not unless you want it to.”

  The stainless steel is cool on my skin. He tightens the tiny screw slowly, squeezing my nipple. The bold sensation arrows straight between my legs.

  “Good?” he says.

  I nod, my lips parted.

  “You look incredible right now,” he says. “So fucking sexy.”

  I don’t know how I look, but I know how I feel. I feel sexy. Amazingly sexy. The steel can’t compare to Braden’s warm fingers or lips, but it’s a constant pressure, a constant pinch, and oh my God, it’s so good.

  He adjusts the second clamp around my other nipple. “Beautiful,” he says, his eyes heavy-lidded. “So beautiful. Are you ready, Skye?”

  “Ready for what?” My words come out on a sigh.

  “For this.” He yanks on the chain between the clamps.

  “Oh!” The feeling is intense and pure, as if he’s biting both nipples at once. I’m wet. So wet. So ready for his cock inside me. I reach toward his bulge, but he brushes my hand away.

  “Time to go, baby.”

  Is he fucking kidding me? “Braden…”

  “I know. This will keep you on edge tonight. Right on edge and under my control. You aren’t to touch that chain, Skye.”

  “But it’s on me. How can I not?”

  “Because you won’t. If you do, I’ll know.”

  “But how can you—”

  “I will know. Trust me.” He pulls my dress upward. “I want you to go without your bra tonight.”

  “But the clamps will show.”

  “No, they won’t. Your nipples will show, which is hot. They’ll be hard all night and will jut out farther than the clamps themselves. No one will be the wiser.”

  “But—”

  “And I’ll be able to subtly pull on your chain whenever I want.”

  I gulp. “That will…”

  “Drive you wild. I know. That’s the point.” He leans down and bites the shell of my ear. “Then maybe you’ll know how completely out of control I get just thinking about you.”

  My legs nearly stumble, but he steadies me.

  “Go now. Fix your bloodred lips.”

  I nod and walk to the bathroom. My lips haven’t run, thank goodness. Susanne lip stain is good stuff. They do need a touch-up, though, which I do, hands shaking.

  When I return, Braden has put the flowers he brought me into a vase. They sit on my small table.

  “Thank you,” I say, “for the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you ready?”

  I nod. Every time I move, the clamps and chain move. Just the slightest twitch sends a thrill through me.

  Damn.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  When we arrive at the gala, Braden and I are treated like true VIPs, which, I guess, he is. I don’t feel like a VIP, but we’re led to the best table in the room, right in the front, where a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a platter of berries sit waiting.

  “They think we like this better than Wild Turkey,” Braden whispers to me.

  I giggle. I’ve never had Dom Pérignon, obviously, and I’d like to try it. The server opens the bottle and pours two flutes for us, handing the first to me.

  Braden takes his and clinks his glass to mine. “To control,” he says, casting his gaze down to my breasts.

  To control? An odd toast, since he’s been trying to get me to give up my control since we met. Then I realize what he means.

  His control, as evidenced by the clamps and chain binding me to his will. Just his gaze sends jolts through both my nipples. He hasn’t touched the chain, and already I’m bending to his desires.

  “To control,” I echo and take a sip of the champagne. It’s crisp and dry and elegant, and the bubbles effervesce against my tongue and seem to explode as they crawl down my throat.

  It’s wonderful.

  The room is already full of guests. Braden doesn’t attempt to speak to anyone, and soon I see why. People seek him out, come to him, schmooze him. He doesn’t have to do the schmoozing.

  Peter Reardon and Garrett Ramirez sit a few tables away from us. Has Braden broken the news that their firm won’t get his big contract? I have no idea. Peter catches my eye, and I smile. He looks away quickly.

  Braden chivalrously introduces me to everyone who speaks to him. I’m in a haze of surreality until I realize I should be listening and taking note. If I’m going to be an influencer, I need all of Braden’s bigwig contacts.

  “George,” Braden says, “meet my girlfriend, Skye Manning.”

/>   An older man holds out his hand to me. I know nothing except that his name is George.

  “A pleasure, Ms. Manning,” George says.

  “Please, call me Skye.”

  He nods and continues his conversation with Braden. I listen, but soon the words become a jumble in my mind. The din of conversation hangs around me, almost visible. Men in tuxes abound, and fashion for women ranges from conservative long-sleeve maxi dresses to skimpy cocktail numbers much like my own.

  Is anyone else wearing nipple clamps? I find myself staring at women’s chests and wondering. I force myself to stop.

  “Tell me about yourself, Skye.”

  I jerk. Who’s speaking?

  George is making eye contact with me. Who is George again? Braden must have mentioned who he is and what he does.

  “I’m a photographer,” I say.

  “Interesting. What kind of photography?”

  “Mostly social media at the moment, but my dream is to photograph for National Geographic someday.”

  “Interesting,” he says again. Clearly, he’s not interested at all. He returns to his conversation with Braden.

  And it dawns on me.

  I’m arm candy.

  Arm candy wearing nipple clamps.

  I take another sip of champagne and look around the room once more. Would anyone notice if I wasn’t here? A few men glance my way, but no one will dare approach me with Braden at my side. Not that I want them to, but I’m isolated.

  I touch Braden’s arm gently. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  He nods.

  I leave our table and walk around the room. At one edge of the space, silent-auction items are set up. I skim over them and take some photos. May as well do an Instagram post. This is my job now. Then I take a selfie.

  At the Boston Opera Guild Gala! #operaguild #formalball #supportthearts

  I can’t think of any other hashtags, so I post. After all, this isn’t a paid post. Almost immediately I get a query.

  Love your lips! What color are you using?

  I reply instantly.

  Night on the Town lip stain by Susanne. Perfect for an elegant evening!

  I walk back through the room and notice Peter and Garrett again. Since they’re the only people in the room I know, I amble to their table.

  “Hi, Peter. Hi, Garrett,” I say.