by Force, Marie
“I’d much rather surprise her.” The boyish grin does wondrous things to his demeanor.
“I’ll trade you. Dinner with Mom for a date to the Oscars.”
I love the way his eyes go wide with shock. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously.”
“You want to take me to the Oscars as your date.”
Laughing, I nod. “That’s right.”
“Wow.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I, ah… Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Unless you don’t want to go.”
“I do. I mean… That’d be amazing, but…”
“What?”
“I’m not the type of guy your fans would expect to see you with.”
I’m intrigued by his thought process. “What sort of guy do you think they expect for me?”
He scowls. “Someone like the Frenchman.”
“And look at how that worked out.” I place my hand on his face and compel him to look at me. “I wouldn’t be happy if you were to get it in your head that you’re not good enough for me, Sebastian. Just because I got lucky and had some success in a business that made me famous doesn’t make me better than you or anyone else. We both know a lot of shitty famous people.”
“True,” he says with a huff of laughter.
“But if you aren’t up for going, I would totally understand.”
“I’d be honored to go with you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He draws me into a soft, sexy kiss that makes me want to purr with the pleasure of being close to him this way.
“I can’t believe you were right here all this time…”
“Believe it, baby. I’d watch you in action at the club and have to go in the office to rub one out so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by sporting wood all night.”
“You did not!”
“I did it all the time. When you’re in Dominatrix mode…” His low growl finishes the sentence for him.
“But you’re a Dom who’s not a switch. It shouldn’t make you hot to see me dominating guys.”
“And yet…” He takes hold of my hand and brings it down to his hard cock. “This is what thinking about watching you does to me.”
“This is very intriguing to me.”
“The thing I like best about our lifestyle is that no two people or couples navigate it exactly the same way. It’s all about what works for us, and if taking turns being in charge works for us, then so be it.”
I smooth a hand over his well-defined pecs, both of which are covered in ink. “This, with you… It feels good.” It feels better than anything ever has, but I’m not ready to admit that to myself or him. A week ago, I was in a full-fledged relationship with a man I thought I was in love with. My judgment hasn’t been trustworthy lately, so I’m trying not to get too far ahead of myself with Sebastian. Whether this is the start of something new or a fling that’ll burn out before it can go anywhere remains to be seen. However, the more time I spend with him, the more I begin to suspect the former rather than the latter.
“It feels good for me, too. In fact, it feels better than good. It feels extraordinary.”
It feels so good, in fact, that we go deep underground for the next five days after he decides to take more time off to spend with me. Kristian is thrilled that he’s using some vacation time. By all accounts, the whole world has gone mad over my revelation about my affection for the BDSM lifestyle. With everyone wanting more of that story, it’s a good time for me to be off the radar.
Other than the night we have dinner with his mother—and she cries with joy when she realizes we’re together—we go nowhere, we talk to no one but each other and we gorge on sensual pleasure the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. It’d be perfectly fine with me if we never left his bed again, I decide the morning of the sixth day as we relax after having wake-up sex.
I’ve lost track of how many orgasms I’ve had. What does it matter when they’re so plentiful?
We snuggle for such a long time that I have no idea what time it is, nor do I care. I have nowhere to be today, and wrapped up in his arms is the best place I’ve been in a long time. I wake up quite a bit later to realize I fell asleep.
“Welcome back.”
I’m addicted to the sound of his gruff voice. Hell, I’m addicted to everything about him. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What’d I say?”
“It was hard to tell, but something like, ‘Fuck me harder, Sebastian.’”
I crack up and smack his rock-hard shoulder. “That’s not true!”
“Next time, I’ll record it.”
“You do that.” I love the way he makes me laugh. I love the way he touches me and dominates me and makes me feel worshipped. Everything about this is different from how it was with Rafe, and after spending this time with Sebastian, I wonder how I ever could’ve mistaken that for love. This… This is love. Though neither of us has said the words, the feeling I get from being with him this way is as close as I’ve ever been to being truly in love.
The feeling is fragile, like a newborn bird that’s still learning to spread its wings. I want to protect and guard it so nothing can harm it.
I stretch out the kinks and note the ever-present twinge of soreness between my legs. That’s what I get for tangling with that monster cock of his nonstop for days. “I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me?”
“In a minute. My phone’s been ringing. I gotta figure out who’s blowing me up.”
“Okay.” I kiss him and get up, aware of his gaze on my bare ass as I walk into the bathroom. I hope he won’t keep me waiting too long.
Chapter 17
The second I hear the shower go on, I get up, pull on a pair of boxers and take the phone out to the deck, closing the slider so there’s no chance Marlowe will overhear this conversation. I return the calls that’ve been coming a few a day since the press conference.
“What the fuck do you want?” I ask when he answers.
“Sebastian Lowe. Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
“We’re not friends, Turk. We were never friends.” The sound of his voice strikes fear in my heart, which isn’t easy to do. I’m a long way from the young, foolish, naïve idiot I once was. Back then, the sound of Turk Santos’s voice could make my knees quiver. “What do you want?”
“Saw something online that got my attention. You’re moving up in the world, hanging with Marlowe Sloane.”
Hearing her name from him makes me crazy. “If you come anywhere near her, I’ll kill you.”
Turk lets out a big laugh. “As if you’d be so stupid. You’d be dead before you took your next breath, but of course, you know that.”
“What do you want?”
“Remember way back when your good buddy Hayden came to fetch you and I let you go with the caveat that you owed me one?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I know exactly what he’s talking about. My chest feels tight, like it would if I were having a cardiac incident. Maybe I am.
“Okay, if you want to play it that way. Here’s how this is gonna go. I gotta niece named Ariel. She’s a triple threat—sings, dances, acts—and she’s gorgeous. She wants to be a star. Your lady is gonna make her a star, or I’m gonna make trouble for you. We clear on that?”
The thought of asking such a thing of Marlowe makes me feel so sick that I fear I might actually vomit. “That’s not happening.”
“It’s happening or else. We had a deal, you and me. You might wanna pretend you don’t remember it, but I know you do. And you’re well aware that no one gets to just ‘quit’ our life without making some significant concessions. I let you go way back when, but you owe me, and you know it.”
“I don’t owe you dick. Don’t call me again.” I end the call and block the number, hating the way my hands shak
e ever so subtly as I open the slider to go back inside.
This cannot be happening. I’m so far removed from Turk Santos and the crowd I ran with back when I was too stupid to know better. I take a series of deep breaths, trying to get my heart rate to return to normal before I join Marlowe in the shower. My head is spinning, my blood boiling and my heart aching at the thought of putting her in danger. That can’t happen, especially after what she’s just been through.
I knew it was too much to hope that we could be something. In the span of a few minutes, I’ve gone from elated to devastated. After having even a tiny taste of what it might be like with her, how will I bear to walk away from her? It’ll hurt like the devil, worse than anything ever has, but I’ll do it to protect her. The likes of Turk Santos won’t get anywhere near her.
“Seb,” she calls from the shower. “Are you coming?”
I’m drawn to her so powerfully that it takes all my willpower to ignore her, to back up onto the deck, to sit on the lounge chair that faces the ocean and stay the fuck away from her. She’s beautiful and perfect and everything I’m not and will never be. It was a pipe dream, a lovely pipe dream, but a pipe dream nonetheless.
I grip the arms of the chair to keep from giving in to the yearning to be with her, to touch her, to lose myself in her. It’s painful to stay away, but I do it for her.
Something happened while I was in the shower. Everything is different. He won’t look at me as he throws clothes into a duffel bag on his bed.
“I have to go out of town for a few days.”
“What’s going on?”
“An old friend is in trouble and called asking for help.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Nah, he’s one of the guys from my old neighborhood.”
“Where does he live now?”
“Uh… Outside of San Jose.”
“So you’re driving up there?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. I put keys on the counter in the kitchen.”
I cross my arms, feeling the need to protect myself from whatever this is. “Okay.”
He zips his bag, hoists it to his shoulder and walks toward the door, seeming to stop himself when he realizes he can’t just leave without giving me something. For Christ’s sake, he was inside me an hour ago. “Sorry about this,” he says gruffly as he comes back to kiss my forehead before leaving the room.
Long after I hear the front door close, I can’t move because I’m so filled with shock, despair and confusion. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, so what the fuck just happened? I have no idea how long I stand there trying to process his hasty departure before I snap out of it. There’s no way I’m staying in his home without him.
Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone, I glance at the rumpled bed where we found such intense pleasure together. Was it too much for him? Is that what happened? I don’t know, and the not knowing is going to make me crazy. I quickly make the bed and go into the room where my things are to get dressed.
Then I call Leah.
She answers right away. “Hey, how’s it going today?”
“Can you please come get me?”
“Oh, um, sure.”
“Can you come soon?”
“I’ll leave the office right now and be there as fast as I can. I’ll text you to give you an ETA.”
“Thank you.” I end the call, appreciating that she didn’t ask why I want a ride or where I’m going. And where exactly am I going? I can’t go home, because my house will be surrounded by reporters. Flynn’s and Hayden’s homes are probably under siege, too. But Flynn’s has a gate to keep them out. I put through a call to him.
“I was just going to call you.”
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Can I stay with you guys for a few days?”
“Of course you can, but I thought you were hanging with Seb.”
“I was. I’m not anymore, and I can’t go home.” I hate that I can’t go home. I want my own bed and my things and my glorious view of the Pacific. I’m usually left alone there, but I won’t have any privacy with the whole world wanting a piece of me. And the possibility of Rafe showing up at my place, if he’s brazen enough to return to LA, is enough to keep me away.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I refuse to let Sebastian’s rejection break me. We had fun. It’s over. He’s gone, and I’m moving on.
“You need a ride?”
“No, Leah’s coming to get me.”
“I’ll let Nat know you’re coming. Our home is your home. You know that.”
“Thanks.” My voice breaks, and I cover it with a cough. I’ve gotten through much worse than what’s happened to me recently, and I’ll survive the way I always do.
More than anything, I’m disappointed. The last few days with Sebastian were magical and unexpected and delightful. I thought he was enjoying it as much as I was. Apparently, I thought wrong. I throw clothes into my bag without a care as to whether they’ll be a wrinkled mess on the other end. What do I care about wrinkles? I just want to get the hell out of here.
Leah texts a few minutes later to say she’s fifteen minutes out.
I grab my bag, do a quick sweep of the bathroom, living room and kitchen to make sure I have everything, noticing the keys he left on the counter for me. I quickly divert my gaze and stay focused on my escape plan, even if my heart aches as I leave the place where I was so happy at a time when I should’ve been devastated.
Sebastian made me feel happy and safe and secure—until he pulled the rug out from under me and sent me reeling once again. It’s a wonder I don’t have whiplash from the way things have unfolded. Not that long ago, I thought I was happy with Rafe, and now I’m heartbroken over Sebastian?
I need an intervention.
After making sure the door is locked behind me, I leave Sebastian’s condo and take the stairs down to the lobby to wait for Leah. Thankfully, no one is around to see or bother me in the five minutes I’m there before her little red Bug pulls up to the curb. She’s got the top down, so I find an elastic in my bag and put up my hair before rolling my suitcase out to the curb, where she’s waiting to load it into the trunk.
When we’re both in the car and belted in, she turns to me. “Where to?”
“Flynn’s.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yep.” I don’t want to talk about it with her or anyone. I want to forget Rafe and Sebastian and everything that’s happened, which will be easier said than done, especially the part with Sebastian, which was the best time I ever spent with anyone. I’ll do what I always do when life kicks me in the balls. I’ll keep my chin up and power through, even if I ache inside.
“I thought you were hanging with Sebastian.”
“I was. I’m not now.”
She says nothing to that, which I appreciate. “Sorry that I have to stop for gas. I meant to get it before work.”
“No worries. You didn’t know you were coming out to Malibu today.”
A couple of miles later, she pulls into a gas station. “I’ll be quick.”
I find a ball cap in my bag and put it on, pulling it down over my face in the hope that no one will notice me. I wish I could stop thinking about Sebastian or what happened to make him run away. My mind cycles through every minute of the last few hours and days, but nothing stands out as worrisome or strange, except for the fact that someone was blowing up his phone. As far as I’m concerned, one minute, everything was fine. The next, it wasn’t.
“Marlowe Sloane.”
Startled, I look up to see a man’s face staring back at me. With one look at his cold, dark eyes, I know this isn’t someone friendly.
He moves his jacket aside and shows me the firearm he’s carrying. “You’re going to need to come with me.”
“What do you want?”
“Get out of the car and start moving, or your little friend is goin
g to get hurt. Do you want her to get hurt?”
A couple of months ago, Leah was injured in a car accident that nearly killed her. The last thing in the world I want is for anything to happen to her because of me. I get out of the car, feeling strangely removed from whatever this is. I’m not scared or even alarmed. Perhaps I’m numb after the few weeks I’ve had, but whatever is wrong with me, it’s keeping me from hysteria as he pushes me into the backseat of a Charger, where Leah is huddled in the corner.
He shuts the door and signals to some other guy, who drives off with Leah’s car.
The whole thing happens in a matter of seconds. It’s so smoothly done that no one even notices. I wonder how long it will be before someone notices we’re missing. Hopefully, not long.
“What do you want?” I ask when the man gets in the car.
“Hand over your phones, shut up and stay that way until you’re spoken to.”
We give him our phones, and he powers them down.
I reach for Leah’s hand and give her a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes are huge with fright. Whatever this is, it certainly doesn’t involve her. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. I try to pay attention to where we’re going, but he makes so many turns that I lose track. We end up near a pier that’s not familiar to me. He presses a button on a garage-door opener attached to the visor and drives into a massive building. The door closes behind us with a clatter, enveloping us in darkness.
Leah is trembling as we’re roughly pulled from the car, marched down a long hallway and pushed into a concrete space that’s more of a cell than a room. The door closes with a loud crash that makes us both jump.
When we’re alone, Leah turns to me. “What the hell?”
“I have no idea what this is.”
“What’re we going to do?” Her voice is tinged with hysteria.
“We’re going to stay calm and do whatever it takes to stay alive.”
“Is this about Rafe?”
“I don’t think so. He lacks the imagination to pull off something like this.”
“Emmett will be looking for me if I don’t go back to the office or return his texts.”