by M. S. Parker
I didn’t know if it was going to work though.
My mind was too full of her.
That innocent smile.
Those beautiful eyes.
Aleena was a sweet girl and that was the entire problem.
Sweet wasn’t for me.
Sweet girls tended to expect things—and they were entirely right to do that.
I couldn’t offer anything more than a night of hard, fast sex.
Besides, I was a businessman and I had to focus on the face of Trouver L’Amour. Any woman I dated needed to help drive the image of my company. It was shallow and I knew it. But it was how business worked.
When it came to sex, I had a different sort of woman in mind and Aleena didn’t fit that, either.
Although…I swore and spun around, driving my fist into the hard, clear surface of the window. Now I had the image of her spread out on my bed, bound and open and ready for me, that innocent curiosity shining from her eyes. It was a picture that brought my cock to full, aching awareness.
It was an erotic thing to imagine, driving her to the brink, having her beg—my hand on her ass, bringing a blush to that golden flesh, hearing my name on her lips, knowing that her pleasure lay in my hands.
And it was about as likely as the sun rising in the west.
I took women to my bed who knew the score—they wanted sex and I wanted their submission.
That wasn’t Aleena.
Miserable and aching, I leaned against the window.
Maybe I should have just given that necklace to her friend.
* * *
The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time Mikhail dropped me off at the private club I’d chosen for the night. I sent him on home. The club offered a car service for their VIP members.
A cold wind cut through me as I strode inside. The man at the door had it open, giving me a polite nod. Most people were ID’d as they went through, but most of the VIPS were recognized on sight.
Going from the still-brilliant light of day to the club’s dim exterior, I blinked, giving my eyes a moment to adjust.
The VIP section was in the back and I took my time taking the winding staircase that offered direct access. The area was elevated, offering a clear view of the rest of the area.
I walked along the upper level, not even registering the extremes that came with being a part of this world. While I personally never got into the wardrobe aspect that many others in this lifestyle gravitated towards, I’d seen them often enough that they didn’t have much effect on me. Not that everyone here was dressed in leather and chains. One of the things I liked about Olympus was that it had a little bit of everything.
Within a few feet, I saw a female dominant leading her sub by a collar. The only thing he wore other than his collar was a cock ring. They walked past a trio of people in regular clubbing clothes—sexy, but nothing that screamed of the BDSM lifestyle. Two men behind them were dressed as I was, wearing well-cut, tailored suits.
Since it was the middle of the week, and still fairly early, the club wasn’t as packed as usual. I saw only a few people I knew, but it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t looking to meet anybody.
Not tonight.
Only a few others were seated in the VIP section. They sat in shadowed, dark areas, far enough away to make it clear they were in the mood for privacy.
That was good. I wasn’t in the mood to converse with others about shared interests. I was feeling far too introspective for that. I settled in a similar seat and focused my attention on the stage, hoping that tonight’s show would get my mind off of things.
One of the club’s usual players was taking the stage. She called herself Mistress Rose, though I’d begun to suspect she was actually Patty Reimbaum, the personal secretary to the Manhattan DA. She wore a mask that covered most of her face and her light brown hair was always pulled back so it was impossible to tell the style or length.
She was beautiful. Her figure was exquisite, her body taut and toned, displayed in what most people would associated with a dominatrix. In one hand, she held a flogger.
The submissive who came on stage with her was young. I didn’t recognize him. He didn’t wear a mask. I hadn’t been here in a while, so he might not be as new as he seemed. He was fit—that was pretty much par for the course in this place—and his body was bare save for a few piercings.
Mistress Rose wasn’t one to waste time or mince words. As the music started to pulse, she led her sub to the X in the middle of the stage and tied him, making a production of it. Her hands glided over him and when she paused to stroke, anybody could see the anticipation that had his body already going to taut.
Others in the crowd watched with varying levels of appreciation.
I wasn’t one of them.
I was…bored.
She was an artist at what she did, but she was predictable. Nothing she ever did was different, save for her clothing and her choice in subs. She broke him almost to the very brink, listened with a smile as he begged and from time to time, she’d pause and smile out over the crowd.
Are you enjoying yourself, she seemed to ask.
No. I wasn’t. Aggravated, I looked away and stared out into the crowd instead, looking for something I hadn’t seen a hundred times, looking for something that wouldn’t add to the frustration building inside me. Something that would pull me out of my head for a while.
Like Aleena.
Immediately, I tried to shove the thought of her away, but she clung.
Thoughts of her clung.
Up on the stage, the domme was flogging her sub, but I felt like I was a million miles away, back in a restaurant, sitting with a wide-eyed girl from Iowa, listening as she talked about some of the silly things that happened during what she probably considered a typical day.
All around me, people were engaged in all sorts of vice, some private, some not. A dozen feet away, there was a man with a women lying face down on his lap, her ass upturned as he brought down his hand in a rhythmic series of slaps. She moaned in a way that sounded a little too forced to be appealing.
Nothing here seemed to be appealing tonight.
My mind tried to wander back to the girl from earlier and in a bid to find something to distract myself, I focused back on the man and his chosen playmate for the night.
Her hair was dark and curling, not quite as lush and thick as Aleena’s. Although her skin was a smooth warm tone, it looked more like the typical tanning bed gold than anything she’d been born with. Still…
I pictured myself in that very position and the woman who lay across my lap was Aleena.
My cock all but stood on end, blood draining straight down as that image coalesced. Her skin would be silken and smooth. She wouldn’t have been spanked before, I already knew it. I’d start slow…
Somebody screamed and the fantasy fell apart.
But it didn’t take much to bring it back to mind. I shifted my gaze to another couple, another threesome, to the woman being bound down below. What would Aleena think? Would she be shock? Shamed? Aroused? Appalled?
Intrigued?
The sharp crack of a whip jerked my head around and I found myself staring at the stage, caught off-guard.
Well, maybe Mistress Rose did have something new in store.
She’d traded out the flogger for a whip and, just as she lifted her arm to bring it back down on his back a second time, he spoke.
A man—one of the few who lingered near the stage for just this purpose—lifted a hand.
A slight murmur of disappointment drifted through the crowd, but Mistress Rose immediately lowered her whip and rushed to the sub’s side.
He’d spoken his safe word.
He was done.
I watched as they exited the stage and told myself to stop thinking about Aleena. Mistress Rose, I’d heard, was popular among the new subs. She enjoyed teaching them the ends and outs, and she loved the public aspects.
That wasn’t for me.
This wasn’t so much a lifestyle choice for me.
It was a need.
I craved the dark, driving edge that came with a woman’s sexual submission. It let me lose myself, free myself. But I didn’t have the patience, or the finesse, to teach anybody the ins and outs of this lifestyle. All my partners were people who knew what they liked and how far they wanted to go—and preferably, they preferred to go pretty damn far.
Aleena might not be completely innocent, but she was pretty close.
She deserved to stay that way.
Chapter Five
Aleena
I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with interviews, but when it came to this sort of thing, I was clueless.
The good news was that my wardrobe was basic. I don’t mean minimalist, I mean non-existent. When you don’t have that much to choose from, it made getting ready that much easier. My casual wear consisted of a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts. My work selection was a little more expansive, with three pairs of dress pants and white button blouses as well as a couple of dresses.
The dresses weren’t appropriate for a job interview, or much of anything outside of holidays or the occasional wedding. Despite the cold, I went with the pants and short-sleeved shirt. Hopefully, the office building would be warm enough that I wasn’t shivering through the entire interview.
Thanks to the two years of college courses I’d taken, I knew I needed a résumé. I’d hit the internet, studying résumés and doing the best I could to make my pitiful work experience sound more impressive than it was.
Résumé and references in hand, I showed up and immediately felt lost.
Standing there in the lobby of a massive skyscraper, I realized I had no idea what company I was supposed to be looking for. With my résumé tucked inside a manila folder, I studied the company directory—it wasn’t the kind I was used to seeing—it was digital and all flowery and pretty.
But it didn’t help at all.
So I listened.
People talked.
All around me, conversation buzzed. Apparently, there was a lot of hiring going on today. I realized quickly that a single company owned the entire building.
Ooookay…
I started to work my way through the crowd, picking up scraps of conversation. Roughly one hundred positions available, everything from hospitality to housekeeping to secretarial.
At eight o’clock exactly, a man came into the lobby and the conversations ceased. I didn’t know who he was, but he had the look of someone who expected people to do exactly what he said. Looking to be in his early forties, he had salt-and-pepper hair and dark blue eyes.
“My name is Robert Findlay and I’m the business manager for the Winter Corporation. I report directly to the CEO.”
There was a faint murmur in the crowd and he smiled. “The CEO of the Winter Corporation takes a very hands-on approach, as some of you have probably heard.” He paused a moment and smoothed down his tie. He had a matter-of-fact way about him and he spoke in such a manner that made you think he was talking personally, right to you. “There will be five interviews going on at the same time. The people you will be speaking with have a list of our available positions and will be determining which of you will be a good fit. If necessary, I may be called in to ask a few questions of my own. All decisions regarding hiring or second interviews for some of the more difficult positions will be made after all applicants have been seen. Calls will be made tomorrow morning.”
I found myself nodding even though I barely registered anything he was saying.
My hands were sweaty on the folder I held in my hands and I struggled not to look around me. This was insane. Was there some sort of spot I should have put my name if I wanted to try to get in on the hospitality list? I hadn’t seen any sort of sign-ups, but—
“Aleena Davison?”
Jerking my head, I found that Robson Findlay was looking around.
“What?”
He heard me and turned his head, smiling at me. “Aleena?”
Several eyes turned my way and, nervously, I smoothed a hand down my trousers than started toward him.
He nodded toward a door to the left. There was a woman standing there and she gestured me through. A few others followed and, without saying a word to anybody, I slid through.
About thirty minutes passed before I was called in to meet with a tall, thin man who gave me a friendly smile as I stood. I followed him back to an office cluttered with all sorts of television and movie memorabilia.
“My name’s Frank,” he said as he sat behind a desk. “I’m part of the HR department here at the Winter Corporation.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. I ran my hand over my lap as if I was smoothing down a skirt.
He held out his hand and I gave him my résumé. He took a moment to read it before looking back up at me. “From Iowa to the Big Apple? That’s quite a move.”
I nodded. “It’s been a bit of an adjustment.”
“I’ll bet it has,” he agreed. “Did you come with your family or a friend?”
“By myself,” I said. I wondered if this was his way of trying to put me at ease, making small talk.
“And you didn’t know anyone here?”
I shook my head.
“That’s quite a brave step to make,” Frank said. “Are you looking to be an actress, or musician?”
“Neither,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t know what I want to do with my life and New York seemed like a great place to find myself.”
“I see here that, until recently, you worked in the food service industry.” He moved away from my personal life onto professional. He tapped his finger on my résumé and glanced at me, brow lifted.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I folded my hands on my lap, fighting the urge to fidget.
“And the reason for leaving?”
And that will be all, ma’am…I could hear the bell tolling now. “My employment was terminated,” I said simply. I wasn’t going to give excuses or blame anyone else. If he asked, I’d be honest, but I wasn’t going to sit here and whine, either.
“Hmmm.” Eyes narrowed, he leaned back in his seat and studied me. “Might I ask why?”
“I dropped some dishes,” I said. I was tempted to add that I’d tripped, but I refrained.
“And you were fired for that?” He looked down at my résumé again. “If I called the restaurant, would they tell me the same story?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly again. “But if you request my time sheets, you’ll see that I was never late or left early. As far as I know, I never had a customer file a complaint.”
Frank looked at me, his eyes narrowing as they searched my face. I knew that look well enough to know that he was trying to determine if I was telling the truth. I didn’t say a word or look away. I didn’t have anything to hide.
When he returned his attention to my résumé, he moved on. “You have a degree in office management. Why didn’t you try to get an office job?”
“I did,” I answered. “But most of the businesses here want someone with at least a bachelor’s degree or experience.”
“But you have some experience,” he pointed out.
“I worked for my dad,” I said, smiling a little. “I was named one of the assistant managers in the restaurant my dad owns—I earned it, but I was only eighteen. It’s probably not what people are looking for when they ask for experience.”
He made a noise that could have meant anything. “Why didn’t you choose to continue past your associate’s degree?”
“Because I don’t know if office management is what I want to do,” I said. “I love the organizational part of it, the managing of schedules and making sure things run smoothly, but beyond that? I don’t know if it’s what I want.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked, pushing at me.
“Honestly?” I looked away. “I don’t know yet.”
“You’re a very straight-forward person, Ms. Davison.” Frank leaned back in
his chair.
“I’ve heard that once or twice.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asked.
“Of course.” He slipped outside, leaving me alone in his office. The TV memorabilia in there would have put some of the geek types into throes of geektastic orgasms.
I’d heard of some of the shows, but others, not so much. There were figurines and a lot of them were aliens, scattered among the odd spaceship. On one wall were pictures of groups of people, Frank included, dressed up and smiling. They were all done up in the sort of costumes I’d only seen online. One of the pictures even looked like it could’ve been from a costumed wedding.
The door opened again and I turned, ready to offer a polite compliment about his décor. Instead of Frank, however, a woman walked in. She looked like she was in her late thirties, but something about her dark eyes told me that her actual age was a few years older. She had dark hair with a few streaks of gray and the smile she gave me was friendly.
“Aleena Davison?” she asked as I stood.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, offering my hand.
“I’m Fawna Harris and I’ll be continuing this interview.”
“Oh.” I hoped I hadn’t done or said anything to Frank that had bothered him.
Either I was very transparent or she was a mind reader, because she gave me a faint smile. “I’m just making a few more specific inquiries, that’s all.” She gestured towards the chair again. “Please, have a seat.”
I sat, still not completely reassured.
“Tell me a bit about yourself, Ms. Davison,” Fawna said.
I did, skimming over the past few years and what had led me to New York.
“What do you think are your greatest strengths?”
I managed to smile, even though mentally, I wanted to groan. I hate this question.
“I’m organized, punctual and a bit of a perfectionist,” I said. “Based on performance reviews at my job back in Iowa, I’m a hard worker.”
“Those are all great job skills to list,” Fawna said. “But what about you? Personally. What are your greatest strengths as a person?”
“Ahhh…well, I’m honest.” I shrugged. As nerves jangled inside me, I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of my skirt. “I try not to be rude about it and I know when not to say anything, but I don’t believe in sugarcoating things when the truth is just easier. Some people might see that as a weakness, but I think it’s a strength.”