Accidental Slave (31 page)

In a way she wanted to get back, but she didn’t want to lose the incredibly close connection they’d established. She didn’t want to revert back to the tense, driven, stressed-out woman she had been.

As they lay snuggled together in the bed Cole soothed her fears. “You don’t have to go back to that. Sure, you can return to work and your life, but the cool thing about D/s is you can take it with you. It becomes a part of you. You won’t lose that serenity you’ve found—you’ll be able to harness it in all aspects of your life. And it’s not like you’re leaving me, right?” He chucked her playfully under the chin but she saw the flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“No, no,” she hastened to reassure him. “Never. I love you, Cole. You’re the first man I can say that to with no reservations, no hesitation, no qualms. I don’t have one foot out the door like I realize now I always did with my past relationships. I want to be where you are for as long as you’ll have me.”

Cole swept her tightly into his arms. “That’s forever.” He kissed her. She could feel his cock hard against her. “I want you,” he whispered.

“I’m yours,” she answered. He lowered himself over her, pinning her body with his while his lips sought her mouth.

She wrapped her legs and arms around him, pulling him into her, wishing she could take him deeper, into her very soul. He felt perfect inside her as they moved together. It wasn’t about his pleasure or her pleasure, like some kind of transaction or tally, as lovemaking with other men had always been. The joy rising inside her was wordless and complete. She was where she needed to be at last. She was home.

Gary Dobbins leaned back contentedly in his first class seat. He was flying to San Francisco and an offer that had seemed almost too good to be true.

After a miserable six weeks holed up in his apartment, drinking way too much whiskey and working himself back up to a pack a day, things were finally turning around. He’d been surprised but pleased to receive the phone call out of the blue from Mistress Storm of Storm Dungeons.

Despite the smear campaign conducted by his enemies at Wallace & Pratt in Manhattan, his reputation as a top-notch marketing strategist was still intact, at least on the West Coast.

He still seethed at having been outsmarted by that bitch. He’d spent hundreds of hours plotting and planning how he’d get back at Elizabeth, at Wallace, at them all. He looked into ways of hacking into the company’s computer system, destroying their records, planting false rumors about a troubled financial situation or leaking false reports of impropriety among the top brass. He even considered stalking and kidnapping the bitch, holding her hostage in a farmhouse in upstate New York, making her his personal sex slave, though these fantasies only achieved full flower when the whiskey bottle was nearly empty.

In the end, he’d done nothing, telling himself he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Revenge, he would remind himself, while nursing a very large glass of booze, was a meal best served cold.

And now things were, for the first time, looking decidedly up. If things went well with this job, maybe he’d just leave New York altogether—make a fresh start on a new coast. He’d been recommended, Mistress Storm told him, by an old friend, though he hadn’t recognized the man’s name. No matter, a job was a job and, at this point, beggars shouldn’t be choosers, he reminded himself bitterly. True, it was just one job, but she was willing to fly him out, all expenses paid, to assess the marketing and advertising needs for her string of high-end BDSM dungeons.

How ironic, yet how wonderfully appropriate to be tapped for such a venture. He hadn’t admitted his personal penchant for the scene, remaining strictly professional during the phone call. Time enough for that later. If she were hot, he might even engage in a scene with her, once the business was completed between them.

“Another drink, Sir?”

“That’d be great.” He watched the flight attendant walk away, her hips swaying beneath the tight skirt of her uniform. He undressed her in his mind as he watched her, wondering how she’d respond to a good whipping.

When she returned a moment later, she leaned in close as she placed the drink on his tray.

Her perfume wafted pleasantly toward him, her breast brushing his shoulder in what he felt sure was a deliberate gesture.

She was in her late thirties, he guessed, young enough to still be attractive, old enough to appreciate the attentions of a handsome, well-dressed man like himself. After he had sized up Mistress Storm, both professionally and otherwise, he thought with a smirk, he might toss this girl a bone.

Yes, things were definitely looking up.

~*~

The phone by the bed rang. “Cole Pearson.”

“Hey, Cole. It’s Storm. I baited the hook and he bit down—hard. Now I’m reeling him in.

The guy has an ego the size of Montana. He totally bought the story you laid out for me. He thinks he’s on his way out here to create a new image for my dungeons. From what you’ve told me about the little creep, I can’t wait to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“So everything’s arranged? The GHB for his drink? The video camera?”

“Yep. He’ll walk into my office, but he’ll wake up in my dungeon, naked and shackled to a whipping post, a ball gag in his mouth, a pony tail shoved up his ass, a video camera recording the whole scene. I’ll make sure he’s way too humiliated to even think of pressing any kind of charges. If he does, it’s his word against mine, and I’ve got some powerful friends in this town, as you know.”

“I do know. I knew you’d be perfect for the job.” Cole laughed. “Keep me posted.” He hung up, reaching for Elizabeth. “What was that you said, that day at the deli?”

Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t get mad—get even.”