Enslaved (2 page)

“I know,” Elisabeth said. “I mean, of course. Everyone here knows the BAD Boys.”

Now she had their full attention.

“Um, never mind. Nice to meet you all, sirs.”

Marc didn’t ask Elisabeth directly, but he turned to Trevor and said, “Are people still calling us that? It makes us sound like a motorcycle gang or something.”

“Or a frat house,” Trevor offered.

Elisabeth laughed. “Don’t worry, you have everyone here sufficiently terrified.”

Trevor stepped out of the booth fully, and she looked up at him. Wow. Tall. And ridiculously good-looking. How could a man be this good-looking?

“Hi,” she whispered, or maybe she just mouthed it. Or thought it.

“Are you sufficiently terrified of me, Elisabeth?” His green eyes stared down into hers. Trevor looked so professional, so pulled-together, with his clipped dark hair and chiseled, clean-shaven jaw. And tall, crane-your-neck tall.

“Not yet,” she replied, even though her insides fluttered with excitement. “But I’m happy to give you your best shot.”

“Are you really a pain-slut?”

Hearing those words come from his full lips got her wet. She loved those words.
Pain. Slut.
Together, they were as dirty as they were beautiful.

Part of her wanted to reply that yes, she was absolutely a pain-slut, but for some reason she felt like she had to qualify the term.

“I am a masochist, and pain turns me on. Gets me hot. So in that sense, yes. But just to clarify, I’m not really a slut. I’m newly single and it’s . . . been a while.”

At this, Marc shook his shaved head and rolled his eyes in her direction. They probably had girls coming over all the time trying to get with them for their money. And now she sounded like some sort of gold-digger, all
oh look at me, I’m single and you can have me, take me on your yacht.

Trevor looked amused. “So you’re basically a virgin.”

“Forget it,” she said, and turned to walk away. She wasn’t in the mood to banter. Fuck him.

“I was just teasing,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “I already know all about you from Gregory.”

No one knew all about her, including Gregory. But Trevor’s pseudo-apology seemed sincere.

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. I am a pain-slut. What do you want to do about it?”

Now Trevor’s smile changed from amused to . . . sinister? But hot sinister. “Get on the Saint Andrew’s Cross, back toward me. Red, yellow, green and the implement of my choice. Are you game?”

The stoplight colors—red to stop, yellow to slow down, and green meaning the sub was doing great and to keep it up—were the club’s standard safewords. She had her own private safeword, but she had never used it. Not once.

“Yes, sir.” She grinned and took Trevor’s arm as they walked over to the large X-shaped Saint Andrew’s Cross.

“T
icket, please.” Elisabeth nearly jumped out of her hard plastic orange seat. She’d drifted off a bit, remembering that night. Now she was back in cold reality as a uniformed man held his hand out.

“Miss? I need your train ticket.”

She’d been holding it in her fist this entire time and handed it to the man slightly rumpled. “Do I get it back?”

“This is a one-way ticket, miss,” he said, stamping it and sliding a small white paper into the top of her seat. “Unless you want it for a souvenir. Next stop is yours. Don’t forget your bag and watch the gap on the way out.”

“Thank you.” One-way ticket. She sighed. Fucking Gregory. He must really have a lot of faith in Trevor Brooks.

But that meant he also had faith in her, to make this work. She was a free woman, like he said. She could always get back on the train tomorrow if she had to. But she wouldn’t. Because she got the sense that Trevor was definitely a man worth getting to know a little better.

Once the train guy walked through the loud metal doors that separated her car from the other, she tried to get back into the memory of her one and only meeting and subsequent un-fucking-believable flogging by Trevor Brooks himself, but the moment was lost.

It had been good, she remembered that. He kept asking her to update her status. It was always green, until she turned her head and said, “I can take it harder than that. I love it.”

He flogged her until she accidentally climaxed from grinding her groin against the cross as her back lit up with erotic pain.

“Thank you, sir,” she had said.

“No, thank you. You look lovely with my marks on your skin.”

And then not a word, until Gregory told her she’d been invited to stay at Trevor Brooks’s home in Westchester.

The train came to a stop in a pretty little town. So this was the country. Even by the train station, she could see they had grass, and not just in one place like in Central Park.

She took her bag, waited for the doors to open, and stepped out onto the platform. Now what?

“Miss Anderson?”

Elisabeth turned at the sound of her name. No one had called her Miss Anderson since . . . well, ever.

An older, friendly-looking black man held up a piece of paper with
Miss Anderson
written on it. “That you?”

“Yes, sir. Elisabeth Anderson. Just Elisabeth.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Just Elisabeth. I’m Just Carl,” he joked. “Car’s parked down the escalator there. I’ll be taking you to Mr. Brooks’s estate.”

Carl took her bag from her, and she bit her lip to quiet her first instinct to grab it back. The bag was all she had other than the clothes on her back.

“Welcome to Westchester, Elisabeth.”

T
revor stood behind his desk in his home office, glad he was on an audio-only conference call. No need for the CEO of the Japanese company Brooks Wilde Chase had just acquired to see him staring out the huge bay window overlooking the front drive leading up to his estate.

Where was she?

He still hadn’t told Roman and Marc, who were not only his business partners but also his best friends, about his latest venture—if one could consider inviting a submissive to live with him based on the recommendation of a WhipperSnapper old-timer a venture into anything other than his sex life.

Roman would understand, probably. He hated dating and weeding out the vanilla girls from the ones interested in the lifestyle. It was he who had introduced Trevor to the lifestyle back when they were college buddies at Yale. A lifestyle that included domination and submission at the core of the relationship. And Marc would understand that Trevor was hoping to find the right woman, because he also wanted to settle down at some point, maybe make some baby heirs to pass on their hedge-fund wealth to.

Yeah, Marc was a Dom, but he seemed to think if he found the right girl then the sex would come with it. Trevor knew from experience and a failed marriage that that was bullshit. You couldn’t turn a vanilla girl into a kinkster any more than you could turn a lesbian straight just by having a fat cock.

The black town car pulled up in the circular driveway and Trevor smiled, forgetting he was supposed to be working until he heard Roman eloquently thanking and saying their good-byes in fluent Japanese.

“Ah, yes, thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Trevor added in English, his only language, and hung up.

Elisabeth was here. As much as he’d been anticipating her arrival all day, he hadn’t realized just how excited seeing her at his home would make him. He watched her from the window, grateful to observe her arrival without her knowing he was watching.

She stepped out of the car without waiting for Carl to open the door for her and looked at Trevor’s mansion with an expression of wonderment on her face. There really were no houses like his Manhattan, which probably explained her surprise. In Manhattan, wealth was hidden in penthouse apartments, like the one Marc lived in. Out here, there was more space to spread out, and the houses expanded accordingly.

Still, she had to know about his money if he was still being called one of the BAD Boys behind his back. He might be a billionaire and a Dom, but he didn’t consider himself arrogant. At least not too arrogant. Any arrogance he had came from the satisfaction of building his own empire. The wealth he’d earned with Roman and Marc came from nothing but ambition and a damned good education in business. How ironic that Marc, the one they counted on the most when it came to the numbers, had never graduated college.

She looked so beautiful, standing by the car, albeit a bit lost. A bit out of place. Carl picked up her luggage with an ease Trevor didn’t usually see in the older man, but perhaps she packed lightly. Would she be another girl looking for a chance at his money? Or worse, would it intimidate her to the point where he couldn’t get to know her on an honest level?

And then her gaze caught his. He smiled and waved and she waved back—her long black hair, pulled up in a sexy ponytail, swung behind her. How he’d love to grab hold of that ponytail and fuck her from behind. . . .

Focus.
First things first. She needed a tour, and to know the rules of the house. He called his house manager Adele’s cell phone and she answered promptly.

“Hi Trevor, what can I do for you?”

“Please greet my guest and give her a tour of the house, then take her to my office to see me. Her name is Elisabeth.”

“New girlfriend?”

Trevor laughed and hung up. Adele had been with him for a long time, and he trusted her with all of the day-to-day management of his estate, but she wasn’t privy to every detail. A man had to have some secrets, after all.

Which was why there were a few cabinets and drawers he kept under lock and key, away from the prying eyes of the cleaning staff. He could take care of his own sex toys. There was the room with the hooks on the ceiling and the special furniture, but if you didn’t know what you were looking at it could look like a regular sitting room. A quilt covering a wooden pony just looked like a quilt on display, after all.

His ex-wife Cynthia had made that quilt, but she’d cried when he asked her if she’d sit on the wooden pony for him, just for a few minutes. Just to show him she would submit to his sexual needs, at least sometimes.

But no. She hadn’t cried from the pain of sitting with the thin wood against her private parts. She’d cried because she’d covered it with the quilt and knew she’d never submit.

It was the beginning of the end for his marriage, and he’d never let that happen to him again.

This time, he’d start with a sub and work from there. The quilt remained, as a reminder.

E
lisabeth stared up at the huge window sticking out on the top floor and tried to catch Trevor’s glance again, but he’d turned his back and was on his cell phone. She’d already seen several people running around, and they all had bright blue phones on their hips, even the guy trimming a bush that already looked trimmed to her.

She glanced over at the driver’s hip. Carl. “Is that how people stay in touch in a huge place like this? Blue phones?”

Carl laughed and nodded. “Way better than an intercom. This way Adele has us all on speed-dial and can call whoever she wants to let us know what’s going on. I happen to know, for example, that I’ve got to bring your bags to the Pink Room so someone can unpack them for you.”