My Hunger

Twenty minutes later, I’ve ignored three calls from Crystal, tried to reach my father to no avail, and I’m finally at the gates of the club. It is only a few blocks from my home in Cow Hollow. I punch in a code on a panel. The steel entry starts to open and I hit the intercom, announcing myself, and instruct the attendant, “Make sure Kurt knows I’m here.”

Shifting the car into gear, I travel the long driveway draped in heavy foliage for privacy, and around the curved drive to park in front of the sprawling mansion that’s only one of many buildings on the several miles wide property. Opening my door, I hand off my keys to one of the longtime attendants. Without a word to anyone else, I head up the long stairway to the double red doors meant to signify money and power.

After another long-term employee, a security guard wearing the standard black suit I require, greets me at the top level, I enter the house. As Dean had pointed out, members pay a hefty price to join the club, and the foyer, like the rest of the property, is decorated with fine art and expensive furnishings to create the luxury they expect. Those fees also encourage confidentiality, both that of the members and the staff, and my role as Master is to the protection of everyone here—a role I take deadly serious. The idea of failing in my duties is unthinkable, and Ava’s betraying the secrets of the membership is a failure.

Kurt, an ex–Navy SEAL and head of security, joins me in the foyer, his long blond hair tied at his nape, showing a four-inch scar he wears proudly down his cheek.

“My office,” I order. We head down a separate set of stairs, not as ornate as the stairs up, which are lined with mahogany rails, and into the finished basement that includes a dungeon area and my office.

As I reach the foot of the steps a memory stirs in my mind, of bringing Sara down here to the dungeon. It had been the night that Chris had lost it, mourning a little boy dying of cancer. I’d known Chris had tumbled into darkness that evening, pushing too hard for escape, beyond safety and reason. Chris had once been a friend, one I still didn’t want to see crash and burn, perhaps because his strength felt like my own. It was my job as Master to make the decision to break code and stop the beating he was demanding. And as much as I’d tried to prevent Sara from ending up with Chris, I’d known she was the only way I’d get him out of that dungeon in my club.

Up to that point, knowing how damaged Chris truly was, and is, I’d feared the power he was giving Sara over himself, and the power he was gaining over her. I hadn’t realized it was my fear that she was his Rebecca, a woman he’d destroy. That night I’d just been damn thankful she was his salvation, but I’d also sworn I’d never be in that place he was myself. Now, just a month later, I’m teetering on the edge of that place, trying my damnedest to pull myself back.

Reaching the double dungeon-style wooden doors at the end of the walkway, I key in another code on a panel, hold my thumb on a scanner, and then watch the tiny red light change to green. Entering the room lined with bookshelves, my path is a straight to the centerpiece of the space, an oversized antique desk that I restored years before. Kurt follows me inside, locking the doors behind us. I step behind the desk, opening a drawer and pressing my thumb to yet another panel there. One of the bookshelves slides to the side, exposing a secret room.

“I need you to load all the files in my car,” I instruct Kurt, “including all security footage.”

Kurt stops in front of the desk. “Is this a precaution, or should I expect a search warrant to follow?”

“Both.” I fill him in on the details of what’s happened with Ava.

“What a little bitch,” he says when I finish. “Isn’t killing Rebecca punishment enough? She has to shred your life and anyone else who’s in it? I suppose she’s going to claim insanity.”

“She’s in a psych ward for evaluation, but I think that’s more due to her calculation and manipulation than losing her mind.”

“I knew enough of those kind of people in the Navy to know that spells trouble.”

And he’s done a damn good job of heading off trouble here the past few years. “I’m going to draw up papers to put you in control of the club. It will shield the members, and I need to focus on my family until my mother is well.”

“You want me to take over the club? As in ownership, not just management?”

“For now. There will be a hefty compensation package, and a time limit before it transfers back to me. My attorney will get in touch with you, to review the documents and give you the chance to accept or decline. But I’ll need to know quickly.”

The phone on my desk rings and I punch the Speaker button. “Mr. Compton?” an attendant asks.

“Yes. I’m here.”

“There’s a Ms. Smith at the gate asking to see you.”

Adrenaline rushes through me and I clench my jaw. What the fuck is Crystal doing here? How does she even know this place exists? I’m not sure if I should be worried or pissed. All I know is that I don’t have the files yet and I can’t leave without them, and she’s too stubborn to leave without me.

I release the button on the intercom and glance at Kurt. “How long do you need to load my car?”

“Half an hour to download the security feed. Who the hell is she?”

“The acting manager of Riptide while my mother is on the mend.”

“And she knows about the club?”

“She didn’t.”

“I’m guessing Ava got to her?”

“That’s a good question.” I punch the Intercom button again. “Have someone go to the gate and ensure she comes in alone. Then keep her at her car until I come outside.” I round the desk. “Call me when the files are ready.”

“Should I have security on standby?”

“You should always have security on standby. But for the next few weeks, I want them on eggshells.”

I find Crystal at the side of her car, arms crossed in front of her, trepidation in her stare as she watches me exit the house. Just seeing her long blond hair lifting in the breeze, around the trench coat she’d worn last night, reminds me of spreading her wide on that bathroom sink. This doesn’t please me, nor does the jolt of white hot need that lights a fire in my body.

Her gaze tracks my path down the stairs, and if she’s attempting to hide the unbridled admiration or the worry in her stare, she’s failed. The combination of these things is an uncomfortable mix of desire dashed with ice water. I don’t know why she’s here, but I’m doubly certain now that I’m not going to like it.

Once I hit the sidewalk, she rounds the car and races toward me. “Mark, I—”

My hand comes down on her arm and I pull her hard against my body, trying not to think about how soft and feminine she feels against me, lowering my voice for her ears only. “How did you find this place?”

“There was a detective at the gallery. I was flustered when we hung up, and he told me I could find you here.”

The detective. I should have known. “I told you to wait at my house.”

“I know, but I couldn’t wait. My father’s pilot needs to know within the hour if I’m using him tonight or in the morning. He takes contract jobs, and he has one he’ll cancel for us.”

My anger is instant, but not directed at her. Sending her here is a message from the detective, punishment for my attorney’s refusing to allow me to meet with Ava. And a promise he will make my life hell if I don’t cooperate. I wouldn’t be surprised if he created whatever emergency that seems to have Crystal chartering private planes and jumping through hoops to see me. He knows she works with my family, and I’m sure he assumes I don’t want my parents to know about this place.

Well, the detective has underestimated me. I do not take punishment lightly, and I won’t be manipulated. I’m calling his bluff.

I’m finding out now if Crystal can hang tough, no matter what the next few months throw at her. I just hope my parents don’t have to try.

“Mark,” Crystal says, and her fingers curl on my jaw, drawing my attention.

Aware of us being watched, I reach for her hand, pulling it between us, and I fight the sweet sensation of her touch, when I never ever let anyone touch me. “Do you know what this place is?”

“He said it was part of your offices.”

“No. It’s not. We’re going inside and you are not to look at anyone, talk to anyone, or do anything unless I say you do it. I own you when you’re here, no matter how much you might not like it. Understood?”

“No, I—”

“This is not a place where you disobey me. This isn’t about your job. You are not my employee here. So you follow the rules, or you can get back in your car and I’ll meet you at my house.”

Understanding seeps into her eyes and her chin lifts. “I’m staying.”

“Then I own you while you’re here. Say it.”

“No, I—”

“Say it, Ms. Smith.”

“You own me when I’m here—and only when I’m here.”

There is no sense of reward from her words; she doesn’t belong here. “I’ll take that answer.” I start to release her, to have her walk by my side untouched, as I would any other guest, but an unwelcome possessiveness overcomes me, followed by an intense need to protect her.

She doesn’t belong here. Rebecca didn’t belong here. The truth of those words cuts deeply and I lace my fingers with Crystal’s, aware of the intimacy of the act and how out of character it is for me. Everyone else will know this as well, but this isn’t about me the Master. It’s about Crystal, whom I fully intend to protect—even if that means scaring her out of my family’s life.

We start up the steps and I can’t help but notice her jacket covers a conservative black dress that she’s paired with basic black pumps. It appears that she’s dressed for work and left there quickly to get to me. The burning question is why? What happened to bring her here?

Approaching the guard, I softly remind her, “Eyes down.”

“Yes, Master,” she growls, and I wonder if this is an ironic joke or her way of telling me she knows more than she’s let on. Either way, she does as I say.

Inside the foyer, her head lifts, and I allow her a moment to take in the elegant decor and the expensive artwork; the conservative façade is part of the experience of taking part in the arousing and shocking erotic deeds that happen here. I need her to understand this place, to bolt now if she is going to, before the police can shock or sway her opinions and actions.

Her gaze tilts upward and she studies the spectacular glass chandelier over our heads, and I study the creamy expanse of her naked throat, where my mouth has been, where it could be again, and I remember just how luxurious her naked body had been. Then I motion her toward the dramatic winding stairwell that is very Gone with the Wind by intention.

We climb the steps, our destination my private chambers. While it’s not the place I prefer to take her, not with the memories I have, it’s where she will understand who I am. We stop at the final door, where I key in a code again, and motion for her to enter. She swallows hard, her eyes meeting mine, trepidation in their depths, before she steps forward.

I follow her inside and lock the door, giving her a moment to take in the massive four-poster bed in center of the room, the sheer curtains leading to several “play” rooms. She walks toward the bed and turns to the monitor that takes up most of the wall to the left, with a half dozen smaller screens above and below it.

She turns to me. “This isn’t a gallery.”

“No,” I say, closing the distance between us. “It’s not a gallery. It’s a very exclusive club.”

“A sex club.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re a member?”

“I’m the owner. The head Master.” And now is the time to show her what is on the huge monitors lining the wall, to show her the public floggings, group sex, bondage. But I don’t move. “Have you ever been in a BDSM club?”

“No. I haven’t.”

The answer defines where we will go, which is nowhere. “And I assume the detective hoped that would be the way I’d want to keep it, therefore I’d do what he wanted me to do.”

“Which is what?”

“To convince Ava to produce a body.”

“Why wouldn’t you do that anyway, if you can?”

“My attorneys seem to think it’s suicide, since Ava’s trying to frame me for the murder.”

Her brow furrows. “Didn’t she confess and try to kill Sara?”

“Yes. But she says she did it all for me, and my role as Master here doesn’t help me dispute that.”

“I don’t really know how this works, but was Ava . . . is she—?”

“My submissive? No. But she wanted to be, and what we’re thinking is that she’ll say she was trying to earn that place by my side.”

“By killing the woman you loved? That’s insane.”

The woman I loved? There’s an instant denial on my lips but I can’t seem to speak it, nor can I escape the truth. I did love Rebecca. Maybe not in the way she wanted me to, but she changed me, she touched me—and in the only way I know how, I did love her. I just didn’t see it until it was too late. Until now, this moment.

A burning sensation starts in my chest, moving to my throat, and I’m suddenly, illogically, angry. At Crystal. At myself. At Rebecca for dying, and I hate that I’m that selfish, but damn it, why did she die? She was too young. Too beautiful. Too full of life.

“Why are you here, Crystal?” I demand, my voice sharp, my emotions in upheaval.

She sways and sits on the edge of the bed, like she can’t bear to say what she has to say. “I came to trade places with you so you could be with your parents.” Her voice trembles and so do her hands where they rest on her legs. “I can cover the gallery. I’m a fast learner and can teach myself.”

Her words are as illogical as her borrowing her father’s plane to be here. “You live in New York. You work in New York.”

“This is the right thing to do.”

Impatience mixes with a sense of dread and I close the distance between us, leaning over her, pressing my fists into the mattress at her hips. “Don’t talk in circles. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Those tests they are doing on your mom. I don’t think the results are going to be good, and neither does your dad. He collapsed.”

“What? My father collapsed? When? How is he?”

She grabs my arms. “He’s okay. It was just emotional. I promise. He broke down and cried, and—”

“My father cried?” My father never cries. He’s a rock. A boulder when he has to be.

“He needs you. They both do. That’s why I came to change places.”

I shove off the bed and run a hand through my hair. “What do they think is wrong with my mother?”

“They wouldn’t tell me, and your father just said it was bad. I told him I’d come and get you. He wanted me to come and get you.”

Pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose, I’m fighting the dark haze of something dangerously familiar; something I haven’t felt for years and swore I’d never feel again. I turn away from her and put distance between us, shoving my hands onto the wall, letting my head fall between my shoulders. A splintering pain spikes in my head, and I fight a flashback to a moment in my past I don’t want to see. I am not going back there. And I damn sure am not going to lose my mother or my father.

Crystal’s hand comes down on my arm. “Mark—”

I drag her in front of me, against the wall. “Why would you come here?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me, but you aren’t family. You barely know me. You’ve known my mother only a year. Why would you do this? Why would you—”

“Your mother,” she says, her voice cracking, “she’s a special person, and you . . .” Her hand settles on my chest, over my heart, and I let her leave it there. I can’t make her move it. “I know,” she continues, her voice a soft whisper, “you’re holding up the world on your own. I saw that when you were in New York. And I know what alone feels like. It sucks really badly. And it makes everything hurt worse.”

“And you’re going to make me less alone?”

“You can count on me. Call that a friend or a good employee. Call it whatever you want, but I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s here. She’s not going anywhere. Those words beat down on me. No one can make that promise. I know this, and I live with this in mind, but it doesn’t seem to matter. This moment isn’t about the future. It’s about need. Suddenly, this woman is the answer to everything I can’t solve, everything I feel and don’t want to feel.

My fingers slice into her hair and I drag her mouth to mine. “I’m using you. I’m fucking you. I’m never going to be anyone you deserve.”

She laughs, a bitterness to the tone. “Then we won’t deserve each other.” She grabs my tie. “And I’m never going to be your submissive.”

“I’m more than clear on that point,” I assure her, and my mouth comes down on hers, my tongue pressing past her lips, caressing, stroking, taking. And she’s kissing me back, her arms wrapping around me, her breasts smashed against my chest. I feel her hunger, taste her passion, as if this is her escape, too, as if she is running from something I don’t know, burying it in this kiss. It calls to me, drives me to want more, tells me she does know loneliness. She knows pain, and it’s that pain that’s bringing us here, to this moment. It’s why I crave every touch, every stroke of her tongue.

But as the lust and hunger build inside me, turning into something dark and uncontrollable, desperation rises in me and with it the fear that losing control means never having it again. I turn her to the door, forcing her hands to the wall, and tugging her jacket down her arms, toss it aside. Shrugging off my own, I free my arms, then loosen my tie.

The soft rasp of her erratic breathing is erotic, enticing, and I can almost taste her desire. Pressing into her, my hands go to her hips, my lips to her ear. “I told you outside that I own you while you’re here.” My hands caress her slender rib cage, then upward, until I fill my hands with her breasts.

She arches into the touch, her back into my chest, her hard nipples against my palms. “And I said you did, but I don’t think that’s what you need from me.”

Something about the way she says the words splinters down my spine and burrows into my soul, the truth of her words jolting me. I find myself leaning into her, my face buried in the sweet floral scent of her hair. I know what I need, and she can’t give it to me. No one can.

“You’re wrong,” I say, shoving down her dress, pinching her nipples. “I need to own you. I do own you in this place.”

“Because the rules say so?” she challenges.

I turn her to face me, pressing my hand on the wall by her head. “Yes. Because the rules say so.”

“Rules make you think. Don’t think, Mark. Just forget it all, and fuck me.”

Her words hit some raw, exposed nerve, and suddenly I’m kissing her, and I don’t know which one of us moves first, or if we move together. She reaches for my tie and I let her. I’m so out of myself and into what this woman has me feeling that I don’t even care. And for the first time in nearly a decade, I lose myself in a frenzy of removing clothing. Hers. Mine. Ours. There is no command that she undress. No command that she undress me. There are just our hands, our mouths, our bodies pressed together. And I let her touch me freely. Her hands on my chest, my arms, and yes, wrapping my cock. Her touch is like freedom, escape, and the answer to that mindless burn that needs satisfying. There are no games, none of me tormenting us both with the anticipation. I can’t get inside her soon enough.

We roll the condom on my cock together and fall to the bed, side by side, my hand caressing her hair from her face, my shaft pressing into the wet heat of her sex, then thrusting deep. She gasps, and the sound creates a sweet ache in my chest where there had been pain. I mold her closer, cupping her sweet little ass, but it is she who presses her lips to mine. She who licks into my mouth and drives my hunger to new places. And finally, she who pushes me to my back, leans into me, and grinds against my hips. I can feel her urgency expanding, my urgency with hers. She sits up, her breasts high, her nipples puckered, and I thrust into her, and it’s me moaning for more. Demanding more.

Consumed by my need for this woman, I flip her to her back, thrusting into her, and still it’s not enough. I lift her legs to my shoulders and she lifts her hips, arching into me as I pump into her, harder and faster, deeper and deeper, until she pants out, “I’m . . . oh, Mark, I . . .”

Her inner muscles grab hold of my cock, squeezing it, and I shudder with an intense, consuming release that leaves me oblivious for several moments of pure pleasure. The world spins and I have a sense of being lost and never wanting to be found.

Too soon, reality comes back to me and I ease Crystal’s legs from my shoulders, but I don’t feel the urge to move away. My elbows settle on the mattress by her face and she reaches up and strokes my cheek, her fingers tracing my mouth. I say nothing. She says nothing. I expect something, but I’m not sure what. Maybe she does, too.

My cell buzzes with a text and I roll off her, pushing to my feet and grabbing it from inside my pants. My screen tells me I’ve missed four calls—three from Kurt and one from Dean, who has resorted to a text. The car is ready, with the files inside.

“Oh no,” Crystal says from behind me, and I turn to find her scrambling off the bed. The sight of her naked body has blood racing to my cock, ready for round two.

She stops in front of me and grabs her jacket from the floor. “I have to call the pilot or he’ll leave you behind.”

I pull her to me. “I’ll get us a later flight.”

“Us?” she asks. “I need to stay here. I brought several weeks of clothes.”

“I have a plan to handle the gallery. My mother needs you at Riptide and by her side.”

And I need to get her the hell out of this city before she gets pulled into the nightmare of my life right now. Before I destroy her like I did Rebecca.

Tonight I didn’t own her, and I never will. This was, this is, the end.