Author: Katherine Rhodes
Date: 2013-06-13 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Contemporary; Adult
Description: The door read: Tessa Saint. The truth was: she was nothing of the sort. Even the name was a lie. The woman most men fantasized about, a domme, a walking wet dream, and a master with a whip, Tessa Saint took charge and delivered on that fantasy. But Emmy--the woman Tessa became once she walked out the door of the club--was getting tired of the game. It was time to try the vanilla life. The door read: Nathaniel Walsh The truth was: the man was an open book Emmy was interested in reading. Nathaniel was instantly attracted to the enigma of Emmy, and against her better judgement she lead him into h
Publisher: Beau Coup Publishing

Consensual

Book 1

A Club Imperial Novel

By Katherine Rhodes

6/4/12-7/19/12

Consensual

Book 1: A Club Imperial Novel

Copyright ©2013 Katherine Rhodes

Published by JRA Stevens

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted
without written permission from the publisher except for brief
quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to real characters, places
or events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by:

JRA Stevens

“No Light, No Light” by Florence + the Machine

©2011 Universal Island Records, a division of Universal Music Operations Limited Licensed exclusively to Universal Republic Records, a Division of UMG Records Inc.

“Too Close” by Alex Clare

(P) 2012 Universal Island Records, a division of

Universal Music Operations Limited

“I Miss You” by Blink 182

©2003 Geffen Records

“Dirty Little Freaks” by Pink

(P) 2010 LaFace Records

A unit of Sony Music Entertainment

To

Tana – for taking the time

The Fugees – chaps are
always ass-less

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would
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please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

Chapter 1:

“SHIT!”

The thunderous crash of exploding glass had been followed by the indelicate swear, then followed again by a stream of curse words that made Nathaniel balk. That was a feat in and of itself after  his four years in the Air Force, but what really surprised him was the melodious voice that gave rise to the profanity.

He walked over to the door, and opened it quietly, stepping out of his office. He couldn’t see anything, so he stepped out further to take a better look. To the right, just in front of his brother's offices was the most delicious looking backside he had seen in a long time. Bent over at the waist, he had a clear view of the top of her stockings and the garter clips that held them up.

The damsel was clearly in distress. He finally pulled his eyes away, backed up to where he couldn’t see the extremely sexy lingerie and cleared his throat.

The figure stood up to look back at him as he re-approached the situation. Nathaniel prayed fervently in that second that this was not his brother’s new secretary because he had every intention of asking her out. She looked like a startled chipmunk, eyes wide and ready to bolt. Her hair was a true auburn no dye could ever imitate with a creamy, lightly sun-kissed color to her face. Those wide eyes were hazel and bright, rimmed with luscious lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. While her lips weren’t plump, they were delicate and pink and slightly parted in shock.

She slammed the name plate down on the desk to break the tension in the air.

Nathaniel cringed internally. Victor’s new secretary. And he’d forgotten about Jillian. Damn.

“Do you need some help?” he asked.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, and her voice was definitely the source of the melodic swearing.

He walked over, hands in front of him. He didn’t know where that came from; there was something so commanding about her he needed to show he meant no harm. “Let me help.”

“I’m. Fine,” she repeated, and this time knelt down to gather up what was all over the floor. He could see large pieces of glass, probably a vase of some kind. He walked over and grabbed her hand to keep it away from the glass.

She spun her hand out of his grip and then shoved him away hard. “I don’t need help.”

He landed on his ass several feet back. Holy crap. She’s strong! “I’m trying to keep you from cutting your hands open.” He climbed to his feet and dusted off his pants and jacket. “Stand up. Stop groveling on the floor.” He held his hand out for her.

“I don’t need help,” she said.

“You’re right,” he said stooping down and grabbing her elbow, “you need a janitor.” He hauled her to her feet.

“Damn it, stop,” she said, turning around and looking at him. She finally, really saw him. “Oh, my God. Mister Walsh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize--”

“I just didn’t want to have to call an ambulance because you sliced your hand open,” he said. “Honestly, leave it. I’ll get a janitor.”

“Did you hear me swearing?” she said, her cheeks pinking up.

“Yes,” he said. “I was impressed.” He looked down at the pieces of glass. “I hope it wasn’t anything of sentimental value.”

“From my… uh, ex,” she said. “I liked it, but it wasn’t sentimental.”

He turned the name plate so he could see it. Interesting, just her title and last name. “Well, Ms. Westerly, you’re here awfully early for your first day.”

“I wanted to get my desk set up,” she said, and added an oddly hesitant, “sir.”

“You’re on the executive floor,” he said. “And in this company, we’re not big on formal protocol. Please, I'm Nathaniel.”

“Emmy,” she said, sticking her hand out.

“Emmy,” he repeated, and shook her hand. She had a firm, no-nonsense grip. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I didn’t hurt you when I shoved you back, did I?”

“Just my pride,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said, grimacing.

“Nah, it’s alright,” he said. “Everyone needs a little humiliation.”

Her skin instantly flamed red, and she looked away clearing her throat. “Well, I don’t need to keep you from your work, Mis… Nathaniel. I just wanted to get my desk set up before Mister Walsh--”

“Victor,” he said.

“--Victor arrived for the day.”

Nathaniel nodded his head. Idiot. “Victor clearly forget his own schedule. He’s due to fly out to Germany today at noon for a conference in Munich.” Emmy was clearly appalled and embarrassed. Nathaniel sighed. “And that’s why Vic the Dingbat needs you, madam. Go on, set up. My admin Gwen has been covering while he did the search for you, and I’m sure she’ll have stuff to hand off to you.”

“When will M—Victor be back?”

“Late Thursday,” Nathaniel said. “And I’m sure he’ll need you on Friday to get his scattered- brained-ass back together.” He smiled. “I can say that, he’s my brother.”

Emmy laughed. It was a pleasant, high sweet sound that echoed through the hallway. “Are you always early, Nathaniel?”

“Not always,” he said. “I have a conference in Boston next week, and I have a lot I want to get done before then. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave Gwen an email and we can work everything out. I’ve got paperwork to attend to. I’ll get janitor up here, too.”

“Of course,” she said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and walked back to his office to leave her alone. He couldn’t say he wasn’t tempted to peer around the corner and watch her again. Damn it, Victor. That’s not fair. She’s a sexy woman and you won’t even appreciate that. He sat at his desk. And how was Victor so disorganized anyway? His older brother had a degree in business planning, but he couldn’t keep a desk calendar?

He straightened out the papers on his desk from where he had tossed them and went back  to work. The image of Emmy’s thigh-highs haunted him the entire day. He managed to push them out of his mind eventually. Eventually being late Wednesday afternoon when the office exploded into action from a complete disaster.

A train full of products – organic corn seed and seed potatoes for several heirloom farms—was derailed just outside the yard. Not only had several cars spilled, but there were several more trains scheduled to leave in just hours. Gwen went flying out the door with her camera phone to the yard and took pictures to assess the damage. Tank and Henry went into emergency mode, checking routes for the chance to get the other trains out of the yard. And to Nathaniel’s delight, Emmy adroitly handled all the calls, reroutes and messages for him, Victor, Tank, Henry and Cecelia, who had immediately started looking for replacements for the lost seeds.

An interoffice chat popped up.

Emmy W.: Gwen has all the pictures uploaded to the server.

Nathaniel opened the server connection and found the pictures. It was much worse than he thought. The eight cars they had lost were a twisted mess and there was no saving those, never mind the contents. But it was clear they had lost cars on either side of the derailment. At least two in front and possible as many as four in the back. He slammed his hand down.

The phone was ringing but he ignored it. He continued flipping through the pictures, and became more and more disgruntled. All that product, all over the ground, useless and ruined. Now the farmers might not get their crop in on time. They’d have to refund the lost portions, or find another supplier, and this late in the season, the other supplier probably wasn’t going to happen. He really didn’t want to lose the heirlooms.

The computer dinged with a new message.

Emmy W.: Gwen on line three, important.

Nathaniel W.:Just tell her the pictures are there. I’ll call her in a few.

He needed to pay attention to the situation. This wasn’t something he wanted to rush through; he had a lot of other things he had to line up and deal with before he could bother confirming pictures. He had to make a list of suppliers who might still have stock and see if they would be able to negotiate prices down. This late in the season only the lowest quality would be left and—

The door slammed open. “Mister Walsh, line Three. Now.”

The receiver was nearly at his ear before he even realized he had moved his hand. He was so astonished at the tone and command that came out of Emmy's mouth, he was barely able to acknowledge Gwen on the phone.

“Nathaniel!” Gwen snapped through the phone.

“What,” he said. He shook his head and cleared his mind. “Gwen, yes. What's going on?”

“It's bad,” she said. “They just found one of the yardmen under the corn.”

His heart leapt into his throat. “How bad?”

“He's dead, sir,” Gwen said. “He suffocated.”

If Nathaniel had been a puking man, he would have vomited right there, all over the desk. Thankfully, he was not, but the handset fell out of his hand and he stared at Emmy still standing in the door. She had a sad, apologetic look on her face. Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, nodding at her. She pulled the door closed.  He picked up the phone and looked at the pictures. “Wasn't the train out of the yard, Gwen?”

“No, sir,” she said. He heard her walk a few feet away from where ever she was. “No, Nathaniel. It wasn't. From what I've seen here, there's more going on than I care to say over the phone. There are some pictures you need to see. You and Vic are not going to like this.”

Nathaniel nodded to no one, and said, “Are the cops there?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Keep Emmy appraised of what's going on,” he said. “We're going to have put out a release about this.”

“Nate, I don't like this,” she said.

“Nor do I,” Nathaniel said. “I want to keep any of your suspicions on the down-low until we can get a proper investigation going on. Please just send Emmy the details you have and I'll have a press release ready to go.”

“You have to tell his family, Nate,” she said. “The cops are on their way to escort you to the house.”

“Well, shit,” he said. “Alright, I'll be ready. Text me the information.”

He hung up and put his head in his hands for a minute, just staring. Someone had died on their property, getting rail cars on the way to their deliveries. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A very bad one. He picked up the phone, and called Emmy's desk.

“Yes, Nathaniel?” she asked.

“There's a spare suit in the closet in the exec lounge, could you grab that?”

“Sure,” she said, and hung up the phone.

He stood and walked over to the briefcase. His cell buzzed and he looked at the screen. He felt a lump in his throat, but he wasn't sure if it was from anger or sadness. Landry Robbins.

There was a light knock on the door and Emmy walked in with the suit. “This was the one labeled Nathaniel.”

He was relived it was the nice pinstripe Jorja had left in the closet. “Thank you.”

She cleared on her throat. “I'm sorry I busted in like that, but Gwen told me what was going on and I knew you needed to know.”

“Thank you, Emmy, it's fine. You were justified,” he said.

“Who was he, Nathaniel?” she asked, softly.

“My dad's friend. He was hired on at the yard the day dad started the business,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He took a deep breath. “This is going to be really, really hard. Tank and Henry are working like mad to find replacement for the delivery. Could you please handle the press release. Gwen will feed you the information. Any additional photos she sends are to be kept off the server. Put them on a thumb drive or external.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I don't know yet,” he said. “Let me change and take care of this horrible...”

She nodded curtly and walked out the door, closing it behind her. He sighed, looking at the suit. He actually hated this one, but it was the best one for looking very professional very quickly, and that's what he needed right now.

Chapter 2:

The throbbing beat of the club surrounded him, pounding his eardrums not nearly as hard as he wanted it too. He tossed the shot back and heard Jillian laugh loudly, and almost didn't contain his eye roll. She draped herself all over him, and he plucked her off himself.

“Aw, what's wrong, babe?” she said.

What's wrong, he thought. What's wrong. Let's take stock then, shall we? Landry Robbins was killed by the damn corn seeds on Wednesday afternoon by what his investigators were calling industrial sabotage. He had to tell Landry's wife of thirty-two years, and his two children that their father had been killed by corn. His brother's flight was delayed for twelve hours. He had to take over the funeral plans for his father's friend and it had brought up horrible memories of his own father's funeral two years before. The pictures Gwen had brought back were horrible and damning. They had to put out an insane amount of money to get the cars off the tracks and cleaned up in short time so they could get the other deliveries out of the yard, just a few hours later. Friday had been a complete disaster between the funeral plans, getting the deliveries set up, and the press now hounding them for more information. He had wound up sending Emmy to pick up her boss because the car service was all messed up. Saturday morning had been the funeral and it had been hell. He had to give Landry's daughter the number for a therapist because his wife was basically the walking dead.

And now, he was sitting in some cheesy club on the Strip where the music was too loud, the drinks watered down and Jillian was laughing in his ear when she knew what kind of week he'd had.

He looked at her. “I've had a really shitty week, and this place sucks. We always come here and I'm tired of it. This music sucks, the drinks suck, the men’s room floor is sticky.” He blinked a few times. “I hate this place.”

She leaned in and spoke directly into his ear so she could hear him. “I've heard about this club. Really exclusive, really... kinky.” She looked at him and had a curious look in her eyes, intrigue or lust or something he didn't feel like figuring it out.

“New,” he said. He looked around, and then stood up. “Come on, let's go. And I'm not coming back here again Jillian.”

“Cool,” she said, giddy. “You're going to have to really play millionaire, though, babe. It's a really exclusive club that's hard to get into.” She giggled. “Camryn and I have been trying to get in forever, and there's no line outside. They don't allow it. It's by reservation only.”

He shook his head as they pushed out of the club and into the street. She had the doorman flag down a cab and gave him an address. The cabby looked a little surprised, but started the drive anyway. Nathaniel knew the address was on the Southside and they flew over the 10th Street Bridge in only a few minutes. The place was right on the Monongahela, and they pulled up to a building encased in darkened glass. The lights were aimed up between the building's interior and the glass, but it was impossible to see inside.

Nathaniel paid the taxi driver and they climbed out. He watched Jillian walk just a head of him and he was struck by just how disinterested he was in her. Her white skirt was too short for his liking and she was wearing a very loose fitting shirt she had probably ordered off the internet from clubbing.com. It plunged insanely low in both the front and the back and did nothing for her.

He sighed. Clearly, his brain had made up his mind about this relationship already. It was one of the worst parts of being successful and inheriting a strong niche business. It seemed he only attracted the girls who wanted to further their so-called status.

He groaned. First world problems.

They walked up to the door, and the maitre'd stood at the door with a very large bouncer. He looked at the two of them, and looked Jillian up and down. Nathaniel was totally embarrassed by her clothes in that instant. He looked at Nathaniel. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“No, we don't,” he said.

Jillian giggled. “Don't you know who this is?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, and pulled out his wallet. The maitre'd held up his hand. “I'm afraid, sir, we don't have a cover charge here. You must have a reservation or be a member.”

Nathaniel flipped open the wallet and pulled out the black Centurion Amex, holding it out for him. “Fine, make me a member.”

The maitre'd took the card. “Mister Walsh, it would be a pleasure to have as a member. However, I must ask you if you know what exactly the Imperial is?”

“Of course he does,” Jillian said. “It's only the most exclusive club in Pittsburgh, and it's,” she looked at him, widening her eyes, “dangerous fun.”

“The lady appears to be aware,” the bouncer said, “but front only. For now.” The maitre'd nodded and went to work on the computer. It took him a few minutes to get the membership set up, and then handed each of them a bracelet. It wasn't a wrist band at all- it was an actual bracelet. His had a red gem and Jillian's had a blue.

“Thank you, sir,” the maitre'd said, handing the card back to him. “The charge will appear for The Imperial. You can have a VIP room at anytime as a member, and you'll receive information on our exclusive parties as well. Your bracelet is our member's bracelet, the lady's is a guest. We have a regular table waiting for you. Please step through the doors and Rielle will seat you. Enjoy your evening.”

He nodded and they walked through the darkened doors and into a vestibule. He looked around in the dim light and a woman appeared from the right. She smiled and he had to school himself before his jaw hit the floor. “Mister Walsh. It's a pleasure. I'm Rielle, If there is anything you need, anything at all, I am here to serve.”

Here to serve... The words rang in his head as he assessed her outfit. Ultra tight vinyl body suit that stopped just below more than ample breasts. There were two wide straps that covered and lifted but there wasn't much more. They went up to a high collar and he realized she was wearing a real collar with a clip for a leash. She had black vinyl gloves that went nearly up to her shoulders and boots that did the same for her legs. Her hair was bound up as though she were keeping it out of the way.

She turned and motioned them to follow her. Her body suit was a thong, which he had no hint of from the front of the suit. It was positively indecent and she seemed to love it.

As they walked in, he realized that Rielle's outfit was in no way the most indecent. Leather, satin, ropes, chains, collars, whips, flails, paddle, crops were everywhere. There were couples grinding on the dance floor and making out at the tables; he didn't even look into the shadows. He didn't want to see what was going on there.

Rielle seated them at a table directly opposite the stage where the DJ was set up. She handed Nathaniel a menu and winked a him. She walked away and dragged a suggestive hand over Jillian's shoulder, nearly spilling the shirt off her shoulder. She giggled.

“Where the hell have you brought me, Jillian?” he snapped. “This is going to show up on my goddamn charge card.”

“This is the Imperial,” she said. “You don't know about this place?”

“That woman was wearing a collar,” he snapped.

“It's a BDSM club,” Jillian sighed. “I thought everyone knew that. It's mostly harmless. The servers just dress the part and they don't do anything anyway. Just flirt and make dirty innuendos.”

Nathaniel looked around and saw there was a second floor; he guessed that was where the VIP booths were. He noticed right away that there was no way this room was the only large room in the building. Even if there was a kitchen, it still didn't take up the whole building. There had to be more. He looked at the bracelet and realized he was right- it said ‘Front Ltd’.

There was a bar on either side of the stage and he could see a black curtain that parted every once in a while, giving a glimpse into another room beyond this one. But there were no doors from this room into the next one that he could see.

He looked over at Jillian who was giggling behind her hand. He was disgusted by her at this point and rolled his eyes. He leaned over. “Is this your idea of a good time? This is a dangerous place and we don't belong here.”

“Oh, chill, Nathaniel,” she said. “It's all just for show.”

He narrowed his eyes. He wasn't even remotely amused by her.. He'd drop her off and be done with her. This was it. Jillian giggled at the waitress and ordered some ridiculous drink off the menu. She tried to reach across the table and grab his hand. He pulled it out of her reach and narrowed his eyes at her. She blatantly rolled her eyes at him. “Will you relax!”

“Relax. I'm one of the most influential business men in this damn city and I'm in a BDSM club,” he said.

“They are completely discreet here, damn,” she said. “You think you're the only rich man here? Really? Did you even see that Paul Franklin was in the corner?” Paul Franklin?! The city councilman? He blinked a few times and Jillian sighed. “No one is going to know, Natey.”

“Stop giggling,” he snapped. He never could stand her inane giggling.

“God, you are such a wet blanket,” she grumbled.

The music was thumping away and some of the things going on on the dance floor bordered on the obscene, even in a bedroom. He suddenly had the feeling this public room was just a show for people who wanted to whisper to co-workers that they had been to the Imperial the night before.

“Hey, gorgeous,” someone said. He and Jillian looked up and there was a man standing there. He was wearing tight leather chaps with some kind of cut-offs as pants under them. He had on a leather vest and was sporting a whip. “Gonna dance?” Nathaniel couldn’t even be sure who exactly the man was addressing.

Jillian looked over with a smile on her face, clearly asking if he was going to take her on to the floor. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Jillian gave him a horrible look and stood up. “Now I am,” she said to the leather man. The leather man looked at him and Nathan flipped his hand at him, giving him permission and full control of her.

He stayed only because he had to get Jillian home. He tried to mostly pay attention to the architecture and the music, but his eyes wandered around room more than he really wanted them to. There were a few people in corners with crops and paddles, tapping people. There was a woman with her hands bound behind her, being indecently teased by one of the patrons in the corner. A floor attendant scurried over quickly to that scene and while Nathaniel couldn’t hear what was being said, he had the feeling the patron was reprimanded and the three of them disappeared out of the room.

He slammed back another shot. He looked at his watch, and discovered it was nearly two thirty in the morning. He looked out at the dance floor and Jillian wasn’t there.

What the hell? He grabbed his phone to call her, but discovered a text message there.

Jilly:Went upstairs. BBL. PS Jonah is a blast!

Jonah. She already had his name. He texted her back.

Nathaniel W:Have fun. Rielle has your cab money. Don’t call.

He shoved the phone in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He was about to pull out the money and motion Rielle over when there was a tremendous bang behind him.

He spun around; the only people who seemed to have noticed the  noise were the staff and the patrons who were sitting closest to the door. He watched as a woman strode through the hall, down the stairs and across the dance floor to the bar on the right hand side. She was gorgeous, hair falling wildly out of its bun. Her ridiculously high-heeled boots were a soft suede that came up over her knee. She wore lace boy shorts, a lace garter which held up fine mesh fishnet stockings that disappeared into the boots. She was wearing a half long line bustier of black lace and satin with a silver zipper in the front, and fingerless lace opera gloves. There was a whip at her hip and crop in her hand. The wide lace straps of the bustier were there mostly for show because it was so tight, and she was wearing a lace choker.

She steamed across the dance floor, couples parting before her like the Red Sea. She stomped up the stairs to the bar on the right of the stage to a man standing there in all black. Her finger was in his face instantly and she was clearly pissed. Nathaniel's eyes fell on her stormy eyes and angry face.

Emmy.

What.

No way. He and a few others stared at the scene across the way, no one able to hear what was going on. The man in black was first stunned at her being there, and what were clearly harsh words on the other end of that threatening finger. His hands went up in defense, and very shortly, he gently grabbed her wrist, disturbed by something she said. Then concerned. Then, he motioned her back to the door they had come through.

She was so angry she did nothing but stare straight ahead as she plowed back through the crowds to the stairs and up to the door. Nathaniel couldn’t take his eyes off of her the whole time, her gorgeous white skin against the black lace. Her hazel eyes focused and angry. Her auburn hair shining nearly black in the lights of the club, the wisps of hair escaping and telling those around her that she was in the midst of something she couldn’t control.

“Sir?” He snapped his head around again, to find Rielle standing there. “You asked for me?”

“Oh, uh… yes.” Nathaniel shook his head and went back to the wallet. “Make sure the woman who was with me gets this,” he handed her a hundred, “and this is for you to make sure she does.” He handed her another hundred. “Get her in a cab, that’s all I ask.”

“Certainly, sir. Is there anything else you want?”

“No,” he said. “Just a cab for me.”

She nodded and ran off. He walked towards the doors where he had seen the woman disappear. He shook his head. There was no way that was Emmy. It had to be the lighting.

Chapter 3:

The crack of the whip split the air, and the tip barely grazed the man’s lower back. He panted and sweated, half supported by the chain and half standing. He didn’t exactly cry out, but grunted instead. She cracked the whip again, moving the tip further along his back the pain causing him to grunt again.

“Mistress,” he said, his breath heavy, “I have a request.”

She coiled the whip and clipped it on her waist, and walked around to where he could see her. She didn’t like requests. Not at all, and especially not in here. She gave him a hard stare; she hadn’t particularly liked this client from the word ‘go’; there was something shifty about him. He wasn’t exactly handsome, and it bothered her that she noticed. She didn’t usually notice looks; there was no rhyme or reason to who enjoyed the lifestyle and there was no judgment passed.

She studied him a moment as he looked boldly into her face. She really didn’t like that. “Eyes down!” she snapped. He dropped them, but not really. He stared at her breasts instead. She didn’t like this client at all. She didn’t know how or why he requested her. She was picky now she was only here once in a while, and for Franz to have agreed he must have offered a great sum of money.

He was going flaccid, she noticed. As soon as the pain was gone, he deflated. That was not a good sign; he only enjoyed the pain, and not the rest of the teasing, tantalizing. “What is it?” she finally asked, disgusted by the way he was ogling her breasts.

“I would request that Mistress Tessa really hurt me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We do not permanently mar the flesh.”

“I have paid a large tribute to you and the club, Mistress,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “You are said to be the best with your paddle and whip. I was hoping you might over look the club’s rules and truly hurt me.”

Her eyes grew wide; no, she didn’t like this client at all. “How do you want your pain?”

He nodded to the corner. “In my jacket are cigarettes and matches. I wish to have you burn me.”

“We do not mark the body,” she said.

“I have paid tribute--”

She leaned in close and grabbed his hair just enough to immobilize him, but not enough to hurt. “They are not club rules. They are the tenets of this lifestyle. Do you know what that is? Do you know what this lifestyle is?”

“Mistress, BDSM,” he said, flicking his eyes away.

“And what does that mean to you?” She pulled his hair tighter. “Look at me. What does that mean to you?”

“Bondage, dominance, sadomasochism, and masochism,” he said. “Obedience. Pain. Torture.” He relished the last two words as they rolled off his tongue.

“Wrong,” she said, letting go of his hair. “Pleasure through consensual pain. Pleasure that is brought though techniques learned to leave no visible marks. We do not mar the flesh, we do not mark to show what it is we do, ever. You have crossed a hard limit in this community and you are done. You are never welcome back here.” She slammed a hand on the switch on the wall that released the chain and dropped him to the floor. “If you want to show off your inclinations to the world, find a deviant SM mistress. I. Do. Not. Mark.”

“You are known as the best!” he cried. He had fallen to his knees, with his still bound hands in his lap. “I’ve waited months for this appointment!”

“I don’t care,” she said and left him there in the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Tessa stormed down the hall, furious, slamming her feet on the ground as she went. She plowed through the halls. How could Franz let this asshole in? And give him to her, her, of all people. She slammed through the door to the main room and knew Franz would be standing by the bar. She clomped down the stairs and some part of her brain realized her anger seem to flow ahead of her as the dancing couples moved out of the way. She stormed up the steps to where Franz was standing.

“You son of a bitch!” she snapped at him sticking her finger in his face. “You jackass. How could you give him to me!?”

Franz put his hands up. “Woah, woah, Tessa, what’s going on? What are you doing out here? You have a client--”

“He asked me to burn him,” she snapped. “He wants me to put cigarettes out on him!”

Franz took her arm at the wrist. “What? He did what?”

“He wants injury, not pain,” she said, her voice starting to quiver. “He wants me to burn him. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Tessa, I never would have let him in if I knew that!” Franz said. “Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” she snapped. “You know--”

“I know,” he said. “I know.” He leaned in close. “Please, calm down, Emmy. You’re going to combust if you don’t.” He stepped back. “Come on, he’s done here. Let’s get rid of him.”

She looked at him for a long moment then spun and marched down the stairs. She crossed the dance floor with Franz hot on her tail, and the couples parted again. She walked up the stairs –she could feel someone's eyes on her – and slammed through the door again. She led Franz back through the maze of room to the second floor where she had left the client on his knees and bound with ropes.

He was still there. He snapped his head up as Franz walked into the room, and his eyes flared angrily. “You little bitch! Bitch!” He struggled to stand. Tessa stayed in the door and let Franz walk over to untie him. “I thought you went to get permission!”

Tessa folded her arms. “I. Do. Not. Mark.” She snapped again.

“I paid for you bitch! I waited for the best! You cheap whore!”

She laughed. “You really think I haven’t heard that before.”

Franz let him stand, and the client tried to go over to her. Franz grabbed an arm. “Nuh-uh,” he said. He pointed to the corner. “Clothes. Now. And give me your bracelet.” The man complied and snapped the bracelet off. He dressed quickly and seemed completely humiliated by the situation. He turned and Tessa stepped out of the door. Franz pointed. “Go. You are not welcome here anymore. Your remaining fees will be refunded for the year from tomorrow on. You forfeit your tribute from tonight, and you are still bound by the confidentiality contract. Get out of here.”

The client leveled his finger at Tessa. “I’ll get you for this.”

“For what? Even freaks have principles, asshole,” she snapped.

“OUT!” Franz roared. “Get out!”

He turned on his heel and marched down the hallway, then down the stairs. He disappeared out of sight, cursing and swearing at anything and everything in his way. Franz let out a breath and looked at Tessa. “Are you ok, love?” She flashed angrily at him for a moment. He held up his hands. “I swear to you, I had no idea. I really didn’t; he came up clean and he’s been here for close to two years. He never showed that part of himself before.”

“Others might have broken the rule for him,” she said.

“I know it’s hard limit, and it’s supposed to be for everyone here,” Franz said. “I’ll call a staff meeting tomorrow before we open and remind them all.” He leaned into her ear. “Truly, Emmy, I’m sorry. I never ever would have done that to you, and you know it.”

She signed. “I know, Franz. I know.”

He looked at her. “He was your last client for the evening, Tessa. Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Regulars only, and I have to go at eleven tomorrow.”

“How is that going?”

“It’s brutal,” she said. “I snapped at him at least four times last week because he wasn’t listening to me. I apologized every time, but still. I’m more in control than that.”

“And have you heard from Dan?”

Tessa swallowed hard. “No. He’s gone, Franz. He’s not coming back. That pretty little thing in Palm Springs is all he’s about now. He walked away from all of this, and I feel a little empty about the whole thing, too.”

“He wanted a family, darling,” he answered. “You’re not in a place to give him that. The little filly out in Palm Springs can.”

“But he gave it all up for her,” Tessa said. “That’s the part I don’t understand. All of it? I can see some of it, but all?”

“Love does funny things,” Franz said.

“Love can do kinky things too,” she countered.

“Tessa, love, he wasn’t meant for you. He was too sub, and you’re a very powerful Domme. He would never have been able to assert himself with you enough to make you a good couple. You would not have been the happy family way he wanted.”

“I’m damaged goods anyway,” she said.

“Not so much as you think, darling,” Franz smiled. “Go home, I’ll take care of this room. Take a long hot bath. Your first client is at three tomorrow, in a VIP lounge. Nothing too rigorous.”

She kissed Franz on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Tessa walked down the hall to the private area in the back where the staff had lockers, changing rooms and showers. She eyed the stalls for an instant and then decided she wanted her own shower, her own bed. She wanted a pair of her cotton pajamas and a cup of peppermint hot cocoa.

She pulled off the boots, the stockings, the garter, the gloves and the choker, and rubbed where the choker had been. She didn’t realize she had put it on that tight. It just proved how tense she was from the week before.  She put the stockings in her bag to wash them. She pulled on her yoga pants and the fleece sweatshirt over the rest, and pulled out her coat. She looked at herself in the mirror, and sighed. Emmy again, or nearly so. As soon as the make up came off.

She put on the coat, tossed the bag over her shoulder, and scurried down the employee stairs to the parking garage. She suddenly couldn’t wait to get away from the place, as much as she couldn’t wait to get there earlier in the night. She hopped in the little Echo, and took off as fast as she could for home.

But as soon as she walked in the front door, she didn’t want to be there either. The loft was empty without Dan there. Even though at the end the level of connection was waning, he had always been there, and she had always taken care of him. Now it was just a big empty loft with no one there. Time for a cat, maybe?

She resolutely walked by the closed bedroom. She hadn’t been in there for weeks; there was no reason to go in. Franz had suggested she contract a short term sub, but she wasn’t sold on the idea. Some of the subs out there were… more slave. She didn’t want a slave; that wasn’t her thing.

Was that what Franz had meant about Dan being too sub for her? She never had to ask him twice for anything, he trusted her implicitly and they had played without a safe word for nearly a year. The thrill of playing without a safeword had been amazing. Never had she had anyone trust her that much, and the sex after was unparalleled.

But even that hadn’t been enough to keep him around. He’d met Elizabeth Jenkins on a business trip, and she knew when he walked in the door to their apartment coming home she had lost him. Without a word, the very next day, she helped him pack and promised to mail anything she found that was his.

Dan had sent the most gorgeous flowers to her for her birthday two weeks later. To my beautiful Emmy- never change what you are. You will always be in my heart. Thank you, and I love you. Daniel. She teared up at his name. He never went by Daniel. It had always been Dan.

And the vase had broken. She knew she should have had a box for all that stupid business college crap so she could honestly carry the vase. It had been so pretty and she felt so bad lying to Nathaniel about it’s sentimental value; it was horrible to watch the janitor cart the pieces away. She had wanted to try and put it back together, but Nathaniel was right. She was going slice her hand open.

The hot water in the shower felt wonderful on her skin. She scrubbed off all the feeling of “asshole” on her, then went back with a more gentle washcloth and took her time washing her hair and skin. She glanced briefly at the shower toys on the ledge and sighed. She had no interest at that moment, then corrected herself; she’d had no interest in weeks. Even the appointments at the club had been more in reaction to the frustration of the week than anything else.

Shared pleasure through consensual pain. Not even a hint of relief from the funk she was in, or the odd stress. Since Dan left, she had decided to see what the rest of the world had to offer her, and her first week at Walsh Distributions and Manufacturing Company had been interesting to say the least. Industrial espionage, day three—check. Running the entire office just 4 days after starting there—check.

Emmy dried herself off, wrapping a warm, worn robe around herself. It was like an old friend. She padded down the kitchen and began the ritual of making the peppermint hot cocoa. It was late, but the cocoa was going to be the only thing that could bring her nerves down enough to sleep.

Lie. Vodka would also help, but that would break her own rules. Always have someone there to drink with; never ever drink alone.

While the milk was getting up the steam, she walked back to the bathroom to collect all the things that needed a wash. She tossed them all in the washing machine in the hall and started it up. If she fell asleep, she’d just wearing something else tomorrow. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a closet full of clothes for the club.

She sat down on the oversized, over-stuffed chair in the living room and stared out at the partially dark city. No large city every really went dark. She could see the unique top on the PPG building, and the other buildings behind it. She could see the Mellon building, where she worked now in the straight world. Twenty second floor. And the incredibly hot Nathaniel Walsh in the office next door.

She had heard he was good looking. Several of her friends from school had swooned at his name when she told them she was going to be working for Victor Walsh. She had chuckled at that; one advantage of her life style was knowing who was who, and she knew that Victor Walsh was gay. Not only that, but was not into effeminate at all. Not for himself and not for his partner. Working for him was safe bet.

Emmy hadn’t realized she would be working so near his younger brother. Anyone who didn’t swoon at Victor did when they saw Nathaniel. Tall, but reasonably so, with wavy unkempt hair that was such a dark brown it was nearly black. His brown eyes were warm and had a drowsy, relaxed look to them. He wore a blue button-down shirt almost every day with a t-shirt underneath and she thought that was such a cute, gentlemanly throwback. He had worn Carhartt khakis to the office with the shirt combo the first few days, and by Friday he had down graded to a green polo -- which she didn’t like nearly as much as his button downs -- and a pair of Carhartt jeans. She liked the jeans best of all.

She had seen the faded farmer tan and sun freckles, and had the feeling he loved to get outside and work hard. She imagined him lifting and tossing hay bales with his shirt off and his defined pecks covered in a sheen of sweat. His hair would be soaked from the bottle of water he had dumped over himself to keep cool, plastered to his head. He would be doing all of that in the pair of jeans he had worn on Friday where she could see his well developed backside whenever he turned away from her. She’d also appreciate the lightly rippled and tanned back she’d get a glimpse of. She loved a nice back, and nice back side. She’d like to find out what that ass looked like without the jeans, and without the boxers she imagined he wore. Run her hands over that smooth chest—

She swallowed and shook her head. What the hell? She was suddenly flushed and hot in the robe. Great. Fantasies about Nathaniel Walsh, her boss’s brother. That was just ducky. Now she’d end up going in to work on Monday imagining the tight ass under those pants.

She looked down into the mug to find most of the cocoa gone. She tilted her head back and swallowed the rest and decided it was time for bed. She put the mug in the sink and headed back to the bedroom. She stopped in the bathroom to grab one of the toys in her collection there. She smiled, and padded into the bedroom for some shuteye. Eventually.

~*~*~

Emmy had gotten up barely in time to actually get to the club on Sunday. She nearly squealed the wheels into the garage and ran up the stairs. Franz had left her a text to tell her there was a staff meeting at 2:30, and she ran in at 2:31. She sighed as she sat down, but she had needed the sleep.

Franz leaned up from the wall in the lounge locker room, and nodded at her. “Good, Tessa is here and we can have a short but very important meeting today.” He looked around. “I don’t know who was here last night to witness what went on, but we had to permanently eject one of our members.” There was a mumble that circled the room and Franz let it go. “We all know what it is we do here, and the tenets of this lifestyle. A member of this club last night asked Tessa to pass a hard limit that was contractually stated in his membership papers.”

“What did he want?” someone asked.

“Marking,” Franz said, looking at Tessa. Several people mumbled their dislike.“We didn’t get to where it would be done because Tessa walked out and got me. But that is a hard limit here. No marking. Ever. Not just because of our lifestyle but because of legal regulation. We are an exclusive club. We skirt the law very closely. We do not pleasure to mark ever. Ever. If anyone asks you to do this, you are to do exactly what Tessa did last night and find me.” He scanned the room, looking at all the employees. “The member has been ejected, his money from last night forfeit and the remained of his fees for the year refunded.”

The Domme Emmy knew as Amaryllis spoke up. “What would happen if one of us violated the hard limit?”

“Do you plan on it?” Franz snapped.

“No,” she snapped back. “But if one us knew someone did, what action would be taken?”

Emmy was amused by a room full of Doms. It could easily slide into a pack of snarling wolves all vying for the alpha of the pack. Thankfully most of them in here realized that Franz signed off on time cards and session sheets, so he was the alpha in the room.

“We’ve never had that situation here in five years,” he said, “and I hope to fucking God you don’t know of anyone who did. But if they did, I would be obliged to turn them into the police. I can’t just fire them. They’d have to go to the authorities. It’s a breach of contract and an assault. If I don’t turn them in, then their client can and give the cops a reason to pay attention to us. No one wants that. There are police officers who are clients. The lower on the radar we fly, the better off we are, and you all know that. Nothing we do here is wrong; society just doesn’t like it. So, keep that in mind when you have a client who might be asking for something beyond our hard limits. I’ve resent everyone a copy of the Club's hard limits by email. Review them. Remember them. And remember you’re doing this because you like it. Don’t risk what you get out of it because someone offers you a fat stack.”

Emmy sat quietly for a minute as the rest of the employees filed out to their stations for opening at 3. Franz would open the doors in a few minutes ahead of that so the clients didn’t stand outside. She picked at her fingernails.

“Hey,” Amaryllis said, sitting down next to her. “You OK, Tess?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I took a nice hot shower last night. You know, cleansing ritual.”

“Mmm, good idea,” she said. “Look, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee sometimes.” She blushed, which made her soft African skin take on a beautiful ruddy hue. “I mean that totally platonically. I don’t want you to think--”

Emmy laughed and patted her hand. “You’re male exclusive, I know,” she winked. “Yes, actually, I’d love to grab a cup of coffee one day.”

“You only work weekends now, right?” Amaryllis asked.

“Right,” Emmy said.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“That would be nice,” she said. “Crazy Mocha Coffee, on Fort Duquesne? Seven?”

“Perfect,” Amaryllis said, standing up and getting ready to walk away. She turned back and looked at her. “Oh, um. My name is Chantal.”

“Chantal, nice to meet you,” she said, sticking her hand out. “My name’s Emmy.”

She watched as the gorgeous, young black woman walked out of the locker room and she went to work putting herself together for the night. She opened the bag and pulled off her sweatshirt. She had to use the leather bustier that she wasn’t super fond of, but did its job. She folded the shirt, and then pulled off her yoga pants. She quickly assembled her make-up and all the little pieces that made her Tessa Saint at Club Imperial.

She blinked at herself in the mirror a few times. I do this because I like it, she thought, remembering Franz’s words. But she wouldn’t always be able to do it. She was twenty-four, she had a degree in music from Carnegie-Mellon and an associates in business administration. She had to start going out into the vanilla world and see what was out there. She did do this because liked it. She enjoyed making the clients happy. Some of them she’d had a genuine connection with over the years. She knew their limits, and they knew hers. Last night had been a fluke; every other client was perfect, and she had been in the hard rooms all night. Tonight was the VIPs in the main room. Never much more than a little tie up and tease, a spank here and there.

She pulled on her other boot, and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled. Tessa Saint was standing there, looking back. Black leather tonight, but she’d leave the whip. Just the crop and the paddle.

She walked out of the locker room to the hallway that lead to the VIP rooms above the dance floor. She could see the waiters and waitresses scurrying around. Very few of those on the main floor ever got to see much beyond that and the VIP rooms. There was another set of employees for the hard rooms, ones that were completely and totally trusted. The main roomers were aware of the others, and knew what went on back there. Very few ever made it to those rooms.

Tess walked to the door of her usual room, and it had her name on it. Mistress Tessa Saint. She loved the irony of the name; she was anything but. She pushed the door open and just under the door was the night’s client list. All familiar names she could handle well. Franz had even given her Oliver Gardy at the end of the night. Her oldest client and one she really enjoyed. She would work him over at the edge of his limits. He would squirm and gasp and beg her for more for her special brand of torture.

The first client however, was Robert. Newer, still exploring his limits, still learning how to really submit to what she was trained to do. She picked up the cosmo Franz always had waiting for her. She looked down through the one way glass and heard the distant thrum of the dance music. She looked at the clock on the wall, sitting down in the slightly stiff chair and crossing her long legs impatiently.

Five after three, Robert finally walked into the room. She looked at him, raising her one eyebrow. “Late.”

“I’m sorry.”

She slapped the crop on her leg for the sharp sound. “I’m sorry what?”

The smile was visible. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Close the door, Robert.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, quickly pulling it closed.

He turned back around and started to take off his jacket. She slapped the crop on his hand. “Did I tell you to do that?”

He smiled. “No, Mistress.”

She brought the end of the riding crop under his chin. “Why are you looking at me, Robert? Did I give you permission?”

“No, Mistress,” he said.

She dropped his chin. “Then where are you supposed to look?”

“Your shoes, Mistress.” He dropped his eyes immediately to her shoes.

“Good,” she said, walking around him. “You were late, and you were not in form when you walked in. There is punishment to be meted out, I think.” She watched him for a moment. “Take off your coat. And only your coat.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, and keeping his eyes down, unbuttoned the coat and slipped it off and onto the chair next to him. He folded his hands behind his back and kept his eyes down, just the way she had instructed him on the first day.

She walked around behind him and slapped him hard on the ass with the paddle. Instead of his usual yelp, he gave an erotic throaty groan. She smiled. Finally. He was starting to understand what made him come here every Sunday.

Power exchange. She was in control for the night, and he loved it.

So did she.

Chapter 4:

Nathaniel wobbled through the office, trying to see around the giant bouquet of roses. Damn foolish, this idea, he chided himself. He should have let the florist deliver it. He had thought it would be fun to see Emmy's expression when she walked in and saw the vase and bouquet on the desk.

Except his plan was foiled when he realized she was sitting at her desk, back turned to him. He was going to just give up, but decided to try a slightly more sneaky approach. He walked up and quietly put the vase down.

“Oh, thank you, Gwen,” Emmy said, reaching back without turning around. “I just didn't have time for a coffee--” Her hand collided with the vase and made a glass-thunk sound. Emmy spun around and gasped, putting both hands over her mouth in shock. “What... what are you doing?”

“I thought I would replace the vase that broke last week,” Nathaniel said. “And flowers for being so awesome last week while everything fell down around our ears.  You were stunning and it's a little thank you.”

“They're gorgeous,” she said. “Perhaps a bit over the top?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning on the wall of the desk. “Not at all. You're going to fit in here marvelously, really. You kept us rolling while we were all dealing with the immediate fall out. I sure hope you can keep us going while we work on this mess that we're in.” He smiled at her. “I like having you around. You've got... balls. If you'll forgive me.”

Emmy choked a little and laughed. “You're forgiven,” she said. “I'm actually here early to see what reports came in over the weekend and get them together for your interview with the police this afternoon. I also made back-ups of the pictures, the ones both on and not on the server.” She held out a thumb drive for him.

He smiled at her. She was wearing what he could only call her naughty librarian look: black pumps, black stockings, a tweed skirt with white, black and shades of beige, and white shirt that if it was one iota smaller would bust open and show the world the breasts he was dying to see. Her hair was pinned up and she had a pair of very bold glasses that were currently sliding down her nose. He reached over and pushed them back up a bit.

“What were you waiting for Gwen for?”

“Coffee,” she said, adjusting the glasses. “I was running late this morning. Long weekend.”

“I hear that,” he said. “Did you know there's a coffee maker in the kitchen? A Keurig, too. Wanna cup?”

“I'm the admin,” she said, “shouldn't I be getting you the coffee?”

“You're already hard at work,” he said, smiling and heading for the small kitchen. “What kind do you like?”

“Colombian bold, light and sweet,” she called as he disappeared around a corner. She laughed when he reemerged a moment later with two cups of coffee.

“Light and sweet,” he smiled. “I'll resist the cheeseball line that usually follows that one.”

She took the cup and took a sip. “Perfect. Thank you, Nathaniel.”

He really liked the way she said his name. He nodded and turned to walk back to his office. “Oh, you know,” he said, stopping for a moment. “I had the weirdest thing happen to me on Saturday night. I thought I saw a woman who looked just like you.”

“On Saturday?” she laughed. “You were pretty blitzed at the repast. I hope you weren't driving. Where on earth were you?” She took a sip of the coffee.

“Club Imperial.”

Emmy choked on the coffee.

“So you know what that is, then?” he laughed.

Emmy nodded, grabbing for napkins. She coughed into it and delicately blew her nose. She swallowed and shook her head to clear it. “What the hell were you doing there?”

“Ah, my girl-- ex-girlfriend wanted to go,” he said. “I bought a membership to get her in and shut her up. Thank goodness the maitre'd realized what was up and only gave her a guest pass. The place was... fascinating and frightening all at once.” He shook his head. “Anyway, she looked just and I mean just like you. I guess she worked there. She was wearing a whip, and man was she pissed.”

Emmy took a few careful sips from the coffee. “Weird,” she finally said. She looked slightly pale. “You were there with your girlfriend?”

“Ex,” he said. “She went off with some dancer and I broke up with her by text.” He pulled out the phone and shook it at her. “That's me, Mister Class and Tact. Drop her a bill and let her go off with some leatherman dancer.”

“I didn't know you had a girlfriend,” Emmy said, in a lowered tone.

“I'm straight,” Nathaniel said. He jerked his thumb at Victor's door. “He's the gay one.”

Emmy laughed, and spun back to her computer as Nathaniel walked back to his office. He closed the door and just committed Emmy's smell and laughter to memory for a moment, before attending to the grizzly task of untangling the mess that was their last week.

He kept busy most of the day and had Gwen set up the retirement fund for Robbins' wife and kids. The guy had earned it, and it was what his father would have wanted them to do. He took just about any excuse to leave his office and walk by Emmy's desk, and get glimpse of her at work.

And she was enormously busy reorganizing his brother's shitstorm of an office and filing system. Victor was a brilliant business strategist and a savvy financier, but he couldn't match socks if his life depended on it. Emmy had a bag of shredded papers next to her desk, and she spent the day going through some of the stuff she pulled out of Victor's office. She was cross checking and referencing dozens of things and when Nathaniel finally had the nut to go into Vic's office around 5 p.m., he was stunned. The piles of files were gone, the furniture was rearranged and dusted. Victor was looking through some files Emmy had left there for him to check for keep or trash.

“Vic, I didn't realize you had a couch in here,” Nathaniel said.

Victor moved his hand off the file and gave him the finger. “I told you, I suck at organizing. I always have. Emmy has done more in the past week than I've been able to manage in months. She had all this crap organized for me to look through so we could get it out of here or put away.” He looked up. “I knew I did well hiring her.”

“That you did,” Nathaniel said, closing the door. “How many more of those files do you have?”

“Not many,” he said. “She cleared my calendar so I could do this. She's my kind of admin!”

Nathaniel hopped a leg up on the new revealed desk top. “Yeah, I kind of dig her too.”

Victor froze in position. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh what?”

“You like her,” Victor said. His jaw dropped. “You gave her those flowers.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “Um, do we have a policy about interoffice dating?”

“What about Jillian?”

“Oh, I'm so done with her,” Nathaniel said, standing from the desk.

“What do you mean?” Victor said. Nathaniel explained the weekend to him, eliciting a raucous laugh out of his big brother when he told him about the membership to Imperial. Once he finished his story, Victor walked around the desk and clapped him on the back. “Nathaniel, my man, good riddance to bad rubbish. She was an albatross for you, and I'm kind of proud of the way you ditched her. She wouldn't have done you a lick better, you know that.”

“Yup,” Nathaniel said. “I hope she enjoyed her leather man.”

“I suggest you warn Gwen about that charge on the card,” Victor said.

“I was thinking I should cancel it,” Nathaniel said.

“You could,” Victor said. “But I think it'll be interesting for you if you keep it. Mister Goodie-two-shoes, living on the edge. You might want to take your date there next weekend anyway.”

“My date?” Nathaniel asked.

“You are going to ask Emmy out, right?” Victor said.

“I uh...”

“I don't think dad ever had a policy on inter-office romance,” Victor said. “Dad was a 'find happiness where you can' kind of guy. And if your happiness is sitting at my admin desk, why not go for it? You need to have a little fun with someone who isn't a stick in the mud.” He walked back around his desk to sit and picked up the picture of Greg sitting there. Nathaniel watched him with it. “Before you hear any viscous rumors in the press, Greg and I are going to be adopting. We talked it out this weekend and we think having a kid or two around would be kind of cool.”

“Really?” Nathaniel said, shocked. “I thought you gave up that dream for him.” Victor had given up a lot for Greg. The relationship had grown very naturally since they had met at the Hilltop Club two years ago and they both seemed happy. Once they had been married-- well, as married as one could get in Pennsylvania-- Greg had conditions. Children were, until today, one of those. He had said he didn’t want any. Money was another, as was Greg’s social life.

This was a major breakthrough.

“He came to me to talk about it,” Victor said. “I think working at the shelter last month in the snow storm did him in. All those kids in foster care and all the room in our house. He's a softy.” Nathaniel saw the happiness glint in Victor’s eyes as he thought about Greg and the kids. “He never had a kids around, and once he got an eyeful of those silly monkeys down there he realized what it was I wanted to do. It's a good thing.”

“It is, man,” Nathaniel smiled. “You're going to make awesome dads. Let me know what's going on and if you need any help with anything.”

“Just organization,” Victor said.

Nathaniel laughed and rolled his eyes. He reached for the door, only to have it jump at him and nail him directly in the nose. He yelped and jumped back, put a hand over his nose. He looked to find Emmy was standing there, horrified.

“Oh, my God, Nathaniel!” she said. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't know you were there! You're not going to fire me, are you?”

There was a grandiose thump from behind them and they spun around to find Victor had been laughing so hard he fell over in the chair and was now sprawled across the floor, still laughing and gasping for air. Nathaniel found himself starting to laugh, and Emmy put a hand over her mouth to try and stop the laughter, but it was useless.

Nathaniel walked back and helped his brother off the floor, righting the chair. He took the files from Emmy's hands and put them on Victor's desk, and then held the door open for Emmy and himself, walked back out of the room and closed the door. “I can't fire you,” he explained. “Victor is your boss, not me. And since you just made him laugh so hard he fell out of a chair, your job is safe. For now.”

“For now,” she smiled.

“Look, Emmy,” he said. “I think you've figured out we're a pretty unconventional office here, and most of the usual rules of business are kind of out the window.”

“It's not every day a CEO falls off his chair laughing about what just happened.”

“True,” Nathaniel said, touching his nose. “Look, I was wondering if you'd like to maybe go out to dinner with me.”

Her eyes grew wide with shock. “Um... I...”

“You can think about it,” he said. “I know it's kind of weird and--”

“Um, Nathaniel, I...” She looked confused. “Dinner?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

She took a short breath. “Alright, yes. Dinner.”

“Friday?” Nathaniel asked.

She thought for a minute. “Friday would be fine.”

“Great, and I know this great little club we can go to afterward, Imperial?”

Emmy started choking again. He patted her on the back. “I'm kidding! I'm kidding! I would never take anyone there on a first date. That's at least a second date.”

She looked at him, and he suddenly couldn't look away from her eyes. She seemed trapped by him as well. They stared at each other, the tension rising between them. He found himself panting, his lips dry.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him into his office.

~*~*~

She pushed Nathaniel up against the now-closed door of his office. His eyes had ensnared her, and she wanted him. Right there. She tried to break away, but as soon as she saw him lick his lips, it was the end of her resolve.

She grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the door as she leaned in. She hovered just a fraction away from lips, the heat coming off them delicious and tantalizing. She teased him with a quick, liquid kiss and enjoyed the taste of him. She moved back in and pressed her lips to his for a real kiss, her tongue dancing into his mouth. He met hers with his and fought his way back to their joined lips.

Emmy stepped in closer to him, pressing herself against him and demanding more of his mouth, his taste. She felt like she could hardly breathe. He met each of her kisses with a demand of his own, trying to steal another taste of her. She pulled away, and moved to the side of his neck, kissing and sucking gently down from his ear. Nathaniel's breathing became ragged, and when she nipped at the corner of his neck and shoulder, he let out a groan that was sheer lust.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed. “Wait. Oh, damn, Emmy stop.” She stepped back and looked at him. She realized what she had done, pinning him, and released her hold a bit. They stood pressed against the door, panting and staring. “Emmy. Holy crap.”

She stepped back. “I...” She was horrified. The Domme had leapt to the forefront, and was ready to make her demands of him.

He held up a finger to her lips. “No sorries, please,” he said. “I just needed you to stop because that was going to go places not in any way, shape or form appropriate for the office.”

She swallowed then nodded. She watched as he ran his tongue over his lips and made her a little warmer than she already was. She forced herself to calm down, and soften her stance. You're not at the club. Emmy found herself having trouble bringing herself down, though. His lips were soft and pliable and he tasted oh-so-good to her.

“So, Friday?” he asked quietly staring at her. His eyes were smoldering, and she wanted nothing more than take him and throw him on the desk and have her way with him. “Seven?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” she said, not wanting to look away. “Seven, Friday.”

“Keep looking at me like that,” he warned, “and I’m liable to let you do whatever it is you want to with me.” He laughed lightly. “We’re a liberal company but getting naked in my office is stretching the limits.” He side stepped from the door and pulled it open.

Emmy was finally able to bring herself back and calm down. She headed for the door, and put her hand on the outside knob. She paused there and looked at him just inches away. She could see he wanted exactly what she wanted in those big brown eyes. She leaned close enough to his ear to feel his warmth again. “Who said we had to be naked?”

She stepped back to see his jaw fall open. She smiled, and pulled the door closed behind her. She put a hand to her stomach to stop the fluttering, and looked at the clock. It was suddenly almost six, and she was supposed to meet Chantal. Now she didn’t have time to change.

She quickly gathered her things up and made a dash for the elevator, hoping the door to Nathaniel’s office wouldn’t open. If it opened…

The elevator pinged and she jumped in, slamming her hand on the door closed button hoping it would actually close the doors faster. She saw Nathaniel’s door opening just as the elevator closed, and she let out a breath.

God, what just happened? She pressed a hand to her temples. This is what you get for fantasizing about your boss’s brother, she chided herself. She could still feel his chest pressed against her breasts and it was driving her mad. He had been so hot and so delicious. And naïve. Telling her to stop didn’t usually even come close to actually getting her to stop.

Her phone dinged with a message. It was Nathaniel.

Nathanie W: Did I scare you off?

She sighed. Great.

E Westerly:No. Not at all. But you were right. Things don’t need to happen in the office.

Oh how she wanted them to, though.

Nathaniel W:I really liked kissing you.

She felt herself clench, took a deep breath, enjoyed the feeling and let it go.

E Westerly:Ditto.

Nathaniel W: Come back up.

Oh God.

E Westerly: I actually can’t. I have a coffee date with a girlfriend tonight.

The phone didn’t ping again until she was nearly a block away from the building.

Nathaniel W: Date?

She laughed, and answered.

E Westerly: My boss is gay. I’m straight.

Nathaniel W: LOL, very good.

She could almost hear him laughing, and she relaxed a bit. This was going to take some doing, though. She had a few days to think about what needed to happen.

She saw Chantal sitting just inside the window and her face burst into a grin when Emmy walked up and into the café. She got up and gave her a genuine hug and sat back down. She quickly did an assessment of the lovely black woman sitting across from her. Her hair was long and wavy and fell neatly around her face. She had on very light make up and her eyes were a honey gold; apparently the woman wore contacts at the club to make them darker. She was wearing a yellowy-gold skirt suit clearly tailored and pair of black pumps. She had long fingers; Emmy had never noticed that before. Her nails were natural but well-manicured. She looked exactly nothing like Amaryllis in the seat across from her.

Chantal smiled and handed her the menu. “I didn’t want to presume to order.”

Emmy laughed and accepted it. “Thank you,” she said.

Chantal bit her lip; it was a habit a lot of the subs at the club had. They seemed to think it was sexy or something. She found it annoying, but said nothing realizing the woman had given her a huge clue as to who she was. “You know, I was worried you were just being polite yesterday and weren’t going to show up,” Chantal said.

Emmy laughed. “Nah, I’m not that kind of girl. If I didn’t want to talk to you, I would have said so.”

Chantal nodded. “I’m glad you said you would.”

“You’re new to the back rooms?” Emmy asked.

“Newish,” she answered. “Franz noticed I was getting bored and a little headstrong with some of the VIPs in the front. They don’t like back-talking subs.” Emmy nodded. “So, he had me train with Tricia for a few months. Turns out, I’m pretty good at it. How did you know?”

“You snapped at Franz,” Emmy said. “That kind of thing is verboten. We might all be Doms back there, but you don’t snap at the boss.”

“Yeah, I realized what I did after,” she said. “What happened the other night? I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it?”

The waitress came over and Emmy ordered her coffee and a sandwich. She looked back at Chantal. “I don’t mind talking about it,” she said. “It just threw me for a loop. I mean, apparently this guy was waiting for a session with me. I don’t usually take the ‘admirers’ on. And he busted out with wanting me to burn him.”

Chantal cringed. “Oh, man.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t nice,” she said, with a shiver.

“I would have gone to Franz as well,” Chantal said.

“That's the only thing you can do,” Emmy said.

“I had a Dom tell me I had to cut him,” she confessed. “He liked the way it felt and wanted me to do it for him.”

Emmy screwed her face up. “Oh, ugh! What did you do?”

“I broke the contract,” she said, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I was a sub. I was trained to obey; I wanted to obey. But he danced right over one of my stated hard limits and said I had to do it.” She put the spoon down and picked up the mug. “He seemed so nice. So not the type to do something like that. And there it was, and I had to get the fuck out.”

“How old were you?” Emmy asked.

“Twenty-four,” she said. “Two years ago.” She sighed. “In some ways, I really miss him. He was very good at taking care of me. I never lacked for anything, and it was fun being a private sub. But at the same time, I couldn’t stay if he was going to go down that path.”

“It is fun having a private sub,” Emmy smiled.

“I guess that answers my next question,” Chantal said.

The waitress came over with Emmy’s cup of coffee and put it down. Emmy looked at Chantal. “What next question?”

“I was wondering if you had sex with the clients,” she said.

“At first, when I was really young, yes,” Emmy said. “There were a few. Franz didn’t frown on it in the training house, but he told me if I wanted to, I had to wait until I was legal age and I had to learn to be really select on who I did allow that with.”

“Legal age?” Chantal’s jaw dropped.

“Franz trained me as a Domme when I was seventeen,” she said. “That’s all I’m saying about it.”

Chantal’s face said she had a thousand other questions, but Emmy schooled hers and made it more than clear she wasn’t going to allow an intrusion. Chantal had enough sub left in her that she could see there was no breaking through and carefully took a sip of her coffee considering her next question. “Do you still?”

“Still what?” Emmy asked, confused.

“Have sex with the clients?”

“I haven’t in three years,” she said. “The last one I trusted moved to another city and another mistress. I had a live-in after that.”

“Kept?” she asked.

“No, just live-in,” she sighed.

“Ended badly?”

“Just ended,” she said. “He’s engaged now and living in Palm Springs. I miss it, but we had moved beyond a contract and… well.”

Chantal leaned forward and considered her. “You want to tell the story,” she said. “You feel a lot like me, don’t you? Sometimes the lifestyle keeps you from really having friends who understand you. Sometimes you just want to have a conversation about your life without hiding, without having people give you funny looks and having to change the story you're telling. Uncensored friendships that look a lot like the Vanilla BFFs you always hear about.” She sat back. “I love my life, but sometimes, I just want someone to go shoe shopping with for a new pair of CFMs without judgment, and some solid advice. Like, ‘fish in the soles? So over’.”

Emmy started laughing. “Dead on,” she said. “Oh, so dead on!”

Chantal put her head on her palms. “Emmy, will you be my not-quite-vanilla BFF?”

Emmy imitated a ‘squee’, and clapped her hands like a twelve year old girl. “Yes, yes!” The two of them started laughing at the table and realized just how loud they were a moment later and quieted down. “Whoops,” Emmy laughed.

Chantal leaned back in the chair again, with the coffee in hand. “So. Do you want to tell the story?”

“Oh,” Emmy said. “You know, I do.” Chantal motioned to her to go ahead. “Well, I actually met Dan at the club. He was a super regular, like twice a week for long sessions. He really enjoyed the lifestyle. I enjoyed the time with him too. Franz noticed I was drawn to him, and the only time he’d seen me smile was when I saw Dan was on the schedule. He also noted Dan never ever asked for anyone else.

“So he sat me down and explained the sub contract to me. Pretty straight forwards stuff, a lot like the contract you sign at the club. Except this is mutually exclusive…” She looked around at the people in the café, then back to Chantal. “Perks. You know.” She didn’t want to the people around to be too curious. Chantal nodded and Emmy knew she understood perks meant more interesting forms of BD, more intimacy, and sex. “I brought it to Dan. He was very amenable to it. We tried a three month contract, then a six month, and by the time we got there he tossed the contract and said he wasn’t going anywhere.”

Emmy paused. “I won’t say I loved him… not in that wedding chapel way, but I did care deeply for him. He was bright, funny and we had a very fluid relationship. He learned when it was open, and when it was Dom/sub.” She pursed her lips. “We played without contract or a safe word for over a year.”

Chantal raised her eyebrows. “No safe word?”

“Complete trust,” she said. “I knew where his limits where, and he knew mine. And then… he went on a business trip. I knew it was over the instant he walked in. Usually it took him a moment to gauge me and what was going on, but he walked in sub that day. I turned around from the stove and he was already down, fully dressed. Right there, I knew it  was the last time he would ever do that for me. I didn’t want to prolong something that couldn’t be, so I made him tell me what was going on. Her name was Elizabeth, and he had been talking to her on a message board or something. He knew I was not in this for marriage and he was starting to feel the 'settle down' kicking in. The business trip was real; it just happened to coincide with her being in LA at the same time. He’d been with her the whole two weeks he was out there. He’d met her parents for God's sake.” Emmy paused for a breath.

“He was in love,” she continued. “What could I do? I helped him rent a U-haul and packed him up. A kiss and fond pat on the ass with a promise to keep in touch and mail anything of his I found around the place.”

Chantal gave her a sad smile. “This was recent.”

“Two months and counting.”

“I guess suggesting you find someone else is too soon,” she said.

“Yeah, it is,” Emmy answered, as the waitress put their sandwiches down in front of them. Then what the hell were you doing two hours ago?

“I saw that,” Chantal said. “You have your eye on someone.”

“He’s vanilla,” Emmy said.

“You should bring him over to the dark side,” she laughed.

“Very nice,” Emmy chided her. “What about you? Who are you? Why are you wearing a suit?”

Chantal laughed gracefully. “I’m a fund manager for an investment firm,” she said. “I have to wear this every day and it’s worse than anything I ever wear in the club. Like I said, Franz only recently brought me up from the main floor. I’ve been sub since I was nineteen.”

“Why?” Emmy asked. “Why a sub?” She had never really spoken to someone who had moved from sub to Dom, and while she never questioned why someone was a sub she was always curious.

“To take away conscious thought,” she said. “I’d been making decisions, major life decisions, since I was about eight and my mother started drinking. I have no idea why she started but when I had to call a cab to get my little sister from the pre-school when she was three, I started making the decisions in the house. I paid rent, bills, went food shopping, made sure mom had enough booze to leave us alone. I had to fill out papers, taxes, bank information. I applied for food stamps and welfare and Section Eight. We went from a nice neighborhood to one you would never let your kids outside in midday. Everything that was important I made decisions about. And I was tired of it. Even with my friends, I was always making the final decision about where we were going, what movie, what we were eating. It was beyond what I could handle. I wanted someone else to tell me what to do.

“I heard about Belinda’s,” Chantal said. “I read up on what it is we do, and drove to her house. I crawled into the house. Hands and knees. I moved in the next day, and spent three glorious months not thinking about anything but making Master happy. Obeying well. And after that I nearly lost myself in it. I didn’t want to think ever again. It was bliss for me, until the day Master… I mean Tad asked me to cut him. Franz was the one who rescued me from that. I don't even know how our paths crossed, but he was the one who packed my things and helped me out of there. And by help me, I mean physically help me to walk away from Tad.”

“You loved Tad, didn’t you?”

She nodded and poked at her sandwich. “I did. But it was a hard limit. I couldn’t do it. And every time I refused, he got angry and the pain wasn’t pleasure anymore. Franz let me work as a waitress downstairs for a while, then he started me on sub stuff in the VIPs. He saw what I was, and he molded me to move me to the Back.”

Emmy leaned forward. “So. Do you?”

“What?” Chantal asked. “Oh. Not since I’ve moved back. There were one or two of them I trusted that much to see off site, but not in a while. I have… a boyfriend, now.”

“Does he know about the club?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do about that. I need to tell him and I should have ages ago. But everything is so smooth right now. He’s a great guy, does well, doesn’t mind my little sister hanging with us nearly all the time. He has an adorable son, and it’s just nice.”

“You could give it up,” Emmy said.

“I don’t know that I’m ready,” she said. “I like doing this.”

“Do you play with him?”

“Silk scarves kind of stuff,” she said. “Nothing heavy. I don’t want to explain how I know all this stuff, and with Jaiden in the house…”

Emmy swallowed. “I go back to Boston in a few weeks for my annual pilgrimage to the family. I could give you the key to my place.”

“Well that’s nice, but…”

“I have a dark room,” she said.

“In your apartment?” Chantal gasped. “What about windows?

“In this particular apartment, it’s not a problem,” Emmy said, sipping the now cooled coffee. “It's why Dan and I picked it. My offer is good. I'll be in Boston for Easter.”

Chantal picked a piece of the sandwich apart and chewed on it. “Maybe,” she said. “It would be nice to just let him know, get it all out.”

“I would suggest, working up in the bedroom,” Emmy said. “Simple stuff, then the more daring. And by the time I go to Boston, you can show him the room.”

“It might work,” Chantal said. She picked up her sandwich. “Now, let's eat so you can talk me out of those fish shoes.”

Chapter 5:

Nathaniel caught Emmy stealing glances at him. He was sure she caught a few of the ones he was stealing of her. It was hard to pay attention to what he was actually doing whenever he left the office because he knew she was out there. Most of the time she was focused on work, but every once in a while she wasn't and he always got a little smirk from her.

The first time he saw her smirk, he had walked into a wall on the way to the bathroom.

They had actually been on the phone nearly every night for hours, talking. He wanted take her out sooner than Friday, but there was too much going on at the office for either of them to think about it.

Emmy had adroitly taken over all the PR and information gathering for the accident. Victor loved her streamlined approach to his disastrous office and filing. She had hired some private investigators to double check what the police were doing. She had some interesting connections out there, but the two gentlemen who had appeared on Thursday morning were nothing if not professional and most excellent at what they did.

“What did you find?” Victor asked, closing the door as he walked in. Nathaniel sat in one of the comfortable chairs that were still a delight in his brother's office. Gwen was in a wing backed chair and Emmy sat as far away from Nathaniel as she could without actually leaving the room. Tank and Henry were there, as well as the Yard Lead, Cecelia.

The tall dark one, Albright, spoke for the two of them. “Just as you thought. It's espionage, without a doubt, but it's very subtle which is why the cops aren't taking the idea seriously and are trying to mark it as industrial accident.”

He pointed to the papers he had laid out on the side board. “These are pictures of the accident; thank you Mrs. Erlich for your excellent photography skills. You caught everything we could need for this and more. If you look at the way the track is twisted, here,” he pointed to the image, “that's the not the way a natural break would occur on the rails. The tie underneath appeared to be rotten, but the chemical analysis shows there was something being dripped onto the rail and tie to degrade them. This is not stress.”

“Acid?” Nathaniel asked.

“No,” he said. “And that's where we're stumped. I'm not a chemist so I don't know what could possibly cause this kind of corrosion.”

Tank motioned for the picture. Henry and Cecelia leaned over and looked at it. Cecelia grabbed it and studied it. “Did you get a spectrograph done on the sample?”

“We did,” he said, handing her the paper. “Ferrous oxide and nothing but ferrous oxide.”

“So it's rusted through,” Nathaniel said. “How long would it take for steel rail to rust like this?”

“About two hundred years,” he said.

“Then it has to be acid, doesn't it?” Victor said.

“Liquid oxygen,” Henry said. He looked at Cecelia. “How long would liquid oxygen take to rust something through like that?”

Cecelia seemed to be doing a calculation in her head. “God, not long. You could probably put just a few drops on there for about two or three weeks and the rest of it would take care of itself in about three, four months.”

Victor, Henry, Tank and Nathaniel all groaned at the same time. Gwen shook her head, and looked at everyone in the room. “How did I know it was going to come back to him?”

“Who?” Emmy said.

“Lance Dayton,” Victor said.

“Fill you in later,” Nathaniel said. He glanced at her to reinforce his assurance he would, and found her with a shocked look on her face. “What?”

“Lance Dayton, son of Gerald Dayton, the presumptive heir to the Tyndale-Dayton company?” Emmy asked.

“That would be him,” Victor said.

“Why would that small-dicked moron even be in your yard?”

Henry, Tank and Nathaniel were all speechless while Gwen, Cecelia and Victor all started laughing hard. Cecelia clapped her on the back. “Ah, so succinctly put, Ms. Westerly. Lance was the yard ambassador while he and our good presidents here milled over a potential merger of the delivery sector with Tyndale-Dayton yards. A joint subsidy as it were. Lance was the biggest fuck-up of all time, and it was almost directly and solely his fault Victor and Nathaniel no longer talk to Gerald Dayton. I'm sure Nathaniel can tell you more later. But I do appreciate your colorful epithet and I will remember it.”

Emmy shook her head. “If he's been in your yard, I'm going to send our investigators back and have them go over that place with a fine tooth comb.”

“Why the animosity?” Victor asked.

“I had a lot of classes with him at Carnegie,” she said.

Nathaniel could hear her cut herself off from offering up any more information.

“She's right,” Tank said. “If he managed this, who knows what else he's managed down there. Cecelia?”

Cecelia nodded. “Fine tooth comb, with my best observers and some people with an eye for chemistry and mischief. Got it.”

Victor nodded at the two investigators. “What do you think?”

“Definitely go through that place,” he said. “We weren’t looking for anything else, but if you want us go through with you…”

“Six eyes are better than two,” Cecelia said. “If we’re done here, I’ll take the gentlemen back to the yard and get to work. It’s a big yard and we have a lot of area to cover.” Victor nodded and Nathaniel agreed with him. Cecelia and the two investigators headed out of the office.

Nathaniel wanted to ask Emmy a hundred questions, but Victor beat him to it. “How do you know Lance that you would call him a… small-dicked moron?”

“Did you ever see the movie Sin City?” she asked, leaning up from the wall. Nathaniel nodded with his brother. “He’s Roark Junior. The Yellow Bastard. We started calling him Mister Yellow after a while. If it’s young and tender, keep it the fuck away from Lance Dayton. And I’m serious. He’s… deviant.”

For some reason, those words coming out of Emmy carried a weight Nathaniel didn’t understand. She looked very disturbed by the pronouncement and wrapped an arm around herself. He had to remember back to Sin City, but the Yellow Bastard had been a serial killer-rapist with a penchant for pre-teen girls. Surely Lance wasn’t that bad; maybe she was just talking about the vibe he gave off. Because he could totally see that.

They all looked at each other, and Henry was about to say something when Emmy cut him off with another statement. “Victor, check your books. Check all inquiries into your business. All your financials. Lance is brilliant and deviant. His father is a cunning bastard with a eye towards the competition. Gerald will take you down without a thought.”

“It was just a yard merger,” Gwen said.

“I’d put money down it was a way to get a hand on your financials so he would know how to take you down. Hostile takeover,” she said. “Are you publicly traded? Do you have a board of directors?”

“No, we’re still a wholly owned private corporation,” Victor said.

Emmy relaxed a little. “Then he’s going to try to make you financially troubled so Tyndale-Dayton can swoop in and rescue you. Then take you apart from the inside. I saw him do it to a classmate’s family business. A little lumberyard, called Rovat. Little things would go wrong here and there and then all of sudden the whole business was failing and Gerald Dayton swept in to buy them out and make it workable again. He said that Ronnie Rovat would still be able to run it, and as soon as the ink was dry, he fired Ronnie--”

“And removed anything that might be remotely related to the Rovat family,” Tank said. “Ron’s my second cousin and I was working there when it happened.”

Emmy gestured at him. “There you go.”

Victor nodded. “I’m going to lock everything down as soon as all of you get out of my office. I’ll get to the bottom of this if that’s what’s going on. Nate, can you--”

“Don’t even have to ask, man,” Nathaniel said, getting up from the chair. “I’ll have Gwen and Emmy take care of everything until you’re done. Good?”

“Thanks,” Victor said. “Worst timing ever.”

Henry and Tank gave run downs on what they were able to dig up for the replacements for the spilled goods. Everything had been replaced, no refunds necessary. They had to eat the profits for them, but they kept the customers, which was Nathaniel wanted to hear. The yard would be shut for a week at the beginning of June to put in permanent repairs, and meanwhile Tank would make sure the temporary repairs would hold up.

“Alright, then, let’s get some of other businesses back on our radar screen here,” Victor said. “I have some financial spelunking to do so everyone get out.” He made shooing motions. “Emmy, could  you get me a coffee and see if there’s any further documentation on the yard roles. God knows they don’t like to put anything in the computer.” He blanched. “Don’t tell Cecelia I said that.”

“Sure,” she said laughing. “Where we would they keep them?”

“In the secondary storage room,” he said. “I think that’s where Jorja was putting them. If they’re not there, you’re going to have to go down to the yard and check.”

“It seems Jorja was a bit of an ass,” Emmy said. “I’ll probably be down in the yard tomorrow.”

Victor laughed as Emmy pulled the door closed behind her.

“Ok, so where’s the secondary storage room?” Emmy asked Nathaniel.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, motioning her to follow him. He walked down the hall past the executive washroom door and to the cubicle farm beyond the glass door. He walked through the cubes to the far end where there were two doors, one locked and one unlocked. He pulled out his ID badge and held it against the door lock and heard it pop open.

He pushed the door open and the lights popped on with a horrible fluorescent flicker and whine. The room was filled with filing cabinets and shelving which was full of banker boxes. He let the door close behind them and headed to the back of the room, and pulled another door open. The room was identical to the first. “Here we go. Your badge should open that door. Cecelia is usually pretty good about making sure the stuff is brought up, but she only does it twice a year. I don’t know if that's been in the past few months or not.”

He turned around and looked at her. Emmy had a look of concentration on her face, and he suddenly realized how very far away they were from any of the other people in the building. Alone. And he was suddenly very aware of why she had been staying away from him as much as she could. The air between them fairly crackled with tension.

She cleared her throat. “Um. Well. Yes. Thank you.”

“Emmy…” he said, his own voice sounding husky.

“You should really go,” she said.

“I’m not sure I want to,” he answered.

She put her fingers to her forehead. “You should.” She looked at him. “Unless you want me to throw you to the ground.”

“You’ve been avoiding me in the office all week,” he said.

“Because I want nothing more than to tie you up and fuck you,” she said, stepping back. “So unless you want that right here, right now, you should go back to your office. Now.”

Her words shocked him, but he actually found himself torn. He wanted her, but at the same time, did he really want to have sex in a supply closet when he had all those rooms at home to choose from? He could imagine her on his master bed, dressed in those thigh highs… He tried to step forward, but she stopped him with the clipboard.

“Think about it, Nathaniel,” she said. “Stop doesn’t work on me.”

Stop doesn’t work. He looked at her and blinked lazily a few times. He pushed the clipboard to the side. “Fine. Then don’t stop.” He walked right up to her and pressed himself against her breasts, not moving his hands.

Emmy drew in her breath slowly. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she said.

“Don’t I?” he said.

“Not even remotely,” she answered.

He leaned in to her ear. “Show me,” he breathed.

Emmy’s eyes flared, and she spun him back against the shelving unit, grabbing his arms and pulled them up above his head and pinned them there. She brought her mouth down on his and demanded him. Her tongue was soft and probing and he took in the taste of her as she possessed him.

He felt a hand at the waist of his pants and suddenly her hand was inside and grabbing his ass. Her perfect nails bit into him more than a little but the pain was exquisite. He couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him and he pushed his erection into her hip. He wanted her in the worst way, right there on the floor of the supply closet.

She held his hands tight above his head, and she started to wander down his chin and neck with her kisses and nibbles, driving him crazy. He was pretty sure his pants were going to burst if she kept going, and he wanted her to. He wanted to pull her as close as he could, but her grip on his hands immobilized him. She’s not kidding about tying me up!

She dragged her nails around to the front of his pants, and he groaned loudly as she wrapped her hand around him. Her fingers were long and cool and her nails dragged up him as her mouth tortured him at his neck. “Oh God,” he breathed.

She silenced him with another deep, penetrating kiss. She drew her hand up his abdomen to his waist and pulled her hand out of his pants. She pulled herself back off of him so the only thing he could feel were her breasts and her mouth. She ended the kiss with a soft lingering touch from her lips.

Emmy was standing against the other shelves. His hands were now free but still above his head. His shirt was rumpled and displaced. His erection was still raging and he was hotter than he had ever been in his life. Emmy looked in a long, controlled breath.

“I will not have you on this filthy floor,” she said. “Go back to your office. I need to get these papers for my boss. Unless you really want to get fucked on the dirty floor of a storeroom, I would suggest you don't touch me until seven p.m. tomorrow night.”

Nathaniel swallowed hard. He had to get out of there, or he was going take her up on that offer. He nodded. “Seven p.m., tomorrow night,” he said. “I'll be there.” He wanted to kiss her again, but he knew it was not a good idea. He walked to the door, thankful for the other room beyond and the door between them. He paused on the way out. “Wear a dress.”

“Don't be late,” she said.

~*~*~

Emmy thumped her head against the support for the shelves, and composed herself. Delayed gratification. It had only been just over two months since she'd had sex, and now that Nathaniel was there, she couldn't wait?

Of course, he wasn't making it easy with his comments, and his sexy ass.

She looked at the door after he had closed it. He was amazing. He smelled so good, he tasted better, and his body was so warm. She also realized she was going to have be flat out about who she was. She wanted to tie him up so much, and do so many things to him. But she couldn't do that right away.

She ran a hand through her hair and pulled her shirt straight. Emmy walked over to the filing cabinets and started looking for the newest of the papers from the yard. She didn't think someone with as much power as Nathaniel Walsh would be interested in being a sub, at all. She did plan on showing him what the benefits were.

She shook her head. Papers, Emmy. You're looking for papers. She had the sad feeling this wasn't going to be happy ending. But she'd enjoy the ride.

Heh. Ride, indeed. Papers! Pay attention!

She started to regain herself and dug through the boxes, looking for anything from three months ago. She lucked out and found them. She dug through the three boxes she found there, and pulled out anything with Lance Dayton's filthy handwriting on it. She was surprised that after so long she could still pick out his jagged letters from just a glance. She pulled out dozens of his reports, acquisitions and dispatches and piled them up.

It took her nearly an hour to go through the boxes. She picked them up and shoved them in the file folder she had brought with her, and then snapped them under the clip of the clipboard. The further away from her skin anything dealing with Lance was, the happier she was.

By the time she got to Victor’s office she was feeling quite ill from even touching the clipboard that the papers were on. She knocked and walked in; Victor looked up.

“Ooh, wow,” he said. “Are you OK?”

“What?” Emmy asked, genuinely confused.

“You look like someone pissed in your cheerios!”

She walked over and put the file on his desk. “Everything I found with Lance’s writing on.”

“Oh, dear,” he said.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s Lance Dayton,” Victor said. Emmy stared at him. “Oh, wow, I've never seen that kind of hate on a face before. What did he do?”

“It's not what he did,” she said, “it's what he is. He's a freak. A deviant. And because his daddy is rich, he gets away with anything he wants. He's conceited and I've always been convinced the son of a bitch is sociopathic. He'd do anything to bring down someone who tried to keep something from him. Yellow. Bastard.”

Victor stepped back and put a hand to his chin, clearly thinking about what she had said. She wanted to tell him everything about the bastard, everything. But even four years later, four years after distancing herself from him, it still hurt, and still freaked her out. Victor nodded. “You're a levelheaded woman, Ms. Westerly. If this guy upsets you as much as he appears to, I think I ought to dig much deeper than I thought I was going to. I think there's something else here.” He picked up the file and paged through it a bit. “I think I'm going to need someone to run down the end result of all of the reports here so we can get a better idea.”

“Mister Walsh, I didn’t mean to make more work for you,” she started.

“Clam it, Miss Westerly,” he said, putting his hand up. “I didn't hire you because my brother thinks you have a sweet ass, I hired you because you have brains and good instincts. If you're this disgusted by the little shit, I'm going to think there's more to this little stunt than just the train yard.” He leaned over and pressed a button the phone, and it buzzed back a moment later.

“Yes sir?”

“You've been kept appraised of the situation?” Victor asked the speaker.

“Of course, sir,” the speaker answered.

“Good. Step up,” he said. “I want the yard swept from top to bottom. I need a few of your team to do some research for me. I have a list of projects LD touched when he was in the yard. They need to be tracked to the ends. I want minimal personnel in the yard until we're sure it's safe. Then I want nothing in or out without full inspection. All overtime authorized. And make sure the displaced personnel are temporarily placed elsewhere or continue to receive full pay until you're done.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Franklin, all reports to Ms. Westerly.”

“Yes sir,” the speaker said.

There was a snap and Emmy knew the connection was closed. She looked at Victor, stunned. “I didn't need to hire those two private investigators at all, did I?”

“No, you didn't,” he said. “I've know about Lance and his daddy for a long time. We tried to save Rovat, but we couldn't get there in time without giving up everything we're building on them.”

“You invited Lance to the yard, on purpose.”

“I invited Gerald to consider the merger, and he offered up Lance,” he said, standing and walking around the desk. “I haven't really been able to prove that Lance is as big of a dick as you seem to know him to be, but now that we know Tyndale-Dayton is going to be attacking us, we can really start gathering information and make our move soon.”

Emmy smiled and tilted her head. “You're going to launch a hostile take over.”

“I'm hoping it's not hostile,” he said. “But a take over. They are a very dirty, but very large company that will keep WDM from growing as long as Gerald is in charge.” He put a hand to his chest, leaning against the desk. “My intentions are honorable with this. I want to clean it up and make a good company. We do our business on the up and up always, but we've been held back by Tyndale-Dayton for years. Dad was trying to figure out how to get around them when he had the heart attack.”

“And the man on the other end of the speaker?”

“Private security,” he said. “Private investigation. Private jack-of-all-trades. Franklin was  my dad's head of security, and I inherited him.”

“Is your brother really a co-president?”

“Of course!” he laughed. “Of course. But he's more on the materiel side and I'm the business side.”

“Does he know about your little plan?”

“Not really,” Victor said, and crossed his arms. “I'm sure now he'll start to understand the length and breath of what I'm trying to do here. I'm risking our economical necks trying to take down Tyndale-Dayton, because I believe that much in what we do here. Nathaniel isn't much of a risk taker, but he'll go along once he realizes what's up.” He raised an eyebrow. “You aren't going to tell him anything are you?”

“Why would I?”

Victor's face relaxed in surprise. “Tell me that little shit didn't ask you out?”

She laughed. “Oh. Right. Yes, he did.”

“Good,” he said.

“So why are you letting me in on this right now? If you've been at this for years...”

“Because you don't like Lance,” he said. “You really don't like Lance. I liked you when you walked in, and you were no nonsense about what you could do. I knew I could bring you in on what's going on, quickly, and that was very important to me. And … you have ears in places I don't and can't have.”

“What.” Emmy's heart plunged into her stomach.

“Franklin did a very thorough background check, Emmy.”

“Oh, God,” she said, suddenly feeling faint and wobbling a bit on her feet.

“Ooh, don't do that,” Victor said, running over and grabbing her arms. “Come on, sit down. I didn't meant to do that to you.” Emmy's hands were shaking as Victor made sure she sat in the chair. He walked to a fridge the corner and pulled out a bottle of water. He opened it for her and held it out. “Calm down, Emmy.”

“I was hoping I could keep the two separate,” Emmy said, after taking a few sips of the water.

“It was what clenched my decision to hire you, Emmy,” he said. She looked up sharply. “Honest. I knew you weren't going pull any bullshit. No non-sense. After Jorja and her bullshit, we had to do an extensive background check.” Victor shook his head. “I was actually going to talk to you about all of this next week, but it just happened sooner than I thought it was going to.”

“Franklin is good,” she said. “I don't even get paid with this name.”

“He's very good, Emerson.”

She cringed. “Oh, please don't call me that.” She felt even more sick when he said the name than when she realized he knew about the club. “It's Emmy. It's always Emmy.” She sipped the water again.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Now, I'm not going to ask you details about... the club. I don't know anymore than you work there. Ok, I lied, I'm going to ask you one question about the club, because Franklin couldn't find me an answer on this one. I hope I like the answer. Are you a... working girl?”

Emmy laughed. “So you don't know much about the place,” she said. She sobered a bit, and answered. “There are no working girls on the premise. It is not a sex club; if someone is caught doing that, in any variety, they are kicked out.” The relief on his face was very clear. “You know your brother now has a membership. Apparently the hussy he was seeing wanted to check it out. He bought a membership to bring her in.”

“Oh, Christ,” Victor said, “but he did tell me that.”

“I called to check,” she said. “He's front room only. Nothing hard. There are dozens of people who have front room only. I've put in word that he's not to go back, and he's not to get a VIP room ever. Don't worry.”

Victor walked back, turning away from her. He paused and then turned back. “That's what I'm talking about. You don't fuck around. You get stuff done. And you know people who know people. I don't know what you do there, I don't want to know what you do there, but I need you to keep an ear to the ground. If Lance and his father are as dirty as I think they are, people there are going to hear things and know things. That's stuff I want to know.” He walked back and took her hand. “Will you help me, Emmy? I want Tyndale-Dayton down. I want to change the world for better, and taking that place over and exiling those two from the business world will go a long way towards that goal.”

“Now that I know what's going on,” she said. “Yes, I'll keep my ears open. That's... um... that's not the only reason you hired me is it?”

“Um, I wasn't running this business last week, that was all you. On your first week,” he said. “If I was even slightly unsure about hiring someone with no experience, it went right the hell out the window the instant you took over when Landry died. You are a damn good admin, Emmy.” He smiled at her. “And this is only week two. I'm dreaming of what you can do when you really get settled in here. I'll finally be able to go golfing every Wednesday.”

“Golfing?” she said, skeptically.

“Ok, fine, loafing,” he laughed.

Chapter 6:

Emmy pulled the door open and Nathaniel held out the bouquet of flowers. He could just barely see Emmy beyond and she looked utterly stunned, again. He wondered if no one had ever given her flowers before. After a heartbeat, she reached out and took them and he was able to see her standing there in her robe.

“Thank you,” she said, stepping out of the door way. “Please, come in. I just have to finish dressing and we can go.”

Emmy walked down the hallway to the kitchen, and Nathaniel wandered after her. He had loved the Heinz Lofts and had wanted to live there, but then he found North Hills, and that was that. Gentleman farmer life for him, completely with commute.

Emmy had one of the larger apartments. There were four doors on his right and one on his left, all closed save the second one; that was cracked open to reveal a bathroom. Beyond the one on the left was an open den with a desk and comfortable looking oversized chair, a love seat and somewhat larger television. The den led to a hallway and a step down. The kitchen was just on the right, along with the breakfast nook. The living room was spacious and, as implied by the name of the building, lofty. There was a fireplace on the right, well placed to not disturb the gorgeous views from the giant windows. There was plush comfortable furniture artfully arranged in the room, and at the far end, of all things, a cello.

He turned and looked at her in the kitchen, putting the flowers in a simple vase. His eyes were wide. “You play the cello?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And you're not playing for the symphony?”

“I have a love-hate relationship with that thing,” she said, and put the flowers and vase on the counter.

“I didn't think you'd play a cello, of all things,” he said.

“Yes, well,” she said, and walked down the hall.

Woah, he thought. Love-hate was an understatement; that was absolute loathing at the moment. He walked over to the flowers, making a mental note to not talk about the cello. For now. He carefully arranged the flowers the way he had imagined them when he saw them on the corner store's display.

He turned and found Emmy standing there, dressed and ready to go and he suddenly didn't want to. She was wearing a deep blue wrap around dress with a V in the front that showed all of her cleavage.  He wondered if she was wearing a bra at all. The dress was fastened with a black belt and the seams were all outlined in black. She had on a bright blue topaz necklace and marcasite earrings. She was wearing black stockings and a pair of black suede heels that made her only an inch or two shorter than he was. He swallowed.

“You look amazing,” he said.

She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made him think she had never received a compliment before. “Thank you.”

“Shall we get going?” he said. “Reservations are at eight.”

“Reservations where?” she asked.

“Isabella's on Grandview,” he said, walking over. He offered her his arm. “I really want to give you a kiss, a good one, but we won't make it out the door, will we?”

“A tailored suit on a man is like lingerie on a woman,” Emmy said. “And I can't wait to see that all over my bedroom floor.” She took the proffered arm, but pulled back. “Oh. I need a coat, don't I?”

“It's doing something out there,” he said. “Not quite sure if it's rain or sleet. It's light, but it's also cold.” She nodded and pulled a long rain coat off peg on the wall. She made to throw it around her shoulders when Nathaniel grabbed it. “Allow me,” he said. She was startled again, but slipped her arms in the coat as he held it for her.

He pulled the door open and she used her key to lock it. He offered her his arm again and led her to the elevator, impressed with her grace in the spindly heals. She knew how to walk in dangerous footwear and he liked it.

Isabelle's on Grandview was at the top of Mt. Washington with an impressive view of downtown Pittsburgh. It was the most famous view of the Steel City, and one that Nathaniel never really grew tired of. He'd grown up watching the city die, and then watching the city grow again, and he loved it. He was proud of what his father, and now he and his brother, did for not only the city but for the people of Appalachia, just south of the city.

He'd made sure they would have a seat at the window, and he helped her sit in the chair across from him. He ordered and was going to order for Emmy, but the look she gave him froze his jaw shut and let her order her own meal, and a bottle of modest wine. He corrected that with a  much better bottle, and the server walked away.

“Nathaniel,” she started to reprimand him.

“No. I want the good wine,” he said. “If you won't let me order for you then I'm going to buy the wine I want.”

She sighed, and then smiled. “It's still odd to be able to see the top of the buildings from a hill,” Emmy said.

“You didn't grow up here?”

“No,” she said. “I moved out here when I was sixteen, to live with my uncle for a while.”

“Where are you from?”

“Bahstin,” she said, pulling out what was clearly her native accent. “I work very hahd to get rid of that accent.”

He laughed. “What on earth made you move out here?”

“Uncle Charlie invited me,” she said. “It was a good idea at the time and then I got the scholarship, so I just stayed. I like it out here, it's just more... I don't know. Just more.”

“My brother hired you, so I don't know the first thing about you,” he said. Other than you wanting to tie me up. “What did you study at school?”

“Well, I've always called it a Bachelor's in Classics, but it's actually a BHA, a Bachelor of Humanities and Arts in Music with a minor is sociology,” she said.

“How on earth did you end up as business admin?”

“Because I wasn't about to spend my life asking, 'would you like fries with that?'” Nathaniel laughed. “So I did what I wanted to do the first time, and then I went to CCAC, and got my associates in business.”

He sat back. “I'm actually impressed. So, the cello...”

“That was my instrument,” she said. “When I moved out here, Uncle Charlie gave it to me. He said it was my father's and he wanted me to learn to play it. Turned out, I was actually good at it. What about you?”

He had wanted to ask her about her father, but the way she launched out of it, he had the feeling it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. “Oh, you know,” he said. “As soon as dad had some real money from the business, Victor and I were sent to the Winchester Thurston School. Victor went to Harvard Business, I went to Georgetown for economics. I graduated, and came back planning to head to either South America or Europe for a year when dad died. Been running the business with Victor ever since.”

“Have you been to Europe?”

He nodded. “Our parents took us a few times before mom died, and I spent two summers back-packing through during college. How about you?”

Emmy smiled, and it was a curious, wistful smile. “Once. I was twelve. I was there for the whole year. It was the best year of my life. A whirlwind tour around dozens of countries, an audience with the Queen of Denmark and Spain. Gliterati, palaces, presidential suites. I had a private tutor, and I could go anywhere and do anything I wanted. I went to every damn museum in Florence. I spent a week wandering around the L'Ouvre. I went to the Hermitage in Russia. I have so many pictures...”

“A year?” he said.

“A year,” she said. Then, her eyes turned dark and angry. “One damn year.”

It was so obvious to him that this gorgeous, independent woman sitting across from him had been deeply wounded. Some odd, ancient chivalrous intention rose up in him and he wanted to protect her from the world. Even though she was very capable of protecting herself. She also didn't want to talk about it. “So, what do you do for fun?”

The anger slid off her face and was replaced by an astonished, slightly unsure smile and she looked at him. “That's a loaded question,” she said. “It's not really your average activity.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“What fun would it be if it wasn't?”

“That's true,” he laughed.

“What do you do for fun?”

And another redirect. “Honestly?” he said. “You're going to laugh.”

“No I won't,” she said.

“Oh, yes you will,” Nathaniel said, suddenly shy about his past-time for the first time in his life. She was completely bemused, and wasn't going to give up until he answered. “Well, usually I go mountain biking with Victor. We've been doing that for years, but my mom got me into ballroom dancing.”

Her reaction was priceless. Her eyes bugged out and she nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. She finally managed to get herself under control. “Ballroom dancing?”

“Yes,” he said. “Not that choreographed stuff on television, but the real stuff. Waltz, tango, paso doble, cha-cha, swing. Hell, we even do polka for fun, which is fast and furious across the floor.”

“You really dance?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You have a partner?”

“Of course,” he answered. “Just an assigned partner, though Mary and I have been partnered for close to seven years.” He saw a flash of jealousy in her eyes, and had to laugh. “Oh, don't think that. Mary is lovely woman of sixty-seven who has three children and is waiting for the arrival of her first grandchild.”

Emmy pursed her lips, then let the smile grow there. “Ballroom dancing. When I imagine you were going to tell me horseback riding or heliskiing.”

“I'd like to take you one night,” he said.

“Oh, I don't dance.”

He leaned forward and perched his head on his hands. “If you can walk without wobbling in those pumps, I'm quite sure you'll just fine on the dance floor.”

She cocked her head and considered him for a moment.. She looked away from him and sipped her wine. “Alright. But I'm not wearing heels. I'll stab your foot.”

“No,” he said and grabbed her hand. “Wear the heels.”

The touch ignited something in both of them and he saw desire flame in her eyes, reflected in his own. He laced their fingers together and stared at her for a very long time. He finally blinked and looked away when the server put their appetizers in front of them.

~*~*~

He took the key out of her hand, and giggling like a school girl, unlocked and opened the door. They both managed to wobble into the apartment, Emmy balancing the boxed dessert in her one hand and Nathaniel relocking the door once they were in.

I have to remember that wine. It was clearly more potent than advertized, and he was grateful for taxi service at that moment. I have to remember how potent wine is.

He followed Emmy down the hall to the kitchen, where he found her with her face stuffed into the flowers, inhaling deeply. He openly stared at her backside, shapely and firm in the gorgeous blue dress. She had put the two desserts on the breakfast bar, and her coat was tossed over the chair.

She backed off the flowers, and didn't turn around. “I never got flowers, ever, and now three times in the past three months.”

“I'll buy you flowers everyday if you want them,” Nathaniel said, walking up behind her and putting his hands on her arms.

“They make me feel like...” Her voice drifted off. She turned and smiled at him. “Dessert?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. God, no. No. I want to strip you out of this dress.

She walked around him and walked over to the fridge. “Wine?”

He turned and looked at her. “Actually, do you have a beer?”

She pursed her lips and sighed. “I do, but...”

“But what?”

“I don't have normal beer,” she said. “I don't drink macrobatch piss water. It's Troeg's Flying Mouflan.”

His jaw dropped. “You know beers?” She nodded. “And you keep Troeg's in the house.”

“It's in rotation,” she said.

“Oh dear God, marry me,” he laughed.

“I thought you liked wine?” Emmy asked.

“I like good wine just fine, but I'd rather have a beer when I'm not eating at exclusive restaurants,” he said. “I didn't peg you as the kind of woman who would enjoy beer.”

“A good beer can be just as complicated as a good wine,” she said, pulling out two bottles and putting them on the counter. “And you have to know how to pair the flavors and styles with the food. Troeg's is a great after-dinner beer.” She pulled out the bottle opener and put it on the counter. She turned to get the plates for the dessert, and Nathaniel opened the two bottles.

He watched her lean up to grab the plates and her leg popped up off the ground. The shoes looked so incredible on her feet. She had lovely shapely legs and he wanted to nibble on them. He took a deep breath and stilled himself. Down. Down. Not yet.

She plated the fruit and chocolate desserts and turned back to him. She put one in front of him and walked around to sit down next to him. She looked around. “I almost never eat here,” she said, laughing. “I prefer the den.”

He stood from the stool. “Then let's eat there.”

She laughed and hopped back down, leading the way from the kitchen to the den where there was a coffee table for them to put their plates on. Emmy took the over-stuffed chair and with a private note of disappointment, Nathaniel sat on the love seat. Emmy picked up a remote and turned on the sound system. An achingly gorgeous aria wafted out of the speakers, and it took Nathaniel a moment to place it.

“Ach, ich fühl's?” he asked.

“Very good,” she said. “I sang this at one of my recitals. This and Gretchen am Spinnrade are two of my favorite pieces.” She ate a piece of the confection with an unnerving grace.

“You sing too?” he asked. She nodded with her mouthful. “Dear God, Emmy. The cello and a voice?”

“It's not a good voice,” she said. “It's merely adequate.”

“If you can sing Papagena, I don't think you're merely adequate,” he said.

“Well, no one seemed to agree with you,” she said.

Again he could hear the bitterness in her voice, the sound of someone who had been always left behind and ignored by those around her. She was very self-deprecating; she had run a business where she had only been an admin for three days. That was not a woman who was incapable, or merely adequate. He cut off a piece of the dessert and chewed it thoughtfully for a minute, letting the voice from the aria fill the room.

“Oh damn!” Emmy said. He looked over and found the latest forkful had cascaded down the front of her dress, leaving a huge chocolate and raspberry stain. “Oh damn.” She put the plate on the table, and stood. “I have to change, I'm sorry.”

“No, no,” he said. “Go get it off before the raspberry sets.”

She walked out of the room to the bathroom just on the other side of the den. “I'm sorry,” she called.

“It's fine, Emmy,” he said sitting back and taking a sip of the beer.

“I was... going to ask you about Imperial,” she called a moment later.

He shrugged, confused. “What about it?”

“Did you like it?”

“I think I was too pissed at Jillian to really care,” he said. “I saw some things I had no place seeing, I thought. But mostly I was pissed at Jillian.” He paused. “It was a beautiful building on the inside. If I remember anything from that night, it was that woman...”

“You liked her?”

He shook his head. “What's not to like about leather and lace. But it was more than that. It was the way she walked across that floor, possessed with anger. She knew who she was and someone had crossed her. She took steps.” He took a sip of the beer. “The outfit was just the icing on the cake.” He took a quick bite of his dessert, and didn't want to think about that woman. She was an untouchable in a place he didn't want to make a habit. And was tainted by Jillian. He turned down his lip.

“Would you go back?” Emmy asked, the question floating down the hall.

“I don't think I will,” he said. “It was kind of a bad ending to a bad week.”

“Never?”

He paused, and looked at Emmy's dessert. “I can't say never,” he said. “I don't want to think about it right now. It's probably a very nice place for an interesting distraction.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?” Emmy called.

What is going on here? “Emmy, don't tell me you want to go there.” She didn't answer right away and he could feel himself cringing. He heard a heel click on the wood flooring and then another, then two more. She stopped just out of view. “Please, don't tell me you want to go there,” he said.

“Well, no,” she said. “I was just thinking I could bring a bit of that here.”

She stepped out from behind the wall and Nathaniel dropped his fork loudly on to the plate, gasping. She was wearing the same black silver-button-up boots, black lace and satin outfit, opera gloves and choker. Her hair was now up, and the only things missing were the whip and the crop.

He stared for a long minute, then stood up and walked over to her, where she had folded her arms waiting for some sort of response from him. He looked straight into her eyes. “It was you. You were there.”

She nodded once. “It was me.”

He felt his breathing become heavy, as if he couldn't get his lungs to work. She was gorgeous, standing there, a leather and lace fantasy. He felt himself getting very hard, and he swallowed. He could feel the air crackling between them and he hadn't even touched her. Which he wanted to do, very very much.

“I wasn't kidding about tying you up and fucking you,” she breathed. “But you're not ready for that at all.”

“The raspberry sauce was a ploy,” he whispered.

“A convenient accident,” she answered.

There was suddenly no room for him to say another word. Emmy had grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back. She held them there with one hand and pulled him against her hard. Her lips crashed against his, and he was completely overwhelmed by her mouth. She met his tongue with hers, caressing and probing and tasting. She still had a hint of the raspberry and chocolate on her lips and it was like heaven. She kissed her way down his jaw and nibbled on his neck, and he exhaled a shuttering breath.

“Do you have any idea what it took for me to not strip you and take you in that storeroom?” she breathed in his ear.

“I would have let you,” he said, with a groan.

Emmy let out a ragged breath, and dipped her head back to his neck. Nathaniel lowered his head down on her exposed neck and gently kissed and nibbled there, the smell of her hair was lavender and almond. “Please let my hands go,” he said. “I want to touch you.”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then let him go. He put his hands on her arms and pulled her even closer, using one of his hands to run fingers over her lower back. She gasped, but he brought his mouth to hers again and delved into her. Their tongues entwined, stroking and sucking.

“I want you so much,” he said, pulling back for a breath.

“Nathaniel, I'm pretty unconventional in bed,” she said.

That didn't help him at all; he now had a raging erection. “I told you in the closet,” he answered. “Don't stop.”

She put a hand on either side of her face. “You aren’t ready for that,” she said quietly. Her eyes were stormy and heavy as she stared into him. “We’ll do this as vanilla as I can manage.” She brought her head to his, and possessed his mouth with hers again, the heat almost too much to bear. She took her hands from his face and slowly loosened his tie with one, and grabbed a hand with her other. “And you will tell me to stop if I do something you don’t want me to.” He was losing track of things around him in the consuming feeling of her mouth and tongue.

She let go, pulling the tie off. She grabbed his arm and yanked him towards the bedroom.

~*~*~

She had Nathaniel by the wrist and pulled him into her bedroom. She kicked the door closed behind them out of habit and pulled him close. She draped the tie over the headboard, resisting the temptation to tie his hands together.

Go easy, she reminded herself, turning back to him. She pulled him close and slid her hands under the top collar of the jacket, running her hands down his arms and dropping it off his arms to the floor. She could feel the understated muscles in his arms, and bent down to nibble on his biceps through the cloth.

He brought her closer, and she could feel him straining in his pants. She moved her hands to his shirt collar and unbuttoned him, taking way more time than she needed to. He was watching her hands, his own hands caressing the small of her back, and occasionally dropping a little further. She pulled his shirt out of the waist and pulled his hand out from behind her. She quickly undid the buttons, and yanked the shirt off him.

His chest was gorgeous, with a perfect dusting of hair on his pecks. There was no chiseled looked to him, which is what she usually preferred, but there was something about the soft edge to the muscles there that appealed to her. She ran her hands over his smooth skin following it around to his back. Her fingers found his waistband and slipped inside as his hands finally claimed her ass. She scraped her nails on his, remembering the sweet feeling from earlier in the week.

She brought her hands around to his hard length, and just as she had before, ran her nails up him softly. He let out a groan and shivered against her. “Damn,” he breathed in her ear, and lowered his head to the side of her neck.

She felt his light kisses there, and then some gentle nibbles. He squeezed her ass at the same time and she shuttered. He’s not bad at this.

Emmy reached down and unfastened his belt and the button of his pants right after that, dropping the zipper. He pulled his hands off of her and shoved his pants down his legs, kicking off his shoes and yanking off his socks. He didn’t stand right back up and before she could figure that out, she felt his fingers between her thighs.

“Oh, not even close,” she said to him, taking his chin in her hand. “Take my boots off.”

He nodded, grabbing her hips and moving her to sit on the edge of the bed. He ran his hands down her inner thighs to just above the buttons on the left. She saw him realize that while the ones near the bottom were for decoration, these at the top were necessary. She watched him as his hands unfastened the buttons and spread the leather open a little to show more of her stockings. Once the buttons were undone, he grabbed the heel and slid it off agonizingly slow, placing little kisses on her as he went along. He did the same on the other side and Emmy reminded herself to breath normally; this was delightful.

She closed her eyes and just felt his hands running up her legs to the top of the fishnets, and he had surprisingly little trouble unclipping them. He rolled them down her leg again with a deliberate slow pace. She found herself panting, and the heat of her lust was pooling between her legs. She watched his fingers on her and it was erotic in ways she had not experienced in a long time.

He sat at her feet staring up at her, and felt the smile grow on her face.

At my feet. She took his chin again and stood up with him. She looked up at him, and he was clearly surprised how tall she really was. Of course, she wasn’t really interested in looking up; she moved her eyes down to the underwear he still had on.

Tighty whities, in olive drab to match the suit he had been wearing. They were tented out, trying desperately to restrain the erection and not doing a good job of it, to her delight. She ran her hands up under the edge by his legs, and slowly gathered down the material. She pulled them forward and exposed him to her.

Oh. He was pleasantly larger than average, but not so big she would be uncomfortable. She let his underwear fall to the ground and wrapped a hand around his shaft, pulling him closer.

“Emmy,” he breathed.

She felt his hand at the zipper of the bustier, and she grabbed it before he could do anything, a horrible familiar panic seizing her. “No,” she said.

He teased her nipples through the thin fabric. “I want to,” he said.

“No,” she repeated firmly, swallowing against the pleasure his fingers were promising through the satin and lace. She snapped into Domme voice. “No. It always stays on. Always.”

The shock was clear on his face, but he moved his hand away, instead gripping her ass. He lowered his head and bit her hard nipple through the fabric, and she hissed in delight. She wanted to let him take the bustier off, but –no. stop it. Enjoy this.

She felt him gather the panties and garter belt and yank them down, dropping them to her feet. She stepped out of them and in an easy move she had Nathaniel down on the bed. He looked incredible there, panting and erect. She stalked around the bed to the nightstand and pulled out a foil pack. She didn’t usually keep condoms in the house; this was a sanctuary. But for him, from the vanilla world, she made an exception. She tucked it in the top of her bustier and crawled on to the bed, slinking up to him.

Emmy straddled him, his erection hard and hot between her cheeks. She leaned down and  kissed him again. It was liquid fire and she found she was having trouble breathing again. She felt his hands on her outer thighs, and then very quickly moving to her inner thighs. He ran his thumbs over her inner thighs, and she could see the burning in his darkening brown eyes.

She leaned into his ear. “Touch me,” she whispered.

His fingers were gentle on her, caressing and teasing her. He dipped a finger beneath her lips and touched her clitoris just briefly, enough to make her gasp lightly and the wetness between her legs grow. She used her nails to tease his flat nipples, and she felt his erection twitch against her. Almost seeming as retaliation, he slipped a finger inside her quick and hard.

Emmy hissed out between her teeth, and looked at Nathaniel who had a wicked grin on his face. He moved one hand to her bustier and pulled out the condom. She looked at him. “You really think that's enough foreplay for me?”

Nathaniel sat up, pushing her back gently so he could, and nibbled his way down from her ear to the top of her breast. “Emmy, this whole week, this whole evening has been foreplay, for both of us.” She smirked; he was right. “I've been dying for this since you pinned my arms in the office, and then threatened to tie me up in the storeroom.”

“That's not a threat,” she said, “that's a promise.”

“Damn,” he hissed, and she felt him twitch against her inner thigh.

Emmy plucked the condom out of his hand and ripped it open, shimmying back just a little more, letting his erection spring up between them. He pulled it out of the wrapper and rolled it down. She flicked the wrapper on to the nightstand.

She felt lightheaded and the desire she was being consumed by was heady. Her insides clenched in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. There was more here than just pure desire between them; it was another level that gave her butterflies.

Nathaniel put a hand behind her head and pulled her to him, assaulting her mouth with his. She pushed him back on the bed and kneeled up, then sank herself onto him.

They both moaned at the same time; he was a perfect fit and she stayed still for just a moment, enjoying the feeling of fullness. He grabbed her hips for something to do with his hands, and she put her hands on his chest.

“Emmy,” he breathed.

Oh, he feels incredible. She stared down into his face, where she could see nothing but pure desire, carnal lust. She rocked on him slowly, slowly. He closed his eyes and she heard him groan. She started moving a little faster, and finding a rhythm for the both of them. She leaned down again, not losing the slow, consuming feeling of moving on him. “I waited for this all week long,” she hissed.

He panted, stretching his head back and exposing his throat to her. She dipped down and nipped him at the base. He gasped and thrust up hard into her and Emmy bucked up catching her breath. Emmy could feel the spiral in her body, and that little move really kick-started it.

Nathaniel leaned up on his elbows, and started using only his hips in their rhythm. Emmy took it as a challenge and lifted her hands off his chest, using only her hips and legs. She rocked on him harder and harder, not wanting to go any faster. As she moved down toward him, he thrust up and drove in all the way, filling her.

Nathaniel laid back down and grabbed her hips, helping her move on him. “I'm coming, Emmy,” he breathed. “Oh Christ.”

“Do it,” she gasped, her own spiral winding tight. “Come, Nathaniel!”

He gasped a few times and pulled her down hard on him. He came hard, gasping her name and thrusting from his hips. Watch him come undone released her on his last thrust and she called his name, running her hands through her hair, clenching him tight inside her.

She leaned forward, feeling him still inside her and putting her hand on either side of his body. Nathaniel's breathing was labored and ragged, but there was a look of complete satisfaction in his eyes. Emmy smiled at him. This vanilla stuff wasn't half bad. Lie. This vanilla stuff just gave her the best orgasm she’d had in months.

Chapter 7:

He leaned up and kissed her. It was liquid and gentle, and he smiled as he tasted her. “Emmy,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms and laying her to the side. She was soft and pliant and covered in a sheen of sweat. “That was so good,” he said.

She nodded. “It was.”

“What did you mean you were slightly unconventional?” he asked.

“I wanted to stay conventional for you,” she said. “There are many interesting things I can do with you and, say...” She grabbed the tie on the headboard. “This little thing.”

“You really want to tie me up,” he said.

“I want to do more than that,” she answered.

“What?” he asked, a little startled. He busied himself discarding the condom.

“What do you think I do at the club, Nathaniel?”

He looked at her. “Waitress? Bar manager?”

“After I’ve been threatening to tie you up?” she asked quietly. He got a horrible feeling in the bottom of his stomach and stared at her for a long minute. “Do you know many bartenders who wear whips and carry crops?”

“Shit,” he hissed. “You work in the VIP rooms.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Those are recreational. My clients are in the back.”

“Did I just sleep with a prostitute?” He couldn’t stop the words; his brain to mouth filter was too busy gaping at the information that just passed through it.

Emmy became very still. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Oh, no. He shook his head vehemently. “No, no. Oh Christ. I’m sorry. You said client and my stupid brain went there. I’m sorry.”

She sat up, gloriously naked except for the bustier. She was pissed. He could feel it radiating off of her and flowing over him, making him feel tiny and very stupid. She got off the bed and walked into the bathroom; he launched himself up, grabbing his underwear and trotted after her. He pushed the bathroom door open just as she closed the frosted glass shower door behind her.

“Emmy, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Franz was right,” she snapped. “I should stay out of your world.”

He thought he heard a sob just as the water went on. He slammed his hand on the tile wall, hard. “Fuck!”

“You should go.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not going. I screwed up, I need to fix this. I’m not leaving.”

“What the hell made you say that?!” she growled from the other side of the glass.

“You said client, and I didn’t think,” he said.

“You have clients too, Nathaniel. Should I call you a whore?”

“I didn’t…” He stopped. He had called her a whore. Yeah, nice. Sexiest, most hard working, most convivial woman he’d ever met and he called her a whore right after they had sex the first time. Way to win her heart, jackass. He put a hand to his head. “Is there anyway I can make this right? Oh, Christ, Emmy, please let me make it right.”

“If you reacted this way to the word ‘client’, what are you going to do when I tell you the rest of it?” she asked quietly. “Do I get to hear you call me a freak? A deviant? A sick bitch? At least those I’ve heard before.”

What. He didn’t like the sound of that at all, and he felt a little sick she’d call herself that. And a little frightened. “Please, Emmy,” he said. “I don’t know what to think until you tell me what’s going on. What did you mean by client?”

“Go home,” she said.

“Not until you explain this,” he said. “I’m not going to let this lie. What do I need to do?”

“Being a dumb stubborn man is helping,” she said. He heard a note of amusement in her voice, and his chest relaxed a little bit. He let the silence go for a minute and was about to apologize again when Emmy spoke. “There is no sex at the club. Ever. It’s expressly and implicitly forbidden. That would make it a brothel, and they would shut us down in no time flat. I have seen customers, clients and employees dragged bodily from the building for trying it, doing it, or getting caught. No sex. Ever.” She paused. “If you’d read your contract, Mister Walsh, you would know that.”

He let out a breath. She was poking fun at him. A good sign. “I shall make amends on my oversight, my dear Emmy.” He took a risk. “So we’ve established you’re not Julia Roberts, and I’m not Richard Gere.”

“Ooh, hard limit on the animals,” she laughed.

He didn’t quite get the joke but liked her laugh and was glad she was calming down. Now, he just had to not do anything stupid for the next few minutes. “Ok, so you’re not the bar manager, and you’re not a waitress. You work in the back. Are you a chef?”

She laughed hard at that. “You know many chefs who carry whips and riding crops?”

“No, but I am aware of an errant archeologist who’s pretty good with one,” he said.

She snorted. “Now look what you did,” she giggled and snorted again.

“Ok,” he said. “So we’ve established that you’re not a horse-riding, whip-wielding chef archeologist.”

“That’s a very funny picture,” she said, the water shutting off. “No, indeed. I am not whip-wielding chef. Though I think some of the kitchen staff would enjoy that. Next guess?”

Next guess, he pondered. What else was there? It was a night club and there were people dressed in leather and …oh. “You’re a dominatrix?”

The shower door opened, and she was standing there in a bright yellow towel wrap around with straps holding it up, and a matching bright yellow towel binding up her hair. “I really hate that word,” Emmy said stepping out and walking over to the sink and looked at him in the mirror. “I prefer Domme, as in dominant.”

Holy shit. He managed to hold his tongue and not say anything stupid while he processed that information. “Doesn’t that usually imply sex?”

“For the subs, yes,” she answered. “But I’m in control and if I say no, then it means no.”

“Where does the client come in? And what’s the difference between a client and customer?” he asked, sitting on the closed toilet lid.

“Clients are the only ones allowed in the back, where the hard rooms or the dark rooms are,” she said. “Customers are on the main floor and the VIP rooms. The soft areas.”

“So, you really know how to use that whip?” She cocked her head, and tried not to smile but he could see the more than slightly sexual look. “See that’s what I don’t get. By definition, BDSM is sexual. So how do you not have sex with these clients? I mean, what’s the female version of blue balls?”

Emmy laughed again. “Did you actually look in the shower stall?”

Nathaniel turned his head and peered into the shower to find a whole collection of interesting sex toys on the shelf. Some of them, he wasn’t even able to try to come up with a name for. He blinked, his eyes wide, his currently flaccid shaft threatening otherwise, and turned back to her. “Woah. So you’ve never had sex with a client.”

“Not in over eighteen months,” she said.

“But you just said--”

“At the club, it is expressly forbidden,” she said. “There is a great amount of trust that must be build up with a client, and I’ve had a few over the years where the necessary staggering amount of trust was there. And I had flings with them. At hotels. That I paid for. Sexual tension and release is the idea of the lifestyle.”

“But you get paid?”

“It's called a tribute at my level,” she said.

He put a hand to his head. “A tribute,” he said. “And never sex in the club.”

“Never,” she said.

“Then why do they come to you?”

“I don't ask questions like that,” she said. “But my guess is their girlfriends or wives just don't understand their need to be dominated.”

“Wives?” he asked quietly. “Did you...?”

“Oh, no,” she said, smearing some moisturizer on her face. “Never a fling with a married or committed man. Always single.” She looked at him through the mirror again. “I like being a Domme, Nathaniel. I would never risk the safe place the club is for a fling with married man inside those walls.”

He put a hand to his head. Wow, … just friggin' wow. “You said it's been eighteen months since your last fling. Not to be rude, but I could barely keep my hands off you for a week. I really don't think you could possibly have been happy, even with that shockingly large collection of toys.”

She walked over and patted his head and reached into the shower and handed him a simple vibrator. “That does not do the job for more than just a few weeks. I had a live-in.”

“A boyfriend?” he asked.

“No, a live-in submissive,” she said. “Very different.”

If he hadn't been sitting he would have fallen over. “A live-in? Someone who was submissive to you twenty-four-seven?”

“Well, at first, yes,” she said. “While we figured out boundaries and hard and soft limits. Even though we had a contract, there's still a lot of room for learning.”

“Contract?” Save for sitting, he would have slid down the wall at that.

“A lot of us do it,” she said, leaning against the wall. “It's a safety net. It's a nice exclusive relationship that keeps everyone happy. I didn't have to have a fling because I had Dan here. We took care of each others... appetites.”

“All past tense,” Nathaniel said, surprised his brain could process verb tenses at all.

“He left,” Emmy said. “Amicably. And then sent me flowers.”

“Oh, the vase,” he said.

She nodded and walked back to the mirror. Amicably, yet, but she was sad about it ending. He watched as she pulled out some other moisturizers and started apply it to her legs, and he felt himself twitching. God, she's so hot. “So what about us? You heard all my questions just now, I don't know...”

“I would love to do unbelievably dirty things to you,” she said, quietly. “But you have no idea what that entails, and if there is one thing about the lifestyle that is an absolute, it's that it must be mutual and there must be consent.”

Nathaniel's brain seized up and he just watched her a moment. His brain finally caught up, filter turned back on and glanced at her in the mirror again. “You... want me to... be your sub?”

Her hazel eyes fairly burned with lust, turning almost blue. She pressed her lips into a line. “I would love that.” She licked her lips. “But you don't know anything about the lifestyle. I can't ask that of you, not … yet...”

“Yet,” he said, stunned.

“Or maybe ever,” she said. “You run a company, you're one of the wealthiest men in the 'Burgh. I can't imagine being kept would appeal to you. But I can't change what I am, and what it is I do. I also can't change that I am really attracted to you and I am aching to fuck you again.”

Hello. His erection was back. “I can't give you any kind of answer, Emmy. None at all. I need to think.”

“I know you do,” she said. “And I want you to take time and think about it. I also want you to know what you're getting into.”

He stood up and walked over to stand behind her in the mirror. “Do I ever get to be in control?”

“You're always in control,” she said, confused.

“But if you're a Domme...”

She smiled. “Clearly, we need some lessons right away. I'm the Domme, yes. But the idea is that my pleasure comes from your pleasure, and there are some delightful ways to do that. Sometimes, I'm the top, and sometimes, I'm the bottom.” He shook his head, not understanding. “There are three general levels of BDSM,” she explained. “Top/bottom, Domme/sub, and Master/slave. I do not enjoy training and keeping slaves, but there are those who do.”

“Slave,” he gasped. Slavery? To sex?

“Remember what I said about consent?” she said. “To them, that's the level they want to live at. I do not. I prefer Domme/sub, but for you we'll start on the lowest level. Top/bottom. The giver and the receiver and those roles are generally not as rigid as the next ones. If I'm going to show you what this is all about, we'll start there. But remember that by nature, I'm a Domme.”

Top bottom; giver receiver. So I get to be in charge once in a while.

He slipped a hand under the strap of her bath towel wrap to drop it to the floor, and before he knew what had happened, Emmy was at the door opposite the sink, and his hand stung badly. She looked angry and violated, and eyed him warily as he realized she had slapped his hand away.

He held his hands out apologetically, looking ridiculous still holding the vibrator in one hand. “I'm sorry. What did I do?”

Emmy held his eyes, and he watched as she went from furious to simply upset. She grabbed the bra from the toilet tank and dashed into the shower, closing the door. Nathaniel wanted to sigh loudly. Is she going to run in there every time I upset her? He waited a moment before saying anything again. “Emmy?”

The glass door popped open and she was still wearing the towel, but now she had the bra on. It was very similar to the bustier she was wearing earlier. She looked at him. “Sorry. I didn't expect that, and I didn't explain. Hard limit. The bra stays on. Always.”

He sighed. “I'm a breast man,” he said.

“They aren't off limits, they just stay where they are in the bra,” she said. “Always.” He opened his mouth to protest. She made a chopping motion with her hand. “Non-negotiable.”

Nathaniel stared at her, and knew it wasn’t really the time to question something like that, especially since he now had a raging hard-on. He took two steps over to her. He flicked the towel off her shoulders and it hissed to the floor. Ok. We’ll work with what we have here. “I guess I can live with it,” he said, cupping the covered breast with one hand. He ran his hand over the thin material and her nipple responded.

He pushed her gently against the wall, and knelt on the shower mat, grabbing the nipple in his teeth and putting the vibrator on the carpet. The material was thin enough he knew she could feel his teeth teasing her by the way she gasped. He wanted to bare them so he could pay proper attention to them, but for now… no pushing borders… limits. Whatever. He brought his attention to the other one and teased it properly through the cup.

Nathaniel ran his hands down her body to the apex of her thighs, and followed with his kisses. His hand slipped between her legs and he could feel her heat and wetness. He left his hand covering her sex, and nibbled across her stomach. He dipped a finger into her, and found her clitoris easily; it was throbbing and hot and she gasped as he touched it.

“More,” she whispered, grabbing handfuls of his hair and stepping her legs apart.

He dragged his finger back to her entrance, and pushed inside her, stroking her walls. He dipped his head down, and flicked at her with his tongue. He reached down, grabbing the vibrator, ran his hand up her calf and lifted her leg to rest on his shoulder, keeping his other hand and his mouth on her.

She tasted so good, so hot and sexual. With her in this position, he was able to dip his head and lick her entrance while he took his hand away to click the vibrator on. He pulled back a little, heard her groan from the loss of his tongue. He first circled her clit with the vibrator, slowly. Keeping it pressed against her, he dragged it back and slid it inside. She let out a series of little gasps as he moved it in and out of her, circling carefully and slowly. He loved her smell, and brought his tongue back to her clitoris, flicking in time with vibrator.

The hands in his hair tightened and pulled him back to look up at her. She was panting hard and the look was totally wanton. He felt himself harden even further at the glance. “Inside. Get inside me,” she demanded.

He slipped her knee off his shoulder, but caught it the crook of his arm, standing up. He held the vibrator inside her bringing her leg up. She wrapped her leg around him, yanking his underwear down  and freed the nearly painful erection. She captured his mouth with hers and thrust her tongue in, running it along his teeth. He still filled her with the vibrator, and after her deadly assault on his mouth pulled back to catch his breath, staring at her.

“Condom,” he whispered.

She looked at him and he could see she didn’t want to bother. “I’m on the pill,” she said.

“I’m OK with this if you are,” he said, circling the vibrator and getting a little breath of delight from her. He was more than OK with this. She nodded, agreeing with him. She swept in and delved into his mouth again, demanding him and teasing him.

Nathaniel pulled the vibrator out of her turning it off, tossing it on the floor and moved himself to take its place inside. He slid in her; she was beyond wet, and he didn’t think either of them had long. He grabbed her backside and squeezed. Emmy let out a yelp and threw her arms around him. The feeling of being inside her was amazing. Skin on skin, sliding delightfully in and out of her. He buried his whole erection inside her, and pulled all the way out to tease her with the tip. He grazed against her clitoris with each push and pull.

Oh, hell. He lifted her right off the floor, and pressed her back to the wall. Her other leg went around him and he was going even deeper in her. He could feel her tightening around his erection and she started to shiver- the hard, full body shivers of a woman about to come.

“Oh yes!” she screamed reaching her peak. He felt her bear down on him, the rhythmic pulse of her walls pulling on him. “Come Nathaniel, come,” she yelled through her climax. He pumped hard and fast, felt himself tighten and finally, the sweet release of orgasm sent him spilling inside of her, grunting with each following thrust.

He put his forehead on hers, holding her there while he managed to get his breathing under control. She did the same. If this is vanilla… what the hell is Chocolate Rocky Road going to be like? He put his feet under himself and without letting him escape her, stood from the wall and walked them back to the bed. She put her feet down on the floor next to the bed and he could see, and feel, the loss of him in her.

Without a word, she pulled the sheets back and crawled in. Nathaniel was suddenly exhausted and walked around the bed to climb in behind her. He pulled her to him, his arm around her waist, her backside pressed again his thoroughly exhausted shaft, and in moments, he was asleep.

Chapter 8:

Emmy rolled over and realized the bed was empty and she was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be. She didn’t know if she was really surprised or disappointed. She’d never shared a bed with the guys she had been with it. Even with Dan, she’d kick him out or leave his room. Always alone. More room to stretch out. And she didn’t have to sleep with a bra on.

She hadn’t really intended to tell Nathaniel all she had last night. Too much too soon, and he probably freaked and ran. Couldn’t blame him; he had a good childhood with people who cared and loved him. He didn’t have to run over 500 miles away to get away from them. He didn’t need to whip and flog and tie people up to deal with his life.

Mmm, tying him up…

She sat up and saw her clothes were neatly folded on a the chair. Nathaniel’s were nowhere to be seen. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and saw the condom and wrapper were gone. She stood up and went into the bathroom. The vibrator was back on its shelf in the shower and the stall had that ‘recently used’ scent of moisture to it.

She used the toilet and walked over to wash her hands and as she was drying them she stopped.

Someone was cooking bacon.

She grabbed the towel robe that hung on the back of the door, and tossed it on, stepping out of the bedroom and walking down the short hall. The smell of bacon wafted at her, and the snap of it in a pan surprised her. She turned the corner to enter the galley kitchen.

Nathaniel was standing there in a pair of sweats and nothing else. His back was towards her, and he was dancing to the low sound of an iPod on the dock there. What the… She didn’t own an iPod dock. She always just used the massive sounds system. The upbeat sound of the song clearly had him enthralled.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He spun around, startled. “Crap, Emmy, don’t scare me like that.”

“I thought you left.”

“I just ran to the store,” he said, turning down the music. “I had to borrow your key. You have nothing in this house to eat, do you know that?”

“I don’t really cook,” she said. “Every time I do, I burn shit.”

“Well, you have some now,” he said, pulling open the fridge. “Fruits, veggies, orange juice, cranberry juice, eggs, bread, deli meats.” She leaned around and peered in. The fridge had more food than she had seen in months. He looked at her. “Your spices are bad too. I had to buy you some salt and pepper and some basics.”

She was confused. “You went to grocery store? In what?”

“Oh, I threw on the pants and shirt from the suit. I hope you don’t mind I used your washer. I put your dress in too. Popped into Macy’s for these sweats and some underwear, and the iPod dock. I took a shower when I got back and then started on breakfast.”

Emmy laughed. “You’ve done more before ten a.m. than most people do in a whole day.”

“Well, we needed breakfast,” he shrugged.

“That’s two firsts for you,” she said.

It was his turn to look confused. “What that supposed to mean?”

“You are the first I’ve ever invited to sleep in my bed, and you’re the first who’s ever made me breakfast.” She walked around and hopped up on the barstool. “I really thought you were gone.” She tried to make the statement as emotionless as possible. She didn’t want to get emotionally tangled up in this. Lie.

He flipped an egg in the pan. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it,” he said. “But I have a lot to think about. I don’t want to run. I’ve never run from anything before, and you have me intrigued, madam.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, and looked back at the pan. “I’d like to see what you can do with that tie.”

She looked at him as he glanced over his shoulder again. “That depends,” she said.

He turned around. “On what?”

“On if you plan on wearing it again,” she smiled.

“With a threat like that,” he said, “yes, I do.”

She was surprised. He was interested. Oh, to have this delicious man cede control to me. Brakes, Em. One thing at time; consent, introduction, training, then… then maybe. But she wasn’t going to push anything right at the moment.

“What did you think of the vanilla?” he asked, quietly turning over another egg.

“Thoroughly enjoyable,” she smiled. “You’re quite skilled with that toy. Where did you learn your little tricks?”

She watched his muscles ripple as he shrugged. “I had a girlfriend years ago. Never finished. Couldn’t, apparently. I surprised her with one of those one night and I had her screaming my name.”

Emmy heard the old anger in his voice. “What happened?”

“She cheated on me,” he said, slamming the knife into the cantaloupe and chopping it clean in half.

Oh, he has a temper.

“I found out two weeks before I was going to take her to Italy and propose to her on Lake Como.” He paused and hacked the offending fruit in half again. “I was going the lay the world at her feet, and she packed up and left for some two-bit bank manager in Beaver. Who, incidentally, was married with two children.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't meant to bring up bad memories.”

He gave a one-shouldered-shrug as he hacked into the other half of the cantaloupe. “Done. Gone. Long since over it.”

“I'm sure that poor melon would disagree.”

He laughed, breaking the serious turn the conversation had taken. “Oh.” He looked up. “I hope you like cantaloupe.”

“I love it,” she said. “Hack that bad boy up.”

He leaned over and turned the iPod back up a little bit and went back to chopping and flipping and turning the breakfast. She watched  him, mesmerized by his free spirit and his silly grin as he danced around plating the food. He shimmied across the floor, singing recklessly along with the Beatles and their Yellow Submarine. He plunked a plate down in front of her smiling and dropped another one next to her on the breakfast bar. He scooted around with the remote for the dock and when the next song came on, he flicked to another one-- this one “Runaway”, but it wasn't the Del Shannon version.

“I prefer this version,” he said. “I love George Harrison.”

“Who is this?” she asked.

“The Traveling Wilburys,” he said. He looked at her. “You don't know the Traveling Wilburys?”

“I can sing La Traviata,” she said. “I didn't have a lot of time for pop music.”

“Oh, we are going to have fun with this education,” he said. “My dear Emmy, there is a whole world out there beyond Mozart and Bizet.”

“I like the Beatles,” she said. “And somewhere I have a few old N'Sync albums.”

“Psht,” he said. “Beatles are good, but the rest is drivel. What do you do when you're not... at the club or the office?”

“Read,” she said. “A lot. Trash, literary fiction, autobiographies. Whatever I can get my hands on.” She pointed to the far end of the room, where she had a thousand or more books on shelves. She had a few she had to get back to the library as well.

He turned back to her, astonished. “Good Christ,” he said. “You've read all of those?”

“Most of them are lighthearted trash in all varieties,” she said.

He glanced at her and then jumped off the stool walking over. “Shakespeare. Morrison. King. Koontz. Nietzsche. Vonnegut. Joyce. Joyce?” He grabbed the book. “You actually made it all the way through Ulysses?”

“Thoroughly,” she said. “I had to read and analyze for a class in college. I walked in late, and that was the book the teacher assigned me. Made me really appreciate literature.” She picked up a slice of bacon and munched slowly. That class had also kept her away from Lance for a whole a semester. It was wonderful, and she would always be grateful to Mr. Joyce for his over-long rambling tome.

“You can peruse later. Come eat before your hard work gets cold.” She watched him reading the spines another moment. “Hey. Nathaniel. Come eat, now.”

He turned and walked back with a smirk on his face. “I was wondering when the Domme was going to come out this morning.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You just spent all that time cooking and you'd eat it cold?”

He hopped up on the barstool. “No, it doesn't get cold that fast,” he said. She watched him pick up his fork and cut out a piece of the pancake, and munched on it. “Mmm, mmm. Still warm and fluffy.” He turned and cut up some more pancake.

“My Domme doesn't just come out in the bedroom,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he said. “That's how you got me to answer the phone.”

She enjoyed the slightly peppery eggs in a comfortable silence. This felt so... normal, sitting next to him eating breakfast. And, he was good cook to boot. If she had tried to cook this it would have been a burnt mess. “Who taught you how to cook?” she asked.

“Mom,” he said, swallowing the mouthful. “She made sure Victor and I could survive, well. I make a wicked mac and cheese. Victor's specialty is grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese?” she asked. “How is that a specialty?”

“Says the woman who just declared she can't cook,” he said. “I'll have him make you one, one day. It's indescribable, and I make a tomato soup that goes great with it. We used to make it for soggy Saturday lunches.”

She looked at him, and he had the look of a happy childhood on his face. It was much better than the angry, lost look from earlier when he was talking about the girlfriend. She also felt a pang of jealously that he had such a great childhood instead of the confusions and bullshit of her own. Ugh, Boston.

She cleared her throat and stared hard at her last pancake. “I have to go to the club tonight.” Let's see how he takes it.

Nathaniel's fork froze for a moment, and then resumed. “I uh...” He stuffed the forkful of food in his mouth to buy himself a moment. He chewed slowly and looked at her. “Do you have to?” he asked.

“There's a list of clients lined up,” she answered.

He scratched the back of his head, mussing his own hair. “I would like to think that if we're going to be... whatever this is... you would give up the club.”

“But what are we?” she asked.

“I’d like to think maybe you were my girlfriend.”

“I’d like to think maybe you were my sub,” she answered, gently. “We’re too new to figure that out, Nathaniel. And I can’t give up the club. Not immediately.” She glanced over at him, and the look of sadness nearly broke her heart. “I would consider it at some point. Remember, this is who I am, and I enjoy it.”

He took a sip of coffee. “If I were to agree to this, what are the limits of the Domme/sub stuff? I run a major corporation, and you’re my brother’s admin. I can’t have you snapping at me in the office.”

“First, I don’t snap unless I’m angry,” she said. “Second, the limits are this apartment, except in the dark room. It’s about control in a controlled environment. I would expect submission and compliance with all requests, but not to the point where we can’t have a good conversation. Like, when I just told you to come eat, you didn’t. There would have been punishment meted out.”

“Punishment?” he asked, clearly curious.

“For so minor an infraction, probably a few swats with a crop or a paddle. Probably more as a tease than a real punishment.”

“Oh.” He picked up another piece of bacon and chewed on that. “What’s the dark room?”

“You’re not ready for that yet,” she said.

“Yeah, but what is it?”

She smirked. “That impertinence would have earned you a few more swats.” She took a sip of the juice. “It’s where we really play. The whips and chains and cuffs.” She paused. “And more. It’s a very dangerous room, and if we go in there, I expect complete and total compliance with any direction I give. I can do amazing things for you, for us, in there but I need complete submission.” She was getting a little warm just thinking about what she wanted to do to him if they ever really got into that room. For now, if he wanted to try it out, she would take anything she needed out of there.

“Can you really turn it off like that?” he asked.

“Did you have any idea before you found out last night?”

“No,” he answered.

“It's all about control,” she said, smiling at him. “Learning and knowing your limits.” She pushed the plate away. “Like knowing I'm completely full from this amazing morning feast you've concocted. You're going to make me fat if you feed me like that.”

“That's a pretty typical Saturday morning breakfast for me,” he smiled. “Especially when I had such an interesting and exercising Friday evening.”

Oh, it's like that, is it? She looked at him, schooling her features. “That was hardly a work out.”

“Not for you,” he said. “Your back was against the wall.”

“Yes, I rather liked that,” she said.

“So did I,” he said. “I also remember an idle threat about a tie...”

“Idle threat?” she asked. “You think I make idle threats?”

“All week, Emmy,” he said.

She could hear the playful tone in his voice. She was definitely feeling playful so she turned on the barstool and looked at him sitting there shirtless. “You would like to keep that tie, Mister Walsh?”

“If you can fulfill your threats, Miss Westerly.”

“Hmm,” she said, hopping down. She looked him up and down and considered a moment. “A little bondage goes a long way.” She crooked her finger at him and started walking down the hall.

“The food's getting cold,” he called.

She stopped and looked at him. She crooked her finger again. “Come.”

“Yes, please,” he said hopping off the stool and padding after her.

She walked in to the bedroom and found the tie on the headboard. She was a little astonished he was willing to play with a Charvet silk tie. She liked the way it felt in her hands. He walked in slowly, and looked around. She liked his trepidation, and ran the tie through her hands again. She pulled him close. “If you agree to this, in here you will call me Mistress.”

“Just in here?”

“When we are doing anything sexual,” she breathed. She paused and looked at the tie in her hand. “You're not mine yet, Nathaniel,” she said. “No still works, stop still works. Are you sure you want this?” She watched his eyes sparkle at her as they darkened.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Oh. She let her breath out and felt her heat pooling. She quickly grabbed his arms by the wrist and using the smaller end of the tie, trussed his hands together firmly. He gasped at her deft move; she suspected he didn't even realize she had done it. “I told you I wanted to tie you up and fuck you, Mister Walsh. I wasn't kidding.”

“I see that,” he said.

She ran her hand under the waistband of this sweats and dropped the ground. He was already semi-erect. “And commando at that,” Emmy said. She grabbed the hanging end of the tie and pulled him along to the bed. “Sit.” He sat. She motioned to him to lay down, and he did so, in the center of the bed. She leaned over and wove the tie through the metal bars of the headboard, and tied it to the end she'd left loose.

She leaned down and kissed him, hard, tongues sparing and licking and sucking at each other. “Wait right here.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said. “Clearly.” He pulled on the tie.

Emmy trotted down the hall, grabbing the key from the drawer in the den and opening the door to the hard room. She pushed it open and inhaled deeply. Leather, fresh and polished. The slight sting of metal, and the light, natural smell of wood. She grabbed a white satin bustier, slipping it on quickly and grabbed the lightest flogger from the wall. She locked the door and put the key back in the drawer.

She walked back in and found Nathaniel pulling lightly on the tie and looking around the room. She smiled and sat down next to him on the bed, after dropping the towel robe on the floor. She licked her lips; she was really going to enjoy this. She hadn't had a lot of time to appreciate him the night before. He looked so good there, the last of his farmer tan on his arms and feet, and the pale white of his chest and abs. He was well defined with that sexy v that led her eyes to his erection. He had a smattering of hair around the base as well as some that flowed down his a very toned legs. Legs that held you up while he banged you against the wall last night.

“Something you fancy?” he asked, looking at her.

“Oh, indeed,” she said, holding up the flogger. His jaw fell and he looked a little frightened. “This is a flogger. This is a very gentle version, and I will be very gentle with it.” She crawled up the bed and kissed him hard. “Trust me?”

He nodded. Emmy’s chest tightened, and the flutter of lust passed through. She closed her eyes for just a moment and stood from the bed. “Roll over,” she said. “Put your backside up.”

He did it without hesitation. She drew in a breath. So willing. She held the flogger in the firm, loosened grip and dragged the tails down his back, between the firm globes of his ass and tickled the underside of his balls with it. “This is meant for light sting and very little thud. Nathaniel, you have to tell me if you want me to stop. Just tell me to stop.” He nodded.

It had been years since she had someone as completely untrained as he was. His creamy white ass stared at her and she flicked at him with an underhand stroke, one cheek and then the other. Soft, light, gentle. She counted ten in her head, and made the stroke a little stronger. Then again, and added a flick to it. She heard a soft suck of breath from him. She flicked at his other cheek, and the same suck of breath. She ran a hand over his backside, feeling the downy hair there. “OK?”

“Yes,” he said.

She dragged the feathery light tails over his cheeks again and flicked a little bit harder. She heard him gasp this time, but it wasn't a gasp of pain. It was of shock, with a sexual edge to it. She quickly did the same to the other side and got the response again. She stayed there for a moment, smacking his ass several times in quick succession. His body jerked forward slightly on a few of the swats, and she saw the light red blooms where she had hit him. She ran her hand over them, and felt the slight warmth there.

“More?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, and she heard the astonishment at his own answer.

He likes this. “Ten more.”

Just a touch harder, she underhanded the flogger and swatted at him. Two quick, once on each side, he gasped and hitched forward, and she called softly, “One.” Each smack of the flogger brought the same sequence, his gasps turning more erotic.

On the tenth hit, she grabbed Nathaniel's hip and rolled him over. He was panting hard, flushed red, and had a look of confused lust on his face. His erection was wet with his own lubrication, and Emmy found herself very ready for him.

She straddled him and sunk him home. She let out a groan of delight and moved on him slowly. She leaned down to him, both of them panting. He brought his mouth to hers and slammed his mouth on to hers, and she welcome him, stroking his tongue. His breath was hot and his lips were demanding.

Emmy started moving faster on him, and harder. He threw his head back and grunted with each of her moves on him. She watched the ecstasy slide over his face, and knew she had the same look as he did. They did this to each other; there was something so right about him being inside her-- so much more than anyone else had ever been. He was willing to go places with her he didn't know existed.

“Emmy,” he hissed.

She reached up and pulled the knot, freeing his hands. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over, which was exactly what she wanted him to do. He drove his hard shaft into her with an unrelenting pace, and she spread her legs wantonly for him. He leaned down, wrapped his arms around her and made short, sweet, sharp strokes into her, finding the perfect angle to make her gasp at each thrust.

“Oh, God,” he hissed. “Emmy.”

“I told you I would tie you up and fuck you,” she gasped with his rhythm.

His thrusts were desperate and hard, and he leaned down and bit at her nipple through the fabric. He kept biting and nibbling at different pace than he was thrusting. Well, there’s a talent! She loved it. The feeling was sweet lightning zapping through her, between her breast and her hot, willing sex.

Her intense orgasm caught her by surprise. “Nathaniel!” she screamed.

He slammed into her and wordlessly grunted through his own climax, spilling himself deep inside her with each of his thrusts. He finally slowed his movements and opened his eyes looking at her. “Holy shit.”

Emmy smiled. “I think he likes it.”

Chapter 9:

Nathaniel sat on the love seat, sipping the beer. The television was on, but he really wasn't paying attention to it. He was trying to process everything that had been going on. He hadn't wanted Emmy to go.

“I have to go, Nathaniel,” she said. “Franz counts on me on Saturday nights.”

“I wanted to take you to the movies,” he said.

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” she answered, squeezing his ass.

“Emmy, I really and I mean really, don't like the idea of you doing something so sexual to anyone but me,” he confessed.

“What I can do, and like to do, is more than you can handle right now,” she said, picking up her bag. “But think about this: every single client that comes through tonight will have your face, your body in my mind. Not a single one of them will get a piece of my imagination tonight.” She pressed a key ring on a fob into his hands. “Come and go as you please, Nathaniel. Keep that. I'll be back around 2 a.m.; you're welcome to stay or go.”

“I'm serious, Emmy, I don't want to share you,” he said.

“You're not,” she said. “Please, let's figure out where we're going first. This is important to me. Franz is good friend.” She leaned to his ear as she grabbed her coat. “If you stay, it will be worth it.” He had grabbed her and gave her a deep smoldering kiss that clearly had her thinking twice about leaving.

But she went. And he wasn't pleased by it. He understood  on some fundamental level it was a job she enjoyed, but the implications of her going to work to help someone realize their sexual fantasies just didn't settle well.

You dated a stripper. How is this different?

Because it is, damn it. This was a lot more intimate. This wasn't a lap dance, this was specifically undertaken with the idea of becoming sexually aroused.

And stripping isn't? It's just the way most guys get turned on. Boobs and tail at juice bars. Lookie no touchy. Same deal, different approach.

He looked at the beer in his hand. He looked at the couch and the computer and television. They'd gone to dinner the night before. She had confided in him. They had dessert. They had sex. They had a fight and then make up sex. They'd had eggs and bacon for breakfast and amazing sex after.

She was bright, confident, sweet, honest. There were things she wasn't telling him, but they had only known each other for two weeks. He liked her. Possibly more than he wanted to admit at that point. She was bossy, dominant, but it suited her in some way.

...but can you be a submissive?

He sighed and took another chug of the beer. What he knew of Dom/sub relationships he had learned from porn movies and cheesy books. In other words, not much at all. He did know that some of it, some of the heavy shit, could get down right dangerous- whips, chains. But even he had done some of the really light stuff, like blindfolds.

And flogging.

He flushed hot, feeling himself twitch. That had been really hot. He didn't expect that getting hit with the flogger would feel quite like that. It stung, but at the same time, the sting was  exciting. And not being able to get away from it, having his hands bound --with your own tie, thank you very much-- somehow made it seem more forbidden, more erotic. Emmy knew exactly when to let him go, too. Her timing had been perfect.

Where had the flogger come from? She had to get it from somewhere.

He looked up and saw the locked door. The dark room. Oh, Walsh. Don't do this. But he couldn't stop himself. He knew there had to be a key somewhere, and probably somewhere close by. He tried the top of the door frame and came up empty. He looked around and saw the computer desk there. He opened the top drawer and there was a single key sitting on a piece of cloth. He picked it up and walked back to the door, unlocking it.

Before he could really talk himself out of it, he stuck the key in the door and turned it. He pushed the door open, and stepped in, flicking on a light.

Except his eyes were expecting a much brighter light than the one that appeared. It was a soft energy saving bulb in a table lamp near where he had walked in. He looked around and his brain wasn't really registering anything he was seeing there at first. It was all shapes and texture before they started to form into objects he could name.

Inside, the images started to change into recognizable objects. There was a bed with very high posts and black satin sheets. Just above the bed was a strange suspended hammock, and chains that tethered it to the posts. On the opposite wall of the bed were two more pieces of furniture he couldn't place. One looked like a police stop horse with a large leather pad on the top-- sort of like a seat, but not quite. The other was a very tall leather-covered X bolted to the wall at an incline with karabiner hooks.

Along the wall were hung a series of objects, some he knew, like the cane, the whip, the cat o'nine tails, and some he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Under that were several old card catalog drawers painted in the reddish rust color of the bed posts.

On top of one them was the flogger.

Nathaniel swallowed hard. The room was more raw than he thought it was going to be; the woman had a fucking cello in the living room. He walked to the card catalog and pulled open one of the drawers. Something that resembled a spiked pastry wheel sat there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. He closed it and opened another one, revealing a metal butt plug, size large. He slammed the drawer.

No more, Walsh. You're going to regret this.

He pulled the next one open and found a short leather collar. Entirely too small for any dog he knew of, the spikes were on the inside. He was about to lift it out when he realized what it was and slammed the drawer. Just to torture himself he opened the next one. This held an object that looked like a small vice with a hole just slightly higher than center. He pulled another drawer open and he couldn't even begin to fathom what the device was supposed to do. He kept pulling out drawers: a small ball and chain, a cock ring, four more different kinds of butt plugs, different cock rings, a huge variety of vibrators, nipple clamps, something labeled a sounding set, and a bunch of different little cage looking devices. There were a dozen things he couldn't identify and a dozen more he didn't want to.

He was panting, and he felt back against the bed. This is sick... He stared at all the open drawers with the various implements and toys and he felt very much like throwing up.

That's what you get for opening that door.

Was that really what she wanted to do to him? Use all those things on him? Some of them looked more than dangerous; they looked down right deadly. He push off the bed and walked out of the room. He walked to the den, snapped off the television grabbed his coat and walked right out the front door, locking it behind him. He didn't even care that he had left his suit and tie there. He didn't even care that the door was open and the drawers had divulged their filthy, sick secrets.

He needed to get out.

He walked out into the early March air that still had the sting of winter to it. The sun was just about down, and people were rushing around to get out of the cold. He pulled the coat tight around him and started walking. He didn't even know where he was going.

The frigid air whipped at him and he had to admit it felt damn good at that moment. He headed down the street towards downtown, on the Strip. That's where all the people were and he felt like he needed to be around people, even ones he didn't know.

Damn, was the only thing his brain came up with. What the hell was all that stuff?! There were really people out there who like that? Did her ex-sub really enjoy having his balls crushed?

His father had always instilled in both of his sons the most basic respect for body and soul and fellow beings. There was never a spanking or humiliation intentionally inflicted on either of them. The relationship his mother and father had set the stage for both of them; even after Victor came out when he was fifteen, Fredrick Walsh has taught them that the person they loved should always be treated as an honored guest, as a delight passing through. Not something to be taken for granted, to be used and abused.

That someone would choose to do that, choose be so tortured and used was beyond his understanding; that there was someone out there who would do it for them and to them was mind-numbing. Whipped and tied up and spanked and … abused. On purpose. Not just on purpose, but for their sexual gratification.

He started to catch his breath and found himself just wandering down the streets.

I do not want to be tortured.

This wasn't going to work. No matter how gorgeous Emmy was, no matter how spectacular the glint in her eyes was, she enjoyed torturing men. No matter how good that sex was, it was torture.

Was it?

He slowed even more. Was it? Everything she had done was only with his permission. She said it, reinforced it. She didn't even give him a safe word; stop or no were fine. And he did enjoy it. Very much. She hadn't take him into that room. In fact, she made a point of telling him he wasn't ready. Man, was she right.

Would he let her tie him up again? Absolutely. Would he enjoy that flogger again? No doubt. But what about the other things. The things that looked like they would really hurt?

The flogger had looked like that too.

He stopped dead on the street. Shit. She was right. He wasn't ready to see the dark room. He was freaking out. She knew what she was doing. She would not choose a device he objected to, nor would she continue if he said no. He shoved his hands into the coat pockets and sighed.

Now what, asshole?

He turned back and started walking back to the apartment when he spotted the store. It had been there for years; he'd passed it dozens of times in his car. There was small sign that said “Siohban's Exotic Pleasures” just in the corner of the window with the rest of the windows covered in black-on-black print paper. He remembered the guys in high school talking about the place, and daring each other to go in. No one ever did.

He walked across the street and pushed the door open. There. All those jerks owe me five bucks each. He heard the bell tinkle pleasantly and was surprised by the plush, comfortable feel of the store. The lights were low and the colors were dark and muted with spotlights on the merchandise and not on the customers. There was a middle age woman sitting behind the counter, and three couples wandering around the store, giggling furtively with each other.

The middle aged woman stood up. “May I help you, oh!” she said. Clearly she recognized him from some gossip page in the papers. She kept her voice low enough the others wouldn't hear her. “Mister Walsh, how can I help you?”

“I um... I'm just looking,” he said, scampering over to the first display. He was slightly unsure why he had really ducked in. He studied the bottle of Maxxim lube that his eyes landed on. Oh God. Lube. He moved to the next set of merchandise and found it full things like massage oils and scented body wash. Flavored body wash.

He got to the next shelf tilted away from the entrance. There were dozens of different types of plugs there, displayed reverently on velvet pouches with neat little cards. Each card had a description and a price and he busied himself reading them, barely comprehending what he was actually reading. One couple bought something and another couple walked out still giggling. That left only the one couple hovering over a table in the back, clearly giggling as well but discussing something in their hand.

He moved to the next set of shelves. The same set up: the toys were set out neatly and respectfully. He tried reading them, but he still didn't really understand what he was doing there anyway. The last couple took their purchase to the counter and walked out giggling with it. The middle aged woman locked the door behind him.

“Mister Walsh, I'll be closing for the evening now,” she said.

“Are you Siobhan?” he asked. He couldn't believe he asked.

“Well, you've pronounced it wrong, but yes, I'm Sho-van.” she said.

“Why?” he asked, feeling a little less than his usual intelligent self. “I mean, why do you run a sex shop?”

Her eyebrows went up minutely. “It's not a sex shop, Mister Walsh. It's an adult store. And I run it because pleasure is the greatest pleasure.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“You're confused,” she said. “Someone came to you recently and told you something you're not sure you can deal with.”

“How did you know?”

“This store has been my livelihood for twenty-three years, Mister Walsh. I can tell when someone comes in to try and figure it out.” She walked back behind the counter. “Would you like some outside perspective? A cup of coffee and a chat?”

“I don't want to hold you up...”

“My husband will understand,” she smiled. “Please.” She gestured to the small bistro table just inside the door. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What has someone told you that you can't wrap your head around?”

He blinked a few times. “She's a domina-- , a Domme.”

“Ah,” Siobhan said. “And how long have you known?” Nathaniel looked at his watch and she laughed. “You're very confused then. My guess is that she treated you to a little play you thought you shouldn't like, but you did.”

“Are you a Domme?”

“Oh, no, Mister Walsh,” she said, walking out with two mugs of steaming coffee, milk, creamer and spoons. “Not at all. It's not my thing. My husband and I will top and bottom for each other, but we're more silk scarves, sensory play. I do have a decent inventory of supplies though. Sit, please. Tell me what's going on.”

He walked over and sat. “She's a beautiful, gorgeous woman, and it scared the hell out of me that I enjoyed what she did.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did it scare you?”

“You're not supposed to like pain.”

“Was it really painful?”

He paused. “No. Not really. It stung, but that was it.”

“Then you weren't in pain,” she said.

“But we're not supposed to like punishment.”

“What was she punishing you for?”

He stopped again. “She wasn't.”

“Did she tell you what she was doing? Explain it?” Nathaniel nodded. “Did she give you a safe word?”

“She said no or stop would work,” he said.

“And did you use them?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“So your problem is you think you shouldn't have liked it, but you did. Now you're thinking about all the weird things on my shelves and wondering what they do and how they would feel. At the same time, your brain is saying, 'look at that thing. How that can that be pleasurable'. And your body just wants her to touch you again.”

He swallowed and nodded. Siohban sat back and stirred the sugar into her coffee. “How much has she explained about the lifestyle?”

“Not much,” he said. “A little.” He wrapped his hand around the other coffee mug and put some milk in the drink.

“Has she told you about safe and sane? Mutual consent?” She sipped the coffee.

“A little.”

“Well, let me explain this from the top for you,” she said. She gestured around the shop. “This exists because of our desires and our desire for pleasure. The human body is an exquisite instrument a true musician can learn to play. Just like any other instrument, though, it takes training and time. Each instrument is different, and needs its own bow, strings, reed, mallet. Every instrument responds differently to each implement. You cannot play a piano with a reed, nor can you play an oboe with a mallet.

“There are those who can be tickled with a feather to an absolute ecstatic height. There are other who need a heavy hand to reach the same place. That is where Doms come in. They wield the implements for the instruments. They are the means to the end. To the pleasure that people seek the expert hand.

“A good Dom knows they are never really truly in control. At any time, the sub, their instrument, can say no, stop or call the safe-word. They are there to glean their pleasure from the pleasure of the instrument they are playing. There is training, for both the instrument and the musician. And it is only after time with that same instrument a musician can finally learn what it is that brings out the sweetest music.” Siobhan took a sip of her coffee and Nathaniel waited, sipping his own.

“A good Dom will help their sub learn what they need to know so both of them can derive pleasure from the act. As I said, it can be as simple as some sensory play or it can get as deep as master-slave play. It could be a blind fold and hot lingerie or it could be forced chastity and cock and ball torture.”

Nathaniel's eyes grew wide. “Cock and ball torture?”

“Those in the lifestyle would ask you not to judge, Mister Walsh,” she said, a light smiled shining in her eyes. “There is a tenet in the lifestyle which everyone should adopt in life: always safe, always sane. Always be in possession of all of your faculties when you engage in play. Do not start a paddling session if you are angry. It changes from sex to revenge, then, and the pleasure is tainted forever. It will always be in the back of both of your minds-- pleasure or true pain. And as such, if you are both safe and sane, there is almost nothing off limits.”

“But something like torture,” he said. “especially of the...”

Siobhan laughed lightly. “Some men need a mallet, Mister Walsh. If you're not one of those, your Domme would never choose that for you. And I'm assuming you have a good Domme, as I see the light of happiness in your eyes when you think about her.”

He smiled. He did like to think about Emmy. “She would like me to sub for her.”

“Eventually, Nathaniel,” Siobhan said. “You don't just decide you're a sub one day. There is training you must go through before that can happen, and you can say no at anytime. You have to learn how to bottom, you have to learn your limits. You have to draw boundaries.”

He took a sip of the coffee. “I went into her dark room.”

She made a little 'o' with her mouth. “That's what drove you out of the house.”

“There are things in there I don't think I could ever, ever get beyond,” he said. “They are violent and painful and just nothing that would ever interest me.”

“And she would not make you try,” she said. “This is where you would discuss you hard limits and soft limits. You must be careful when you draw your limits. Do not put something in soft limits because you think you might 'get over it' some day. Those belong as hard limits. You can move them from hard to soft, but soft limits will be pushed. If you don't think you'll ever get beyond the idea of caning, it's hard limit. If you think you might like to try anal play, it's a soft limit.

“You'll find as you go along, as you try new things, your limits will change. There will be things you would never have considered before that you might after a particularly interesting session. So yes, caning might be out. CBT might be out. But you may realize you'd be willing to try something else.”

“I can't imagine being a sub whenever we're together in her apartment.”

“Just her apartment?”

“That's what she said.”

Siobhan nodded and took a sip of the coffee again. “That's interesting. That's a concession on her part, Nathaniel. Normally, D/s relationships don't have a limit like that. It's everywhere and in nearly everything. Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Nathaniel asked.

“She clearly understands she likes you for who you are right now, and not what she can make you into,” she said. “Not many people living the lifestyle ever date in the vanilla world, the plain, hands-on sex world. There are too many obstacles to overcome, as you can see. I want you to do something for me, for her. Don't let it go beyond the front door of her apartment. If you walk out the door, take her hand. Drive your car. Take her to the restaurants you choose. Engage her in brilliant conversation. And if you make love outside of her apartment, don't let her go Domme on you. Show her a power balance.” She looked at him. “It's unusual, and it usually means that whatever drove her to dominance is fading.”

“Isn't sex what drove her to dominance?”

“In some cases, the reason a person is a sub or a Domme has deep psychological roots. Some are good, some are bad and some are things they must deal with through time,” Siobhan said. “Is there anything you can think of like that?”

“Her bra,” he answered instantly, and then flushed red. You are an ass. He shoved his face in the coffee mug.

“What about it?”

He sighed. “She won't take it off. She won't let me see her breasts at all.” Why was he so comfortable talking to a complete stranger about this?

“And you're a breast man,” she smiled. He shrugged. “Nathaniel, your Domme may be looking for her forever, and she may want to see if that's you.”

“Her forever?”

“It's what we all look for,” she said, standing and walking over to the racks of lingerie. “That one person we can spend our lives with. For some, it's a friend. For others, it's a spouse. For others still, it's a slave. If your Domme is setting small limits and is willing to compromise, she's asking you to show her what else she's missing.” She looked at him. “Give her that, Nathaniel. Do you think you can give her the chance to see what vanilla is? To try to combine her lifestyle with yours?”

“I'm not even sure that's what either of us want,” Nathaniel said.

Siobhan walked back with something she had put in a bag. “You wouldn't be confused if you didn't want something out of this.” Nathaniel realized she was right. Of course he wanted something out of this, aside from the incredible orgasms. “You are in a very interesting position. Being with a female Domme in a hetero situation has nearly limitless possibilities – you won't always be the bottom. She will test your limits by asking you to create pleasure for her. Your pleasure gives her pleasure, and if letting you pleasure her, gives you pleasure... well, you can see how much potential that has.”

She held out the bag with the piece of clothing she had pulled off the rack. “Give this to her when you're ready. This will help both of you.”

He reached for his wallet.

“No,” she said. “This is my gift to you both. If you like it, I know you'll be back. Don't give it to her when you get home. Give it to her when you're ready.”

He nodded, standing. “Thank you, Siobhan.”

She walked over and unlocked the door. He walked over and stepped back out into the cold of the night. “Go gently with her, Nathaniel. She is a gorgeous soul with a tortured past. Emmy needs patience, care and understanding and I think you can give that to her. Good luck, good night.”

“Good night,” he said as she shut and locked the door behind him. He took one step and froze. You never told her Emmy's name. What the hell?

Chapter 10:

Nathaniel walked back to the apartment, wondering how Siobhan had known. He knew she wasn't going to open the door again to answer that question, so he would just have to remember to go back and ask.

He let himself in. He straightened the dark room, closing the drawers and straightening up, then locked the door again. He cleaned up the kitchen from their late lunch and flicked on the television. He turned on the computer there hoping Emmy didn't have a password, and she didn't. He pulled up an internet window and typed in the letters 'bdsm' and hit enter.

He stood and walked to the kitchen deciding that a beer was a good idea. He stared at the cello on its side in the corner of the room, along with the gorgeous music stand and case. How could someone who got a scholarship for the cello, a moody and deep-toned instrument, ever find pleasure in those torturous and dangerous devices in the other room?

He took a deep breath and walked back to her computer. The results started at him. 27,000,000 results (0.14 seconds). Holy shit.

He cracked the beer and started reading. Before he was done with the first page, a simple Wikipedia entry, he had finished the beer and debated getting another one. He also realized that if he did that he would be out of beer quickly and in no state to get more. He peered at the computer, and decided to keep reading.

It was almost three hours later, dozens of links and pages and searches, before he got up for the second beer. He took the beer and sat down on the love seat, staring at the television. He hadn't realized how broad the term of BDSM was. It was really an anything goes term though there were people out there who believed there was only one right way.

As he had gone along, he had looked up the toys and instruments the sites mentioned. He had found the pastry wheel was actually called a Wartenburg wheel, and had learned more about CBT than he ever wanted to know.

If we talk about hard limits, that's one of them. And the sounders were tucked safely behind that. No way, no how. He was curious about some of the other things he read and he was pretty sure he could handle some of the bondage. Especially if it was like the night before. He wasn't going to be into the hard pain; caning was out, whipping was out.

Are you seriously considering this?

Nathaniel realized he was. He wouldn't be able to make a firm decision for a while, but if Emmy liked this, and he liked Emmy-- where was the harm in at least trying.

Sex will never the be the same for you.

Probably an understatement. But did he want it to be after the little taste he'd gotten?

He looked up at the clock and it was nearly midnight. Emmy had said she would be back at around three a.m. Nathaniel found himself suddenly exhausted, and he wanted to get some sleep. He snapped off the television, and was astounded by the silence in the air. He retrieved the dock from the kitchen and brought it into the bedroom with him. He rearranged the bed covers, which he hadn't realized they had mussed so badly, and found the flogger twisted in the sheets. He smiled. My new little friend. He put it on the nightstand opposite the side he was going sleep on. He didn't know if Emmy had a side she liked or she just hogged the bed. He had never slept in another woman's bed without her there.

In fact, he'd never slept in another woman's bed until last night. It had always been at his place. Even Kayla.

He set up the dock and dropped the iPod on it. He picked his most soothing playlist with nearly 150 songs and set it to repeat and random. He pulled off his shirt and laid it on the chair. He was about to pull off his pants and somehow felt that was wrong without her there. He peeled   back the sheets, and slid in on the left side, away from the bathroom. He could smell Emmy on the sheets and in the pillows.

He followed the strings of YoYo Ma as he danced through the strings of Bach's Cello Suite #1 in G, and the irony of it was not lost him.

Nathaniel felt her in the room before he even opened his eyes. The soft light of the bedside lamp glowed in the room and he managed to focus his eyes. She was leaning against the wall in red lace and satin, her arms tucked up behind her, and her hair around her face like a soft, auburn halo. She saw he was awake and smiled at him.

“You stayed,” she said softly.

“I left,” he answered honestly, staring at her. “But I came back.”

“You did?” she asked, walking over and sitting down. She looked incredible.

He reached up and ran his fingers down her arm. “Yes. You said this about trust, right? Honesty is part of trust.” He yawn, unable to stop himself. “I opened the dark room and freaked out. I left.”

She inhaled sharply and angrily, stepping away from the bed. “I told you--”

“I wasn’t ready, and you were right,” he said. “That’s why I’m telling you what I did. I walked out, and left with no intention of coming back. But I realized I broke your trust when I did that and I didn’t trust your judgment.”

She stared at him, arms crossed, anger alight in her eyes. She was every part the Domme right there in front him, and every part the dark angel. “I told you no.” It was a threatening growl coming from her.

“I am sorry, Emmy,” he said, quietly.

“Nathaniel.” She snapped his name, fuming. He pulled sheets up like a wounded child looking for a safe place. She was actually furious at him, and he had no idea how to calm her down. “You should not have done that. That room is never ever to be opened by someone who doesn’t know what those things are for!” He had the feeling if she had a whip in her hand, she would have cracked it.

“You’re scaring me right now more than anything in that room,” he said.

She uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath. She looked at him and he could see the anger starting to dull a bit. “I told you, you weren’t ready.”

“I had no idea what you meant by that,” he said.

“And do you now?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“How?”

“I used your computer and started doing research.”

“On the internet. Because that’s just so reliable,” she snapped.

“Three hours of reading,” he said, his own ire rising. He sat up in the bed. “Three hours of dismissing out of hand some of the information, being made ill by some of the others, following links and descriptions and definitions. Reading blogs and pop culture and psychology. Don’t mark me for stupid, Emmy. I am not. I needed to know what was going on and so I did research.”

“So why the hell are you still here?” she asked. “The internet paints me as a freak.”

“No, actually it doesn’t,” he said. “What it does do is explain that there is not just one way to live the lifestyle. The truly opened minded participants realize ‘your kink is OK’ as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual. So, stop calling yourself a freak.”

“I like to dole out pain,” she said. “What’s not freakish about that?”

“There are people out there who want your pain,” he said. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He climbed out of the bed. “I waited for you because I learned so much about all of this today. I didn’t think you were going to fixate on me opening the door.” He yanked his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he said, pulling on his socks. “That’s apparently what you wanted all along.”

“Stop,” she snapped in full Domme voice.

He actually found himself stopped half way up with his second sock. He looked at her and narrowed his eyes. Her anger had faded, but his hadn't. “Don’t do that,” he snapped at her. “I’m mad and you have no right. I stayed, you’re pushing me out.”

“Please stop,” she said, with a kinder tone.

He was still angry; why did it take him snapping at her to make her realize what she was doing. Now instead of using the forceful voice, she was using the Domme voice in a different method. “No,” he said, and finished pulling on his sock. “You're still doing the Domme thing. I'm not your sub, Emmy, not yet.” He grabbed his shoes, and sat down to pull them on.

“Nathaniel. Please stop,” she said again, this time her voice very soft. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you came back.”

He sighed. There was nothing dominating about her voice in that statement. “How long were you standing there?”

“About ten minutes,” she said. “You're very peaceful when you're asleep.” She walked over and sat on the bed. “I'm sorry. Please stay.”

Nathaniel folded his arms, mostly for something to do for a moment. “You need to tell me about that room.”

“Now?”

“No,” he said. “But I need your promise we'll talk about it.”

She nodded. “Yes, I can promise that.”

“We need to talk about a lot of things,” he said.

“I know,” she said. She seemed genuinely contrite.

He relaxed his arms and raked a hand through his hair. He was still angry. “You can't manipulate me with your Domme tone, Emmy. Not when we're not playing. That was not right; I'm not ready for that at all. Please, don't do that again, especially when I was doing nothing but being honest with you.”

She sighed. “I'm not used to people not listening to me in my own apartment.”

“You'll have to try and deal with that for a while,” he answered.

She looked at him. “I've done nothing but think about you all night, Nathaniel. Stay?”

He sat back in the chair and kicked his shoes off. “I really didn't want to go home at four a.m.”

She smiled sweetly; Nathaniel felt her genuine happiness at his decision. He stood and walked over to the bed, sat down and pulled off his socks. He looked at Emmy sitting there, and he saw lust in her eyes, but with all she had she was restraining herself. This was his call, totally. His anger was still hanging around, but he could at least make her more comfortable.

~*~*~

She messed up. Damn. Emmy didn’t want to be so derailed.

Franz had stopped her on the way to a client. “You’re on a singular mission tonight, Tessa.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Don’t play enigmatic with me, darling,” he said. “I know you. You are enjoying this more than you have in months. And you aren’t taking any of your trusted regulars up on their off-site offers. What is going on? Is Dan back?”

“No,” she said. “I just… decided to enjoy myself.”

“Who is he?” Franz asked, folding his arms.

Emmy cocked her head at him.

“The last time this happened, you met Dan. So who is this?”

“You read me like a book,” she said.

“I’ve known you since you were sixteen, Tessa Saint,” he said, tapping her chin playfully. “Who is he?”

“I’m not telling you,” she said.

“Trying to play coy?” Franz laughed. “You know I can find anything out.”

“I would be unbelievably angry if you did that,” she said, her voice dead calm.

Franz smirked. “Two weeks in the straight world and you already have a cute plain yogurt boyfriend.”

She stared at him and felt her anger rising. “Fuck you, Franz.” Emmy walked around him and away from him down the hall.

“Tessa, wait,” he said, and ran after her. “Wait,” he grabbed her arm.

She turned to him. “What!?”

“You really like this guy that much?”

“What difference does it make?” she growled.

“Then I apologize, Tessa. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mock you. You like him?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And he’s totally vanilla?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Then you need to give over to him once in a while,” he said. “He’ll feel emasculated if you don’t let him take the wheel and drive once in a while. That’s not going to be easy for you, Tessa. If you had come up from sub to Domme,  I wouldn’t even tell you that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sweetheart, you are Domme from toes to hair,” he said. “His kind can like it, but still want to be in control once in a while. And if you really like him that much, you need to give that to him. This is going to be a test of your self-control, not situational control.”

And damned if I didn’t fuck it up in the first ten seconds.

Over-reacting to Nathaniel's complete honesty was not where she wanted the discussion to go. He had been so peaceful and handsome sleeping in her bed. She could have stayed there all night staring at him.

Emmy had been afraid he was going to leave. She didn't know why it frightened her so much that he might go, but it did. It wouldn't be the first time someone had freaked and run on her. For some reason, this time, she was really scared. It had wiped out all of her previous, exhausting desire in one short moment and worse-- she was rightfully chastised by him.

She sat on the bed watching him as he walked over to her. He had kicked his shoes off and stripped off his socks, tossing them over to the shoes. His eyes were bright honey brown with his anger and while they were a gorgeous color, the anger was still palpable. Damn Franz for being right.

He put a hand on her cheek gently, and the touch was so soft, so gentle she melted into it. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against his palm. It was soft and warm, with small calluses by his fingers. He smelled faintly of motor oil, coffee and soap.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Em,” he said, quietly.

“I don’t want to either,” she said.

“I don’t want to share you either,” he said.

“Nathaniel, please,” she said quietly. She couldn’t talk about that now; all she had thought about all night was getting back to him. Hoping he was there, waiting. She just wanted to be near him again.

She had promised Victor she would keep her ear to the ground. If she thought too hard about his, she was going to find herself walking away. It was too soon for that; she wanted to make sure she could help Victor, especially since it was secondary to why he hired her. “It’s too hard to explain this. Give me time. Give us time.”

“I guess I can do that as long as you promise you will think about this.”

“Of course I will,” she said.

Nathaniel's hand moved to her leg and unclasped the garters on her stockings. He slipped his hands under the lace tops and very carefully ran his hands down her leg gathering the stocking in between his thumb and forefinger. He ran his hands all the way down and slipped the first stocking off her foot easily. He unclipped the second, and did the same, his hands skimming her skin and caressing her foot.

He unbuttoned the front of the garter belt and pulled it from around her waist gently, leaving her in the bustier and panties. “Are these comfortable?” he asked.

The question surprised her. Were they? “I’ve been wearing them so long I don’t even think about it. I guess their familiarity is comfortable.”

“They’re incredibly sexy,” he said.

Something in the tone of his voice made her insides stir. She looked at him and he was watching his hand trail slowly up her side, sliding on to the satin and lace of the bustier. He curved his hand around and ever-so-lightly cupped her breast in his hand. He passed his hand over it, rasping the material against her nipple and it tightened almost instantly, sending a sweet feeling of liquid heat through her.

“Will you let me take you my way?” he asked, moving his hand up and over her other breast.

She tensed, terror leaking through her. “You... you can't take off my bra.”

“I want so much feel these in my hand, Emmy. So much... to touch your naked skin. I want to know why,” he said. She started to pull away from him, but his hand slid to her back, stopping her. “No, Emmy. I want to know why, but you don't have to tell me now. Just, let me do this my way?”

She let her relax a little bit, and let her breath out. “That's not easy for me...”

“I know,” he said. “But try?” He brushed the material over her other nipple and it puckered like the first. “I want to try your way, but you have to try mine as well.”

He was willing. She smiled, and nodded; she could certainly try his way.

He brought his lips to hers and the kiss was tender and gentle, a melding of lips and tongues. He stroked her tongue with his, neither coaxing nor demanding of her. His hands were at her were at her breasts, brushing the material over her, exciting her nipples, beading them. It was like lightning.

Nathaniel brought his lips to the skin just below her ear and kissed so softly it tickled. He trailed the kisses down her neck just to the nape and nipped at her gently there. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, just trying to enjoy the sensation of his teeth on her naked skin. He moved his gentle bites across her collar bone to the edge of her shoulder and paused. “Turn around,” he said, gathering her hair to one side.

She complied, biting back the Domme's reaction. He guided her closer to him, to sit between his legs. Before she could ask what he was doing, his tender bites resumed across her back. They were almost sweet, and the feeling that rolled through her after each one was bliss. Oh, sweet lord, this is divine! He nipped his way all the way to her other shoulder and then back up to the spot below her other ear, sending the electricity through her again.

Nathaniel leaned back a bit from her for a moment and she turned to find him pulling off his shirt. Oh, that's nice. Emmy turned and reached a hand out to touch the lovely chest and abs she saw there, but before she could he grabbed her hand and planted a kiss in the middle of her palm.

“Nope,” he said. “My turn.” He put his hands under her hips and pulled her up against him, then took her hands and put them on the outside of his knees. “Leave them there. Let me do this.” He nibbled her neck again. “I want to feel as much of your skin against me as I can.” He brought his hands around to her breasts and pinched each of her nipples at the same time.

Shit. The feeling shot through her, targeting her sex. His hands were splayed wide and they ran down her stomach and under her panties. He fingers traced the fold between her leg and her outer lips, igniting something inside. His fingers were firm, but careful and traced the line slowly, then again.

He moved his fingers closer and traced her outer lips, dipping in to touch her clit just briefly. He ran two fingers feather-light over her, teasing her -- tender, reverent and incredibly hot.

His words were warm against her ear. “You're so wet, Emmy. Is this all for me?”

“You're all I thought about all night,” she said, drawing in a breath.

“So wet,” he repeated, the tenor adding to the erotic touch of his fingers. He coaxed her open a little more and one finger found her clit, circling slowly.

Emmy felt another burst of wetness and she was panting hard. His finger was not only circling her, but winding her tighter and tighter. She craved more, she wanted to demand more of him-- but stopped herself. His turn. His way. His fingers! Sweet mother, so good!

And as if he could hear her thoughts, he slid a finger into her. This time her response was a explosive gush of wetness, soaking her, him and her panties. Her usual encounters weren’t this slow, this painstakingly enthralling. She put her head back and let out groan.

“You like that,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Mmm, so do I,” he said.

He slowly started to stroke the sides of her wet walls, rotating in a circle. He withdrew after a few circles, and switched fingers-- the one that was inside now circled her clit, and instead of just one finger, there were now two inside her. She loved the feel of his hands teasing her and filling her, and the heat was rising quickly. She slowed her breathing to keep enjoying his hands.

“You’re very good at controlling yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Very,” she replied.

“I don’t want you to,” he breathed in her ear. “Not this time, please. For me. I want to learn your body. I want to know what makes you come, and I want to make you come until sunrise.” There was something about what he said, the way his hot breath caressed her ear as he spoke that sent her spiraling up even higher. He moved his fingers in and out of her slowly, stroking as he went. First the front, then the back.

“What about you?” she said, holding on to what control she could.

“This is what I want,” he said. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen, and I want nothing more than to know every fold of your skin, every spot that makes you tingle or jump or squeal.” His finger flicked over her clit, making her take little staccato breaths.

Why? But she couldn't keep the thought in her head. “That's really what you want?” She had thought all night about what she wanted to do to him, and now here he was, doing what he wanted to her. And I can't resist. I don't want to.

“Of course it is, Emmy,” he said. He circled her clit while he moved his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, plunging a little deeper now. “Don't control it, please.”

She let her self-control go, and she was instantly swept up by the feeling created inside her. She started shaking lightly and tried to still herself, but she couldn't, not without stopping the incredible tightening inside her. He stroked her and flicked her and filled her, and breathing started to become hard. She grabbed his legs and clenched the fabric of his pants; it was as if it was the only thing keeping her on the bed.

“Come for me, Emmy,” he said.

She panted, trying to catch her breath, but let go completely. Her climax hit hard and she gasped his name, the feeling of bliss rolling through her. She could feel his fingers still working in her, still circling her clit. She clenched his fingers and he still held them there stroking her while the orgasm started to subside. Emmy found herself leaning back against him. Her head felt too heavy to hold up, and she lolled to one side. “Damn.”

She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. She looked at him. He was smiling and she could feel his erection pressing against her. “Why?” she asked.

“Why what?” He didn't move his hands yet.

“Why do you want this?”

“This is what couples do, Emmy,” he said, slowly pulling his fingers away. “They learn about each other. It's a give and take. I like feeling you squirm, I love hearing you scream. I  love knowing I do that to you. And if you're willing to try my way, I can try it your way. But tonight is mine. Can you give that to me?”

She looked into his warm chocolate eyes. There was such honesty and sincerity in them, a caring she hadn't ever seen in a partner. In a boyfriend. Her brain tripped. A boyfriend. A boyfriend? She’d never had a boyfriend. She’d had live-ins and lovers and partners, but never that. She swallowed. That was why he wanted her to leave the club; boyfriends and girlfriends in his world were mutually exclusive.

Oh! She blinked at him. “That means you’re really willing…”

“Emmy,” he said. His hands guided the two of them into new positions, with him laying between her legs, leaning on his elbows on either side of her hips. She could feel his eyes drinking her in. “I can’t say I’ll be able to, or want to when we get there, but I can and will give it a try.”

She inhaled sharply, and burst in to a grin. “I can’t ask much more than that, can I?” She started to sit up and she really wanted to talk to him about, well, everything. His limits, what they could try, if he would be willing to train--

His hands caught her waist and a slow, seductive smile spread across his face. “Nope. We can talk and explain tomorrow. For now though, it’s still my turn.”

Nathaniel leaned up a bit and put his big warm hand on her stomach and pressed her back into the sheets. He put the hand back on her waist and slid both of them down over her hips, dragging her wet panties down with them. He pulled them down as far as he could without moving, and then lifted her leg back, caressing as he moved her. He slipped her foot out of the panties and quickly slid them down her other leg tossing them carelessly away.

The whole time he was taking them off, his gaze never left her eyes. Normally she would have made him look away; she had never wanted someone to look at her, that was the point of being a Domme. Control and contrition. But the hunger for her, the heat in his eyes held her captive.

He slipped his hands down her hips and slid back a little bit. He looked her then dropped his eyes to her sex, naked and exposed. He leaned down and started pressing little kisses at the top of her mound and trailed them down to her outer lips. His lips were hot, and each kiss was more of a little suck.

The little sucks traveled all the way down to her clit, where he would suck just a little and then flick her with his tongue. He looked up at her. “No controlling it, Em. Just let me play.” He pressed his lips to her outer folds and kissed lightly, his tongue darting out quickly to lick her. The lightning shot through her, tightening every muscle below her waist and instantly beading her nipples.

Emmy watched him between her legs. He had closed his eyes and his head was moving in rhythm with his licks and sucks, and seeing him concentrating on her pleasure was amazing. She gasped; his teeth had grazed her clit and he bit gently. He repositioned his hands so his thumbs could pull her apart. He did, and she felt the flat of his tongue run her entire length.

“You taste so sweet,” he said. “Are you enjoying this, too?”

“Yes,” she said, breathing out carefully.

“You're trying to stay in control, Emmy,” he whispered. He licked her like a lolly-pop again. “I don't want you to.” He blew a strong stream of air right at her engorged, wet clit.

Emmy nearly came. The feeling of his suddenly cool breath on her wet lips and clit was cold fire right through her sex. Her entire body shivered and her nipples clenched in delighted pain. Before she could recover, Nathaniel's finger was in her again, and she couldn't tell what he was doing to her; all she could feel were his fingers and tongue everywhere at once, stoking the fire inside. He pressed on her clit and licked the space between and pushed his finger inside, crooking it against her wall.

She exploded, her orgasm tearing through her, arching her up off the bed grabbing two handfuls of the bedsheets, trying not to scream at the top of her lungs. He petted and teased her back down as she finally caught her breath and took a several huge, quenching breaths. She left her eyes closed, enjoying the last pulls of the orgasm.

Emmy snapped them open when she felt his kisses traveling north. She watched as he kissed her mound to her stomach, up her stomach, nibbling at each still-throbbing nipple, and then the soft, sucking kisses at the nape of her neck.

“You are so sexy,” he whispered. “This is what happens when I make you come.” He twitched his hips between her legs and his erection rubbed against her.

She leaned up, and whispered in his ear. “Fuck me, Nathaniel.”

“No,” he said, with a wicked grin. “But I will have mad, passionate sex with you.”

He pushed himself inside her with an aching slowness. She felt every inch of him as he went, and every inch as he pulled back out. He didn’t speed up; he made each stroke long and sensual, his eyes wide and full of desire as he held hers.

This was exactly what she had spent her whole life trying to avoid. A contact that went far beyond the physical, but was the most basic of human needs. His eyes burned into her as he continued his slow assault inside her, giving her more than just the feelings between their undulating hips.

This is so very different. And not in a bad way. His erection fit her perfectly, stretching and filling her. His thrusts were even and deep, taking their time. She noticed her body was winding up again, heading for another climax. Matching his movements, she started to move her own hips. She got him even deeper inside her with each thrust.

“Emmy,” he breathed. He seemed to want to say more, but couldn’t find the words. She stared at him, honestly at a loss for her own words and losing herself in the feeling of his erection spiraling her upwards. She felt so vulnerable, not controlling every feeling and impulse her body. What you spent your life learning to avoid, learn to stay in control of. And yet, for the very first time in her life she didn’t feel she was in danger, that she was risking everything by letting go a little. What frightened her more was that she trusted him.

“What are you doing to me?” she breathed, moving with him.

“Having passionate sex with you,” he said, and started to thrust a little harder and a little faster. “Learning your body. Making you come. Over and over.”

More than that… Just a few nights together, a nice dinner and a little time. I trust him. Not the way she trusted her subs or her clients, but a deeper, fulfilling trust that he would always be there for her. Not abandon her, not completely lose himself in the games. He would always be present and aware and there, for her. He would never really be submissive, not the way she had wanted. She found she didn’t mind.

He changed angles and found her sweet spot deep inside, and she sucked in a breath. “There,” she said.

Nathaniel drew himself out and then pushed back in hard and hit the spot again. He’s aiming, she smiled. He did it again, then again. He leaned down and spoke softly in her ear. “You’re doing it again, Emmy. Stop. Let me do this.” He drew out and slammed in again.

“What about you?” she asked, between his thrusts.

“Oh, Em, I’m right there,” he said, moving even harder.

“I don't want to come again without you,” she said.

“You won't,” he said. His breathing was ragged now, his eyes were heavy. “I want to.”

She wrapped her legs around him, and he drove his erection into her deeper. She felt him grow even harder, but he still managed to hit her g-spot every time he thrust into her. “So good,” she breathed. “You feel so good in there, Nathaniel. Come in me. Make me come.”

“Oh God,” he panted.

All manner of restraint was gone. He pushed into her so hard and so deep she arched off the bed. Each thrust made her gasp and groan. She dug her fingers into his back, all thought leaving her mind. It was all sensation, his erection inside, sliding against her slick walls, scraping against her g-spot. She was gasping in opposite time, her release getting closer and closer to the precipice.

“I'm coming,” Nathaniel gasped. “Oh, shit, yes. Emmy yes!!”

He jetted hotly into her, adding to the wet between them. The feeling of him spilling himself inside her was the push she needed and she fell into a full-body shaking orgasm so encompassing she couldn't get a sound out of herself. She arched and pulled him closer, gripping his still thrusting erection inside her. She was finally able to find her voice as he started to slow.

“Nathaniel!” she cried, and pushed herself against him, relishing the last of his thrusts and the climax she didn’t wanted to end.

He lowered them to the bed and pressed her lightly into the mattress. His lips found hers and his kisses were sweet and tender. She smiled against his lips, and he looked at her, leaning on one arm to hold himself up and off of her. “What?”

“This vanilla sex is really hands on,” she said.

“Oh, you like hands on?” he asked, smirking. “Or perhaps you would like your next orgasm courtesy of Mister Rabbit?”

“Next?” she asked.

“I said until sunrise, and...” He glanced at the clock. “I still have two hours to go to.”

Chapter 11:

Nathaniel smiled as Emmy padded down the hallway, looking sleepy and happy. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to manage a displeased look. Nathaniel gave her a full half-sided smirk. She plunked down next to him on the love seat. “Is it really noon?”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “You've slept quite late.”

“I can't imagine why,” she said.

“That eleventh screaming orgasm might have done it,” he said.

“Did you count?”

“Maybe.”

“I'm disappointed,” she said. He looked at her, shocked. “That's an uneven number. I don't like that. Always even. Should have made it twelve.”

After a heartbeat, Nathaniel started laughing. Emmy smiled and playfully punched him. He loved the look of happiness on her face.

“Did we make it to sunrise?”

“Hell no,” he said. “But it was a good try.”

“When did you wake up?”

“About half an hour ago,” he said.

“And no breakfast?” she asked.

“I'm starving and exhausted. I skipped to lunch,” he said. She looked around clearly trying to find the food and he laughed. “It'll be here in a few minutes. I ordered it from Delasante.”

“Delasante?” she gasped. “How the hell do you order from there?”

He smiled. “Own the building and know the head chef from college.” Emmy's mouth fell open, and he laughed at her. “I knew that would get you.”

“You're terrible,” she said, standing up.

“Where are you going?” he asked, suddenly worried she really was angry.

“I'm thirsty,” she said. “I had a lot of exercise last night.” She leaned down and kissed him thoroughly before she walked toward the kitchen.

Nathaniel swallowed hard. “Kiss me like that again and we're going to get even more.”

Emmy's laugh echoed down the hallway. He leaned back on the couch and smiled. He had to admit he was sore. A good kind of sore. He woke up craving shrimp of all things. He decided on Delasante's FraDiavolo, and had ordered it and a plate of Chicken Marsala. As he thought about the Fra Diavolo, there was a knock on the door and he stood.

Emmy's head poked around the corner and he knew she was watching him walked to the front of the apartment. He pulled it open and a bearded man was standing there with a few bags. Nathaniel took them from him and had a quiet conversation, then shut the door.

Emmy was still staring at the door. “That was hell of a beard on that man.”

“George’s brother,” Nathaniel said. “He works there. George barred him from the kitchen until he got rid of that thing. And he won’t.”

Emmy looked at Nathaniel with her eyes wide. “You're friends with George Delasante.”

“I am,” he said. “Broke his arm when we were playing ultimate frisbee on the quad. We were instantly friends after that. I’ve helped him every which way I can. His newest thing is the food pantries, and I can’t say I don’t support it.”

“You're responsible for those food pantry deliveries?” She was even more agog.

“Partially. I do the financial support, George picks out the food, and my trucks deliver it,” Nathaniel said. “He really hated what the high-end customers were doing with all their food. He loves to cook and he loves when people appreciate what he cooks; the upper echelons were making him sick with waste. He was hungry as a kid. Grew up in central West Virginia, poor as shit. He always had to go to the kitchen himself.”

Emmy looked at him and he suddenly sensed that he had touched a nerve by the cold anger in her eyes. “Do you ever go to the soup kitchens yourself?” The question was quiet, dangerous.

“I don't really have time,” he said, carefully.

“I serve every Wednesday night,” she said, her stare boring into him. Oh, she’s pissed. “Not everyone who needs a hot meal is poor as shit, Nathaniel.” She turned on her heal and walked back to the kitchen. He could feel her chill.

Oh fuck. He trotted after her. “Emmy, I'm sorry. I don't meant to upset you.” He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. I didn't mean anything by it, Em. He was poor, dirt poor, and I'm proud of him and how hard he's worked for what he's got now.” He felt her take a deep calming breath. “I had no idea you worked at the soup kitchen.”

She nodded. “I used to have more time, and do it more often, but I make sure I get down there at least once a week. Usually Wednesday.”

“I think that's awesome,” he said.

She turned around, the anger flaring up again. “I don't do it for praise,” she snapped. “You should show up once in a while.”

“Emmy, please, please. Stop. I'm not trying to piss you off, or praise you. I didn't know you volunteered.” She stepped out of his hands and walked to the den.  He sighed. “Stop walking away from me when you get angry, please.” He turned and walked to the den, with the thought that he was glad they were at her place; she could disappear for days in his place. “Emmy, we don't know each other yet. I don't know what passions you have aside from whipping men who can't ask their wives to do it.”

Her eyes iced over. “Are you going to throw my lifestyle at me?”

“Emmy. For fuck's sake, I don't know you. I'm trying to learn who you are and when you get mad at me, I get mad right back. I just want to get to know you better, and this has all been a little overwhelming. I'm trying to make you see that I don't know anything about you and I want to.”

She stopped and held her head up straight. He knew that she had folded her arms across her chest, and he gave her more than a few heartbeats to calm down. She turned around. “I'm sorry,” she said, haughtily but sincere. “I've been living around people who understand who I am for so long that I forget not everyone does.”

He motioned to the containers on the table. “Let's eat. We put out George, we might as well enjoy.” He pulled the lids off the containers as Emmy put down the utensils she had retrieved from the kitchen. Nathaniel pulled the shrimp to his side, and Emmy looked sad. “Oh. Uh. I was craving shrimp. Can we split it?”

Her smile lit up the room. “I love Delasante's seafood.”

“Now I know,” he said. “All seafood next time.” He stabbed at a shrimp. “See? Learning.”

~*~*~

Emmy leaned in the doorway of the room in a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue fleece. She had her arms crossed casually across her chest, and her face was completely neutral. Nathaniel had walked in and looked around, far wiser than he had been the day before; not nearly as intimidated by it in the bright day light that filtered in.

He walked to his left and studied the objects on the wall. He pointed to each of them. “Floggers, whips, canes, cat o’nine tails.” Emmy nodded, her face completely empty of any emotions—she was all Domme at that point. Nathaniel inwardly grimaced; he was having trouble adapting to how quickly she could turn it on and off. “Well, we know I don’t have a problem with the floggers, not the light ones anyway. The cane is off the menu. Um… hard limit, right?”

“Right,” she said, and walked over and took the three of them off the wall. “What else?”

“I don’t know what the cat o’nine tails does,” he said, “but I know what the whips do. I’ve been hit with bullwhips before and that’s a no. Hard limit.”

She nodded and pulled the four whips off the wall. She took the object to a closet on the right side of the head of the bed. She leaned in and placed the whips and canes inside. She closed the closet, and leaned against the wall there. “What else?”

“The cat…” he said.

“The lighter ones work sort of like the flogger, but there’s more sting, less thud.”

Right, sting and thud. He took a deep breath. “I’ll call a soft limit on anything more than the light ones, and reserve the right to move those to hard limits.” She nodded, agreeable. “I don’t know what you do with the riding crops, but I have ideas. I reserve the right to put those in soft limits.” He pulled open the drawers and pulled out the demented pastry wheel. “Wartenburg wheel.” He smiled. “This could be interesting.” He put it back and opened another drawer. “Ok, vibrators and the like I’m OK with. I reserve the right to put the cockrings on the hard limit.”

She looked at him. “Keeps you stronger longer,” she offered.

He cocked his head at her. “I don’t recall that being a problem.”

She laughed. “We’ll put them on the soft limits,” she said. “There may be a time when you want to try them. One of our longer sessions.”

“Longer, right,” he said. Nathaniel closed the drawer and pulled one open further down. “CBT. Off the menu, no way. Not happening. I like the boys the way they are. You can take chastity off there as well. You aren’t caging my schlong.”

“I'm not caging your schlong, as you say,” she said. “Remember this is about what you want, not what I want. After this it's lady's choice.”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “No chastity. No CBT. And those sounder things? It will be a cold day in hell.”

“That's fine,” she said, grabbing the kit. “I'm not fond of those anyway. They can cause permanent change in physiology.” She opened the drawers with the other items he mentioned and pulled them all out. She walked over to the closet and locked them all in.

He picked up the collar out of the drawer. “I would really prefer you didn't use this.”

She sat on the bed. At some point she had take the suspension level off of it and put it away in the closet. She looked at him. “For now,” she said, “I'm not going to enforce anything outside this room. Putting that on you in here or even in the apartment would be pointless. No one is going to see. The point of that is to be seen wearing it.”

He looked at it. “Have you ever used it?”

“I had a sub who very much enjoyed it,” she said. “Collared and leashed any time we went out of the apartment on weekends. He would have worn it to work if I had let him.”

“You didn't?”

“Safe, sane and consensual,” she said. “I did not find it appropriate that he wear something to work that would make others around him uncomfortable. He was very proud of being a sub, and he wanted to recruit people into the lifestyle.” She paused and blinked a few times. “We didn't last very long. His reasons for doing what we do didn't align with mine. At all.”

Nathaniel put it back. “No collar.”

“No collar.”

He pulled out a string with consecutively smaller beads on it. “Anal beads.” He looked at them and then looked at her. “I don't know how I feel about this. I never really was into...”

“Anal play?” she offered, after he couldn't find the word.

“Yeah, that,” he said.

“So you've never done anything anal?”

“No.”

She pursed her lips. “You know enjoying anal play doesn't make you gay.”

He rankled. “I am perfectly secure with myself, Emmy. I always have been. I've just never had an interest in anal play.”

She held up a hand. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to imply anything.”

“I know you didn't. The truth is I've never had the chance , opportunity or the inclination.”

“Can we put that on the soft limit?” she asked, walking around the bed.

“I guess...”

She lifted them out of his hand and whispered, “They are stunningly erotic if you pull them out in the middle of an orgasm.” She put them back in the drawer. “I'd like the chance to prove that.”

Oh. He cleared his throat. “Alright then. Soft limits. Go easy on me?”

“Of course,” she said, and sat down on the bed. Nathaniel walked over to the saw horse. “Paddle horse?”

“Or strapping horse, or saddle horse,” she said. “Whatever you like. They all mean the same thing.”

He eyed it, remembering the flogger the previous morning. He felt himself twitch, and suddenly realized he really wanted to try that. “Yeah, I’m good with it.” He looked at the bed, with the chains and cuffs in a much less menacing position, hanging almost limp in the corners. “I’m good with the bed, too, but… No suspension.”

“I thought so,” she said. “That’s why I put that away.”

He nodded and looked at the last piece of equipment in the corner, and walked over to it. “Saint Andrew’s cross,” he said, quietly. He ran a hand over the supple, soft black leather of the padding and up to the clips at the top.

“The padding comes off,” she said. “It’s snapped in place on the back.”

“Why would you take it off?”

“Some people prefer hard wood,” she said. “Some people like it very, very rough.”

“As I’m learning,” he said. “Padding on, but I’m not sure that…” He looked at her. “I know you tied me up, but that was my tie in your bedroom. This kind of freaks me out a little bit.”

She blinked. “How about I show you?”

He cocked his head. “Show me?”

“I’ll fasten you up on it,” she said. “If you start to freak out, I’ll take you down and it’s a soft limit. If you don’t, we’ll play a little. Light stuff.”  Her eyes glinted.

Nathaniel looked at the cross and back at Emmy. Find out; you trust her. She’ll let you down. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Why not.”

She walked over to the drawers and pulled out two sets of leather cuffs with clips on them. She held out her hand for Nathaniel’s and he offered it to her. She wrapped the cuff around his wrist, just tight enough for her to slide a finger all the way around, and the same on the other side. She looked at him a second, and halted herself. “T-shirt off, bottoms too,” she said.

“I thought this was a trial,” he said.

“It is,” she said. “But I don’t want  you to get up there and feel ok, and then when I really fasten you on, naked, you freak out. So. Naked. Now.”

Her tone was not to be trifled with. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, smiling. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, the cuffs feeling very strange. He pulled his pants and boxers off as well, and stepped out of them. Emmy nodded appreciatively and knelt down to cuff his ankles. The leather for both wrist and ankle was soft and supple like every other piece in the room. She wrapped and secured them.

“Why Velcro?” he asked. “There’s a release clip on them.”

“Velcro is a much faster release,” she said. “Until you see someone absolutely lose it from being restrained it doesn’t make sense, but once you do, you swear you will never use anything else again.” She looked up at him from where she was smoothing the last restraint around his ankle. “Nathaniel you have to tell me if you’re going to freak out. I can get you out in an instant. No macho shit, ok?”

He swallowed hard. “No macho shit.”

She pointed to the cross and he walked over, feeling nervous and apprehensive. She gently turned him around so he was facing into the room. “We can do backwards as well, but this way for now, so you can see what’s going on.” She pushed him back against the middle of the cross, and he saw it was tipped back and bolted to the wall. She took his arm and lifted it up over his head, quickly clicking the karabiner into place on the cross. She moved to his other hand and did the same thing. Nathaniel pulled on them to see how strong they were, and nothing moved. Not the cross, not the bolts in the wall, not his hand more than a few inches away from the hooks.

Emmy stepped back. “Get used to that for a moment.”

It was an odd sensation, not being able to move his arms. He could twist and push and pull, but he had no real movement. It didn’t seem to bad, and after a minute he nodded. “I’m ok right now.”

She stepped forward and bent down. “Legs apart. Step one foot in the stirrup. It’ll help you with the angle.”

He looked down and saw there were flat, angled stirrups for him to stand on. He moved his right leg on to it, and she clicked the lock on. He couldn’t bring himself to lift the other foot because he was going to lose his balance. She looked up at him expectantly, and her eyes were very serious.

“I can’t, I’m going to fall,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” she said. “Lift it and put it in the other stirrup.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to fall. “Nathaniel. Lift it now.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he still didn’t move his leg. “Walk it over. Heel toe. Do it.”

Heel toe. That he might be able to manage. He carefully moved his toes to the left, then his heel, then toes again, then heel. And in a moment, he was over to the other stirrup and managed to toe his way up onto it. She clipped him in before he could pull his foot away, which she must have known he was tempted to do.

“You think I would have let you fall?” she said, standing up.

“I’ve never done this,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—I do. This all very new to me.” He pulled on the restraints. He felt very exposed with his legs locked in this position.

She nodded. “I know. I’m not used to people disobeying me so stubbornly.” Emmy had taken a few steps back and leaned against the saddle horse. She pulled her lips between her teeth then licked them, a wicked grin across her face. “You look so sexy.” She paused. “Feel OK?”

“Feels weird,” he said. “But a kinky kind of weird.”

“Freak out?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s different.”

She closed the few steps between. “You look delicious up there, Nathaniel,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Can you handle me walking out for a minute?”

He nodded, and she quickly trotted out of the room. It gave him a chance to assimilate what was going on with the sensations in his body. It felt strange to be splayed out like this, but not entirely uncomfortable. He didn't feel like he was going to freak out but it was taking some conscious thought to not over react. Over-react to being strapped to a cross. Imagine that.

Emmy walked back in with the iPod dock, and plugged it in. She pressed the play button and the low quiet strains of an oboe rose out of the speakers. It was joined a moment later by the sound of a clarinet and the sound of strings. The whole orchestra swelled just a few bars in, and he recognized the music immediately. “Intriotus Requiem Aeternam, Mozart.”

“Very good,” she said. “Should we see how you do with a little play time?”

“As long as you lose the clothes too,” he said.

“I think I can do that,” she answered. She pulled her shirt over her head, and she was wearing a black satin bra, not a bustier, and Nathaniel felt himself twitch and start to rise. She walked around to the back of the door and pulled something sheer and gauzy off the hook. She spun it around herself and it was a bolero robe. Robe was being generous; it was more like a jacket she tied at her bust. And it didn't hide much at all.

She looked at him as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her pants. She stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes and said, “Looks like you approve.”

“You are so incredibly hot,” he said.

She slid the waistband down to the tops of her thighs. “You're not so bad yourself.” She pushed them down the rest of the way and stepped out of them. She smiled, and turned around, bending down to pick them up.

Nathaniel stared at the lovely, firm ass she presented to him. She grabbed her ankles and stared at him from between her legs. Holy –

“You like?”

“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

She stood back up and threw the pants in the corner with the shirt. She walked over to the wall, and considered the toys hanging there. “Hmm. What shall we play with today?” She looked over at him and back to the wall.

He watched as she pulled the cat o'nine tails off the wall. She had said it was a light one, and she let it drop out of her hand with the handle in a firm but loose grip. Her eyes were fever bright and a smile danced on her lips. She looked dangerous and gorgeous, and very very comfortable with herself. She slunk more than walked toward him, and blinked slowly.

“We're just playing, Nathaniel. We need to know if you can handle this. If you say stop, I will. Understand?” He nodded. “No, say it.”

“I understand,” he said. “Stop will make you stop.”

“Good,” she said, swishing the cat on the floor.

She had a feline grace about her, and her long legs carried her to him. The crackling energy was back, jumping between them. He was beyond erect; it was excruciating how hard he was, and he watched her like a hawk. She caught his eyes, and wouldn't let go.

He gasped. While Emmy had trapped his eyes, she had flicked the cat's tails at him, sending a sting through his thigh. She quickly followed up on the other side. He gasped again, but there wasn't really any pain. Just a sting. She dragged it on the floor again and then snapped it out, brushing his hip on either side in quick succession. She brushed them across his abdomen above his erection, then snapped at either side of his waist, then his ribs. His body was confused, completely and utterly lit on fire and he had no idea what to do with all the sensation.

She flicked again, much higher and one of the tails bit at his nipple. This gasp quickly turned into a moan, and he was panting hard. She continued up his body. Once she reached his elbows, she started to switch randomly around his body. The most delicious pain, aside from his chest was the soft side of his arm, and the inside of his thigh. He was consumed by trying to process the sensations she was creating in him. His brain was telling him this wasn’t right, it was stinging pain. His body was singing a different tune. He wanted to pull away, to curl up, to turn to stop the assault, but he was held fast. He was moaning and gasping with each twitch of the cat across his insanely sensitive skin.

It wasn’t even just the sensations that were driving him wild, it was the way Emmy was moving and looking at him. She was liquid and sensual, and wicked accurate with the flicks of her wrist. She was clearly turned on by him, by what she was doing and she was panting hard as well.

She flicked a few more times, and then coiled the cat up. She walked over to the wall and grabbed what looked like a lump of feathers mounted on a ball. She held it up. “Your skin is extremely sensitive right now. This tickler is going to feel intense.” She walked back over to him and stood very close to him, and dragged feathers down his arm.

“Oh, my God,” he hissed, the words coming out as a moan. Between the soft feather tendrils and stiffer less unforgiving spines, he felt every last movement of the tickler down his arm. He clenched his teeth and arced his back, his skin puckering everywhere. She did the same to the other side and his breath rushed out of his lungs. Down his shoulders, down over his chest, circling his nipples and teasing them, down his ribs across his stomach, down his hips and under to his balls. He felt himself tighten as the feathers scraped and tickled him, sending more shivers through his whole body.

Emmy stood even closer and circled his erection with the tickler. She leaned in, not touching him, and whispered in his ear. “You like?”

“I’m so close,” he answered, barely able to find the breath.

“You want some more?” She brought the feathers up his inner thigh.

“I want…” He couldn’t get the words out. “Please…”

Emmy dropped the tickler on the ground, and lightly scraped her nails down his arms, over his ribs and down his hips. He tried to buck against the sensation. She grabbed his hips and dropped to her knees. She dragged her nail across his hips, and along his erection. “Emmy… I’m…” he stuttered.

She wrapped her lips around him and took him in her mouth, all the way down to his root. She petted him with her tongue and as she pulled back, swirled her tongue around him. She reached up and cupped his sac in her hand, lightly teasing him. She took him all the way back into her mouth, and then all the way back out, once and again, and the next time she stroked the underside of his erection.

He couldn’t even warn her; he came, jetting himself into her mouth. Her mouth caressed and coaxed him. She sucked until he finally stopped coming; she pulled back and licked the last of his cum off the tip. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and licked her lips. He started to regain himself a moment later. She very quickly pulled the Velcro off his feet and then stood and did the same to his hands.

Nathaniel barely caught himself. He found Emmy supporting him with her arms around his chest and he took a moment to find his feet. He wasn't sure he could stand long, and Emmy seemed to know that. She walked him over to the bed. He sat down and she motioned him to lay back. He wasn't one to argue; he was drained.

“Are you OK?” she asked, pulling herself up on the bed to sit next to him.

He blinked and took a moment to find his words. “I'm... damn. I'm fine. My brain is kind of messed up right now, but my body is really quite pleased.”

Emmy ran her hand down his cheek. “You were alright?”

“It was weird,” he said. “Really wrong, and yet really really right.”

“Would you let me do that again?”

“Oh, shit yes,” he said.

She laid down next to him on her stomach and put her head on her arm. “Do you think you could handle something harder?”

“Harder?”

“I went very softly with you.”

“Seriously? Whipping with a cat o'nine tails is soft?”

“I used the light one and a light touch,” she said.

He smiled. “You are good with that.” Nathaniel sighed. “I guess the only way to find out is to give something harder a try.” He looked over at her. “Not right now.”

She laughed. “No, not right now. This was just to see how you handled it. I'll go a little longer and little harder in a real training session.” She paused and her silliness dropped away. “For the record training, real training, is not as soft as I’m being right now. This is accommodating and sweet. Training is not like this. You’re told to do something and you do it if you like it or not, if you’re going to freak out or not.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“Punishment,” she said. “Usually in the form of paddling or caning.”

He swallowed again, making an audible sound. “Really?”

“Really,” she said. “But we’re nowhere near that. Not even remotely. And if we were, since I want you to be my submissive, I would send you to another mistress for training.”

That took him buy surprise and he turned to look at her laying next to him. “I don't like that idea. Not one bit.”

“I can't train you,” she said. “Not properly. I care too much about you to hold to the rules you need to get you to the right place.”

Nathaniel turned to stare up at the ceiling again. He didn’t want some other strange woman touching him, or doing dirty things to him. He wanted Emmy.

He had a very strange feeling that in the end, this wasn’t going to work out.

He hoped he was wrong.

Chapter 12:

Emmy looked up at the sound of the door opening and had to purse her lips to keep the smile off her face. Nathaniel strode in, wearing the olive green business pants, with a clean-pressed pale green oxford shirt, and the yellow Charvet silk tie. She watched him march in, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Good morning, Miss Westerly,” he said.

“Good morning, Mister Walsh,” she answered.

The smiled crept onto his face as he walked by into his office. Emmy looked back to her computer and had to force herself not to turn around to watch him. She went back to the spread sheet had on the screen, and tried to concentrate on it.

“Morning, Emmy,” Victor said, striding in with a huge grin on his face.

“Good weekend, Victor?” she asked.

He stopped and put a hand on the top of the short cubicle wall. “Yes. Unbelievable. We have a baby in the house.”

“What?” she gasped. “Didn’t you just put in the paperwork last Monday?”

“We did, and they called us Friday to take a foster newborn. Greg is home and we’re hiring a nanny this week. I tried to call my brother all weekend, but he wasn’t answering his phone,” he laughed.

“Congratulations!” Emmy cawed, popping out from the desk and giving him a hug. She was thrilled for him “Boy? Girl? Name?”

“A little girl,” he said. “Sylvia Jane, which is a perfect name.”

“You should go in and tell Nathaniel right now!”

He looked over at the door. “You know what, I will.” Victor redirected himself towards the other door. “Greg is going to be by with her later this morning. I want to show her off.”

“Woo hoo!” Emmy said, happy as her boss walked into to his brother’s office. The door closed and not a minute later she heard Nathaniel ‘whoop’ inside. She laughed and sat back down as Gwen walked off the elevator. There was another whoop from inside and she looked confused. Emmy smiled at her. “Victor has a baby at home!”

“Really?!” she gasped. “Oh, my God, that’s awesome!” She threw her purse on the desk and ran in to the office.

Emmy heard her squeal like a teenager a minute later. She knew it was only a foster and the state would work to reunite the mother and child, but still the idea that they got to care for the little thing made her happy for him.

Victor and Gwen walked out of Nathaniel’s office smiling like fools, and then they walked to their respective desks. Victor smiled and winked at her. “I’ll need you in my office in a few minutes, Em. I just need to get settled.”

Emmy nodded and went back to work on her spreadsheet. She saw Gwen look at her out of the corner of her eye, and continued glancing over at her occasionally. She had trouble keeping the smirk off her face, and when Emmy finally turned and caught her staring at her full-on, Gwen looked away embarrassed. She smiled indulgently. “Go ahead. Ask me,” she said.

Gwen laughed. “Did you and Nathaniel go out?”

“Does anyone not know about our date on Friday?”

“If they didn’t know, they guessed with the steam heat you two were putting out,” she said. She looked around. “I was sure you weren’t going to be back for a long time when you went to the storage area.”

Emmy laughed. “We almost weren’t,” she admitted. “We had a lovely dinner.”

“And that's why his brother couldn’t get in contact with him all weekend,” she nodded.

“We had a lovely dinner,” Emmy repeated. “And a lovely breakfast.”

Gwen snorted. “That’s more like it.”

“And another lovely dinner.”

Gwen threw her head back and started laughing. “Atta girl!”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this,” she said. “You’re my mother’s age.”

Gwen laughed again. “Sweetheart, I’m young at heart.” She glanced back to make sure Nathaniel’s door was closed. “And you’re about a thousand times better for him than Jillian.”

Emmy felt her gut clench. Am I?

Victor had a few more spreadsheets he wanted her to work on, as well a few letters. He was flicking through the channels, between a few financial shows trying to glean some information for some projects he was looking at. Emmy looked at the TV and rolled her eyes. She took the remote.

“More money than sense,” she said. She pressed a few buttons and the screen split in four, three of the squares were financial shows and the last one was CNN. “There. This button,” she pointed to it, “will toggle the sound through the four channels.”

He looked at her. “Really? I had no idea it could do that.”

“You’re the financial wizard,” she said. “You’re not supposed to know that. You’re supposed to read the instructions.”

“Pfft,” he said, waiving his hand. “Instructions. Humbug.”

She laughed. “You’re absolutely glowing, Victor.”

“Greg and I have a baby at home,” he said. “I know it’s wrong, but really hope they can get the approval and we can adopt her. I didn’t know you could fall in love in a weekend.”

Neither did I. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s so little,” he smiled.

“And she’s going to have two insanely overprotective fathers,” Emmy said. “She’s going to be impossible to date.”

“She’s not going to date,” he said. “Ever.”

Emmy laughed and walked out waving the papers over her shoulder at him. “You can only hope!” She pulled the door closed, and headed to her desk. She became engrossed in sorting out the mess Victor had handed her, and the buzzer on the desk surprised her. She looked at the time; it was almost 11 a.m.

She leaned over and pressed the intercom. “Victor Walsh’s office.”

“Miss Westerly, Greg Cortez is here for Mister Walsh.”

“Yes, yes!” she said excitedly. “Send him up.” She buzzed into Victor’s office letting him know, and then buzzed over to Nathaniel as well. Gwen clapped like a five year old. It took an excruciatingly long time for the elevator to their offices to ding with the car’s arrival. Victor walked out just in time and Nathaniel joined him a moment later. The two men and Gwen walked over to greet Greg.

Emmy hung back waiting for Victor to bring the little girl over. She knew she wasn’t quite that familiar with them yet. Gwen had been there for fifteen years, and had worked for Victor and Nathaniel’s father. Emmy was still an interloper and would be for a while.

Victor walked over with the tiny, tiny infant girl in his arms, smiling. “Here she is, Emmy. What do you think?”

Emmy stood and walked around to get a good look at the baby. Sylvia Jane was awake and blinking. She had bright blue eyes, the kind that weren’t going to change as she grew older. She had the short beginnings of red hair. Not copper, not auburn, bright flaming red. Emmy tucked her finger into the baby’s hand and she instant wrapped her fingers around in a tight grip. “God, she’s a strong little thing, isn’t she?”

“You should hear her cry,” came Greg’s voice. “Kid’s got lungs.”

Emmy smiled and turned to look at Greg.

Oh, no.

She almost fainted. If she hadn’t been a Domme, trained to control herself and those around her in the tidiest fashion, she would have been on the floor. She schooled her face before she could do more than widen her eyes in shock, and went right back to neutral.

“Oh, Emmy,” Victor said. “That’s right. You’ve met the baby before you met my husband. Greg, this is Emmy Westerly. Emmy, this is Greg Cortez.”

Emmy stuck her hand out, letting her manners take over. “A pleasure.”

She instantly noticed that Greg didn’t school himself nearly as completely as she had. He had flushed bright red, his hand was slow to rise to meet hers and his eyes were still wide with shock. He finally took her hand and shook it. “Likewise,” he managed after clearing his throat.

She knew Victor didn’t catch any of what had just happened, and she was going to need lunch with Chantal to process this one. She grabbed her cell phone. While everyone was still fawning over Sylvia Jane, she quickly sent a text to her friend and hoped that she was available. She sat back at her desk. The phone peeped its ‘text received’ tone.

Chantal: Lunch is good with me! Shop and lunch or just an eat?

E Westerly: I need to talk to you. It’s not good.

Chantal: Not good is not good. Twelve at the Café?

E Westerly: Done.

She went back to working on the spreadsheet and butted out of the show and tell. Victor and Greg walked through the door to the managers’ area with the baby back in the carrier. She didn’t want to get in the way of Victor’s joy at the little girl.

Nathaniel put his head on his arms on the low wall next to her. “What the hell was that?”

She looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you go Domme,” he said quietly. “Completely and totally, when you met Greg. What was that all about?”

“The yard is on the phone, Nathaniel,” Gwen said.

“I would like an answer, Emmy,” he said quietly, and walked back to his office.

Fuck.

~*~*~

She’d managed to dodge Nathaniel when noon rolled around. She knew he would grill her about what he saw and she wasn’t ready to tell him. She needed to talk to Chantal.

Her friend was sitting at the same table they’d shared last time and waved her over with a fantastic smile on her face. She wanted to catch up with her, but this was mission critical at this point.

“Thanks,” she said sitting down.

“I ordered for you already,” Chantal said. “Same as last time.”

“Perfect,” Emmy said.

“How was your weekend?”

Emmy sighed. “I would love to tell you about it, but I have a serious, serious problem at work. I met my boss’s husband today.”

“He’s gay.” Chantal said. “You knew that.”

“That’s not the problem,” Emmy said. “It’s who his husband is.”

Chantal stilled. “Who?”

“Eric,” she said.

Chantal’s eyes went wide. “Eric? Divine?”

“Eric Divine,” she repeated, confirming it.

“Holy. Shit.”

“His real name is apparently Greg Cortez,” Emmy said. “I am not kidding you, I nearly crapped my pants when Victor introduced me. I had to snap into Domme to recover. It was insane. There he was standing there, real as day, with a baby he and Victor are fostering.”

“Does Victor know about him?”

“I sincerely don’t think so,” Emmy said. “I don’t think Victor is the kind of person to put up with kind of crap that Eric… Greg… whoever!, pulls.”

Chantal stared at her. “That’s Eric’s baby.”

“Same eyes,” she confirmed. “And, get this. Sylvia’s hair is bright red.”

“No!” Chantal nearly dropped the fork.

“What am I going to do?”

Chantal blinked a few times. “Do you think he's still wheeling and dealing?”

“I have no doubt,” Emmy said. “This time with a baby in tow.”

“How are you ever going to prove this is going on?”

“Victor's heart will be broken,” Emmy said, quietly and sadly.

“Eric is just going to pull the usual bullshit and leave him in the dust.”

Emmy nodded, and picked her sandwich apart. “I can't let this happen. I can't let him get away with this. He's a raging asshole, and he needs to get away from Victor.”

“You need to find out if that bitch signed away her parental rights,” Chantal said. “You need to make sure that if you send Eric packing, Victor has a chance to keep that little girl. He'd be the best thing for her.”

“I have to talk to Nathaniel,” she said.

“You need to tell Franz,” she answered.

“Yes, I do,” Emmy said. “Oh, this is so fucked up.”

“Maybe...” Chantal said, her voice trailing off. Emmy waited, looking at her friend. She could see the ideas churning in her head. “Maybe you can trap him in his own game. I know you can't flat out tell Victor, because he won't believe you, but if you and Nathaniel can figure out how to prove what he's up to, maybe you can stop the jerk. Finally.”

Emmy thought for a minute. Take down Eric Divine. That would be wonderful. She nodded slowly. “That's an idea.” She looked up at Chantal. “Yes, I like it. I didn't even know he was still in town, this will be a perfect way to make sure that his next trip out of town is to prison.”

“Good,” Chantal said, picking up her fork again. “Now we’ve gotten that out of the way, eat. Tell me about your weekend.”

Emmy laughed. “You are definitely a Domme.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I was going to text you tomorrow and find out if you wanted to go out Friday night. Kind of... a double date?”

Emmy looked at her. “Things going well with Tyrone?”

“Yes,” she said. “I got him interested in some ideas. He's a typical male with that macho, 'why you need more baby? This ain't enough?' Commence pulling down pants.” She rolled her eyes and Emmy laughed. “I finally got pissed and tied him to the bed so we could talk.”

“You didn't?” Emmy gasped.

“He just kept laughing whenever I started to try to talk to him about it, and finally just had enough. I threatened to tie him up if he laughed or tried to distract me. He tried, and I followed through with my threat.” She shrugged.

“And?”

“I didn't untie him right away after we talked,” she said with a smile. “He didn't complain.” Emmy put up a hand, and Chantal high-fived her. “And your weekend?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Well. You know.”

Chantal raised an eyebrow. “Is he good in bed?”

“And in the bathroom, and in the den, and on a Saint Andrew's Cross...” Emmy answered.

“Woah!” Chantal gasped. “Good weekend then.”

“Very,” she said. “He also cooks.”

Emmy paid enough attention at lunch to have a good conversation with Chantal, and even start to figure out the logistics of their double date on Friday. But her mind was on Victor and Sylvia Rose. No baby deserved what Eric... Greg was going to do to her. After she and Chantal were done with lunch  and she was heading back to the office, she pulled out the phone and called Franz.

He gave his usual greeting, “This is Dorn.”

“Franz, it's Emmy,” she said. “Are you sitting down, darling?”

“I will if I have to,” he answered. “What's up?”

“Eric Divine.”

“What?” She heard him hit a chair hard. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Unfortunately,” she said.

“Where is the son of a bitch? I'm going to ring his fucking neck and make a throw rug out of what's left of his ass.”

“You can't,” Emmy said. “I know you want to, but you can't. I think I can catch him and get him prosecuted, but you can't touch him. You have to trust me on this one. I wanted to warn you he was still around and he's still pulling the same shit.”

“You need to tell me, Emerson.”

“Don't you ever fucking call me that, Franz Wolfgang,” she snapped back. “I can't tell you. I can't even tell you why I can't tell you. But I thought maybe you would like to know the asshole is still here.”

“Emmy,” he started.

“No,” Emmy snapped. “You need to get over your trust issue with me. You know I didn't do anything on purpose, you shit. I thought you were over that. I'm being nice to you right now.  If you try to find out where he is or what he's doing, I'll shove my boot up your ass so far, you'll taste leather.”

“Emmy, I'm sorry,” he spit out before she could hang up on him. “Eric brings out my vitriol. I trust you implicitly. If you can handle him and make sure he goes down, I'm behind you one hundred percent. More if need be.”

Emmy took a calming breath. He's your friend. He was your only friend. “Alright, fine.”

“Em, I'm really sorry.”

“I know,” she said. “Just remember I could have said nothing and wouldn't it have sucked if you had rolled up on him one unsuspecting day.”

“Yes, it would have,” Franz said. “Get the asshole. Take him down.”

“I plan on it,” she said.

“Forgive me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She ended the conversation as she walked into the elevator up to the office. Gwen wasn’t at her desk and she quickly checked to make sure Victor wasn’t in his office either. She walked over to Nathaniel’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” he called.

She pushed the door open and found him sitting at his desk, eating a Primanti’s. He looked up and saw her standing there, and she saw the anger on his face. Oh hell. She knew instantly that avoiding him earlier was a bad idea. She walked in, and shut and locked the door.

“I hope you’re not doing that because you think we’re going to do it on my desk,” he said, looking back at his sandwich and taking a bite.

“No,” she said. “I wanted to give you an answer about what you saw earlier.” She walked over using her most utilitarian stride. “I’m sorry I avoided you. I had to talk to someone before I could answer you. I should have told you that.”

“Mmph,” he said, around the sandwich.

“Hey,” she said, quietly, “remember that learning thing?”

He put the sandwich down and looked at her. “I thought we would have lunch together.”

“I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I had to talk to Chantal. I needed someone who knew the situation to bounce my panic off of,” she said walking in. She sat in the chair in front of his desk. “This wasn’t something I could just blurt out to you without working it out in my brain.”

He bobbed his head a bit in acquiescence. “Ok. Can you tell me now?”

“I can, but I need to ask a few questions first,” she explained.

He motioned to her and picked up the sandwich again, taking a bite.

“How long have Greg and Victor known each other?”

“Two years,” he answered around the mouthful.

“How long have they been a couple?”

“Two years.”

She picked at her fingernail. This was worse than she thought. “I know Victor introduced Greg as his husband, are they married? As in, was their a ceremony?”

Nathaniel pointed to a picture on the side table of Greg and Victor in suits and smiling at each other. “About a year ago. You can ask Victor all of this yourself, you know.”

“I know, but I can’t tell him why I needed to know,” she said. “How well do you know Greg?”

“He’s my brother’s significant other,” he said. “He came along at time when my brother really needed someone to care about him and they took off like a bat out of hell as a couple. Victor has been nothing but happy with Greg, and he even gave up hope of a family for him. Greg said he didn’t want kids, and Victor was willing to go along with that. So Sylvia Jane is a shock.”

Emmy looked at him. “I know Greg.”

Nathaniel stopped, his mouth open, sandwich half way up. He stared at her blankly for a moment, and then put the sandwich down. “I’m going to guess that you’re not talking about college buddies here.”

“I know him from work,” she said. “He was one of the original staff there, a few months after me. Two, three? He was fired a year and a half ago.”

Nathaniel looked at her, gulping. “That recently?” he asked. “What happened?”

“He defrauded Franz, badly, and nearly got the guy tossed in jail,” Emmy answered.

“For what?”

“Running a whore house, and drug trafficking charges,” Emmy said. “Rule number one, no relations in the building. Ever. Because it goes from a club to a whore house in the blink of an eye. It was always the house rule. You wanted a relationship, you took it to a hotel. Number two: no illegal substances, ever. No pot, no drugs, no inhalants. Nothing. Number three: no money exchange at all in the rooms. The only place money could change hands was at the desk or the club floors and bars. Nothing anywhere else in the building.”

“Why do I suddenly feel very ill?”

“He broke all the rules,” she said. “We’re not even sure how long he was breaking them. When he first started he seemed honest and genuine. When they caught him in the room giving head, Franz lost his shit on him. It was a random health inspection by the city and there he was, working the guy over. Thankfully, we had a few favors to call in to make sure no charges were filed, that it was understood Eric was working on his own.”

“Eric?”

“When you work at Imperial, you never give your real name,” she said. “I knew him as Eric Divine. That’s why I didn’t know it was the same person. And that’s the idea. Franz called in Albright and Dunham to clean it up, and they found a lot of nasty dirt on him. He had been prostituting in the club for at least two years. He had a dealer he bought from to resell and partake once in a while. And the fraud. Good God, the fraud. Franz said the club had lost nearly a million dollars when it was all said and done. They followed the fraud back nearly three years, not all that long after he started working there.”

Nathaniel looked like he had been punched in the stomach. “Only eighteen months ago?”

Emmy looked apologetic. “Yes. Franz kicked him out and he’s been banned from most of the houses in and around the ‘Burgh. But we could never prosecute him for the fraud. He had hidden the money really well, and if we pursued it, we’d risk exposing the club which Franz wasn’t willing to do.”

She paused. “This gets a little worse, Nathaniel.”

“Worse?” he asked his head in hands. He looked up. “How could this get worse?”

“Eric had an accomplice,” she said, “that he was involved with.”

“Romantically?”

“Bad choice of words, but yes,” she said.

“He cheated on my brother?”

“He has betrayed your brother,” Emmy said. “The accomplice’s name was Anne de Gaulles.”

“Anne?” he hissed.

“Well, that was her name at the club,” Emmy said.

“Her?”

Emmy nodded. “Greg is bi. Anne had bright red hair.”

She was sure that Nathaniel’s eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, my God. The baby.”

“He’s playing your brother,” she said.

Nathaniel stood and walked over to the wall, running his hands through his hair. He looked back at her. “You’re sure it’s him. You’re sure it’s the same guy.” She nodded, not wanting to say anymore. She didn’t know how much Nathaniel could handle. He shook his head, and before she could even try to stop him, he slammed his fist into the wall, creating a crater in the plasterboard. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Emmy stood and walked over to where Nathaniel had leaned his forehead against he wall. She leaned back and folded her arms. “I want to catch this asshole, Nathaniel,” she said. “I want to catch him and put him in jail for a good long time. I think we can do it.” She paused and turned to lean her shoulder on the wall. “I don’t want to break your brother’s heart, but this guy is dirty. In more than one way.”

“What about the baby?”

“That’s where we can start,” she said. “We can find out if Anne signed off her parental rights. If she has, then it’s just a matter of catching Greg and getting him to sign off the parental rights. Victor can adopt her.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “That baby is just going to be a pawn for him, and I don’t want to see that happen when Victor can give her everything.”

“I can’t believe this,” Nathaniel growled.

“Now you know why I snapped out there,” she said. “Forgive me for dodging you?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes. Of course.” He turned his head still leaning on the wall. “How are we going to find out if this Anne person did the termination?”

“I can ask Albright to check into it,” she said.

“You trust him?”

“Implicitly,” she said. She wondered how much she was really going to have to tell him about her past. “He’s excellent at what he does. He and Durham have always worked with the club and the employees.”

“Then do it,” he said, looking at her. “Do it before this gets any worse than it already is.” He punched the wall again. “He was cheating on Victor after the ceremony. Asshole. Does he have any idea what my brother went through to get where he is today? He was effed up in the head for years. Years. Greg is the best thing to happened to him.”

Emmy sighed. “I wish this weren’t true,” she said. She found herself very, very angry at Eric. “There’s another complication, too. He knows me. He knows I recognized him.”

“How well do you know him?”

Emmy’s heart stopped for a beat, and she blinked. “He was one of my earliest flings,” she answered, hoping she didn’t hate herself for the truth.

Nathaniel looked at her. “But that doesn’t really answer the question, does it.” She could see him processing the information. “Just because you were sleeping with him doesn’t mean you knew him?”

“No, it doesn’t,” she admitted. “But he was one of the earlier employees, and we knew each other. And everyone at the club knows his face because we all wanted to punch him.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Not that I blame you,” he said. “I’m on board with that.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I can’t believe this is what happens when I finally get my brother to lower his guard. This sucks.”

“And just imagine,” Emmy said. “I have to smile in his face every time I see him.”

Nathaniel looked at the wall. “Shit. Now I have to fix the wall, too.”

Emmy laughed. “Go finish your lunch, Mister Walsh. Primanti’s is waiting. I’ll get Albright on this pronto.” She started to walk towards the locked door.

“How well do you know Albright?” he asked quietly.

She stopped and looked down at her shoes. So it begins. “Very.” She turned and looked at him.

“Another fling?” he asked.

“A long one,” she answered, honestly. “Nathaniel, it’s been my whole life since I was sixteen. I don’t have many non… club friends.”

He stared at her, and she knew what was coming. “Please don’t be angry with me about this question. Did you sleep with him?”

“Yes,” she said.

He pinched his nose and shook his head. “How many do I have to compete with, Emmy?”

“None,” she said. “If I had wanted to stay with them, I would have.”

“Aren’t men supposed to have the large number?”

“It’s not a contest, Nathaniel,” she said. She paused, and sighed. “I’ve got baggage. That’s how I dealt with it. And still do to some degree. But I don’t want you to feel like you’re competing with them, ever.”

He walked over to her. “How many Emmy?”

She rolled her head to the side. “I can tally them up if you really want me to. Notch the bedpost if you like.”

“Remember that learning thing?”

She slumped her shoulders. She didn’t really want to talk about this so soon after dropping the Eric Divine bomb. “Ten, twelve longer term relationships, if that’s what you want to call them. Probably twenty-five, thirty short term.”

“Short term how?”

“One nighters, a couple of nights here and there, nothing more than good sex.” He looked utterly deflated by her admission. “Nathaniel,” she said putting a hand on his cheek. “Don’t take this so personally. They were all before you. They aren’t now. I like you, probably more than is healthy in so short of a time. I’m also firm believer in mutual exclusivity, and you called me your girlfriend. I think that qualifies.”

He pressed his lips together. “There’s a lot of you to take in, Emmy.”

“I’ve never had to explain most of this,” she answered. “If it’s too much for you…”

“It’s a bit more than I expected,” he said, “but I like you more than is probably healthy in so short of a time.” He smirked at her.

“Copy cat,” she said. “I don’t like copy cats, Nathaniel.”

“Hmph. And what do you plan on doing about that?” he asked.

“Well, there’s that flogger you like so much,” she answered. “But then, that wouldn’t really be discipline, would it?”

“No, Mistress,” he said. “But I would take my licks if you insisted.”

“You would like my licks, wouldn’t you.”

“Oh, yes,” he said.

She smiled at him and glanced at the clock. She leaned in and kissed him thoroughly, feeling his breathing speed up and his pants tightening against her. She pulled back and smirked at him. “Hm. My lunch is over. Such a shame.” She turned and walked to the door and unlocked it. She turned and looked at him, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped. “I have a coffee break at two fifteen, Mister Walsh. We can conclude our interaction then, if you like.”

She turned and walked out the grinning wickedly.

“Yes, Miss Westerly,” he said, turning and walking back to his desk. “I will expect you promptly.”

She was having fun with this game.

Chapter 13:

“You’re sure? That fast?” Emmy whispered into the phone looking at Nathaniel. “Yes. Of course. Yes, I know you're good at this, I just didn't expect only a week.” He heard the voice on the other end say something and it sounded very much like Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Ok. Do you have a copy of the paperwork with the raised seal? Awesome. Yes, bring it up, I’ll let them know you’re coming. Thank you so much, Brad. See you soon.” She pressed the receiver and opened the line again, dialing the front desk. “Mister Walsh’s office. There will be a visitor for Nathaniel Walsh in about half an hour, Bradley Albright. Please send him straight up. Yes. Thank you.”

She looked at him and smile. “Done. She signed away parental rights four hours after birth and we have the papers.”

“Step one, complete,” Nathaniel said, standing up from his lean. “I feel awful doing this.”

“Doesn’t it suck being honest sometimes?” she said, leaning back in the big leather desk chair. “You feel bad about everything you do that might hurt someone, but then, at the same time, there are people who don’t give a crap and go around wrecking lives without a thought.” She shivered.

“Greg?” he asked, guessing she had someone in mind when she said that.

Emmy paused and shook her head. “Lance, this time.”

“Well, thank goodness doing the right thing feels better in the long run,” he said. He folded his arms and stared at her. “Um, I have a problem for Thursday night.”

“What?” Emmy went on alert.

“Mary sprained her ankle,” he said.

“Who’s Mary?”

“My dance partner,” he smiled.

“Oh,” she said. The light bulb winked on. “Oh! Wait. Are you asking me to go to your ballroom dance class with you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said.

“Oh, uh…” Emmy stuttered and stalled. “I don’t dance very well.”

“You’ll be a challenge,” he said. “I’ve been dancing so long I think I need one. But I honestly don’t think you’ll be that bad. It’s tango, with quick run through on swing and paso doble.”

“Swing?” she gasped. “The last time I tried swing, I swung too hard and landed on my ass in the middle of gym class. I took the F.”

“Please, Emmy?” he said. He looked so sweet and innocent begging her. “You showed me your hobby, let me show you mine.”

“A hobby?” she asked standing up, suppressing a smile. “A hobby? That’s what you call it?”

“Well,” he said, smiling. “Maybe more than a hobby. A pastime?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really, Nathaniel. Such impertinence.”

“Oh dear, have I crossed you again?” he said, walking over to her.

“One might start to think you were doing it on purpose,” Emmy said, licking her bottom lip suggestively. “Such transgressions should not go unpunished.”

“Such promises from a hobbyist,” he stated.

She grabbed him and spun him against the wall, trapping his arms behind him. “Oh, my what I would do to you were we at my place.”

“But we aren't at your place, are we?” he asked.

“Mm, we aren't,” she answered and let his hands go. He flipped them around quickly and grabbed her by the wrists. Emmy was impressed. He was very quick with that move. He pulled her very close to him. “Why, Mister Walsh. One might almost think you were coming on to me.”

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I'd rather you think I'm coming in you.”

Emmy's jaw dropped. “Nathaniel!”

“You're rubbing off on me, Emmy,” he said.

She smiled. “I think you have that backwards.”

“Oh, do I?” he asked. He let her hands go and snaked his hands down to the hem of the skirt she was wearing. “I think I will have to prove you wrong.” He slipped his hand under her skirt and she felt his hand on her bare leg. “Are you wearing stockings...?”

“One way to find out,” she whispered. “Lock the door.”

He raised an eyebrow and she didn't say anything, just watched him walk over to lock the door to his office. She turned and leaned against the wall. He walked back to her and she simply smiled at him. “Now, where was I?”

He moved his hand back to her skirt, and slowly slid his hand under again, up her thigh to discover the top of the stocking there. His hand was warm and she adored the feeling of his slightly roughened hand on her skin. He closed his eyes and ran his hand up further, and found out she was wearing a thong. “Oh, Em. Did you wear that for me?”

“Well, you seemed to like it the other day,” she said, grabbing his hips and pulling him in close. “And after that interesting coffee break last Monday...”

“Hmm, yes,” he said, slowly working the skirt up her legs. “It's quite interesting to work on a deadline like that.”

“It is,” she said. She leaned in, nibbled on his ear and started trailing kisses down his neck to the top of the oxford shirt. “Mmm. You're wearing a tie.” She moved her hand to the front of his pants where his erection was pushing against the zipper. She unbuttoned him and dropped the zipper.

“I have a mee- oh!- ting in an hour,” he said. “No tie.” She had run a fingernail down his length and elicited the gasp.

“Are you putting us under deadline again, Nathaniel?”

“A longer one,” he whispered. His kiss was slow and warm and soft and Emmy leaned into it, welcoming his tongue with hers. She felt his hands working her skirt. “I just keep thinking about you, Emmy,” he said. “Every time I walk by your desk, every time I see you walk by my door, I instantly want you.” He kissed down her neck to her shoulder as she gently stroked his erection after pulling the pants out of the way.

“I could do such naughty things to you,” she said.

“You already do,” he breathed. His hands were massaging her ass, getting closer and closer to the back of her thong. “And I like what you do.” He ran his hand down and dipped a finger into her from behind.

Emmy was panting, and feeling his finger inside felt so delicious. She pressed her mouth to his and demanded him, tracing his teeth and stroking his tongue. She pulled back a little. “Fuck me,” she breathed. “Bend me over your couch and fuck me, Nathaniel.”

His eyes grew wide for just a moment, and then flared with consuming heat. He snapped the string on her thong in the next instant and spun her around to face the nearby couch. She wanted him to be raw with her in that moment, and he pushed her to the couch. Putting a hand on her back, he bent her over the tall leather arm and pulled off what remained of her thong. He pushed her skirt up to her waist, exposing her completely to him. She felt the cool of the air and the heat of his erection behind her. He slid his hand over the pale skin of her ass and down to her wet entrance.

“Is this for me too,” he said, dipping his finger in again.

“Just for you,” she said.

He put one hand on her hip and she peered back to see him grab his erection and aim it for her. He pressed against her, and with a swift thrust, was all the way in to his very base. Emmy gasped from the quick pulse of the dull, delightful pain of him hitting home inside her. He leaned forward and breathed in her ear. “So wet,” he said, and moved himself out slowly and then back in hard.

She loved the feeling of him inside her, aiming for her g-spot. He leaned down and went from slamming himself into her to a smooth rhythm. His hands found her breasts. He plumped them, rubbing the material over her nipples. She loved it, and pressed her breasts harder into his hands. He managed to snag her now-stiffened nipples through the cloth of the shirt and thin satin bra, and she gasped as he pinched them.

Emmy could not get enough of Nathaniel. She wanted him all the time, in all different ways- not just for sex. The way he made her feel when he was in her was so right; what he did to make her smile when they were fully dressed was endearing. And the way he was learning to let her take over  was what she needed.

What she needed right that moment was what he was giving her. Raw, wanton sex. She didn't usually find herself wanting something quite like this-- even the coffee break the week before had been more reserved, more vanilla.  This wasn't controlled, or planned. But it was good, very good, as he scraped the head of his erection against her walls.

Emmy clenched her muscles against his thrusting cock, and she heard him gasp. She released him and did it again as he pulled back out. “Holy fuck, Emmy,” he breathed. He pulled on her nipples, mashing her breasts against her body. She did it again, and felt him harden inside her even more. He started to move faster against her, his sack slamming against her wet, hidden clit.

She hissed, “Harder, Nathaniel. Fuck me harder.”

He obliged, moving his hands to her hips and pulling her hard back against his cock. The rhythm was punishing, and he slammed into her over and over, sending her higher and higher. She had trouble catching her breath. “I'm coming, Nathaniel,” she gasped.

“Come with me,” he said, and pulled her back even harder and faster.

It only took a few thrusts at his faster and harder pace for her to explode. “Oh, yes. Yes! Oh shit, yes, Nathaniel!” She felt the orgasm roll through her, spreading its sweet heat from her sex all the way out to her toes, and curling them. She clenched him inside her as tightly as she could and she felt him come, spilling himself into her with each pump of his hips and gasp of her name. “Emmy! Shit. Emmy.”

He slowed and ended his motions with himself all the way inside her. He leaned down for a moment, pressing his cheek against her back. “I can't get enough of you.” Emmy savored the sensation of his erection as it slowly relaxed inside her, and slipped out a moment later.

“Ditto,” she said, quietly. He stepped back, grabbing her by the elbows and helping her stand. He turned her around and leaned in, giving her another liquid fire kiss. She savored the tasted of him.

“You look unbelievably sexy standing there like that, skirt all pulled up and shirt disheveled.”

“Keep it up, and you're going to be late for your meeting,” Emmy said, straightening the tie.

He pulled her skirt back down slowly, hiding the garters and stockings below it, smoothing it over her hips. He bent down and picked up what remained of her thong. “Ah. Um. Sorry.”

“You're the one who's going to have deal with knowing I'm walking around without panties on,” she said, tucking them in the pocket of his pants as she reassembled himself.

“Do you want me to come over tonight?” he asked, and she heard the tone of hope in his voice.

“It's Wednesday,” she said.

“Yeah, and?”

“Soup kitchen night,” she said, pulling her shirt back to its position.

“Oh that's right,” he said. He buttoned his pants, and zipped them up. “Would you like company?”

“It's not an outting, Nathaniel,” she said, tugging on the skirt to make it lay properly.

“I know,” he said. “I'd like to see how my money gets used.”

Emmy rankled. “This isn't about showing off!”

“Who said I'm showing off?” he asked. “I've never served at the soup kitchen and I want to see what they do with the money.”

“There's the money again,” she said, stepping away from him.

“Em. I give thousands upon thousands of dollars to the local charities. I usually do check up on them and make sure the most good is done with the money. That the most amount of people are served by the charity. I've pulled money from several charities over the years, and I've given more to others when they show how efficiently they can use it.”

“You'd pull money from a soup kitchen.” She could feel herself flushing angrily.

“You twisted my words, Emmy,” he said. “I would never do that. I would never pull them from a charity with that short of a chain of influence. It's barely two steps from the donors to the recipient, and with that short of a chain, they do the most good.”

She blinked at him a few times. “You won't pull the money.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “I pulled from Susan G. Komen. I wouldn't pull from the Allegheny Kitchen.”

She rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I'm sorry. I overreact when people start talking about money.”

“So, would you like some company?”

“Yes,” she said. “I would. Oh. Chantal wants to know if you want to go out again this Friday. Apparently she and Tyrone had a great time with us.”

Nathaniel made a face. “To that place again?”

“Yes,” she said. “We're in the 'Burgh. There just aren’t a lot of clubs to choose from.”

“Friday?” he asked. “You're still working at Imperial on Saturday?” She heard the rebuke in his tone, and she merely nodded. She didn't want to get into with him. “Ok, Friday,” he said. “Can Chantal and Tyrone be ready by six?”

Emmy was confused. “I guess so, if I tell them that.”

He smiled conspiratorially. “Pass the word on. Six on Friday. And bring an overnight bag.”

What?

~*~*~

Emmy handed the little dirty boy a plate with macaroni and cheese as well as two small slices of ham and some broccoli on it. “There you go, Westin,” she said with a smile. “Do you want me to bring grandma's over for you?”

“Yes please, Miss Emmy,” he said sweetly.

Emmy nodded to Nathaniel who picked up the tray with the other two plates on it, as well as an orange juice for the boy and two bottles of vitamin water. He followed Emmy as she walked over to the table where an elderly woman and middle aged man were seated. The man stood up. “Oh, Miss Emmy you didn't have to bring that over!”

“Sure I did,” she said, smiled. “I wanted to come over and say hello to everyone. Especially Grandma Yearling.” She took one of the plates and put it in front of the older woman. “How are you today, Mrs. Yearling?”

The frail older woman looked up at her and smiled. “Emerson. So nice to see you again. I'm alright, you know. Old bones and all that.”

Emerson?

“Oh, your bones aren't all that old, Mrs. Yearling.”

“Oh my!” the woman exclaimed. “Is this fresh broccoli tonight?”

Emmy smiled broadly at Nathaniel. “Yes. Mister Walsh was nice enough to clean out the Giant Eagle on the way here for some fresh veggies tonight, instead of frozen or canned.”

Nathaniel blushed.

“Well, that's very kind of you, sir,” the middle aged man said. “Are you THE Nathaniel Walsh? Of Walsh Distribution?”

“I am,” he said.

“It's an honor to meet you,” he said. “Peter Yearling, my son Westin and my mother Tina.”

He nodded at each of them and Emmy sat down next to the little boy. “Now, Westin. Why do you look like you took a dive in the mud today?”

“I did,” he said. “I didn't know the water wasn't working.”

Peter hushed him. Emmy blinked a few times, and Nathaniel could see the tears in her eyes. He leaned down to the boy. “Hey. I got an idea. You want to take a quick bath? It's not a regular bath, but you'll be just as clean?” Westin nodded enthusiastically. “Finish dinner, then come find me. I'm going to be steaming broccoli.”

Emmy put her happy face back on, and nodded. She followed him back into the kitchen area, and before he knew what happened, she had punched the refrigerator. He stopped and gaped at her anger. “They shut the water off. Fuckers! With the kid and the old woman in the house.”

“You obviously know this family, Em,” he said. “What do they need? What's their situation?”

“Peter was a mortgage broker,” she said. “He was let go four years ago, so he's past any unemployment. They are trying to live off Grandma Yearling's social security. Which is about seven fifty for the whole month. Last October I bought them a cord of wood so they wouldn't have to run the heat all the time. Peter is at all the job fairs and he's working part time at a Burger King, over night. But that's not much.”

“Can we get the water back on?”

“We can,” she said, “if we pay it. But the guy doesn't have a job. We can pay it every month, but he's always going to be behind. If it's not the water, it's the power. If it's not the power, it's the taxes. If it's not the taxes, it's the mortgage. I'll get the water back on, but I wish I could get the guy a job. His suit is shot. I went to goodwill and found one for him, but he can't afford the dry cleaning.”

“He's a mortgage broker?”

“He has a masters in finance,” she answered, leaning against the fridge. “I've been trying to find him anything at all with benefits for that boy.”

Nathaniel put a hand on either side of her head and leaned in. “Your have a big heart Emmy. It's beautiful to see. Get the water back on for them, and get me a copy of his resume. I'll see what I can do for him.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course I would,” he said. “Even if I don't need him, I'm sure I can find someone can.”

She placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him in, kissing him long and hard. “If there is anyone here who deserves this chance, it's Peter Yearling. Thank you.”

“Why did Mrs. Yearling call you Emerson?” he asked.

She cringed. “That's my full name. Emerson Madeline Westerly, and I hate it.”

He was shocked. “I had no idea Emmy was short for anything.”

“I like it that way,” she said. “Don't go calling me Emerson.”

“No, no,” he said, holding up his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of crossing you, Mistress.”

She leaned in. “You constantly dream of crossing me, sir. And you like it.” She backed away a little bit, with the smile falling. “But I’m very serious about not calling me Emerson. I hate the name.” He nodded. He could tell she wasn’t messing around. He was getting better at knowing when she was serious, when she was playful and when she was just downright sexual. She smiled again. “You’re really going to see what you can do?”

“Yup,” he said. “Just get me his resume.”

She kissed him again.

“Is there anyone else around here I can get job? Because if you’re going to keep kissing me like that, I’m going to need a stack of resumes.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “The fresh broccoli was enough. I wish I could have seen the cashier weighing all that and bagging it.”

“Eh, the manager did it,” he said.

“Even better,” she laughed, walking back to the counter where there was suddenly a line of people. He walked to the back to pull out more bottled drinks.

Emmy was in her glory, helping these people. Even more than when she had him where she wanted him. Her eyes sparkled and she bounced more than walked from place to place. She talked and teased the diners, and served up the meal of the evening. She knew these people; more than not having money, some of them didn’t have heat or water. Some of them had houses but some of them were homeless. She was clearly the bright spot in some of their days.

The door were supposed to close at 7, but there was still food, so they left them open and were serving dinner until nearly 8:30. They scrubbed the whole place down, and then Emmy and the manager set up the electric cookers for the oatmeal in the morning, when the doors would open again at 6 a.m. for a hot breakfast.

Toni locked the doors behind them, and waved. “Good night, Em. Night Nathaniel. Thanks for coming!”

He smiled and waved back. She hopped in her little Civic and pulled away from the curb smoothly. Nathaniel took her hand, and they started walking back to her apartment.

“So what did you think?” she asked.

“Humbling,” he said. He looked at their interlocked fingers and he thought perhaps it was time to start asking more personal questions. He had to admit he really liked this girl. “Emmy, how many times did you have to go to a soup kitchen?”

He heard her swallow hard, and then let out a slow breath. “For a while, I had to go every day,” she said softly. “For breakfast. I had to get through school and I didn’t want to eat at night because I wasn’t sure if I was going to have a meal or not.”

“Why?”

“That’s a part of my past I don’t talk about, Nathaniel,” she said.

He sighed. “Emmy, I want to get to know you better. You said it, I said it. We like each other more than we should after just four weeks of knowing each other. We had to put the kibosh on office sex after just one coffee break—and we broke that today. There’s something between us, and I want to find out what it is and where we can take it.”

“I don’t think you would understand,” she said. “You’ve lived a charmed life…”

“Was I not with you tonight? Helping? Didn’t I show a six year old how to take a sponge bath in a public sink?” he asked. “I know I’m spoiled. I was able to buy eighty pounds of fresh broccoli without batting an eye, and that little boy’s father couldn’t pay the water bill. But I wouldn’t have this any other way. I’m glad I could buy the broccoli.”

The silence went on longer and longer, and she sighed. He wasn’t sure she was going to tell him.

“I was fourteen,” she said quietly. “Before I came to live with Uncle Charlie. I wasn’t sure if my step-father was going to let me have dinner that night. That’s why I always went for breakfast; I loved my mother’s cooking so I wanted to make sure I could have it if I was allowed to.”

“Why would he say you couldn’t eat?”

Emmy shrugged. He was waiting for an explanation, albeit twisted, but she wasn’t offering any. “That’s it. Just a shrug?”

“I don’t know why, Nathaniel,” she said. “I don’t know. There’s a reason I live here and they live in Boston.”

“Your mother is still married to him?” He was genuinely shocked.

“I suppose so,” she answered. She shrugged. “She was when I booked my ticket for Boston.”

Her voice was soft and unusually quiet. He’d never heard her like this, and he could tell this really wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. “I’m sorry, Emmy. I didn’t want to make you upset. I was just so dazzled by you in there, all bubbly smiles and alive. I want to get to know that girl better.” He sighed when she didn’t answer him. “You’re going to Boston next week?”

“Week after,” she said. “Annual pilgrimage.”

“If it’s this painful, why don’t you skip it?”

“Because I want to see my mother and sister,” she said.

“Can’t they come out here?”

“They are dirt poor, Nathaniel. They can’t afford to come out here.”

He was completely confused. “But you spent a year in Europe. Touring, palaces, audiences with queens and heads of state…”

“With my father,” she said. “He wanted to show me the world, and meet his wife, and help me start to climb out of the bin of trash I lived in. He wanted me to go to Princeton and Oxford, and spend a year at the Sorbonne. He was arranging for me to go to boarding school on the Cote d’Azur.” Her words were alive and hopeful as she told him her father’s plans, and then trailed off.

He let the silence go for a moment as they walked along. “What happened?”

“He died. He and Sarinya were killed in a car accident in the Ukraine on the way to see her family,” she said. “And I was stuck with Sean and Alyssa Greene, in Five Pines Motor Court.” Her sigh was laden with regret and broken promises. “Uncle Charlie kept the cello because Sean wouldn’t allow it in the house. Took up too much room. Stupid waste of space for a talentless twat rag like me. I was fat, too. ”

Nathaniel paused. “Does he do this to your sister?”

“The Golden Child?” she said, and laughed. “Are you kidding? Allison is perfect. She’s always escaped his wrath. She used to try and stop him from being mean to me by crying when he pulled that shit. It worked a few times, but…”

“You love your sister?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you resent her?”

“She’s still at home with that bastard,” Emmy said. “I just hope he doesn’t turn on her.”

Nathaniel felt everything come together with a tremendous crash in his brain. She didn’t want to talk about her past, but because of it she was a Domme. She needed to control things in her life because her childhood had no control. He would even venture a guess that Sean Greene had started his abuse of her right about the time Allison was born. No reason to respect that which wasn’t yours.

So she controlled everything. Her body, her voice, her environment, her friends, her lovers… He’d read that most Dommes were former subs; Emmy had said she wasn’t. But right there, in the confession that her step-father had treated her so poorly, she had told him that she had been submissive—just not in the sexual sense of the word. At her first chance to escape, she took her life in her own hands and possessed it.

What had the bastard done to her that she wouldn’t talk about her life, and went so far as to become a Domme at a BDSM club? What had he done that she would rely on a soup kitchen to keep her fed?

“How old were you when you moved in with your uncle Charlie?” he asked.

“Sixteen,” she said. “I came out for a summer because Charlie missed his brother and wanted to get to know me. It became permanent very quickly. I asked mom, mom said to ask Sean, Sean said he didn’t give a shit and bam, I’m enrolled at the local high school.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ve never told anyone this much about me, Nathaniel. Even Daniel didn’t know.” Her odd quiet voice started to grow strong again, into the powerful tone he was used to.

“I like that you trust me Emmy,” he said.

“I’m not used to be questioned.”

“We’re just getting to know each other,” he said.

“I know,” she said. There was still an odd distance to her voice and Nathaniel had the feeling  tonight was not going to be a night in her bed; they were going to the dark room.

When they walked in the door, he knew he was right. Emmy didn’t want to talk about the time she wasn’t in control and she needed to take some of that back, now. She pushed him up against the wall as soon as the door was shut and pressed her mouth over his, her tongue sliding in into him and taking over. It was amazing how knowing what she was going to do turned him on. It still confused his brain why this should feel so damn good and be wrong, but his body didn't care. He was starting to really enjoy some of her tricks.

“I want you naked on the saddle horse, now,” she breathed, pulling away for just a moment. She was breathing hard, eyes dark. She pulled the tie loose and started on the buttons. Nathaniel pulled the tie the rest of the way off and dropped it on the floor as she yanked him closer for another kiss, just as deep and lust-filled as the first one. He let her pull his shirt apart as he began undressing her, pulling her shirt out of her skirt, and running his hands under to the garter belt.

His body clenched and he felt his erection straining when he remembered he had ripped her thong off her earlier. “You've been naked like this all day,” he breathed, squeezing her ass.

“And thinking about you bending me over that couch,” she answered, and his shirt hit floor next to the tie.

He unzipped her skirt and it floated to the floor from her hips. He trailed his fingers up her now-naked ass, and up under her shirt, running his hands up to find that she was wearing his favorite thin satin bra. He pushed her skirt up and over her head. She was standing there in the bra, garter, stockings, and heels.

He pushed off his shoes as she gripped the button of his pants. She slid them down and off, and they went in the pile with the rest of the clothes. He was in only his boxers and they weren't leaving much to the imagination. His erection was threatening to show itself.

She moved to step out of the shoes, and he put his hand on her thigh. “No, please. Leave them on. You look incredible.”

She took several ragged breaths, and grabbed his hand. She pulled him to the door of the dark room and opened it. She shoved him against the door frame. “No macho shit. Stop means stop.”

“Stop means stop,” he parroted. He'd learned she needed to hear him say it. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue stealing into her hot mouth and finding hers. He loved the taste of her, and he was growing to love the dark room and what she could to him.

She broke the kiss and pointed to the leather covered horse. “Go.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, and walked over to the horse. She had shown him how he should lean over it and stepped into the stirrups. He leaned over, his ass in the air, covered only with the thin boxers. His erection was crushed against the leather, but he didn't care. He knew she'd take care of that.

Emmy was in front of him in just a minute, her incredible body just out of reach of his hands. He knew it would piss her off if he tried to touch her at that moment, so Nathaniel didn’t move. She took his chin and lifted his head. She held up an object for him to see. It was a rectangle of leather, about 5 inches wide and about a foot long attached to a handle. The leather was broken in like an old baseball glove. “This is a strap. It has a soft side and hard side. It can have a lot of thud, and sharp sting.” She leaned in and kissed him hard. “Stop means stop,” she whispered.

Nathaniel enjoyed the kiss for a moment, and then felt her hand trail down his spine to the spot just above his ass. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers, and slid them down to expose him to her. She drew little circles on each of his cheeks with her nails, and then slapped him hard with her hand on each side. It was a sweet sting from her slightly cupped hand. A moment later it was followed by a harder swat from the strap. It was much heavier than the cat or the flogger. It had a solid, hard thump against him, and a short sharp sting that was painful for just a split second. It calmed almost instantly into the softer buzz he was becoming rather fond of.

She repeated it. Two fast hits and then a gentle caress. Each hit made him feel the caress more as the paddle rushed the blood away and it rushed back. She kept at him, five swats with the soft side of the strap. There was something heady about getting such a sexual thrill out of this. He knew she flipped the paddle over when the next swats stung badly and gasped from the sharp pain of a hard blow.

This time the pain didn’t diminish right away, the caress of her fingers almost hurt. She hit again, just a moment after the pain from the first one stopped and this time there was nothing erotic about it. It blossomed out across his cheeks and up into his back. Just as he was about to get control of it, another set of blows slapped hard against him.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Stop.”

He heard the paddle hit the floor and Emmy was kneeling in front of him in the next instant, with a hand on either side of his face. “Are you alright? I’m sorry…”

He gasped for air, swallowing hard. He couldn’t get his voice to work for the moment. She took his arms and helped him lever up on the horse so he was standing and she gently urged him off the stirrups. “I’m sorry…” she whispered again, and pulled him over to the bed. “Please lay down.”

He lowered himself onto his stomach and laid down face first. Most of the pain was gone, but his ass still hummed from the sting of the blows. She hopped on the bed and had something in her hand. A moment later, there was a cool, smooth cream being rubbed onto the offended area. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said, quietly. He looked back at her. “That's why I said stop.”

She looked horribly contrite and wouldn't meet his eyes. She carefully massaged the cocoa butter into his skin, and didn't say anything for a long few minutes. He finally couldn't stand the silence anymore and grabbed her hand. “Emmy. It's ok. All we did was find one of my limits. And your ass massage is going miles to help with that.”

“I shouldn't have used the strap,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked. “I liked it when you went more softly. It was the last few hits that really hurt. And you stopped like you said you would.” She still looked so sad his heart broke a little for her. He sat up and pulled her all the way on to the bed with him. “Emmy.”

She was suddenly crying. Nathaniel was caught off guard and pulled her into his arms. She dropped her forehead on his shoulder and just sobbed. He reached up and pulled the hair tie out of her hair and let it fall around shoulders. It wasn't long, but long enough. He gently stroked the back of her hair with his other arm wrapped around her.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

“I did everything wrong tonight,” she sobbed. “I get so out of control when it comes to my step-father that I just lose myself. I should never have had you get on the horse. I know better than this.” She looked up at him, her face soaked in tears. “If you want to go...”

“No, I don't,” he said. “But I do want to take you out of here so you can calm down.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded. He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and stood up, leading him out of the room. She merely closed the door. He opened the door to her bedroom and led her in. He pulled her robe off the chair and slipped it on her shoulders. He opened the drawer she had given him, and found a pair of sweats and slipped them on himself. Nathaniel helped Emmy out of her shoes, then settled on to the bed, and motioned for her to settle between his legs.

She crawled up, the tears still flowing and dropped her head against his chest. She seemed to be listening to him breathe, or his heart beating. He wrapped his arms around her. “Emmy, please don't be angry about this.”

“I am,” she said. “I know better than to try anything when I'm upset.”

“And now I know if you're upset, I shouldn't let you try anything,” he said. “I didn't mean to upset you, Emmy. I just want to know more about you. You're a very sweet, very commandeering, very confusing woman and I like every part of that.”

“Fucked up in the head,” she said, quietly.

“Aren't we all?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “You aren't.”

“Oh, sure I am,” he said. “Just a different kind.”

She blinked. “I want to accuse you of just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looked at her. Here goes. “I’m in recovery.”

“Recovery?” She looked confused. “You were an alcoholic?”

“That would have been far too tame for who I was as a kid,” he said. “Methamphetamines.”

“Meth?” she gasped, sitting up and looking at him. “You?”

“Me,” he said. “I got hooked at fourteen. It was a three year spiral into hell, and I nearly had to die to figure out I couldn’t live that way.”

“But you went to Georgetown…”

“When I was ninteen, after I ate my humble pie, and went back to high school for two years to get a real diploma and a half of a chance,” he said. “So, I’m just as fucked up as you are, but in a different way.” He pointed to the necklace he was wearing. “Turn it over. Read it.”

Emmy reached for it and flipped it over. He knew exactly what it said. Medical Alert: No opiates. She looked surprised again. “But opiates aren’t in meth…”

“The addictive value of morphine set me off when I broke my leg in an ATV accident,” he said. “I was addicted by the time I left the hospital, and wound up back in the rehab for six weeks to get off it and back on track. So no opiates.” He smiled at her. “Damaged goods.”

She ran a hand down his chest. “I am sorry,” she said.

He pulled her towards him. “I didn’t come over here so you could keep apologizing to me. Remember that learning thing? We learned a lot today. Like, now I know it takes a lot more than sore butt to turn me off.”

“Oh really?” she asked.

“Yes, well, you’re sitting with your girly bits exposed to me, and my manly bits are liking it a lot,” he said.

“Is that what that is?” she asked, the innocent question sounding quite seductive.

He took her hand and placed it on his growing erection. “I have a problem, Mistress. Perhaps you could help me with it?”

She spun herself so she was kneeling with a knee on either side of his hips. “And what exactly would you like me to do about that problem, Mister Walsh?”

He leaned up and pulled her even closer. “Ride it.”

“I can do that,” she said, pushing up a little bit. She wrapped her hands around his back and slid her hands under the waistband of the sweats and slipped them down off his ass and half way down his legs with nearly no effort. Nathaniel smiled in surprise at her dexterity. She scooted forward, taking hold of his erection, and pushed the tip inside. She sank herself home on it and let out a rush of breath. It didn’t matter how many times they did this, every time she was hot, tight and wet. She sat still for a moment, and he relished the feeling of her wrapped around him, welcoming him. She moved just a little bit back and forth, drawing him out and pushing back in. The movements were small, but the way she took her time slowly on him, relishing the all the tiny movements, made him harder and wound him up. He leaned back against the headboard and put his hands on her hips, rocking her a little faster and landing himself a little deeper inside.

“This what you had in mind?” she asked, putting a hand on the headboard on either side of his head.

“Yeah, something like this,” he smiled. He reached between her legs and found her clitoris with his middle finger. He spread some of her wet around her vulva and on her clit, and teased the hot bundle of nerves as she rode him.

“Oh, damn,” she breathed, leaning in.

He pushed forward and caught her mouth with his, and pressed his tongue into her mouth. He teased her mouth in opposite rhythm of his fingers and he felt her tightening very quickly. She was panting against him and pulled away so she could finally catch her breath. Emmy closed her eyes and started slamming down on him. “Oh, God, Nathaniel. I'm coming.”

“Do it,” he said. “Ride me. Please come when you're ready, Mistress.”

She rocked him hard, engulfing him completely, pressing his erection against her g-spot every time. She threw her head back and after two gasps, she let out wail and dropped down hard on him, the orgasm clearly blowing her apart. “Nathaniel!” she screamed, still moving on him only starting to calm down a minute later.

He pressed against her lips again and kissed her hard. “I want to do that to you again.”

“Only if you come,” she breathed.

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered. He leaned in and gently nibbled on her ear. “Turn around for me, please Emmy.”

Her eyes flared wickedly, and she extract herself from his lap, turning around. He pushed her forward on to her hands and knees and he heard her gasp with a hint of amusement in the breath. He ran a hand over her smooth backside and kneeled up. He grabbed his own erection and fitted himself against her wet slit. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she panted.

He pushed inside her and she exhaled roughly. He grabbed her hips and held her so he could move in and out of her. At first he went slowly, all the way out and all the way back in with a gentle stirring of hips from side to side. He loved being inside her, welcoming and wet. He loved feeling himself moving in her, skin against skin. Her little gasps of delight drifted back to him, and she started to move back against him.

He moved faster, her gasps growing more frequent and louder. He held onto her hip with one hand and reached under her to find her clitoris and tap it gently, once again in rhythm with his erection as it slid in and out. “Oh, God that's good.”

“Does this please you, Mistress?” he asked, starting to really move, pushing into her harder and faster. He started to pant himself, the feeling of filling her sex starting to push him to his orgasm, the feeling of his balls hitting her vulva adding to his climb.

“Yes, it does,” she breathed. “Keep going.”

He couldn't answer her; he was consumed by the feelings they were creating in the friction of their coupling. He felt her hand moving his hand away from her clit so she could take over. He dug his hands into her hips. He let out a long moan when he felt her fingernail dragging along his length as she rubbed her own clit. His mind went into overload and he slammed into her mercilessly.

“Come on, Nathaniel. Come.”

He couldn't catch his breath; he managed to hiss, “Yes.” He exploded inside her, releasing himself in heavy, desperate pumps of his hips as he pulled her back on him. He started to calm a moment later and realized that Emmy was still rubbing herself furiously.

He pushed himself into her and moved her hand away, and took over flicking the excited bud between the legs. He leaned forward and caught one of her nipples through the thin satin, teasing and pulling on it. She pushed herself back on him, her muscles pulsing inside her.

“Yes, yes, Nathaniel, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Keep going, keep going.” He pressed and flicked and rubbed gently and harshly, then squeezed her clit between his fingers like he was doing to her nipple. She cried out and he felt her shutter beneath him. “Oh, shit yes,” she hissed, shivering and shaking as she climaxed from his fingers teasing, her vagina spasmed and pulled his now nearly flaccid cock deep in her for just a few seconds.

He ran his hands over her back and her bottom, and just held her there for a moment. He pulled himself out of her, and laid down on his side. She turned and looked at him and smiled. Nathaniel put a hand around her waist and drew her down to the bed on her side, facing him. He kissed her softly and slowly, enjoying her pliant mouth.

“I cannot stop myself around you, Emmy,” he said. “I don't know what it is, but you always make me want more of you.” He touched her cheek. “Naked, clothed, talking, silent. If it's with you, I want more of it.”

She closed her eyes, and smiled again. He wondered if it was too much of a confession of how much she meant to him, but he couldn't stay quiet about it anymore. He ran his fingers through her hair, and pulled her tight, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Chapter 14:

The elevator pinged open and Emmy didn’t even look up. She had some reports from Albright and the yard crews that were disturbing and she didn't want to lose track of what she was doing. Victor had her categorizing the dangers and their potential impact and threat level. She was also exploring different ways of avoiding the problems or abating them all together.

“Hi, Gwen!”

The voice went through her like a bullet. It was the cheerful sound of a girl who had spent her life in Delta Pink-is-the-New-Black, snapping gum and getting her hair highlighted to nearly white blonde. She slowly turned her head to look and caught Gwen's horrified glance.

Gwen turned back to the girl there. “Um. Hello, Jillian,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Is Natey busy?”

Natey?!

“Yes, Jillian,” she said. “He’s always busy during the work week.”

“Oh, he’ll see me,” she giggled and headed for the doors.

Emmy saw Gwen slam her hand on the door lock button for this office. “Jillian, he’s busy. He has a client meeting right now in there, and you can’t go in.”

“Has he really been that busy, Gwen?” Jillian asked, stopping before she reached the door. “I haven’t heard from him in like a month.”

“As I understand it,” Emmy said, not glancing up to look at Delta Pink-is-the-New-Black, “he broke up with you.”

Jillian looked at her. “Oh, are you Victor’s new secretary?”

“I’m Mister Walsh’s new administrator, yes,” she said.

The woman walked over to her and stuck her hand out. “I’m Jillian, Natey’s girlfriend.”

“You’re Jillian, but you’re not his girlfriend,” Emmy said, finally looking and pointedly not taking her hand.

“Oh, don’t be a bitch,” Jillian laughed. Emmy caught Gwen’s horrified look out of the corner of her eye. “Natey and I break up all the time. Be nice to me, I’m always around.” She stuck her hand out again.

“You haven’t been around since he left you at the Imperial, so I don’t see the truth in that statement,” Emmy said.

“Oh, you’re cute!” Jillian said. “You think he’s really over me! Oh, do you think he likes you?!” She giggled inanely. “You think Nathaniel Walsh would be interested in the help!”

“Jillian!” Victor was standing in the doorway to the managers’ office area. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled smoothly at him. “Hi, Victor. You need to tell your new secretary to chill out.”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he enunciated.

“I came to talk to Natey,” she said. “I gave him some time to cool down and now I’m here to patch it up with him. You know our cycle.”

“Um, Jillian, you went off with some dude and didn’t look back,” Victor said. “You kinda topped your idiot sundae with a cherry on that one. You walked away from your boyfriend for another guy at a BDSM club. That’s like a Seven Layer Shit Dip.”

“Oh, come on, Vic, you know how Natey and I are. We fight, we break up, we make up. He just can't stay away from me. I knew he'd be pissed about the club and break up with me. We were getting stagnant, so I forced the issue and now we'll have awesome make up sex and everything will be good.”

“Are you serious?” Emmy asked, utterly incredulous.

“Look, sweetie, me and Natey are good together, and he can't stay away from my rockin' body,” Jillian said. “We just need to remember why we're together once in a while. He goes off and has a fling while we're broken up and comes running back as soon as he's done.”

Emmy stared at her, and couldn't stop herself. “Not if he's all tied up.” She caught Victor's look of complete shock and the desperate urge to laugh at her statement. Gwen was typing madly on the computer, messaging Nathaniel, and even she snorted trying not to laugh.

Jillian straightened her head and stared at her. “Oh, no. Victor, did you let your brother sleep with your secretary again? You know what happened last time.”

“What?” Emmy asked, blinking.

“Oh, my God, Jillian,” Victor said. “You have no idea what happened with Jorja. Don't even try that.”

“You're going to have fire her and find another new secretary.”

The door slammed open from Nathaniel's office. “She's an administrator, Jillian, and what the hell are you doing here?”

“Natey!” she cawed, popping her foot off the ground. She walked around the desk to where he was walking towards them. She puckered her lips to kiss him, and he popped his palm right over her mouth to stop it. The look of utter indignation was worth the price of admission, Emmy decided.

“Do not ever call me that again,” he said. “What are you doing here?” He moved his hand.

“I came to see you,” she said. “I was waiting for you to call this weekend. You said you would.”

“I never said that, Jillian,” Nathaniel said. “You walked away with a guy in assless chaps and I was done.”

“Chaps are always assless,” Emmy mumbled.

“Emmy!” he snapped. She jerked in surprise. He just... wow. He's pissed.

“Natey-- Nate, you know how this goes. We break up, we make up.”

“I'm done with it,” he said. “You're just going to have to find someone else to jerk around. I know how you operate. We're over, Jillian, so just go.”

Jillian made a face like she had just smelled crap. “You are fucking the help.”

“The help, as you insist on calling my girlfriend, is an accomplished cello player with a degree in fine arts and business administration,” Nathaniel said. “And, she's currently furious at you, and me, for this little confrontation. So. I suggest you leave before Victor moves and she can get out from behind that desk and take you out.”

“She wouldn't,” Jillian said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, I would,” Emmy answered.

The elevator opened behind them and Franklin walked in with two security guards behind him. He unbuttoned the suit jacket he was wearing and slipped his hands into the pants pockets. “Problem, sirs?”

“Miss Thompson was just leaving,” Nathaniel said. “Make sure the front desk knows that she is not allowed up without an appointment.”

“Very good, Mister Walsh,” he said, motioning to the guards to flank Jillian.

“No! Natey! You can't do this! You know I was only messing around at the club. I love you, Natey, don't kick me out.”

“Goodbye,” Nathaniel said.

Jillian turned and dove for Emmy, flinging herself over the low wall of the desk. “You're a whore! A whore! You slept with my boyfriend! I'll choke the life out of you!”

Emmy saw her coming and slammed herself backwards, still in the chair, from the desk into the wall behind her. Jillian was desperately clamoring over the wall, pulling things off the desk and throwing them behind her and onto the floor. Emmy tried to grab it first, but Jillian wrapped her hand around the vase Nathaniel had given her to replace Dan's. It went flying back over her shoulder and smashed into the wall, shattering into a hundred pieces. Emmy didn't know what was worse, the tears or the consuming anger that rose in her throat.

The security guards finally got a hold of Jillian's arms and pulled her back off the desk. Franklin looked at Nathaniel, and Emmy watched him shake his head. “No, no charges. Just get her out and make sure she doesn't come back.”

Jillian yelled over her shoulder, “You'll be back for me, Natey! You will. No one else makes you feel like I do, baby!”

He turned and watched the guards pull her into the elevator car. “Toodles, toots,” Nathaniel said, wiggling his fingers at her as the door closed.

“Fuck you, Nathaniel Walsh! Fu--” The door closed on her words.

Victor and Nathaniel let out a breath Emmy didn't realize they were holding. She looked down at the mess on the floor; mostly pens and highlighters. The computer keyboard had been tossed off as well and landed on some papers.

Emmy stood and looked at the wall, where there was dent in the plasterboard. She followed the wall down and found the vase shattered at the bottom of the wall. The tears won out, and she let out a sob.

Nathaniel looked over at the wall and saw the vase. “Oh, no,” he said, walking over. He bent down and hovered his hand over the smashed crystal. He looked back at her. “Oh, Em, I'm so sorry. I didn't know she was going to come around at all. I'd completely forgotten about her.”

Emmy sucked in a breath and chewed on her lip. “It's ok, Nathaniel. I guess I'm just not meant to have a nice vase.”

“Yes you are,” he said. “We'll pick one out. I'll take you shopping.” He stood up and walked over to her. “Don't worry.” He brushed tear off her cheek.

“That's ok,” she said. “I don't really need one.”

“Yes, you do,” he said.

“Don't argue with him, Emmy,” Gwen said. “Let him replace it.”

“Again,” Nathaniel smiled.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. “Care to explain the Jorja comment?”

“Did that bitch throw Jorja in your face?” Nathaniel asked, clearly getting angry again. He looked at Victor and Victor nodded. “I should have pressed charges,” he growled.

Victor motioned to the chair. “Emmy, please sit. I'll explain.”

She took a deep breath and sat in the chair as Nathaniel walked around and started picking up the stuff from the floor. She was about to tell him to stop, but Victor started talking. “Jorja was my previous admin, the one you replaced. I was without an admin for a few weeks because we had to have Jorja removed from the building after we took out a restraining order.”

“Jillian and I broke up,” Nathaniel said from the floor. “She was right about that. We were constantly breaking up. So on one of our longer breaks, I started dating Jorja. I liked her well enough but I didn't feel the relationship was going to go anywhere and we parted ways, real friendly like.” The sarcasm was as sharp at the shards of the glass vase.

“Well,” Victor said, taking over, “my admin, Barbara, was retiring. Jorja had all the right qualifications and we knew her. So I hired her to take over. It seemed like the right thing to do for everyone. She checked out, she was a nice girl, and she prompt and neat.”

Gwen leaned on the low wall of the desk. “What neither of them realized, and took me a few weeks to notice myself, was that this chick was apeshit obsessed with Nathaniel. He might not have had felt the relationship was going anywhere, but Jorja did. With or without him.”

“She thought that because she was working here, I had somehow proposed to her,” Nathaniel said.

Emmy gasped. She remember the gossip from a few months ago, that Nathaniel Walsh, the most eligible bachelor in the 'Burgh was now engaged, quite suddenly. “Oh, my God! That's Jorja?”

“Yup,” he nodded. “Registered at Bloomingdale's and Neiman Marcus, picked out a Vera Wang original wedding dress, booked the reception hall. The whole shebang. I didn't realize what was going on until Gwen walked in with the engagement announcement. I'll never forget her face standing at my front door, holding a limp piece of newspaper, her mouth hanging open.”

“We had to call in a few favors that day,” Victor said. “We had to get judges and DAs up to the house to get the paperwork signed to terminate her, put the restraining order in place and get the press releases out to the right people as early as possible the next morning.”

“That was the most surreal experience of my life,” Nathaniel said, adjusting the keyboard.

“Where is she now?” Emmy asked, amazed.

“She's in Los Angeles,” he said. “We put her in a rehab near her family in eastern PA, but they all up and moved to LA about three weeks later. Her father will give us updates on her and how she's doing. At first it was quite often, but we've fallen to about every other week. He's relieved that she's getting back to normal.”

“And she threw that in my face?” Emmy said.

“She really seems to think Jorja simply got fired because she came back into my life,” Nathaniel said. “And now, they're both gone! Wee!”

Victor and Gwen laughed, and Emmy found herself laughing with them.

Nathaniel leaned on Emmy's desk, folding his arms. “Are you upset?”

“I'm pissed at Jillian, not you,” Emmy said. “She busted in here, called me a whore, broke my vase and accused you of fucking the help.”

“Yes, she did,” Victor said. “And now that Franklin knows the score, we won't be bothered by her again.”

Nathaniel smiled at her. “Maybe a little dancing will take your mind off everything?”

~*~*~

She stepped on his foot again, and laughed. “I told you I can't dance!”

He stopped and took them back to first position for the tango. “It's not that you can't dance, Emmy,” he said. “It's that you can't let me lead!” Nathaniel leaned in to her ear and whispered, “Mistress must trust my lead.”

She flushed and laughed again. She ran a hand through her hair to pull it out of her eyes. “Ok, alright, I'll try. See what you do to me?”

“No worse than what you do to me,” he said. He looked over at the instructor and nodded.

She saw him count four with his nods, and she let him sweep her across the floor again. She worked against ever fiber in her being to stop herself from taking over the dance, this time finally succeeding. She was glad he had phrased it that way; she hadn't even realize she was doing it.

To her surprise he managed to get her through the whole dance without stepping on her toes, her stepping on his toes or landing on her ass in the middle of the floor. Emmy had brought a pair of flats for the dance lessons, but Nathaniel had shocked her when he handed her a pair of shoes for her to dance in.

“Louboutins?” she gasped. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“I had them over-nighted from Barney's in New York,” he said. “I knew you weren't going to bring proper shoes, and I want to see you dance in the right kind of shoes.”

“You mean to tell me that not only did you overnight shoes, you over-nighted a pair of Biancas by Christian Louboutin?” she asked.

He gave her a one shoulder shrug. “That is the designer all the women are after right now, right? That's what Tina said.”

“Who's Tina?”

“Personal shopper,” he said.

She stared at him. “You have a personal shopper?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“And she picked these out for me? How did you know what size?”

“I looked,” he said.

“Why do you have a personal shopper?”

“Because I can't get to Barney's on a regular basis,” he answered. “Or Bloomie's, or Saks, so Tina does for me,” he said.

“Nathaniel, this is over the top,” she said, staring at the gorgeous black patent leather shoes with the signature red sole. They were absolutely stunning and simple, and insanely expensive for dance shoes. She was going to scuff them or worse- rip them.

“Put them on,” he said. She opened her mouth to say no, but he put a finger over her lips. “Emmy, please. Put them on. Before you say no.”

She sighed. Yes, this was the designer all the women were after. Including her. But she didn't own anything this expensive in her closet. Especially not shoes. She picked them out of the box and put them carefully on the floor. She slipped her shoes off and slid her foot into the dream shoe. It slid on and hugged her foot perfectly. Oh damn it. I can't say no to these! He was good-- he'd already figured out her weakness for shoes. She slid the other one on and looked down. They looked good, her rather large foot looking slender and delicate in the shoe.

Nathaniel put a hand to his chin and smiled. “Walk for me?”

She rolled her eyes, and walked from the desk over to the door. They were designed to make her move her legs in such a way that she knew her ass was swaying suggestively at him. Woah. She turned around and headed back to him. He had a hand over his mouth now watching her, and a very lusty look in his eyes.

“Mm. Yes,” he said. “Those were a very good purchase.”

She walked up to him and smiled. “No more office sex, Nathaniel,” she reminded him.

“I'll wait,” he said. “I'd love to have you in nothing but those shoes on either side of my head.”

Oh shit, I've created a monster! Emmy smiled at him; she wouldn't mind that either, really. “Alright. I'll keep them.”

To make matters worse, they had stopped at Macy’s on the way to the studio to pick up an asymmetrical skirt and a shirt for her to wear to the class; he hadn’t told her what to wear because he wasn’t sure what the class was going to focus on until nearly 3 p.m. And that’s when she found out it was a tango class.

Once she gave up trying to lead the dance while he was leading them, she found that the shoes were comfortable, stable and extremely easy to move in. And even better, Nathaniel was an awesome dancer; he was strong and graceful and didn’t mind the two times she had stabbed her heel into his instep. He called it karma for all the times he had assaulted Mary like that.

Mary sat on the side. She had walked in with a boot on her foot, and it was clear she really was in no position to dance. Emmy kept half an eye on her the whole time, and after the first time she stepped on Nathaniel’s foot, a knowing smile had started to grow on her face. Emmy liked her. She was a very maternal, warm person—the kind of person she would have liked for a mother.

Emmy whooped in surprise the first time Nathaniel dipped her all the way back at the end of the song. She really did feel like she should have a rose in her mouth, and started laughing.

Althea clapped and laughed walking over to them. “Ladies and gents, you see what happens when you have a good partner who knows when to let the other lead. Emmy, have you ever danced like this before?”

“I’m really only used to club bump and grind,” she said, smiling at Nathaniel. He snorted, then put a hand over his mouth.

“See? She’s not used to dancing like this, and Nathaniel led her through it gracefully once she figured out how to give up dominance,” Althea said. Nathaniel choked on that one. “That’s half the problem with dancing today. Women do not allow the man to lead; it’s two leads pulling against each other. It makes for an ugly scene, that bump and grind. We are supposed to be dancing, not dry humping.” This time, Emmy elbowed him as his stifled laugh, trying not to laugh herself.

Althea turned to them, and smiled. “Nathaniel, would you like to try an Argentine?”

Argentine? Oh, no. An Argentine tango? The foot work involved in that was insanely complicated, and she was in 5 inch heels. Nathaniel’s wicked grin said that he was up for it. “I’ll walk Emmy through the steps a few times, and then we’ll give it a whirl.”

“Good,” Althea said. “Go ahead and use the other studio for a few minutes.”

Nathaniel took her hand and walked her over to the other, smaller studio through the archway at the one end of the room, and pulled the glass panel doors closed. Emmy started laughing, and he caught the giggle a moment later. She couldn’t stop her laughing.

“Bump and grind, Em? Really?” Nathaniel teased her.

“I’m not lying,” she said.

“Alright, shall we give the steps a go?”

Emmy took a deep breath. “Ok. Isn’t this ridiculously difficult?”

“Only if you don’t let me lead, Mistress,” he said.

“It’s still hard to let go,” she said.

“Here’s the deal,” he said, pulling her into the starting embrace for the tango. “I’ll lead the vertical tangos, and you lead the horizontal ones.”

“Mister Walsh! I feel scandalized! You’re a scoundrel!”

“And you are a pervert,” he said.

“You, sir, are no gentleman!” she laughed.

“With the ideas I have in my mind for you and those shoes, you are correct, madam.” He looked at her. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“Lead on,” she laughed.

Nathaniel walked her through the steps for the dance, quickly and quietly correcting any mistakes before they went on. He walked her though again, and then picked up the pace on the third time through. “See? It’s about seventeen repetitive steps.”

“It is,” she said. “And most of those are mine.”

“You’ve got amazing time and coordination, Emmy,” he said, running them through it again. “You aren’t having any trouble picking up on this at all. I like dancing with you.”

She smiled. As much as she had protested she couldn’t dance and would be awkward and gangly, she was enjoying dancing with him. Like every other thing they had done together, this felt natural and right.

She was surprised by him again and again, too. The willingness to let her stay in control in the bedroom. The dinners, the flowers, the gifts, the suits and ties. She hadn’t expected this rough and tumble guy to come at her with a pair of Louboutins that he had over-nighted just for a dance lesson. She didn’t expect the black dress pants and white oxford shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, or the Ferragamo shoes he sported for the same dance lesson.

He goes down the yard and pitches hay and steel rebar twice a week, how does he know about Ferragamo? Tina, of course. But still, he could just go to Macy’s or Neiman on his own. Instead he had them shipped from Fifth Ave in New York.

He had taken her iPod last night and loaded music on it. Tons of music. The 120 gigs were almost full now, and not with classical alone. There was rock, rap, a few pieces of country, R&B, jazz, doo-wop, opera, Broadway, Bollywood, and songs she couldn’t even put in a genre. Her favorite though, was the one he labeled “Emmy’s Mix” – the very first song was from Pink, whom she’d heard of but never listened to, and she was laughing by the time the woman belted out the chorus:

“So raise your glass if you are wrong

In all the right ways

All my underdogs, we will never, never be

Anything but loud and nitty gritty, dirty little freaks!”

She loved all the mixes he had put in there. She couldn’t wait to use the one he had labeled, “Play List.” She could almost see him winking as he typed it.

He was unexpected, and as much as she like control and routine in her life, she found herself enjoying his unexpectedness.

And he was a damn good dancer. That was the most unexpected of all.

“Are you two having fun?” Mary asked from the doorway.

Emmy tripped and nearly fell. Nathaniel grabbed her around the waist and reeled her back up and into him. She was bent over in his arms just an inch from him, staring into his eyes. He leaned in and quickly kissed her sweetly on the lips. He pulled her up and into a standing position.

“Sorry!” Mary gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you trip!”

“I’m a klutz,” Emmy said.

“That was a beautiful catch, Nate,” Mary said. “Althea wants you to come back out and give it a try. Are you ready?”

“Let me use the men’s room, and we’ll do it,” he said, letting go of Emmy’s hand. He trotted off quickly.

Mary looked at her. “He likes you, Emmy,” she said. “A lot.”

“I like him too,” she answered.

Mary ‘hmm’ed. “I don’t know if you really understand. He really likes you. I’ve been out of commission before and he’s never brought a replacement. He just sat out with me. He smiles constantly when you’re in his arms. I’ve never seen him so happy. You don't see that look on every guy on the street. You only see that look on a guy who's in love.”

Emmy almost gasped. She managed to stop it just before it escaped her lips. Loves me? How can he love me? She laughed instead of letting herself freak and panic, and swallowed hard.

Mary nodded at her. “You're not ready for that,” she said, as if reading her mind. “Probably why he hasn't said anything. But mark my words, young lady. Nate has it bad for you.”

He reappeared in the hallway to the smaller dance studio with a smile that lit up the room and dimmed the sun a little bit. Emmy smiled back at him, hoping her panic wasn't showing. She could see  Mary was right-- Nathaniel was falling in love with her.

Chapter 15:

Emmy tried not gape out the window of the limo, but she couldn't help herself. Chantal wasn't even trying to hide her shock and even Tyrone was floored.

“Are you serious?” Emmy said, pushing the door open. She stepped out and looked back at Nathaniel sitting on the bench. “You're serious?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, climbing out. Tyrone climbed out after him and offered Chantal an arm to pull herself out with.

Emmy gazed at the Lear jet in front of her, with the door open and the stairs waiting for them to walk up. There was even a red carpet leading up to the stairs. “A jet? Is this the company jet?”

“Private,” he said.

“You own a jet?” Emmy asked. “Of course you own a jet! Why the hell not!”

Nathaniel laughed and the driver, Quinn, popped the trunk to retrieve the bags from the trunk. Emmy peered into the interior and giggle inanely. Chantal was quietly stunned. Quinn and another porter carried the four bags into the cabin and Nathaniel motioned them up into the plane.

“Welcome aboard,” he said, walking in behind them.

Quinn nodded at Nathaniel and headed back down the stairs with the other porter, and between the three of them, they closed the plane up. Emmy stood in the middle of the aisle, confused for just a moment. “Pilot?” she asked.

“Captain Nathaniel Walsh, at your service,” he said, with a sweeping bow.

“You don't just own it, you fly it,” Tyrone said.

“Yup,” he said. “I had someone do the preflight, so I'll just run through a short one, and we'll be off. Ty, Chantal, if you guys want to buckle up, Emmy'll sit in the cockpit with me.” He looked at her. “If you're ok with that.”

“The cockpit?” she gasped. “I don't know the first thing about flying!”

“Don't have to,” he said. “I've got it handled.”

“Where are we going?” Tyrone asked.

“We'll be landing in Teterboro and heading over to New York City for dinner and a real night club,” he said. “We'll crash at my apartment and get going about ten tomorrow. I think I had them file the flight plan for two p.m. It's a short flight, like forty minutes.” He smiled. “Buckle up. Come on, Em.” He motioned her to the cockpit.

Emmy glanced at Chantal, who was just as surprised as she was. She shooed Emmy to the cockpit and sat in one of the chairs in the cabin. Emmy followed Nathaniel into the cockpit. There were only two chairs and he was seated on the right. She looked at the other chair and then back to him. He smirked and motioned to her to sit down. “Co-pilot’s chair, don’t worry. We fly pilot on the right.”

“You can really fly this thing?”

“I’ve been flying since I was twelve,” he said. “Dad took me up in a Piper Cub, and I was sold. Three years in the Air Force, F-35 Lightening. Captain. They wanted me to re-up for another three, but I was done. I missed the rest of the world.”

“When did you get out?”

“Just a year and a half before dad died,” he said.

Emmy nodded. “You’re not going to fly this like an Air Force jet, are you?”

Nathaniel laughed. “Not even remotely! Those jets are pure power. I’m pretty sure they run on testosterone. This is elegant, subdued and comfortable. Its like… hmm. It’s like the difference between a Lamborghini and a Rolls. Both are amazing pieces of equipment, but only one of those is meant to really lay down the rubber.”

He turned the chair and smiled at her. She saw something devious in his eyes at that moment. He reached behind her on both sides and pulled a shoulder harness out from behind the chair. He clicked it together, and made sure it was fitted properly on her. “There you are, Miss Westerly. All buckled in. I like it, I should try this more often.”

Emmy tried not to laugh. “Why Mister Walsh, I do believe you are being a scoundrel again.”

“You like me because I’m a scoundrel.”

Emmy burst out laughing. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.”

“No, you’re not,” she answered.

Nathaniel laughed. “You are unexpected, Emmy. Completely unexpected.”

The flight from the cockpit was terrifying. Emmy had never had a problem flying; she did it at least once a year to and from Boston, but sitting at the front of the plane during take off and landing was a whole new experience. She was amazed at the relaxed attitude Nathaniel had and that helped. Knowing he could really fly this thing, not just as a hobby, calmed her down.

They could see New York City in the distance as they approached the little airport in the middle of a heavily populated area of New Jersey. It had been years since she had been in New York; the last time she remembered was with her father just a few weeks before they headed to Europe. In the meanwhile, Times Square had been claimed by Disney and pedestrians and the Financial District lost five buildings to terrorists.

Nathaniel had pointed out where the new World Trade Center was nearing completion above the sky line, and Emmy was delighted to see it looking so modern. As much as those Twin Towers had been iconic, they were eyesores when it came to their esthetic value. These new buildings were sleek and graceful.

The limo was waiting for them as they taxied to the parking spot the tower gave them. Nathaniel powered and locked down the jet and walked over to where they were waiting by the limo. Tyrone looked very impressed with the whole thing as they climbed in.

“So you fly out here a lot?”

“Probably about once a month or so?” Nathaniel answered. “We have meetings and functions to go to, sometime last minute. Instead of trying to find a hotel, we just keep an apartment here, in San Fran and Chicago. I take care of New York and the plane. Victor covers Chicago and San Fran.”

“An interesting trade off,” Emmy said.

“Where to, sir?” the limo driver asked.

“Barney's first, then Per Se, please,” Nathaniel answered.

“Very good,” he answered. “And it’s good to see you again, Mister Walsh.”

“Thank you, Aaron.” Emmy looked at him, confused. “I always request Aaron when I’m out here. He’s one of the best drivers and knows the city like the back of his hand.”

“Um,” Chantal said, raising her hand. “Did you just say Per Se?”

“Yup,” he said.

“I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but I didn’t come prepared to pay for that place,” she said, meekly. “I brought enough for a Pittsburgh style night out. Not New York City.”

“Oh, well,” Nathaniel said. “I’m just going to have put you back on the jet and send you home.” He leveled a smirk at her that Emmy could see Chantal was not immune to. “This is my treat. If I invited you, I don’t expect you to pay.”

“I’m not even dressed right!” Chantal despaired.

“Reservations are at nine,” Nathaniel said. “We have time to meet up with Tina at Barney’s and get all of you properly geared up.”

Chantal looked at Emmy. “If you don’t marry this guy, I’m never talking to you again.”

Emmy burst out laughing.

Tina was waiting at the door of Barney’s for them.

“Nathaniel,” she said, smiling. “Please, introduce me to our Louboutins girl.”

“Tina, this is Emmy Westerly,” he said. “Emmy, this is Tina Durant.”

“Wonderful!” Tina said, grabbing her hand. “Oh, but you are the pretty little thing aren’t you. And you come in pairs! Who is this lovely dark-skinned creature?”

“This is my friend, Chantal,” Emmy said.

“Indeed, but you two are fantastic!” Tina exclaimed. She motioned them to follow her to another part of the store. “Here we are. You can put your things in here and wander around. I can see I’ll have to work on the men more than the women. Ladies, head to toe for the gentlemen?”

“Oh, yes,” Chantal cackled.

“Nathaniel, do the ladies have a budget?”

“Do I ever have one?”

“That’s what I love about you, darling!” Tina laughed, handing Emmy a key. “If you need to get anything out of the room, feel free. The evening dresses are up one floor. Lingerie is in the back and shoes are on four. Nathaniel, and Ty was it?, please. Follow me.”

Nathaniel waggled his eyebrows at them as Tina led them away from the private room. They disappeared around the corner a moment later. Chantal turned and looked Emmy with what she was sure was a reflection of her own shock. “Are we really standing in Barney’s with carte blanche to dress for tonight?” Emmy wasn’t able to find her voice and merely nodded. Chantal giggled like a school girl and grabbed Emmy’s wrist. “Come on, come on!”

The racks were uncrowded and held each dress at a precise distance from the next. There was one of each size and color, and it seemed to go on forever. Emmy walked over to the ‘discontinued’ rack and started looking.

“What are you doing?” Chantal asked.

“I’m looking for a dress,” Emmy said confused.

“Your boyfriend just gave you carte blanche. You don’t start on the discount rack, Emmy.”

“Habit,” she smiled, Chantal pulling her over to the other racks.

They wandered through the clothes and picked up several different dresses, some of which were overpriced and hideous. They had two shopping assistants trailing them, and occasionally darting over with a suggestion. They were bad suggestions too.

Chantal finally turned to them. “Look. You want to help? Find us something that says sexy without showing all the goods. Short is good. Key hole are good. Cut outs, low backs—something that doesn’t look like what my mother would wear to church on Sunday.”

The two women looked at each other and smiled. “Ladies, we’ve been waiting for that challenge for a few weeks now,” the younger one said. “Wait here, please and we’ll be right back.” They put their heads together and chatted quietly, then walked into the racks of clothes. They fluttered around for a few minutes and finally both of them started heading back with an arm-full apiece.

They escorted Emmy and Chantal into the dressing rooms and gave them each a room and hung all the dresses up. They nodded and said they would wait outside. Emmy looked at Chantal and giggled, closing the door behind her. She heard Chantal giggle as well.

They tried on the dresses and most of them were not what they were looking for. Some of them were down right awful and some of them they didn't think the restaurant would even let them in the door. Chantal finally walked out of her dressing room with two dresses left and Emmy could see she loved what she had on without even looking at the dress, just the sound of her voice. She stepped out with Emmy and smiled.

“It's perfect,” she said, holding her hands away from her sides.

Emmy couldn't agree more. The material was simple gold silk, with a boat-neck neckline and her right shoulder was bare. The left shoulder had a drape of material that folded over her shoulder and fell behind her elbow. The hem was a slightly asymmetrical and sat modestly at mid-thigh. The gold shimmered against Chantal's dark skin. “Done,” Emmy nodded.

“Well, anything in there worth trying on?” Chantal said.

“Just two more, but I'm pretty sure the one isn't going to work.”

“Come on, come on,” she motioned.

Emmy ducked in and slipped on the bright fuchsia dress, and laughed. “Oh this isn't happening.” She slipped it off and sighed at the last dress in the dressing room. It looked like a wad of silk, but that was the last hope. She slipped it on and couldn't quite get it zipped. She sighed and walked out to have Chantal zip her up.

She could see Chantal's expression before she said a word. Emmy held up a hand. “Stop. Zip me up first.” Chantal nodded and quickly complied. Emmy walked over to the mirror. The silk and netting had transformed into a gorgeous suggestive and oddly demure dress. It was a boatneck like Chantal's, but the sleeves stopped, barring her shoulders. Just at the top of the bust, the sleeves reappeared and gave the illusion of half sleeves

And the rest of the dress, from the boat-neck to the hem that ended neatly just a few inches below the knee, was also black silk. It hugged every proper curve Emmy had, showing off her slim but built form. There was a generous and suggestive slit on the right leg that went right up quite indecently without revealing anything.

“Yes,” Chantal said. “Oh my yes.” She looked at the label. “Balenciaga.”

Emmy nodded and resolutely did not look at the price tag.

~*~*~

Emmy smiled at Nathaniel as he put the drink down in front of her. Tyrone did the same for Chantal and sat next to her. She glanced out the window and could see all of Times Square below them and she was amazed she was sitting there.

The dinner had been exquisite; she had never had food like that ever. There were only two menus at the discretion of the chef and each morsel of food was perfect. Nathaniel had the limo driver bring them to Skyview-- what he said was the most exclusive club in the city at that moment. A friend of his from Georgetown had apparently helped to start it up.

It was on the fiftieth floor of one of the buildings over-looking Times Square and Nathaniel had called in a favor from his friend to get one of the prime VIP tables. Chantal was sipping her drink and smiling almost nonstop into the glass. They were surrounded by movie stars and television stars and the celebutants, all of whom were glancing occasionally over to them in the VIP table.

“Do you know any of them?” Emmy asked.

“I've seen a few them here before,” Nathaniel said. “But movie stars and old money don't really mix, you know?”

“No, I don't,” Emmy laughed.

“Well, there aren't a lot of us in Pittsburgh, so we all know each other,” Nathaniel said. “Here, there are so many heirs and movie stars you can't really get around to meeting all of them.” He leaned in closer. “Most of them are self-absorbed assholes. But there are a few who are genuinely nice people. Robert Downey pops to mind. Sam Jackson. Drew Barrymore. They aren't always out east though, and I think Robert is on set right now.”

“Wait, you  know Sam Jackson?”

“We're not best buds, but we know each other by sight,” Nathaniel said. “And yes, it is still kind of secretly thrilling to have him say hi.” He leaned in. “Did I mention how incredible you look in this dress? And those shoes? Well worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And I mean that. I can't believe you let me buy four thousand dollar shoes.”

“I flew you in on a Lear jet,” he said. “I'll probably spend that in gas on the trip.”

She shook her head and turned her foot so the crystals on the shoes caught the subtle purple light of the club around them. She smiled and looked up at Chantal, but she was otherwise engaged with Tyrone. She rolled her eyes and leaned into Nathaniel. “They keep that up and you should send them to the apartment without us.”

“Hell no,” Chantal said, leaning her forehead against Tyrone's. “Hell no. I ain't leaving here until the sun comes up.”

“Actually, they close at four a.m.,” Nathaniel said.

“Stop being so literal,” Chantal laughed. “I –oh!” She stopped and pointed to the ceiling, looking at Emmy. “You hear that?”

Emmy nodded. “That our cue?”

“You know it,” she said, standing up. “Come on. Dance floor.”

Emmy stood with her and put her drink down. “Girls' dance. Be back in a few.”

They walked down the stairs to the dance floor which was crowded but not overly so. Emmy leaned in and said, “I guess you like this song?”

“Ever since you mentioned that Nathaniel put it on your iPod, I haven't been able to get it out of my head,” Chantal said. “It's really perfect for us, isn't it?”

“It is,” she agreed. “Have you told Ty everything yet?”

“Working on it,” she said.

“I leave for Boston on Sunday morning next week, I can leave the key.”

And that was the end of the conversation as the music's beat picked up. That was another bonus for this place; they didn't play chopped us dubstep versions of popular songs. They played the real song. They were currently playing the Pink song Nathaniel had put on her iPod. She had told Chantal about it, and she had just about passed out laughing. And here they were, a few days later, on the dance floor of Skyview, dancing to it, surrounded by the glitterati of New York City.

Emmy was in heaven. Worse, she thought that she might be in love.

“Hey can I cut in?” came a voice from the left.

Emmy looked for the source of the voice and found a rather rough-around-the-edges guy standing there, waiting for one of them to say yes. He was clearly very drunk. Chantal answered first. “I don't think that's a good idea, junior. Our boyfriends are right up there.”

“Come on,” he said. “I'll show you what a real man can do.”

Emmy and Chantal looked at each and started laughing, hard. Hard enough to lose the beat of the song in their dance. The kid looked completely humiliated and bristled right there on the dance floor. “You gonna laugh at me, you cheap bitch?”

Emmy's mental alert went off. “What's your issue, man? Walk away. We're here with our boyfriends. Don't try coming on to a woman who says that.”

“My friend says you're an easy lay,” he answered. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Chantal gasped loudly when she saw whoever it was he was pointing at. She turned and looked at Emmy, horrified. “Let's go back to the table.”

“Oh, ho,” the guy said, grabbing her arm. “So what he said was true.”

“Let go of me, creep,” Chantal snapped as Emmy tried to pull her friend's elbow out of his grip.

“I want a piece of this chocolate action,” he said.

“Let go,” Emmy said, snapping into Domme. “Let go of her now.”

He jerked his head a bit, shocked at her tone, but it wasn't enough to get him to loosen his grip. “Ooh, so you're a friend. Maybe we can get a little threesome tangled in the sheets.”

The man that the creep had pointed to walked over, with his hands in his pockets. Emmy desperately tried to pull Chantal away. “Hello, Amaryllis,” he said.

Emmy's heart plunged all fifty stories. She kicked it into high gear and grabbed Chantal by the other arm, putting herself bodily between the two men and her. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Amaryllis here knows exactly what I what I like,” he said. “Don't you, darling.”

“Step off, man,” Emmy said. “Just step off.”

Before she could stop him, the younger man grabbed the shoulder of Chantal's dress and pulled hard, ripping it off her shoulder. The dress started to slip from her body and she screamed. Emmy let her hand go so she could grab the shoulder. The younger man took the opportunity to grab her and spin her into him, her back to his front.

“You like being beaten,” he said. “You like it raw and rough.” Chantal was crying, shaking and desperately trying to hold up her dress. “Pete here says he’s had fun with you, chaining you up.”

Emmy grabbed her shoe right off her foot and held the point of the heel to his neck. “Let her go now. Or your going to find out how much damage a shoe does.”

He put his hand over Chantal’s stomach. “Yum. You smell delicious. I’ll have--”

Tyrone’s fist flew into his jaw and the guy went flying side ways, dragging Chantal with him. Nathaniel was over and helping her up in the next instant while Ty stood over the guy, staring down at him as though he wanted to murder him. “What’s your problem, asshole? Why do you have your hands all over my girl?”

“Tyrone, help your girlfriend,” Emmy stated.

The guy laughed and wiped his nose, getting a sleeve full of blood. “Little bitch found some else to beat her, eh Pete?”

Pete merely raised an eyebrow. Emmy finally recognized him when he did that.

“I don’t beat my girl,” Tyrone said, his eyes growing wide and angry.

“Ha, she likes it when it you do!” the punk answered. “Pete here can tell you all about tying her up and fucking her.”

“That’s enough.” Emmy voice cut through the tension and backed Tyrone, Pete and the punk up two steps. “Whoever the hell you are, go back to where you came from! Tyrone, take Chantal out of here. To the lobby. See if the coat check has some safety pins. Nathaniel--” He waved, already on the phone with Aaron to bring the car around.

“We have a problem here?” asked a security guard.

“Glad to see you’re on your toes,” Emmy growled. “This punk here decide to rip my friend’s dress off because he seems to think she’s a hooker.”

“She’s bondage queen,” he said. “She likes to be fucked rough.”

Tyrone turned around and punched him again.

The punk laughed, his nose gushing blood and his face cracked open. “Ask her man. She likes it! Pete knows. Pete told me all about her!”

Nathaniel grabbed Tyrone and Chantal and headed them off the dance floor. “Get out of here. Come on. Let’s go. Let Emmy handle him.”

The security guard grabbed the man’s arm and started pull him away. He looked at Emmy. “How about you, bitch? You like it rough? I can give it to you rough!” Another guard showed up at that moment and took the punk’s other arm. “Come on, you know you want it.”

Emmy blinked her eyes slowly, ignoring his taunts. She just wanted to make sure they didn’t take him off the dance floor the same direction Nathaniel had taken Chantal and Tyrone. They moved him off another way as two more security guards marched out to her. They stopped in front of her. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she said. “Make sure that asshole,” she pointed at Pete still standing there, “doesn’t go out the main entrance until we can get my friend out of here.”

Pete leaned against the railing. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Afraid that someone might find out you like it rough too?”

“You are going find out what rough is, Petey, if you don’t stay away from my friend,” Emmy said. “Because as I recall, she’s not the only one who likes to be humiliated.” She turned on her heel and marched off the dance floor after Nathaniel.

“Better watch your ass, Tessa,” he called back. “Chantal isn’t the only one they want down.”

Emmy didn’t break stride. She’d heard much worse threats than that before.

Tyrone was pinning up Chantal’s dress and Nathaniel was standing there waiting to hand over his jacket so she could cover up. She was weeping with her face in her hands, her whole body shaking with each of the sobs. Emmy couldn’t read Tyrone’s expression, but by the one Nathaniel was wearing she had the feeling things were going to get very ugly.

“Nathaniel,” someone called from the right. She turned and saw a woman running up to him in a smart purple suit. “Is she alright?”

“She had her clothes ripped off her in the middle of the most chic dance club in New York City,” Nathaniel said. “You tell me if she’s alright.”

“Let me call up a cab for you--”

“Limo’s on the way,” he said. “Look, I don’t mean this is anyone’s fault, Maureen, but your guards didn’t show up until the end. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for them.”

“Just keep them away from her until we can get her out,” Emmy said, sitting down next to Chantal on the bench. She took the other three safety pins from Tyrone and took over the repining duty. She felt an angry confusion wafting off Tyrone, and wondered how much of the whole confrontation he had actually heard.

“I am so sorry, Nathaniel,” the Maureen woman said.

He looked at her. “Do you really need to apologize to me? Or is that just your elitism showing again?” Emmy was rather proud of him in that moment.

Maureen turned to Chantal. “I’m sorry, miss. I really am. We try to keep the riff-raff out but sometimes we don’t spot them in time.”

Chantal waved her away, not looking up. The elevator doors opened as Emmy got the last of the safety pins in, and tossed Nathaniel’s jacket over her shoulders. Tyrone marched over and held the door open and waited for the three of them to step in before hitting the button for the ground floor. Emmy didn’t like the ride at all. It was an uncomfortable silence all the way down, punctuated by Chantal’s sobs.

“Nathaniel, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll pay you back for the dress.”

“No,” he said. “I bought that for you. We’ll get it repaired.”

“What the hell was that all about?” Tyrone asked.

“She was attacked on the dance--”

Tyrone’s look shot over to Emmy and cut her off. “You need to keep it shut. I’m asking my girl a question here, and you don’t need to answer for her.” Emmy closed her mouth, but wanted nothing more than to answer for her friend and protect her from his anger. Nathaniel slid his arm around her and pulled her close. “Chantal, I asked you a question. What the hell was that all about?”

“He... he was someone I used to know,” she managed, after a moment of pulling herself together. “Peter Rutger. I...”

“Why was that little punk insisting that you like it rough?” he snapped. “You're starting to freak me out here. After that stunt you pulled the other night...” He looked over at Nathaniel and Emmy standing there.

“Maybe we should we wait until we're in the limo to talk about this,” Emmy said, quietly.

“I'll try to explain this, Ty, I swear,” she said. “But Emmy's right. Can we wait until we're in the limo?”

“I have the feeling that if weren't a plane ride away from the 'Burgh, I wouldn't even get in that limo,” he said. “I'd get my ass a cab and get far, far away from you.”

Chantal sobbed, and answered quietly, “Don't say that, Ty.”

“I'm just keepin' it real,” he said.

“I haven't lied to you,” she said, her face completely tear stained. “I'm still not lying to you.”

The door dinged open and they stepped out into the lobby. Aaron had the doors open and was waiting by the glass doors for them. Emmy pulled Nathaniel to a halt just before he climbed in after Chantal and Tyrone. “How far is the apartment from here?”

“Upper West Side,” he said. “Two miles, at least.”

“Can we get there by subway?”

“Well yes,” he said.

“Let's give them the limo,” she said. “We can walk. They really need to talk this out. We'll be home and we can let them in when they're ready to come in.”

Nathaniel looked at her, and smiled sweetly. “Alright, fair deal,” he said.

Emmy leaned into the limo. “You two take the limo. As long as you need where ever you need to go. Aaron will bring you to the apartment when you're ready. Good?”

Chantal nodded, pulling the tissues out of the box . Tyrone didn't look quite as alright with it, but he seemed willing to go along. Emmy backed out of the door and closed it. Nathaniel was talking to Aaron, and Aaron nodded.

Aaron got into the driver's side and they smoothly pulled away from the curb as Nathaniel slide his arm around Emmy. “Are you good to walk in those shoes?”

“I'm good,” she said. “You forget what I've spent most of the last six years wearing.”

“Ah, that I do not,” he said. “But we'll take a taxi.”

“No, I'm hungry. Can we go to Carnagie Deli?”

“You're hungry?” he laughed. “After that dinner?”

“Yes, I'm hungry. We're in New York City. I want a Reuben. Take me to Carnagie Deli.”

Nathaniel held out his arm. “Mistress?”

Emmy took his arm. “Sir.”

Chapter 16:

The music switched again and Nathaniel looked at her.  Emmy chewed her lip and then chewed on her finger. “Oh, oh! It's Aerosmith! Love in an Elevator!”

“Right,” he said. “Very good.” He picked up the beer and took a swig. “You're getting me way more drunk than I thought you would. You've been listening to the playlists and I didn't think you were this good.”

“You're not doing so badly yourself,” she hiccupped. “I hadn't realized you had such an extensive knowledge of Bach and friends.” She leaned over and leaned into the soft arm there. “I could get used to living like this. Flying to New York on a whim, expensive clothes, damn good food, chi-chi clubs...” She took a sip of the beer.

Before Nathaniel could say anything, the door behind them slammed open startling them both. They spun around to find out who it was, and Emmy felt each the four bottles of IPA 90 she had downed. When her head settled she saw Chantal had pinned Tyrone to the wall and they were stuck together at the hips and lips. Emmy hiccupped, hooted loudly at them, then covered her mouth in embarrassment.

Nathaniel was clearly holding his beer better. He stood and walked over to where they were pinned against the wall. He shoved the door closed and locked it, then made a gagging noise. Chantal pulled away and looked at him, smiling. Tyrone was more than happy where he was from the look on his face.

“Bedroom's over there,” Nathaniel said, pointing. “All your stuff is in there too.”

Chantal let Tyrone go, leaned up and gave Nathaniel a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Shoo, keep your sexual proclivities in the bedroom.”

They both laughed, and before Chantal could stop him, Tyrone picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She screeched and kicked her legs, laughing. “Come on, woman. Please me in bed.” Chantal slapped him hard on the ass and he jumped. He walked into the bedroom and kicked the door closed as Chantal waved at Emmy and Nathaniel one last time.

Nathaniel smiled at her as he walked back over. “Good call.”

“It was not the ideal way for her to spill the beans,” Emmy said, “but it’s out now and it looks like it’ll work out just fine.”

“I’m glad you told me from outset,” he said. “And you looked so sexy in that outfit.” He looked her up and down. “Not that this isn’t doing it for me either.”

Emmy blinked at him lazily, then carefully stood, grabbing the iPod. She was plainly drunk; she hadn’t been this drunk in years. She hadn’t felt comfortable enough around anyone to get this drunk in a long time. She wobbled towards the bedroom, beckoning him along with her with a crooked finger. Nathaniel followed along behind her like a lost puppy with delight in his eyes. And drunkenness. He was just as toasted as she was.

She closed the door and felt his hands at the zipper of the dress. She stepped out of his reach, and shook her head. “This dress didn’t allow me a bra, and you know the rules.” He looked wounded and it hurt her to see him like that. But, in the next instant he perked up.

“I have something for you,” he said, and walked over to his bag on the floor. He riffled around inside and finally pulled out a box with wrapping and a bow. “Here. Open it.”

“You carry gifts for me around in your bag?”

“I’ve had this one for a few days,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it to you. I think this is perfect.” He held it out for her.

It was a flat, small box without much to it. Emmy took it and shook it next to her ear. Nothing. She untied the bow, which took longer than it normally should in her inebriated state and ripped the paper off like a four year old, laughing as she did it. “I’m too drunk to open this neatly.”

“I’m too horny to care,” he answered.

Emmy paused and glanced at him, surprised. “And you didn’t do anything sooner?”

“Nope,” he said, walking over. “I didn’t want to displease Mistress.”

She felt the familiar and delightful pull inside from his words. She turned her attention back to the box she had in her hand and wormed off the top. There was delicate pink paper inside covering something that was made of delicate pink. Emmy was already surprised, but when she lifted the piece of clothing out of the box, she was floored. It was a pale pink bustier of thin, fine silk with no boning, only material ribbing to keep the shape. The cups were full coverage except for a hole on the front of each. She held it up and looked at Nathaniel. “Oh, my.”

“You like it?”

Emmy had a sudden flash of insight. “You talked to Siobhan.”

He nodded. “The night I nearly left, I walked into her shop by mistake, or Kismet. Either way, she told me that was for you and I should give it to you when I felt the time was right. And that’s right now.”

She giggled like a little a girl. “It’s perfect.” She rummaged around in her bag, pulling a few things out. “Right back,” she said, trotting over to the bathroom. She closed the door and held up the bustier again. She loved it, or maybe she was more drunk than she thought. She was able to reach up and unzip the rest of the dress, and slipped it off. She let it drop to the floor and turned her head to see what she looked like in the mirror.

Her eyes landed on her naked breasts. The whole reason she was in here without Nathaniel. The whole reason she had never had sex in a shower with anyone but Franz. And had never wanted to until now. She stared at herself for a long moment, and realized that if she didn’t put the bustier on, now, she was going to end up an incoherent mess.

Emmy spun away from the mirror and grabbed the bustier. She wrapped it around herself and bent forward to get her breasts in the cup properly. She positioned the hole directly over her nipple on each and then stood.

The effect of the pale pink was amazing. It looked like she was barely wearing anything at all and left her most sensitive skin exposed without exposing any other part of her breast. She grinned at herself and grabbed white garter belt she had brought with her. She kicked off the shoes to pull on the fishnets and clipped them up. She stepped back into the shoes, and picked up the dress.

She stepped out and found Nathaniel laying on his side on the bed, wearing black silk boxers and nothing else. He sat up when he saw her walk out and stared for a long moment. “Wow, Em.” He slid off the bed, and walked over to her. “Oh, my God. You look so incredible. Those shoes…”

“You said you had ideas for when they were on either side of your head,” she whispered.

He took the dress out of her hands, and circled her like a predator sizing up prey. She could feel his eyes on every part of her, and she could feel herself starting to react to him, the heat growing between her legs. Nathaniel dropped the dress over the back of the chair there, and stopped behind her. She felt him run his hands up and over shoulders, then down her arms and over onto the silk of the bustier. Emmy closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hands. He trailed them over her breasts, and he busied his fingers at her nipples.

She gasped, and pulled back from his hands. Skin on skin like she hadn't felt in years, and it sent a shiver through her whole body. Pulling back from his hands stepped her into him, and she felt his erection press against her back.

Nathaniel suddenly swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bed, sitting her on the edge. He followed her down and knelt between her knees, running his hand up her back over the silk. He dragged his hands around her body to the front, and he flicked his thumbs over her hard, beaded nipples. He dipped his head down and caught one in his mouth, and an electric thrill ran through her whole body. He nibbled and sucked and flicked and did it all again in reverse order; he moved to the other one to lavish that nipple with his attention.

Emmy was disarmed by the feelings; the alcohol had dropped her defenses but she adored his hand and lips everywhere. She ran her hands through his hair, gasping and twisting her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck. “Oh, Nathaniel...” she hissed.

“I have wanted to do this since the first night,” he breathed against her. “I don't know why you feel you have to hide from me, but I hope someday you'll trust me enough to take this off and really let me pay attention and homage to your gorgeous breasts.”

Emmy couldn't answer. She couldn't look at her breasts, how could he? But the negative thought was swept away by the pull of his teeth and his hand moving between her legs. He brushed his fingers every so softly over the material there, then ran back again and slipped underneath to brush against her clitoris.

She pulled his head back with the hand she had twisted into his hair so she could kiss him. She leaned down and his lips met hers, melting and mingling and tongues dashing in and out. He was breathing hard and his hands never left her vulva, stroking and caressing over and over.

“You're going to get up on this bed,” she breathed, “and I'm going to put one of these shoes on either side of your head, and you're going to do exactly what you wanted to do to me when you saw them.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said against her lips, the word full of lust and promise.

He slipped his hands under her thighs and slid her up the bed until she felt the pillows at her back. He stretched out on the bed and her shoes were actually on either side of his waist, but that was a detail she didn't really care too much about. His fingers were still on her, dancing around the delicate, aroused tissues, and with a finger he ran under the band of her panties, he pulled them to the side and exposed her. He dipped his head down and she felt him circle her clitoris, never quite touching it and starting her drive to orgasm.

She leaned back against the pillows closing her eyes, just enjoying his fingers and tongue. She felt the tickles of excitement shiver through her, seeming to land in her breasts every time. The chill air on her nipples was contributing to the thrills running through her.

She looked down at his head moving between her legs when she felt him slip a finger inside her.  She gasped lightly at his touch and found herself starting to pant a little bit and wind tighter. He looked up at her, leaving her wanting more of his tongue.

“Emmy, I only have one in me...” he said.

“I know,” she answered, sitting up. “I want it inside me.”

“That I can do,” he said. He slipped his finger out of her and unclipped the garter from the top of the stocking. She thought Nathaniel was going to roll the stockings down, but instead, he pulled the garter and her panties off right over them and the shoes. He left the shoes on. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, crawling up her body. She maneuvered her shoes to catch the waist of his boxers and keep them from following the rest of him up to her. His eyes grew wide, and his grin grew wicked enough to match hers.

On his crawl up her body, he paused and nipped at each of her nipples, giving equal time to each and making little sounds of delight as he feasted on them. He looked up at her and she could see the desire in his eyes. He captured one of them in his teeth and pulled, stretching the nipple and making it tense even harder than it had been. The sensation ripped through her, down to her sex, making her squirm under him and her wetness pool, waiting for him.

He let her nipple go, and finished his crawl up to her mouth. She kissed him hard when he arrived, tasting beer and herself on his lips. It was a heady combination that made her delve further into his mouth with her tongue.

He thrust into her without warning and the feeling of his sudden possession of her made her gasp in delight. Hands on either side of her, she could feel his grin in the kiss. He was really starting to know what she needed, and this was exactly what she needed. He started moving himself in and out at a different angle than usual, dragging and pulling on her but never quite hitting her clitoris.

“You have talents you haven't let me in on yet, Nathaniel,” she managed between breaths. She couldn't even begin to classify the feeling he was creating in her.

“I never said I wasn't good in bed,” he answered, laughingly. “I'd have to be to keep up with you.”

“Hmm, true,” she said, trailing her hands around to his back and scraping her nails up his spine. “I like this.”

“Me too,” he said, and shifted his direction again. This time, he was going straight in and out, touching nothing but her walls. In fact, it was the only point of contact between them, and Emmy couldn't stop the lustful moan from that realization. Just that alone drove her closer to the edge, and she needed more than he was giving her.

She wrapped her arms around him and rolled them, and she dropped on to him hard. He gasped and arched up into her. She pulled on his tight nipples and pressed him back into the bed. She moved on him, angling him so he teased her clitoris now, but didn't hit it, and scraped against her g-spot inside. He thrust up in her rhythm, pushing him in deeper than her alone.

I'll never grow tired of sex with this man, she thought.

His fingers were at her breasts again, teasing her nipples. She gasped at the touch of hot skin on the taught beads they had formed. His eyes had shut and she could see them trembling behind the lids. The look of ecstasy on his face was amazing to behold.

He tried to open his eyes but they just fluttered as she slid down on him again and again. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down, and after one particularly hard drop, his eyes snapped open and she knew he was about to come. She watched with rapt attention as he climaxed, slamming himself into her spilling every last drop of himself into her. And that hot splash of him was the last push she needed, gasping and panting his name.

She sat on top of him for a moment staring into his eyes, enjoying the view. He was unbelievably sexy and handsome and sweet. She laid down next to him, cozying up to him and he wrapped his arm around her after pressing a button the dresser, turning the lights in the room off, and slipped her shoes off, pulling up the sheets.

Emmy saw the lights of the city flickering outside the window. She could see Nathaniel's profile in the light and felt safe there.

He turned his head and looked at her. “This is the first time we've had sex at my place,” he said, quietly.

She paused. “You're right.” She considered a moment. “Are you angry about that?”

“No,” he said. “Because all the toys are at yours.”

Emmy smiled. “So you like my toys.”

“I like all of you,” he said. She felt him take a deep breath and let out slowly. “In fact, I love you.”

She froze. Her brain, her body, her heart. It all froze.

“I know you're not there,” he said, “but I can't keep it to myself, Emmy. I needed to tell you.” He turned his head in the sparkling lights behind him and looked at her. “You don't have answer. I know you have a lot to work through.” He placed a kiss on her lips, and caressed her cheek. “Sleep, gorgeous.”

Emmy swallowed, and couldn't find her voice. She stayed frozen so long she heard Nathaniel’s breathing turn to the light snore she adored as he slept. She stared at him for long time before sleep started to threaten her. But I want to answer you. I love you, too.

Chapter 17:

Nathaniel looked over the papers Albright had spread on the table in the corner. He had a hand over his mouth, in shock at what the man had uncovered in so short a time.

“Well, it wasn't all me,” he said, modestly. “I have a friend who is a forensic accountant who did most of it.”

“Without Victor knowing?” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes, of course,” Albright said. “She wouldn't be any good if people found out she was poking around.” Albright pointed to the papers and started explaining what they were looking at. “So, we went back two years to get a sense of what was normal in the accounts and cash flow, which is up there,” he pointed to small neat pile. “It doesn't take off as fast as you would think with Divine behind it. I think deGaulles is in charge because it ramps in such a way that if we didn't go looking for it, I don't think he ever would have known.”

Albright pulled some papers towards them. “There are joint account papers, made up sixteen months ago when they started to get serious about each other. Victor signed them, and it's his genuine signature. So he legitimately set these up for Eric. Greg. And the first three or four deposits are typical for what you would expect from someone of Victor's income. It always comes from the same account.”

He tapped on the page. Nathaniel felt really dirty reading his brother's personal finances, but if Emmy was right – and he was sure she was – they had to get Greg away from him before he drained his brother. He was giving Greg a $10,000 a month allowance, which did sound just about right for Victor. Way more than Greg would have been making a month, but not so much that he could just start amassing it.

“Now, here,” Albright said, pulling over another set of papers, “is what starts happening. This account starts getting a secondary deposit half way through the month. This wouldn't be surprising, except it's coming from a different account every time. Fine, perhaps Victor is playing with the money and liquidating things. He's quite brilliant with his money, really.

“The problem with that assumption would be: why is he funneling all of that into one on-shore account? He has several other accounts, on-shore and off-shore, that would be better suited for this. However the amounts start out small.”

Nathaniel started at the papers. Did his finances look like this? He was shocked at how much money Victor rolled around. He had his accountant handling all of that, but Victor like to play with investing. Emmy eyes were wide at the amounts she was seeing on the papers; he didn't know why – she must have realized at some point how much he and his brother earned.

“Now, it keeps going,” he said. “We started getting more and more money coming into these accounts, liquidated from different accounts at different points every month. And right here, where we see this liquidation of half a million is where we hit the jackpot. It had to be authorized directly by Victor. And so, it seemed it was.”

Albright pulled out two sheets of paper and laid them down at the edge of the desk.

Emmy and Nathaniel leaned over and looked at them. They were the same form with different numbers on them, withdrawing money from one account to deposit into another. They were authorization forms, not the regular deposit forms. And as they looked them over, Emmy started to tap on the signature of one of them.

“This is fake,” she said. “That's not the way Victor makes his 'w'. It's really damn close, but not quite.”

“Exactly,” Albright said. He started pulling out a stack of papers. “And that 'w' is repeated over and over on all of these. And the amounts stop being subtle about four months ago. They become somewhat obscene. And from accounts Victor doesn't normally touch. He would have eventually seen this, but I'm sure the person who wrote these would have been long gone.”

“And who wrote them? Greg?”

“We had hoped so,” Albright said. “But unfortunately, he appears smarter than that. Lucky for us, we know this duo, don't we Em?”

“Anne filled all these out, didn't she?”

“Most certainly,” he said, pulling out a copy of a handwritten letter. “This is her confession to the police when she got caught with her hand in the honey pot at the club with Divine. It was dismissed because of procedural violations, but it's her handwriting.” He put it down next to the forms. “And so is that.”

“So what do we know about this Anne person?” Nathaniel asked.

“Her real name is Anne Beigley,” Albright said.

“What?!” Nathaniel gasped.

“Anne Beigley,” Albright repeated.

“Anne Rose Beigley,” Nathaniel supplied. “Bright red hair.”

“And bright blue eyes,” Emmy answered. “You know her?”

“She's one of my managers,” he said. “She works next floor down.”

“That was the other piece of news I had to break to you,” Albright said. “She's been working her way through this place to get closer and closer to Victor. And you.”

“Son of a bitch,” he said, and slammed his hand on the table. “She did apply for your position, Em. I thought that was really weird.”

“What about the baby?” Emmy asked. “If they are both listed as the foster parents...”

“But they aren't,” Albright said. “Greg... Eric pushed Victor to do it all on his own. Victor is the only one listed as a foster parent.”

“What the hell does he expect to accomplish with that?” Nathaniel asked.

“If Greg kidnaps her, or leaves with her like I think he's planning to,” he said, “he can exploit the ever living shit out of Victor to get her back, and then Victor takes all the heat for the missing baby after he and Anne disappear, off to exploit some other unsuspecting victim.”

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair. “This has to stop now. I need to know Sylvia will stay with my brother.”

“She will,” Albright said. “Greg isn't mentioned.”

“Is Victor still bringing her to the office today?” Emmy asked.

“Yes,” Nathaniel said, “as far as I know.”

“Do you think this is enough evidence?”

Albright nodded. “To convict them of fraud? Yes.”

Nathaniel sighed. “I don't know. I know he has fallen in love with Sylvia, and I can only hope it's enough to convince him that Greg isn't good for him.” He shook his head. “I can't believe I have to destroy the one thing that's really gotten my brother back together.”

“I think Victor is stronger than you think,” Emmy said.

He put a hand to his forehead. This was so much to take in. Greg had never been someone he would choose for Victor, but he had helped him find himself after all that had beaten him down, after having to deal with... those assholes. This was going to hurt, and bad.

“Emmy, make sure we have a meeting as soon as he gets in,” Nathaniel said. “I want you and Gwen and Albright in here. And have Gwen come in here as soon as she gets in; I have to prep the paper work to release Anne from employment.” He shook his head. “This is going to be ugly.”

Albright nodded and headed for the door with Emmy. “Wait,” Nathaniel said. “Albright, can I talk to you for a second?”

Emmy nodded at him and walked out the door. He turned and walked back to Nathaniel's desk. Nathaniel sat and looked at him. “Emmy trusts you implicitly, and you've done some amazing, if heartbreaking, working here. And it's made me think that I need to keep a tighter reign on what I have. Your forensic accountant, you trust him?”

“Her, Mister Walsh,” Albright said. “And as I married her, yes, I trust her.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Then I'd like to continue your employ for a while, and have you comb my books to make sure that there's nothing amiss there. You and your wife.”

Albright considered a minute. “I don't usually take on a jobs like this, Mister Walsh. At least, not that are so financially heavy. But I can see you mean a lot to Te... Emmy, and for that alone, I'll do it.”

“What did you call her?” Nathaniel asked, confused.

“I...” He clearly was hesitant to say anything.

“I know about Imperial,” Nathaniel said.

“Ah,” Albright nodded. “Tessa. I always knew her as Tessa.”

Tessa. “So you'll take the job?”

“Yes,” he said, and smiled for the first time. “I rather enjoy working with your man here, Franklin. A real stand-up, by-the-book kinda guy.”

“That he is,” Nathaniel said, standing up. “No rush on this, since we're still more worried about the yard and Sylvia Jane.”

“I’ll have the paperwork for you for restraining orders and the like when we talk to Victor,” Albright said.

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said, standing. Albright followed him to his feet and shook his hand. Nathaniel watched him go, and close the door behind himself.

A heartbeat later, he picked up the paperweight on his desk and threw it at the wall. The sound of the shattering glass echoed in the room and he wanted to throw another one. Why did Greg have to turn out to be a waste of space? A conniving son of a bitch? And why did he have to be the one to try and save his brother from this asshole?

Gwen walked in twenty minutes later to find him sitting and staring out the window. He turned in the chair and motioned her to lock the door and he took the next half an hour explaining the whole situation to her. She was just as pissed off and upset and he was, and she left quickly to pull up the termination papers for Anne, and file everything properly.

He really didn't want to do this. But if he was living with, and had pledge undying loyalty and love to, someone who had another face, he would want them to tell him and get the broken heart over with. What he really wanted to do was to take Emmy back to her place and have a marathon session of amazing sex and ignore the world-- Greg, Eric whatever the hell his name was, the disaster at the yard – and what a disaster it was turning out to be – and what was becoming more and more obviously a hostile takeover bid from the Tynedale-Dayton Corporation.

When Emmy pushed open the door, about an hour later, Nathaniel just wanted to throw up. Victor, Albright and Gwen walked in and Emmy shut and locked the door behind them. Gwen had Sylvia in her carrier and the baby was sound asleep.

“Um, why are you all ganging up on me,” Victor asked looking at them.

“You're going to want to sit, bro,” Nathaniel said.

“You look sick,” Victor said.

“I feel sick,” Nathaniel confessed. He looked up and Emmy nodded at him encouragingly. “I didn't want to have to do this, Vic. Not ever. But things have come to light in the past week and we need to deal with them. They aren't pleasant.”

Victor looked around at the others in the room, and took a seat. “Ok, hit me.”

Nathaniel and Gwen looked at each other, and it seemed that neither of them were willing to start the conversation. Emmy cleared her throat and took over, just like Nathaniel thought she would. “I know I'm new here, and this really should be left up to your brother, but I'm the one causing this problem.” She glanced over at Gwen, and pursed her lips. “We've found out that Greg is defrauding you.”

“What?” Victor asked, turning to look at her. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” she said. She pointed to the table with all the papers on it. “I knew Greg. From the club.”

“From... where?” he asked.

“The Imperial,” she said.

“Ok, you're jerking my leg,” Victor said, satisfied. He sat back and crossed his legs.

“I'm not,” she said. “It's what started me, us, checking into this.”

“How can you possibly know him from the club?”

“He worked there.”

Victor threw his head back and laughed. “Very funny, very funny, Emmy,” he said.

She folded her arms. “I'm not joking.” She walked over to the table and picked up the two papers with his name signed on them. “He's been working on the fraud for while and he has an accomplice.”

His eyes darted nervously around to the others in the room, and Nathaniel grimaced. He watched as his brother fluctuated between utter disbelief and true unsurity. Victor took the papers and looked at them.

“Half a million?!” he gasped. He started reading the paper more carefully and when he reached the bottom he pointed to the signature. “That's not mine,” he said.

“No, it's not,” Nathaniel said. “Albright, would you explain all these papers?”

Albright nodded and stepped over to the table. He started in on the explanation, going into far more detail than he had with him and Emmy earlier. He was fascinated by what they had dug up and some of the trails they had followed to get to the money. But it crushed his soul to see his brother withering under the clear implication of what was being shown to him.

Eventually, Victor sank down into the chair again, looking bitter and defeated. He looked up at Nathaniel. “What ever led you to this investigation?”

“I knew Greg at the club,” Emmy said, quietly. “And it wasn't a good kind of knowing. His name was Eric Divine there, and he stole close to a million dollars.”

“Was he convicted?”

“Franz didn't pursue,” Emmy said. “It would have meant closing the club because of what was going on there, thanks to Eric. Greg.”

“What did he do in the club?” Victor said. “Bartender? Bouncer?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Yes, I do,” Victor said.

Emmy stared at him for a moment and sighed. “He was a Dom. An all-comers Dom.”

“All-comers?” Victor asked.

“He's bi,” Albright said. “He would take anyone into the rooms, male or female.”

“A... Dom...” Nathaniel was pretty sure his brother was going to throw up. “He's bi, too?”

Emmy spoke quietly. “It gets worse, Victor.”

“How can it get worse?!” he yelled.

They were all quiet a moment, and once again, Emmy took the lead. “Sylvia is his daughter, with a woman name Anne deGaulles.”

“Anne Rose Beigley,” Nathaniel added. “That's her real name.”

“No,” he hissed. “Why are you doing this to me?! Sylvia is...”

“Going nowhere,” Albright said.

“It's why we did this today, when Greg wasn't around,” Nathaniel said.

“She's fostered in your name only,” Albright said. “If you put a restraining order on Greg, he can't do a thing about her. The father's name on the birth certificate is blank. Anne Beigley is on the birth certificate, but it's on record she's signed away her parental rights. Four hours after birth. You are the child's legal guardian according to the state of Pennsylvania, and you are primary choice for adoption if it should go that way.”

Victor stood up and Nathaniel had never seen his brother so pissed. “If it should go that way. You just destroyed the past two years of my life and all the trust I might have built up is gone. Your little add-ons are cold comfort. Gwen, Emmy, keep an eye on the baby. I need to find Greg.”

He marched out the door and Nathaniel sprinted after him, grabbing his arm. “Victor, please--”

“You,” Victor said, ripping his arm out of his grip, “you are the worst of all.”  Nathaniel could see the horrible, cruel words on the tip of his brother's tongue; he bit them back and turned and walked out of the office.

He looked at Emmy, who seemed as though she had just spoiled Christmas for a kid. “I need you to find Tank and Henry. Get them in here. We're going to need all the help we can get on this one. Albright, if you can find Dunham, do it.” He picked up the phone and dialed quickly, the other end being answered with a brief mention of a last name. “Franklin. Victor's going to try and find Greg, and I need you keep tabs on him. I want the word out that Greg Cortez isn't allowed in this building. And we're going to need some security at Victor's house and mine.”

“Yes, sir,” Franklin said. “I take it that Albright's research didn't end well.”

“Not at all,” Nathaniel said.

“I'll get on this right now,” Franklin said and hung up the phone.

Nathaniel looked at Gwen, who was sitting on the couch with the baby on her shoulder. She handed the little girl off to him. “I know your brother is pissed at you, but this bitty thing is why you've done this. This is what's good for her, and for him. There are other men out there for him, better men. But this little girl needs him. And he needs her.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said quietly. “But that doesn't mean I don't feel like a schmuck.”

~*~*~

Emmy appeared in the door, pushing it open. She walked in and Victor followed her, looking like he had eaten a bag of lemons. The look on Emmy's face was grim. The fact that she and Victor were followed by Tank, Henry, Albright, Dunham, two women he didn't recognize, and Gwen with the baby in her carrier, let him know that it didn't go well. At all.

Victor plunked down on the chair, and his head was in his hands. He looked beaten and defeated and empty.

“What happened?” Nathaniel asked, quietly.

“Oh, he fucked me over, and good,” Victor said. Gwen walked over and put the little girl in his arms. Nathaniel thanked her silently. Victor looked at the little red-headed babe in his arms. “He denied everything at first, of course. And I nearly believed him. I did. I wanted to. More than I care to admit, I wanted to believe him. But he was stuttering and mumbling and bumbling around his words. When Albright pulled out the papers, he balked and I knew – just knew – he was lying to me. He tried to keep up the façade, but it was too late. I knew what he was by that point.”

“Mister Franklin remained behind at Galloping Ridge to make sure Mister Cortez moved out, today,” Albright said. “He and I agree that some security is in order at both Galloping Ridge and North Woods, and we've installed that. Ms Greene is here to make sure Sylvia is safe. And Madison, Mrs. Albright, is here to make sure all of the Messieurs Walsh have their finances straight and clean, removing any of Cortez's fingerprints.”

He turned and looked at Nathaniel. “You'll both have a small security detail until we're sure Cortez is no longer a threat.”

“I don't like that,” Nathaniel said. “I don't like being shadowed.”

“And I don't want you dead,” Emmy said. “Greg is currently very dangerous. Just please, for me. Allow the security detail.”

Nathaniel looked at all the people in his office and he knew his brother didn't need all of this right now. “Could you all excuse us for a little while? I think we need a minute here.”

Gwen stood and started ushering everyone out. Nathaniel walked over and grabbed Emmy's arm before she got out the door. “I need you tonight, Em. Please,” he said, quietly.

She nodded, and caressed his cheek. “Of course. I knew you would.”

He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the lips and nodded that she should go. He closed the door behind her and he walked back to where Victor was still holding Sylvia and staring at her. He saw thick wet tears on his brother's face as he sat down across from him in another chair.

“Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?” Victor asked.

Nathaniel sighed. “I don't,” he answered. “But Vic, you have to understand that I didn't really want to do this. But when Emmy brought all of this to me, I had to do something. I didn't want you to get hurt, but I would be a horrible brother if I let you keep going on like this, in a lie.”

“He was screaming horrible things about me,” Victor said. “He was screaming that I was stupid and an asshole for doing this to him. To him. Not to us. Just to him. He didn't care that there was a little girl involved in this. He was just worried about his money.” He ran a soft hand over Sylvia's slightly messy hair. “I don't give a shit about the money. I don't. He can have it all. What I care about is, he didn't consider the child we brought under our roof.” He looked up at his brother. “Our roof,” he repeated. “In the house we were making a home together.”

Nathaniel blinked, and couldn't think of a thing to say. He just picked at his fingers.

“I hate you so much,” Victor said. “I hate Greg. I hate Emmy and Gwen and Franklin right now as well. And at the same time, I know why this had to happen. You made me realize what was going on before I really got hurt. Before we adopted this little thing and had a child to contend with.” He looked at the little girl again, then back to Nathaniel.

“He told me he was her father,” he said, the big fat tears falling again. “He told me he had been cheating on me all this time with Anne and she was so much better at...” He trailed off, then continued again. “He told me there was no way this would have lasted because I'm not a real man. He beat me down with his words. And the one solid thing I got out of all of this is that... I am going to fight to keep this little girl in my life. I want this child to call me daddy. I want her to give her a life she would never have with him.”

Nathaniel finally looked up. “I am sorry, Victor. I would have given anything for this to be a mistake, that Emmy didn't know who he was.”

“So you know about your girlfriend's second job,” he said.

“Yes,” Nathaniel said. “How do you know?”

“I had Franklin run a background check on her,” he said. “Imperial popped up.” Victor looked at him. “I asked her to keep her ear to the ground for any curious bits of information for us. She can over hear things there that we can't get near. I never imagined she would have this kind of information.”

“She didn't want to do this to you, Victor,” he said. “She's scared for her job.”

Victor threw his head back and laughed. “I'm never letting her go now! Not after this. I hate you and her right now, but I know in a few days, after my heart stops shattering into a thousand pieces, I'll be grateful. And as more of his bullshit comes to light, I will start to hate him instead of you two.”

Nathaniel pursed his lips. “I'm sorry, bro.”

“I know,” he said. “I still hate you.”

“I know.”

Chapter 18:

He parked his car in the guest lot and found Emmy waiting for him at the elevator. He hadn't said much to anyone since Victor had left with Albright to start working on the paperwork to separate Greg's assets from his. Even the dinner at the cafe with Emmy had been quiet. He was feeling very introspective and overwhelmed by the fact that he had just destroyed his brother's relationship. The very relationship he had encouraged once he had seen how much it helped his brother.

He followed behind Emmy, who hadn’t had a problem with his quiet introspection at dinner. She seemed to be internalizing things as well, which wasn’t good for either of them, but he suspected that what had happened today wasn’t something she wanted to happen.

She opened the door to the apartment and walked in. He trailed in behind her, putting his briefcase in the usual spot. What he did next shocked him, and shocked her even more. He made the decision in a heartbeat, not thinking, not planning. Instinct kicked in—survival mode. He didn’t want to think about what he had just done to his brother’s life.

As she turned to locked the door, Nathaniel dropped to his knees sitting back on his feet and dropped his head. He put a hand on each thigh and sat there, unmoving. He watched Emmy’s feet as she turned back, and he heard her gasp loudly, backing against the door.

It was quiet. She broke the thick silence a moment later. “Nathaniel? What are you doing?”

“Whatever you wish, Mistress.”

“Look at me,” she said. He raised his eyes to look at her and blinked once, then again. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered.

She took a moment to decide. “Go into the room. Undress down to your boxers and sit next to the saddle horse just as you are here.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“Go,” she said.

He stood and walked to the dark room. He kept his eyes down and undressed quickly, folding his clothes and putting them on the dresser there. He walked to the saddle horse and dropped to his knees, hand on thighs. I don’t want to think. He waited for her, shoving all the thoughts that were trying to invade his conscious out of the way.

He heard her boots walk down the hall with the click-click of the stilettos on wood. Her feet appeared in the door way and he darted his eyes over. They were polished leather boots, not the soft suede he remembered and the heels were even more spindly than the others. He wanted to look up and drink her in, but he knew that wasn’t allowed right now.

She walked over and stood in front of him, saying nothing. He heard her cracking something against her hand, a crop perhaps. He waited. A moment later he knew he was right about the crop as she placed it under his chin and raised his face to look at her.

“Stand,” she said.

She was pure Domme at that moment and he found his breath starting to race. He stood.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what? Uh, Mistress?”

“Why do you want this?” she asked.

“I don’t want to think,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Emmy asked. Her eyes were hard, but gorgeous and curious.

“I’ve destroyed my brother, I don’t want to think,” he said.

“I’ll do this,” she said, “under the condition that you swear, and I mean swear, that you are not doing this to punish yourself for what happened today. That is not what this is about. This is about you wanting to escape. Do you swear it?”

“I swear it, Mistress,” he said.

She stared at him. “Pick a safe word.”

“Safe word?”

“That’s a question,” she stated. “There are no questions in here. Pick a safe word.”

Nathaniel thought for a moment. “Imperial.”

Emmy nodded. “You understand that this time, stop will not work. It will not work. Repeat it.” Nathaniel repeated it. “The only thing that will work is the safe word. What is the safe word?” Nathaniel said it again. “I'm doing this because you asked, Nathaniel. Because you want this as much as I do tonight. You will irrevocably break my trust if you make this about punishment. I want you to keep your mind empty, concentrate on what the feelings in your body. No macho shit. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“On the saddle horse,” she said.

He stood and stepped up on it, bending over and grabbing the hand holds on the other side. He held on, waiting for her. The strains of violins and horns softly started to fill the room. He heard her boots clicking on the floor, and a drawer open and close. The boots clicked again and her voice was soft and breathy in his ear. “I'm going to blindfold you. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

The horns and violins began to swell at she covered his eyes with a silk scarf. He thought he should recognize the sounds, but didn't want to root around in his mind for the information. He closed his eyes, and listened to the music.

Holst, his mind threw up. Mars, Bringer of War.

“I'm going to use the paddle for twenty. Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered. And instead of tensing up, he relaxed completely. It was an odd sensation. The paddle hit squarely on his ass, and he gasped. The sting wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be, but it still caught is breath. The next hit came soon after and sent the same sting through him. He cringed, but the relaxing helped. Another blow, and this time he started to feel something truly different. The whole thing felt very forbidden and in that, became erotic. And the next hit didn't hurt the way the others had-- it still stung but this time the feeling went right to his cock.

He couldn't stop himself on the next hit; he moaned and felt himself growing erect against the leather. The music was swelling and Emmy's blows were hitting him perfectly; he found himself disappearing into the sensations.

“Twenty,” she whispered in his ear. “How lovely your ass looks red, Nathaniel. Stay right there.”

He didn't have it in him to answer, and it didn't take a moment until Emmy was back. She strapped something around his wrists; it felt like the cuffs for St. Andrew's Cross. “I'm not going to unmask you,” she said. “I'm going to take you over to the cross.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed.

She stood him up and helped him out of the stirrups. She walked him over, and he found himself being locked to the cross facing it. He almost wanted to panic, but that would have involved thinking and there was no thinking about this. But she must have sensed something, because she didn’t tether his ankles this time.

He heard the odd ‘ting’ of metal, and the strangest most erotic sensation of tickling pain ran down his back, on his spine all the way to the top of his ass. He gasped at the feeling and his erection was straining and painful from it.

Emmy breathed in his ear. “You like that.”

“Yes, oh God, yes,” he said.

She smacked his ass hard. “Yes what?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

The same tickling pain ran down his side from his arm to the top of his hip and he twitched and gasped at the feeling. She repeated the sensation on his other side, and at the seam of ass and thigh on both sides. She ran it down his spine then on the right and left of it. His brain was screaming from the sensation it was creating in his body.

Her voice was in his ear. “You like it a lot.”

He could barely pant his answer. “Yes.” The hard smack on his ass sent his brain into overload and he let out a moan of sheer pleasure. “Yes, Mistress,” he finally managed.

“Let's change up the game a little, shall we?”

He heard a few clicks from her boots and a moment later, he felt the movement of rough leather on the skin of his shoulder. It felt like the flogger, and when she flicked a moment later he knew that it was. He arched into the cross, the feeling exciting every nerve of his body from his toes to the very tip of his now-thrumming cock. He lost himself in the flick of her wrist as the flogger rained sharp little stings all over his body. She was unpredictable as well; first his upper back, then his thighs, then his ass. There was more power to this flogger, more thud. He gasped and let feeling flow through him.

“You are not allowed to come, Nathaniel.”

What? His brain gasped at that. How could he not? His whole body was on fire and he wanted nothing more than a release at that point. He didn’t want to disappoint her either. “I don’t know if I can do that,” he gasped.

“It’s something you need to learn,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He tried to separate the excitement from the flogger from the delight in his erection. Almost instantly, the flogger started to hurt. Really hurt. He found himself shaking his head against the drop of it. Now, not only did it not excite him, the tendrils were stinging and digging into his skin. He held on, clenching his fists.

He found himself clinging to other thoughts wandering through his brain. He wanted to enjoy this and he wasn’t. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to now. It was better before she said no orgasm. There was so much sting lingering he couldn’t do anything. His breath was turning ragged and yet for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop. She continued the assault with the flogger all over his body, bringing no more pleasure.

Then, he caught the tenuous thought wandering through his brain. No worse than what you’ve done to your brother.

“Imperial,” he breathed. “Imperial!”

The blows stopped instantly. Emmy yanked the blindfold off and the velcro loose and lowered his arms to his side, and ran her hands up and down them. “Are you OK?”

He took a deep breath. “I promised this wouldn’t be about punishment, and when you told me not to come, suddenly it was.”

She turned him around to face her. “This should never be about what you’ve done wrong. This is also why if you really want to do this, you have to go to another mistress.”

“No, Emmy,” he said, gathering her in his arms. “I love you, and you're the only one I would ever want to do this with.”

“Nathaniel, I don't want to hurt you.”

“You haven't,” he said. “And you won't. By your own rules.”

“There's so much more I can do,” she said.

“And we'll get there,” he said. “I promise.” He looked at the bed. “Still want to use me?”

“Every minute of every day,” she said.

He stepped back and held his hands out, crossed at the wrist. “Whatever you wish, Mistress.”

She raised an eyebrow and was clearly considering him. “Can we try one of your soft limits?”

“Yes,” he said, unhesitant.

She retrieved the cuffs from the cross and latched his hands together. “Just your hands,” she said. She led him over to the bed “Up on the bed, bottom up for now,” she said. He climbed up and laid on his stomach. She reached over him and pulled a chain from behind the headboard, clipping it to the cuffs. She pulled the chain back and felt his hands pulled toward the headboard. He pulled and couldn't move much more than a little.

“I want you still,” she said, running her hand down his spine. “Very still.”

He tried to still himself, but he wasn't very good at holding still. He watched as she opened two drawers and blocked his view with her body. God, that body. He stared at her boldly, admiring every inch of her-- clad in what was very skimpy leather.

She turned so he couldn't see what she had in her hand. “Safe word?” she asked.

“Imperial, Mistress,” he answered, but he sensed that her very strict Domme was tucked away for now. He did enjoy that though. He had to admit it, he liked her being in charge and making him feel like he'd never come down.

The music changed. O Fortuna, from Carmina Burana. One of his favorites.

The thought of music was pushed out of his head as he felt a finger running up and down the crack of his ass. It was almost cold, and definitely wet. Part of his brain wanted to roll him over and run like hell, but the bigger part of him wanted to see where Emmy was taking this.

“Still,” she snapped and slapped his ass hard again. He gasped; it fed straight into his cock. “Relax. You did well. Relax for me, and don't forget the safe word.”

It was like an electric shock through his whole body, forbidden and erotic and virginal. Her pinky caressed his anus, running over the outside with what he guessed was lube. She ran her finger down again and he gasped. “Emmy...”

“Ssh,” she said. “Still. Or I'll smack your ass again.”

He was going to tell her that wasn't really a threat, but she ran her finger over him again. The feeling was electric; he couldn't figure out if he like it. He did know he was getting really hard against the bed. The next time, she didn't move her finger away. He moaned as she gentle ran her finger around. He had the safe word on the tip of his tongue but something was stopping him. You're damn curious, that's what.

Ever so slowly, a new sensation took over. One of cool fullness, and little stretch then relaxing. Something nestled between his cheeks.

“OK?” she asked, quietly.

“Mm hmm,” he said, the alien feeling not terrible unpleasant.

Her voice was again in his ear. “It vibrates.”

He heard the click and his inside clenched at the feeling it started in him. He actually stuttered the words out, “H... holy sh... sh... shit.” Nathaniel couldn't say anything more than that.

“Roll on your side,” Emmy said, moving herself on to the bed.

He did his best with her help. His erection leapt free from where he had been laying on it and it was painfully hard again. He couldn't really move the way he wanted to, but Emmy didn't seem to care. She sidled up to him, and slipped her leg over his hip. She moved herself to a position where with a simple slip of her hips, his cock was at her sex, pressing for entrance.

He moved his head to kiss her, and she leaned in and met his mouth with hers. As soon as he caught her tongue, she slid him in her.

“Oh shit,” he gasped against her lips. She moved on him in a very different motion; between that and the sensation from the vibrator he knew he couldn't hold on. “Emmy, I--”

“I know,” she said, clearly enjoying his erection inside her. “Go ahead, come.”

She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him closer. He added his own thrusts to her hips, and he felt himself getting harder and closer to coming. She ran her hands up and down his sides, intensifying the insane feelings running through him. She used the other hand to pinch his nipples, and that was the end of him.

He came, thrusting and spilling all of his cum in her. He moaned with each thrust, and suddenly her hand was around his ass and she pulled out the vibrator. He screamed in ecstasy, his brain not being able to process a single more bit of pleasure.

On his last thrust, Emmy reached up and unfastened the velcro again, and he brought his arms down around her, grabbing her under her arms and pulled her up towards him. He rolled her so that she was over him and pulled her hips so that she was spread wide over his face. He teased her first with his freed hands, finding her clit and circling it. She was shaking already, and he knew she didn't have long either. He found her with his tongue and licked and sucked at her tender skin.

He moved his hand around, and gently touched her anus.

She freaked.

Chapter 19:

The gentle pressure set off a wave of horrible, consuming panic. She almost froze as it seized her, but she was barely able to push it off and get off the bed. She ran from the room, to her bedroom slamming and locking the door as she ran for the bathroom.

She leaned over the toilet and lost whatever she had left in her stomach, the gut clenching fear not letting go. She could feel the PTSD welling up and taking over everything in her brain. Her stomach heaved again, and she tossed pure bile burning her throat all the way up.

Nathaniel was banging on the door. “Emmy! Emmy are you alright?!”

“Go home!” she yelled.

“Let me in, please! I want to know you’re OK!”

“GO HOME!” she screamed, curling up on the carpet there. “Go home go home go home!”

“Emmy!”

“No!” she yelled. “Go!”

She tried to hold back the great wracking sobs that were on their way, but she only partly succeeded. She heard Nathaniel knock a few more times, and call her name, asking if she was ok. She didn’t answer; she just repeated that he needed to go home.

She lost track of time, curled on the floor of the bathroom. She stopped trying control the sobs and just let them out. Painful sobs that drained her air and her energy. They weren’t even cathartic. They were just painful.

Why did I ever think that this would work?

Now she was going to have to start with Doctor Mueller all over again. Just when she had gotten to the point where they were down to a session every month, she was going to have go back to twice a week.

“Emmy, please, please.”

She didn’t answer him. He pleaded for another few minutes, but eventually she heard the door to the apartment close. She didn’t know how long he was there pleading before he left, and left her alone.

Why did I think this would work!?

Just that one unexpected, hard limit touch did her in. It was like she was fourteen all over again.

There was a reason she was a Domme. There was a reason she needed to be always in control, to have her lovers tied up and obedient. She didn’t want to feel like this, ever, and that’s why Franz had skipped her to Domme. Her one experience as a sub and she had nearly cracked. Franz saw that.

She needed Nathaniel obedient; that’s why she brought up the other mistress. She wanted him to listen to her, to not set her off like this. But if he wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t consider training, she wasn’t going to be able to deal with it. Not if this was going to happen every time; she couldn’t go back to this.

She found herself waking up the next morning to the sound of her alarm. She sat up and realized  at some point she had crawled into bed. The whole night had been haunted by nightmare after nightmare and the bed look like it had been attacked by a t-rex. She woke up sore and probably more tired than she had been in years.

Emmy walked into the shower, stripping down as she went. She made a mental note to call the doctor. She need to get back to where she had been. She stood under the water and started crying again. This time not the gulping sobs, but the small tiny whimpers with painful tears the shower washed away. She wanted Nathaniel to work out. She even been thinking about giving up the club once Victor was sure he couldn’t get anything out of there.

And now it was over.

Worse, she had to face him in the office.

The cellphone in her purse was full of text messages from him. Full. There had to be a hundred of them, most of them begging her to let him know she was alright, almost from the moment he walked out the door the night before. She took a deep breath and deleted all of them in one shot.

She wanted to throw up again, but refused to let it happen. She got dressed in a nice conservative outfit and headed to the door. Food was not happening. She got all the way to her car before the text message alert went off again.

Nathaniel W: Emmy, please. Are you OK?

E Westerly: No. I’m not. But it’s not your place to worry.

Nathaniel W: Yes it is. You’re my girl, and I’m going to worry.

E Westerly: No. Nathaniel we can’t see each other anymore.

Nathaniel W: What? What are you talking about?

Nathaniel W: Shit. I have to go to the yard today. I’m going to be there all day.

Nathaniel W: Please talk to me. What happened?

E Westerly: driving. can’t talk.

She threw the phone on the seat. She really didn’t want to do this, at all. She just wanted him to go away and not worry about her. She’d get herself fixed and move on. She hoped he could be civil about it and not cause her to go looking for a new job.

She pressed the Bluetooth connect for the car and had it dial Franz’s number.

“Dorn,” he said, his voice coming through the speakers of the car.

“I’m a mess,” she said.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked quietly.

“Nathaniel…” She paused.

“Oh, sweetie,” he said. “Calling the doctor? Or would you like me to do that?”

“I’m going to,” she said. “Do you have any Xanax? My prescription ran out months ago and I haven’t gotten a new one.”

“Yes,” he said. “Done. I’ll meet you at the front door the building. Keep it together, love. Do you think you can work this out?”

“I don’t know, Franz,” she said. “I threw up. I spent all night with the dreams again.”

“Maybe you should call out,” he said.

“No, no,” she answered. “I can do this.”

“Alright. See you in few.”

The call ended and she drove in silence. She didn’t even try to think or rationalize anything. She just drove in the hopes she didn’t freeze up before Franz could get there with the Xanax. She hated using other people’s meds, but she needed one right now. She had been so good for so long she never requested a refill.

She pulled in and parked, and could feel the anxiety creeping up on her again. She forced it back; she was only yards and moments from the medicine. It would get her through this today, and hopefully the doctor could see her by tomorrow.

Franz was waiting at the entrance of the building. He held out the bottle for her. She ignored it for just a second and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. He was startled by her move, and then folded her into his arms. “You’re a wreck, love.”

“I am,” she said, tears threatening.

“Are you sure you shouldn't stay home?”

“I need control, Franz,” she said. “Routine. You know that.”

“I know,” he said.

“Put me on tonight.”

“Emmy, love, I know you're upset. But do you really think--”

“Franz. Put me on for tonight,” she said. “Don't question me, please. Just do it.”

He clearly didn't like the idea, but he also didn't argue. “Alright. Seven?”

“Fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

He held out the bottled for her again. “Take one, and try to calm down. I can call the doctor if you want. I can see if he can squeeze you in today.”

“I'll call and tomorrow will be fine,” Emmy said. “Nathaniel is in the yard today.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“When I get myself back under control,” she said.

“And are you going to tell Nathaniel what happened?”

“How can I?” she said. “Why should I? It's just apparent this isn't going to work.”

“That's not fair, Emmy,” he said.

She felt her anger rise. “Don't tell me what's fair, Franz! Don't you dare tell me what's fair.”

He held is hands up. “Sorry. So you'll be there tonight?”

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for the Xanax.”

He nodded and she turned and walked into the building. She popped the cap and dumped one into her hand and dry-swallowed it. Hopefully it would be working by the time Gwen got in. She was really glad she had left herself work from yesterday, it would help keep her busy the whole day.

Nathaniel W: Will you still go with me to dance class tonight?

E Westerly: No. I can't. I'm working.

Nathaniel W: At the club? Since when?

E Westerly: Since about 15 minutes ago.

Nathaniel W: You did that on purpose?

E Westerly: What do you mean on purpose. I want to work tonight.

E Westerly: So I told Franz to put me on.

Nathaniel W: But you know tonight is dance.

E Westerly: I'm not going with you. I can't.

Nathaniel W: Can't or won't?

E Westerly: Doesn't matter. I'm not.

Nathaniel W: I was hoping we could talk.

Emmy threw the phone in the corner and soundly ignored it for a few more alerts so she could get through the paper work she had to sort and work on. The medicine had kicked in, and instead of feeling freaked out and tweaked, she felt sad.

Great, am I going to need the Paxil again too? She turned her attention to the sorting and opened up her computer. She tried very hard to pay attention the work in front of her but the phone occasionally let out another alert sound. She finally gave up and grabbed it again.

Nathaniel W: Emmy, I want to talk to you.

Nathaniel W: Not text about this.

Nathaniel W: Can we have lunch?

Nathaniel W: I guess not.

Nathaniel W: Is there any chance we can talk?

Nathaniel W: I would like to understand what happened.

Nathaniel W: I know you have things you won't tell me, but you scared me last night.

Nathaniel W: Please talk to me. Have dinner with me?

Nathaniel W: I'll skip dance.

E Westerly: I can't. I'm working tonight.

Nathaniel W: Then tomorrow night?

E Westerly: I don't know. I don't think so.

E Westerly: I don't think this is going to work.

Nathaniel W: Don't say that.

E Westerly: I'm just being honest.

Nathaniel W: You're not being honest, you're being closed.

Nathaniel W: And I want you to open up to me.

E Westerly: I just don't think this will work.

The next message had a link to a YouTube video in it. She looked at it, and dug out her headphones to listen. She recognized the name of the group immediately; it was one of Nathaniel’s favorites, Florence and the Machine. It wasn’t a random choice just to remind her of one of their music lessons. The main character was clearly running away from something, trying to escape. She dropped through the ceiling of the church through a stained glass window and into the arms of choir boys.

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day,
You can't choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay
No light, no light
No light
Tell me what you want me to say

Would you leave me,
If I told you what I've done?
And would you need me,
If I told you what I've become?

She stared at the phone, letting the music fade off to silence and the screen go black. She could almost see the bolding on some of the lines she heard in the song. She wanted to cry again.

She put the phone down and went back to the computer again. She pulled up Dr. Mueller's phone number and dialed it. She knew it was too early for the doctor to answer the phone, so she left a message asking for an emergency session either today or tomorrow. She thought for a moment about calling Chantal, but even Chantal didn't know the whole story. Emmy was in no position to actually tell  her what was going on; she couldn't even talk to Nathaniel about it, and he was the unwitting instigator and victim of it.

She picked up the phone again and brought up YouTube again. She knew what she wanted to send him, but the video was irrelevant to the lyrics. The lyrics were what she was looking for—Too Close by Alex Clare. She opted for the worded music version instead, and even though he mocked dubstep and didn’t really like it, she knew he would listen to it.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

There's nothing I can really say

I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more

Got to be true to myself

And it feels like I am just too close to love you

So I'll be on my way
You gave me more than I can return

Yet there's so much that you deserve

Nothing to say, nothing to do,

I've nothing to give

I must leave without you

“Emmy, I need to talk to you.”

She gasped and jumped and realized that some point Victor had not only arrived but walked by her and into his office. She looked at the clock and realized it was 10:15. She nodded and walked into the office, closing the door behind her.

She walked over to where she usually sat when Victor was giving directions and requests for her, and dropped into the chair. Victor was looking out the window for a moment.

“There's too much heavy shit going down around here right now,” he said. “I have Sylvia stashed at Nathaniel's house with Joanne and Quinn and a nanny. There is security all over the place and Greg has disappeared. Which I don't like.” He turned around. “Emmy, we only need one Walsh brother with a broken heart at a time. I don't know what happened last night, but Nate's a wreck over it. He didn't sleep at all. He couldn't sit still. I sent him to the yard for investigation today to keep him away from you.”

Emmy frowned at him. “Victor--”

“It's not my place to intervene, I know,” he said. “But I knew if you two were in the same office today, nothing would get done and Gwen would end up hiding in my office all day. Emmy, whatever happened, I would ask that you please just talk to him.”

“This is really complicated,” Emmy started.

“He loves you, girl. I've never seen him act like this with anyone. Make that count for something, if only for me?” He walked around the desk and leaned against it. “Everything I thought I knew about Greg was a lie. I'm broken. I can't see my brother go through this too.”

Emmy felt tears welling in her eyes. She shook her head.

“You love him too.”

Emmy started at her hands willing herself not cry. “This is so complicated, Victor.”

“Even if you don't work out,” Victor said, quietly. “Please, talk to him. Let him down easy. Slamming the door and screaming for him to go home isn't the right way.” She looked up at him sharply. “Brothers talk, Em. Especially when one comes home pretty effed in the head.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “For me. Please.”

“I can't, not yet,” she said. “I need time. This is hard.”

“I understand, and I can hold him off for a while,” he answered.

She took a deep breath. “Let me get the doctor's appointment and see what he says.”

“Doc-- never mind. Not my business.”

She blinked a few times, and breathed slowly. “I'm on Xanax right now, Victor. I'm afraid I'm going to need to go on Paxil again. I need to see the doctor.”

“Oh,” he said. He nodded. “Ok. But please talk to him.”

“I will if I can,” she said.

“And you'll take it easy?”

“As much as I pharmaceutically can,” she answered.

He cracked a smile, and she managed one as well.

~*~*~

Nathaniel W: What did I do? Can't you tell me?

E Westerly: It's not as simply as telling you.

E Westerly: it's a story and I'm not really in frame of mind to tell

Nathaniel W: is that my fault?

E Westerly: … yes and no.

Nathaniel W: what the hell does that mean?

E Westerly: it's very complicated.

Nathaniel W: so it's my fault?

E Westerly: no.

Nathaniel W: but you just said it was.

E Westerly: no, I didn't. I said yes and no. And it's complicated.

Nathaniel W: what did I do?

E Westerly: I don't want to talk about this over text.

Nathaniel W: well, you won't talk to me in person.

E Westerly: didn't I just say this was complicated.

E Westerly: I need time.

E Westerly: Can you give me that?

Nathaniel W: I guess I can. I just wish you'd tell me what happened last night.

The phone in her hand rang, startling her. Emmy looked at the number and let out a sigh of relief. Dr. Mueller. “Hello?”

“Hello, Emmy,” Dr. Mueller said. “What's up? You sounded panicked.”

“I am, doc,” she said. “I need to come in. I've had a serious set back. I freaked out last night... ”

“Oh dear,” he said. “Alright, I can get you in today at five. Is that ok?”

“Yes, that's perfect,” Emmy said. “Thank you so much, doctor.”

“Take it easy, Emmy,” he said. “We'll talk tonight.”

She hung up and looked at the time. She had three hours before she could see him. She could make it. There was also another YouTube video link sitting in the message box from him. She queued it up and gave it a listen—This one was from Blink 182- I Miss You.

Where are you and I'm so sorry
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time
And as I stared I counted
Webs from all the spiders
Catching things and eating their insides
Like indecision to call you
And hear your voice of treason
Will you come home and stop this pain tonight
Stop this pain tonight

Don't waste your time on me you're already
The voice inside my head (I miss you, miss you)

The Xanax was starting to really wear off, and she decided that she was going to need another one to tide her over until she got to the club. You'd better make sure you don't start this cycle again, either. She hoped Mueller could walk her through this.

E Westerly: I have a doctor's appointment tonight.

Nathaniel W: tonight? I thought you were working

E Westerly: don't be mean

E Westerly: It's at 5.

Nathaniel W: and what does that mean to me?

E Westerly: You're being a bit of a jerk.

Nathaniel W: you told me you were working and then you come back with a dr. appt.

E Westerly: I'm fucked up in the head, Nathaniel.

E Westerly: I need to see the doctor. Tonight. Before the club.

E Westerly: Don't be an ass.

Nathaniel W: I'm not being an ass, I'm being offended.

Nathaniel W: I want to talk this out with you.

E Westerly: The doctor is important if you want to talk to someone who isn't crazy.

Nathaniel W: So you need to talk to some shrink instead of just telling me what happened?

E Westerly: You ARE being an ass.

Nathaniel W: I'm angry

E Westerly: why?

Nathaniel W: Because you won't talk to me.

E Westerly: I *just* told you why I can't.

Nathaniel W: You can't even tell me what I did to make you jump off my face?

Nathaniel W: I let you flog me, paddle me, tie me up and shove a buttplug up my ass

Nathaniel W: and you can't tell me what the hell happened.

E Westerly: I recall you *asked* for that.

Nathaniel W: Yeah, I did. Because I thought that we were going to trust each other.

Nathaniel W: And I trusted you. And you can't do the same for me.

E Westerly: This. Is. Complicated.

Nathaniel W: Everything with you is complicated.

Emmy threw the phone across the desk, and the tears were already burning her eyes. She started at for a minute. She grabbed it back.

E Westerly: Fine. You want to know? You crossed a hard limit.

Nathaniel W: A hard limit?

E Westerly: Yes. A very.hard.limit.

Nathaniel W: So you're making this hard on me because of this?

E Westerly: Hard on YOU?!

Nathaniel W: You never said a fucking word about a hard limit.

E Westerly: I don't have to because I'm a Domme.

E Westerly: You're not supposed to do anything that I don't tell you to.

Nathaniel W: Well, clearly I'm not your sub.

Nathaniel W: And you should have SAID SOMETHING.

E Westerly: This is why I tie men up before I fuck them.

Nathaniel W: You DO need to see the doctor.

E Westerly: You're an asshole.

Chapter 20:

Dr. Mueller looked at her and chewed on his pen. She knew that was a bad sign and she wiped more of the tears off her face. She sniffled and put her head in her hand.

“I wish you had called me two weeks ago, Emmy,” he said. “You need to be walked through a vanilla relationship. You are used to a world of rules and you're used to being in charge.”

“I had myself so under control,” she said.

“And he was asking you to relinquish some of that to him,” Mueller said.

“I went completely PTSD,” she cried.

“No, you didn't,” he said. “You're not regressing, Emmy. You're progressing. Your anxiety ramped up because he broke one of the rules in your world that you didn't explain to him. You are so used to men not questioning you that your first experience with one who doesn't follow those has freaked you out. You're testing limits. It's good.”

“I don't think I can be in relationship without rules,” she said.

“There are rules, though,” Mueller said. Emmy was confused, and it must have shown on her face. “The rules are different. You have strict rules of engagement, discipline. There are permissions because your pleasure is taken in dangerous ways. That's how you've been able to progress this far. Being in control of those permissions and discipline. It was safe because the danger is controlled, the access is controlled.

“Vanilla relationships aren't filled with those rules,” he continued. “They are open at the front. Give and take are very equal in a good solid relationship. It's why he kept wanting to give you pleasure. Their rules lie in the backroom. The things you usually do, your lifestyle, is where the forbidden zone and rules lie in the vanilla world. It's why he was willing to try it your way. He wanted you to be happy too.”

“But we were in the dark room,” she said. “He knew I was in charge.”

“Yes,” Mueller agreed. “He did know that. But you had just given him a pleasure he didn't expect, and he was trying to simply reciprocate. A good man will always reciprocate pleasure. That's what he was doing.”

“But I never said he could...”

“Exactly, you never said he could, and you never said he couldn't,” Mueller said.

“Anal is a hard limit. I don't want that,” she said.

“Then you absolutely must communicate that,” he said. “He's trying to play by your rules, and you need to try his rules, his way. You're used to a hands off approach, but vanilla is very hands on.”

Emmy sobbed. “God, I even said that to him.”

“Emmy,” he said. “How do you feel about Nathaniel? What is your heart saying?”

Emmy put a hand to her heart. It hurt at that moment. A deep, throbbing pain in the middle of her chest. She was hurting because she had hurt him. “Victor says I love him.”

“And is he right?”

“I think so,” she said.

“That scares you?”

“Yes,” she said, “and no. It feels so right, but how can I lead him into my world? He's so good and wonderful.”

“Maybe, you should let him lead you into his world,” Mueller said.

Emmy's lip quivered. “You're talking about me walking away from the club. Leaving my whips and chains behind.”

“The club yes,” Mueller said. “But you were already heading for that. You don't have to leave the whips and chains behind. He's clearly amenable to them. I'm talking about you letting down those walls you have and letting him inside. Let him get to know you. The real you. The whole you.”

She wrapped her arms over her breasts.

“Yes, even that, Emmy. Even that,” he said.

“I...”

“If you don't let someone in, you'll never know what could be,” he said. “He's not going to judge you or think you're a freak. Your issues with your breasts are yours, not his.”

Emmy wiped her eyes again. “It's frightening.”

“That's good,” he said. “Change is scary.” He tapped his pen. “The whole reason you decided to go out into the straight world was because you realized you couldn't be a Domme forever. You finally had enough room between you and them that you could see that.” He paused. “Do you think there is enough room that you could let some one in?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“Nathaniel seems willing to try,” he said. “Take a risk. You've always been open to the pleasures in danger and pain... isn't this just an extension of that?”

Emmy plucked at the tissue she was holding. “I didn't expect at the first day, the first hour at my first job outside the lifestyle I would find someone like him.”

“Fate, destiny, karma, Kismet. Whatever.” He waited. “Can you try?”

“I don't know where to start to fix this.”

He sat back. “That's easy. An apology, an explanation, and long talk about your hard limits, even if you can't tell him why they are hard limits yet.”

“But I'll have to tell him the whole story someday,” she said.

“Yes, you will,” he answered. “But you've already hinted that there is one. He's clearly patient enough to wait for you to be ready.”

Emmy felt more hot tears on her face. “God, I fucked up.”

“You didn't,” he said. “You reacted to something you weren't expecting. Go back. Slow down. Take your time and let each other in a little at a time.” He looked at the clock. “You need to head to the club, and our time is just about up. I'll give you a prescription for Xanax, and you'll give that one back to Franz, right?”

“Of course,” she said. “I'm not going into that again.”

“Good,” he said, pulling out a prescription pad. “And do you want the Paxil?”

She pursed her lips. “No. Let's see if I can fix this on my own.”

He smiled at her, a broad, blinding grin. She looked at him crooked and Mueller explained, “When you first stepped in here, six years ago, all you wanted was drugs. Now, you're refusing them. That, my dear, is progress.”

~*~*~

She looked at the phone as she walked into the Club. She had missed a few more message from Nathaniel, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to read them. She’d called him an asshole, but he was being mean.

Nathaniel W: So did the quack put your head on straight?

E Westerly: How is that a good thing to say to me?

Nathaniel W: Sorry. Still wrapping my head around this.

E Westerly: And you should like the quack anyway.

E Westerly: He told me to sit you down and at least explain this.

E Westerly: Thank your brother, too. They’re both on your side.

Nathaniel W: I want to talk tonight.

E Westerly: You know I can’t. End of story.

Nathaniel W: I want you to quit the club.

E Westerly: No.

Nathaniel W: I won’t go to another mistress and I want your kink for myself.

E Westerly: I’ve already said this a dozen times; this.is.complicated.

E Westerly: I can’t quit.

E Westerly: And it’s not KINK, it’s a lifestyle.

E Westerly: Stop making me feel like I’m some kind of freak.

Nathaniel W: I’m tired of the word complicated.

E Westerly: I got baggage, baby. A whole cargo plane full of it.

E Westerly: I am the living personification of FUBAR.

Nathaniel W: So meet with me. Tonight. Explain your FUBAR-ness.

E Westerly: No. I told you that. I have to work tonight. I need to.

Nathaniel W: You need to?

E Westerly: You want to know about me? I need control. I need routine.

E Westerly: And the club gives me that.

Nathaniel W: …but you’re willing to talk to me?

E Westerly: Yes.

E Westerly: I don’t make any promises about this, though. Not a one.

Nathaniel W: When can I see you?

E Westerly: We’ll see what we can do about tomorrow night.

E Westerly: Remember I’m going to Boston Sunday.

Emmy shut the ringer off and put the phone in her locker. She was where she needed to be at that moment and she didn’t need any distraction. Most of the others were already clocked in, at five, so she had time to get dressed quietly and carefully. It felt both relaxing and strange to put her usual club clothes on, but she knew it was because of the emotional roller-coaster she had been on all day.

The doctor was right. She had never told him her rules. That was a stupid move on her part; she should have gone over her hard limits with him. She was just used to unconditional obedience and the understanding that she was off limits unless she said it was OK. The thought of him having free reign over her frightened the living shit out of her.

She took a few deep breath, and forced herself to calm down as she saw Franz walked in. He walked straight over to her and gave her a hug. She accepted it gladly.

“How are you, love?”

“Tired,” she answered, pulling out the medicine bottle. “Here. Yours.”

“You can keep them,” he said.

“Hell no,” she said. “I have a fresh prescription. The last thing I need is that starting up again.”

He nodded and took them wordlessly. “Can you talk about it now?”

She blurted it out. “He hit a hard limit.”

“Ahhh,” Franz said. “You didn’t tell him yours?”

“I didn’t even think about it.”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“Possibly tomorrow night,” she said. “I need to calm down and I need…”

Franz nodded. “Of course, of course. I understand.”

“Probably better than anyone else,” Emmy smiled. “There are days I wish we’d worked out.”

“Two Doms in one relationship?” He laughed. “You’re cute.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Franz laughed and handed her a piece of paper. “Your list for the night. I though the soft rooms would be good early on. You have two hard room clients at eleven and twelve. Oldies who were thrilled that you were going to be here.”

Emmy read down the list and nodded. “Yes. This is just what I can handle. You really do know me, Franz.”

“I’m just as fucked in the head as you are, Tessa,” he said with a wink.

She walked into her usual room and found her cosmo sitting on the table. Familiarity. Comfort in routine. It was what she craved right at that moment. She looked at the list and it was Robert again. She sat in the chair watching the dance floor below. People were starting to really trickle in; for reasons she couldn’t really understand Thursday nights had become popular.

She crossed her legs and waited for him and this time, he walked in exactly on time, dropped his head and clasped his hands behind his back as soon as the door was closed. She smiled.

Exactly what she needed.

She found herself dismissing her eleven p.m. client, and knew she had about fifteen minutes to kill while the next client showed and prepped. She walked to the back bar and found another cosmo sitting there, waiting. The bar tender, not a weekend regular nodded at her. Franz’s communication in the place was amazing. She sipped it and sat in one of the plush chairs for a moment. She was tired and sweaty and it felt great. She didn’t know how she was really ever going to walk away from this. Emmy truly enjoyed being a Domme and if she and Nathaniel did work it out, they were going to have to find a compromise.

Chantal walked into the lounge as Emmy was getting ready to walk back out; they giddily embraced each other.

“How are you?” Chantal asked. “I’m so sorry I haven’t called. Ty and I have been… really getting along well and I’ve been preoccupied. Anyway,  you?”

“I’m horrible, but getting better.”

“What happened?”

Emmy looked down the hall. “I have one more client. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she smiled. “Want me to bring another cosmo up in a few?”

“You’re done?”

“For the night,” she said.

“I would love another one in a few minutes,” Emmy smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Emmy walked up the stairs to the room where her last client should be waiting. She walked to the room and saw the door was slightly ajar. She shook her head; Delsantos should know better. She always had the door closed. Unless he was trying to earn more paddling, which she would be happy to accommodate.

She pushed the door open and stepped in, smirking. Delsantos liked his paddling.

The light went out, the door slammed shut and Emmy’s stomach fell.

“Well, well,” came an all too familiar voice. “Hook, line and sinker.”

She heard the door lock and the overhead light flared on blinding her. She put a hand up to shade her eyes and gasped. “Eric?!”

“Why are you even shocked?” Eric asked.

“You were missing, you disappeared,” she said. “I thought you left Pittsburgh.”

“Not hardly my sweet,” came another voice.

Emmy felt like she was going to throw up at the sound of that voice. She turned slowly and found the person who had slammed and locked the door. “Lance.” Her voice quivered, and it took everything she had not to throw up. She looked over her shoulder at Eric. “How did you find Lance?”

“You think Victor never talked to me?” Eric grinned. “He told me everything. Including your great disgust for Lance Dayton.” He walked up behind her and grabbed her by the neck. “And when you fucking ratted me out to Victor, I went straight for the kill. Lance was delighted I knew you and told him that I would take him straight to you.” He tightened his grip on the back of her neck.

“It was an unexpected phone call,” Lance said. “A wonderful and unexpected phone call.” He walked towards her. “You didn’t really think I would let you get away from me forever, did you, Emmy? I told you that your delicious little ass was mine and I meant it.”

“What do you want? What do you want so you’ll go away and leave me alone forever?”

“Nothing,” Lance said. “You’re mine. You’re all I ever needed in life. Your little lifestyle here suits me perfectly. You like pain, and I like pain, and it’s a perfect match. Not to mention those pert perfect tits of yours.” He leaned in closer. “I want to pound your ass so much I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

She slapped him. “Keep your goddamn hands off me, you fucking freak.”

Lance threw his head back and laughed, hard. “You. Calling me a freak? Who is it that comes to a club to give out jollies? Not me, sweetie. Not me.”

“There are rules here, Lance,” she said. “Rules you never understood and don’t want to obey. You’re a disgusting pig of a human being. You’re sick and twisted. Let me go. I can get you both whatever you want, but let me go.”

“No, it doesn’t work that way when I want you,” he said, walking away from her. “Greg here might be convinced to go away if you have enough cash, but I want you, chained in my basement. So there’s no getting rid of me.”

Emmy could feel her panic rising. This was a completely different kind of panic now; this was fearing for her life panic. She felt the old fear there—the fear that had nearly consumed her when she was in college. The whole reason she avoided Lance as much as she could. “Just let me go. Neither of you are going to be able to get away with this, so just let me go. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Ha, right,” Eric said.

“Lance you can’t do this,” Emmy whispered.

“I can and I will and no one will ever know where you’ve gone,” he answered. “But first, before we go anywhere--”

Eric shoved her forward and Lance punched her hard in the stomach. She felt all of her air rush out of her lungs. She fell off to the side, gasping for air, still on her feet. Eric walked over as she was trying to catch her breath, and kicked her in the kidney. Emmy gasped, unable to scream and bent towards him as the pain wracked her body.

Lance punched her in the chest, knocking more wind out of her and driving her to her knees. She hit the floor hard, the tile totally unyielding. Pain rocketed up from her knees into her hips. From who knew where, Eric had a cricket bat and slammed it into her other kidney on the flat. She let out a strangled scream and fell forward, spitting blood.

There was a knock on the door and a faint call could be heard. “Tessa? Tessa, I have your cosmo. Why is the door locked?”

Chantal! Emmy thought looking to the door. Before she could even start to form a word on her lips to force out through her painful lungs, Lance kicked her in throat. She couldn’t breathe for a full ten seconds and she thought she was already dead.

The cricket bat came at her again, this time Eric landing the blowing on her arm. She felt the snap of bone followed by a hollow pain that raced up and down her arm. She could hear Chantal pulling on the door and rattling the knob.

Lance grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. He unknowingly pulled her air way open and she gasped for air through the consuming pain. She mustered enough spit to spit blood in his face. He glowed angry for just a moment, and then a burning lust appeared in his eyes.

“Goddamn, woman, I can’t wait to get you home and take you like this.”

“Fuck you,” she breathed.

“That’s the idea.”

Eric laughed at the joke and brought the bat down on her back. She was able to get out gasp and a small scream at that moment. She couldn’t think, and there was nothing to feel but the bruises and broken bones. She didn’t even try to stop the tears as Lance kicked her in the rib at the same time Eric brought the bat down hard on her tailbone.

“Why?” she squeaked between the tears. “Why?”

“Because you’re a fucking whore,” Eric said. “Because you ruined everything Anne and I had planned. Because you don’t deserve what that man can give you.”

“What about your daughter?”

“He can have her,” Eric said. “She was a mistake we were going to pawn on off on him anyway. He can deal with shitty diapers and a cranky piece of shit that won’t shut up.” He hit her near the kidney again. “I’m going to make you hurt for what you did.”

“She likes that,” Lance said. “Don’t you, Emmy. You like pain. You like being treated like you’re worthless. This is what gets you off.”

She shook her head. “No. There are rules. There are rules. You can’t just beat people.”

“I can,” Lance said. “I greatly enjoy this. I’m going to put you in my basement and use you, just like you enjoy. And when I’m done with you, I’m going to kill you and fuck your corpse and bury you like the rest of them.”

“You did kill Natalie,” she wept.

He leaned in close. “So what if I did? Natalie was a stinking whore, just like you. She liked it rough, so I gave it to her rough. You should have heard those fantastic screams as I killed her. Mmm, and then I fucked her one last time while she was warm.”

Oh, Christ. He’s going to kill me. Emmy started crying harder, and his hand came down hard on her cheek.

“No crying!” he yelled at her. “No more crying! You like this, why the fuck are you crying?” He stood up. “Gimme that bat. Give it to me.”

She saw Eric hand it over out of the corner of her eye. She heard the door handle rattling again.

“Tessa?!”

Franz. Oh, God, open the door.

“Hoping he’s going to rescue you?” Lance asked, standing up. “Keep hoping.”

“EMMY!?”

She froze. Nathaniel.

“Keep dreaming sweetheart. You’re mine,” Lance said, raising the bat. “Even if they get in here, I’ll find you again and I’ll own you, body and soul.” He brought the bat down.

The world went black.

...to be continued…

About the Author

Armed with her Bachelors of English, Literature from Montclair State University and a pen name, Katherine Rhodes has set out prove that erotic romance can be kinky, dirty, fun and well-written. She is a lackadaisical laundry goddess, and resides in Philadelphia with her husband, three cats and a betta fish named Connor Macleod.

Club Imperial is her first foray into the word of erotica. She invites you to visit her website at katherinerhodes.wordpress.com,  follow her on Twitter at @Mistress_KayR, or join her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/katherinerhodesauthor.

Coming FALL 2013:
Broken Bonds
Book 2: A Club Imperial Novel

After finding Emmy beaten and unconscious, Nathaniel has to enlist the help of his brother Victor and Franz to make sure that Emmy's secret life doesn't make the headlines and interfere with the justice her attack deserves. But when Emmy wakes up, they find out she has absolutely no memory of the attack, causing problems with the investigation...

Recovering from her injuries at North Woods, Nathaniel's sprawling estate, Emmy has too much time to reflect on what's happened so quickly in her life. When a phone call causes her past to crash head-long into her present and old scars are ripped open, she's not sure she can make it through the pain again. She has to let Nathaniel go to protect him from the hell that is her past...

But he's not letting go.

Table of Contents

- ConsensualBook 1: A Club Imperial NovelCopyright ©2013 Katherine Rhodes

- To

- Chapter 1:“SHIT!”

- Chapter 2:

- Chapter 3:

- Chapter 4:

- Chapter 5:

- Chapter 6:

- Chapter 7:

- Chapter 8:

- Chapter 9:

- Chapter 10:

- Chapter 11:

- Chapter 12:

- Chapter 13:

- Chapter 14:

- Chapter 15:

- Chapter 16:

- Chapter 17:

- Chapter 18:

- Chapter 19:

- Chapter 20:

- About the Author

- Coming FALL 2013:Broken BondsBook 2: A Club Imperial Novel