A Billionaire Dom (The Holden Brothers Book 3) Page 2

  I reached out with both hands, pinching the hoops between my thumbs and forefingers. She shivered but didn’t speak or move. I twisted them, turning and pulling both until her fingers twitched. A slight reaction, but it was one of her tells, letting me know I was getting close to her pain threshold. I held the hoops for a moment longer, and then released them.

  “Bend over the chair. Hands on the arm.” I gestured to the chair next to me.

  She immediately moved to obey. I couldn’t draw this out like I did with most of my sessions, but I wasn’t about to rush through her punishment just so I could fuck her.

  I admired her long legs and her firm ass as I pulled off my belt. The first time we’d fucked, I’d learned that spanking her with my hand was more likely to bruise my hand than it was to hurt her. She could not only take a lot of pain, but she enjoyed a lot of pain.

  At the club, I had my choice of various types of whips, floggers, canes, and the like. I didn’t keep toys in my office. My belt, however, would do.

  I flicked the end of the belt against one cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but a warning about what I was going to do. And a reminder of how this worked.

  “Please, Master.”

  I waited. She knew she had to say more to get what she wanted.

  “Punish me, Master.”

  There it was.

  I tightened my grip on the end of the belt and swung. The crack of leather against flesh was familiar and made everything else fade away. My focus narrowed to each red stripe the belt laid down, each time Willa thanked me for it. I lost count after twelve strokes, but I didn’t have a specific number for this particular infraction, so I was winging it.

  When her entire ass was the deep sort of red that would definitely turn into a bruise, a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, and her muscles were trembling. She was about ready to come just from this alone.

  “Good girl,” I said as I ran my hand over her back. “You didn’t miss a single one. Your punishment is done.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Her voice was shaky, confirming how close to orgasm she was.

  I retrieved my wallet from the top drawer of my desk and took out a condom. If we’d been at the club, I would’ve wound her tighter, playing with her piercings until both nipples and her clit were swollen and throbbing, then I would’ve fucked her. We weren’t at a club, though. We were in my office, and she was just going to have to come on my cock or not at all.

  She let out a little yelp when I drove into her, but then it was all moans and pleas for me to fuck her harder. I ignored her. Unless she used her safe word, I didn’t care what she said.

  All my attention was on the wet heat of her clutching me, tightening around me as she finally climaxed. Three strokes, then a fourth, and I came too. I dug my fingers into her hips, my eyes closing as I let myself have that moment of release.

  It was over too soon, and then I was back in the present, remembering that I was at work and that Willa had just shown up here without invitation or warning.

  She made a sound as I pulled out, holding onto the chair as her knees buckled. I took the condom into the bathroom and did a quick clean-up. When I came back out, she was leaning against my desk, her torn teddy framing her body.

  The smile on her face said that her being here wasn’t exactly a whim. She’d done it because she either hadn’t heard or hadn’t cared about anything I’d said regarding my lack of desire for anything outside of impersonal sex.

  “Get dressed.” My tone wasn’t harsh, but it was flat. I wasn’t going to get angry at her, but I wouldn’t coddle her either. I hadn’t led her on, and I wasn’t going to shoulder the responsibility for her issues.

  Her smile faltered. “I thought you might want to go to a late lunch.”

  “I told you where the lines were,” I said, picking up her dress and laying it across the back of the chair. “And you didn’t respect that.”

  “Punish me.” She went down on her knees. “Please. Punish me, and it’ll all be okay.”

  “No, Willa. That part of my life and this part of my life are separate. Get dressed and leave. We won’t be doing this again.”

  I walked around my desk and took my seat, ignoring her pleas for me to reconsider. If I gave her the slightest bit of attention, she would take it as an apology, and I didn’t need to give her one. Once she figured out I wasn’t joking, she’d do as I asked, and I could go back to work.

  Three

  Linsey

  “Get your fucking finger away from your mouth!”

  Without looking up from my screen, I took the aforementioned digit and pointed it toward the source of the order.

  Kasey Lee, my best friend and roommate, let out a peal of raucous laughter, rocking back in her seat.

  “I’m glad you find my anxiety amusing.” My voice was dry but without any malice. She and I had met two years ago in Denver, and six months ago, I’d come with her to Houston. The two of us, we understood each other.

  “Hey, you’re the one who asked me to help you stop biting your nails.” Kasey stood up and stretched her back by bending backward until her long black hair brushed the floor.

  Kasey was somewhere in her early thirties, but her tiny stature always had people wondering how she was allowed to work in a tattoo parlor, let alone own one. She wasn’t just a businesswoman, though. She was an artist, and her own golden skin was covered with work of her own design. She made one-of-a-kind art that couldn’t be found anywhere else. In fact, we’d met when she’d designed and given me the tattoo that covered my back.

  “I didn’t know you were going to yell at me every time my fingers got near my damn mouth.” I crumpled the piece of paper I’d been jotting random notes on and threw it at her.

  She caught it and tossed it back. “What’s next on my schedule?”

  I flipped through my programs until the spreadsheet for the schedule appeared on my screen. “Jessica Barker,” I read. “Consult only. She’s bringing in a design of her own.”

  Kasey sighed. “I really hope it’s better than the last person who brought in a picture they drew.”

  I winced, remembering the awful drawing of a dog that a rather drunk mechanic had brought in after his dog’s funeral. It’d taken fifteen minutes for us to figure out exactly what he was trying to say, and another fifteen to get him to understand that K’s Phoenix policy disallowed tattooing of inebriated patrons. He’d come back two weeks later, stone-sober, asking for her to fix what a less-than-scrupulous artist had done after he’d left here.

  The phone rang, and I reached for it. “K’s Phoenix. How can I help you?”

  Kasey grinned, and I flipped her off again. I worked here on occasion, and she thought it was hilarious when I had to sound polite and professional. I supposed, with my purple-streaked hair and numerous ear piercings, it was a little funny to see me acting like a secretary, but it wasn’t like we were at some country club or wealthy doctor’s office. We were in a lower middle class part of the city, at a tattoo parlor that catered to people who looked more like Kasey and me than they did a run-of-the-mill Texan.

  “Yes, we have an opening tomorrow at three,” I said as I scanned the schedule. “Unless you have an artist preference.”

  It took me a couple more minutes to get things worked out, and by the time I hung up the phone, Kasey’s next appointment was here, and the pair disappeared into the back. Things were generally quiet first thing on a weekday, which was why Kasey usually worked it alone. Sunday through Thursday nights, she had a second artist come in. Most Friday nights and all-day Saturday called for three people. And all of that was with me working the counter. Not bad for a shop that’d opened only six months ago.

  Technically, I didn’t work for K’s Phoenix. I came in when she specifically asked or when I had time, and she paid me in cash. I wasn’t off the grid, but I was trying to stay a ghost. Employment records and tax returns made it far too easy for someone to track. Someone like me, actually.

  Speaking of which,
I had work to do.

  I hid the program that held the schedule and appointments and then went back to my research. Saturday night, one of Kasey’s artists, Brighton, had called in and quit without warning. She’d ended up having to call in Tiarra Mendoza to cover Brighton’s shift, and no one had been happy about that. When she’d made her first hires, Kasey hadn’t asked me to look into any of her employees, and I’d foolishly left it alone because it was her shop, and I hadn’t wanted to overstep.

  Fuck that.

  If she wasn’t going to look out for herself, then I had to do it for her.

  I would’ve seen it coming with Brighton if I’d done the work beforehand. On paper, his employment record looked good, but a little digging had uncovered a past that was less than reliable. Unpaid parking tickets from Houston to Dallas and owed child support – times two – going back more than two years. It hadn’t taken much after that to figure out his pattern of moving to a new job every time his past caught up with him, and his wages were in danger of being garnished.

  Asshole.

  I should’ve gone with my gut when she’d asked me what I thought of him because I’d never liked the guy. He’d been arrogant and condescending to everyone but Kasey, and only when she wasn’t around. I hadn’t said anything, though.

  Now, I planned on putting everyone under the microscope and telling Kasey the moment I thought something was off.

  Tiarra Mendoza had come back clean. Mid-twenties with some shadows in her past, but nothing that set off any warning bells. A military brat, she’d traveled all over the world as a kid and spoke three languages besides English. She’d be more likely to hurt herself than someone else. I’d keep an eye on her, but Kasey didn’t need to be worried about this particular artist.

  Boyd Maze was on the schedule for tonight. Around the same age as Tiarra, he was Kasey’s first hire. He was a nice guy, sociable enough for people to feel comfortable with him permanently inking their skin, but not the sort of talkative person who ended up dragging out things simply because he couldn’t shut up.

  He’d gotten arrested for a drunken disorderly shortly after his twenty-first birthday but had been let go with probation. Since then, he’d steered clear of the cops, with the exception of a couple parking tickets and one speeding ticket.

  Kasey had been looking for a replacement for Brighton and had an interview scheduled for thirty minutes from now. I wanted to get an idea of who Mary Jo Walton was before she got here. The name alone was enough to give me pause, but I wasn’t going to judge someone by something so superficial. She could have the craziest name in the world and be the perfect fit for K’s Phoenix. I was just being overly picky.

  And overly protective.

  I wasn’t close to many people. One person, in fact. I was friendly to Boyd and Tiarra, but I kept them at arm’s length. Kasey was the only person who’d managed to get past my walls, and I suspected she’d probably be the only one to ever do it. I wasn’t about to let someone take advantage of her or hurt her. She said she could take care of herself, but there was no harm in giving her back-up…even if she didn’t know I was doing it.

  Four

  Davin

  Artisans Restaurant was our go-to for business lunches, but after listening to Theodore and Loretta Ciardi attempt to order in French, I was considering changing to an American steakhouse where they couldn’t massacre the language.

  At least that was the hope. Anything seemed possible with these two, and I was willing to wager that most of it wouldn’t be good.

  “…then I ask him, ‘Am I paying you to think or am I paying you to hand me my nine iron?’” Theodore Ciardi threw his head back and laughed. One meaty hand hit the table and nearly knocked over his glass of wine.

  I forced a laugh and reached for my glass to avoid having to draw it out. I was grateful they didn’t share my father’s strict religious views because I doubted I would’ve made it this far into the dinner if I’d had to do it without alcohol to take the edge off. Wine was barely cutting it, though. I had a feeling I was going to need something a lot stronger by the time lunch was over.

  “My Teddy tells the best jokes, doesn’t he?” Loretta Ciardi leaned against her husband, pressing her large – and obviously fake – breasts against his arm with all the subtlety of a cat in heat.

  Fortunately, I was spared from having to answer when our waiter appeared to top off our wine. He smiled politely at Loretta when she reached out to put her hand on his arm but didn’t drop his gaze to the considerable cleavage she was putting on display.

  I made a mental note to give him an extra big tip. It wasn’t easy to walk the fine line he had to tread. Too far one way or the other could get him into trouble that I understood far too well.

  “Now, Davin, I understand that it’s your grandfather who started Holden Enterprises.” Theodore finally brought up a subject I could talk about without that balancing act.

  “He did,” I said. “He and my grandmother were married when they were twenty and built the company together from the ground up.”

  Loretta blinked rapidly at me. “But they’ve retired?”

  There was no way to make this less awkward, so I stated it outright. “My grandfather has. My grandmother passed away before I was born.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Loretta leaned across the table and reached for my hand.

  I casually picked up my fork and took the last bite of my entrée as if that had been my goal rather than simply wanting to keep out of her reach. I’d figured out a while back that if I ate at a leisurely pace, taking the time to set my utensils down during the pauses, I could use the pretense of picking them up again and taking a couple more bites to stall or distract. It also worked when I was trying to avoid having someone touch me.

  Being the eldest son from a well-known and wealthy family meant I had more than my fair share of women throwing themselves at me. I was also self-aware enough to know that a majority of straight women found me attractive. Some of those women didn’t seem to understand that not all men liked strangers touching them as a part of their flirting technique.

  I liked women, but I’d never been fond of the kind of flirting that seemed common in my social circles. I much rather preferred a straightforward approach to sex. An arrangement between two people for mutual satisfaction.

  I didn’t see the point of dancing around it when we both knew what we were after. Women who wanted more weren’t people on whom I wished to waste my time. I wasn’t looking for a wife or a soulmate or a girlfriend.

  I liked my neat, orderly life. Relationships just made things messy.

  “Your grandfather is still living, though?” Loretta asked.

  I wished I could tell her that if she’d simply paid attention to what I’d said, she’d know the answer to that question, but I knew I couldn’t say that. Dad had no tact when it came to dealing with people. No matter how much I would’ve liked to speak my mind, I had to be the diplomat and choose my battles wisely.

  Repeating myself about something so trivial wasn’t even close to important enough to bicker about.

  “He is. Seventy-eight and going as strong as ever.” I forced myself to make eye contact this time when I smiled, moving my gaze from Loretta to Theodore in the hopes that she’d take the hint that I wasn’t going to return her flirtations.

  “Did he get remarried after your grandmother passed?” Theodore wrapped his arm around Loretta’s shoulders and pulled her against him. His hand hovered over one of her breasts as if he was contemplating groping her right here at the table.

  “He did. Twice, actually. Divorced wife two about thirteen years ago, and then met Cynthia. They’ve been married for eleven years.”

  “Never made it to double-digits myself,” Theodore said, “but Loretta and I are coming up on year eight, so I might get there yet.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Loretta’s expression tighten for a moment before smoothing out. Based on the amount of plastic surgery she appeared to have
had done, I was surprised she could make much of an expression at all.

  If I had to guess, I would say there were thirty years between her and Theodore. A May-December romance like Grandad and Cynthia, but where Cynthia was the furthest from a trophy wife as she could be, Loretta…well, I wasn’t the kind of person who liked to make judgments about other people, but from what I’d observed, she seemed to be every stereotype of the pretty younger woman married to the rich older man.

  Which meant she was already thinking about the fact that she would be getting too old for him soon. I wondered if she was thinking about whoever she’d replaced. Was she already as old as Theodore’s last mistress or wife had been?

  “What about you, Davin?” Loretta asked. “Have you ever been married?”

  “I have not.” I made a discreet gesture at a passing waiter.

  “Seeing anyone?” She fluttered her eyelashes at me and wet her lip with a slow sweep of her tongue.

  “I keep my private life private.” I looked up as our waiter approached with the dessert menu.

  “May I recommend the Tarte des Soeurs Tatin?” He pronounced the dessert with the sort of accent that made me think he’d practiced it. “It’s quite divine.”

  “Would you like dessert?” I asked to be polite, but I hoped Loretta and Theodore would decline. I was ready to go back to my office, where I wouldn’t have to make small talk or pretend to be enjoying myself. Sure, it was part of my job, and when I took over as CEO, I’d probably still have to do this, so getting used to it seemed like a good idea.

  Then again, I could probably delegate to Deklin if I moved him up to CFO after Dad retired. If he could handle it. I still wasn’t entirely sure he had what it took to do this job.

  Especially now that he had a fiancée and a potential stepson. If my brothers and I had learned anything over the span of our life, it was that Holden men weren’t much good at making time for both work and family. Grandad had been decent about it, but Dad had, quite frankly, sucked.