Hot, Rich and Dominant 5 - No More Secrets Page 7

  He took a deep breath and began.

  “I already told you about my dad disowning Serena for being a lesbian. What I didn’t tell you was what happened when he found out. He...walked in on her and her girlfriend. Together. Completely naked, from what Serena said. I didn’t ask for anything more specific.

  “He went apeshit. Yelling, screaming...blaming Michelle for corrupting his little girl. He started to get into her personal space, dragged her away from Serena, but he wouldn’t let her get her clothes. And then he hit her.

  “Serena screamed at him to stop, but he was out of control. He let all his rage loose on Michelle, and when Serena tried to grab his arm to make him back away from her, he shoved her back so hard that she hit her head and blacked out for a minute. When she came around, he’d stopped attacking Michelle and was just standing there. And Michelle was dead.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered. I hadn’t imagined anything like this. This was so much worse than anything I’d envisioned.

  As if he hadn’t heard me, Marc went on, “He told Serena he was going to take care of it, so she’d better put on her clothes and get downstairs. I was sick in my room, which was on the other side of the mansion, and he told her if she tried to leave, he’d kill me like he had Michelle.

  “Serena grabbed some clothes and ran downstairs. He must have already called security, because there were two guys in the foyer and they wouldn’t have let her leave even if she’d dared to risk my safety. She just had to sit there in the library while our father’s people disposed of Michelle’s body and cleaned up.”

  Marc paused, and I hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry. That’s so fucked up.”

  “Oh, there’s more,” he said grimly, but pulled me closer as if he needed the comfort.

  “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

  He kissed the top of my head and continued, “Serena tried to go to the police when she finally managed to get out of the house, but you know how things work when you have enough money to bribe people. There was no evidence left, and my father suddenly had an expert psychologist take a look at Serena, deduce that she’d had a psychotic breakdown because her girlfriend had run out of town... The police didn’t think very hard about the case after that. They dismissed Serena’s claims as a delusion, and she had no way to convince them otherwise. All she and I could do was cower at home and hope he didn’t come for us the way he’d murdered Michelle.”

  Tears pricked my eyelids, but I swallowed the lump in my throat. Even though I’d promised not to say anything, the words were still on the tip of my tongue: God, that must have been torture.

  “When all the furore had calmed down—with next to no media attention, of course, since he could buy them all off—he disowned Serena officially and threw her out onto the street. She was nineteen. I was fourteen. I managed to give her some of my considerable allowance so she wasn’t completely destitute, but she was so used to living in luxury, and so afraid our father would have her discreetly killed. It was awful for her.

  “And so I grew up the only child of Elliot Cassidy from there. It was tough. Anytime I tried to go against him, he said he’d implicate me in Michelle’s murder. I knew he had the cash to pull it off, and he probably kept some evidence somewhere he could contaminate with my DNA. I had to go to business school. I had to work at CassidyCorp. I had to jump whenever he said jump, and I’ve ended up his puppet.

  “The worst part was when he found me in the middle of tying Callie up during a surprise visit here one day. Luckily I was only trying out a simple harness I’d been practising, and I hadn’t even taken off her shirt, but he figured out pretty quickly what we were into, and he flew off the handle.”

  Terror surged through me as I thought back to the way Marc’s father had almost discovered Marc and me doing kink in his office. If he’d found us, who was to say things wouldn’t have ended up with me beaten and bloody on the ground, or dead?

  Marc’s arms tightened around me as if he sensed my dawning understanding of the situation. “I managed to talk him out of it, saying we were practising for Callie being showcased as modern art at an exhibition coming up. But I was scared afterwards, so damn scared. I didn’t tell her why, but I told her I was ending things.”

  I stroked up and down his arm soothingly, trying to ease some of his tension. Marc swallowed hard before continuing, “She wouldn’t leave without an explanation, so I gave her the only one I could think of—that she and I were from different economic backgrounds and I couldn’t date someone who might only be after me for my money.”

  I tried to suppress my gasp, but he noticed and laughed bitterly. “Believe me, I know. But I loved her and I was convinced she’d end up dead if she stayed with me. So I hurt her, made her run. She stuck around the city for a few months, then went travelling in Australia and decided to stay. I hope she’s happy now. She deserves to be.”

  “You did what you had to do,” I reassured him. “Even though it meant hurting you both.”

  “I hated myself, but it was the only way. I stayed away from the clubs, kept my romantic entanglements very short and very vanilla, and started working on a plan to get out from under my father’s thumb entirely.”

  “This is your project? The one that won’t work?” I asked softly.

  He flinched, as though he’d been so deep in the past that he’d briefly forgotten that things had gone so wrong in the present. “Yeah.”

  I waited, breathing deeply and slowly in the hope that I could transfer some calm to him.

  “Serena and I were working on a way to…to put it simply, make it worth his while to go and live overseas. As in, to avoid the IRS. It involved a lot of different elements to do with financials, changing the internal politics of overseas subsidiaries, legal issues… I knew how averse he was to spending a little more to cut down on animal testing, so you and Stella and the team were a distraction for him while I worked behind the scenes to make things look like he was guilty of massive fraud and tax evasion. That would have pissed off a few people in high places—people just as rich as my father, who couldn’t be bought off.”

  He stopped, and I filled the silence by offering, “It sounds like a good plan.”

  “It does, in theory. But as vice-CEO, unless I trod very carefully I was at risk of implicating myself as well as my dad. Today the advisors I’ve been working with… Let’s just say they’re not exactly operating through legal channels, but they mis-stepped. Left electronic footprints it’s impossible to erase every trace of. So now any investigation looking into wrongdoing on my father’s part will find implications that he’s being set up. My advisors might just be pessimistic, but I need to know for sure before I can carry on that way. It’s too risky otherwise.”

  I lifted my head from his chest to gaze down at him. “We’ll find another way.”

  He laughed almost derisively. “Nell, if there was an easier way, don’t you think I’d have gone with it?”

  Something was beginning to germinate at the back of my mind—a possible solution. But my subconscious wasn’t letting me access it properly, telling me it was a Very Bad Idea. I let it go for now.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded.

  “Why did you risk everything and pull me up to your office that first Friday? The first time we scened, I mean? And the Monday after our first weekend, when your dad nearly caught us?”

  Marc closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. “God, that was so stupid. I spent that entire afternoon after he interrupted us freaking out.”

  “I remember you got seriously shaken up when we got home.” At the time, I’d dismissed it as him being concerned he was a bad Dominant, that he’d failed to monitor my mental state after a punishment cut short. That was how he’d passed it off, anyway.

  “That was nothing compared to just after my father left.” He shook his head almost violently. “I’m glad you weren’t around to see it.”

  “I’m not. I wish I’d been there to hel
p you.”

  I waited for an answer to my question—why had Marc risked his father discovering us?—but he seemed to have gone somewhere I couldn’t follow for the moment. All I could do was snuggle closer and hope my presence was enough to ease his preoccupation.

  While I lay there, I spotted something lying on the carpet near the door—my collar. Marc must have dropped it when he’d grabbed me. After an indecisive second, I pressed a kiss to his chest, then slid out of bed.

  With his eyes on me, I retrieved the collar and approached again at a crawl. Kneeling on the rug next to the bed, I smiled up at him. It was a little shaky, given all we’d been through tonight, but it was genuine.

  “Sir, I’m sorry for taking off my collar without your permission. Would you please put it back on?”

  He sat up, his frown replaced by affection and something akin to determination. “I’ll do better than that.”

  He stood and brushed his hand over my head before I could move. “Stay where you are.”

  I bowed my head and remained where I was, dropping further into my submissive role.

  Marc took the collar from my hands and moved out of my line of sight. Behind me, he rummaged around in the closet for what seemed like forever before he returned.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed in front of me, he pulled something out of a nondescript paper bag. “I was going to wait until we were next at the club to do this, so that everyone could watch it. But I find myself feeling possessive today.”

  My gaze was glued to the sleek, sturdy but feminine silver collar in his hands. It was less showy than the ornate choker he’d given me on the first weekend we’d spent together—meant to withstand the same sharp tugs he often gave my play collar—but the thin, shining steel band with the O-ring attachment took my breath away.

  “Sir,” I whispered, but nothing else followed. I was too speechless to continue.

  He caressed my cheek with gentle affection. “Just to be clear, you’ll be a collared submissive, not a slave. You’ll still have your autonomy when you’re not in my presence, unless I’ve given you specific orders to follow. Your safewords will still be the same.”

  Trembling a little, I nodded. For the first time, I was beginning to appreciate how people receiving a marriage proposal must feel. Marc had said my collaring would be soon, but at the same time I’d never really let myself believe it, in case I was disappointed.

  “Since I like you the way you are, I won’t insist on high protocol at all times. You’ll have permission to speak and to look at me, unless I say otherwise. But while you’re wearing this collar, your default position is at my feet, and if I give you an order you must follow it immediately.”

  “Question, Sir?” I was half-scared to interrupt in case he changed his mind and put the collar away.

  “Ask.”

  I took a deep breath. “Would I have to wear this at work, or around vanilla people?”

  He shook his head. “This is for whenever you’re in a casual, BDSM-friendly atmosphere. Here, at your place, at the club, unless I have something showier in mind…” Marc paused, turning the collar in his hands, and I chanced a look up into his face.

  The emotion there stole my breath—territorial need, open affection and just the slightest hint of insecurity that disappeared as he tilted up my chin with a finger to command me to look at him. God, I love this man so much.

  “Will you accept a formal collar as my submissive, Eleanor?”

  He actually thought there was a chance I’d refuse?

  “I will, Master,” I said softly, and his gaze grew even warmer, more intense. I stopped myself from pressing my thighs together with an effort, knowing he took a dim view of my trying to pleasure myself without his orders.

  “The collar has a lock, and when we’re together it will be locked unless I say so, Eleanor. If you’re at home alone, it will be unlocked in case you need to take it off unexpectedly, but you’ll be under strict instructions not to do so unless you have visitors or there’s a medical reason for it. Do you have any concerns you’d like to discuss?”

  “No, Master.” I met his eyes as he required, then dropped my gaze to indicate my surrender.

  I’d trusted him with my body from the very beginning. Even if I’d still been withholding my heart, I’d have been willing to wear his locked collar.

  “Turn around and lift your hair out of the way.”

  It was a familiar command, given quietly, but the moment was charged with emotion it would have been impossible to deny even if I’d wanted to. I complied immediately, gathering up my tresses and waiting for the collar’s caress around my throat.

  It was colder against my skin than my leather play collar, but lighter. I broke out in goosebumps as Marc snapped the small padlock shut with a click of finality.

  As he often did when he put a collar on me, Marc took my hair from my hands and smoothed it down over my shoulders, repositioning it here and there until he was satisfied. I closed my eyes and smiled, letting him care for me.

  “Stand up and face me,” he commanded.

  I got to my feet and turned to meet my Master’s eyes.

  He rose from the bed at the same time, and his approving gaze on my new collar warmed me.

  “I have a new day collar for you, too, but I want to save that for a proper collaring ceremony. For now, whenever you’re in a vanilla setting I want you to wear this.”

  He took my right hand and slid a delicate silver chain-link ring onto my finger. My whole body tingled with the significance of it, although I knew it was the wrong hand for an engagement ring.

  “I’ll never take this off, Master,” I whispered, admiring the beautiful, subtle token of his ownership.

  Marc tugged me close, using the O-ring on the collar to full effect, and kissed me with thorough heat. When he drew back, he murmured against my lips, “And for the love of god, don’t address me as Master in public unless you’re prepared for me to order you to suck me until I come, right there in front of everyone.”

  I giggled. He had a serious kink for that particular mode of address. “I’ll remember, Master.”

  He tugged on the collar for emphasis before releasing me and sitting back down on the bed. It took me a couple of seconds to remember what my new order was. Wow, getting off to a great start there, huh? an inner voice needled me.

  I dropped to the floor at his feet and looked up apologetically.

  “Good girl. You’ll get used to it.”

  I really hope so…

  Marc stroked my hair, gazing down at me with an unreadable expression. I’d learned by now that this meant I might not like what he had to say next.

  “The first thing I need to do with my collared submissive is punish her for something she said earlier.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it and chose patience instead, breathing as calmly as I could.

  “I want to wipe the slate clean of our argument, Eleanor, but there’s one thing we still need to address. Do you know what that is, or should I enlighten you?”

  I frowned at the carpet, casting my mind back, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I just wanted to forget the whole argument had ever happened, now I knew the reasons Marc had kept me in the dark.

  “I... I implied I was just someone you kept around to have sex with, Sir.”

  He nodded. “You did. And that hurt, Eleanor. I won’t tolerate that kind of disrespect. Although I will concede that you didn’t know the full story at the time, so that earns you a little leniency.”

  He patted his knee. “Come here and lie over my lap.”

  I knew I had this coming, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Without hesitating, I draped myself over Marc’s knee, then cried out, startled, when he tipped me even farther, so I had to support myself with my hands in order to keep my head off the rug.

  “How many strikes do you deserve, Eleanor?”

  I thought about it. I could take dozens of spanks normally, but I guessed p
unishment spanks would be different. “Ten, Sir?”

  He was quiet for a moment, as though dragging out my uncertainty. I wouldn’t have put it past him. “Ten will work,” he said finally, and I heard the bedside drawer open and close.

  Not knowing what he was doing drove me past crazy, but all I could do was hang there, waiting for the punishment to begin. Already, guilt was thick in my throat, and I screwed my eyes shut tightly, biting back the urge to tell him to just get it over with.

  “I want you to count each strike and thank me for it. Do you understand?”

  I swallowed an objection to the humiliating thought of thanking him for every painful blow. After taking a slow, deep breath, I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.” He smoothed his hand over my bare ass, deceptively softly. The touch tapered off...and a hard strike shocked the air from my lungs.

  That was not his hand. What’s he hitting me with? I clenched my fists to keep from reaching around to rub the painful patch of skin. Marc said nothing, as though he were waiting for something.

  I remembered just in time. “One. Thank you, Sir.” Would that be enough to please him? Or should I have called him ‘Master’?

  Marc delivered the second stroke, right next to where the first one had landed on my right buttock. This time I was ready for it, and it wasn’t quite as shocking. “Two. Thank you, Sir.”

  As I cringed through every blow, Marc gave me five swats with the unknown implement on each side—mostly on my ass, but not neglecting the backs of my thighs. I counted along, tears in my eyes, trying to keep still and take my punishment with grace.

  Finally, the tenth blow came down and I counted it with relief. “Ten. Thank you, Sir.” Please, never do this again...

  “Good girl.” The simple words of praise made my heart glow with happiness, even as my skin glowed with pain. Carefully, Marc helped me up and drew me into his arms. I winced when my ass made contact with his lap, but it was worth it when he enfolded me in a tight, comforting embrace, kissing my temple as I quivered.

  “Just relax. It’s over,” he said softly.