VIVACIA K AHWEN
Finding Lily

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

Mischief

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An eBook Original 2016

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Copyright © Vivacia K. Ahwen

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Vivacia K. Ahwen asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 978-0-00-814882-9

Version: 2016-02-03

For my sister

Misfortune had made Lily supple instead of hardening her, and a pliable substance is less easy to break than a stiff one.

Edith Wharton

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue: Weathering the Storm

Chapter 1: Room for Discussion

Chapter 2: Reflections

Chapter 3: Heart of Glass

Chapter 4: The Weighting Game

Chapter 5: The Iron Horse

Chapter 6: Just Desserts

Chapter 7: Hit the Wall

Chapter 8: Morning Glory

Chapter 9: Meeting of the Minds

Chapter 10: Coitus Interruptus

Chapter 11: Head Over Heels

Chapter 12: The Red Line

Chapter 13: Walk of Shame

Chapter 14: Bane of My Existence

Chapter 15: The Trojan Horse

Chapter 16: Nobody Puts Lily in the Corner

Interlude: The Courtesy of Strangers

Chapter 17: An Officer and a Gentleman

Chapter 18: Like Water for Chocolate

Chapter 19: The Do-Over

Chapter 20: No Turning Back

Chapter 21: Lie to Me

Chapter 22: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spyder

Chapter 23: One Ring to Find Them

Chapter 24: It Takes Two

Chapter 25: Lend Me Your Ear

Chapter 26: Jack of All Trades, Master of None

Chapter 27: Same Old Song and Dance, My Friend

Chapter 28: Confessional

Chapter 29: He Had It Coming

Chapter 30: Meeting Lily

Chapter 31: Recovery

Chapter 32: The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

Chapter 33: Six of One

Chapter 34: Becoming Grounded

Epilogue: Reaching Lily

Acknowledgements

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PROLOGUE
Weathering the Storm

Ow! My head smacks hard against the cold window, jarring me back to the present. The one in which our plane is wobbling? Yes, that present. My eyes, which are rarest glasz, according to my once-upon-a-not-boyfriend, pop open and I take it all in. The sky is grey, and Virgin Airlines flight 169 is no longer just a big bird soaring above the clouds. We are in the thick of something dreadful. It so makes sense that, when I finally almost escape from Dorian Holder’s enormous, far-reaching grasp, my plane’s going to crash.

Yikes.

Hey, what happened to Mr and Mrs Green, the lovey-dovey newlyweds who were annoying me so much with their joy and fondling when I first boarded? I would appreciate any company right now. They must’ve gotten bumped up to first class while I was busy ruminating. How’d I miss that? Hope their complimentary champagne just spilled all over their laps on this last lurch. Holy hell.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ The pilot’s voice is supposed to reassure us, I know, but there’s enough of a quaver in his tone to make me even more concerned, especially now that the plane has started to quake in earnest.

Also, the intercom is crackling more than it ought to be.

Like I know, though. This is, after all, my first flight.

Why am I so calm, then? Obviously, if we’re going down, I’m not going to heaven. Which would make Dorian right, as usual.

You can’t get away, Lily.

Also, I wasn’t paying close attention when those two bookend attendants went over the emergency procedures. Would they go through them again? Please say yes. That interpretive dance with the entrances, exits, et al? What if I couldn’t figure out how to put on my oxygen mask, or if I got the only flotation device that wouldn’t expand?

Que sera, sera.

Perhaps ‘disappearing’ would be a relief, a blessing in disguise. Everything comes to an end.

Oh, well. It was a good run. Things got interesting in my final month of life. That’s what they’ll say at my eulogy. She was generally a mousy little thing, never known to rock the boat. But things got interesting in Lily Dewitt’s final month of life …

Our plane bucks in agreement with my grim fantasies. Rather than screams and panic, there is a stillness among us humble passengers as we await our collective fate.

You don’t fuck with the gods, and you sure as hell don’t distract the Virgin 169 flight staff when they’re trying to keep you mellow.

‘We’re experiencing some turbulence,’ Captain Peterson explains, stating the obvious. ‘Please do not panic. You’re in good hands, people.’

How comforting.

Never heard that one before.

My stomach drops, and I suck in my breath as we start losing altitude. No, I’m not trained in the comings-and-goings of all things airplane, but I’ve seen enough movies.

Time freezes when you look death in the eye.

Time also froze if you stared long enough into Dorian Holder’s dangerous eyes. Dorian, like the jaws of death – or the gods with whom we should never argue – is also capable of freezing time.

How a night could last for days, how days could last for minutes, how waiting on him could last for years is still a concept I will never grasp. That first night with him lasted for ever. Like a spider wrapping a fly, Dorian Holder was all winding circle after winding circle, his grip, his invisible thread wrapping, cocooning, squeezing the very life out of me. I squirmed and buzzed in his web, praying that he would not suck me dry.

How can one pray when one is the prey?

All I wanted was to fly away, I swear.

But I am still trapped.

The plane steadies itself, and once again my stomach drops while our altitude rises.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,’ says Captain Peterson, sounding more relieved than I feel. ‘We’re back on track. Please relax and enjoy the rest of your trip. Our attendants are coming around with complimentary beverages and snacks.’

I lean back, awaiting sustenance.

CHAPTER 1
Room for Discussion

By the time we returned to Agassiz Street, Dorian’s eyes were glittering with excitement. The entire cab ride over, between talking about how great my mother was and stroking my thigh, he kept repeating something about another surprise waiting for me. At this point in our not-relationship, I’d already had enough surprises, but when I mentioned this to him he insisted that this one was extra special.

‘Is it the library?’ I asked, referring to his promise to turn the empty efficiency next door into a conservatory of sorts. ‘Because most of my books are still at Ma’s in Chiquita boxes.’

‘Oh, trust me, I noticed the banana boxes in your bedroom,’ he said, opening my car door. ‘I don’t miss much.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’

He grasped my hand in his and we dashed up the granite steps together. Without a word we just kept running and clunking our way up stairs 300 years older than us, as though we were racing; always a competition with the pair of us. As his legs were so long, he took two steps for my every one, which meant he was half-dragging me, and I felt the desperate need to keep up.

When we reached the top floor, I was panting, but managed to say, ‘I thought this was the apartment you were renovating for yourself.’

Much to my chagrin, Dorian had bought my building, only a few days after we met. He planned to turn the four apartments upstairs into a large single suite, where he might stay, every now and again. Perfect for the weekends when I visit you, don’t you think, Lily?

No, I certainly do not think. This has officially been established as another line of bullshit, given the latest string of events.

I was still not sure what to make of his persistent rocking and wrecking my world, his desire for entire possession. The submissive part of me, the prey to his hunter? Loved it. The other, independent, private side of myself – the strong spirit within me whom Dorian had rarely encountered at that point – felt more violated than anything else. Despite his prior claims, Dorian Holder did not own me. Well, we’d made no 24/7 agreement, anyway. And things were happening too fast, with too few discussions. And we all sooooo love ‘big talks’, right? You know, the ones where everyone walks away kind of pissed off, nothing is quite resolved, but it all ends in overcompensating ‘I’m kind of sorry’ sex. Something told me it never occurred to Dorian that he would have to over-accommodate in the bedroom, or against the wall, as the case would likely be. He took far too much pride in his performance, and his arrogance made it impossible for him to doubt whether he would have to work for me to shatter at his merest touch.

I was more than curious to see where this might lead us.

So.

Despite our minimal verbal explorations, here we were, embarking on something that could go wonderfully right or dreadfully wrong. There was no turning back. The day-to-day sensibility said Run like hell, if you can’t turn around. If only my base desires and day-to-day sensibility could have had a sit-down, compromise, shake hands, and leave me to my own devices.

But there will always be the ongoing conflict, and – as with any two people trying to understand each other – the unspoken, the assumed, the emotions that never quite meet in the middle. Granted, I had quasi-committed to have this love – er, I mean, sex – arrangement continue after Dorian returned to Colorado in a few weeks. But I also had mixed emotions about knowing that the top floor of my home would be his whenever he felt like it.

If he ‘chose to do so’.

I remained unconvinced that he would make good upon his suggesting we continue this little game in the future. Maybe he’d change his mercurial mind before you could say ‘commitment issues’.

April was not over yet. There would still be skiing in Aspen, where his sister Beatrice Collins owned a resort, where he would surely visit, and I have no experience on the slopes … which counts me out. There were likely many ripe-and-ready ski bunnies, and Dorian loved a wild snow-and-surf kind of girl. Nothing could be further from that but me, raised a few blocks from the gaudy, sketchy sprawl of Route 9 businesses in Revere, Mass.

Tar. Cement. Run-down ranch houses. Box stores.

For now, since we’d never been clear enough in either way, I was his property.

He fucking owned where I lived.

He owned where I worked.

And the part of me that was thrilled by all of this was in conflict with the Lily DeWitt I was growing into. Simultaneously, I was growing, somehow, in the midst of all of the glorious disaster, possibly in part because of said debacle.

I wanted to be his.

I wanted him to be mine.

Pretty sure it went both ways, but this bullshit is what happens when a man and a woman run the risk of falling in love, rather than saying, Sayonara, you fucking dink. Sometimes drama is exactly what a girl wants and needs.

Seeing how Dorian Holder was given to whimsy, I took all his random questions, declarations and impulsive – erhm – stalking with a grain of salt. After all, we had discussed this to some degree, and he’d explained that reaching, hunting, discovering, possessing was not only something men might do, it’s an urge they had fought – or not – since time began. It was an animal thing, is what I think he said.

It’s all a blur now.

If he wanted to renovate a building he bought, so be it. If it happened to be mine, well? Both of us would face the consequences of that decision. Right?

That was his business.

And his business would become mine, if I over-thought. Dorian’s actions were the equivalent of more than an alpha dog pissing on a fire hydrant. Not to preach, but if it means something to That Man, while to you? You still have full use of and access to said hydrant, and if … aw, shit. Technically, the hydrant and its hosting building are public property, to some degree. So, fine. Master of the Universe buys building. Fact is, real estate is pretty cheap these days, it’s a fine time to buy as an investment, and? I dunno.

Fuck. In case you haven’t noticed by now, Dorian Holder was driving me out of my mind, snapping me, as he’d promised to do. And I had been more than willing.

Plus, bitches love libraries, and I happened to know he was building me one, in what had once been an apartment next door. My own conservatory. Hadn’t that been one of my many fantasies? Dorian Holder had every intention of fulfilling my fantasies, to the best of his ability. Which meant he could stop whenever he wanted, whether or not we were on the same page. He was top, I was bottom. Lines sometimes get blurred.

Being the curious humans we are, our tendency is to cross them.

CHAPTER 2
Reflections

We entered Dorian’s luxurious apartment, and he helped me wriggle out of my fitted Ferretti black peacoat. The place was nothing short of fabulous – the team of hot carpenters and whoever decorated knew what they were doing – but I’ll spare details, seeing as he rushed me through the kitchen, dining room and living room, and didn’t so much as open the door to his master bedroom. So really I couldn’t take in the whole scene and do the ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s you’re supposed to when someone is showing off their renovated home. Particularly when some part of you says, It’s your home he is renovating. The space felt smaller than I’d expected, as I’d pictured the square footage of a floor with eight apartments being hugantic. But, like I know jackshit about square footage.

Or maybe I did, since when he flung open the final door and showed me what was taking up about a third of the apartment, it all made sense. In the darkness of the enormous expanse there I could make out large shapes and shadows, but couldn’t identify exactly what of. I glanced at Dorian, and he said, ‘I had those carpenters Beezus hired build you a studio. Since word’s out that I’ve been revamping the company, suppliers have been sending us more gear samples than I know what to do with.’

‘So this is more a storage unit for your new toys than a studio for me.’ My voice was guarded. Let’s call a spade a spade, Dorian, I thought.

‘Or you could just be a lady and say thank you, Lily.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘As you know, I’m not one for exercise equipment, as I’d rather do it, live it, than play make-believe. But, OK, I may just mess around with that rotating climbing wall. With or without you.’

‘Hmmn.’ I tapped my foot, as though impatient. Meanwhile, my pulse was picking up, as a ripple of excitement and fear began coursing through my veins. ‘So turn on the light already.’

‘Preferably with you, given how much I’d like to be your belayer.’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh, I will harness you, watch you hang, guide your rope, then bungee you up against those phony rocks and have the two of us rotate together.’

‘What if you fell? Where’s your gear in this little fantasy?’

‘No ropes, no belts, not for this guy. It’s just a wall, not a mountain; I could run up this thing blindfolded. I don’t need protection, Lily. But you do.’ He closed his eyes, obviously visualising me hanging from the protruding artificial stones, crying like a baby while he leaped all over me like a half-starved mountain lion. Fearless of free-falling, because Holders Never Fall. ‘We shall see.’

‘Indeed we shall.’ I could picture him latching the safety belt around my waist, buckling the straps roughly around my thighs. In my fantasy, I’m not weeping, though. I am stone-faced and egging him on. Tighter, Dorian.

‘And no doubt we’ll find a way to use that anti-gravity yoga swing, sure. I’ve got faith in us. Et tu?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Lily?’

Dorian flipped a switch, and our strange surroundings came into focus. Like a good girl, I followed his directive and looked around the room.

For the record, even before all of this phooey-hooey went down? Despite the fact that I worked for Apollyon LLC, supplier to the athletic, well-toned, extreme sorts? I have never so much as entered an outdoors-sporty store in my life. Should I have done so, I’d have been laughed out of there faster than you could sing the first verse of ‘Pretty Woman’. Despite Dorian Holder’s apparent fascination with a diamond-in-the-rough girl next door, he could have whoever he wanted, we had not made any solid promises, and somehow he was already Master of my Universe.

But it wasn’t the array of complicated machinery that grabbed my attention, and I gasped against my will.

Thousands of Lilies and Dorians were reflected in what felt like infinite mirrors. He had set the lights to dim, so our images and the shapes surrounding us flickered like candles, warm reds, oranges, yellows, displaying a strange and beautiful space where I could come and go as I pleased.

Three of the walls were a masterpiece of the two of us in instant flashback, bevelled and placed at angles which made me feel as though we were in the centre of a fire opal, or swimming in a glasz ocean. The entire ceiling was a myriad of mirrors, catching the cerulean blue of his porcelain-tiled floor. For the multitudes of looking glasses reflected not only the two of us but another painting. A fuzzy-looking mural: a duplicate of Monet’s Water Lilies.

Not a bad one, considering that he must’ve bullied a ‘paint it in twelve hours’ contract on some poor unsuspecting artist. The painter signing off, hoping it was his (or more likely her) big break.

I could relate, 100 per cent. My big break.

‘Do you like it?’ his voice was husky as he drew closer to me.

‘It’s …’ Words escaped me, as he knelt at my feet, pulled my boots off and tossed them aside.

He rose to his feet. ‘Now strip.’

Since he’d asked me to do a pole-dance for him before, I assumed he wanted me to grab one of the aerobic pole-dance stands. Not tonight, it would have been too much. Instead, I slowly removed my garments, letting them drop to my feet like a puddle of cloth. I shivered, though the room was quite warm. Something about being entirely skyclad, while the man you borderline worship observes you with such a blank face, can chill a girl to the bone. But I lifted my chin, and tried to find emotion somewhere in his dark eyes, which now flickered with amber, emerald and desire. Which was something.

Consider the lilies of the field …

‘Do you see yourself? Look.’ He stood behind me, gripped my shoulders hard, and we faced our reflection. ‘See, just for a moment, what I see whenever I look at you, Lily. You, darling girl …’

I listened to my heart accelerate, while Dorian traced his fingers over my breasts, my soft belly, and at last reached my pussy. He opened me easily, and we watched ourselves. Though I tried to do my yoga breathing and keep my trembling to a minimum, my body betrayed me, as bodies are wont to do.

My flower was open wide, red and engorged with want. Dorian wanted me to watch my dark descent into weakness and hunger, while he observed. He wanted me to see how much I needed him, how much I ached for him. How I could respond to even his merest touch, while he remained so cool and detached.

‘Dorian—’ I gulped, and winced.

‘What’s up, Tiger Lily?’ He slid his fingers inside me, and something broke. It were as though we had been fondling each other this entire time, and the hours spent without him were ongoing foreplay.

No fair.

I dribbled girl-juice all over his hand, but just as I began to close my eyes and drop into that sweet abyss, he said, ‘Don’t stop looking. See how beautiful you are when you come? See what I see. Watch yourself. That’s an order.’

I tried to open my eyes, though in my state of ecstasy everything swam about me, as though we were underwater, Poseidon and I. A strange woman stared back. There had been the moment in front of the mirror while Beezus ‘fixed’ me, but this was so very different. This girl, this Lily.… Me? She had hair like a mermaid, eyes like the ocean, and her voluptuous curves shivered in the cool room. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips pouty.

Maybe this was what Dorian saw.

Were that the case, I wished I could envision myself that way all the time.

This was the woman I wanted to be.

How could this be me?

Somehow I looked stronger. My muscles were taut from adrenalin, while my breath tried to catch up with my heartbeat. My breasts were swollen from the bloodflow of arousal, nipples pink and peaked. Dorian’s stiffened cock – pushing its way against his pants, poking against my bottom – was not helping matters. He brushed aside my hair, exposing my shoulders, baring my neck to him, as though he were a vampire seeking that perfect vein.

CHAPTER 3
Heart of Glass

No. And yes, Dorian. Yes, please.

He kissed just below my ear, trailed his lips lower, but stopped at my shoulder, waiting. There was a tenderness about him which seemed out of character, and I begged myself not to over-think the moment.

For once.

Just be here. Can you just be here, Lily?

‘See?’ Dorian licked his wet fingers, sighed, then circled my clit again.

And, of course, he stopped.

Because that’s how he rolls.

Rolled.

Out of nowhere, my MIA best frenemy Gwen’s words came back to me, echoing in my memory.

Go find your playroom, Lily. Go have your fantasy.

Ah.

Suddenly, instead of the magical bowl of fantasy Dorian had created, I was only a nude girl standing in a room of metallic, angry gym equipment, pink flesh exaggerated by a bunch of mirrored tiles. Naked as a plucked jaybird, with some hotshot billionaire breathing everything I wanted to hear through layers of my hair.

A ripple of fear waved through me, and that part of me wanted to go back to the safe, predictable place I was in before he began taking me to this amazing elsewhere. But Dorian Holder had smashed my dream of what ‘safety’ might be, without a second thought.

There was no second thought now, because Dorian Holder already pictured it, me, us in this room. He had chosen to put me there, as though I were a creature who appeared for his amusement. Hoping to see begging, and maybe some tears. Us, shining back at him, in a thousand different places. Dorian knew what he could do to me from the get-go, how he would make my body awaken, make me freeze, make me die, then awaken me again.

Reflecting now, I want to give him a hearty handshake. Good job, Mr Holder. I am more or less dead and frozen. But I’m still hoping desperately to wake up and love again, to shake him off me. Smarter, next time. I will wake up.

But that wasn’t the time. It was time for me to get fucked, hard.

‘Keep going,’ I said, staring at the two of us. ‘Please, Dorian.’

‘Wait for it,’ he growled, releasing me. ‘I love, no enjoy, you much better when you’re waiting. When you’re hurting, aching. When you beg me to do what I cannot wait to do to you.’

‘Enough.’ I shook my head. ‘Just, please—’

‘If it makes you feel any better, Lily, I’m fighting even harder than you.’

‘Liar,’ I whispered.

‘Liar? I want that wet cunt so much right now it hurts. While I may be owning you at the moment? Ultimately, you have imprisoned me. And I love – I mean, I like that about you. At the same time, I hate it about you. Why won’t you ever tell me to stop? I will keep pushing. You’ll reach your limit, some time. And you will break harder than you could imagine. And I will watch it happen, and hate myself, and …’ He halted.

I remained frozen, my eyes watering.

‘Why?’ I whispered.

‘You know the answer by now, Lily.’

‘My answer scares me.’

‘So breathe slowly, Lily Dewitt. Deep breaths. I’m going to walk you to the barre, and you’re going to hang on to it until I allow you to let go. Then, with your permission, I’m going to hold you captive here, and have my way with you as we both intended. Isn’t that what you wish?’

No idea.

But yes, I wished for nothing more. At the time.

‘Permission granted, Mr Holder.’

‘I beg you to make me wait, Mr Holder,’ he corrected me. ‘Ms Dewitt, please remind me what you want, the way you know I want to hear it.’

‘I beg you to make me wait,’ I repeated, entranced.

‘When you come back to fuck me, Mr Holder, I will be crying because I want your cock so badly.’ Dorian pulled his hand away and smacked me hard on the ass. ‘Is that what you mean to say?’

‘When you come back and fuck me, sir, I’ll cry how bad I want that cock shoved deep in my pussy,’ I babbled, since the renewed aching in my clit, and the wetness already beginning to trickle down my thighs, made his words sound so very far away.

‘Close enough. Lovely, in fact. I’m going to go shower up and start jerking off, picturing you out here, writhing and squirming. Maybe I’ll go ahead and come myself, leaving you alone to suffer as long as I like. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll come back and ravish you like you deserve.’ He tugged my hair. ‘Do you hear me, do you understand, and is this what you want?’

‘Understood.’ I coughed as he yanked my hair harder. ‘I hear.’

‘And?’ He bit my earlobe, hard enough that I yelped.

‘I want.’ I winced. ‘Yes, please, Mr Holder.’

When he pinched my nipples again, I yelped, my head turned, and my reverie was broken further. Because it was then that I saw the shattered panel. One of the mirrors was smashed, shattered, spread, resembling a giant spiderweb.

Dorian followed my gaze, and frowned. ‘Oh, that.’

Breaking all the unspoken rules, I pulled away, ran my fingers through my hair and watched the reflection of his face, a tragic mosaic of a broken man.

‘What happened, Dorian?’

He shoved me away, walked over to the mirror and looked at the silvery shattered glass in disgust. ‘I got angry the other night.’

‘At me? When I sent you away?’ Goosebumps cropped up on my arms. If he did this to the wall when he was having a rough night, what would he have done to me if I had been there?

‘There was far more to it than that. No, Lily. It wasn’t you at all.’ He looked askance. ‘Sometimes … I just have a very bad temper.’

When I was silent, he prompted, ‘Go ahead, say something.’

‘And so then you take it out on me? When we fuck.’ My voice was flat.

‘God, no, Lily. You are where I find my peace of mind, my centre. My version of normal. And I hope you find that in me, because if not …’ He reached forward toward his fragmented image, then drew his hand back. ‘I take it out on myself, Lily. Then my business minions, then my sycophants, and then the rest of as much of the world as I can fucking touch, my stupid—’

‘I understand,’ I said. Interrupting him was not my M.O., but it seemed like the kind thing to do. Plus, I wasn’t ready to hear anything more. If Dorian showed me further vulnerability, any weakness? Whatever we were could come to an end, since feeling in control and powerful was, I believed, the glue holding us together. I couldn’t risk that happening. I wouldn’t let it.

Not yet.

‘So just fucking run, Lily.’ He looked at me, and I prayed that my poker-face was on. But I never played poker, not once in my life.

‘Dorian—’

‘Go downstairs, Lily, to your little apartment, and play house. Go dance around like it means something. Go – just go.’ He was shaking. ‘And if you ever want to see me again, you’ll leave. Now.’

I want to see you cry. I want to see you beg. His words from the other night echoed in my ears, and I began to understand. For a moment, I considered doing what my master told me, but no. Because, right now, he was no longer my master. He was just a man, a damaged, beautiful man; surrounded by everything, owning anything, but left with nothing.

Except for me, Lily Dewitt.

For now, I could be his Goddess, and I would call the shots. While I honoured Dorian’s pain, while the sweeter part of me ached to comfort him, he had given me the same heartbreak, and I knew damn well he would do it again. And again, and again. Once he mentioned that he was open to losing control, and letting himself be dominated.

Maybe I should have obeyed orders and run. Perhaps I could have been kinder to Dorian, when he needed me to either be his lover or leave. If I had chosen to follow my heart, I’d have run to him, embraced him, kissed him, told him Mr Holder, go to bed. Let’s just lie down and hurt together.

Which, in my unexpected five seconds of clarity, I did not.

Instead, I walked over to him, reached up and stroked his cheek. He started, surprised at my audacity. Cupping his chin, I turned his head so he was forced to look into my eyes.

‘Make me,’ I said.

CHAPTER 4
The Weighting Game

‘As you wish.’ He turned from the sparkling mosaic of himself, reached into a large velvet bag on the floor, pulled out my handcuffs from the other night, two bungee cords and two carabiners. The bag still bulged with mysterious items, but I knew better than to ask what was inside.

‘Where’d you get all this stuff?’

‘More samples from those companies who heard about troubles at poor Apollyon. And other assorted items, which I may or may not share with you. How do you feel, Lily?’ He wandered around the room, the machinery, the dangling ropes, metal tubes, weights, kicked at an exercise ball, and laughed mirthlessly. ‘Name your poison.’

‘I can’t quite—’

‘You liked the climbing wall, didn’t you, you dirty little thing. Oh, that yoga swing? Pushing the antigravity effect, perfect, while the prices are still up and people are buying. Your idea, and a good one. Expect to be fucked fifty different ways, forwards, backwards, sideways, and upside-down. You’ll be mine.’ He grabbed a fistful of the red swing’s cloth, and spun it. ‘Are you in?’

‘Yes, Mr Holder.’

‘Lovely.’ Dorian strode closer to the mirror, while I continued to squeeze the bar, and he gripped my bicep. ‘Does this hurt?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. You see that scared, hurting girl? Does she want her man to remind her who owns this space?’

I stared at my worried face, nodding, but ‘Does she want her man’ echoed in my head. Her man? Had to be a slip-up. He must’ve meant, ‘Does she want her master . . .’

‘Good.’ Without further ado, Dorian shackled me to the bar. ‘Kneel, bitch.’

Master it was.

I dropped to my knees, while Dorian grasped two fifty-pound dumbbells as though they weighed nothing. With a few deft moves he placed them on the floor and strapped them to my ankles, using the bungee cords as bindings, and the metal carabiners to keep me from escaping.

Like I would have tried.

‘Can you move, Lily?’

I shook my head.

‘Didn’t hear that. Can you move, Lily?’

‘No, Mr Holder.’

‘Perfect.’ Dorian Holder stepped back, taking in the vision of me, weighted and frozen in place. ‘Stay. Don’t move a muscle.’

‘I can’t. I mean, I won’t.’

‘Excellent. Promise to wait.’

‘Do I have a choice, Mr Holder?’

‘No,’ he replied, and stepped back, admiring the spectacle he created. ‘At this point in our relationship, Lily, I’d say you have no choice about anything whatsoever. But if it makes you feel any better, neither do I.’

I was silent.

Dorian let out a breath. ‘Here’s another moment where you can say “Mercy”, if that’s what you need to do.’

‘Here’s another moment where I don’t say anything, Mr Holder.’ My voice sounded far away. ‘This is another moment where I do as my Master says, and thank him when he’s through with me.’

There was a pause.

‘That is exactly what Mr Holder likes to hear.’ Our eyes met in the mirror again, and he raised his left brow.

‘Aiming to please you always, Mr Holder.’ Though I meant for sarcasm to enter my tone, there was none. I did want to please him.

And to please myself.

And it seemed that both things were possible, and that we should at least try. And yet something was dreadfully wrong here, wronger than the wrongness of the whole situation to which we had committed, though neither of us understood this at the time.

We thought all along that we had been talking things through. It always goes that way, I guess.

Come to find out we were both wrong.

And right, in some ways. Perfect moments were just that.

Perfect.

Moments.

So when Dorian turned to leave the room, I cried out, ‘Are you really leaving me here?’

‘Oh, Lily.’ He stopped in his tracks, and looked over his shoulder, stone-faced yet again. ‘You should know by now that our games have only just begun.’

So I closed my eyes and began my yoga breathing. I wriggled my wrists and tried to move my ankles, but Dorian had effectively immobilised me. My only choice was complete surrender. If I wanted, I could yell ‘Mercy’ at the top of my lungs, and my Master would have to come running to my aid, according to our agreement. But I’ve never been one to give up easily. And I was beyond curious to see just how he would take me this time. So there I was, on my knees, shackled and bound.

But what if he didn’t come running? I wondered. Should I test him? What if he couldn’t hear me shouting over the sounds of the shower? What if he never came back? Suppose he left me here and did not return?

I did not know Dorian Holder after all. We had had a turbulent, erotic week of mind games, sex games and thrilling power struggles. Did I ever come out on top? Other than that time in the hot tub, I mean. Even then, he shaved me, regained control.

Or so you think. Glancing over at the shattered mirror panel, I wondered just how much in control of himself he was. Was his domination of me truly a land of escape, of make-believe, of bonding over binding? Or was he deep-down dangerous?

You’re the one in control, Lily. You’re stronger than you think. You can stop at any time.

But wasn’t that the mantra of an addict?

Empty your mind, I reminded myself. Or go back to a memory, lose yourself in history, recall how and why there’s nothing more exciting than this journey I had taken many times before with lesser men.

But now my heart had gone and gotten involved with Dorian as well. What about him? Beyond his not-so-humble request to have me as his ready, willing servant, after he went back to his everyday life of … whatever his real life was.

Face it, Lily. You don’t even know him. How can you love what you don’t know?

I thought about God, in Whom I still believed, despite utter lack of evidence. Just because we can’t see something, that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Dorian had a heart, and somewhere along his own journey it had been broken. By whom? By what?

The silvery slivers of glass on the floor by the cracked mirror caught my eye. Glittered like diamonds in the rough.

Then there was music. ‘Playground Love’.

Try not to overthink it, Lily. It’s just Air.

CHAPTER 5
The Iron Horse

A loud slam of the door broke my reverie. Dorian had returned sooner than I’d expected. He wore the same loose, black drawstring trousers he’d had on the other night at the hotel, and I wish to God it hadn’t occurred to me that they were total sexy yogi-ninja-man-pants, because it’s hard to take your Master seriously when you wonder if he secretly has a collection of nunchucks or ninja stars stashed somewhere.

‘Something funny?’ His voice was cold. ‘Wipe that smirk off your face, or I’ll wipe it off for you.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Very good.’ He crouched down, reached into the bag and pulled out a flogger.

Ruh-roh, Shaggy. Braided lashes. I’d only been disciplined with flat.

‘If I see you smile one more time until I tell you so, you’ll be a very sorry girl. Are we clear?’

‘Crystal.’

With a slow and steady touch, he brushed the long, stiff leather lashes against the length of my back, as I shivered from anticipation and the chilliness of the air.

‘How are you?’ he whispered, and I was surprised by the compassion in his voice, not to mention the fact that he asked me at all.

‘Scared, Mr Holder.’

‘You should be,’ he said. ‘You’ve done this before?’

‘Not with such a scary-looking piece.’

‘Relax as much as you can, Lily. My aim is true.’ Mr Holder continued waking the skin of my back with soft steadiness, then stood, ever-so-regal. A king in his palace of pain, firmly gripping the handle in one hand and clutching the lashes in his other. He studied my back, looking detached, mapping out the landscape. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Sort of.’ I took a deep breath.

‘Hold your breath like that, Ms Dewitt, and this’ll hurt a lot worse.’ He leaned over and stroked my skin with a steady palm. ‘You’ll feel it here. And here. And here. And here. No shoulders. Nowhere near your kidneys. Safe as houses.’

‘Keep going,’ I said, then corrected myself. ‘Green.’

Snip! The smack on my right bum-cheek was biting enough that my eyes watered, but I could feel myself grinning. Not so bad.

‘Something funny, Lily?’

‘No, sir.’ I shook my head. ‘It just tickles a bit.’

‘Of course it does. We’re just warming up.’ He was back to stroking me with the lashes, a featherlight touch. ‘Let’s try that again, Ms Dewitt. Should I see you smiling one more time before I tell you to, you’ll be a very sorry girl. Are we clear?’

‘Yes.’

Crack. OK.

Jeepers, that hurt.

‘Yes, what?’ He held the flogger high in the air, his bicep bulging. If I pissed him off one more time, that would hurt a little too much.

‘And stop looking at me. I did not give you permission to look at me.’

‘Yes, Mr Holder,’ I said, lowering my eyes from the mirror.

On and on he punished. The smarting became stinging, then burning, then what felt like blistering. At last I wept and whimpered, ‘Mercy.’

‘Good. You lasted longer than I’d anticipated.’

How was it that I felt so proud of myself, and how long had he worked me over? Ten minutes? An hour? Endorphins pumped through my system. There would be welts, later, I was sure. But for now, only peace.

Dorian knelt, dropped his weapon and I heard clicking sounds behind me. He ran his palm ever so slightly over my ass, right where he had striped me up, and there was something icy cold and slick. I startled, expecting more pain, but let out a breath of gratitude as I felt immediate relief.

‘You may speak, now, Lily.’

‘What is that stuff?’ I asked, keeping my eyes downcast. ‘Mr Holder.’

‘Arnica. I always keep a tube in the fridge.’ His voice was lighter. ‘You have permission to look at me again.’

When I raised my head and looked at him behind me in the mirror, the beauty of his shadowed face and tenseness of his muscles took my breath away.

‘Are you all right, Lily?’ he croaked. The energy emanating from him as he battled himself for control was unmistakable.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, Mr Holder. Though my ass is still kind of on fire.’

‘So hard to hold back with a girl like you.’ Pretty sure that was supposed to be a compliment. He smoothed on more gel. ‘I need to fuck, and fuck hard.’

‘So what’s stopping you?’ I asked.

‘What, indeed?’ he replied, and he tugged down his pants and plunged inside me from behind. As our pelvises moved in rhythm, the pain vanished, and then there was a tightening beneath my navel, right as I was about to …

‘Come for me, Lily,’ he growled in my ear, just as I climaxed. Ha. One step ahead of him, I was.

Dorian thrust with abandon, wrapped his arms around me and squeezed my tits hard while driving every inch of his cock into my contracting pussy. At last he knelt, pulled out and stroked himself, while I watched in the mirror. He shot his cum all over my burning ass, then smoothed his hands along the length of my back, panting. ‘Jesus.’

‘I need you to hold me, now, Dorian,’ I told him, as our scene had come to its inevitable, satisfying conclusion. ‘And I’m so thirsty.’

Our ragged breath, the pounding of my heart in my ears, and French electronica rushed in waves, a cocoon of sound.

‘Of course you do.’ He leaned over, and trailed his lips the length of my spine. ‘Of course you are.’

We were silent as he unfettered me, and I slumped against him, spent and satiated, licking at my dry lips.

‘Time for bed, Lily. You’ve been a very good girl.’

CHAPTER 6
Just Desserts

Moonlight and streetlamps illuminated Dorian’s white bedroom, and I took in the starkness. He pulled the black curtains shut, and the sudden, cave-like darkness was utter and complete.

I wonder if Dorian ever goes spelunking. Bet he does. Oh, well. I’ll never know, now.

‘“In the white room … ,”’ I sang.

‘Hush.’ There was a soft rustling as he turned back the sheets. ‘Lie down, Lily. I would recommend on your stomach. I’ll be right back.’

The sheets were cool, soft and smelled sweetly of lavender. Mmn. I could get used to this. Well, don’t get used to it, dumbass.

Dorian returned with two bottles of water, two popsicles and two Advil.

‘Are you planning to put your popsicle on my butt cheek?’ I asked him. ‘Because I sure could use a little ice, there, cowboy.’

‘You do vex me, Lily,’ he said, hurriedly setting down his little care package. ‘Here. Take these, and I’ll bring you a cold pack.’

I propped my head up on my fist, and washed down the Advil with nearly an entire bottle of Fuji. ‘Yikes!’ I squealed, as Dorian pressed a cold pack against my right butt cheek. It was wrapped in soft cloth, and his touch was gentle.

‘Is that helping?’

‘Totally.’ I shivered. ‘Pass me a popsicle?’

‘What’s the magic word?’

‘Please.’

‘Close your eyes.’ There was a crackle as Dorian tore off the wrapper. ‘Now you’ll have to guess the colour.’

‘Already know. Luigis only makes lemon and lime, right?’

‘These aren’t “Italian ice”. They’re trashy popsicles, and they’re delicious.’

‘Hmn.’ I took a long suck. ‘Orange. You?’

‘I’m cooling your bottom right now. No time for oral fixation.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to keep holding it. Lie next to me. Hold me. Eat a popsicle.’

‘Demanding little thing, aren’t you?’ But he followed my directions and lay down beside me. There was a light note in his voice to which I was unaccustomed.

‘Whatcha got?’

‘Mmn. Red. Never knew if it was supposed to be raspberry or strawberry.’ Though it was dark, I could hear that he was smiling. ‘Let’s eat the whole box.’

I took another slurp. ‘We could have some fun with a box of popsicles, Mr Holder.’

‘Give me a few minutes, love.’ He laughed, and pulled me closer. ‘Why don’t you tell me your brilliant plans?’

‘You know …’ This was different. And he’d just called me ‘love’. ‘We shouldn’t ruin your sheets.’

‘I have others, you know.’

‘You change your own sheets?’

‘Touché. Open your mouth.’ Dorian slid the popsicle between my lips. His eyelashes were so long that I could even see them in his silhouette. They were fluttering like butterfly wings. Did I make him nervous? ‘Damn, that’s hot.’

‘Fruit punch. Neither strawberry nor raspberry.’

‘Right.’ He took a breath. ‘So, how do you feel about staying here with me tonight?’

‘For realz?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know. My lens stuff’s downstairs.’

Though I was trying to play it oh-so-cool, goosebumps prickled down my neck with excitement. Well, the icepack on my butt played no small role, but I didn’t expect the invitation, especially since my own bed was a mere few floors down.

‘You’ll find supplies in the drawer of your bedside table.’

‘OK, stalker-boy. I’ll stay the course.’ I nursed my frozen treat, mulling this over. ‘You know, Dorian, the only thing I actually wish you would replace is my glasses. The first time you kissed me, you stepped on them. And they were expensive. Or my version of expensive, anyway.’

‘You’re right, I did. I could replace them, or …’ He sucked on his popsicle. ‘If you want, I could buy you Lasik surgery. You’d never have to bother with them again. Or your lenses. I’m connected to the best—’

‘I don’t want Lasik surgery,’ I told him. ‘Or, if I did, I’d save up and get it myself. You don’t get to surgically alter my body. I want my fancy specs back.’

‘Got it.’ He finished his popsicle in one bite. ‘It’s not like I was trying to get you to buy fake tits or something.’

I snorted.

‘Not that you could improve upon perfection.’ He cupped my right boob with an air of ownership. ‘All right, Lily. I’ll ease up on the extravagant gifts, even though you should know by now there aren’t any strings attached.’

‘Why would I know that? We’ve only just started –’ I paused ‘– hanging out.’

‘Is that what we’re doing, Lily?’ Dorian asked, waiting. ‘Hanging out?’

‘I don’t know. I should stop talking.’

‘Very good idea. So, new glasses, a trip to the ballet, your dance lessons, a library and a new bed. Then I’ll try to stop.’ He brushed his lips against mine. ‘Though I don’t know what’s fun about money if you can’t spend it.’

‘And popsicles.’

‘Yes, all the popsicles. I’m good to go. You? How’s that bum? Feeling any better?’

‘Let’s find out,’ I suggested, and I rolled over and straddled him.

‘Go get me my dessert, woman,’ he said, shoving me off.

‘I am your dessert,’ I retorted, and padded off to the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a manila folder on the marble countertop, and, even in the dim light could make out my name, Lily Dewitt, in Dorian’s now familiar script. Does he keep files on me? What is that? I hesitated, thought better of opening it and flung open the freezer instead.

‘Hey,’ Dorian said, as I leapt back on the bed. ‘You really did bring the whole box, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t do anything half-assed,’ I said, and tore open the wrapper with my teeth and licked. ‘You like grape?’

‘Give me that,’ he ordered. ‘Lie down on your back.’

‘Yes, Mr Holder.’ I dropped back, and cringed at the pressure against my sore flesh.

He traced the tip of the popsicle around my nipples, and sucked at them while I shivered. ‘Definitely grape.’

‘Are you sure?’ I whispered. ‘Maybe it’s lime.’

‘No, lime tastes like floor cleaner.’

‘Dorian, please play with me.’

‘All right. Let’s see.’ He slid the popsicle down my stomach, over my shaved mons, slipped just the tip between the lips of my pussy, then began slowly circling my clit, which cowered at the iciness. Christ, it was cold. ‘Let me have another taste, Lily.’

As Dorian ate me out, I heard him giggle under the sheets, something I’d never have expected from my cantankerous master. Not one of his low chuckles, derisive snorts or hollow laughs. A goofy, high-school-boy, doofus giggle.

And it was delightful. I reached down and stroked his hair with one hand and his cheek with the other. I touched his dimple I had grown so fond of, and he responded by burying his face further against my slick pussy, slurping at my juices and the popsicle he was playing with, whatever its colour was, I couldn’t remember. For the next several minutes we were lost in a sticky, slippery rainbow of ice and heat, salty and sweet.

For the record, the tip of a cherry popsicle prodding against one’s asshole, followed with a gentle pinky prod, is rather lovely.

After I came, my not-boyfriend pulled himself up to face me, tossing back the tent of white sheet. He touched my temple, another act of tenderness which struck me as entirely out of character. Mr Holder was full of surprises that night.

‘Well?’ he whispered.

I nodded, though unsure what I was assenting to, as the darkness made his face nearly inscrutable. Did you come, Lily? Are you falling in love with me, Lily? Do you want me to leave you alone? Do you want to stay with me for ever and always?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Like Dorian ever would have said any of that. He would never miss the moment I came, had no doubt in his power to make it happen in seconds – or hours, depending on how much he wanted to torture me – and was far too arrogant to think a woman would feel the need to fake it for him. He knew damned well that I was falling in love with him, perhaps had already fallen altogether. He knew I wanted him to leave me alone, but only because I wanted him to call me his, for ever and always. I had no delusions that would ever happen, and was fully prepared to have my heart broken. Dorian Holder was as addictive as any drug, and I had no willpower wherever he was concerned. Will, yes. Power, no.

‘You tasty little thing’ is what Dorian said, licking his lips, before parting mine with his chilly tongue. Then he pulled away, reluctant, and asked, ‘Should we take the rest of the box to the shower?’

As I was still catching my breath and shivering, it took me a minute to stammer the words ‘Y-yes. Things are getting a little out of control.’

‘You don’t know the meaning of “out of control”, Lily,’ he replied, then pointed down. ‘Now we’re going to the shower, we’ll get clean, we’ll get dirty and, most importantly, I want you to wrap that freezing, beautiful mouth around my cock while hot water runs over both of us. Then I’ll try to fuck you up the ass, and you’ll tell me I can’t.’

‘Am I that predictable?’

‘There’s clean sheets in the linen closet. Strip my bed. Make my bed. I like the sheets tight enough that you can bounce a quarter off them. Then you may join me in the shower.’ Dorian picked up his watch from the bedside table, and squinted. ‘You have five minutes to follow my instructions.’

He grabbed the rest of the popsicles and left the room, with a slight bounce to his step. Meanwhile, I wished for a dead cockroach to put on his side of the bed, like Maggie Gyllenhaal did to James Spader in Secretary. I wanted him to punish me harder, upping the mind-control games, ordering me around even more, fanning the flames of my desire, which grew ever more powerful each time I surrendered to him. There’s more to life, more to kink, than begging, nipple clips, and butt-smacking. I wondered just how far he would go.

And how far I would let him. That remained to be seen.

Fuckin’ A, I hate cleaning.

Thank God for contour deep sheets.

Especially when they’re 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton.

Dorian’s phone rang, startling me. BEATRICE, I read on the screen. Lord knew what possessed me, but I picked up the phone.

You see, I had a few questions to ask.

CHAPTER 7
Hit the Wall

‘Lily?’ Beatrice’s lilting voice sounded surprised, but not entirely displeased to hear my ‘Hello’. She clicked her tongue. ‘So my big bro’s letting you answer his phone now? This is unprecedented.’

‘Not really. He’s in the shower,’ I half-whispered, all conspiratorial, though Dorian surely couldn’t hear me over the din of rushing water. Keep it brief, Lily, you’ve only got a couple minutes left before getting your just desserts from Mr Holder.

‘Spare me the details. This is already TMI.’ She had reverted to her usual curt tone, which was almost a relief. Really didn’t need to pal up to his post-adolescent half-sister.

Well, maybe a bit. I needed a favour.

‘Right. Quick question: can you send me the names of whatever companies you thought I might be a good match for? And the contacts? And tweak my letter of recommendation?’

‘Those are three questions.’

My response was silence. The Holder power plays were getting old.

She broke the silence after about fifteen seconds, and sighed. ‘You still there, Lily?’

‘Still here. Waiting for your answer.’

‘Well. You came to this even sooner than I thought you would, Lily.’ There was a pregnant pause, before she added, ‘Good for you.’

‘Yeah, well … Ya know.’

‘Yes, I’ll absolutely do some digging, and shoot you a note in the afternoon. Say goodnight to Dor for me. Unless you don’t want him to know you’ve been using his phone. Since you two are having private time—’ I could almost hear her shuddering.

‘Uhm, right. I guess we’re sort of between private times.’

‘Gross, Dewitt. Then I’ll just give him a shout tomorrow. We’ve got more family drama blowing in our general direction and he’ll need a head’s up.’

I digested this. ‘Will I need a head’s up?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. Goodnight, Lily.’

Just as I was hanging up, a deep, dark voice startled me.

‘What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?’

I rolled off the half-made bed landed on my feet, and took in the full image of my Master. He was naked, dripping wet, muscles tensed as though ready for a fight.

‘I was just—’

‘Put that down, now.’ He pointed at me. ‘That’s an order, Lily.’

‘Or what?’ I asked, my heart pounding with a thrill of fear and excitement.

Dorian grabbed me and slapped my wrist, knocking the phone to the floor. He shoved me face-first against the wall, pinning my arms over my head. The plaster was cool against my cheek and belly. I arched my hips back, ready for his penetration, hoping he would make it hurt this time. Unlikely, since my cunt was already getting so wet that even his porn-star-sized dong pounding hard and fast with no foreplay would give me nothing but the sweetest—

He shoved three fingers into my pussy, ignoring my clitoris altogether and ramming them straight against my G-spot. Shrieking, I gushed all over his hand, so much girl-cum that it ran like piss down my legs. Without warning, he crammed the same three fingers up my asshole, which was still puckered tightly from the cold teasing of a popsicle. My shriek of pleasure morphed into one of utter torment as he roughly penetrated and stretched my not entirely virginal rosebud with his long, deft digits. Despite my initial terror and pain, it was opening to him. ‘Say the word,’ he growled into my ear.

I shook my head, or shook it as much as I could when pinned up against a wall from behind.

‘Very well.’ A squishing sound as he lubed his cock with my juice.

Oh, hell. Ow. Ow.

Holy Mary, Mother in Heaven.

My poor bum. My poor, poor, violated … Bang bang bang. With each one of his unforgiving thrusts, my pelvis slammed against the wall, and the repeated thudding against my mons brought about a heavy thrum from the pounding pressure on my clit, and when I came this time it felt as though I were leaving my body, my groans of pleasure and shrieks of pain so foreign, before I returned to semi-awareness as Dorian cried out his own release, the rush of wet heat as he came in the tightness of my ass driving me over the top yet again.

‘Never –’ he rasped, letting me go. ‘Never, ever use my phone again. Don’t even touch it. You only got the tip of the iceberg, Dewitt. Next time you defy me, expect my full ten inches up your tight little ass. No lube.’

Yikes. His entire cock wasn’t even in me?

I turned my head and looked at him over my shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifted, and that dimple flashed.

Just for a moment.

Apparently I had found my cockroach.

CHAPTER 8
Morning Glory

The next morning, Dorian nudged me awake. ‘Lily?’

‘Go away,’ I said. ‘I’m not ready to be awake yet.’

Good lord. The idea of moving seemed sheer madness. Every part of my body ached.

‘I’m going to work,’ he informed me, voice brusque, ‘and am hoping you’ll join me for lunch and an afternoon orientation session. It’s time for us to think about getting you back into the office. Acclimate you to the new environment. Things have changed considerably over the past few days.’

Tell me about it.

‘OK. Can you just give me a wake-up call at nine-ish?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got my dance lesson at ten, and can be at Apollyon by noon. Will that work?’

‘Excellent.’

I opened one eye and marvelled at the gorgeous man-creature towering over the bed. As much as I adored Dorian, something about ‘Mr Holder’ always thrilled me to the core.

My boss.

Today he sported a charcoal-coloured Brooks Brothers number, grey shirt and the gold tie of which I’d grown quite fond. His hair was tousled adorably, and he had just the slightest shadow of scruff. It looked to me like he might’ve overslept as well. We had, after all, worn each other out the night before. To say the least.

Oh, right. I never finished that story.

Here’s how the rest of our ‘date’ went down: so, after Master Dorian had fucked the living hell out of me and done what I can only describe as ‘ripping me a new one,’ he quickly shifted from post-scene elated into his full-on sweetest Dorian Being Concerned mode, ready to spoil his submissive little waif.

‘Lily?’ He lifted my chin. ‘You can look at me now.’

Rather than wait for him to ask if I was all right, I reached out to rest a hand against his chest, and felt his heartbeat, fast and furious.

We shared relieved smiles and he said, ‘Allow me to worship you, now, Ms Dewitt.’

Yes.

Dorian drew me close, caressed my skin, stroked my hair. ‘Just one moment, love. Time to clean up my dirty girl.’

Wait. Did he just call me ‘love’? Oh, Lily, shut your lizard brain off for a few minutes, would you?

I forced myself to return to the moment, empty my head, to just be …

I lay on my belly while Dorian gave me a gentle, cool sponge bath (remember, I still was all sticky-popsicled up) and turned on a fan so the gentle breeze would cool and dry my stinging flesh. Everything that could smart smarted. Then there was a soft, soothing, light texture, rushing over my skin.

‘What is that?’ I mumbled. ‘It feels like fur.’

‘Feather duster. Ostrich. Am I being gentle enough?’

‘Perfect. It’s so … nice.’ I pictured crawling around his apartment in a French maid’s costume, using the very same duster, and decided I would have to make that happen. ‘Don’t stop, Dorian. Please.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ There was a note of amusement in his voice. ‘What kind of master doesn’t clean up his poor little sub after he went and got her so very, very dirty?’

So, yeah, that was how the rest of our evening went.

* * *

‘Hey. Sleeping Beauty. Trying to say goodbye here.’

‘Oh … OK.’ I pulled myself up and shook my head around, trying to clear my thoughts and become reoriented. ‘Gotta say, look even hotter than usual this morning.’

‘Knock it off.’ He ran a hand through his hair, bashful.

‘Just say thank you.’ I grinned. ‘You need to learn to accept compliments.’

‘Don’t tell me what I “need” to do.’ He paused. ‘All right. Thank you, Lily. Will that work?’

‘You’re most welcome, Mr Holder.’

‘I’ll ring you at nine, then?’

‘Please do.’

Dorian brushed his lips against mine and asked, ‘What did you and Beezus talk about last night?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, which was kind of true.

He must’ve checked his call history.

‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’ He tugged at his necktie.

‘Or what? You’ll tan my hide?’

‘Don’t tempt me.’ He placed his index finger to his lips, then leaned over and touched mine. I tried to nip his finger, but he pulled away too quickly. ‘Be quiet, Lily. Go back to sleep.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Excellent. You’ll be needing some extra rest.’ He winked. ‘I’m looking forward to lunch. Hungry already.’

‘Got it.’ I winked back. ‘See you soon.’

‘See you soon …’ He cupped his ear.

‘See you soon, Mr Holder, sir.’

‘Yes, you will, Lily Dewitt. Be on time.’

With that, he left me, and – always the obedient girl – I closed my eyes and drifted off.

CHAPTER 9
Meeting of the Minds

So I was surprised to find Joey Danforth, the too-cute-for-his-own-good ratfink, sitting at Beatrice Collins’s old desk. Was he the new assistant to Mr Holder?

‘Ms Dewitt,’ he said, not looking up from his computer. ‘Have a seat.’

Would that I could.

‘I’d rather stand,’ I replied.

Fact is, I was totally beat, even with a bit of extra shut-eye. My dance lesson with Dr Marly Gheiszler stole the rest of my energy – we only did barre exercises, but I was still so bushed from the Dorian Sex-A-Thon that she just about broke me. All I wanted to do was flop down on the waiting-room couch, leaf through a magazine and conk out for another couple hours. Had it only been a few days ago when I was in this same room, waiting for my first one-on-one with Mr Holder?

It felt like a lifetime ago. Dorian Holder fucked away my entire sense of time and reality.

Dude was intense, I’ll give him that.

Though I was dying for even a whiff of gossip, and knew from experience that Joey Danforth held all the cards, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what I’d missed since Monday. Instead, I said, ‘So why don’t you page me in, Joey?’

This time he deigned to look up at me, and his eyes widened.

‘Sorry, is something wrong?’ I asked, though from the way he took in my entire appearance, head to toe and back, I knew damn well what was wrong. My killer new makeover, that’s what was wrong. I had bothered to do my whole hair blow-out, smoky eyes, sexy yet professional grey Chanel suit and my So Kate silver Louboutin pumps. ‘I believe Mr Holder and I have a noontime conference scheduled. Check your notes.’

Ooh. I was loving this new side of me, an act I’d more or less stolen from Beatrice Collins. That’s what happens when you get my best friend fired, douchebag, I thought. Meet Lily Dewitt, Bitch Princess of Agassiz Street and Switched Mistress of Sir Dorian Holder.

Yes, I still was mad at Joey Danforth for throwing Gwen under the proverbial bus. Though she had given me the gal-pal break-up speech on Tuesday and continued avoiding my calls and emails, I hadn’t given up on her as my bosom friend. Not yet.

Besides, how reasonable was it for Gwen to be pissed at me for losing her job? In all fairness to Dorian, she did show up to the office drunk after her last warning, but it was Joey who fucked her over in every sense of the word. Dorian and I would never see eye to eye on his favourite mole, and we had an unspoken agreement not to refer to him.

Joey picked up the phone, mumbled a few words, hung up and looked at me. ‘Mr Holder will see you now.’

‘Excellent,’ I said, and strutted into my boss’s office.

* * *

‘Ah, Ms Dewitt,’ said Dorian, as I closed the door behind me. Like Joey Danforth, he did not look up from the papers on his desk. ‘Have a seat.’

Oh, is this how it’s going to be? Fine and dandy. Two can play that game, and the results would be sexually spectacular, sure.

‘Hello, Mr Holder,’ I replied. I perched on the leather couch and crossed my legs primly. Ouch. ‘Have you had time to look over my notes?’

‘Indeed,’ he said, rose to his feet, and towered over his ostentatious mahogany desk. ‘Can I fix you a drink? It’s five o’clock somewhere.’

‘No, thank you. But don’t let me stop you from imbibing, Mr Holder.’

‘Don’t be cheeky, Ms Dewitt. Believe me, you couldn’t stop me doing anything, no matter how hard you tried.’ He crossed the room in four easy strides and poured himself a scotch, neat.

‘You may call me Lily.’ It was then that I noticed the once empty vase on the glass coffee table was full of brilliant orange tiger lilies.

‘Excellent.’ He sat down on the leather chair diagonally from me, and took a sip. ‘Lily, I’m most impressed with the brainstorming you’ve done today with the writers. Even if your little fingers have been poking into other departments’ pies.’

He waited for this to sink in. Though I knew we were role-playing, a ripple of anxiety – and arousal – made me shiver. ‘How do you mean?’

‘You know very well what I mean.’ He waved his hand in the air. ‘Yes, Apollyon will be more humanitarian, greener and more progressive. This flop of a fitness company is stuck so far back in the early noughties that it’s a miracle you haven’t folded yet. As I mentioned in the conference room this morning, Holder Enterprises, your parent company, has no tolerance for losers. We like to win. Scratch that, we always win. Your thoughts?’

‘Always a fine approach to both life and business,’ I said, nodding, and was startled by the smooth confidence in my voice. ‘Continue, please, Mr Holder.’

‘Very good. Apollyon will be merging with Pahaad Incorporated, who, as you surely know, drove Gaim into the ground. As an aside, they were the ones who leaked the Rodney Yee scandal to the press. Alex Palincort knows how to play dirty and still come up smelling like incense and aromatherapeutic candles. Holder Enterprises bought them a month ago. Alex will be replacing Mr Colossimo after I’m through cleaning house here.’ He gestured grandly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, as though he were speaking of repopulating the city itself. ‘Since Pahaad is a Canadian company, the merger will save Holder Enterprises over seven billion per year in taxes. Shady, yet cost-effective.’

‘Shady, indeed.’

‘If you would keep this discussion private, I’d be most appreciative.’

‘Vaulted,’ I said. ‘Mr Holder.’

‘You may call me Dorian.’

‘Dorian.’

‘Since your primary confidantes Ms Schneider and Mr Tanaka are no longer part of this company, I expect there’s no one else with whom you’d be sharing this information at the water cooler, anyway. Correct?’

‘Well—’

‘Any questions thus far, Ms Dewitt?’

‘Yes,’ I said, managing to keep my voice low. ‘You mean you fired Jay-Jay, too? He’s one of the best copy writers we’ve got.’

‘Mr Tanaka has chosen to leave Apollyon. His decision. And a wise one, I might add. Any other questions?’

‘Lots.’

‘Fire away.’

‘How did you know who I was at that initial meeting Monday? You addressed me before anyone else, by name.’

‘The night before I arrived at the office, I looked through all employee profiles. Yours caught my attention. Not just your naughty librarian photo, but when I looked over all you had – and hadn’t – done it became clear that you were not being utilised to your full potential.’

‘I thought you were busy having sex with some surfer chick in a VW bus that night.’

‘Not appropriate, Lily.’

‘I apologise, sir.’

‘Then, who should I see on the train but someone who looked a lot like the girl in the photo, staring at me in a rather bold manner for such a mousy-looking thing. Upon reaching the office, I scrolled through the photos and saw that you were indeed Lily Dewitt, who had not only inherited the copywriting department but was coming up with marketing techniques that went far beyond her role at the company.’ Dorian took a thoughtful sip of scotch, then set it down on the table. He steepled his fingers and added, ‘Furthermore, your colleagues were taking credit for your ideas, and you rolled over and allowed them to do so. I had to push you.’

‘You had to, or you wanted to?’ Not sure at what point I had started to tingle with arousal, but the buzz below my navel was increasing in energy and excitement.

‘In my world, there is no difference.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Any further questions?’

‘What’s up with the model train?’ I pointed to the antique train set, which had its own shelf running the periphery of his office. ‘And can I push the button this time, so I can watch it go?’

‘When I was a kid, I always wanted a Lionel train for Christmas. Never got one.’

‘Aw. Poor thing.’

‘Lily.’ Dorian’s eyes tightened. ‘You know nothing of my past, and shouldn’t make a mockery. No, you may not run my train set. Next question?’

‘So the new company is going to be Apollyon-Pahaad?’

‘No. That’s clumsy. We’re going to be Yoni. New image for both companies means new name.’ He paused. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Uhm … did you guys consider Apoll-yoni instead?’

‘That sounds like Macaroni. We’re going to just be Yoni. I like it. Al likes it.’

‘If you want to keep our male consumers, maybe something less vaginal-sounding would be a better idea. Like … Koyal.’

‘Koyal. No idea what that means, but I like the ring of it. Sounds like a play on “customer loyalty”. He scribbled a quick note. ‘Next question.’

‘Koyal means “nightingale.”’ Don’t ask me how I know this. ‘Whereas Yoni is a vagina.’

‘I know from yoni, Ms Dewitt.’

‘You surrrrre do.’

‘Inappropriate.’

‘On my list of notes, you saw that I suggested we carry our own brand of herbal supplements. Is that something you’re considering?’ Without waiting for a reply, I added, ‘Because I was thinking later that some kind of healthy protein bars might be another side product to work in.’

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