Richard's Reign (Book 6): Enthrall Novella #3 (Enthrall Sessions) Read online

  Staring up at her, I waited for her to snap…cry…scream at me.

  I braced myself for the feel of those red fingernails clawing at my eyes.

  I tilted my head, trying to read her.

  She brought her hands around and lifted the shirt, her fingers touching her sex, parting her labia, her breaths short and sharp.

  She posed like that for me…a breathtaking vision of erotic beauty.

  Our eyes met and I fell into her soulful gaze that proved she was desirous of more. My focus lowered to her soaking wet arousal, her fingers parting her swollen labia in a gesture of offering. Her jaw slack, her eyelids heavy, her need burning her up as that tell-tale blush rose on her chest.

  “Master,” she whispered, her fingertip resting on her clit, beckoning…alluring. “Yours.”

  In what felt like an out-of-body experience, I moved off the couch and knelt before her, leaning into the beauty of her sex. My mouth met the softest flesh, tasting that first spark of her sweetness as my tongue ran along her clit, exploring, savoring her wetness and questioning why my plan had gone awry…exulting that it had.

  There’s always tomorrow, I reasoned. We both needed this now - me suckling at the core of this stunning goddess and her deserving a reward for enduring the fiercest punishment.

  Andrea’s fingers curled through my hair. I grabbed her wrists and with my left hand, positioned them behind her back, holding them together firmly. Tracing her clit with the tip of my tongue, flicking it faster, my own need barely contained as I took her to the edge of pleasure and nudged her over.

  Her head fell back and she moaned her climax, shuddering against me, her gasps loud and yearning.

  “Oh, please.” She sucked in air. “Please.”

  Delivering the flicking she needed to send her over again, I continued to expertly own her sex with my tongue, feeling the pressure of her as she tilted her hips and pressed herself toward me. Rocking against me now, her body trembling, her head back, her dark locks spilling behind her.

  Another orgasm forced her to still…to shudder.

  Taking her down slowly, I continued to nuzzle her - kissing, licking, and nurturing.

  “This is amazing,” she said in a rush.

  I smiled up at her. “If you attach pleasure to anything it’s bearable.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant being here with you.”

  An inconvenient jolt of happiness spurred me to stand, and I cupped her face with my hands and kissed her mouth; providing her with a sensual tasting of herself from my lips.

  Denying myself the urge to take the kiss further, I scooped her in my arms and carried her out of the living room. Andrea rested her head against my chest. We continued on down the hallway until we reached the bedroom. I laid her on the bed and she rested her head on a pillow. I pulled a blanket over her.

  The sheets were already ruffled from where she’d fallen asleep earlier. She snuggled beneath the covers. There, on the side table, was that blonde, short wig she’d worn. She also knew how it felt to be forced to hide.

  But now she looked so peaceful, so safe, hidden away in my Malibu sanctuary.

  I turned to go.

  “Lie beside me?” she said.

  “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

  “Richard?”

  “Yes.”

  “It kicked in after five minutes.”

  I paused to take in her meaning.

  “My high.”

  “Oh, good.”

  My heart broke all over again. A class-A asshole didn’t deserve a woman like her.

  “Why haven’t you taken advantage of me?” she said softly. “Everyone else does.”

  I felt a jolt of guilt at her naivety. I had, after all, just delivered a high-end series of slaps to an unseasoned sub.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. “You’re my master now.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  CHAPTER 9

  MAKING BREAKFAST FOR Andrea Buckingham felt surreal.

  I set about cracking eggs, adding milk, butter, and salt into a pan and whisking the ingredients. Spacing out several times, I nearly burned them in a daze of disbelief. The woman who’d always seemed like an impossible conquest was taking a post-spanked nap in my bed.

  Cameron, the one person I’d usually call and share this with was unreachable and probably still in bed with my girlfriend, who he’d claimed as own.

  I’d been destined to spend my New Year’s Day morning moping around, watching football and talking to Winston, which really was like talking to myself. Yet here I was grinning like an idiot and trying to come to terms with the fact that the stunning brunette who’d captured the hearts of a nation had chosen to be here with me.

  I had to remind myself this was merely an extension of our agreement…a temporary contract. If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that I didn’t deserve Andrea Buckingham.

  I didn’t deserve to be happy, period.

  I knew this in the marrow of my bones. I’d treated Mia so terribly over the last few weeks, kept her at arm’s length for fear of hurting her, breaking her, loving her too much because of that terrifying fear I’d lose her. And as a result Mia no longer lived here. A flood of sadness swept over me, my heart aching, my chest tight with regret.

  Winston stared up at me.

  “I just fed you,” I said. “Look.”

  He followed my gaze toward his bowl.

  “It’s in your tummy. You can’t pretend you didn’t eat it because I watched you scarf it down. Seriously, buddy, what kind of fool do you take me for?”

  Winston barked.

  “Shush.” I pressed my fingers to my lips. “Remember, sleeping beauty.”

  “Good morning,” said a drowsy Andrea from the doorway.

  Winston ran toward her.

  She knelt and patted him and he wagged his tail, turning around so she could have better access to his lower back.

  “You are one cute dog,” she said.

  “He’s a crappy guard dog,” I said. “But you’ve already discovered that. Coffee?”

  She pushed herself to her feet. “God, yes, please.”

  Even while wiping the tiredness from her eyes, she was beautiful, that curvy figure hidden beneath my white shirt, her lustrous locks silhouetted by the daylight streaming in from the window.

  “Is it my hair?” She flattened it self-consciously.

  I quickly tore my gaze away.

  “You’re used to seeing me all made up. I know I look ugly in the morning.”

  “You’re gorgeous in the morning.” Realizing how that came out I turned away from her. “Breakfast?” I waved the spatula. “Hope you like eggs.”

  “Love them.” She patted barefoot toward me and sat on a barstool, her elbows resting on the central marble counter. She smiled at me sweetly.

  I poured two coffees and handed her one.

  “Have you forgiven me?”

  “You mean for breaking and entering?” I blew on my steaming drink.

  “Allegedly.”

  “You were lucky. All Shay’s staff are ex-special forces. She could have taken your ass down.”

  “My ass has been through enough.” She slapped her hand to her mouth. “I meant my butt! My butt has been through enough.” She blushed wildly.

  She made me smile and my quick retort about how I’d only just begun to worship her pretty little ass seemed out of place. “Let’s eat alfresco.”

  We took our coffees and plates with us and settled outside beneath a sun lounger. I went back inside briefly to get a blanket to cover Andrea’s legs and ward off the ocean breeze.

  I pointed to the end of the garden. “That gate leads to the beach.”

  She sat back. “Great location. Great house, Richard.”

  “I like it.”

  “You live alone?”

  I looked down at Winston. “Yes, it’s just us.”

  “Ever get lonely?”

  My gaze shot to hers as I considered telling Andrea that twen
ty-four hours ago I was meant to be heading off for a romantic getaway with my girlfriend. Right up until I’d dropped Mia off at Cameron’s beach house. But it was the last thing I wanted to talk about. There’d inevitably be more questions. The most obvious reaction, what the fuck had I been thinking?

  Second guessing myself, I wondered if there was still time to drive over to Cameron’s and beg Mia to come back.

  “Are you okay?

  “Yeah. How about you?” I said.

  “You mean…do I get lonely?”

  “Sure, I know you’re surrounded by people every day, but still.”

  “I’m careful who I let get close.”

  “Very wise.”

  Before Mia I’d had no woman in my home. After Mia, I’d entertained Hope, my deceased ex-fiancée’s twin sister, and even allowed Chrysalis premier submissive and supermodel and wanna-be-actress Jasmine Tate to stay after she’d lost her master during a British scandal. That particular debacle had gone away, thanks to Shay.

  Perhaps there really was a genius to Cameron’s madness. I’d turned a new leaf and had allowed myself to care again, let those women get close, trusted myself to be strong for them. And though Mia had always suspected I’d slept with Hope and Jasmine, I’d always stayed loyal to her.

  “Not the flowers,” I called over to Winston.

  He peed on them anyway and it made Andrea laugh.

  My phone rang from the kitchen. No doubt it was Cameron calling again to check on me - for the hundredth time.

  I’m just fine, actually more than fine, I mused. I’m here with the Andrea Buckingham, and no thanks to you and your wily ways the day’s looking up.

  “Do you need to get that?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Ex-girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Well, whoever it is sounds like they really need to get a hold of you.”

  That’s because he’s riddled with guilt. We all were. Me, for purposefully pushing Mia away, and Cameron for his inability to do so. And Mia, for following her heart.

  I scooped another mouthful of eggs onto my fork.

  “Ethan told me a little about you.” Andrea took a bite of toast.

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much.” She dabbed her mouth with the napkin.

  “So you Googled me?” On her nod I added, “Well, now you know why I need to stay out of the public eye.”

  “You went through so much.”

  I gave a shrug. “How about you?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Tell me more about Andrea Buckingham.” I slid my plate away. “Is that your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t want a stage name?”

  “I was fine with it. Didn’t think I’d make it this far to be honest.”

  “What else would you have done?”

  She smirked. “You mean if I’d failed as an actress?”

  “I started out studying medicine. Didn’t work out.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m better suited to being a stockbroker. I work from home. Have several clients whose accounts I manage. When I’m not at Enthrall.”

  She gave me a wary look.

  “My clients know about my Dad,” I said. “Luckily they trust me.”

  “I trust you.” She nudged her plate to the side. “I’d have been a teacher. English, probably. I love children. Do you want children?”

  “Never gave it much thought.” In truth, I assumed I’d make a crappy dad.

  “You have a great collection of books.”

  My gaze shot to hers.

  “Your bookcase.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You read Geoffrey Chaucer?”

  “Yes. And I love anything by Dylan Thomas.”

  “Me too.”

  That made me smile. “Are you an Anglophile?”

  “I am.” She grinned. “Have you ever been to Cornwall?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, my God, I’m going to retire in Penzance.”

  “Mousehole?”

  “Yes, I love it there, too.” She laughed. “Who knew that a place called Mousehole even existed?”

  We shot off all the places we’d visited and I was amazed she even knew of them.

  “Do you like Shakespeare?” I said.

  “Yes, of course. Theatre is where an actor forges respect.” She paused for a moment. “You go by Booth now? You dropped the Sheppard?”

  I gave a nod.

  “You’re from New York?”

  “Manhattan. You?”

  “Grew up in Florida. Palm Beach. Later, we moved to Michigan.”

  Which was exactly what my research had turned up after I’d Googled her back at Cameron’s last night on my iPhone - though the article had been about her father, a renowned author and celebrity in his own right. Andrea came from money, which meant she was used to getting her own way.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your fiancée,” she said softly.

  My gaze fell on Winston, my thoughts drifting.

  Emily floating in a blood-tinged tub of water after slitting her wrists. Me failing to resuscitate her. Our New York penthouse filled with strangers.

  A nightmare never ending.

  I sipped my coffee to ease the tightness in my throat.

  My fiancée had been just one of the thousands of victims my father had left in his wake. Cameron had saved the day. Saved me. He’d told me time and time again it wasn’t my fault. Yet the jury was still out on how far I’d risen on the evil bastard scale.

  Andrea’s calm presence soothed me; her ethereal beauty enchanting. She’d cracked my defenses.

  A jolt of regret that I’d allowed the conversation to derail. “Perhaps it’s best we maintain this as a professional relationship?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Let’s keep our private lives private.”

  “From each other?”

  I gave a comforting smile. “No, from Winston.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “Perhaps it’s the best way to protect you from me.”

  She frowned.

  “My family’s scandal,” I explained.

  “That seems like such a long time ago now.”

  Yet it clung to me with the weight of a fallen son. As though I, too, shared the guilt for all those hurting people who lost their pensions, their savings, and their homes.

  “What shows do you watch? And don’t say yours.” I broke the tension with a smile.

  She sat back. “I love Doctor Who.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I binge watch it sometimes.”

  “I love it, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. When I get time.”

  She grinned so wide I couldn’t help but shake my head in response to her cuteness.

  “I’m sorry I broke into your house.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Don’t do it again.”

  A seagull flew overhead and we watched until it disappeared from view.

  “So, we’ll meet at Enthrall for sessions?” she said.

  “I’ll have a dominatrix meet you and escort you through another door.”

  Andrea’s gaze snapped back to me.

  “We’re connected to a luxury travel office. The manger is a member of Enthrall. We use her facility for certain clients.”

  “What about Chrysalis?”

  “You’ll never see the inside of Chrysalis.”

  “Can’t you pull some strings?”

  “You mean with myself?”

  “You run it?”

  “You’ll have the privilege of visiting Enthrall. And Enthrall only.”

  “Scared I might see someone I recognize?”

  “Yes. And, as you’ve proven, you have no tact.”

  “I do.”

  I gave her a look.

  “Didn’t think you’d mind.” She pushed her chair back and rose. “Most people are happy to see m
e.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  She strolled away and leaned over the edge of the pool. “When does your pool boy come?”

  “Don’t have one,” I called over. “I take care of it.”

  Her gaze swept over the house, probably wondering why a millionaire cleaned his own pool.

  “I find it cathartic,” I said. “Skimming leaves. Adding chlorine. Fixing the tiles.”

  “Fixing tiles?”

  “Yes.”

  She pointed to the water. “Well, I’d like to take my morning swim. So, if you don’t mind, can you pull out those leaves?”

  I followed her gaze and saw a few floating in the pool. “Swim around them.”

  “What if I bump into one?”

  I rose and strolled over to her.

  “They’re kind of icky.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I’m quite serious.”

  I went on over and grabbed the net off the side of the wall and took a few minutes to scoop them out.

  I counted ten. “Happy now?”

  “There’s still one there.” She pointed.

  Frowning at her, the word princess resting on the tip of my tongue, I swept the net into the center and scooped out the offending leaf. With it safely on dry land and tossed in the corner trash bin, I turned to give her a there you go smile.

  A breeze came through, rustling the oak tree at the end of the garden. It let go of a single leaf, which rose and was carried across the garden, spiraling onto the water.

  Andrea arched a brow.

  I threw down the net and approached her. Scooping her up in my arms, I leaned over the pool and threw her in.

  She rose to the surface, splashing and spluttering in the water.

  “Would you do me a favor?” I called over. “Can you reach that leaf?”

  “Not funny,” she snapped. “I wasn’t planning on getting my hair wet.”

  “You’re joking?”

  She swam backwards. “No.”

  “Feel the same way about my shirt.”

  Though with the material transparent now it clung to her beautifully, following her curves and hiding nothing as it molded over her pert breasts. She huffed as she pulled it off, ripping buttons, her expression full of annoyance.

  It landed in a squelch at my feet.

  “You just ripped the buttons off my favorite shirt,” I said.

  “You have a hundred in there. Anyway, it was icky and wet.”