THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN SAMANTHA padded into the kitchen to make some coffee, she found her sister already up and sitting at the small kitchen table, nursing a cup of liquid caffeine. Kimberly’s hair was a mess, and her eyes were runny with yesterday’s makeup. She held her heavy mug of pitch black coffee in both hands, sipping it slowly.
“How do you feel?” Samantha asked her, giving her a peck on the head.
“Like hell,” Kimberly said, putting her mug down carefully so as not to make any noise. Her voice was a raspy whisper. “What happened last night?”
“Don’t you remember anything?” Samantha poured herself some coffee, dosed it with cream and sugar, and joined her sister at the table.
Kimberly shook her head. “I remember dancing with Scott. And I remember watching you go with him to dance. But then…nothing. What happened? And why do I feel like shit?”
“You passed out. Either you drank too much too fast…or you were drugged.”
“Drugged?” Kimberly took on a worried frown.
“Yeah,” Samantha said. “But you seem okay. It looks like you slept it off. Scott and I brought you back home, and he stayed with you last night.” She looked around. “Isn’t he still here?”
Kimberly shook her head. “No, by the time I woke up, he was gone. Wait.” She held her face in her palms. “I did see him: he said he had to take care of a few things at home, but he’ll be back later. I guess I fell back asleep after that and forgot all about it. God, my head is killing me.” She rubbed her head. “I was drugged?”
“It’s possible. But let me ask you something: did you eat anything yesterday before we went out to the club?”
“Now that I think about it, I might’ve forgotten to eat dinner.”
“What about lunch?”
Kimberly’s sheepish stare was all the answer Samantha needed, and she sighed. “You need to take better care of yourself, Kimberly,” she said.
“Scott takes care of me.”
“No,” Samantha’s voice was stern. “No man should be in charge of taking care of you. You need to look out for yourself. Going out drinking when you haven’t eaten anything all day is dangerous. Understand?”
“Yes, Samantha.” Kimberly rolled her eyes, letting her sister know what she thought of her advice.
“I’m serious, Kim.”
“I know.” Kimberly smiled. “And thank you. You know, you take care of me, too. But you take care of everybody. Just like you took care of mom.”
“Mmm.” Samantha grabbed both their empty mugs and put them in the sink. “Do you need me to stay home with you, or can I go into the shop for a few hours?”
“I’m fine. Do you need me to go in later to help you?”
“No, I just need to fill some orders. I should be back by this afternoon.”
“Don’t come home early on my account. In fact, I might be out with Scott by then, so you might not see me till later.”
“Well, actually, I kind of also have a date tonight.”
“What?” Kimberly whipped her head around, quickly put her hands up to her temples, and rubbed. “Ow. You have a date? With who?”
“A guy.”
“Can you be a little bit more specific?” Kimberly asked, careful to keep her voice low. “Like who he is, and how you met him?”
“He’s a guy I met last year on a trip. He’s in town now, and we ran into each other last night, and he asked me out. You also met him last night–he even carried you out of the club. But I guess you forgot, so I’m not telling you any more.”
Kimberly scowled. Samantha smiled, kissed her sister on the head, and left the kitchen. “I’ll see you later,” she called back.
“Yeah. Ow,” she heard Kimberly reply. As she walked up the stairs, Samantha pictured her sister sitting there, rubbing her head again, trying to remember being carried in the arms of a stranger out of the club, and the image made her chuckle all the way to her room.
~ * * * ~
That night, Samantha found herself in the foyer of Amelia’s, looking around anxiously, hoping she didn’t look as self-conscious as she felt. The high-class restaurant was crowded, every table taken, and Samantha realized if Mr. Sinclaire had not thought to make reservations, they would be in big trouble.
She hoped she had dressed appropriately for the occasion. The black dress she wore was simple, yet elegant: it clung to her curves in all the right places and showed off her feminine shape. It had short clinging sleeves, but the neckline scooped low, revealing a hint of soft cleavage. Her sheer black hosiery and high-heeled shoes made her legs look long and shapely. She had pinned her hair up, but had left some strands to rest softly on the nape of her neck. She thought she looked appealing, but could only hope Mr. Sinclaire would agree.
Now, looking around the crowded restaurant and not seeing him, Samantha could feel her anxiety rise. She was on time. In fact, she was a few minutes late. Was Mr. Sinclaire standing her up?
“Miss?” A waiter got her attention. “You are waiting for Mr. Sinclaire, yes?”
“Yes,” Samantha said, relieved.
“This way, please.” The waiter led her into the restaurant and around many tables until they were in a part of the restaurant Samantha had not been able to see from the entrance. Here, all the tables were hidden inside private enclaves. They looked very intimate and discreet.
The waiter motioned her to a table partially concealed by the walls strategically placed around it. Samantha walked over to the table, and there, standing to greet her, was Mr. Sinclaire.
“Hello,” Samantha said. Her voice was weak; her breath had caught in her chest again.
“Hello,” Mr. Sinclaire answered back as he came around the table to greet her. For a second, a moment of awkwardness passed between them, as Mr. Sinclaire didn’t know if he should kiss her cheek or take her hand. In the end, he simply put his hand on her back and pulled her chair out, motioning her to have a seat. Samantha sat gratefully, happy to be off her feet. Her legs were shaking.
“You look lovely, Samantha.” His eyes raked over her, taking in the fullness of her breasts spilling out from the top of her dress, the gentle curve of her neck, the halo of her hair glimmering under the light, and finally settled on the rich full lips of her mouth. Samantha smiled and relaxed under his hungry gaze.
“You look nice, too, Sir,” she said, looking down shyly.
“You don’t have to sir me,” Mr. Sinclaire said, his lips curving into a grin.
Samantha blushed. “I–I’m sorry, it just comes out automatically. What should I call you? Mr. Sinclaire?”
“I don’t work for the Hotel Bentmoore anymore, Samantha. Why don’t you just call me Brian?”
“Brian?” The name felt strange on her tongue. “Is that your real name?”
He smiled, stirring her senses even more. “Yes, that is my real name. And since we’re in the real world now, and not at the hotel, I think it’s okay for you to start using it.”
“Yes, S–Brian,” Samantha said, almost blundering yet again. The waiter came, and Brian ordered wine for them. Samantha took the time to recover from her fluster. The last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself.
But it was hard not to fluster. Mr. Sinclaire–Brian–was just so damn handsome, there was no way she was going to be able to keep her composure without working really, really hard. He was wearing another suit today, black, with a lavender shirt and matching tie. His hair was parted and slicked back again. It shined like gold.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and Samantha’s eyes rested on his wide, veined hands. A memory of those hands holding her by the hips as he thrusted into her ass from behind flashed through her head. She shivered.
“Are you cold?” Brian asked.
Samantha shook her head. “No, I just felt a draft.” The waiter returned with their wine glasses, and Samantha took a sip from hers immediately. She could feel Brian’s probing eyes studying her as she sipped. Goosebumps rose across her arms. She really needed to calm down.
“How is your sister?” He asked.
“Okay,” Samantha said, nodding her head. “She’s feeling better. Just hungover.”
“That’s good, I guess. I mean, not the hungover part. But I’m glad there was nothing serious going on with her.”
“Me too.” Samantha took another sip of her wine. Brian had yet to touch his.
“So, Samantha, how have you been? It’s been a long time since I saw you. It was a surprise to see you last night; I thought you lived in Phoenix.” A hint of accusation seeped into his voice, and Samantha looked at him in surprise. He sounded hurt, but why?
“I did live in Phoenix,” she said. “But I moved out here when my mom got sick. It was easier for me to come out here and help my sister take care of her than have her move to be next to me.”
“Ah.” Brian grabbed the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and brought the rim to his lips, taking a mesmerizing sip. “So you live here now, with your sister and mom.”
“No,” Samantha shook her head, trying to dispel the vision of his soft full lips opening against the rim of the wine glass. “My mom passed away. It’s just me and Kimberly now.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha.” His eyes filled with remorse. He reached over the table and took her small hand in his large one. The feel of his hand squeezing hers jolted Samantha, making her flush with heat.
“It’s okay,” she said, her words sounding like a breathy moan. Just then, the waiter came to take their orders, which gave Samantha a chance to pull her hand away and catch her breath. Her fingers curled into her palm as if trying to fill the empty space that had been filled with strength and warmth a second ago.
Once they had both ordered and the waiter disappeared, Brian moved his questioning onto a different topic.
“So did you ever contact that Master Sadist whose card I gave you?” His voice was nonchalant, but Samantha could detect his interest.
“Yes, I did,” she answered in the same light tone. “I met with him a couple times.”
“Good, that’s good.” Brian swallowed some more wine. The thought of another man putting his hands on Samantha made his blood boil. The sudden rush of jealously caught him off guard, and he put his wine glass down on the table before he could break it in his hand. But he brought it down a little too hard, and it sloshed on the tablecloth.
“Whoops,” he said, mopping up the growing stain with his napkin. “Got careless there. So, uh, you enjoyed what he had to teach you?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was good.” But it wasn’t you. No one else is like you. No one could ever come close to you. The thought made her want to weep.
“But you’re not in the scene here,” he said. Samantha knew which scene he was talking about: the kink scene, the social network of people also into BDSM who not only visited clubs and dungeons, but also attended meetings they called “munches,” informal gatherings of like-minded kinksters. “You don’t visit any clubs or dungeons in the area.” He stated it as fact, surprising Samantha.
“No, I haven’t visited any clubs or dungeons here yet. I’ve been too busy.” And too wary. After what had happened to her in Phoenix, she would not be so quick to make the same mistakes.
The food came, and Brian watched her as Samantha accepted her food and smiled at the waiter. She was not giving him the whole story, he realized. Samantha was being reserved, secretive.
No, not secretive–he had a feeling if he laid on the charm, she would tell him what it was he wanted to know. But she was being cautious. Which was a good thing, he supposed. She had learned a few hard lessons since the last time he had seen her. Like how to take things slow, and be careful.
“So, Brian, tell me what you’re doing in Silicon Valley, and why you’re not working at the Hotel Bentmoore anymore.” She began to eat.
“It was time to leave that job,” he said, picking his own words carefully. “I’d been working at the Bentmoore long enough. I needed a break. A friend of mine who’s a venture capitalist–you might remember him from yesterday? Jake?” He waited until Samantha nodded. “He took me on to help manage his investments. It’s a great job. And what’s more important, it’s a normal job. I get to stay home most weekends, and do things outside of work. I get to see people, have some hobbies, keep a normal schedule…a normal life.”
“Wow, it’s great that you could just go right from working at the Bentmoore to a job like that,” Samantha said; then she put her hand to her mouth. “I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like you couldn’t have a job like that. It’s just, the kind of job you have now doesn’t seem related to what…what you were doing before, at the hotel. I mean, being a host at the Hotel Bentmoore to being an executive….”
“I get it,” Brian laughed, putting Samantha at ease. “I do have a degree in business, you know. And the connections I made at the Hotel Bentmoore certainly didn’t hurt when the time came to leave.”
“I’m sure you made a lot of–connections.” Samantha grinned slyly. She was teasing him.
“Yes,” Brian said. “But some of them were deeper, and more intimate, than others.” He gazed at her with his hot, piercing stare, and Samantha put her fork and knife down. He was doing more than just teasing. She could feel her face flush, but worse, she could feel her thighs grow slick with wetness. “But you’re right,” he said, rescuing her from her embarrassment, “I do consider myself lucky for finding a job like this one so fast.”
It had not been immediate. After leaving the Hotel Bentmoore, Brian had packed a suitcase and flown directly to Phoenix to search for his long lost little masochist, Samantha. But there had been no trace of her left.
Brian had gone to the address of her small boutique shop listed on Mr. Bentmoore’s paper, only to find it closed and shuttered. Then Brian had tried her home address, only to find someone else living there. Finally, he had broken every cardinal rule, and had gone to see the Master Sadist he had suggested to Samantha, only to learn Samantha had left town. The Master Sadist wouldn’t give him any personal information, like what the two of them had done together during their play sessions or what he had taught her–that information was private–but he was genuinely sorry he could not at least tell Brian where Samantha had run off to.
Brian had spent weeks grieving for his lost treasure. He had been so looking forward to seeing Samantha again, to hold her in his arms and make her scream for him as she had before. But he had to face the fact he would likely never see her again. She was gone, vanished without a trace. He had to come to terms with it.
It was only once he had given up on ever seeing Samantha again that Brian had called up his old friend Jake and asked for a position in his global, multi-billion dollar company. Jake had been a frequent guest at the Hotel Bentmoore, he still was, but aside from his play times down in the dungeon below, Jake would often sit with Brian in the hotel bar and talk shop. They would discuss business matters, and Jake would pick Brian’s brain on investment ventures. Jake figured out quickly Brian had a natural knack for choosing good investments. In fact, Brian did such a good job investing his own money, he took care of all his friends’ investments, too.
Jake had always told Brian that if he ever wanted a job beyond the walls of the Hotel Bentmoore, to come straight to him. The time had come, and Brian had taken Jake up on his offer.
Brian was enjoying his new life. He was still getting used to it, though. With the money he was making working for Jake, as well as what he had saved up from his years at the Hotel Bentmoore, Brian was living pretty damn good. He had the time and the money to pursue whatever he felt like. He had already tried jet skiing, scuba diving, parasailing, and a few other sports he had always been curious about.
But he was still getting used to the ins and outs of having a normal social life, and he was finding that, despite having already made quite a name for himself in the local BDSM scene, he was still having a hard time finding adequate play partners.
Brian was a Master Sadist. He liked to play hard. He liked to listen to his women scream in agony, beg him to end the torment; he basked in their cries and struggles and supplications. He liked to watch, and feel, them coming in crashing bliss, their bodies shattering from the pleasure and the pain, the whirlwind of conflicting sensations making them act like crazed animals.
No woman, save one, had ever managed to meet his appetite and urges. And that woman was now sitting across from him, looking more beautiful and desirable than ever, and Brian was having a hard time keeping his hands from grabbing her up, strong arming her into his car, taking her home, and doing evil and nasty things to her delectable little body.
But he needed to go slow. Samantha was more leery now than she had been when he had first met her, despite her having been in that disastrous relationship at the time. She’d been through some things, learned a couple hard lessons, he could tell. She would not let her protective guard down so easily.
She did not have to know he had gone looking for her in Phoenix. He could keep some secrets, too.
They spoke about mundane things throughout dessert, making small talk, getting a feel for each other, and slowly, Brian saw Samantha begin to relax. Her shoulders came down, her smile appeared more naturally, and she didn’t catch her breath every time he made the slightest innuendo. Of course, she didn’t try to tease him again, either.
The check came, and Brian paid the bill. But he wasn’t ready to let Samantha leave his company just yet.
“You want to walk outside for a while?” He asked, standing up. “It’s a nice night.”
“Sure.” He put his hand in the small of her back again, leading her outside, and Samantha could feel all her nerve endings tingle. The smell of him, spicy and masculine, made her woozy. The breeze outside was cold against her already prickling skin, and instinctively, she moved in to snuggle by Brian’s side. Brian, just as naturally, put his arm around her.
They walked like that for quite a while, quiet, content with each other’s company. But after a couple blocks, Samantha pulled away.
“Brian, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I’m walking down the street with you, enjoying a nice night.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I mean, why did you ask me out to dinner? Why are you walking with me now, with your arm around me?” She looked at him, eyes wide. “What is it you want from me?”
There was so much suspicion in her eyes, Brian thought. There was hurt there, too.
“I asked you to dinner so I could enjoy your company,” he said. “I’m walking with you now for the same reason. I thought you were having a good time. Weren’t you?”
“Yes, but…look, Brian, I’m not looking for another weekend like I spent with you at the Hotel Bentmoore. I mean, that weekend was amazing, absolutely amazing for me–”
“For me, too.”
“–but this is my life, my real life, not some secret weekend vacation fling, and I’m not looking for a hookup or someone to just have sex with–”
Brian stopped her mouth with a kiss so powerful and deluging to her senses, Samantha forgot for a second she was on a public street. She forgot everything except Brian, and what he was doing to her: he was turning her into a melting puddle of arousal.
He broke the kiss, took a breath, and said, “I did not ask you to dinner to try to butter you up to have sex with me. Believe me, I want to fuck you, Samantha–I want to tie you up and do very, very evil things to you, make you scream for mercy, make you come so hard your voice breaks–but that is not why I asked you to dinner. I missed you, I was happy to see you again, and now that I’ve had this time with you, I would like some more. I want to see you again. Can I, Samantha? Can I take you out again? Will you let me?”
After that little speech, not to mention the way his hands were running up and down her back as his breath blew hot against her cheek, there was no way Samantha could refuse.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d like to see you again, too.”
“Good.” Brian moved back then to give her a foot of space, but grabbed her hand. “I’ll walk you back to your car now.”
He held her hand all the way to the restaurant parking lot and held her door open for her as she got inside. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
Samantha could only nod. Her breath had frozen up again. I really need to learn how to breath around him, she thought.
