At His Mercy
AT HIS MERCY: HIS #3
(A BILLIONAIRE DOMINATION SERIAL)
by
Erika Masten
KINDLE EDITION
Copyright © 2012 Erika Masten
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Erika Masten
http://erikamasten.blogspot.com
Published by Sticky Sweet Books. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental.
Warning: Explicit content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted herein are 18 years or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.
This is a work of erotic fantasy. In real life, please protect yourself and your lover by always practicing safe sex.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Excerpt From
Excerpt From
Satyrs: Supernatural Ménage A Quatre
At least I hadn’t cried. Or disintegrated into an incoherent rant on men in general, their faithlessness, their
whims
. As much as I’d wanted to march back to the resort and slap Adrian Knight in front of his well-heeled guests… As much as I’d wanted to leave my belongings behind and sprint for the ferry back to the mainland, I hadn’t. With my heartbeat throbbing in my throat and my face steaming hot with humiliation and regret, I had squared my shoulders, excused myself to the naked woman beside Adrian’s bed, and walked calmly out of the room.
I was standing on the stone patio just outside the living room and staring at the still water of the small but brilliantly blue-tiled swimming pool when I heard the front door of the villa slam and Adrian Knight’s voice bark pointedly, “Miss Bloom, you are testing my patience. I told you I expected you back at dinner.” That deep, faintly British accent receded as his steps pounded down the hallway, away from me. I didn’t move to follow him, pensively watching the sunset as it continued to reflect tropical colors off the broad, dark leaves of the rainforest.
Despite myself, I held my breath, willed my pulse to stop thrumming in my ears, and listened. I couldn’t hear them, Adrian and the little blonde I’d found about an hour before kneeling naked at the foot of the wealthy playboy’s bed. She was his submissive, she’d said, though it had been my impression that I held that position. Were submissives allowed to be…territorial? I avoided other terms that came too readily to mind.
Knight had never actually indicated our agreement was exclusive, certainly not from his end, anyway. The problem was that the blonde had also said she was his girlfriend. Implying a commitment. One I was acutely sensitive about right now, still stinging as I was with the public humiliation of waking up one morning last month to find candid cell photos of my high society boyfriend—a gaggle of naked college girls undressing him—highlighted in a half-dozen popular gossip blogs.
The South American cruise that brought me to the Brazilian resort island of Ilha de Flor was supposed to be my incognito and incommunicado escape from concerned friends, from Penn Ellison and his relentless insistence that we reconcile. The day I spent with Adrian Knight, taken against the wall of the sauna in
his
resort, kneeling naked before him on
his
beach on
his
island, was supposed to be my wild moment of abandon to help me feel desired again. The agreement I made with Knight, to remain here for exactly three months serving him as his sexual submissive, was supposed to be my master class in the particularly male art of owning one’s sexuality, wielding it, reveling in it, without muddying it up with the emotional attachments so common to women. Nowhere in all that was there supposed to be an actual girlfriend. No way was I going to come four thousand miles just to help a man like Penn cheat on a woman like me.
Though, to be honest, the statuesque blond with the lithe body and the platinum and diamond nipple and clitoris rings didn’t seem much like me. Aside from the fact that I was a petite brunette—with hips. Aside from her angelic, delicate features and anime-sized blue eyes while I was dark-eyed and wide-jawed. Even with her kneeling naked on the rug at the end of Adrian’s bed, she had the poise and manner of one born to luxury, ease, self-possession. The kind of woman I would expect a man like Knight to choose as his girlfriend, the right woman to appear on his arm in public while he saved the girls from the wrong end of town for the nasty bedroom behavior. Guess I knew which of the two that made me.
For a second, just one sorrowful second, I thought I would have been better off going back to Penn, all gold hair and gleaming smile and good breeding. He never minded me being born to a high school dropout of a father—and mostly an absentee at that—and a mother who made ends meet with clerical jobs and night work as a piano tutor. My education and demeanor helped me pass as high society, so I got the girlfriend gig while women who came from the same neighborhoods I had, sans the Stanford scholarship, got to be his dirty little secrets. But at least I
was
the girlfriend, and almost the fiancée, if I could believe the rumors. For one terrible moment, I was inclined to say that was enough.
The click of shoes against the textured concrete floor of the villa pulled my thoughts up hard just short of that precipice. It was the first activity I’d heard from the villa since Adrian had arrived and stomped down the hallway toward his bedroom. The steps were too light and fast for his, and they had the definite tap of a stiletto heel. They paused in the living room, then grew louder as they approached the floor-to-ceiling wood shutters that made up the walls along this whole side of the villa.
Arms folded under my full breasts, I took only a quick sidelong glance at the blonde and her perky model’s tits as she stepped up beside me. She was dressed now, in a frilly, frothy, white wisp-of-nothing cocktail dress I was sure I’d seen in Vogue. With her curly platinum hair kept earlobe-length and tousled, she gave off the impression of a debauched pubescent angel.
“So…,” she sighed, her voice light and pleasant but ringing of insincerity before she’d really even said anything, “you’re Adrian’s new friend.”
The scent of chlorine coming up off the pool in a sudden evening breeze was refreshingly bracing. “I think that depends on your definition.”
She giggled, a pleasant sound. I could imagine her charming people just with her laughter. Her angel curls and her expensive frocks and her tinkle tinkle laughter. “True enough,” she agreed. The blonde lingered beside me, hands folded gracefully in front of her, until I wondered if she’d had a purpose to coming out here. “You’re not what I’d expect,” she finally said.
I bet
, I thought. But at least her comment did tell me Adrian had said
something
about me. Did it fall along the lines of
honest, honey, she means nothing to me
? “How so?”
“You’re not…colorful, like me. And that’s not an insult. I’d just expect…a French model or one of those fiery redheaded bitches from the New York Albrechts or some Los Angeles actress whose family has been Hollywood royalty for three generations.”
I crinkled my nose before I could stop myself. “Is that the kind of woman Adrian would normally…choose to spend time with?”
“That’s the kind of woman they
all
pick,” she said and smiled and rolled those huge blue eyes. “The more money and choice they have, the less variety they actually exercise.” When she finally stopped chuckling at her own wit, she turned to face me. “I’m supposed to tell you that I was using the term girlfriend rather…figuratively. Adrian and I aren’t actually a couple. We’re playmates, when it suits us. I guess right now it doesn’t suit him. Bad timing on my part.”
Hiding briefly behind my wavy curtain of long brown hair, I dryly asked, “You’re
supposed
to tell me that, huh? What is it you
want
to tell me?”
She shrugged. “I said what I wanted to already. You’re not what I would expect. That’s all. I wouldn’t guess you’d like rough treatment, and Adrian does tend to be so rough, doesn’t he?” The woman was smirking behind her hand, pivoting to face the swimming pool and shifting on one hip. She leaned toward me like we were two friends sharing secrets and didn’t seem to notice me cocking one brow at her comment. “I’ve never been slapped so hard or choked so long, but—god!—does it make for amazing orgasms.” She grinned at me. “Yes?”
The thought of Adrian slapping or choking me seemed as dissonant as it was nauseating. He had never… I wasn’t anywhere near ready for something like that. Was that the direction Adrian’s tastes ran? Would he eventually expect…? Tension, and not the good kind, bristled up my spine and tingled as the hair on the nape of my neck stood on end. My whole scalp tightened painfully.
“Ms. Talbot.” A thick Portuguese accent rolled behind us like the grumble of distant thunder, and the blonde and I turned to face Manuela where she stood in a simple black pullover and slim leggings (with matching flats) that reminded me of something I’d seen in an Audrey Hepburn movie. The angle of her brow and the way she held her glossy red lips pinched displayed as much disapproval as her tone. “Your bags have been moved to the Presidential Suite, per Mr. Knight’s instructions. The accommodations are yours for as long as you’d like, without charge.”
“That won’t be necessary, Maria.” The blonde sashayed toward Manuela, who did not correct her over the name. “I don’t think I’ll be staying.”
As the young woman was about to pass Manuela to enter the villa, the cook swiftly drew a small white card from her sleeve and handed it to the girl. “The number to a call-out transport, in case you don’t want to wait for the last evening ferry.”
I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling and went to great effort to swallow the insistent chortle threatening to escape through my nose, if necessary.
If the blonde was offended by the readiness with which Manuela produced the number for her, or the obvious eagerness to be rid of her, she didn’t let it show. Catching the card in one graceful hand and flicking it with a perfectly manicured nail, she tossed a winning smile over her shoulder at me. “Thanks so much. Goodnight, ladies.”
The distance in Manuela’s eyes told me she was doing the same thing I was—listening for the front door to close. In the wake of the careless bang, the woman advanced on me with one hand held out in offering.
“I’m Manuela. Adrian has been rude not introducing us.”
I shook her hand, glad for the warmth, impressed with the firmness of her grasp. “Chloe Bloom. Muitoprazer.”
She eyed me, though less obviously than she did the blonde. “And
my
pleasure. I would like to say Adrian has told me all about you, but he hasn’t. He’s a cad sometimes. How did you meet? Here at the resort?”
Shaking off the feeling I was meeting Adrian’s mother, I stopped sucking my lip and nodded. “Yes, at the resort.”
Manuela’s brow knitted again. “But not long ago?”
“No, not long.”
“And he’s already made you his docinho?” She hesitated, as though searching for a word. “Sweetie? His girlfriend?”
Already fucked me.Already cuffed me to his bed. Already made me his submissive. The girlfriend title was just a cover for our little arrangement. Pursing my lips to keep from gnawing at them or grinning with embarrassment, I nodded.
“And I’m not moving your bags, too, am I? After that pu—? After that woman showed up here?”
Was she? My first instinct upon finding the blonde naked in Adrian’s room, hearing her call herself his girlfriend, was to pack and be done with this whole affair. But how could I pack with a nude woman watching me? Now I had to ask myself… If there was no girlfriend, was there a reason to leave? Besides the sudden flare of possessiveness that should not have been there when I had realized I was not Adrian’s only submissive, or at least not his first. Besides the warning that Adrian was into domination far darker than anything I’d seen from him thus far. To leave now would be to give in to impulsiveness and emotion, and I prided myself on being a more logical, calculating sort—in business. Now I was trying to apply that skill to matters of… No, not the heart. The libido.
