Destined for the Dom [Masters of Submission 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (3 page)

BOOK: Destined for the Dom [Masters of Submission 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)
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At that moment, a pretty blonde-haired waitress, wearing very little indeed, appeared at their table, defusing the situation. “Would you like to order drinks, Sir?”

“Another bourbon, please. Make it a double will you, and whatever the lady wants.”

Zoë shook her head. “I’m teetotal. I don’t drink anymore.” Her shoulders stiffened as she spoke, and he guessed she may have a problem with alcohol, or maybe she just hated the effect it had on others.

When the sexy waitress turned and walked away, Hunter continued, “I know you’re unhappy, Zoë. I could tell the moment I saw you.”

She laughed mockingly. “So what did you see that makes you so confident, Hunter. We haven’t seen each other for fourteen years for Christ’s sake.”

“It may be a long time since we last met, Zoë, but I’ll tell you what I see when I look at you. I see a woman who’s wondering where her life has gone.” She wore two chunky bracelets, one on each wrist, and he could just make out bruising beneath. He had a hunch she was in an abusive relationship. Hunter continued, “I see a woman who’s got man trouble one way or another. A woman who’s wondering what she has to do to feel happy and alive again.”

For a brief moment or two she looked stunned by his observations. Her mouth opened and closed several times before words finally came out. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she said, “Have you been stalking me?”

“Jesus Christ, Zoë, I only flew into Pittsburgh two hours ago. This is the first time I’ve seen you in fourteen years. Besides, I’m not such a sad bastard that I need to stalk vulnerable women.”

Zoë grabbed her orange juice, and gulped down a large mouthful. Her jewelry glinted in the subdued lighting as she tipped the glass to her lips. In a calmer, less confrontational tone, she asked, “So what are you doing these days, Hunter?”

“I’m an Air Marshal. I spend most of my time flying at thirty thousand feet. After the Twin Towers went down, it was something I felt I needed to do.”

“You don’t look like a typical Air Marshal.” She pointed to his tattoos.

Hunter smiled, and smoothed a hand over his forearm. “Oh, I’ve had these for years. I cover them up when I’m working.”

“I’m not surprised, they make you look like an assassin.”

Maybe that’s exactly who he was. “I got these done in the Marines. All of us young bucks wanted something permanent to show what we’d been through.”

“Is that where you went, when you left St. Mark’s? The Marines?”

“Yeah, I signed up for ten years.”

“No wonder you never—” Zoë stopped speaking abruptly.

“Yeah, I know, I never came back for you like I promised.” Hunter finished the sentence for her. “I guess I was a kid with foolish ideas. I joined the Marines thinking it would make a man of me. It did, but it messed with my head, too. For most of those ten years I wasn’t a nice guy to know.”

Looking genuinely concerned, she said, “I’m guessing you’ve seen some terrible things, Hunter?”

He sighed. “Yeah, but I don’t dwell on them.” He knew his curt answer gave him away. Even after all these years, Zoë understood him. She’d know in an instant the pain and trauma he’d suffered. The things he’d seen as a Marine impacted his life on a daily basis. It was hard to erase the terrible images from his mind. Her eyes narrowed on him, but she didn’t say anything in reply.

The pert-breasted waitress returned with his bourbon and placed it on the table. He handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, Sir. You enjoy your evening now.”

“I will.” He turned his attention back to Zoë. “As an Air Marshal, I have to be an excellent judge of people. I need to be able to sort the good guys from the bad guys. I can tell you hate your life and your job.” He took her hands in his, and twisted them palm up. He touched her wrists with his thumbs. “Even these leather bracelets can’t hide the bruising on your wrists. I’m sure a guy did this to you.” As soon as he said the words, she snatched her hands away.

“He’s history.”

Hunter took a slug of bourbon. “Good, I’m glad. You always did have your head screwed on, Peaches.”

Zoë’s face lit up at his use of her pet name, her eyes sparkled with pleasure. He’d often called her that when they’d been in care together. It had helped cement a bond between them.

“Peaches—you remembered.”

“How could I forget?”

He watched her shoulders loosen as she began to relax in his company. “So when do you go back to wherever it is you live?”

“I live in Boston, I fly back tomorrow.”

“Oh, so this is just a flying visit?”

“Quite literally. Maybe I can take you home when you’ve finished here.”

“You can take me home, but there won’t be any freebies handed out, not even to an old friend.” Zoë was so cynical.

“Whoa now, Peaches. You got the wrong idea about my visit.”

“Have I? So all those times I used to catch you secretly looking at me when I was fifteen or sixteen. They were all in my imagination?”

“No, of course not. When you became older, I don’t deny I found you attractive.”

“I know you did. Those times when I’d take a bath and you and Jake would spy on me through a hole in the wall.”

He laughed. “I didn’t think you knew we did that. We thought we were being really discreet.”

“Well, not discreet enough. I was well aware you were both spying on me, and I kinda enjoyed the attention. Why do you think I used to spend so much time getting out of the tub, and drying myself? I knew you were both watching me with your cocks in your hands. You haven’t changed in the last fourteen years, Hunter. Even now you can’t stop your eyes drifting to my breasts.” Zoë had never been afraid to say what she thought.

“Well, if you will sit seminaked in front of me, I’ve got no choice. I’m a guy. Tits and ass are hardwired into my brain.”

“At least you’re honest, which is more than I can say for the rest of the guys in here. Most of them have got wives or girlfriends waiting at home for them, which leads me to my next question.”

Before she could ask, Hunter spoke. “There’s no one else. I’m not the settling-down type.”

“That’s too bad. You’re a good-looking guy. You’ve filled out an awful lot since I last saw you. Why don’t you have a woman in your life?”

“It would take one special woman to understand me.” Hunter’s sexual and emotional needs were only fully satisfied at Club Submission.

Her eyes drifted over him, and she nodded perceptibly. “Too much emotional baggage from the Marines.”

“You could say.” Not wanting to discuss himself further, he breathed in and changed the subject. “So what time do you finish tonight? We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Two.”

His flight back to Boston left at ten in the morning. That only gave him a few hours to get to know her again. “I’ve got a better idea. How much do you normally make?”

“Three hundred bucks, why?”

“Three hundred bucks, huh. Why don’t I give you the money? That way you can leave right now.”

Chapter Three

 

One hour later

 

The past hour had taken on a surreal quality. Feigning a severe attack of food poisoning, Zoë had made her excuses to Jocelyn, and then met Hunter outside the club. As they’d walked down the street to call a cab, his hand had clasped protectively around hers. Even though they’d both changed enormously in the intervening fourteen years, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to squeeze his hand back. She knew as well as he that they shared a connection that went way back to their respective childhoods. They’d experienced the same happiness, and they’d dealt with the same shit.

When they finally arrived at her apartment, Zoë turned the key and unlocked the door. Funny, an hour ago it seemed a good idea to bring Hunter back, but now she felt self-conscious of her humble apartment. She flicked on a light and pushed the door wide open. The cold, charmless room looked uninviting and a little forbidding.
Why the hell didn’t I choose somewhere else to take him? What’s wrong with a cup of coffee in some anonymous place?

Well, she’d have to make the best of it now. This was Hunter after all. No need to stand on ceremony. Steeling herself, she stated lightheartedly, “Welcome to my little palace.” She pointed to the old battered sofa in the corner of the room. “Take a seat. Make yourself at home. I’ll fix you a drink. What would you like?”

“Just a coffee,” he answered gruffly, as he stalked across the worn carpet. She could tell he didn’t approve of where she lived. His face was deadpan as he scanned the meager contents of her home.

Zoë put the coffeepot on the stove and then shrugged off her coat. It was only when she threw it over the nearest chair that she remembered what little she had on underneath. A surreptitious glance in Hunter’s direction confirmed her suspicion. He may not be impressed by her home, but he was certainly taking an interest in her. A warm feeling spread to her pussy at the look of sexual desire in his eyes. Hunter may have kept his distance for fourteen years, but she couldn’t deny their physical attraction to one another now. What had been a girlish crush looked like it could develop into something far more grown-up, if she allowed it to.

Fuck, the last time I saw this guy, he was a gangly eighteen-year-old kid. And I was an innocent sixteen-year-old girl. Now Hunter Black is six foot three and two hundred pounds of sinew and muscle. He’s really gorgeous, girl, but make sure you keep your distance. He’ll be gone in a few hours, and most likely you’ll never set eyes on him again.

Aware of his closeness, she said, “I’d better get changed.” She hurried to the bedroom, away from his almost overpowering presence.

Five minutes, and a few deep, relaxing breaths later, she returned to the main living area. Hunter seemed in complete control as he poured hot coffee into two large mugs. He smiled, and nodded appreciatively, as he studied her new outfit. “You’d look a knockout in anything, Peaches, but it’s a real shame you’ve decided to change into jeans and a sweater.” He sighed deeply. “It’s probably for the best though. It’s hard for a man to think straight when you’re hardly wearing any clothes.”

Zoë took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hunter was so matter-of-fact, yet very sexy with it. He made her pussy moisten.

“Where’s your TV, Peaches?” He pointed to the empty space.

“The debt collectors took it away.”

His brows drew together. “How come? You girls make a decent amount of money at the club.”

Zoë folded her arms defensively across her chest. “My boyfriend.” She quickly corrected herself. “I mean my ex-boyfriend”—her words were spat out with undiluted venom—“owed a lot of money to some very undesirable people. He had a habit, a drug habit. When I kicked him out, he emptied my bank account. At one time I thought we were gonna get married, so I gave him my pin number. I trusted the bastard, and he took the lot. Thirty thousand dollars. It was money I’d saved from dancing at Les Belles. Goddamn, I’d been saving for years, too. We were gonna buy a house somewhere nice together. The hope of a better life was the only thing that made working at that Godforsaken club worthwhile.”

Hunter just stared at her, and she knew he was assessing the situation. Before he could say anything, she added bitterly, “I don’t need help from anyone. I can manage my own life.”

“Like hell, you can.” His voice was deep and uncompromising. “Some lowlife junkie piece of shit takes you for every cent you have, and you think you can look after yourself. Well I don’t think you can.” He looked around her crummy apartment. “A woman like you shouldn’t have to live like this.”

Zoë took a step backward, away from Hunter. She didn’t want to see the look of pity mixed with anger in his eyes. He made her feel like a gullible idiot. A poor, defenseless woman who needed his help to put her life in order.

Desperate to explain, she blurted out, “Look, it’s not what you think. When Mike and I first met, he was a really lovely guy. He had a job and paid his way. It was only after he became unemployed that he started drinking heavily. Shortly after that, he became dependent on cocaine and heroin, too.”

“So how much do you owe?”

“None of your business. I wish I hadn’t allowed you to bring me home.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Zoë shrugged. “Because you make me feel like I need protecting from myself.”

“You do.”

“Maybe.” Zoë looked around her apartment, perhaps seeing it properly for the first time. No warmth or well-being permeated its walls or furnishings. It felt exactly like St. Mark’s, her home for ten years as a child.

A deep sadness washed over her. “We didn’t have a proper childhood, did we, Hunter? I don’t know how a normal family functions. What is a proper home supposed to look like? Is it supposed to look like the pictures in a glossy magazine? I’ve no idea. Just like I’ve no idea how a real family celebrates Christmas. They didn’t teach us that at the care home, did they?”

“No, they just looked after the basics. There was no love or compassion. Just rules and regulations.” Hunter moved across to her. He held out his arms, and she melted into his embrace. He felt wonderful as his strong arms wrapped around her and held her close. He was so tall, and broad, too, she could barely wrap her arms around him. Her cheek nestled against his impressive chest, and she breathed in his wonderful masculine aroma—a combination of aftershave and Alpha male pheromones.

BOOK: Destined for the Dom [Masters of Submission 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)
12.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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