Masked Definitions (4 page)

“Stunning,” he tells me, shifting in his seat so he has a better view.

I roll my hips as my free hand still teases the tie along the length of his cock.

“More.” He begs and I do love it when he begs.

I give him more. I grab the base of him, tie still in hand. All reservations and rules vanish as I slowly begin to pump him up and down at the same time as I bring myself to the edge. I want to throw the tie so I can feel the soft, satin like skin of his dick in my hand.

Just the thought of it sends me over. I spiral, fighting with my body to keep me upright as my orgasm shatters my strength and tears through my weakening limbs.

He follows. I feel his warm seed hit my thigh and hand before he begins to growl his release. His hips thrust upwards, still seeking my heat.

“Fuck!” He cries, still teetering on the edge of bliss as I slowly put my feet back on the ground and stagger backwards. I drop the tie and rest my back against the pole, my chest still heaving.

All that can be heard in the dimly lit room is our heavy breathing.

“Wow.” He says and lifts his head from a slumped over position. His eyes capture mine. “You’re a naughty little tease.”

I blink and move towards him. He waits unmoving as I release his hands and then he quickly rubs and scratches at his wrists before flexing them.

It’s not until he starts to dress, using the wipes and body cleaning products from the cupboard on the far wall, that I start to dress.

“Thank you for an interesting hour.” His smile is devilish and so handsome. I want him to take me with me so I can stare at him forever.

His long fingers make quick work of the buttons of his shirt and his palms smooth the creases before he fixes his jacket. Then he scoops up the tie from the ground and frowns.

“That just won’t do. My wife bought me this tie; she’ll notice the stains.” His words set me back into reality and remind me of the type of men that I dance for. “Dispose of it.” He holds it out for me to take, which, as a paid subject, I do without issue.

“Safe journeys, my Lord Duke.” I say and take a step backwards so I’m not blocking his path to the door.

He walks past without sparing me another glance. The door closes, sending a draft slamming into my back, leaving me feeling empty and dirty. It’s not until Shade switches the lights on and lets in the woman who does the cleaning that I spot the roll of notes left on the throne.

I feel even emptier when I pick them up. I just had the best orgasm of my life and it was paid for. It meant nothing.

“How much did he leave you?” Rick asks the second I step from the room.

“I didn’t count it,” I respond and clutch the long roll of lace to my chest. “Can I go to my room and shower?”

“Money first, baby. You know the rules.”

I stop in the hall, sighing deeply, and find the roll from the middle of the lace. He takes it and starts counting.

“Five grand, not bad. Not great either. The guy with glasses left you six.” He counts it again before claiming his forty percent cut and leaving me to pocket the rest. That’s the way this works. For his protection, his rooms, his cleaner and lifts to and from work, I have to give him a hefty cut. At least we all get a bonus every six months when the members pay their bills. It’s still good money. Money for our future. Max’s and mine.

“He was definitely tested wasn’t he?” I blurt, suddenly feel panicked at how easily I touched him and myself without the thought even crossing my mind. When in the throes of passion and bliss it’s hard to focus on the fact that diseases are real and easily caught.

“You know he was,” Rick says and then his head whips around to face me. “You didn’t fuck him did you?”

Eye roll. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Because even though they’re tested every few months, there’s still a chance that they could contract something in their spare time.” His fingers snag my elbow. “These men seem high-class but look where they are. This is… no offense… a whore house. Always tread on the side of caution.” He pulls out his phone and begins tapping away at the screen. “I’ll book you in for a routine test on Friday.”

“Thank you,” I say and step into the elevator.

Max slips his hand down the front of my jumper and grabs my right breast. I slap at his wrist; worried people will see. We’re sat under a tree in Rowntree Park, by the lake. I’m throwing bread to the ducks, leaning back against Max’s chest as he loses himself in yet another Sci-fi novel. Or at least he was losing himself in it before he became crude and started fondling me in public.

“Why don’t you wear something like that on Friday?” He points his book at a woman walking her dogs in the distance. She’s wearing a skimpy blue playsuit and odd-looking strappy sandals.

“You know I hate dressing like that. What’s wrong with my jeans and T-shirts?”

He kisses my temple. “Nothing. It’d just be nice to see you in something different.”

“You see me in something different almost every night,” I snap, tiring of the conversation. “Why do you want other people to see me that way?” If only he knew just how many other people see me in such a state of undress.

I tell myself that Masked Enna isn’t real; she’s just a means to an end. That isn’t me. I’m the baggy shirt wearing wife of a broken man who loves me above all else.

That’s who I am.

The fact I’m lying to his face every day about what I do just so we can live and buy a house together makes me feel nauseous.

I’m doing it for us.

“You have such an amazing body.” He tells me this often and it never ceases to make me blush. “I want to show you off. I want my friends to want you.”

I whip around to face him, no longer blushing. “You want your friends to want me?”

“I want them to envy me.”

“You are messed up.” I pull myself to my feet and brush the grass from my trousers. “Besides, the last time I wore something revealing you ended up in a fight and didn’t talk to me for a week like it was
my
fault.” Another reason why I keep myself concealed. It isn’t worth the hassle.

Shrugging, he stands too and throws his arm around my shoulders. I tip the rest of the duck food into the lake. I don’t give them bread; it’s bad for them and duck food costs next to nothing.

“I won on the football the other night,” he finally tells me. I’ve asked him about that a few times. “So I want to take you out tonight.”

“No, if you won then you can put it into savings towards a new house.” I know I probably sound like such a bitch but I’m sick of being the only responsible one sometimes. I’d rather eat cheap soup and noodles for a year and have a new house by the end of it than spend a fortune eating out and feeling bloated afterwards with nothing to gain but inches on my arse.

He lets out a long sigh but doesn’t argue. We walk along the edge of the lake and I stare at his profile. He’s so handsome. Always has been. He knows it too; he’s an arrogant sod sometimes but I find it quite attractive in him. When he isn’t being flirtatious with other women.

Not that I can talk, considering what I do for a living.

His phone rings and his frown is deep when he sees that it’s his auntie calling, the woman that raised him. His mum killed herself by accident when he was just eight years old. She was high on drugs and jumped off a bridge with an umbrella thinking she’d land safely like Mary Poppins. It’s been the butt of many jokes over the years unfortunately.

Poor Max, it still affects him to this day

“Hey, Aunt Theresa.” He falls silent as he listens to her. “No, of course I’m not in any trouble… I don’t know who the fuck… sorry.” I hear her snap at him for swearing. “What are you talking about? Okay…” He looks at me and I question him with my eyes. He shrugs. “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. We’re just at Rowntree.” He growls when she starts yelling at him for taking up her time, something about a hair appointment. “Fine, tell them to come to ours. You know the address.” He hangs up and shoves his phone into his jacket pocket.

“What’s going on?” I ask calmly.

“Apparently two guys showed up at my aunt's house looking for me.”

I blanch, my heart hammering in my chest. “You haven’t done something stupid have you?”

“No.” He stops and takes my hands in his. “I promise. I’m not that guy any more. I want to be good for you now. I want us to have the house so we can have the babies and start to pave our way in life.”

This brings me some relief. I know that if it were something to do with him being in trouble, he wouldn’t be so honest and he certainly wouldn’t let them come to our house. He’d be too scared of how I’d react and too scared that I’d get hurt, so I give him the benefit of the doubt and try to relax as we walk home.

“Did she say what they wanted?”

“It’s apparently confidential.” Is his cryptic response.

Okay, so I’m nervous again.

We walk home in near silence, our steps swift. We don’t live too far from the park fortunately; it’s why we come to it often. It’s a free day out and such a beautiful place to visit.

York is such a beautiful place to live, though I’m not from here originally.

“I’m guessing that is them?” I point out a shiny black Jaguar parked on the road opposite our building. “I don’t like this.” I admit when the car doors open and out step two men. One is large, in a black turtleneck and suit pants. He’s so intimidating. I feel Max tense at the sight of him too.

The man beside him is shorter, though not short, and wears a brown suit and shiny black shoes. His white hair is combed over a balding scalp. He crosses the road with graceful strides, his back poised, and for a moment I panic. Has one of my clients come here seeking me? They’re all certainly wealthy enough to hire these types of people.

I’ve been blaming my husband the entire way home and not once did it occur to me that my shady dealings could be the cause.

“You’re trembling,” Max says softly and brings my hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles.

Should I tell him the truth before he finds out from other people? But if that’s the case… why? Why would they do this? Maybe it’s a client’s pissed off wife!

Oh god.

I’m screwed.

They’re coming over!

“You must be Max Corbin?” The older fellow extends his hand to my husband when we meet on the pavement. The larger guy hangs back, his body tense and alert. Clearly he is the older fellow’s bodyguard. Max nods and the man swiftly extends his hand to me. His smile is kind as he brings my hand to his lips. “And you must be the lovely Mrs Corbin?”

“That I am.” I adjust the messy bun on my head and clear my throat.

“I’m Sir Wilson and this is my guard, Abraham.” I feel like I’ve stepped into another time.

Sir
?

I offer for them to come inside and they follow, frowning as they take in our home with no small amount of pity on their faces. It’s well decorated, clean and cosy, but I bet you could fit this entire flat in his garage.

Not that I care.

To my surprise,
Sir
Wilson sits on our small, grey sofa without complaint. Abraham remains by the door, poised and ready to leap.

“Can I offer you a drink?” I ask, trying to be the good hostess to an unwelcome guest.

“No thank you, dear girl. I’ll get straight to business.” He looks to Max who is sitting on the footstool by the old box TV. “I’m sorry to intrude on your time like this but I’m not free now for another two months.”

“No problem,” he answers and rests his arms on his knees. I hate how slouched he is but I don’t say anything. A good partner doesn’t berate their significant other in front of others. They wait until all others have gone. “Why are you here, exactly?”

“I’m unsure if you’re aware of your father’s heritage.”

Max shifts in his seat. “I’ve never met my father.”

“I’m aware of the circumstances. It’s an unfortunate tale but I wasn’t sure if your mother had happened to mention…”

“Mum’s dead.”

Wilson blanches and his lips part. “I’m terribly sorry… when did this…?”

“When I was eight.”

“I wasn’t made aware of this before my visit. I wasn’t made aware of a lot of things. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Max waves him off; he hates speaking about it. Not that I blame him. “If he suddenly wants to know me, I’m not interested.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Unfortunately, your father passed away five months ago.” Wilson doesn’t seem affected by this so they couldn’t have been close. I wish he’d just hurry this up. My nerves are eating at me. “Your father, unbeknownst to you, was a man of power. He owned multiple companies and car dealerships, but more importantly he was the Duke of York.”

My heart stops as I think back to my client a few nights ago.

“Would it please you, my Lord Duke?”

I suddenly feel nauseous.

Max snorts, breaking through my haze of thoughts. “I feel like there’s a bad joke in there somewhere. Are you kidding? Is this some kind of prank?”

“I assure you, it isn’t.”

“What? Has he left me money or something in his will?”

His excitement at this prospect doesn’t go unnoticed but it does go ignored as Wilson pushes on. “No, no money. You weren’t mentioned in the will. Your father wasn’t the nicest man, but let’s not speak ill of the dead.”

The excitement in Max’s eyes dies.

“I’m here because, after his death, the press and his competitors in the stock and business world started digging up old secrets.” He pulls on his tie. “You have an older brother who is interested in meeting you. He knew nothing of your existence until recently.”

Max remains silent for the longest moment; his face is so blank even I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Is my brother also a Duke?”

“He is now that his father… ahem… your father has passed. He deeply regrets that you haven’t been able to connect sooner.”

I feel sick. I’m going to vomit.             

What are the chances? It can’t be possible.

“What is the name of his brother?” I ask, wanting to run to the library so I can use the computer to search him. I want pictures… I need to know if the man I serviced and his brother are one and the same. This is so messed up.

“You’ll know in due time. First we’ll need to set up contractual agreements to protect the Duke’s and your mutual discretion.” He begins rifling through his briefcase. “As you can imagine, the Lord Duke has many enemies trying to exploit him and his private life.”

“That’s fine,” Max says, looking a bit stupefied. “This is insane.”

Wilson nods, looking sheepish.

“And this definitely isn’t a prank?”

“Most certainly not.”

Max’s smile shines brightly at me. “I have a brother. How crazy is that?”

“Mental,” I mutter and feel my stomach churn. Why is this happening to me? This can’t be happening. “Does his brother live in York?”

“No, he lives many places but York isn’t a place he frequents often. Now that he has the title, however, he has to show his face here a little more.”

Wilson pulls a folder from his briefcase and unfolds it, revealing familiar looking contractual agreements. “If you could both read through these and sign where appropriate…”

Max doesn’t hesitate to put pen to paper, something else I’ll berate him for later.

I thoroughly read mine, checking the terms as I go.

“Smart woman,” Abraham comments and Max shoots him a scowl.

“I must tell you that if the press gets wind of this, they will turn it into a big deal so be silent on the subject. My employer and old friend, your father, the Lord Duke Graham George Henderson the third, had a very high standing in today's society. His son and your half-brother, the Lord Duke Elijah Graham George Henderson the first, also holds a very high standing in today's society. The title itself may not be of much standing, but their stocks and shares alone mean they hold a wealth and a gathering of peers that most aren’t fortunate to have.”

I see Max’s eyes flash. He smells money and a lot of it. How am I going to keep him humble now? Money makes him rotten. This has come at the worst time.

“Now, when do I get to meet my brother from another mother?” Max asks, rubbing his hands together.