Rather: The Therapist (The Grey List #2)

Prologue

Nice and easy, my boy .

Tension coiled the pit of my stomach. The fork dangled in the air with medium rare, pan-seared filet mignon at the tip. With patience, I waited for it to disappear into the small mouth just inches away from me at the dinner table.

I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. The moment was pivotal. Any interruption could be the ending of a hopeful beginning. Each second pulled at my heartstrings.

Fuck.

The fork lowered, inch by inch, until it reached the glass plate.

Clink .

Another milestone was buried in the graveyard where hundreds more had gone to rest until being excavated. Some had only rested for days. Some for weeks. Others for months. Some we’d never see again, because they were simply too overwhelming for the small imbalance and big emotions to manage.

A faint sigh slipped through my slightly parted lips. Displays of exasperation were prohibited in fatherhood. In my case, essentially. It promoted discouragement and triggered stressors we fought hard to keep hidden behind my son’s handsome face.

Princeton wasn’t average. And, nothing about the way I’d chosen to parent him was either. He was special. I knew it. He knew it. And, everyone around us did, too.

In a single gaze, orbs could easily determine his level of difficulties functioning in a world built with children like him on the chopping block.

“Mm mm. Mm mm.”

The same, repetitive sound erupted from his lips as his head lowered and the side of his index finger went into his mouth. Flared nostrils contradicted the splintering of my heart.

The lack of communication, the inability to speak, and all the other shit stopping Princeton from being the adventurous, independent child he was trying so desperately to be gutted me so often. I wondered just how much I had left to carve.

“Hey.” I softened, weakening my resolve to meet him on the level he demanded. “Hey. Another day. There’s always another day, son.”

Though my words had a visible effect, the rocking had already commenced. The whipping of his head from one side to the other continued. The switch had been flipped and until his body and mind aligned, he wouldn’t be able to control his movements.

My lids sealed briefly. When I reopened them, an unfamiliar set of eyes rested on Princeton’s wiggly frame. My body began to overheat as boiling blood cruised through my veins. The pistol that was seated on my lap was now in my hand.

My finger was on the trigger, ready to apply the four pounds of pressure required to put a bullet right through the eyes of the busboy with a smile on his face and the deflated chest from sniggering quietly.

I’ll deflate that motherfucker for good .

“Mm mm. Mm mm.”

The only sound I’d ever heard come from my son’s mouth put life back into perspective for me. I released the breath I’d been holding and stood, instead. Catching an unnecessary body with him by my side would stretch his mind beyond its current capacity. I wouldn’t forgive myself.

My feet began the short journey despite my thoughts taking a second to catch up. Not willing to cause my son any more trouble, I clutched my piece as I stepped to the very rude, very uninformed employee. My tolerance was nonexistent when it came to Princeton, and I’d never had an issue making it clear for anyone.

“Say.” Clearing my throat, I wiped the sides of my mouth with my thumb and index.

My presence was unwelcomed. That much was obvious. I didn’t give a fuck. I hoped that was obvious as well.

“Do me a favor, homeboy.”

With the back of my hand, I patted his chest. His body swayed each time I landed.

“Yo, man, wh–”

“You see that young boy you’re so fucking amused by over there?”

I nodded toward Princeton.

“I– sor–”

“Take off his uniform and clock out for me. Don’t expect this period’s pay. He’s taking that and spending it on some legos in the toy section as compensation for the turmoil stares from inconsiderate fuckers like you cause him. See, though he’s not up to your standard, he’s a superb boy. He designed this entire fucking layout with a dull pencil he sharpened on the concrete because pencil sharpeners are triggering.

“And, after he finished with that nub, he arranged legos until his fingers began peeling, desperately needing to see his vision come to life. A vision that is providing for you, whoever you’re fucking and whoever you’re feeding. Before you judge another book by its cover, think about how you almost lost your life bout this one. Instead, it’s your job.”

I tapped the name tag on his shirt. “Have a nice night, Jerod.”

Fucking heathen. Imbecile . I scoffed, heading back to the table where Princeton’s stemming had begun to slow to a creep.

“You ready, son?”

I’d vomited words, a habit I picked up after Princeton’s diagnosis. It was hard, saying less while more thoughts rushed through others. Deading their ignorance with words to protect my son’s peace was thorns in my side when I’d much rather deaden the beat of their hearts. I’d sleep peacefully at night with one less fool in the world.

Princeton was a genius in his own right. It wasn’t debatable. Though he wasn’t frolicking around, blabbering, and active like the average three and a half year old, the intricacies of his brain were far from average. His mind didn’t function like theirs either. He was wise beyond his years.

His head lifted and fell rapidly. I tucked my piece in my waistline and stretched my hand for him to find. Dark ink on even darker skin peeped from underneath the white shirt and black suit, concealing its intensity. Small, cool fingers collapsed around mine, replenishing the parts of me that were gutted with each obstacle life deemed impossible for him.

Food sensitivity .

It was one of the earliest signs of autism in Princeton. Eating had always been such an easy task. I never imagined how difficult it was for some. Not until him.

With Princeton by my side, I strolled through the establishment his contributions had made possible. It was one of the few business opportunities he’d presented to me. It wasn’t often he handed me a sketch from his book. He was sensitive about his artwork.

Countless hours went into his drawings. However, four of them had been ripped at the seams and placed in my hand. Without words, my young son had given me the foundation for my next investment. Our next investment.

Low lighting emphasized the city’s backdrop. Clarke’s skyline lit the space perfectly at night. Natural lighting opened it tremendously with the rising of the sun and just before its setting.

The bar swept from one side to the other. Chatter that usually sent Princeton spiraling was welcomed. This place was familiar to him. He knew every inch of the building. Not only was it his creation, but it was a reminder that he was loved, cared for, and listened to even if he never said a fucking word.

There was a tug from below, pulling my arm in the opposite direction. Furrowed eyebrows demonstrated my confusion.

Son .

His strength was impeccable. Though it wasn’t enough to redirect me, it shifted my gears.

“Princet–”

A soft, disheartening voice disrupted every thought of mine, completely obliterating my sanity with little regard. Quickly followed by generous giggles that signaled contentment, happiness, and enjoyment, I was given very limited time for recovery. Confusion rearranged my facial structure.

And, that laugh .

I remembered it well. For two and a half years I’d heard it continuously. Every day. Several times a day. It was once the most beautiful sound to come from a human’s lips.

My human .

That laughter made everything alright. Made everything well. So, inevitably, I longed for it. Craved it. Encouraged it. And, I listened with my heart more than my ears when it surfaced.

“Son, n–”

My words were incapable of rendering him motionless. They didn’t stop his tiny feet from taking off, obliterating the distance from the subject and leaving me in the dust.

Fuck .

Swiftly, he climbed onto the leather, planted his body firmly against a growing belly, and laid his head against the chest of the woman who’d birthed him. Contorted features and the lack of reciprocation made it difficult for me to continue in stride.

My heart had broken a thousand times and nine hundred and ninety-nine of them were dedicated to my son. This one wasn’t any different from the others, but it hurt a little more because I witnessed his longing for attention and love from a woman who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

As beautiful as Lola was, she was poisonous. Flawed. Inauthentic. Scandalous. Pathetic. A real fucking piece of shit.

I hadn’t always considered her in those regards, but the birth of our son exposed her true character, forcing me to be more vigilant and considerate of who I involved myself with.

At one point, she was destined to be my wife. I was certain we’d wed. Our union would be the first of the family. I was the oldest of my siblings. It was fitting. But, Princeton changed it all.

His diagnosis didn’t align with Lola’s vision. Perfect life. Perfect home. Perfect husband. Perfect children. Perfect –

“Baby,” her date voiced, clearing his throat in confusion. “Do you know this kid?”

Tension grew as I approached the table, carefully scooping Princeton into my arms. His resistance pierced the center of my chest, aiming straight for the heart he owned every inch of.

“Mm Mmm! Mmmmm!”

“I– I– uh,” Lola stuttered.

She was as stunning as I remembered. But, those pretty layers were concealing so many ugly characteristics. Honey colored eyes refused to hold my gaze. Shame filled her to the brim, splitting her nerve endings and making it difficult to sit still.

For six months I’d been trying to catch up with her. The round belly and incredibly offensive engagement ring on her finger helped me connect the dots and understand why I hadn’t bumped into her. She was busy nailing the coffin of her next victim.

My eyes grew tired of trying to locate the beauty of the diamond on her finger. It was dull. It was embarrassingly small. It was, in fact, a carat or less. And, I could almost guarantee it was on a payment plan. Satisfaction lulled my aching heart. Lola had gotten exactly what she deserved. A fucking downgrade.

“She carried him for nine months and spent the first year of his life by his side. I’d assume she knows him.”

“He’s– he’s yours?”

Disgust lined her frame. With her nose stuck in the air, she began to explain.

“Howard, I–”

“He was,” I interrupted, not interested in the filth she was preparing to spew.

I unlocked my personal cell phone and accessed the files. I didn’t have to scroll far, because there were only a handful of documents saved. They were all pertaining to Princeton. The final one, however, was the only one I was interested in at the moment.

It was a court-ordered document that had been stored after several attempts to have the papers signed in a legal setting where lawyers and a judge were both present. Lola’s absence at the custody hearings made the completion of the paperwork impossible.

“The paperwork you requested,” I reminded her, placing the phone on the table in front of her.

“I– Priest. Wait.”

“Sign those for me, Lola.”

I lowered Princeton onto the floor. He clung to my leg, hiding his face behind my pants. When I unlocked the second phone to document the signature process, which my lawyer had suggested as proof of authenticity, hazel orbs glared at me through the lens of the iPhone.

“Lola.”

“Can we do this another time? I am having dinner with my fiancé,” she sassed, rediscovering her power, suddenly.

As much as a cordial meeting and simple signing was my desire, I didn’t mind matching the hell she was ready to indulge in. The difference between us was that she ran when the heat was increased. I planted my feet and waited patiently to be engulfed in flames. I didn’t mind burning, especially for Princeton.

With my free hand, I removed my piece from my waist and aimed it in her fiancé's direction. My arm extended until his temple met the coolness of my Beretta.

“Hey. Hey. Man, wh–” he gasped, hands in the air as if they would stop his ending.

“When he’s eating dirt, those papers will still need to be signed.”

I nodded toward the phone. Her hesitation curled my lips upward.

“Suits me–”

My finger pressured the trigger, ready to witness her squeal while begging for the same attention and love from a corpse as my son did whenever they crossed paths. She, too, was dead to me, so the score would be even in my opinion.

As if she was waving a magic wand, her finger began twirling across the screen.

“Here!”

Sliding the phone across the table, she released a shaky breath.

“My God.”

Agitation was one of many emotions displayed through movements and expressions.

“He can’t save you, either, Lola. Not from me.”

“Prie–”

“Fortunately, you’re no longer on my radar.”

“Lola, what the fuck is going on?” Clueless, her fiancé breathed.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Congratulations on the baby, Howard. Hopefully she gets around to telling you about the one she birthed and deemed unfit for her lifestyle yet is responsible for the architect of the very restaurant you’re sitting in tonight.”

I pulled Princeton into my arms and tucked my piece, simultaneously. With both cell phones in hand, I trekked toward the door. Though I was seething at the lack of interest Princeton’s womb donor had for him, obtaining her signature, terminating her parental rights, soothed the aches and made for a perfect dinner night.

“Mr. Valentine.”

“Mr. Valentine.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Valentine.”

“Good evening, Sir.”

“Let me get the door for you.”

It wasn’t a secret I owned the establishment. Front-of-the-house staff were privy to the information. Not because I’d shared it but because they were the bread and butter of the company.

When Christmas bonuses were distributed, I handed them out personally. Those familiar faces that saw me every other week for my night out with Princeton at the only restaurant he didn’t need his headphones for were flabbergasted as they accepted envelopes stuffed with hundreds of thank yous.

The evening air was free of humidity. A slight, steady breeze lowered my temperature and kissed my cheeks. Victory was mine. Princeton was mine, wholly. Mine alone.

A single tap of my fob unlocked the doors of the Ghost. The tip of its nose caved to reveal the jet-black Rolls Royce emblem. It rose to the occasion as my engine roared due to a remote-controlled start.

Sleek and black in color, it suited the name it had been given. Without the city lights of the night, one would have a hard time adjusting their vision to pinpoint the damn thing. Though it was massive in size, it camouflaged well. The simplistic design gave it that ability.

“Here.”

Princeton’s best friend tumbled to the ground as I opened the door. The reverse concept was ideal for mothers and fathers with children still in elevated seats for their safety and protection.

Together.

Separately.

I repeated the steps in my head, remembering to fasten every snap so I didn’t find Princeton on the floor, attempting to crawl underneath my seat, again. The mistake of ignoring the second step because we were running slightly behind for The Gathering one Sunday evening proved to be a mistake just minutes after taking off.

With Woody in his hands and his body secured in his car seat, I checked the child safety lock out of sheer habit before shutting the door and taking my seat behind the wheel. Out of the parking lot and into the Clarke streets, Princeton and I cruised. Every other Thursday evening, it was more of the same.

Routines.

They made our world revolve as seamlessly as it possibly could. On Thursdays, we ditched the dinner table for dinner at Spectrum .

The leather’s warmth intensified under the pressure of my hand. Tightly, I gripped it as I angled the wheels toward the exit of the lot. A calm, steady flow of instruments filled the ride, keeping Princeton settled and in tune with reality.

Slowly, I bent every necessary corner and stopped at every traffic light glowing red. Nineteen minutes later and I killed the engine in the six-car garage. Eagerly, Princeton waited to be removed from his seat and placed on his feet. With his hand in mine, we entered our home through the back.

One by one, we removed our shoes, using our toes to slide them off the heels of our feet. We took the stairs to the second floor and straight to my son’s bedroom. There, I kneeled before him, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

I pushed the tailored jacket down his arms and hung it on the hanger dangling from the wardrobe rack where his dirty clothes were housed. Next was his shirt, and then finally, the Hermès belt and slacks. Stripped down to his boxers, he stood with Woody nestled against his chest.

I pulled back his sheets and patted the bed, wishing I could suggest a bath but he had associated the task with daylight and there wasn’t any convincing him of anything else.

Routines . I reminded myself.

He lived by them. He functioned with them in place. It was part of the reason he was as bright as he was and as collected on a daily basis.

“Here, son.”

Nodding, he skipped toward the bed with his eyes low and his head hung.

Please, my boy .

Before he leaped into bed, I stopped him in his tracks and took both of his hands into mine.

“Hey. Hey.”

I lifted my head, becoming the example he needed. I’d lifted his head with my fingers far too many times before. He had the strength to do it himself. We were working on the confidence to keep it there and maintain eye contact.

“Up, up.”

With a shake of the head, he pierced my heart.

“No?”

He shook his head again. His inability to maintain eye contact wasn’t the case here. It was his unwillingness. He was exercising his right of expression in our home, though words weren’t a part of his display.

“Talk to me, son. Is something bothering you?”

Silence.

“Something hurting?”

He nodded.

“What’s hurting?”

He placed a hand on his chest. I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled my legs around me to sit down. I closed the gap between us by scooting closer to Princeton. This time, I struggled with words.

“I– I apologize, son. For anything I’ve said or done to hur–”

He shook his head slowly, halting me.

“Then, what’s the matter?”

Learning I wasn’t the culprit saved me a year’s worth of heartache.

He spread his fingers, reopening the wound in my chest. When he lifted his right hand, I tried closing my lids. My brain, however, didn’t send the signal. By the time his thumb hit his chin, signaling the only verbal attempt he’d ever made since his first birthday.

Mom . He signed.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

Again, and, again, as his foot pounced on the ground as the anguish on his face stretched his features a little more each time. Until, eventually, tears blurred it all.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

He wept.

It was all he knew. All he’d ever known. And, for the first year of her absence, it was all he ever signed. All day. Every day, until the space between his thumb and index finger grew raw. His chin still had a lighter tone where he placed his thumb religiously for thirteen months straight. It had only been a year since stemming had turned into a more settling, more controllable rock he could pull himself out of when his body and mind aligned.

“So— son,” I coughed out, masking the cracking of my voice. I hardly recognized it as the word surfaced.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

Mom.

I pulled him into my arms, because there wasn’t anything I could say or do to heal his broken heart. At three, he wasn’t privy to the despicable traits his mother harbored. All he knew was at one point she loved him unconditionally and then she was gone.

While most children didn’t remember much until the age of five, they never forgot people they loved and people who loved them well. Until his diagnosis, his mother had loved him well. He was having trouble forgetting that shit and the fact she wasn’t willing to anymore.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Princeton. You’re okay,” I promised, unable to maintain my composure.

When my son hurt, so did I.

“We’re okay. We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Son, there’s no need to cry. Not everyone deserves you. Not everyone deserves us. You have me. And– and I’ll never– I’ll never leave you. I will be by your side until my last breath. You’ll always have me. You hear me?”

I separated our chests, needing to see those brown eyes as I spoke life into his lifeless heart.

“Princeton, your father will never leave you. Ever. You mean the world to me, son. Yo– you’re better than my wildest dreams. You’re so smart. So sharp. So talented. So gifted. You– you’re okay, son. You’re loved.

“Wholly. Widely. Largely. Unconditionally. Not just by me but by all your uncles. Your grandfather. Your grandmother. Both of them. Mommy isn’t coming back, son. It’s just you– you and me. You hear? And, we’re going to be alright. Okay?”

Slowly, he nodded up and down. This time when he lifted his hand, it wasn’t to his chin. It was to my face to wipe the tears I’d kept at bay for two years.

“Appreciate that, buddy,” I scoffed, pissed I’d even allowed her to fuck up our night. “Appreciate that.”

Tucked away in bed, I began a large circle on Princeton’s back. It was the calming mechanism I’d learned nearly three years ago and it still soothed him when his emotions were larger than he could bear. Slowly, he drifted, sniffles continuing to riddle his little body.

With the glass of brown liquor in my hand, I slouched in the large chair that accommodated my extensive limbs. Inward, my nostrils shrunk. And, then, outward, they expanded as I stared out into the dark of the night. Aside from the city lights, glowing blue water in the pool of my backyard, and the twinkle of the stars, nothing else was visible.

Fucking bitch .

My chest caved as the glass went flying. On the floor, it landed, clashing against the marble. Respect and women were hand-in-hand. My tongue was hardly sharp when in the presence of, speaking to, or speaking about such beautiful creatures. But, there was one who’d left a bitter taste in my mouth I hadn’t been able to shake in two years.

“Urgh.”

Because of her, I hadn’t touched, noticed, or entertained a woman since she walked out of our son’s life. Not because I didn’t want to or because I didn’t crave the very essence, the very scent of a woman, but because my focus hadn’t departed from obtaining full custody of my son. Now that his womb donor had signed over her rights, I could rest.

Or at least, I imagined I’d be able to on this day. I imagined it would be one of the happiest of my life, but instead, I was nursing the same wounds my son had, praying my love for him was enough to set his little soul on fire.

“Mr. Valentine.”

Nikola’s soft voice failed to move me. To soothe me. To soothe my ache.

“Is everything okay?”

She tiptoed around the chair, noticing the shattered glass, immediately.

“Sit tight. I’ll clean it.”

“Thank you,” I cleared my throat.

As my home’s manager, she oversaw all things, including Princeton. He was the reason she was home as much as she was. She took good care of him on a daily basis. Thankful would be an understatement when trying to explain my appreciation for her.

“Don’t thank me,” she begged, “Please. Go ahead. You made plans tonight. Don’t let whatever is bothering you keep you inside. Go. Go. Princeton will be fine and I can handle this.”

“I–”

“Mr. Valentine,” she warned with slits for eyes, “Go ahead. We’ll be here when you return.”

I had made plans tonight, but after Spectrum, there was nowhere I’d rather be than home with Princeton. I strolled toward the full bar with an entrance near the staircase while fastening the button of my suit jacket.

If I stuck around a second longer, I’d dismiss my plans, grab Princeton from underneath his sheets, and lay him under mine. He deserved a little more love and affection tonight. Shit, we both did.

Inside my cave, I grabbed a bottle of Hennessy and poured myself a healthy shot. Before I could close the cap, the glass was emptied. The invitation I’d scanned carefully for the twelfth time sat on the counter where I’d left it. Picking it up, I stared at the chocolate-colored textured paper.

The Mansion

Private Suite 102

Foiled coating on the letters made it shine, even in the dark, as it moved. The ten-thousand dollar tab was a hefty one to pay for entry to The Mansion. The six-thousand dollar bill for the designated suite felt like a stretch but curiosity had me sending the wire transfer after the fourth month of contemplation.

I’d suppressed the urge to commit for some time. Tonight being my first appearance made more sense than I’d considered when I made the appointment. The tension in my neck and chest matched the tension in my dick and balls. They were both begging to be relieved and it started with the card in my hand.

The Mansion was the organization. Private Suites were their specialty. Their business was designed with the wealthy in mind. Their establishment wasn’t a club. It wasn’t a sex operation. It wasn’t a party. It was a place of residence for those who lacked time due to their business obligations, yet still recognized their body’s natural yearning for sexual gratification.

The kind that didn’t lead to more. The kind that was never mentioned in conversation with others. The kind that was a secret. The kind that was as plentiful as one needed.

And, clean.

Private.

Risk-free.

Available as needed .

There weren’t women walking around who were looking to score a few bucks. Each woman who entered The Mansion paid just as much as the man they were in search of to be there. Her pockets were laced and her time was limited.

Identities were concealed behind masquerade masks. The color of your mask revealed exactly what you were interested in. There were only four to choose from.

Cream – Vanilla

Yellow – Gender Play

Red – Romance (Domestic Roles, including S/D)

Black – BDSM

I was torn between the first and third options. On one hand, I wanted the simplicity of sex to work in my favor, emptying my balls fast and viciously, so I could get back home. Simultaneously, I craved the adventure the red mask would lead me to.

Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I tapped the invitation on the counter before stepping away completely. I had time to finalize my decision. When I stepped into my suite, I was certain I’d know exactly what I wanted and exactly who I wanted.

The night was still young. The clock had barely struck ten. With any luck, lust would have me home by one. However, I wasn’t quite certain what the night entailed or what experience I was truly embarking on. Blindly, I would be entering Private Suites. Knowledgeable, I would emerge.

The wheels of my Ghost glided across Clarke’s cemented streets. Silence coated the air. No Hip Hop. No R&B. No Soul. No Jazz. Just thoughts. Obsessive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts. Relentless thoughts.

While Lola’s pregnancy and engagement weren’t the root of my issue, they only intensified my resentment for her existence. She was the donor of my son and a woman, nonetheless. Hadn’t she been either, her brains would be on the pavement for the world to see.

She’d been spared and that was my issue. It was uncharacteristic of me–sparing any fucking body.

Princeton .

He was the exception. And, for him, the woman who’d birthed him was still breathing, against my better judgment. She’d written our son off, found another motherfucker to unleash one of her thirty personalities on, gotten impregnated, and engaged.

“Hmph.”

Scoffing, I shook my head. Life spit you out, lubed you up, and then fucked you over and over. It was pathetic to even consider. She was bringing another life into the world while trying to forget the one she created and abandoned. One who lived in the same state. The same fucking city.

Pathetic .

Disgust consumed me. Confined me to my displeasure. Reminded me of my disdain. Summoned my distaste. There wasn’t a motherfucker in the world I hated the way I hated that motherfucker. In fact, there wasn’t a motherfucker in the world I hated at all besides her. The rest of them were dead.

Me and a motherfucker I despised couldn’t both breathe on the same planet. They were better wherever one transitioned to. The afterlife, I imagine. And, if they knew any better, they wouldn’t be there when I got there, either. History would only repeat itself, no matter when, where, or how many times.

A ping from my cell reeled me back in, removing me from the depths instantly. Keeping my eyes on the road, I managed to unlock my screen with a six digit code. My mother’s face popped up on the screen, casting a calm over my spirit, over my body almost immediately.

A smile pierced my face before I had a chance to open the message. It didn’t matter what her words said or what they meant, their timing was impeccable. Always was, just as she was.

Dear Lady . Her contact was one of the few that brightened everything around me.

In bed and you’re heavy on my heart. You’re a dream, son. Princeton and I are blessed to call you ours.

I don’t belong to you two alone. I teased, imagining her scrunched features.

Gray bubbles appeared. Without a doubt, she was speed typing.

Well, that is true but you’re ours the most. I just gave you a compliment. Should I take it back?

Goodnight Dear Lady .

Goodnight son .

My mother and father had profound respect for one another, however they weren’t and never would be anything more than friends. I’d come to terms with the fact that my conception was accidental and a very pivotal point of both of their lives. Shit wasn’t sweet then, but it is the sweetest now.

My father was with the woman he’d rest beside when their time on earth expired. And, my mother still maintained her singlehood since the love of her life was laid to rest. They were both utterly happy and settled into their roles as my parents and Princeton’s grandparents. They were his glue. They kept him together even when he only felt like falling apart.

Turning my attention, that should’ve never been divided, back onto the road, I made the final turn. As I approached the gates with The Mansion scribed in iron, I readied the code sent hours prior as a result of confirming my attendance for the night.

“Good evening, Sir. Code, please.”

Dressed in black with a white shirt peeking through his suit, security stood beside my car with his arms folded and his chin lowered.

“PS102. Angeles,” I recited the words displayed on my screen.

“Mr. Valentine?”

He wasn’t familiar with me, but he was familiar with the schedule. Seemingly, he studied it religiously so he was well-versed on the comings and goings of the guests. There were designated times for everyone on the list. They were firm and stood ten toes down when it came to their privacy policies and protecting the privacy of the people who trusted them with their fantasies, fetishes, kinks, and secrets.

I respected it. Privacy wasn’t exactly my purpose for joining, though I’d maintain it. Convenience and suppression of my own sexual desires were. I needed my dick wet. It was simple. And, I didn’t want a bird bitch to wet it. I wanted a woman of elegance.

A woman of virtue. A woman with just as much to lose as I did. A woman who could hold her own. A woman who needed nothing more from me than good memories, an occasionally sore frame, and mind-boggling orgasms. She had to be ready and willing to have her back blown to smithereens.

“Correct.”

“This way, Sir. We have complimentary transportation to your suite if your privacy is–”

“There’s no need.”

“Good, then, Sir. This way,” he said, pointing straight ahead. “Around the waterfall, across the bridge, and into the garage marked PS102.

“You’ll have immediate access to your suite, but the door will not unlock until the garage is completely closed. This is for your safety and privacy as well as others.”

“Noted.”

The gravel cracked under the pressure of my tires. Leaving the window down, I caught the slight breeze with gratitude. My lungs needed the fresh air. My mind needed the escape nature provided.

The grounds were manicured perfectly. Sculptures sprouted occasionally. They were massive in size and strategically placed so their presence wasn’t too daunting for guests, I assumed.

Garages, some doubled and others oversized singles lined the first floor of each building. There were four, fairly small and all with two stories.

PS102 . It was already lifted, waiting on my arrival. I pulled in, deadened my engine, and climbed out of my car. Before I managed to grab the garage opener from its slot on the wall, the door closed behind me.

Once it lined with the concrete beneath it the light on the steel door changed in color. Swiftly, the red circle glowed a bold green. A lone, feminine voice came over the loudspeaker right beside the door.

“Welcome, Mr. Valentine. I am Ursula, your personal consultant. I’d like to personally welcome you to The Mansion’s Private Suites. There are a few rules I must reiterate though I’m sure you’ve familiarized yourself with our policies. Are you listening, Mr. Valentine?”

Moved by the gentleness of her tone, I chuckled. With a tilted skull, I placed a thumb against the right side of my chin, baffled by the enchantment. It had caught me by surprise, so had my virtual guest.

“I’m listening, Ursula, but I’d listen better if you were in my face and not o–”

“Mr. Valentine,” she sniggered, losing her composure.

“I don’t like being cut off, Ursula.”

“I’m not in the ballroom. I’m not up for grabs.”

“Anyone I feel is up for grabs is up for grabs. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Breath hiked, she continued, “Will you make this difficult or will you just listen?”

“I can listen, but only because I want you to do your job. You seem to do it well.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“How far do these cameras see into the suite, Ursula?”

Stuffing my hands in my pocket, I measured the distance in my head.

“As long as the door is closed, we can’t see into the suites.”

“Disappointing,” I tittered, kissing the skin of my teeth.

“How so? Privacy is–”

“Because, you should see what you’re passing up on.”

“Exhibitionism.”

“Whatever the fuck you want to call it.”

With a shrug, I removed my hands and smoothed the black shirt I wore beneath the black jacket.

Silence trailed my words. A heavy, quaking breath left her mouth before she began, again.

“I’m listening,” I urged, removing the garage opener from the wall and rounding my car.

Hesitantly, she began again. This time the confidence she’d exude had diminished. Curiosity piqued with each word. With every dollar in my bank, I’d bet she was contemplating employment or enjoyment.

If her occupation permitted, and she wasn’t afraid of what the night would hold, enjoyment was the latter. Otherwise, it was best she stayed behind the desk. I wasn’t in search of forever. Just for now.

“Needless to say, names are prohibited. Under any circumstances. Never, remove your covering. Under any circumstances. Never request personal information. Never encourage encounters outside of Private Suites. Never move forward if refusal is apparent, mentioned, unclear, or the topic of conversation.

“We are compliant with the law and keep our guests’ safety at the forefront of our operation. We do not take assault claims or cases lightly. We will help prosecute to the fullest extent. Lastly, it all ends in the suite.”

“Nothing passes the threshold. Nothing. What happens inside, stays inside unless it conflicts with the interest or safety of our guests. Do you understand these terms and conditions along with the others in our handbook?”

“I do.”

“Welcome to The Mansion, Mr. Valentine.”

The clicking over the loudspeaker confirmed what I already knew would happen. Ursula rushed off before I had the chance to speak again.

Another day, Ursula. There’s always another day .

Slowly, I entered the suite where I was met with cool, inviting air. The dark decor shifted the mood immediately. The suite was far more spacious than the virtual tour let on. Downstairs was the garage and full-sized kitchen, along with a long hallway that led to a set of stairs encased in glass.

One by one, I climbed each step and reached the second floor fairly quickly. The loft area of the suite was one large room. A bed with new linen was in the center. Because I’d chosen a corner unit, there were two large windows in the suite. One facing the grounds and the other facing the second level of the ballroom, where connections were made.

Exhibitionism .

Instantly reminded of Ursula’s words, I clicked my tongue against my teeth. That wasn’t my jam, but some loved it. Where I stuck my dick and how deep I stuck that motherfucker was between me and the woman I was bathing in.

In addition to the bed, there was a cabinet with additional linen, a table that seated four, an upholstered couch, an ottoman that matched, and a television. Without a doubt, I knew many ditched their homes on a regular basis to live out their wildest dreams in their suite. It was, indeed, a home away from home for some.

Everything needed was on-site. Unfortunately, there was a fourteen-day stay maximum. In any given thirty days, you were only permitted fourteen full days.

336 hours . In total. They couldn’t run consecutively.

I peeled the dinner menu from the wall where it rested in a small basket. There were two more. Breakfast and lunch. Though I’d dined already, not much was eaten. My attention was fixated and didn’t part from my son. His discomfort and lack of ability to complete the new task of chewing steak shortened our visit. The comic relief of an employee and presence of his womb donor ended it.

Four options made the decision easy. I used the tablet provided to begin the request. The timer began almost immediately. I had exactly thirty minutes to return. Dinner would be served.

Twenty. I set a personal timer. That’s all I’d need.

On the console near the door was a pamphlet and a set of keys. Above it, a shelf held the four masks available to choose from.

Pick your poison .

The masquerade masks staring back at me made the choice easier than I’d imagined. I removed the red one, flipped it around, and placed it against my skin. The straps, I tucked behind my ears. The mirror next to the console was one of the four in the loft area alone. A quick glance and I was grabbing the keys from the console and headed out of the door, satisfied with my choice.

Instantly, I was catapulted into another universe. A long figure clashed into me, pressing my right arm against my chest.

“Oh shit. Excuse me. I’m sorry.”

I reserved my words as I took a second to scan the thin frame from head to toe. My response depended on my level of intrigue. I wasn’t very impressed with what I examined. Slowly, I shrugged, wiping away any possible residue from my shoulder in a few swift motions.

She continued on wobbly legs. Either she was anxious to get fucked or had just gotten fucked into oblivion. I was unsure but I didn’t give a damn either way. She was decent, but she wasn’t the woman I was in search of.

I wasn’t exactly sure who she was or exactly what qualities she actually possessed, but I was certain I’d recognize them when I encountered her. I was also certain she was amongst the crowd I scanned from the balcony, though I hadn’t spotted her yet.

Men and women of the same or a higher caliber mingled in the underglow of the lounge below. Laughter was plentiful. Hands roamed. Cheeks swelled with pleasure. Hearts beat with passion. Bodies yearned for satisfaction. Eyes scurried from one mask to the next. Music played softly in the background. And, I descended the long staircase.

There were two routes. Both on opposing sides with an equal amount of steps. With a hand on my chest and the other near my side, I began taking in every aspect, jotting every detail, and etching what was visible of figures in my head.

Right hand, tattoo.

Buzz cut. Neck tattoo.

A mother.

Gold rings, both hands.

Horribly tanned.

Veneers.

Botched surgery.

Friendly.

Overcompensating. Easily impressed.

Roberto. Fine designer. I commended the man closest to the end of the stairs.

Very expensive, very funky ass cologne.

Not into women.

Presidential, hidden clasp.

Hair transplant. Recently.

One after the other, I recited details about the guests that would help me locate them in the event that anything went astray. Hiding their faces wasn’t merely enough to keep me from uncovering their identity if circumstances required it.

The blueprints I’d acquired upon learning about The Mansion and Private Suites were beginning to make more sense. I combed over the floorplan in my head while scanning the building in real-time. Nothing seemed out of place.

6 exits – first floor.

4 restrooms – first floor.

3 generators – first floor.

2 fire escapes – second floor.

One main power source.

One control room.

One elevator.

This only included the wing I was housed in. There were more and I’d studied them all.