Chapter 23 The Puzzle Box
THE PUZZLE BOX
EMERY
The last thing I expected to come home to after my night at Club Hades with Damon was a parcel from Quinton sitting outside my front door. I got to give him credit. The man works fast. I reread the handwritten note.
You looked absolutely radiant leaving The Playroom tonight. If you’re having difficulties solving the puzzle, I’m only a phone call away. A date for a clue? Seems like a fair trade to me. And trust me, you’ll want to see what’s inside. - Q
My gaze shifts to the Japanese puzzle box on my desk.
I’ve been to enough antique stores to spot a Himitsu-Bako.
A personal secret box. Before encrypted emails and iron-clad safes, these puzzle boxes served as a form of protection for a person’s secrets and keepsakes.
Only with the correct combination of twists and turns can the box be opened, the contents revealed.
I tap my nails on the sliding pieces that I’ve spent the majority of the night trying to decipher.
He’s hidden something inside. Something special.
Something secret. My curiosity was piqued the moment I saw the hundreds of wooden panels, but I know where Damon stands regarding my interactions with Quinton.
I wasn’t going to call him. I wasn’t going to give this peculiar box any more thought.
I was going to ignore it. Throw it away. Pretend it didn’t happen.
Too bad Damon is a greedy little man.
And too bad that I can be a vindictive bitch.
“Emery Jones,” Quin coos, answering the phone, “what a surprise. I didn’t think you’d be calling so soon. I take it you received my gift. How do you like it? Have you solved the puzzle yet?”
“How did you get my address?” I ask, rolling my eyes as Damon sends me a fifth passive-aggressive message on our inter-office messaging system. “I don’t believe I’m listed anywhere.”
Quinton chuckles. “Oh, little Emery. Cavanaugh isn’t the only man who has infinite resources at his disposal. If I wanted to, I could pinpoint your exact location at this very moment.”
“You and Damon both seem to need professional help,” I muse. “Most women find invasion of privacy to be creepy rather than charming.”
“Do you think I’m trying to charm you, darling?” he asks, and I can damn near see the smirk on his face. “If I was trying to charm you, believe me, you’d be charmed.”
“Do you take me for a snake, Doctor?”
God, he’s almost as cocky as Damon.
“Your blood is far too warm to be a snake, darling,” he says. “But perhaps you’re just as venomous when you want to be.” He pauses. “Does Cavanaugh know that you’re calling me?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not. Damon’s not my keeper. I don’t need his permission to call you.”
“No?” he hums. “Was that not his ring I saw on your finger the other night?”
I frown, glancing down at my bare hand. I only wore the ring while I was inside the club. How did he see it?
“I find it incredibly unnerving that you were so close to me that you could see my hand and yet I couldn’t see you.”
“It pays to have friends in high places, little Emery,” Quin taunts. “I bet you won’t be able to look at ice the same ever again.”
I sit up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, darling,” he coos.
Ice? How would he—
“Are there cameras in The Playrooms?”
Quin releases a soft laugh. “Darling girl, there are cameras everywhere. Do you think Madame Vee would allow New York's most influential men and women to fool around without safety measures?” My jaw drops. “Don’t worry, Emery, those video files are only for the powers that be.” He pauses. “And me, when I request them.”
“If Damon finds out—”
“He’ll what?” Quin scoffs. “Throw a tantrum? Call me a bastard? Please. My brother’s children are less dramatic than your new little friend.” A pause. “Are you upset, darling? Are you embarrassed that I saw you begging for his cock?”
My cheeks flush, but the sensation burning my skin isn’t embarrassment. It’s arousal.
“Did you like what you saw?” I ask quietly.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he says, tone gritty and deep. He sucks in a labored breath. “Do you know how sexy you look when you’re coming, darling? Those pink little lips of yours turn red. The most gorgeous shade of scarlet.”
My chest rises. “What else did you like?”
Quin clicks his tongue. “You’re a bad girl, little Emery. How do you think Cavanaugh would react hearing you ask me all these naughty questions?”
I swallow, searching for an iota of guilt in my soul, but I can’t find it. “Probably in the same way he would if he found out you were watching us fuck.”
“Interesting,” he hums. “What exactly is your relationship with Damon, darling? I would hate to step on those whiny little toes of his.”
I snort. “I very much doubt that, Quinton. I think, given the opportunity, you’d run his toes over with a tractor.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. “Perhaps, but you didn’t answer my question.”
It’s an absurd question. He wants me to define my relationship.
What Damon and I have transcends conventional norms of what a relationship entails.
I know the answer Damon would want me to give.
He’d want me to say that I am his, and he is mine.
He’d want me to say that my body and heart belong to him.
Damon has many needs. Needs I’ve told him I’m not capable of fulfilling properly. He’s aware of my limitations. Of my hesitations. My body is his, that I can admit, but my heart refuses to be captured and caged and consumed by another.
“I wear his ring at the club,” I finally say. “Only at the club.”
“And he agreed to that?” Quin asks. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah?” I ask, perking a brow. “And why’s that?”
“Because,” he says, “Cavanaugh has never been the type of man to turn his back on his beliefs. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s craved control over anything else.
I might be a collector of bodies, little Emery, but Damon has always collected hearts.
He tends to struggle with compartmentalizing the two. ”
“He’s a romantic,” I muse out loud. “I’ve noticed that.”
“And you’re not?”
I shrug. “I’ve never been one to get emotionally attached to people.”
“By choice or disposition?”
“I…” Unease stirs in my stomach. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“I hope it’s the latter,” Quin says, tone fragile and soft. “Only a person who suffered great pain chooses to disconnect. I couldn’t bear the thought of you hurting.”
I sigh. “How unfortunate. You’re also a romantic.”
“No, darling,” he says as my office door swings open and Damon appears before me. Fuck. He looks pissed. “Not anymore.”
“I’ll let you go now,” I say, clearing my throat as Damon strides toward my desk, a gift bag in hand. “Have a good day, Doctor Marquis.”
Quin chuckles. “Is Cavanaugh there? Send him my best wishes.”
“I will,” I say, ignoring the blazing glare from Damon. “We’ll see you at the gala on Friday.”
“I hope you solve the puzzle before then,” Quin says. “If not, my offer for a clue still stands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, straightening my shoulders to match Damon’s power pose as I hang up my cell phone. “Mr. Cavanaugh. Can I help you with something?”
Damon’s lip twitches. “You’ve disobeyed my order, Miss Jones. Do you know what that means?”
I smirk up at him. “And what are you going to do about it, sir?” I tilt my head. “Give me a little spanking?”
Damon subtly shakes his head, a ghost of a dangerous smile clipping his lips as he closes the blinds in my office. “I would, but I think you’d enjoy it too much.” He turns around, swinging the little gift bag on his index finger. “But this, I think, would be a proper punishment.”
I perk a brow, slightly disappointed. “What’s in the bag?”
“Stand up, Miss Jones,” Damon commands. “And bend over the desk.”
“You gonna fuck me into submission?” I ask, batting my lashes. “Sounds like a challenge. I accept.”
Damon’s expression remains flat, and a tiny ripple of fear blasts through me. “Right now, Miss Jones.”
“We’re not in the club,” I whisper, throat dry and wanting. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
“No, we’re not,” he states. “But if you don’t do as I say, I promise you, the next time we’re in The Playroom, you’re going to wish you did.” He cocks his head. “Well? What will it be? What’s in this bag? Or what’s in that room?”
I swallow. The bag’s too small to fit anything that could actually hurt me.
Too small for a whip, a crop, a paddle. It’s a gamble.
An exciting roll of the dice. My gaze flits to the closed door.
This office isn’t soundproof. There are hordes of employees on the other side of the glass.
He wouldn’t want me to scream and draw attention. I’ll take my chances.
“Fine, but make it quick,” I say, checking the time as I round the desk. “We’ve got a town hall meeting in an hour.”
“Yes, we do,” Damon smirks, placing a hand on the small of my back as he pushes me flush against the desk.
The cold glass soothes my skin as drags his hand down my thigh, his touch rough and aggressive as he hikes my dress up, slapping my ass before yanking my panties to the side.
He arches over, and glides his hand between my thighs, whispering in my ear.
“Spread your legs for me, mami.” He bites down on the shell of my ear, and I close my eyes, moaning and doing as he commands.
“Good girl.” The anticipation kills me as he shuffles around the bag. “Open your mouth, Miss Jones.”
My eyes spring open. Damon dangles a two-inch long silver egg-shaped device in front of me. “What is that?” I breathe out as he massages my pussy with his free hand.
“Suck on it,” he says, coaxing it through my lips. “Get it all nice and wet, Miss Jones.” I roll my tongue over the device, coating it with my spit, the metal warming from the heat of my mouth. “That’s good.” Damon pops it out of my mouth. “Just relax, Emery, this shouldn’t hurt.”
“No?” I ask, squirming against his fingers as he teases my hole.
“I thought this was supposed to be a—” I gasp, spine arching as he slides the device inside of me, the pressure surprisingly pleasant.
“Oh, God…” The slight vibrations cause my thighs to clench shut.
“What is—” The sensation stops. Damon moves my panties back into place and adjusts my dress. I stand up, flushed. “What is that?”
Damon cocks his head, holding his phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over a dial on the screen.
“It’s a remote-controlled vibrator.” He turns the dial, and my knees buckle, my core zapping with rapid and intense spikes of vibrations.
“Woah.” Damon loops his arm around my waist. “Careful, Miss Jones. You have a presentation in five minutes.”
“Five?” Dread captures my features. “No…” I shake my head fervently, reaching down to remove the damn thing. “I can’t—” I buck over, held up only by the support of Damon’s arms as he turns up the intensity. “Damon.”
“I moved up the meeting,” Damon says, lowering the vibrations as he helps me upright. He casts me a knowing grin. “After you, Miss Jones.”
“But—”
“I hope that phone call with Quinton was worth it,” he says, forcibly pushing me out of the office. He opens the door for me, whispering as he adds, “By the way, this goes up to twenty.” He grins, his eyes brimming with sinister satisfaction. “I’ve only gone to seven.”
“You wouldn’t…”
His tone drops, cold and flat. “I would, and I have.” He nods toward the door. “Quickly now. We can’t be late.”