Chapter 9
MAX
John Quincy III is a frickin’ lamb when Deanna’s around.
No longer the hard-headed, tobacco-chewing, ass-whipping oil tycoon, Mr. Quincy is the one getting his ass whipped while staying at Haus of Sin.
And last night, he got quite the whipping, considering he can barely sit in his comfortable chaise in our winter lounge.
“Are you alright, John?” I ask him, half smiling as I sink into my own seat, closer to the roaring fire.
We’re having whiskey and a casual conversation while the other guests enjoy more private sessions with their hosts. Vincent nurses a glass of his own while gazing out the window, completely oblivious to Deanna’s presence as she walks into the room.
“I’m good,” John chuckles lightly. “My behind, not so much.”
But he lights up like the sun upon seeing Deanna. Childlike joy fills his gaze, and his expression softens. Personally, I could never stand the Fox, but I will give the woman credit where credit is due. She’s got a way with these men, a way to get them on their knees, like no one else.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Deanna says, hips swaying as she walks closer to us.
That green velvet robe is mostly for show, as it’s soft and thin enough to offer a clear view of her shape.
Her nipples are perked as she smiles at Vincent.
He continues to ignore her, his gaze lost over the snow, as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long sip.
It’s an interesting dynamic, considering how crazy he used to be about her.
The one time Vincent didn’t share a woman was the one time he got his heart broken. His mistake. His lesson. Ironically enough, his mistake is still our employee.
Deanna stops by John’s chair and plants a kiss on the top of his balding head. “And how is my good boy?”
“A little sore but real good, ma’am, thank you,” he replies, one hand resting on her tiny bottom. He squeezes it, and she slaps his hand away.
“Manners!” Deanna scoffs.
“Forgive me, ma’am.”
Oh, John Quincy III settled right into his role, alright submissive, obedient, and naughty enough to guarantee a spanking later.
Just the way he likes it, the old goat. Of course, we invited him to Haus of Sin not just for the pleasure, but also for the business potential.
The man owns lands in places that piqued our entrepreneurial interest.
And these whiskey chats are supposed to smooth things over.
“Where’s Alex?” Deanna asks, frowning as she looks around.
Usually, she’d find him in the armchair next to mine and closest to the fireplace, but Alex had some Haus business to get out of the way before joining us.
“He should be here soon,” I reply. “Anything we can help you with?”
“No, just wanted to spend a minute with my darling bosses.”
Vincent gives me a brief but telling glance.
I can feel his displeasure as the air thickens in the room.
As far as the Fox is concerned, he’d rather we didn’t hire her again for next year, and truth be told, her performance has been…
rather lacking this season. Deanna’s been too busy hitting on us, rather than fully catering to her clients.
“Mr. Quincy would benefit more from your attention,” I cordially suggest.
“My pet can wait until later,” she replies and takes a seat in my lap, of all places.
I stiffen and hold my breath, surprised and insulted. Given that John is here, and the last thing he needs to see is any sort of discord between us and our staff, I go along with the moment and let Deanna sit, hoping my glare is enough to make her understand that she can’t linger for too long.
“Mr. Quincy is your client,” I remind her, then steal a glance at him.
John doesn’t like this situation very much either, but there’s a submissive-dominant rapport between them—a rapport that he insists on respecting, regardless of how unpleasant the situation may feel. Again, in that sense, I have to give Deanna props. I just don’t like the way she leans into me.
“Mr. Quincy doesn’t mind me hanging out with you, does he?” she asks.
John shakes his head slowly. “No, ma’am. But I am hoping we’ll have the rest of this morning to frolic in the playroom.”
“After I’m done here,” she purrs and puts her arm around my neck.
John downs his whiskey and pours himself a double, exhaling sharply as he leans back in his seat. “You fellas got yourselves a great place here, I’ll give you that,” he says as a means to build conversation.
I’m just trying to pass the time and wait for Deanna to get bored. Judging by the smirk on her face, I’ve got a feeling she’s just getting started, and I can feel Vincent’s eyes drilling a hot hole into my temple.
“We do, Mr. Quincy. And we worked hard for it. We’ve built it up year after year,” I say.
“You’ve done a fine job,” John replies. “When I got the invitation, my executive directors threw the biggest hissy fit I’ve ever seen. Apparently, they’ve been emailing your offices for months.”
“We’re extremely selective.”
John laughs. “Oh, yeah, only the cream of the crop, right?”
“Mm, only the cream.” Deanna giggles, hips swaying back and forth in my lap.
I know she’s trying to stir a physical reaction, but it’ll never happen.
There’s only one woman who can turn me on these days, and right now, she’s probably in the kitchen, putting together our Valentine’s Day menu.
“But being so selective pays off—for us and for our clients.”
“I can’t argue with you there, ma’am,” John says, melting under her gaze.
Damn, I could hand him a sale contract right now, and he’d probably sign on the dotted line without even reading it. Ignoring Deanna’s ass rubbing against my groin, I take another sip of my whiskey.
“Mr. Quincy, I read somewhere recently that you were considering a few changes in your real estate portfolio, the personal one, I mean,” I say.
Vincent clears his throat. “Rumor has it you might be willing to sell.”
“I am considering a sale or two, but much like you gentlemen, I am highly selective as to who I sell my lands to,” John replies.
“Which lands are we talking about?” I ask.
In the meantime, Deanna tries to kiss my earlobe, and I tilt my head away, giving her a single warning look. She doesn’t like it very much, but she doesn’t insist either. She knows what it means.
“The ranch in Happy Jack,” John says. “It requires too much upkeep for a ranch I see maybe once a year, if I’m lucky.
Most of my business and affairs are still in Texas.
Arizona was a stretch for me; I knew it when I bought the land, but it was such a good price and the property was so valuable, I kept telling myself I’d make it work, but it’s become more of a hassle than a joy, to be honest.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply. “Happy Jack is prime real estate for any self-respecting rancher, for sure.”
John eyes me curiously. “I’m surprised you know anything about it? You’re not from there, are you?”
“No sir, I’m born and raised in New Hampshire,” I reply with a cool smile. “I moved here after the guys and I came back from serving in the military. We’ve made a good home here in Portland, too, but I’ve always wanted a ranch somewhere in Arizona’s greener parts.”
“Oh, we could do a hot summer Haus of Sin chapter there,” Deanna suggests with a giggle. “Glamorous ranch edition. I could get some custom whips made for the occasion.”
She’s thinking too far ahead and completely out of her reach.
“We’re interested in a private ranch,” Vincent says, throwing cold water on Deanna’s suggestion, “not another business venture. Just a place for ourselves and our lady.”
“Your lady?” John’s eyebrows pop up.
At the same time, Deanna’s face tightens into a hard frown.
She knows who Vincent is talking about; she just doesn’t like it.
But that’s not our problem, nor our concern.
Deanna should be grateful Vincent allowed her to keep working at Haus of Sin after the breakup, instead of trying to weasel her way into our bed.
Then again, she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last woman, to try and ruin what we’ve got going with Raina.
“Who’s the lucky woman?” John asks.
“Once we’re sure we’re building something serious and long-lasting, you’ll be the first to know,” I reply with a polite nod.
As if summoned, Raina walks in with a black leather folder in her hands. The chef’s uniform is supposed to fit her loosely, but she tied the apron a little too tight just above her waist, emphasizing her generous hips. It does a number on my body.
“Sorry to disturb…” Her voice trails off as soon as she sees Deanna in my lap.
At the same time, I stir and almost throw Deanna off me. Fortunately, because Deanna’s ego cannot stand a rejection, she pops up and rushes to sit on the armrest of John’s lounger.
“Yet here you are, disturbing,” she says with a cruel snicker.
“Not in the least,” I cut in. “How can we help, Raina?”
“Um…” She pauses for another moment, biting her lower lip while I follow the path of a loose brown curl from her temple all the way down to the name tag pinned to her shirt.
I’d love to tuck it behind her ear before I bend her over again.
Claiming Raina has been the single most intense experience of my more recent existence.
“I have the Valentine’s Dinner menu here.” She finally resumes her stride toward my chair. “I figured you might want to take a look at it and approve it?”
“I certainly wouldn’t mind a peek at whatever wonders you’re cooking, Miss Redford!” John exclaims. “You’ve done nothing but dazzle our palates from the minute we set foot in Haus of Sin.”
“You’re too kind,” Raina replies.
“Raina!” Alex exclaims as he joins us in the lounge. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, I just brought the menu for the Valentine’s Day Dinner for you to green-light— or not,” she says with a tight shrug. Everything isn’t alright, that much I can tell. And it stems from Deanna’s initial seating arrangement.
Valentine’s Day Dinner marks the end of our weeklong contract. Starting the day after tomorrow, we’re supposed to go back to the way it was before we claimed her, and I doubt any of us is able to do that.
“Sure, we can all have a look,” Alex replies.
He scans the room. I don’t need to tell him what happened.
He can read us all without any effort. And Deanna’s satisfied smirk speaks volumes, along with the hard look on Vincent’s face.
Alex, however, is not one for drama, so he takes the menu proposal from Raina and gives her a subtle, reassuring smile.
“It’s fantastic,” he says as he reads over it, then lets me have a peek as well.
Just as I had expected, Raina came up with some fantastic taste combinations, combining molecular gastronomy with the eclectic traditions of Portland in winter.
Every single dish is a love letter to our Haus, to the forest from where our hosts’ personas stem, and to the concept of spoiling oneself in the lap of luxury.
“Loving the lightness of some of these dishes,” I say with an appreciative nod. Raina takes the menu back from me and gives it to Vincent. “Some of our weight-concerned guests will certainly appreciate it.”
John laughs wholeheartedly. “Yeah, Genevieve is gonna swoon, I’ll tell ya!”
“Raina could use a few light dishes, too,” Deanna giggles.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raina promptly replies.
My blood boils. Vincent looks like he’s about to toss Deanna out the window. And I’m pretty sure Alex is all but done with the woman. It’s one thing to be a cocktease and a persistent brownnose, who can’t take no for an answer, but taking potshots at our women?
“I’m just saying, you’d look amazing, if you cut back on your calories and for your health, too,” Deanna says, her nonchalance downright infuriating,
“Maybe mind your own fucking plate,” Vincent mutters.
Deanna gasps. “Excuse me?”
“Raina looks wonderful. She is wonderful,” I cut in. “In more ways than one. You may have different beauty standards, Deanna, but they’re yours, not hers. And certainly not ours.”
Alex tucks the lock of hair I was eyeing earlier behind Raina’s ear. “She’s precisely the way she’s supposed to be.” He mouths the word “perfect” when she shudders slightly under his touch. “Now, as far as I’m concerned, I’m happy with the menu proposal.”
“Me, too,” I reply.
“Make that three,” Vincent says. “Deanna, don’t you have something more important to do?”
The Fox walks over to John, who’s been quietly watching this remarkably tense exchange, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “John, my darling pet, shall we go to the playroom?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Raina retrieves her menu proposal and heads for the door. “I’ve got some work to do in the kitchen.”
“You can stay for a little while, if you’d like,” Alex rushes to suggest while Deanna takes John’s hand, both of them getting up. “Rest by the fire. Enjoy a splash of whiskey.”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Raina says and walks out.
John is dazed, and Deanna smirks. The Fox gives Vincent one last wink before she takes her guest away. Alex, Vincent, and I are left with the crackling blaze in the fireplace and a sour taste in our mouths.
“Yeah, we need to fix that,” I say at one point.
“You think?” Vincent shoots back, then brings Alex up to speed with the details of what transpired prior to his arrival.
Alex curses under his breath. “Dammit, Max is right. We need to fix this. And we need to reassess our host list for next year.”
“Easier said than done,” Vincent grumbles and crosses his arms. “I hate to say it, but Deanna is our most requested host. We’ve got a Brunei sultan offering three times her already-insane submissive fee for next winter, among many others.”
“Then you need to have another talk with her,” I tell him.