Chapter Four #4
She could sweettalk Fordham into babysitting him for thirty minutes. Hell, if she batted her eyelashes insistently enough, maybe she could get him to take Boudreaux off her hands for the rest of the afternoon.
Mulling over her options, she spent a few more minutes than necessary with the hairdryer, turning wet locks into a lush, wavy waterfall down her back with the aid of her favorite conditioning spritz.
Choosing to go with an easy, relaxed look to match the outfit she had in mind, she gathered it into a ponytail, securing it at her nape with a hair tie.
Was she really going to have to suffer through this rigamarole every day, pawning her resident pest off with one of her friends just so she could take a break for her mental health?
Evander might think he was being clever and romantic, dumping Reaux on her this way, no doubt hoping the stars would align and such close proximity would erase all the previous hurts to pave a path for a new, blossoming relationship.
The Dom was happily married, but he was an idiot when it came to love, in her opinion. He was an intuitive Dom, blinded by his own rose-tinted glasses and influenced by the miraculous love binding him, Callie, and Elias into one.
What he didn’t understand was how powerful Boudreaux was in his own right. Not just physically with his gorgeous, treacherous eyes and God’s gift example of a face or that ridiculously fit body no man his age should be able to flaunt.
No, his power was in his voice.
When he spoke gently, it felt as though his words whispered through her blood, warming her to the core, pumping adoration for him through her heart, body, soul. Add in an edge of temper, a little thrum of discontent, and he could have her on her knees before she realized it.
The ultimate nail in her coffin?
His Dom voice. The voice he used for scenes, for aspects of aftercare, for ruining her. Dark, rich, sinful, smoother than twice-whipped cream. That was the voice that haunted her dreams, her self-pleasure, infiltrated her subconscious until she heard it crooning to her in the dark.
If he used that on her, there was no doubt she’d revert straight back to submissive Violet, reliant on his every command, eager to do his bidding as though they’d never been apart.
With that in mind, she pulled out the black pants that molded to her waist, hips, and thighs before letting the material cascade down to just above the floor.
She loved these damn pants, the empowerment of how well they fit to her form, and selected a hunter green sleeveless blazer to really send the message home: do not fuck with me.
The baggage tucked away in the bottom of her closet didn’t escape unnoticed.
The final touch were the three-inch heeled ankle boots she found most comfortable.
A little additional height when facing her ex wouldn’t go amiss.
She’d always loved how tall he was, especially when he cuddled her and made her feel safe, but when the boot was on the other foot, she’d take any leverage she could find over him.
A spritz of Pretty As Poison perfume beneath her jaw and over her wrists, and she was all set to tackle the rest of the day, along with its fresh inconveniences.
Summoning her inner bitch, Violet strolled from the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. God knew where Boudreaux was lying in wait for her, but as long as she remembered he was actually living here for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t be able to take her by surprise too often.
She snorted under her breath; forgetting wasn’t going to be an issue when every cell in her slutty, needy body was attuned to his presence. Not only attuned, but sending out blatant fuck me signals in an effort to encourage him.
No more.
There would not be a repeat of today’s performance, and she was going to tighten the reins on her self-control, her libido, her self-destructive urges to throw her heart back at his feet and surrender to her Master once more.
Reaux was in the kitchen, his back to her as he sat on a stool at the island, presumably doing something on his phone.
He straightened and spun when her heels clacked on the tiles, a hint of a dimple appearing in his cheek as he appraised her attire.
“I hoped you’d be wearing something less formal, Bennie. ”
She lifted her eyebrow. “Is that your decision to make?”
A muscle ticked beneath his eye, but his tone remained respectful. “Of course not.”
“Perhaps remind yourself of that before you comment next time.” Okay, her inner bitch was feeling prickly, it seemed.
Dismissing her own surly attitude, she raked her gaze over him, ignoring the curl of lust unfurling in her lower belly.
“I need to go out for a few minutes. I’d prefer it if you stayed here, but if you find yourself unable to obey a simple request, I’ll ask Fordham to babysit you. ”
Eyes darkening, Reaux quirked his own eyebrow in challenge. “Whatever Mistress wants. I’m sure I can find something to entertain myself during your absence. Lunch will be here in about thirty minutes however, so you might want to hurry.”
“You ordered lunch?”
“Mmm-hmm. The chef, he is very accommodating, no? I asked him for crawfish fried rice and he said no problem.”
Crap, now he was using food as a weapon against her. Acting indifferent, as though one of her favorite quick and easy meals wasn’t making her stomach growl in anticipation, she tilted her chin. “It’s a short errand.”
“I’m sure.” Lips twitching, he shrugged his shoulders and returned his attention to his phone. “I’ll see you when you return.”
Violet frowned, unimpressed with being so easily set aside. Was starting an argument just so she could get the last word in worth it? No. He was too damn slick to lose a battle of words.
Well, as long as he stayed put and didn’t follow her, what did she care?
*
The walk to the main clubhouse took ten minutes.
When given the choice of cabins when she started working here, Violet wanted some space between her private time and her work, so she picked one at the edge of the forest where the sounds of nature were louder than the hustle and bustle of the club.
It was a pleasant enough walk, even though her thoughts were heavy and the air was chilled. The sun kept trying to peek through the clouds, but the scent of rain hung in the air, warning of a potentially wet afternoon.
The pathways were clear of guests, which was something of a relief. She really wasn’t in the mood to smile and wave at guests who recognized her, or spend a few minutes chatting to friends or co-workers who expected her to be her usual charming self.
Afternoons were a mixture of activities for the guests—some enjoyed gentler pursuits supplied by the club such as the small spa, massage therapists, the gym, swimming, while others took advantage of their vacation time to nap or whatever struck their fancy in their cabins.
She made it to the clubhouse without being accosted, but found herself face to face with the delicate apple of Merrick’s eye, Tamsyn, as she walked through the door.
The dark-haired sub with tawny brown eyes speckled with green and gray flecks was potentially the biggest sweetheart alive, despite her very dark and turbulent history.
If she was here, her Dom was not far away.
Shit.
“Mistress Violet.” Tamsyn’s eyes lit with adoration.
“Tamsyn. You look… delightful.” It was true; even in the panda bear onesie, the girl was physically much healthier and happier than she’d been when Merrick found her huddled in the storage closet just a few feet away from where they were standing now.
There were still shadows in her eyes, but those were to be expected. “Playtime at Callie’s, by any chance?”
Tamsyn nodded miserably. “Merrick has to work until ten tonight. He feels better when I have company.”
“And that company has a strict dress code,” Violet said wryly, earning an amused eyeroll. “Did the princess not demand a tribute?”
“Apparently, the costume will suffice. Merrick tried to make a trade, but Callie would rather see me suffer in this than eat all the candy he can buy.” Tamsyn ran her hand over her face wearily. “Is it possible to suffocate in one of these things?”
What a difference a few months made, Violet thought proudly.
When Tamsyn first stumbled her way into Serenity, she was unable to say a word.
They’d never rooted out the cause of her mutism, but Violet suspected it was either fear or trauma that stole her voice for several weeks before she found the courage to find it again.
Terminally shy, struck with separation anxiety whenever Merrick was out of sight, Tamsyn’s journey had been rough, rocky, and a testament to her inner strength.
Now, there were occasions when she knelt quietly in the corner as her Master went to work, putting his considerable skills to effect on club clientele, but if he felt the scene was too severe for his little owl to watch, he made alternative arrangements.
“I can’t promise anything, but I think you’re safe.”
Tamsyn didn’t look convinced. Worrying her lip, she avoided eye contact for a few seconds, then peeked beseechingly beneath her lashes. “Mistress Violet, I know it’s a lot to ask, but… could I stay with you a while? Even for just a couple hours?”
The request was unexpected—Callie was the life and soul of the party, even if she was the only one there. The anticipation of spending time with her might be daunting, but Tamsyn would have fun once she relaxed. Unless…
Folding her arms over her chest, Violet lifted her eyebrow. “What is Callie obsessed with now?”
“Glee. I love music,” she added in a desperate whisper. “Love it, but when she puts episodes on repeat again and again… I won’t survive, Mistress.”