CHAPTER THIRTEEN
brOOKLYN
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The least we can do is destroy him.
Something is not sitting right with me. I get that Travis would’ve been impacted as a kid hearing his friend share such a shocking story. The question is, was it just a story?
Kids—especially celebrity kids—have a history of telling stories. I don’t mean to be that person, but as a journalist, you have to stay in the question, not jump to conclusions.
In the age of engagement, it’s so easy for those in my industry to run with a story because it’s good clickbait.
That’s immoral.
So, I need to find out more about Leo’s son and what kind of person he is. That will paint a picture, at least, of whether he might’ve been a narcissistic child looking for sympathy or to manipulate Travis. Who, for the record, I don’t see as someone easily controlled but may have been as a child.
Which brings me back to the question about why he would be so passionate about this story.
And protecting me.
I see the personal connection, but that’s usually not a strong enough driver.
I wouldn’t call Travis selfish, although I suspect he is, but he’s not exactly a philanthropist. Trust me, I looked.
He’s a very wealthy and successful businessman, but the only donations I saw or found that he’s declared are to a charity that benefits his brand reputation. Something about the mangroves near one of his courses in Florida.
Not exactly starving kids in Africa.
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“Find out all you can on Terrance Taylor.” I tell Scott the next morning.
“Who is he?”
“Leo Taylor’s son. He’ll be in his early thirties now. I’ve found a few photos of him on the red carpet with his father. A few paparazzi shots.”
He’s a cute kid.
Dressed in designer everything, his hair swept back, and he looked bored to be in front of the camera.
“What are we looking for?” Scott crosses his arms, standing in the doorway of my office.
I tap my foot in the air, my legs crossed as I sit behind my desk. All morning I’ve been wondering how I tell my team about this anonymous tip.
Sure to his word, Travis sent someone who showed up this morning and introduced himself as my private security guard from Barrett Security.
“I’ll be discrete and shadow you when you leave the office. Otherwise, I’ll be just hanging around in the front office.”
“Help yourself to the lunchroom and facilities....”
“The name is Decker, ma’am. US Marine.” He tipped his non-existent hat at me, then headed over to the rest of the team to introduce himself.
Gulp.
Surely this was overkill.
“I’ve had an anonymous tip from someone who knew Terrance. As a child.” I tell Scott, answering his question. “It’s dark. He says Terrance was abused as a kid.”
“Sexually?”
Jesus.
“Yes, sexually.” God, do I have to spell it out? “This is horrible stuff, Scott. I don’t know how we are going to quantify it without getting him to go on record, but after all this time he might.”
“Have you reached out to him?”
No.
I can’t find him. Which is weird as hell.
I shake my head. “I did a quick search, and he seems to have disappeared. No trace of him. No death notice, nothing.”
“That’s fucking weird.” Scott uncrosses his arms and slides one into his pocket. “Like a missing person?”
“No, just...yeah, no more than paparazzi photos. I only had twenty minutes. I’m sure you’ll find more.”
I hope.
Otherwise, this is getting very strange.
He pushes away from the doorframe. “I’ll look into it.”
I thank him, and when he walks away, I rub my thumb over the red mark on my wrist. An erotic shudder rushes through me.
Travis tied me up.
I’ve never done that before with a lover. It was terrifying and incredible giving up all my control.
After undressing me—the most unsexy removal of clothes in the history of seductions given my socks, boots, and leggings—Travis ordered me to lie down.
Then he climbed over me, smelling of cigars and whisky, and I expected him to start kissing me.
Instead, he reached over and pulled down two silk ribbons from the wall.
That’s when he tied them to my wrists.
“Wait, stop.” I started, sitting up.
“I can stop altogether.” He purred, lust and power thick in those gray eyes. “Or I can tie you up and lick your cunt until you orgasm and scream out my name into the Hudson River.”
Jesus fuck.
“You choose, sweetheart..”
His cock brushed against my wet flesh and, what the hell was I going to do? Get up and walk out. Say no thanks?
I knew what his mouth felt like. How good he was with it. But to give over control? All of it. To a damn near stranger?
“Can you just...”
Travis straightened, and I reached for him as if we were stranded on a deserted island and he had all the water. Like my life depended on it.
“Wait.”
“Give me your consent, and you get my tongue.” Then he swiped his fingers through my folds as he stroked his cock. “Look at it weeping, desperate to be in your tight channel.”
Travis lifted his finger to his mouth and looked me straight in the eye as he sucked it.
“Fine. Yes. Tie me up.” I folded pathetically.
But, my god, it was worth it.
The moment the silk was wrapped around my wrist, and his large hands palmed my inner thighs, I was spread open like a buffet and powerless.
Vulnerable.
His to do what he wanted with.
And, my god, he did. Lick by lick, plunging his fingers inside me, delaying my orgasm not once, but three times, until it was painful coming.
But in that delicious way.
Then he released my arms, flipped me over, made me hold the headboard and slammed into me. Fulfilling another promise when I screamed his name out across the water.
By the time we returned to the marina, I was dressed, wearing a pair of his socks, a Brown University sweatshirt, and being carried off down the gangway.
“I can walk,” I said, holding my shoes and purse in my hand.
“I can also carry you, and I like it.” He kissed my nose, then lowered me to the ground so I could climb into the back of the car. Thankfully, it was very late when he did the same at my apartment building.
When I opened my door and he spotted the roses in a vase on my table, the corner of his mouth lifted. He was pleased.
“Trav.” I leaned against the doorframe. “I had a really nice time.”
“Me too.” His hands slid into his pockets. “I mean it.”
“I didn’t think you were lying.” I grinned.
“No, I mean all of it. Dinner, talking, and fucking you.”
God, I hope my neighbors were asleep and didn’t hear that. Not that they thought I was a virgin, but still.
“About the weekend—”
“Two nights.” He insisted. “I’m not done enjoying this thing and want you all to myself. Then we go our separate ways.”
“Will you tell me where you are taking me?” I blushed, imagining a whole weekend with Travis Warner and how deliciously wonderful that would be.
Sure, things might feel a little relationship-y and I might be enjoying him a bit too much, but I was clear he was a playboy, and this wasn’t anything serious.
That was the difference between him and men I’d dated.
So...it would be fine.
Right?
“Sorry, it’s a secret.” He cupped my face as he stepped closer. “But I promise to give you better wardrobe direction.” Then in a whisper. “And do lots of naughty things to you.”
Now I can’t stop thinking about what those naughty things might be.
As much as I’d like to say I declined, an entire weekend with Travis Warner being treated like his slutty Genevieve was too appealing.
It also gives me the opportunity to dig further into his friendship with Terrance Taylor. As he trusts me more, he might share some vital information.
I rub the light red marks on my wrist again and wonder how I’ll last the entire week without seeing him.
And it’s a good reminder to not get attached.
That this time next week he will just be someone I knew.