Chapter 13 Conrad
Conrad
“Oh, God,” Phoenix cries, her hand slapping over her mouth as she stares at the phone in horror.
“I have to admit, it’s not the first time I’ve answered to ‘God,’” Atticus says on the other line. Her body eases at his voice. “But it’s not my preferred title from you, kitten.”
“I don’t think she was talking to you,” I say, turning the dial up just to watch her jaw drop, her shoulders round, and the fight ripple through her posture as she tries to control her reaction.
“That’s five, princess,” I add, before turning my attention back to the call. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing really. Mav’s new office had a bug, but it’s dealt with. My dad’s office had a camera, but I don’t think it was meant for me.”
“Who was it meant for?”
“Judging by the thick layer of dust and the smell of greed and desperation, I’m assuming one of my mother’s PIs put it there to catch his infidelity so she could cash in on the Vale name without losing half of the fortune.”
I hold back a laugh.
Neither of Atticus’s parents are faithful, and his mother cheats almost as much as his father does. I doubt cheating evidence will help either of them in their never-ending cold-war divorce. No one holds their bullshit against Atticus, but it still drives him batshit.
“Are you staying in your sanctuary or moving to the office?”
“Both,” he sighs. I glance at Phoenix—eyes shut, forehead tight, a single bead of sweat tracing its way down her temple. She’s gripping the edge of the table like it might save her.
“Going to clone yourself and be in two places at once?”
“I fucking wish,” he says, exhaustion roughening the words. “I’ll work numbers in the office. People expect to see me there. And I’ll leave programs running in the sanctuary to hunt our hackers. I know they’re still watching us; I’d rather not make it easy.”
“Makes sense. What do you need?”
“That clone sounds nice,” he jokes. “Until then—did you talk contracts with the cleaning-supply vendor?”
“Yeah. Combining orders won’t save us anything.”
“Who did you talk to?” Phoenix asks, eyes still screwed shut, palm flat on the table, fingertips curled white against the wood.
“Marvin. Why?”
She opens her mouth, closes it again, trembling. I turn off the vibrator, and she collapses into the chair.
“Why, Princess?” I repeat.
“Marvin’s cousin manages the steakhouse and his brother-in-law runs the Bourbon Room.”
“Okay, and?” Atticus bites out, sharper than usual. He needs sleep. Especially if he’s snapping at Phoenix.
“And he adds line items to the bills, then he and the managers split the difference so they all make a little off the top.”
“Are you sure?” Atticus asks. The crisp tick of his keyboard answers for him.
“Yeah. They brag about it. Most of what they pocket ends up back in the casino anyway so I didn’t think about it before now. Carol—the resort’s ordering manager—is thorough. She'd notice. So the last thing Marvin wants is her nose in his business.”
“Atticus?” I prompt.
“She’s right,” he says. “The bastard’s charging us for a few thousand glass straws for both the Bourbon Room and the steakhouse. Easy two grand a month.”
“Call the vendor back and ask for Ashley,” Phoenix says. “She’s Marvin’s boss and has no idea what he’s pulling. She’ll get you a good deal…and fire Marvin if that’s what you want.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before, Kitten?” Atticus asks.
“Before, it wasn’t your problem,” she shrugs. “They weren’t stealing from you. They were stealing from your parents. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’ve all been really busy the last week or so.”
I thumb the remote back on. She jumps—back rigid, teeth gritted.
“Well, that’s helpful. Thank you, Kitten,” Atticus says.
“Anything else you need, Atticus?” I ask.
“No. Programs are running, and the office will be wired to my specs tomorrow. I’m going to crash for a few hours.”
“Sleep well.” I end the call and turn to Phoenix.
Her nails are set into the wood. I consider adding the little half-moon gouges to her list of punishments, then decide I like them. Every time I see those divots, I’ll think of her naked in that chair, under my control, fighting not to come.
“Princess.”
“Yes?” Her voice is a high, strained whine.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes. Yes—please.”
“Don’t. Not yet. Hold it. Mav isn’t here. And this is his punishment. Do not come.” I push the vibration higher on her clit. She gasps. I can see her thighs clench, her shoulders bow, and her fists knot as she struggles. “Don’t do it. Hold it back. Be a good girl. Be strong for me, princess.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” I’m not asking. She knows it.
“Please,” she cries, shaking. “I can’t, I can’t… I’m going to—”
“Don’t you dare. Make me proud, Phoenix. Do not come.”
I count in my head. One…two…three…four…five.
Her face flushes, brows knitting in concentration, jaw locked. She’s perfect like this. Mine.
The entire world—my world—is going to shit. Things I can’t control detonate around me, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m forced to be reactive instead of proactive, and it’s driving me insane. I can’t control my father. I can’t control the wannabe mobster with a hard-on for us.
There is, however, one thing I can control—a single thing that bends and doesn’t break.
Phoenix.
She’s mine, and she knows it. She’ll obey, even if it destroys her.
“Conrad,” she cries. A single tear slips free, tracks down her red cheek to her delicate jaw. It quivers there—hangs, trembling with her entire body.
I can’t answer her, too consumed by the pleasure and pain I see on her face.
“Conrad,” she pleads again. I wait, watching that tear.
When it finally falls, I cut the vibrator. She sags into the chair, boneless with relief.
“That was one, Princess. Get up. Bring us each a bottled water from the mini-fridge. Then come back, ready to take notes.”
I watch her delicate, shaking steps across the room, debating whether keeping her in my office like this will help or distract.
She’s smarter than anyone gives her credit for.
Under different circumstances, I could see her as a Titan in her own right.
But right now she’s a liability. I’m going to make her choose me—not to get rid of her, but to make sure this time she’s the one destroyed. She’ll feel the pain and loss.
She’ll feel her entire existence stripped down to nothing.
I’ll prove she is the one lacking, not me.
Something to discuss with the others.
She returns with the waters, rounds the desk, and I catch her wrist, pull her into a kiss.
“That was your first punishment. Make it through all of them, and I’ll reward you. Understood?”
She nods.
“I’m calling Ashley. You’ll be silent, take notes, and flag me by writing and raising your hand if there’s anything I should know.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, dipping down for a surprisingly sweet, chaste kiss.
She’s perfect, and I hate her for it because she should be mine. She should have been mine this entire time.
During the calls she listens, takes notes, and fills in what I’m missing to squeeze more waste from the budget. Between calls, I deliver the punishments she’s earned—ramping her pleasure and denying relief, right to the edge of pain—then easing off the second she’s about to break.
By the end of the third hour, she’s endured all but the last punishment with near-perfect grace and obedience, and I’ve slashed vendors and negotiated better deals.
All in all, it’s been a good day.
I hang up with our lighting guy and finally turn to Phoenix.
“Ready for me?”
She braces—hands on the desk, shoulders back, head high—and nods.
“Good. Come here.” I close the laptop, slide it into the top drawer, and swivel the leather chair.
She stands before me, gloriously naked.
My cock aches against my zipper, demanding satisfaction, but this isn’t for me. It’s for her. It’s about taking her apart and hooking her on my touch at the same time.
I grab her hips and set her on the desk, spreading her thighs. I remove the toy and set it aside to clean and charge. That little three hundred dollar device is probably the best toy I’ve ever bought.
Mental note: look up the company, see what else they make—maybe buy some stock.
“What’s my next punishment?” she asks, the thinnest thread of apprehension in her voice.
“No more punishments today, Princess. You did so well for me.” I brush a damp lock from her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
She sucks in a breath; for a second I think she’ll cry, but she leashes it. Phoenix really is like us—same trauma, same need, same anger turned into fuel.
If I’m not careful, she’ll bury her claws deeper into my soul than she did the last time.
She flinches at the word proud, and I’m certain no one’s ever told her that.
I make another mental note… this one to make sure that I show her exactly how much I see in her work.
Maybe tell the others to do the same. She should be praised every single day.
Even if it’s only for the fact that she’s the best fuck any of us will ever have.
We may enjoy tearing her down, but we’ll rebuild her too—even if it kills me.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, roll the chair between her knees, and spread her wider. “Lay back for me, sweet girl, and come as much as you like.”
Starting at her knees, I kiss up her salty-sweet skin to her aching core. Her clit looks painfully swollen; I know what she needs—when I decide to give it.
I tease her once more—switching to the other thigh and kissing a trail higher.
“Conrad,” she whines, and I bite back a grin, blowing a cool stream over her heat.
Her hips lift, hunting friction.
Who am I to deny a goddess?
I pull her to the edge and go straight for her clit—feasting, licking, sucking, even fucking her with my tongue. Nothing restrains me. I give in and ravage her.
Her fingers twist into my hair; she cries out as the first orgasm slams through her. Her cunt pulses around my tongue as my nose grinds that tight little bundle of nerves.
It’s raw, animal, messy as hell—and I don’t care. I don’t stop. At this point, I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
One orgasm melts into another. Then another. Her thighs shake on my shoulders, and her cries fill the room.
“Conrad, please stop!” she screams, and with one last kiss, I lean back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Her chest—and even her flat stomach—rises and falls as she drags in air.
Is there anything more spectacular than a woman blissed out and wrecked from multiple orgasms? No. Nothing makes me feel more like a man than satisfying this woman.
I grab my phone, snap a photo, and drop it in the secure group chat.
Mav
You were supposed to call me before rewarding her.
Fuck. That’s right.
Con
Shit, man. Sorry—got carried away. She gave me intel that turned out useful. Storm, I’ve got a few more people for you to fire.
Storm
Legal’s annoyed about wrongful-termination suits. They want documentation. Need it airtight.
I glance at Phoenix sprawled across my desk—cheeks flushed, blush sliding down her neck to the tops of her breasts. Her breathing has slowed, and her eyes are heavy.
My girl hasn’t been sleeping. She needs rest. After coming like that, she needs to be held and she needs aftercare. But I have an empire to run.
Con
I have proof. Lots of it. Have Legal meet us in my office in an hour. Once I get Phoenix to bed, we need a chat. I’m pressing charges against these assholes.
Atticus
Won’t that hurt our bottom line? Let’s not make fifteen percent harder by being a dick. We’ve already got our plates full with bullshit to handle.
Con
Lawyers are on retainer and an expense we can’t cut if we wanted to. Besides, the message this sends should stop anyone else from skimming.
Con
Mav, meet me in my room in ten? Need your help.
Mav
Sure. It’s not like I’m busy or anything.
Con
Thanks, man.
I’m being a dick, but fuck it. He can be pissy. He’ll get over it when he finds out I’m leaving him to hold Phoenix. He likes the cuddling shit, and when she wakes up, she’ll be his for a while.
I just have to get her upstairs unseen, then deal with Legal. Then figure out a training program for my little secretary.
Her employment contract with the Titans is getting amended—naked secretarial work, possibly an MBA track—and whatever the others want now that the ground is shifting.
I just have to keep reminding myself that my end goal is to break her, not keep her. The higher I lift her, the farther she’ll fall. That’s all it is.
This isn’t caring.
This isn’t love.
This is about her being gutted by the pain she’ll feel when she loses.
And when she does, everyone will know who dropped her.