Eight Years Later
“JETT!” MY NAME RINGS THROUGH the house as I walk down the stairs.
“Jett!” It immediately rings again, by a different voice this time.
“Here!” I call back, stopping on a marble step on the grand butterfly staircase.
Two pairs of large, sparkling eyes and bright, beautiful smiles appear over the ornate banister on the second floor.
“What can I do for you, ladies?”
“I can’t find my sequin thong,” Nadia informs me.
“And you think I had something to do with its disappearance?”
“No, not exactly. I just thought I’d ask if you’ve seen it.”
“Is it in the wash?”
“No.” Nadia pouts.
“Did one of the other girls borrow it?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve torn apart every drawer in the house.”
“I’m sure it’s somewhere.” I cross my arms casually as I stare up at her and Amber.
“I need that thong!” She reacts like a spoiled teenager—which may be partly my fault.
“Nadia, there are seven thousand pairs of underwear in this house. Believe me, I know the exact number because I paid for every one of them. Wear one of those.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” I question.
“Because the sequined one is her lucky thong,” Amber teases her. “And James is coming tonight.”
“Shut up.” Nadia elbows her.
I see the dilemma here. “Nadia, do you think James cares which thong you’re wearing? As long as there’s material around your waist he can rip off with his teeth, he’ll be happy.”
“You think?” She bats her big doe eyes.
I sigh. “I know.” The way Nadia and James are going, her days in this house are numbered. You’d swear I’m running a dating service, not an upscale brothel, by how many hookups have happened over the last six years. As much of a pain in the ass it is to replace an employee, I understand why it occurs so often. My girls are top of the line. Beautiful, refined, educated, and lionesses in the sack. Each as special and unique as a snowflake. What man can resist that? I can tell you, not many.
“Now, go finish whatever you need to finish. The clientele for the social will be here at seven.” I send them on their merry way.
“Yes, Jett.” Nadia flutters off, but Amber lingers.
“Can I help you with something?”
Amber, my black-haired vixen, spies down at me like a curious cat.
“When is Alistair coming back?” she asks cautiously.
Heaven help me. “I don’t know. Soon.” My elusive uncle has been here since Mansion’s inception. He helped get the whole project off the ground. Laid the foundation with his expertise and fostered it, along with Kayne and me, into the flourishing, multimillion-dollar enterprise it is today. He comes and goes as he pleases, oblivious to the fact he’s hooked yet another girl into his ring of seduction. Unfortunately for Amber, Alistair isn’t the settling down type.
“Okay.” Her disappointment is evident as much as she tries to hide it.
“Go on.” I send her off as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I sigh as I answer it. It’s a Saturday.
I glance at the word restricted on the screen before I say, “Hello?”
“Darling,” a woman purrs on the other end.
“Sasha—”
“I sent you a present.” She cuts me off and then abruptly hangs up.
Present?
A moment later, the doorbell rings.
I hurry down the stairs and across the high-gloss marble foyer to answer it. There are no visitors on the roster for today.
I swing open the massive mahogany front door and come face to face with a woman. A stunning woman. My heart slams into my ribcage when I meet her eyes. Big, bold, blue, bewitching.
“Can I help you?” I ask like a dope.
The statuesque redhead gazes at me with an imperial air.
“Sasha sent me. She told me you’d be expecting me.”
“How do you know I’m the one you’re looking for?” I lean against the doorframe sporting a sarcastic smirk.
One corner of her pink glossed lips turns up. “A tall, blond, handsome smartass with turquoise eyes. If that’s not you, I’m looking for your doppelgänger.”
My smile widens on its own accord. Cheeky little robin. “If you know my name, you’ll be granted access.”
“Jett.” She hums the magic word, and her melodic voice vibrates all the way down my spine. Damn.
“And you are?” I step aside, inviting her in.
“London.” She passes through the entryway like she’s floating in her heels. What a fucking woman.
I motion to the driver of the car to leave her bags in the foyer before I escort her through the house.
“I assume Sasha sent you to work.”
London pauses to look at me. Something brewing behind her beguiling blue eyes. “Yes. She thought a change of scenery would be good for me.”
Well, it’s sure as fuck great for me.
“Okay then, let’s talk.” I lead her into my office. What? Did you think Kayne was the only one with a workspace?
Although decorated vastly different from my partner’s study, it serves much of the same purpose.
I motion for her to sit in the white, tufted chair opposite my desk. The room has a contemporary feel. Cool gray, built-in bookshelves, dark hardwood floors, and a freestanding, polished wood desk with potted white orchids. Understated and masculine with a modern flair.
I pull out a folder from one of the drawers behind me. All records of the girls are hard copy. No electronic trails. Easier to destroy. All I need is a flick of a match.
“This is going to be a little formal. But I give the rundown to every woman who comes to work for us,” I explain, trying my damnedest not to get distracted by her silky legs crossed directly in front of me. Her form-fitting black dress leaves little to the imagination with its plunging neckline and micro-mini length. But even wearing something so provocative, she comes across as classy instead of trashy.
I concentrate heavily on filling out the form instead of the image of the enrapturing redhead on her knees.
All in due time.
I inhale a collective breath and begin the assessment process.
“I want to first and foremost say that what happens in this house stays in this house. Every employee is my responsibility. And I take that responsibility extremely seriously. You have choices. Mansion is not a prison. You can leave whenever you want. You can say no to whatever you want. This is not forced sexual labor. You need to enjoy the job as much as the customers enjoy the service. Do you have any issues with that?”
The coy smile she arrived with never leaves her plump lips. “No.” She chuckles discreetly, almost to herself.
“Did I say something that amused you?”
“Not really. You just sound like Sasha.”
“Yes, well, we share many of the same viewpoints and run very similar operations.”
“Yours seems to be quite a bit more substantial.”
“Only because we have different endgames.”
“I see.” She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. Maybe that answer was a little too cryptic. It’s not exactly like I can come right out and tell her Mansion is a cover for a covert operation.
“London.” Her unique name rolls off my tongue. “You will always be safe here.” I want to put her mind at ease. She’s in a new place, with a new boss, about to embark on a whole new occupational journey. Sasha captains one cruise ship; I command an entire fleet. “I understand the enormity of what this job entails. Of how much of yourself you have to give. It’s not taken for granted nor does it go unrecognized. The girls in this house are treated with respect. They’re the celebrity attraction and catered to as such. Do you understand?”
With wide, attentive eyes, she nods.
“Good. Now the formalities.” I pick up the ballpoint pen. “First and last name?”
“London Erickson,” she replies quietly. Almost timidly.
I scribble as she speaks.
“Age?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Last time you were tested?”
“Right before I left LA.”
“Everything negative?” I flick my eyes up from the paper.
“Yes. I have the results in my bag.”
I nod, appeased.
“Do you have any issues with having sex with a woman?”
“No.”
“A threesome?”
“No.”
“Foursome?”
“No.”
“Orgy?”
“No.”
“Submission or bondage?”
Again, she shifts in her seat, but her voice is firm. “No.”
“Anal sex?”
She shakes her head.
“Very good.” I check off all the boxes, with vivid images of fucking her while she goes down on another woman. The pen starts to slide through my sweaty palm. I haven’t been this tuned up over a woman since God knows when. Now that I think about it, probably never.
“All your earnings will go into an interest-bearing account. You won’t need much money while you’re here. Everything you need will be provided to you. Food, clothes, amenities. No cell phones, though. If you have family you want to keep in touch with, we have a line designated for that. We’re discreet. No exceptions.”
“That’s fine. I don’t have any family.”
Most of these girls don’t.
“One last thing. I like every girl to educate themselves or have a hobby. Some are working toward their GEDs; most are taking college courses online”—
“I have a college level education.”
The way she speaks and carries herself that doesn’t surprise me.
“Okay. A hobby, then? Maybe something new you’d like to learn?”
London cocks her head contemplatively. It’s as if I’ve asked her the square root of three million and three.
“I’m not sure, to be honest.”
I surmise by her response no one has ever asked her what she likes or what her interests are. Yet she has a college degree? She comes off as a confident woman, but I can see there’s more to this little red robin than meets the eye. Every girl who walks into this house has a story, and London is no different.
“Well, there must be something that interests you? Music? Painting?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip, worry surfacing on her sharp features.
“Learning another language, maybe? French? Spanish?” I toss another idea out there. She glances out the window right before she pauses thoughtfully.
“Pictures. I’ve always wanted to learn how to take pictures.”
“Pictures?” I repeat.
She straightens defensively in her seat, awaiting my what? By her anxious energy, I would guess my criticism. But she won’t get it. Never from me.
I soften my voice. “Pictures. Okay. That’s a new one. But okay.” I make a note. Research cameras and online photography courses.
Her tension eases, a beholden look in her eyes.
“There is one more thing.” I clear my throat and close her file. “I assess each girl.”
“Assess?”
“Yes. I need to know their sexual skill level so I can match them with the right clients. Some girls need training.”
Her stare sharpens. “Okay.” She gives me no objections. “When does that happen?”
I glance at my watch. Right now? Right this fucking second.
“Why don’t we introduce you to the other girls, get you settled, and then do the assessment,” I suggest like the calm and rational man I wish I were at the moment. Maybe on the outside. Inside, I’m balancing on my unsteady control to keep from ripping her clothes off and fucking her like a savage right on my desk.
Her eyebrow arches perceptively. Does she see through my smokescreen? If she does, my poker face needs some extensive work.
“Just tell me where and when.” She has no issue rising to the challenge. Strong, beautiful, confident, feminine, fierce. She’s the perfect sex object in the making.
Your perfect sex object. Your perfect soul mate in the making.
I ignore my meddlesome subconscious. Now is not the time to be staking claims. A romantic distraction is the last thing anyone needs. Not with Kayne in Mexico and Alistair gone. I’m the only one left to keep this household together.
It’s my job. It’s my commitment. To myself, my organization, and these girls.
I show London to her room first. It’s a corner suite in the east wing. Light, airy, with a canopy bed draped in sparkly organza and a sitting room overlooking the pool.
Mansion is set up in two main sections. The east and west wing. The east wing is where the girls, Kayne, Alistair, and I reside. It’s strictly off-limits to the clientele unless one of the girls invites them back to her room. That’s their personal space. They decide who comes and who goes. And it’s never a good sign when a client waltzes in and out of an east wing bedroom like he owns it. Because it usually means he does. When that starts to happen, it’s a telltale sign I’m losing an employee. I’m already down two girls as it is. London couldn’t have shown up at a better time. Especially with a social tonight.
I show her the common room. Or the “backstage” as the girls affectionately call it. I had it specially designed, combining two bedrooms into one large one. I wanted it to feel inviting and luxurious.
The spacious area is draped with light pink satin window treatments. The wood floor is covered with soft white throw rugs, several vanities with antique mirrors line the walls, and huge tufted ottomans are situated all around. Every drawer is stocked with enough makeup and hair products to run a high traffic salon, and the walk-in closets are filled to the brim with everything from ball gowns to bondage leather. Fantasy is the name of the game. What the client wants, he gets. And I’ve made sure to cover all my bases.
London meanders slowly through the room, taking in the lavish decor. She has a bewildered look on her stunning face, and it’s one I understand. Most women in her line of work aren’t afforded such luxuries. But the way I see it, a happy employee is a productive employee. And what makes women happier than playing dress up? Than having expensive clothes and costume jewelry and men throwing themselves at their feet? From my experience, not much.
London stalls in front of the antique trifold mirror in the corner. Her elegant form reflecting all around her. She stares at herself with a ghost-like expression. Right then, I realize there is so much more to this woman than meets the eye. I come to stand behind her, gently placing my hand on her waist. Her dark blue gaze lifts to meet mine. A moment of heavy silence passes. I give her the time she needs. Everything is new. I’m certain it’s not the first time her whole world has changed.
“Good?” I ask her reflection.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft but strong.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but whatever you need to feel comfortable, I’ll give it to you.”
London takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. I interpret she’s coming to terms with her new surroundings and acclimating herself one small step at a time. She turns to face me. She’s tall, five-foot-eight at least. Her nose comes just level with my chin. Her long burgundy hair cascades down her back in loose waves, and her smell—dear god, her smell—is like the beach. A pleasant reminder of home.
“When does my assessment start?” she inquires mildly yet seductively. Fucking hell. This woman has an aura about her I can’t deny. She owns the room without even trying. Before I can even think, I’m uttering the words, “Right now.”
With dark, encompassing eyes, she touches my chest, and I’m zapped with an electric shock of arousal. She runs her hands over my pecs and then down my arms, lowering herself onto her knees as she goes. That one small gesture makes me instantly hard. With confident fingers, she unbuttons my pants, skims her fingers over the bulge behind my zipper, then keeps moving south until she’s bowing at my feet. My insides go off like a fire alarm. A submissive. My heart beats against my chest as I drink in our two forms reflecting around us in the three-sided mirror.
Fuck, she was breathtaking when she walked into my house, but now, forehead pressed to the ground at my feet, she’s a goddess. Something unexpectedly shifts inside me. I have women at my beck and call at all times, but it’s been ages since I’ve really wanted one. Yearned for the person as much as the pleasure. In my line of work, emotion is a commodity you can’t dole out lightly. And I don’t. I care as much as I can without crossing a line, but with this woman, there might not even be a line. It may never have existed.
“Up,” I command her, and she rises to a sitting position on her knees. I take her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up. “I have a feeling you’re a very experienced girl”—I run my thumb along her bottom lip wantonly—“so show me what that pretty mouth can do.”
With just a bat of her eyes, she reaches for my zipper, and finishes what she started, removing both my jeans and underwear with one strong tug. Through the mirror, I watch my cock spring free directly in front of her mouth. I can see all angles of our position from the multiple reflections. London wraps her hand around my shaft and drops her head, drawing both my balls into her mouth. The unexpected sensation charges through my body. I lift onto my toes for a split second as she juggles the sensitive sac with her tongue. My broken attention jumps between the reflection in the mirror and the live event happening before me. The combination is a heady turn-on. After several elongated minutes of her worshiping my balls with her mouth and my cock with her hand, she shifts, releasing my scrotum before swallowing the entire length of my rock-hard length in one breath. I gasp as the head of my cock literally slides past her tonsils. Holy fucking shit. I latch onto her hair just to keep from falling forward as she deep throats me over and over again. Her lips kissing the skin at the base of my cock every single time. Watching, feeling, experiencing is over the top. I usually have expert control, but the unstoppable urge she’s bringing forth has an agenda of its own. To come right down her throat. To own this woman, this beautiful, majestic woman revering my cock boldly on her knees.
I huff as her head bobs in the mirror, and her mouth engulfs my throbbing erection continuously until I can’t see straight anymore. Every cell swimming through my body feels like a microscopic fireball.
“London,” my voice strains as I tighten my grip on her hair and thrust my hips brutally. She reads my signs, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks me into oblivion. My arm, thigh, and stomach muscles spasm as liquid fire shoots down my spine and snakes around my tailbone. She takes me deep one last time, shattering all my restraint. I spy in the reflection, through my hazy vision, her nails digging into my skin and her jaw stretched wide as I feed her my come. She’s the perfect fucking blend of beauty, ferocity, and obedience. A deadly combination for me. I hold her steadfastly as my cock twitches fitfully in her snug, hot mouth.
We’re both wheezing heavily by the time I allow her to unlatch herself from my softening dick. She drops submissively to her hands and knees panting, as I lean against the mirror and catch my breath. I can’t tear my eyes off her. I can’t stop thinking about the unfathomable way she awakened something dormant inside me with just the power of her mouth.
“How do I rank?” She lifts her head slightly, so only her eyes are visible.
I crack a smile. “Expert.”
I pull my pants up and refasten the button before I permit London off the floor. I could stare at her in that submissive position all goddamn day.
Crazy images of her naked body dressed up in a sexy leather playsuit, high heels, and a collar overrun my thoughts. Crawling to me acquiescently. Needy, lovesick, and aroused as I entice her with a soft voice and promises of dirty things to come.
“Stand up,” I order as I tower over her.
She rises gracefully to her feet. Once at her full height, I clutch her chin and scan over her swollen lips.
“Did I hurt you?” Her eyes widen as if the question is preposterous. As if no one had ever asked her that before. I wait patiently for my answer. Intuitively, I believe I’m going to need a lot of patience when it comes to London, although I’m not sure why yet.
She comes off confident, but the insecurity in her gaze gives all her secrets away.
“I’m fine.” She musters a reply.
“That’s not what I asked. I want to know if I hurt that unbelievably gorgeous and talented mouth.” I trace the outline of her lips with the tip of my index finger.
“No,” she utters softly.
“Good.” I fight the urge to kiss her. Now isn’t the time or the place. Although, soon, I’ll have her beneath me. Tied up and dripping wet. I’ll make her forget about the past, present, and future. There will only be me—us—and the deafening sound of ecstasy.