The Master & the Would-be Domme, page 17
part #3 of Finding Master Right Series Series
“Yes, have a nice glass of wine, Rowan,” Roberta agreed, already moving toward the stove. “Would you like a little snack? You must be starving.”
“No, no snack, thanks,” Rowan said, finally able to get a word in edgewise. “But a glass of wine sounds perfect,” she added as Laura showed her to a wooden breakfast table set toward the back of the large space.
“She means well,” Laura said in a conspiratorial undertone, casting a fond glance at her mother as they both took a seat at the table. “She can’t help herself. Hopefully Damon warned you in advance. Just smile and nod—that’s all you have to do. She’ll handle the rest.” She filled Rowan’s wineglass and topped off her own. “The good news is, she already loves you by definition, because Damon picked you. Have you thought about your china pattern yet?”
“My…what?” Rowan said confusedly as she reached gratefully for the wine.
“Just kidding,” Laura laughed. “She’ll probably let you get through the meal before she starts grilling you on how many children you want.”
Fortified by a glass of wine, Rowan was happy to be put to work peeling boiled potatoes and mashing them with butter and cream. The girls all chatted happily as they worked, talking mostly about their children and their jobs. When Rowan was asked what she did for a living, she hesitated a moment before saying she worked for a clothing catalog company. She hated having to lie, but doubted telling them she was a pro Domme at a private BDSM club would go over too well.
Dinner was finally served, with the men called in to carry in the multiple serving dishes, while the various moms gathered up their kids and got them seated around the long rectangular table. Paper nameplates had been crayoned in a child’s hand in front of each plate, and Rowan was glad to see she had been placed between Damon and Laura. Damon’s dad, seated at the head of the table, the huge turkey placed ceremoniously in front of him, tapped his wineglass until the room quieted.
“Welcome, everyone, to another insane King Thanksgiving,” he said to general laughter. Turning to Rowan, he added, “And a special welcome to you, Rowan. We’re so glad to have you with us today.” He lifted his glass and everyone else did the same. “To family,” he said. “We have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Hear, hear,” someone called out.
“To family,” others chorused.
As if on cue, they all reached for each other’s hands, and Damon squeezed Rowan’s with affection as his father said a quick grace. “Now, the turkey,” he said enthusiastically. “Where’s my electric carving knife?”
“Right in front of you, Dad,” Ellen, seated to his right, said with a laugh.
Everyone began to chatter at once, as plates were passed, piled high with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans and fresh, hot rolls.
Rowan, who had been nervous about meeting Damon’s large family, found herself more relaxed than she ever was at one of her parents’ Thanksgiving meals. She especially liked Laura, who kept up a witty, sometimes snarky, running commentary in Rowan’s ear about various family members throughout the meal, one time making her laugh so hard she had to hide her face in her napkin and pretend to a coughing fit.
When everyone had eaten their fill, including pumpkin and cherry pie for dessert, to Rowan’s pleased surprise, the women moved toward the living room to lounge on the sofas with cups of coffee and snifters of brandy, while the men cleared the table and retired to the kitchen. “It’s only fair, right?” Mariel offered as she fell on the sofa beside Rowan. “We slave away all day, they should clean up after.”
“Absolutely,” Rowan agreed.
When they finally said their farewells late that night, Rowan felt as if she’d known this family all her life. She loved the tumble of children all around them, and was both pleased and amused at the easy way Damon interacted with his nieces and nephews, all of whom seemed to adore him.
They drove in contented silence back toward the city, a large bag filled with leftovers ensconced in the back seat. “You were incredible, Rowan,” Damon said. “Everyone loved you, just like I knew they would. You even passed the Roberta test. She pulled me aside to inform me your light coloring and blond hair would be a lovely addition to the King gene pool.” He laughed, but then sobered. “Seriously, though, did you survive okay, sweetheart? The family can be kind of overwhelming.”
She placed her hand on Damon’s knee and squeezed it. “They were great,” she replied sincerely. “It was, without a doubt, the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”
“That’s good,” Damon said, glancing from the road to her with a twinkle in his eye, “because Mom’s already talking about Christmas.”
Chapter 12
On a December night about a week before Christmas, Rowan snuggled in Damon’s arms, her bottom wonderfully warm from the new leather paddle he had recently introduced into their BDSM play. “I hope the weather’s okay when we fly down to Asheville,” she murmured as they watched the snow fall outside the bedroom window, backlit by the city lights.
“It’ll be fine,” Damon said reassuringly. “And we’re traveling on the easiest day of the year. Hardly anyone flies on Christmas day.”
“You’re sure it’s okay with your mom,” Rowan said, lifting her head from Damon’s chest to look up at his face.
“She’s got us Christmas eve,” he said, smiling down at her. “She’s fine with that. Christmas day is more for the kids, anyway. That’s when they open all sixteen thousand presents Santa will leave under the tree for them at Grandma’s. Don’t worry, she’s ecstatic that I’m finally meeting your parents.” He used his fingers to make air quotes around the word finally. “It means we’re serious, with a capital S.”
Rowan laughed. “I’m glad you’re meeting them, too.” Then her smile fell away, that cute vertical worry line appearing between her eyebrows. “But remember, my parents are nothing like yours. When they aren’t regaling you with their many and lauded academic and medical accomplishments, Dr. and Dr. Stevens will interview you about what college you went to, what papers you’ve published in your field, and what musical instrument you play.”
Damon laughed. He stroked Rowan’s cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know my family isn’t typical, and even when they drive me insane, I know how lucky I am. Everything will be fine at Christmas, I’m sure of it. And speaking of Christmas…”
He used his free hand to reach into his nightstand drawer. His fingers closed over the oblong velvet box he’d placed there several days before. He’d been planning on waiting until Christmas Eve, but it would be good to distract Rowan from her worries regarding her parents.
Secreting the box in his palm, he pulled away from Rowan, who fell to her back. He admired her lovely naked body a moment, and then placed the box on her flat tummy.
“What’s this?” she said, lifting her head. “Oh! A present? But it’s not Christmas yet.”
“It’s not a Christmas present. It’s something I’ve wanted to give you for some time now, Rowan.”
Rowan’s eyes widened with excitement, her lips parting as she scooted into a sitting position and reached for the box. She opened the lid to reveal the small, solid gold heart nestled against the velvet, attached to a delicate gold chain. He’d had the word Mine inscribed on the back.
“What a beautiful necklace,” she said, lifting it into her hand. She looked at Damon with shining eyes that warmed him to his toes.
“It’s more than just a necklace,” he replied, his heart skipping a beat. “We’ve been together three months now, and it’s long enough for me to know that I want to claim you completely.” He took the necklace from her hand and undid the tiny clasp of its chain. “This is a collar, Rowan. If you accept it, it will be a constant symbol of my sensual ownership of your body and your submission, and also a testament of my love for you. I wanted to get something you could wear all the time, not just at home or in the scene, but you and I will always know its significance. Will you wear this collar for me, sub girl?”
“Oh, Damon,” she breathed. She rolled gracefully from the bed onto the carpet and kneeled up, her lovely eyes filling with tears. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, leaning her long neck gracefully forward to receive his collar. “I would be honored.”
~*~
Rowan had taken a full two weeks off over the Christmas break, and she hadn’t missed work a bit. In fact, it had been a relief not to have to don her leathers and boots, and pretend to be a Domme for the endless stream of eager sub boys.
Damon had done the impossible—impressing both her parents, despite his having failed to attend an Ivy League college. Rowan had felt so relaxed and happy having him with her that her parents barely irritated her and the visit went without a hitch. “They can’t be all bad,” Damon had gently teased. “After all, they produced you.”
She managed to make it through a solidly booked morning her first day back and was looking forward to a quiet break until her next appointment that afternoon. She had just collapsed onto a sofa to check her email when her cell phone pinged a message. She didn’t recognize the number and clicked open the message with mild curiosity.
“Rowan,” the text read, “I’m contacting you not as Hank, but as Henry Franklin. I have an opportunity I’d like to discuss with you. Can you meet me for lunch one day this week?”
Rowan lifted her eyebrows in surprise. How the hell had he gotten her private cell phone number? She never gave it out to clients—they had to book through Ben. He must have kept it from back when she worked for him, though she’d long ago deleted his contact information.
More to the point, what the hell could Franklin want to see her about? In spite of her irritation, a tiny flare of hope kindled in her belly. Did he want her back? Could she stand to report to the man again? How would that possibly work, given their current history?
Before answering him, she forwarded the text to Jen, with an added, “From Franklin! WTF?”
Within seconds, Jen texted back, “OMG! What does he want? Can I come, too? I’ll be your legal rep.”
“I have no idea,” Rowan thumbed back. “Should I do it?”
“Hell to the yeah, gf! Knowledge is power.”
Jenny was right. She had nothing to fear from Franklin, and the fact that she’d dommed him gave her the psychological edge. Why not find out what he wanted? If nothing else, she’d satisfy her curiosity.
Returning to his text, she typed back, “Let me check my schedule, and I’ll get back to you later this afternoon.”
Then she texted Jen. “I told him I’d check my schedule and get back to him.”
“Excellent. Play a little hard to get. Make him sweat for whatever it is he wants.”
Rowan sent back a thumbs-up emoticon.
A second later, Jen added, “Oh, and probably not a good idea to call him a vile snake, no matter what the offer is.”
Later that evening over dinner with Damon, Rowan said, “I got a really strange text today.” She filled him in on the details, adding, “Jen thinks I should go to the lunch with him. Find out what it’s about.”
“Sure, why not?” Damon agreed. “That is, if you can stand spending an hour with a guy who totally fucked you over. The last time you saw each other, from what you’ve told me, you didn’t exactly part on favorable terms, right?”
Rowan had never told Damon she’d once dommed her boss. But now, given this odd turn of affairs, she decided to breach the man’s confidence once more. After all, Damon was not only her partner, but her Master, and she wanted no lies between them, not even a lie of omission.
“About that,” she said. “There’s something I never told you about Mr. Franklin.”
Damon lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Rowan blew out a breath and plunged on. “To give you a little background, when I first signed on at Serpent’s Den, I had to cover for one of Mistress Pain’s clients. A guy named Hank. He was already installed in the room, naked and waiting in a cage. When I walked in there, we both recognized each other, of course. It was more than a little awkward.”
“Wait. What?” Damon’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Mr. Franklin was Hank?”
Damon’s expression was so comical, and the whole situation so surreal in retrospect, that Rowan burst out laughing. “Yeah,” she said through her laughter. “Hank is a sub who’s into knife play and humiliation. My bully of an ex-boss is a closet sub boy.”
“No fucking way,” Damon crowed, laughing too. “What did you do? What did he do? I can’t believe you never told me this.”
“Client confidentiality,” Rowan explained. “I actually told Jen right after it happened because I was so freaked out, and then I felt bad about that. These guys—my clients—they put their trust in me. I promised myself not to do that again, though I’ve wanted to tell you, you have no idea.”
Damon sobered. “I think that’s very admirable, Rowan. You’re really a class act all the way, you know that?” As she warmed at his praise, he continued, “You can absolutely trust me never to say a word or give any indication I know, even if I someday meet the guy.” He reached across the table for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “It does give the situation a bit of a different spin, though, right? I mean, if he’s going to offer you a job again, ask you to come back to the company, could you work for a guy you once had naked in a cage?” His mouth quirked into a grin.
Rowan grinned back, and a moment later they were laughing again, unable to help themselves. “I know, right?” she giggled. “I shouldn’t be laughing, but it was so fucking ironic to have this dickwad who had made my life a living hell now lying on my bondage table, and me with a knife at his throat. Talk about symbolism.”
Damon stopped laughing. “Wait a minute. What? Don’t tell me you actually dommed the guy? You didn’t, what’s the word, recuse yourself?”
Rowan shrugged helplessly. “I was so new. I didn’t feel like I had a choice. Ben had basically begged me to cover the session—Mistress Pain had forgotten to cancel when she couldn’t be there, and I was only there because I’d lied my way into the job. I didn’t feel like I had much of an option at that point. I was determined to stay in my Domme persona, and Mr. Franklin—Hank—went along with it. I think on some level, he got off on it.”
“No kidding. The guy’s clearly into risk, that’s for sure. You could have ruined him. You could have destroyed his career, maybe his marriage, too. I assume the guy is married?”
“Yeah. Very married to the boss’s daughter. I swear that’s the only reason he has his job, because he’s a total incompetent, and I’m not just saying that because he treated me like shit. He didn’t seem to care how often he fucked up because I guess he didn’t have to care. He was secure in his position and could just blame others when things didn’t go right.”
Damon shook his head. “This does not sound like a guy you want to work for again, no matter how good the offer might be.”
“Yeah, I know. The thing is, since he called this afternoon, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I miss the job so much, the real job, not the toxic environment he created. I miss the excitement when each new catalog finally went live.” She sighed with longing. “I loved the creative process that went into getting new lines ready. I had so many ideas, so many cool directions I saw for the company. I really miss that, you know? I miss the challenge and the teamwork, and the sense of accomplishment.”
Damon regarded her thoughtfully. “I’ve definitely never heard that kind of enthusiasm from you about your gig at Serpent’s Den. In fact, though you haven’t complained, I’ve sensed lately that you’re less into it than you once were. That it’s more about the money than any passion for your work or your clients.”
“Yeah,” Rowan agreed. “The truth is, I’m burning out there. The money’s been great, but sometimes lately it’s all I can do to get through the day. I understand the guys I work with a lot better since I’ve embraced my own submissive nature, but the whole Domme thing—as you know better than anyone—it’s not who I am.”
“Have lunch with Franklin, then,” Damon said earnestly. “You have the advantage, for sure. You can ruin the guy, and he has to know that. And the fact that he’s reaching out to you—if this so-called opportunity is even about the catalog, and we don’t know that for sure—tells us he’s got to be pretty desperate. He’s got to know what your contribution truly was to the company, and he needs your help. So, basically, you hold all the cards. Find out what he wants. Worst comes to worst, you get a free lunch.”
Two days later, Rowan sat at a small table across from Henry Franklin in the oppressively over-decorated dining room of the Trump Grill, located in the lobby of Trump Tower. There were so many truly fabulous places for lunch in the city, but it figured that Mr. Franklin would be impressed by this garish place that offered overpriced entrees from a dated menu.
Thankfully, Mr. Franklin didn’t mention their one-time liaison as Mistress and sub. But nor did he get to the point of why he’d invited her for this unlikely meeting, preferring instead to ask after her family and her health, and tell her gossip about who had been hired and fired at Whimsical & Necessary.
Finally, after their meals had been ordered and served, and Mr. Franklin had eaten most of his overcooked, gray steak and garlic mashed potatoes, and Rowan had pushed around the chopped approximation of a Greek salad, which had arrived smothered in melting goat cheese and missing the promised olives, he got to the point.
“I know you’re wondering why I asked you to lunch, Rowan. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms the last time we saw each other.”
