Serving the Mogul, page 11
“I forgot the damn rubber,” he muttered. Then he groaned, and I felt a hot, wet splash over my belly.
Maximus shuddered, his body jerking as he finished.
Then he stretched out over me, the slick wetness of his release still on my belly. He didn’t seem to care, and oddly, neither did I.
“I’m sorry.” His words were muffled against my neck.
“What for?”
“I forgot to grab a damned condom.” He pushed up onto his elbow and met my eyes. “I’m clean, but I can have blood work drawn—”
“No.”
I touched a finger to his lips. Something inside me clenched tight, a hopeful, silly wish, and I shoved it away, buried it even as I smiled at him. “It’s okay. And I’m on birth control. I’ve got a hormonal implant, so we’re clear there.”
His eyes remained on mine for a long moment, then he dipped his head to kiss me. It was slow and surprisingly sweet.
As he rolled onto his side and pulled me into the hard curve of his body, my heart quivered.
What have I gotten myself into?
Once a month, usually a Sunday, my family got together at Dina’s house. That meant excellent food and even better desserts.
Ready to clear my head and cool off in the pool, I left my home an hour early and listened to an audiobook during the drive so my mind wouldn’t wander to the dilemma I couldn’t figure out.
“You’re early!” Dina greeted me at the door with a quick hug and pulled back, her smile fading as she caught sight of my face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Sure.” Flashing her a smile, I shrugged. “Just not sleeping well…too excited about the project with Roseann, and I might have another in the pipeline too.”
“Ohhhh…” Her eyes sparkled. “Tell me more.”
“No.”
Giving her an arch look, I sailed past her into the kitchen. For once, my paranoia about discussing potential jobs too soon came to my benefit.
“You’re no fun,” she declared.
“Oh?” I sailed past her down the hall that led to the kitchen. “Well, I guess I’ll take my sangria-making stuff home then.”
“You’re absolutely fun. The best sister ever.” She circled the island to grin at me, her hands braced on the surface. “Need anything?”
“Nah.” I eyed the dishes on the island, sniffed the air. “Taco bar?”
“Taco bar. Your sangria will be a perfect match.”
We worked in peaceful silence for a while, Dina with the rest of the food, including flan for after, and me mixing up a mega-size pitcher of sangria.
By the time our parents arrived, I was relaxed and had put Maximus out of my mind.
“Dina tells me you landed a job renovating a shelter,” Warren Siegler, my father, said, meeting my eyes as he passed the platter of corn shells to my mom. “That could be big for you.”
“I know.” Smiling a little, I admitted, “The word of mouth will be great, but that’s not my primary reason to take the job.”
“We didn’t think it would be,” my mom said. She patted my hand and accepted a glass of sangria from Dina. Norman asked if he could have some, and after the chorus of “no’s” went up, Mom looked to me. In her late fifties, Lois Siegler was still an attractive woman, and when she smiled, she became beautiful. “You’ve always had a strong moral core, Tina.”
My cheeks heated, and I looked away.
Mom just laughed and patted my knee.
“What’s a moral core?” Norman asked, looking from me to his grandmother.
Before I could answer, his sister Carol spoke up. “It’s knowing what’s right and wrong and doing the right thing. Right, Aunt T?”
“Yes.” I smiled at her and wanted to say something else, but my phone buzzed. Grimacing, I grabbed it and met my dad’s gaze. “Sorry, Dad.”
He waved it off, and I nearly dropped my phone. I was so surprised. Phones at the table were a big no for him.
Muting it, I shoved it in my pocket.
A few seconds later, as I sipped my sangria, the phone in my pocket vibrated to signal a notification.
Then there was another.
And another.
Another.
“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath just as Dina’s phone chimed with a message.
Dad scowled now, shooting her a look. She blushed, looking as guilty as I felt, and shoved her phone into her pocket.
Newt’s phone started going off.
He sighed and got up. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, smiling at all of us.
Dina caught her husband’s hand and squeezed briefly before letting go so he could step into the kitchen to take the call.
While the conversation ebbed and flowed around us, and my phone vibrated almost constantly with the continual notifications, I looked up to see Dina slip from her seat and join her husband.
They stood in the doorway.
He passed her his phone.
Worry twisted inside, and I practically got up to hug her as her face dropped and the blood drained away, leaving her pale.
But then her gaze swung toward me.
The bottom of my world gave way and collapsed.
Twenty
Maximus
Jumping off the treadmill, I accepted the call from my father, more out of duty than anything else. I no longer hated Connor Maximus, but I wasn’t great at building—or keeping—relationships.
“Hey, son,” Connor said, his voice still the hale, hearty boom it had been when he’d greeted me the first time.
“Connor. How are you doing?”
The hesitation was barely noticeable, and he pushed on without commenting about how I used his given name.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Listen, son. I just heard from Scot. He mentioned he texted you about coming to Houston to visit, so I thought maybe we could all get together. Perhaps a fishing trip, if you have time.”
My gut instinct was to say no.
But I’d learned to hold back on that. I couldn’t endlessly blame Connor Maximus for how shitty things had been for my mother and me.
“I’ll check my schedule.”. As you know, my new hotel keeps me busy. If we don’t have time to fish, we can definitely grab dinner together.”
“Heck yeah, that sounds swell.”
The happiness in his tone made me uncomfortable. Rushing to change the subject, I asked, “How is everybody doing?”
“Good, good.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of your hotel, I went by earlier this week to look around. What a gorgeous place, son. You did amazing.”
And now I was even more uncomfortable because I realized I was a little proud of myself.
“Thanks.” Clearing my throat, I said, “I don’t want to jump off the phone, but I just finished a workout, and I’m expecting a call. I’d like to grab a quick shower first.”
“Alright. You let me know about the fishing trip—or if it’s just going to be dinner.”
“I will. Talk to you later,” I said, disconnecting before he could say anything else.
I stood staring out the window over the rolling fields of the property that surrounded my home outside of Houston.
It had been roughly ten hours since I’d dropped Tina off. Ten hours since she’d told me she needed time to think. I hadn’t heard from her since.
I wanted to go after her and knew I couldn’t.
She needed time.
She needed space.
I needed her.
Blowing out a breath, I closed my eyes. “Patience, Maximus.”
Saturday went. Still no word from Tina.
Sunday, I was up at the crack of dawn. After prowling around the house for hours, I climbed into my favorite sports car and hit the road.
If I kept pacing, I’d go nuts.
Speeding down the old highway with the convertible top down and music blasting, I tried not to think about how many hours had passed since I’d dropped her off.
Not even a goodbye kiss, just her lips on my cheek and the news she needed time and space. To think.
I’d pushed her too hard. Hadn’t I?
But the look in her eyes, the way she’d come around me, so fucking tight and wet. She enjoyed it. The press of her short, neat nails in my thighs as she’d greedily licked and sucked my dick, then slowly took me deeper, the hesitant moves making it obvious she was walking on uncertain ground. And she’d been so damned aroused by everything, kneeling in front of me, letting me fuck her mouth, then slowly taking the lead when I ceded control.
The spark in her eyes at the club Friday night. That, too, haunted me. She’d been so hot and ready it’d been torture just dancing with her.
Did I push too far?
Was it the condom? Being in such a greedy rush for her, I forgot something so basic…had that been the problem?
She made me lose my mind a little every time I touched her. The last time I’d been that careless about sex, I was a teenager. Had I scared her off with my recklessness?
I didn’t know.
My phone rang, and I looked at the dashboard. Gianni’s name came up. Since it wasn’t Tina, I ignored it.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody—except Tina.
Groaning, I shifted in the bucket seat of the McLaren 720.
My phone rang again, and I scowled at the console screen as I saw Gianni’s name flash. Again.
I hit the decline button on the console as a text notification alert chimed from the phone.
Tina?
I fucking hoped. Glancing in the rearview mirror to ensure I didn’t have anybody right on my bumper, I pulled over and picked up my phone to check the message. Two seconds later, I threw it back into the passenger seat and climbed out of the car.
The hot Texas sun beat down on my shoulders. Off in the distance, heat mirages made the road shimmer. I stared until my eyes blurred and my head ached, ignoring the third call from Gianni.
Sweat beaded on my forehead by the time I shoved off the car, but I didn’t climb back inside. I paced around the car, full of restless energy, nearly turning into pointless anger. I didn’t have a reason to be angry, and I wasn’t—not exactly, but the frustration was running high.
When my phone rang a fourth time, my frustration boiled over and came out in a snap as I growled into the phone, “What the fuck, Gianni?”
“I’m sorry, James, but this is…kind of urgent.”
The note in her voice punched through the fiery anger, and I sighed. “Sorry about snapping,” I said, still in a foul mood. Walking around the car, I climbed in. “Is everybody okay? Connor?”
“Yes. The family is fine.”
I waited as my shoulders knotted up, and a tension headache pounded at the base of my skull. Gianni rarely let it pass when I addressed our father by his first name.
“What’s wrong then?”
“Okay, first…” She hesitated, then pushed onward. “Listen, I need you to take a deep breath and stay with me, okay? This is bad.”
“Gianni, will you quit rambling and tell me what the problem is? Or I’ll drive to your place and wring your neck.”
“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. “This is going to be so, so, so bad….”
“What?” I half-shouted.
“Maximus…stop yelling,” she said, her temper edging in. “I’m sending you a link. Promise me you will not do something stupid that’ll require me to bail you out of jail.”
“Fine,” I bit off. “What’s up?”
My phone chimed to let me know she’d just texted me.
“See for yourself.”
Gianni sounded dismal and resigned.
Focusing on the distant heat mirages dancing over the road, I breathed in, then out. A second time. A third. Then, knowing I wouldn’t get any calmer, I grabbed my phone and opened the messenger app to see what the problem was.
“James?”
Gianni’s soft voice came to me almost at a distance as I stared at the bold font of the heading. It could have just been the rush of blood pounding in my skull as my heart thundered, my muscles going stiff and tight while my skin seemed to shrink down, trapping me inside a cocoon of flesh and fury.
Rage was a pulse in the back of my mouth, a sheen across my vision as I scanned the headline one more time.
Yeah, Gianni was right. It was bad.
“James?”
Closing my eyes, I said, “I’ll call you back.”
“James, listen, I—”
Disconnecting the call, I turned on “do not disturb” on my phone and read.
The article from a local tabloid-style site about the rich and famous in and around Texas, was short. The writer had done a bang-up job of painting broad strokes with her words.
The two pictures posted in the article added vivid stripes of color to an already passionate image.
FIFTY SHADES MAX
Flicking back to the article’s title, I read the byline and subtitle repeatedly, hoping to find some clue who had taken the pictures.
There was nothing.
The article itself offered no clues either.
James Maximus, also known as simply Maximus, a Houston heartthrob, and mega-millionaire, was spotted at a local Den OF SIN. Spell that in all caps, ladies, because The Black Star is no place for nice Texas girls. Ms. Tina Siegler, one of Houston’s fine business owners, is definitely not a nice Texas girl, nor is she ashamed of it.
Below the block of text was a picture of Tina and me, taken by an accomplished photographer. The focus sharpened on Tina, her back to my chest, and my hand cupping her right breast, while the other club-goers were just a blurry suggestion in the background.
I wasn’t particularly recognizable, only some of my face showing as I kissed Tina’s shoulder.
But Tina?
Despite having her eyes closed in sensual pleasure, it was clear.
Anybody who knew her would recognize her in that picture.
For anybody who isn’t aware, The Black Star is…well, we’ve given it many names. Den of Sin. Pleasure Palace. Fetish Club. Dark Dungeon. To be specific, The Black Star is an exclusive club for the rich. The Star’s motto seems to be WHATEVER YOU WANT GOES! Or should we say…comes?
Look at the following picture and see what you think.
Jaw clenched tight enough to send pain shooting up into my skull, and I scrolled down to the picture. Fuck.
“Who the hell are you?” I muttered, wondering how somebody could have gotten this angle. Photography wasn’t allowed at the club for obvious reasons. That meant little, since anybody with a phone could snag a somewhat decent picture these days. However, this picture was taken in my private booth. Only a few angles would allow for such a shot.
Blood boiling, I stared at the image. Tina’s head slumped slightly, but not so much that the viewer couldn’t see her parted lips or the way I had my hand up her skirt.
The shot was so provocative and well-done, I could practically hear her moaning, and could imagine the shudders of her body as she climaxed.
Sure, I had firsthand knowledge, but nobody would miss what was going on.
For more details on this delicious story, hop over to HOT IN HOUSTON, one of our favorite bloggers. There’s more to share, and some of those pictures are absolutely yummy.
I hurled the phone in the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, no longer able to stay still.
Fuck!
I almost shouted to the empty expanse of sky overhead. Grabbing the shreds of my control with a brutal fist, I paced back and forth until the anger ebbed. Part of me wanted to get back in the car, peel off in a squeal of tires and burning rubber, but that would not solve shit.
I wasn’t the only one being dragged into this.
Back in the car, I grabbed my phone and clicked on the HOT IN HOUSTON link.
MAXIMUS, I’LL KNEEL FOR YOU!
The title font was a garish red.
The words had me recoiling.
I had no problems with my sexual tastes or how they ran toward the darker, kinkier variety.
That didn’t mean I wanted strangers tossing out shit like this.
Every successive line of the blog post got worse.
There were more pictures and the anonymous guest blogger, going under the name of SilkinBonds, gave a running commentary for everything.
This isn’t the first time for Maximus at this rodeo, ladies. A birdie told me he’s been known to pay for a private dance booth at the Black Star and request several ladies at a time for all sorts of torrid, illegal orgies.
Bullshit. So much bullshit. I didn’t like the private booths, and orgies weren’t my thing. I didn’t care if other people got off on it, but there was a distinct lack of control there, and control was crucial for me.
He’s one of their wealthiest customers, so there’s nothing the staff at the club will deny him, even if it’s not comfortable for the dancer.
By the time I finished the blog post, a good five minutes had passed. I kept checking each picture, comparing it to my memory of that night in hopes it might help me learn about the vicious bitch behind it all.
Let me wrap this up with my favorite image…Maximus, there, licking his finger and making it clear we all know just what he was doing under Tina’s prim and proper skirt.
Prim and proper? It had fit like a fucking glove, putting that ass of hers on display to perfection.
That made me stop and read through the piece again.
“Huh.” A thought whispered in the back of my mind, but I throttled it for now. Later, I’d worry about that.
There were other concerns on my mind.
Grabbing the bottle of water from the cup holder, I drained half of it, then poured some on my hand to splash on my face. It was still cold, but the hoped-for effect of clearing my head didn’t happen.
I was too angry.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself.
I had a lawyer to call, a sister to reassure, and then figure out how to keep Tina from turning tail and running from me.
