The Supplicant Read online

  "And if I was speaking to you, I might say something like, 'hmm, that's not your decision to make. Or butt the fuck out'. Or words to that effect."

  Sylvia drew a deep breath and played her trump card. "It's not what he would want, either, Ard, and you know it."

  She paused in the act of bringing a platter of meatloaf to the counter, then resumed what she was doing a second later, as if she'd been buffering for a second. "And, knowing me—knowing me better now than any other person on the planet—you think that it would be a good thing for me, who has experienced true love in a way that most people never will in their lifetimes, who has slept with less than five people, all of whom I was in love with at the time—to sleep with a man who has already confessed to me that he doesn't even believe in love?"

  Sylvia swallowed hard. "Yeah, I think he's exactly the type of person you should sleep with right now. He might not be exactly what you would choose in that regard, but I've known him pretty well for a while now, and—love or not—he's an honorable man."

  Her friend blinked at her owlishly.

  "Look, he's not looking for a commitment—"

  "No," she interrupted. "Just the opposite, in fact. He's looking for a very expensive prostitute."

  Sylvia rubbed her forehead. "Well, put the money aside, for a moment."

  "I can't! It's the whole reason I'm even still listening to you! It's why I went to him in the first place, or I would happily never have laid eyes on him again!" To her horror, tears were streaming down her face while she yelled at her friend.

  As she broke down even further, Syl took Arden into her arms, holding her and rocking her, patting her back as she had so many times before. When the storm had passed, she led her to the couch and they sat down together, still holding hands tightly. "Look. You're in a bind. He can help you out."

  "By making me no better than a call girl."

  Sylvia gave her a withering look. "A call girl? You're closer to the friggin' Virgin Mary than a call girl. You have an…an air about you—untouchable—almost innocent, without seeming smarmy or holier than thou. I know you—half of the guys you count as sleeping with never even fucked you—they just fingered you a little and you gave them a hand job! What woman of forty-some years old has only slept with two people?!"

  She was trying not to feel like a freak and not doing very well at it. "Yeah, well."

  "Do you consider the women who let them buy him things to be prostitutes, too?"

  "No, of course not."

  That got her the raised eyebrow look of haughty derision. "You see where I'm going here? He gave them what they wanted or needed, and he'd do the same for you."

  "But a hundred thousand dollars for one night? That's obscene!"

  Her friend looked stunned. "A hundred thousand? I thought you only needed less than thirty?"

  Arden nodded slowly. "I do only need less than thirty."

  "Wow—he must really want you."

  Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed Syl's arm, pinching a bit with her fingers.

  "Ow!"

  "That reminds me—what did you say to him?"

  "Say to him? About what?"

  "About my…personal preferences, or about the…unusual nature of my marriage. About my collar, specifically."

  Syl held her right hand up as if she was being sworn in as a witness in court. "Absolutely nothing. I might have wanted you to finally get a little something-something after all this time, but I did not go into specifics at all, in any way whatsoever, so help me Chris Evans."

  Sylvia was an atheist, but she believed fiercely in the innate goodness—even if only as eye candy—of Chris Evans.

  Arden gave her a bit of side eye. "You're sure?"

  "Christ, yes! Cross my heart and hope to die!" She even completed the child's gesture that accompanied the vehement denial.

  "Yeah, well, you understand why I'm skeptical, considering that you were trying to sell me off to the highest bidder."

  "I was not! And, no, I don't understand."

  Her friend wasn't interested in elaborating, apparently, because she was looking anywhere but at Sylvia.

  And not much got by her friend, especially if it was of a sexual nature. "Holy shit, he guessed it, didn't he? I tell you, he might not like emotional trappings, but the man is very astute about people, women in particular."

  "Oh, I think I might argue that point."

  "So," Sylvia asked, leaning back against the couch. "He obviously wants you, and he knows exactly what you like, and he must be into that, too. And you're as skittish around him as a virgin around a volcano, so we know where you stand on him—" Her friend opened her mouth wide to protest, but she held up her hand. "Don't even try to go there with me, honey. I know you. You can't act all above it all with me. What are you going to do?"

  "Damned if I know," Arden groaned, not bothering to argue with her friend, although she could have lived without ever hearing the situation spelled out quite so rawly. She let her head loll back as she practically threw herself against the back of the couch, too. "Really, I haven't the slightest fucking idea. All I know is that I have to do everything I can to keep this place."

  "And does that include sleeping with one very handsome, very potently masculine man who's completely fine with giving you a shit ton of money to do so for just one night?"

  "That sounds like the perfect technical term for it—a shit ton. But the truth is, I don't want all that money."

  "You don't?" he asked incredulously, about ten days later, while sitting across from her at a well-lit, highly popular restaurant.

  She'd done some work for the owner of the place, so she was able to request the table she wanted, and it was one of the cozy, more out of the way booths where she thought they could talk about this highly sensitive and unusual—for her, anyway—subject without being overheard, and in a place where she was comfortable.

  "Hell, no." Arden nervously folded and unfolded the napkin that lay in her lap with her fingers.

  Although he smiled at her emphatic response, Loch didn't much like how jumpy she seemed, but he was too happy—and not a little shocked—to be here with her at all. He'd already pretty much given up hope that he was ever going to speak to her again. And, considering the situation, he shouldn't be surprised that she was nervous. He knew exactly why she'd suggested they meet here, and far from being unhappy about it—although it was hardly the place he went any more—or even, frankly, even before he'd made it rich—he was glad to go anywhere she felt safe.

  "That's entirely too much pressure for one night, especially since, as technically inexperienced as I am, I'm not likely to be quite as, uh, skilled as you might be used to." She was just about as anxious as she'd ever been in her lifetime, so much so that she was more than a little nauseous and still half thinking of ditching the idea entirely, even though she was the one who'd invited him here.

  Arden had made the decision to go through with it, finally, after having put it off just about as long as she could, deciding that two could play at his game. She'd give herself to him, let him do pretty much anything he wanted to with what she considered to be very few limits, if it came to that. And she had a feeling that with him it was likely to—but she would do her best to subscribe to his philosophy. She'd keep her emotions and her heart separate. He wasn't interested in it anyway, by his own words, so he'd never notice he was only getting about twenty percent of who she was.

  And she'd resist him as best she could—passively, of course—by responding as little as was possible. She was a passionate woman—at least she had been, especially while she was married—and she wasn't sure how well she was going to pull it off, but she was going to do her best to simply do as he asked, to concentrate on his pleasure, disregarding her own as much as possible.

  Most men would prefer that, anyway, wouldn't they? Still, she couldn't quite repress her sense of humor. "Besides, there's no telling what kind of weird shit you might want to get up to for that amount of money!"

 
He liked her smile, however tentative, as she peeped up at him.

  Unfortunately, the one he returned to her was less than comforting, leaning much more towards feral and hungry than amused before he saw her eyes widen and consciously set about reeling in his appetites.

  "Let me guess, you'll only accept twenty-eight thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four dollars and thirty-five cents?"

  She had to admit, she was impressed. Intimidated as hell, still, but impressed. "I can't believe you remembered that specific amount!"

  He shrugged. "I've always had a thing for numbers. They come easily to me." He bit his tongue on the comment that most women came to and for him easily, also, knowing she probably wouldn't appreciate it.

  "I bet that helped you in your career quite a bit."

  "Absolutely."

  The waitress was as unobtrusive as one could hope for in a place like this—which was a small regional chain of what most people considered to be pretty good steakhouses. They gave her their orders, and she left them alone.

  Loch cleared his throat. "I'd like to get this settled, Arden. Unless I miss my guess, you brought me here to talk about accepting my offer?"

  Now she was playing with her silverware, and he reached across the table to lay his hand over hers. "Fold your hands in your lap and put your eyes on mine," he ordered quietly, but she sensed that it was not up for debate, so she did as she was asked with a relative amount of ease—at least, in regards to her hands.

  Meeting his eyes was another thing entirely, and she had to force herself to do so. If anyone could be said to have a dominant stare, it was Loch. As soon as their eyes met, her mouth went dry, but she kept her eyes steadily on him.

  "Very good. I'm kind of a fan of round numbers, so I really want to stick with the figure I chose." His grin made her feel that she was the one on the menu tonight. "I am certain that I could come up with more than enough inventive things to ensure that I received my money's worth. I can assure you, you'll earn every penny and then some."

  Her eyes slid from his for a second at that as her skin suffused with a lovely blush, although they found their way back to his very quickly.

  "But if the amount bothers your conscience—although I can assure you that it would cause me no hardship—perhaps we could adjust the number of nights, instead? Perhaps ten? Or fifty?"

  She chuckled. "Fifty? You can't possibly want to spend fifty nights with me! You'd be bored to tears!"

  As their waitress appeared with their salads, he reached over—completely ignoring her—and took her hand in his. "Boredom, my dear, would be the very least of either of our problems, I can assure you."

  She tried to reclaim her hand, her eyes darting to the waitress, who was waiting for him to let her go, but he held onto her until she stopped struggling and her eyes settled onto his again, at which point he released her and they were given their salads as well as a small loaf of Swedish rye bread before the girl disappeared again.

  "I'm not at all certain I'm going to make it through one night with you, much less any more than that," Arden confessed, happy to be looking at her salad rather than him. She didn't know what was wrong with her—her heart was pounding, she felt hot and cold at the same time, no longer nauseous but, instead, just slightly faint.

  She knew what it was, of course, but didn't want to acknowledge that she was feeling a very deep, sexual attraction to this man.

  "That would be my responsibility."

  "Yours?"

  "To make sure that you made it through the night with me—through every night you spent with me, as your dom."

  He'd used that word quite deliberately, in order to gage her reaction, which was quite overt. She jerked, physically, looking wounded, as if he'd brought his crop down across her bare buttocks.

  "So, twenty-five nights, say, which would be four thousand a night? I'd have that in your account by the next morning or I'll pay you double."

  "I don't want double!"

  That got an actual chuckle. "Well, there has to be a penalty to me for not holding up my end of the bargain, just as there will most definitely be penalties to you if you do not behave as I expect you should."

  Arden outright gasped, choking on the bit of salad she'd inhaled in doing so, which prompted him to smack her on the back a couple of times.

  Damn! If he spanked anywhere near as hard as he'd slapped her on the back, she was going to be toast by the time he was through with her!

  "I will, of course, have paperwork for you to sign before anything actually happens between us. One should never go into a situation like this without spelling everything out."

  "I understand."

  "Do you have a lawyer?"

  "No."

  He gave her an expectant look, but she just smiled.

  "I can't afford a lawyer," she stated flatly. "And I've been lucky enough to rarely need one."

  Loch sighed, pushing his half-eaten salad away. "I have a friend who will take your case pro bono, all the while scolding me—and enjoying the hell out of it—for what I'm doing. That should make you happy."

  She was smiling at the idea of him being chastised by anyone, much less a friend, he could tell, but her brows drew together in a frown, moments later.

  "Please ask him to run a tab for me, and I'll pay him out of the money you give me."

  "That's not necessary, Arden," he stated implacably and just a bit dismissively.

  Their dinners arrived just as she returned quietly, and just as implacably, "Yes, it is, or this discussion will go no further."

  He stopped and stared at her, and she boldly met his gaze. He could see her strength of conviction, could see reflected both in her eyes and her body language how hard this was for her to do, although she hadn't let that stop her. He admired her tremendously for that, but he had no illusions, either, and thus no doubt that if she thought she had any other alternative, she would never be here with him.

  And he had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her in that moment.

  Suddenly, he reached across the table and stood up, grabbing her hand and, after throwing several hundred dollar bills onto the table—which would be equal to about four times their bill—he turned and tugged her along behind him, out to the parking lot, where he guided her to his car.

  As they stood at the passenger's side door, he turned back to her just as she crashed into him. Since his legs were much longer than hers, she'd been struggling to keep up the entire time, and he had stopped quite abruptly. Luckily, he was steady as a brick wall, and his arms looped around her, preventing what might have been a nasty fall.

  "To hell with what should be in place before we fuck," he growled. "I want you. If this wasn't our first time together, I'd have you in my car."

  Arden's eyes went wide at that.

  A big finger tipped her chin up just slightly past the point of comfort. "Do you consent? Will you submit to me?"

  She desperately wanted to say no. She didn't think he'd ever really understand just how badly she wanted to run away from him at this moment. He didn't have the emotional capacity to do so, and, as far as she could tell, he had absolutely no interest in acquiring it, even if such a thing was possible at his age.

  This was happening much faster than she had anticipated. She had thought that things between them would be scheduled, that appointments would be made—that she would have more time to work through it all in her head and perhaps even back out.

  But here she was, in his arms, and he intended to have her that very night—hell, as soon as possible. As it was, she knew she'd have to hope he didn't pull over somewhere on the way home and expect her to do the deed in the front seat!

  Loch knew he was pushing her, but he was perverse enough that that was what he wanted to do. He wanted to test her resolve, her commitment to this whatever this was, and she didn't disappoint.

  He literally watched her square her shoulders and go from contemplating her feet as if she wished she could disappear into the dirt beneath them,
to raising her head and meeting his eyes not quite boldly, but with a quiet strength that he couldn't help but admire.

  Her voice was soft and a bit tremulous, but she nonetheless answered him clearly, "Y-yes."

  All Arden could think of as he helped her into the car was that she hoped she wasn't going to come to severely regret what she'd just agreed to, her mind flooding with the zillions of ways that this could come to a very bad end—much more so for her than for him, in every possible way.

  Chapter 4

  The impulse was there, once he'd gotten her into his house, to slam her up against the door or the wall next to it or any other flat surface he could avail himself of and empty his balls deep into her cunt, loud and hard and with little regard to how she felt about it.

  But, although he admitted to himself that that scenario was no doubt going to be played out—multiple times—between them in the future, it was not how he wanted her first time with him to be. She was too jumpy and high strung at the moment; however, he hadn't been able to resist playing with her a bit in the car.

  She was in a pretty, gauzy dress that ended demurely at her knees, and he had reached over with his big paw—enjoying not only the feel of her leg beneath it when it landed mid-thigh but the stark physical contrasts between the two of them as well that went beyond size. He was tanned and strong, and her skin was pale and soft—as if she rarely crawled out from the safety of her little abode and into the sun, making her appear slightly frail because of it—and slid it back towards her hip, taking the dress with it.

  Oh, those gasps of hers, which he knew weren't carefully cultivated or calculated in any way, were going to prove to be a mighty test to his strength of will.

  When the material had pooled at the tops of her thighs, completely exposing her legs, he whispered, "Spread for me, Arden," almost hoping that she was going to balk or disobey him or outright resist him so that he'd have an excuse to pull over, besides the way his cock was straining uncomfortably against his zipper.