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C H A P T E R O N E
PIKE
I haven’t felt my heartbeat since I left. Almost six years have passed since that day, and I still haven’t forgiven myself. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. It was the only way, even though it broke me but saved her. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I left my heart there.
But took my shame with me.
My cock hasn’t risen at the sight, sound or scent of another woman since the day I married her mother. The day she poked her head into her mother’s office, just as we were putting our signatures on the marriage certificate.
Marriage.
Might as well have been a merger. That certificate was a business document, nothing more. I think we celebrated with a glass of bourbon, but it could have been rye.
As ashamed as I am to admit it, even before my feelings for her turned more intimate as she grew into a woman, my interest in any other females in the world evaporated the day I married her mother and saw her sweet face for the first time.
Who would ever have guessed that a college pact with a friend would truly come to pass? A mutually beneficial agreement at that particular point in both our lives. Margaret and I never shared a kiss, certainly never shared a bed. It should have been simple.
Only, the one part I hadn’t planned on in our deal was her.
Willow.
I knew that day. I remember the word repeating in my head at the first glance of her. Its meaning changed over the years as she grew but it still remains branded into my memory. Never before and never again will that word apply to anyone but her.
Mine.
I swallow hard and take a deep breath through my nose, trying to re-gain my bearings. No one around me would know it, but I am in a tailspin, out of control.
The famous Lord Tower, about to crack his façade right here in front of a few hundred of my nearest and dearest.
Truth is, I know none of them. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know their names. We spend time together. But I give none of myself to them. To anyone.
I’ve saved that for her.
Unconsciously, yes. But now I’m done pretending.
Because she’s here.
And I can hardly believe my eyes.
I’m riveted, watching her move through the crowd. She has three friends with her, or to be more precise it looks like she’s with them, following with wide eyes on the room, taking in the sights, smells, sounds. I know how intoxicating it can be. Inside my head the room goes silent.
I reach to the pair of binoculars I keep on the table of the balcony. Using them allows me to be sure even from a distance that the rules of the club are respected. That no one is in over their head. Consent is king and it is my ultimate responsibility to keep a keen eye out for everyone that comes through my doors.
At a moments notice I can push single button and all activity with my club will stop. From my perch above the floor of the club I raise the binoculars and tighten the sight onto her face.
The face that’s swirled in my dreams for so many years.
The face I imagine as this woman I see now, only dripping with my cum. Covered in me as I am with her.
In my dreams she is feral, mewling, writhing at my feet as I coax her to show me who she is. Who we are.
Together. Always together.
My cock is fully erect. Tearing at the cloth of my vintage Armani tuxedo trousers with claws that seem to have sprung to life since she came through the door of my club and straight back into my life.
Where she belongs.
I know in this instant...never again will I live without her light in my life. There exists no force on Earth strong enough to keep me from her this time.
“Sir?” The young woman in front of me registers only the most essential amount of my attention. The rest is reserved for Willow.
“Yes, Vexxie, thank you for coming so quickly.”
She’s a petite, delicate thing, well put together and loyal to a fault. One of the few members of my staff that I trust with the most important aspects of my life.
“Of course, Sir. How can I be of service?” Vexxie lowers her eyes, as most of the staff do when I look directly at them.
The dress code for staff is all black. That’s non-negotiable. Her above the knee, skin tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination. Black latex. High neck. It’s appropriate attire, designed to flatter and reveal, not to cover. But from me she draws nothing but professional attention.
“You will service table seventeen tonight. I want you to give them your most impeccable service.”
“Yes, Sir. Friends of yours?” She blushes as her voice quivers.
A simple conversation with me has her barely able to form words.
I consider the question for a long moment, then speak softly. “No.” The simple word is tinged with regret. Whe
n I continue, my jaw is tight. “Not friends.”
With a tip of my head the conversation is over. Vexxie lowers her eyes and dismisses herself as I step back onto the balcony of my office, half hidden behind the black velvet drapery pulled around the gently curved corners.
I’ve owned this club for twenty years. In this world, our public names are rarely used. Here, I am known as Lord Tower and this place is the House of Tower. A mansion I purchased, renovated and opened specifically for the purpose of entertaining the elegance and dignity of the Lifestyle. Not the carnival ride of taboo and sex it has become elsewhere. No, I am from another school. An ancient time when respect, authority, wisdom, honor and reverence were the character traits most valued in this life.
It’s not just about the sex as so many wrongly assume. That’s a perversion that’s taken on a life of its own in the last decade. I am a single minded, decisive, dominant man. I want one woman, one individual, and if nothing ever comes to pass between us then I will not touch another. Never. It will be that way until the day I die.
