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Chapter Eleven

G
riffen had
been with a lot of women in his life. From the age of fourteen until now, women
surrounded him like moths to bright flame. Most of those over the years had
worked for him at the club. Others, he’d used for practical purposes, and
eventually one-night stands that meant little to either—easily forgotten.

Others, he couldn’t even remember their names if still
in his bed come morning. They’d been for sexual gratification and nothing more;
surely not there for love.

Unfortunately, only one woman in all of his years had
made a difference in how he viewed the world.

Sara.

Casey knew all about her personality disorder. He’d
done his homework. He never hired a woman into his club if not doing a thorough
background check— including medical history. It was against the law, of course,
to dig into one’s medical diagnosis, or hold it against an individual for
employment purposes. Nevertheless, his one stickler in life was if he was going
to hire a woman, and she a potential conquest, either to him or to one of his
clients,
she damn well had better be disease free. Most often, the women would lie
about their problems—mentally or physically. They never openly told a man
they’d slept with far too many and their late night activities had finally
caught up to them.

If Casey ever found out one of his girls lied to him,
this caught her a quick pink slip and blacklisted from any other employment at
the four other strip clubs within a hundred mile radius. Casey had connections,
and he used those connections for a higher purpose. There were worse things
than an annoying sexual disease of a hot chick, however—well he should know.

Not only was disease an issue in most of the clubs,
criminal activity played a huge role in who he would write out paychecks to. If
she was at all in trouble with the law, she saw the back exit door real quick;
the moment it hit her in the ass. If not, he gave her a trial period of three
months.

A man could tell if the potential was there, and he
sure as hell couldn’t let a woman with sticky fingers into a place drawing him
in nearly twenty-thousand dollars a night.

A woman with the crabs could kill a club owner’s
business like gas set to flame.

The payoff to the foolproof system he’d created was
what had him driving a one hundred fifty-thousand dollars sports car, owning
three others, and living in a three million dollar mansion with every gadget
imaginable. He was fucking rich but frugal—to a point.

Sex, was an entirely different story. With sex, Casey
was a total tight wad. He never paid for it. He never asked for it. It came his
way free of charge, and without any personal complications or emotional
baggage. He never left his partner of the night wanting more. But, if he was
going to put real effort into it, she left his bed with a smile on her face and
his name branded on her lips for a least the next year or two.

Casey could satisfy a woman. There was never a
question to that. There would never
be
a question to his capabilities.

Sara Rogan was a whole other path for a man to take.
She was physically disease free. She’d never been in trouble with the law, as
much as he knew. However, she was mentally flawed. And he’d watched Sara as
Mecenna, for months on end, just to see if any personality slip would ever crop
up into her work. Her pink slip kept on hand, stuffed into the top drawer of
his office desk, was there in case it was ever needed.

If she’d lifted money, or stole other things out of
the club, he would have easily handed her that slip of paper without missing a
beat.

Sara never did. She never took out of the till. She
never slipped out of the character of Mecenna. The only time she’d ever taken
anything not hers was when her and Lace emptied a full bottle of his tequila
while practicing on the pole; forgiven, if not incredibly fun to have watched
from the shadows.

The women had worked hard that week—they’d earned a
little free time.

He knew he gave Sara shit for it far more than Lace,
and made her squirm that night, but it really hadn’t bothered him all too much
that she’d taken the tequila; especially, when she gave him just as much shit
back upon his finding out.

As long as each girl in his employ put in their shift
hours and at a hundred and ten percent, made him money, Casey was fine with a
little theft of spirits. Therefore, the only thing ever stopping him from
having the physical act of sex with this woman was she’d disappeared on him.
The night he locked her into his mirrored room, his every intention had been to
make love to her—after she danced for him. If she could have pulled it off, he
would have made it worth her effort. She may or may not have wanted to be his
mistress, but sooner or later he would’ve been able to charm into agreeing.

What were her words said to him?
He was to show her
his pecker…
or something to this effect. He only wished he’d taken her dare.

For six long months, Casey had been worried sick about
her. He’d wanted to know if she laid dead on the side of the road, if she had
enough money to keep afloat, or a warm place to stay. Imagine his surprise when
he found her at Tepper’s, happy as a lark. Then, for her to tell him she and
Tep had never slept together? He was talking about Sara Rogan—a confirmed
Sex
Goddess.
Hell! If he’d been a woman, he would have slept with Tepper! Le
D`oun was loaded in every single definition to the word. Head to toe, and
monetary, the guy was a fucking God, according to that God, and Tep put Casey
at the bottom of his throne, second in line to any leftovers tossed his way.

Casey told Sara he and Tepper did not share. Well,
there had been a time or two when they had—and this sharing done in the same
damn night! Poker night came with incredible benefits, and usually a few
hookers for whoever won the kiddy.

When Tep called him a week ago, said there would be no
hookers, Casey had been a bit surprised.

He’d been flabbergasted when he walked out onto the
patio and the only female in sight was Sara.

His first shocked instinct was
she
was the
nights’ fun, and for one quick instant of his more than exciting life, he’d
felt remorse for all those other women used on poker night. He did not want
Sara to go through that. Five drunken men in one night would have been too much
for her. Five large men would have damaged the goods—in many irreversible ways.

Then his fury overtook remorse. She’d been missing for
six long months, and he found her as Debra? He never once suspected this at all
by the way Tepper talked about the woman. Surely this Debra Tepper was so crazy
about, would have been a mousy, bookish, near-librarian.

Casey never put thought Tep would purposely pick a
hot, unstoppable Mecenna as his more than competent Debra.

Nor, should he have put more thought to it, have
expected Sara as Mecenna.

Each of her personalities was a world apart. Each had
their own quirks. Each came with their own traumas.

Yet only one woman contained all three very different
identities.

After a little private investigation, Casey discovered
why this was. Sara Rogan was an abused child. This was not in any medical
records, and not in any police records. His private investigator uncovered this
vital information by going straight to the woman’s past. He’d interviewed
Sara’s old neighbors, her school friends, even a couple of her conquests. She’d
had multiple conquests.

Casey told his investigator to stop at the first ten.
He hadn’t wanted to know about the rest, nor what they’d seen of her body. He’d
only wanted to know
why
…and
who
made her the way she was. He was
told she’d had a bi-polar mother and a drunken, abusive stepfather.

No wonder she’d been terrified of what he’d done to
her. He’d locked her into a mirrored room, amplifying her flaws. Sara’s abusive
stepfather used to lock her into fucking closets! He couldn’t imagine what that
did to the psyche of a child. But all he had to do was look at Sara as a grown
adult, feel the trembling in his arms, and he could see the aftereffects of
such a tragedy, as if his own.

Sara Rogan was in his arms—not Tepper’s.

Sara was crying her eyes out on his chest—not
Tepper’s.

She was going to make love to him—and not do so with
Tepper.

For once in his life, Casey had upped another man.

The physical act would be by the end of this night,
laced with compassion and heat. Moreover, if the cards were laid all out and
the cosmos aligned, this was going to be a night filled with a little kink and
a whole lot of lust. He hadn’t worked out the specifics in his head, but he
knew they would both be satisfied come morning.

Emotionally satisfied was a whole other story.

He’d waited six long months for this woman. He was
going to have Sara…and she was going to put his name to her lips and his size
into her core without complaint.

His tongue, sent deep in her mouth, suddenly battled
with hers. She did not push him away. Instead, she drew him in with each breath
taken; pulled him closer with each beat of her heart. She collected him, as no
other woman had done so before.

Casey eased his mouth back, his eyes locked into hers.
He saw his reflection mirrored.

Sara could not hide what she wanted of him any more
than he could hide his desire for her; this desire hard and painful between his
legs.

To make it hurt worse, she pushed her hips into his,
crushing the incredible want against her pelvis. Her hands slid from his lower back
to his hips.

Casey had to grab for breath during this sudden caress
of the woman’s more than tempting fingers to ward off losing control far too
quickly. She then moved those hands to the front of his jeans and dragged her
knuckles across his thickened shaft.

Christ! He was more than ready for her. Only a fool
would have thought otherwise. But he had to take this slow, savor it, use
caution to make it last. If went at this too fast, she would disappear again
and he couldn’t chance any more disappearing acts from her.

His hands dropped from her hair to gather her wrists
into his palms. He wanted to get the idea of taking things slow into her head,
without actually having to say the words aloud.

But Sara wasn’t cooperating with these plans. She took
a step forward and put her mouth to his jaw line, dragged her tongue over the
course stubble and down the side of his neck; dragging a deep, relentless groan
from out of his throat.

As he let her tongue discover a trail of ecstasy to
follow, Casey kept firm grip onto her wrists. He knew if he let her go, she
would open up the zipper and all hell would break loose. And he was not about
to make love to her while they stood inside his living room.

Casey wanted to make love to Sara while they lay on
his bed, perhaps in the shower, and then on the floor. Even on the billiard
table seemed like a good idea. He’d always wanted to try a little creative sex
surrounded by pool cues, blue chalk and an eight ball shoved into the side
pocket.

His plans were to fuck this woman every way he could,
every which way to Sunday…while he actually
cared
about doing it. How it
happened, where it happened, or why it happened, would be up to the hands of
fate. Nevertheless, it damn well was going to happen.

Even fate dared not screw something bound by destiny.

****

Sara feared what she felt inside her body. Warmth
unstoppable took over. The desire built to beyond imaginable, and that warmth
got well out of her control. In fact, all of the control leading toward tonight
slipped from her grasp—the second Casey took her in his arms and set his mouth
to hers’.

She gave him what he wanted of her; lend more to the
desire than simple lust, since she had no more secrets to hide. He knew exactly
who she was, and why she did whatever she had to, to get by in life. Those
secrets had kept her safe over the years; they’d protected her. A shield made
out of traumatic memories and the consequences of childhood formed of thick
steel.

Sara no longer had to hold any shield up to protect
her psyche from harm. She no longer had to be afraid of discovery. Casey
wouldn’t harm her.

She gently tugged her wrists out of his grasp, sliding
her fingers up the length of his muscular torso. She would take this slow,
though her body screamed otherwise. She would make this perfect—a memory that
would never need any shield to hide behind. She would give the man all he
wanted of her, because desperation was fueling her need, as much as it looked
to be fueling his.

Life did not revolve around taken breaths and steadied
heartbeats. There was a good pain and a bad. Sara knew both.

Casey’s deep blue eyes drifted closed by her touch to
his ribs. As she put her forehead to his frame, she asked him, without
reservation or regret, “Make love to me.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”