KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (29 page)

“Dalton, don’t
,” I firmly say, pulling him to a stop next to me. “This isn’t an image to portray or something you flip a switch on. I refuse to be something I’m not. Get used to me being myself or don’t date me, because I’m not changing for anyone. I won’t relegate my boyfriend to hanging out in my closet with the skeletons. The bigots can just go get fucked,” I bark out loud enough for it to carry to their ears.

Dalton’s lips form a half-smile
, and falter an instant later as his internal demons get the best of him. “Bianca’s right over there.” He points over to a table that has a nice view of the front windows and what lies beyond.

Bianca is a tiny beauty, with chestnut brown waves and warm brown eyes. She looks at me with something close to hatred. Dalton had called her, and apparently neglected to inform her I was joining them. But then again, would she have shown up if he had? Her reaction is telling. Either she hates that I influenced her husband to divorce he
r, much as he did to me, or I messed up whatever game she is playing. I try to read her expression to figure out if she actually cares for Dalton.

“Bianca,” Dalton warmly murmurs, giving her an affectionate hug. Just a guess, but this heart-bleedi
ng sensation is probably what Dalton feels every time he sees Regina and me together- probably worse.

“Font, I’m sorry about those idiots, but that’s why you shouldn’t
go out in public like this.” Bianca narrows her brown gaze at me in accusation. I guess it’s my fault… closed-minded, forked-tongued bitch.

“How ya doing, Bianca?
Thanks for inviting me.” I smile sweetly, employing my dimples. “It’s lovely to see you again,” I say with false gentility.

No love lost
between us- we despise each other.

We settle at a table. Bianca
raises her hand to a server to have another cup brought over. A platter of confections and a carafe of coffee sit on the table. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us,” accusation heavily laces her voice. She directs the words at me, but refuses to look my way.

“How is your father?” Dalton starts out with polite small talk. I pour coffee into our cups, and divvy out a few pastries onto Dalton’s plate and twice as many onto mine as she drones on about people I will never meet.

“Font, is this official?” Bianca gestures between us with a scowl on her pixy-like face. “Is this a good idea? What about reputations?”

“Bianca, let’s cut the shit,” I growl, losing all pretenses. “Why do you keep insulting me?”

“I’m not,” she poorly denies. Dalton rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head, silently conveying
don’t upset Bianca or she won’t talk
. 

“So… Bianca, I thought you’d like to know how Spyder is doing. She starts school in three weeks- her final year. She’s a year behind her peers because of the tutoring. But she’ll be in the same classes a
s the rest of her friends. Itsy’s really excited. She was wondering if you’d like to go to shopping soon.”

Dalton’s good… really good. He pulls the heartstrings and Bianca forgets I’m even here. I drain two cups of coffee and eat more than half of the pastries.
I surreptitiously push more food onto Dalton’s plate when it’s almost empty. He keeps smirking at my efforts. Miraculously, most of the food returns to my plate without my notice.

“Listen, I was going over Pierre’s personal papers and there is some stuff in there for Jon’s next of kin. You wouldn’t
happen to know how I could contact any of them, would you? Did my mom ever mention any of his family?” Dalton smoothly asks.

“Font,” Bianca’s voice wavers. “I really can’t say.”

“Because you don’t know? This is really important stuff I need to deliver.” Dalton asks what I’m thinking. Alarms are going off in my mind. Bianca knows. The scared shitless expression on her face seals the deal. Her warm eyes turn cold with fear as they erratically dart, searching the café for listening ears.

“Where you are concerned, it’s because I know nothing,” she warns. “I. Know.
Nothing. Of. Jon.”

“We should probably go,” Dalton pleasantly says. “I loved talking to you again, Bianca. I’ve missed you so much. You should really come around Whittenhower Estates and see Itsy Bitsy. She’d absolutely love it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bianca noncommittally murmurs, but what she means to say is
no way in hell, asshole
. “It was good seeing you, too.” She stares down into her untouched coffee and bites her bottom lip.

“Give me a hug,” Dalton coaxes her.

They stand and embrace. I ignore the jab to the gut when I see them intertwined. They look good together. Perfectly sized. He’s small and she’s smaller, his cold darkness against her warm softness.

“I need a name,” Dalton breathes, desperation leaking from his pores.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bianca mutters, pulling from their hug.

“Come on by and visit Itsy sometime. It’s a very safe environment for a teenage girl. Nothing can harm her there. It’s an open invitation, Bianca. Please come whenever you’d like to talk… to Itsy,” Dalton says in parting.

Bianca and I offer each other no farewells.

“She knows,” Dalton breathes to me as we leave the café. “They’re
threatening her with something.”

“How can you tell? Her face never changed except when you asked for Jon’s next of kin.” I wrap my hand around his as we walk towards my car. Gunner’s Hummer is parked directly behind us. He nods and starts his SUV.

“Years of experience have taught me the subtle nuances of her face. She couldn’t talk because she was being watched. She’ll come to us eventually. It may not be tomorrow or next week… but eventually.”

~Chapter Twenty-Six~

“This place is creepy,” Dalton says in amusement
, with an underlying edge of fear of the room’s contents.

“Hmm… why’s that, beautiful
? Do all these restraints make your heart pitter patter in fear? Does Master Daniel’s lair frighten lil ol’ you?” I tease. “Your room is a blank slate- talk about creepy!”

“I only needed a place for Syn to beat the memories out of me. I didn’t need any of this
… fanciness.” Dalton glides his fingertips along the top of my throne, a secret smile flirting with his lips.

The throne was a gift from Regina when she outfitted the old dungeon in comfort. It’s now the only piece of furniture in my private room that doesn’t deal with my art. The throne has rings built in and it’s bolted to the floor, just as my old wingback is modeled in the bondage station.

“I should be flattered that fourteen of these are of me.” Dalton’s dreamy tone is accented in French as he stares at the renditions of our sexual escapades.

Erotic p
rints line the walls- countless images that depict the hedonistic acts of BDSM and the sensuality of sexuality. The majority are arched backs- the delicate curve of a spine flowing down to the arousing swell of an ass. Every portrait is one of our Masters, Mistresses, or submissives. 

“Did you really tie up Regina?” I walk over
to join him, and we gaze at the largest sketching in the room. An actual scaled drawing of Queen takes up six feet of wall space. She’s lying on my tattoo table, gazing at me from over her shoulder.  Knots of silk rope adorn her lithe limbs. Her mouth is parted in sexual hunger, eyes heated with lust, and her skin rosy from arousal.

“No, this one is completely fictitious- a fantasy that will never be realized.” I try to hide the disappointment in my tone. “I front with Regina. Queen is a childhood fantasy of mine. When I’m around her, I revert back to that child. It’s why I spend so much effort showing her that I’m a man. I could never tie her up like that… sometimes the fantasy is better than reality.”

“It’s magnificent,” he breathes and walks away. Dalton fingers the ropes that coil inside an open leather trunk that sits near the throne. There are only two things I do in this room: tie people up and sketch them or etch ink into their flesh with a tattoo gun.

“Are you frightened? We don’t have to do this?
” I whisper as I ready my equipment.

“No, I want to
do this,” Dalton stresses. “It’s not my first tat, as you well know.” His eyes take on a gleeful glint in the light of my private room.

“It’s not mine either,” I sing. “
A lot of the members are walking around with my artwork on their flesh. And I’m not talking about the
M
for Marcus.”

“I want to know,” Dalton
whines in a childlike voice that’s at odds with the seductive tone of his French accent.

“Katya has the names of her children down her spine. That sketching is from that session.” I point to the picture depicting Kat. “A few of the guards have come in now and again. I think they love the free part of my art. I’m just happy to have endless practice. It’s not like drawing on paper, where you fuck up and toss the scrap into the trash.”

“I would think not.” He grins at me, fingering the blue/black ink I’ll be using on him in a few minutes. Dalton doesn’t use color on his skin.

“Not to bring up a sore subject, but I’ve been working on something for Regina for months. It’s a living family tree. It will span from her neck to her rear, shoulder to shoulder, and curve around her sides. It will take many sessions to complete.”

“Whoa…” Dalton
drawls, at a loss for words. “Regina’s back is almost as long as I am tall. That’s huge.”

“You’re even on it
.” I happily admit. “Under Marcus as Spyder’s brother, and then connected to me, of course.”

“Really?
Regina wants me on her back… forever… forever connected to you?” Dalton lights up and it gives me real hope for the future. I don’t know what’s holding him back from truly committing to me, but I know he wants what I want- a life together.

“Yeah, Regina i
s a complex woman, but extremely loving. She wants me happy, Dalton,” I softly express. “Didn’t you know it was her idea for me to approach you in the first place? She stalked you for me… among others.”

“She did?” He sounds so surprised that I bust out laughing.

“Yeah, she did. I love you, Dalton, and Regina knows it. Don’t ever doubt that. Don’t ever think she can take me away from you.”

“I worry that you’
d do whatever she asks of you,” Dalton mumbles, hopelessly staring at the floor.

“It depends on what. Some things are
nonnegotiable. Besides, I’m the manipulative bastard in that relationship,” I tease, but it’s a truth that I’m not very proud of it.

“
Who else have you tatted up?” Dalton quickly changes to a less distressing subject.

“Syn is my walking masterpiece,” I say proudly, if not a little arrogantly.
“I’m running out of room on her tiny body.”

“What does Syn
have you ink?” Curiosity laces his voice. He’s not the only one that wants to know. The only flesh visible on Syn is her face, hands, and feet- that is if she doesn’t have gloves and shoes on. There is an air about Syn that screams she’d be happier in a ski mask too. She wears violet contacts over her pretty blue eyes and she dyes her naturally blonde hair raven-black. The locks have an iridescent quality. When light hits her hair at just the right angle, it looks blue and purple- like a Raven’s wing. Syn doesn’t resemble her true-self: Faith Simpson, Fate’s little sister. Her legal name is now Cynthia Brooks, but she will only acknowledge Syn.

“It’s secret. She doesn’t like anyone seeing her body. I’m pretty sure I’m the only man that’s seen her in years.”

“How’s she look?” Dalton surprisingly wants to know, but I understand the curiosity. Syn’s secretiveness makes us want to know more about her. She’s an enigma.

“Gorgeous. If I wasn’t gay, I’d be following her around.  She’s so small, but not fragile. She’s built like a performance machine. The sketch with the tight little ass is hers.” I tip my head in the direction of the print. “I didn’t p
ut her tattoos in the sketching- anonymity.”

“Wow…” Dalton rumbles in awed wonder. “What are her breasts like?”

I smirk at Dalton, shocked that he even asks that. “Everything on her fits into my palms, firm and round.” I cup my hands in example, visualizing what it felt like to touch her skin. “Everything is perfect- not too small, not too large. Too bad she’s a vicious celibate and obsessed with some dude named Wil- Wil with one
L
.”

“What?”

“Every tattoo has his name hidden within the image- WIL. The most impressive one I’ve done for her lent me the inspiration for Regina’s living family tree. Syn’s is just a list of initials intricately intertwined within the tattoo. I’ll never forget the letters: GM: FS BS FS BG DW. Sometimes there are other names, but Wil is usually present. She has a pretty one depicting Fate. A few have Cort’s name, but I wasn’t surprised. They have a sordid history. They were once like Ava and Niel. They dated for a long time, and one day Faith came home and found her sister on the sofa with Cort between her legs.”