Happy New Year! I’m not around for the holiday, so have posted this in advance, which means I don’t have a clue what the prompts were for this week. I hope you enjoy this continuation of Carson’s story. He thought he’d found his dream dom, but Sir might be a part of his painful past.
Want to read the story of Carson’s first meeting with the mysterious “Sir”? You can read “Unwrapped” here. The chapters are linked, as these will be.
“His name is Reed Bradley.”
I’d heard the name, chiefly through the Montiel Foundation my mother and maternal grandparents had funded. I sit on the board. Bradley was listed on the boards of a couple of the arts organizations we supported.
“All right,” I said. This didn’t sound bad so far.
“He knew your father”—my gut turned over a little when Stewart said that—“socially, mostly. Bradley’s self-made. He's ambitious and smart. Put himself through Penn, then Wharton, all while building a real estate empire by buying and selling rundown apartment buildings and foreclosed industrial sites. He specializes in high-rises now.”
Real estate. Industrial. Bradley Property Group. I could still hear my father speaking that name. Knowing what had to be coming only made my gut hurt worse. No way in hell could Stewart take the pain out of that punch.
“When your father ran into trouble after Great Valley Steel foundered and both Ogden and Ridge bailed, Bradley was one of the men he approached for help. Offered to sell him the property along the Schuykill. I’m not sure what happened, but the deal never came together. After Richard died, Bradley bought the property for pennies on the dollar.”
The Steelyard. The fucking Steelyard. Refurbished brick buildings and warehouses converted into lofts and upscale condominiums now sold for stratospheric prices on the land my father had tried so desperately to leverage to save his business… his life. A week after that deal fell through, my dad blew his brains out.
Jase came back into the room carrying a tray laden with a pot of steaming chocolate and plates of cookies. He set it on the side table and joined me on the floor, where he placed his hand on my leg. Having him there helped, though he didn’t say a word.
I looked up at Stewart. My throat was so thick was all I could do to speak. “This fucker knows who I am?”
“He’s known for a while. Bradley doesn’t frequent The Club; he generally holds closed, very private parties, but he stops in on occasion for bondage events. That’s when he saw you with me.” Saw me with Stewart… and recognized me? How did he know? Stewart must have been reading my face. “He’d probably seen you a few times. Maybe someone told him. Carson, he was never inappropriate. He asked to be introduced, and inquired if you might be available for a scene. I never presented you with his interest because… I was never sure what his interest really was.”
“I told him to drop it. I never dreamed he would attend the auction. He’s never done that before. Never bid.”
“He fucked me in the Steelyard?”
Stewart looked sick, sicker than me. Oh fuck. I hadn’t been special at all, except as some kind of sick ego trip. And I had nowhere to go to get away from this humiliation. Stewart knew, and so did Jase. Hell, secret auction or no secret auction, maybe the whole fucking Club knew who’d screwed my ass last night and where. There was no escape now except to leave town. Maybe I owned some cabin in the woods somewhere… I wished to hell Stewart would stop talking, because I needed to think.
“You should never have found out. The drops meant you wouldn’t see enough to know.”
“But it was okay as long as I didn’t find out? He fucked me in the Steelyard! Do you even realize how fucked up that is?” Screaming hurt, but that was good because I was having trouble feeling anything else. I could barely see Stewart through tear laced lashes. Jase handed me a napkin from the tray on the table and I wiped at my eyes.
“I attempted to get The Club to strike the bid, but—”
“But what? This asshole’s money sealed the deal? What the hell!”
Controlling myself wasn’t working. Worlds were shattering inside me and I was yelling at my dom. Jase tried to wrap his arms and fir-trimmed sleeves around me, but I pushed him away and staggered to my feet. My coat hung in the entrance hall. I grabbed it and was out the door before they could steady the table and tray I nearly knocked over on my way out.
* * * *
I had a head start and Jase was wearing elf shoes. That was a break, because we played tennis together and the guy was in shape. Stewart had a bad knee and could never have caught me. After I turned the corner I thought about going to my condo, but decided not to because Stewart had a key. Keeping to places where the snow had turned to slush helped erase my tracks, but where did that get me? Despite the coat, I wasn’t really dressed for the weather and slush was collecting in my slippers.
Getting out of the house helped clear my mind, but only a little. The confusion hurt like hell. I'd cut Stewart off and I felt myself starting to flail.
This wasn’t going to work, not the way I needed it to. Closed doors and darkened windows lined every street. Nothing was open on Christmas Day. Even if the Starbucks on Spruce was open, I could hardly park my ass there for very long without any money. And I was freezing. Dressed as I was, my most likely outcome was that the cops would pick me up for being a vagrant.
I hadn’t gone far, so circled back to Delancey Street and ducked into the alley two houses up from the one I’d just left. From there I had a clear view of the front steps. My feet had almost, but not quite, turned to ice when I saw Stewart, dressed in jeans and wearing a warm coat, walk down the steps and head up toward 19th Street and Rittenhouse Square. When he’d turned the corner, I darted up the steps and let myself into the house.
Copyright © 2014 Tali Spencer
All of the Wednesday Briefers have great stories to offer this week, so check them out!
You can visit the Wednesday Briefers home page HERE for opening snippets and links to all the briefs. I usually post links, but… can’t do that this week.