Vice: Sins of Seven Read online

  Once in the small room, I set her down and start undressing her. She allows me to work without her sassy mouth, and I’m thankful. I’m so focused on what I’m doing that I don’t realize by the time she’s naked her cheeks are glistening with tears.

  “I’ve failed you.” My words are a harsh whisper, but she shakes her head in response.

  “It’s been a long time since someone has taken such care with me.” She steps closer to me; her tiny hands holding my shoulders, then she trails them down to slowly unbutton my shirt and push it over my shoulders until it falls to the floor.

  I watch in awe as she takes care of me the same way I did her. Once we’re both naked, I realize we’re both baring more than just our bodies at this moment. And I’ve never been so fucking scared of a woman in my life.

  Chapter 13

  Oliver

  Last night, I took Cayleigh. And after our scene, we both cared for each other in a way I’d never done with any of my other subs. I allowed her in, into the darkest depths of my mind. And she, in turn, allowed me into her body once more before I left. She fell asleep on her bed, and I covered her with a blanket and walked out into the night.

  I couldn’t stay. There wasn’t anything that would’ve kept me there last night. I drove for hours. Even when the sun came up, I continued to put my foot on the gas pedal and drove. I left the city and came back again. If someone asked where I was, I couldn’t tell them, but I needed to think.

  With all my training, every year that passed, I never once played out a scene that brought me back to that time of my life. I’d locked it away in a dark corner of my mind and promised myself never to live through it again. But last night, something crashed to the ground along with Cayleigh’s body and mine, and I lost it. The hidden memory slammed into me with a ferocious clarity.

  I couldn’t tell her what happened. There was no way I could admit what I’d been through, so instead of being honest, I brushed it away like it was nothing. I didn’t allow myself to wallow in the images that flashed through my mind.

  Her sweet-scented perfume invaded my nostrils and brought me back to the present. My heartbeat that seemed to want to break through my rib cage calmed to normal. I wasn’t in that house. I was beside her. Holding on to one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met. I forced myself to hold her, to stroke her hair after brushing it. I needed the gentle after the roughness. And she allowed me to work through the ghosts haunting me.

  When I pull into the driveway, I stare at my home for a long while before exiting the car and making my way inside. The house I bought when I finally made it in the city is modern, with not a lot of furniture or even photos of the family I never had.

  Taking in the space now, I realize how empty my life is. I know Cayleigh is leaving. There’s a sadness to her, and I know she needs to go. She needs to find herself, which brings me back to my other student.

  Since Chance first walked into the club, I had a feeling he was going to be a challenge. And after being with him, I know for sure I want more. For years, I’ve been content with training and walking away. But for some reason, Chance has intrigued me. There’s something about him, his smile, those piercing eyes that seem to look right through me. I crave to see him submit to me.

  Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I hit dial on his number. It’s already nine in the morning, so he should be up.

  “Oliver?” His voice comes from the other end of the line, the tone thick with sleep, and I realize I’ve woken him.

  “I thought you’d be up by now. I’m sorry for waking you,” I tell him as I head into my kitchen to make coffee.

  “No, it’s okay,” he assures me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  Setting the mug under the tap, I lean against the counter. “I’d like a scene with you. Privately. Just you and me.”

  “Okay.”

  “How about tonight?” I offer, holding my breath like a damn teenager. I like Chance; there’s something real about him. He’s not one of those clingy assholes who tend to annoy me. He’s mature, his own person, and I know if we did continue on after our contract is up, I’d enjoy him immensely.

  “Sure, what time?”

  Coffee drips into the mug. Once it’s ready, I pick it up and take a small sip. The caffeine immediately hits my senses. “How about we meet around seven?” I tell him. “We’ll have dinner, and I can show you my playroom.”

  “And Cayleigh?”

  “She and I had a scene last night.” I swallow past the lump of emotion in my tone, remembering how beautifully erotic it was, but also, how much I scared myself. I’d lost all sense of control.

  “Okay, I’ll be there.” His smile is evident in his voice, and I picture his eyes lighting up with excitement. He’s a beautiful boy, a handsome young man, and I look forward to seeing just how he’ll take to the scene I have in mind.

  “Wear something formal.”

  He’s silent for a while, and I wonder if he’s dropped the call, but then he responds in a lower tone. “I can do that for you.” His words cause my cock to harden, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Good. See you tonight.”

  Hanging up, I make my way into the bedroom and set the mug on the nightstand. I make quick work of undressing and taking in the bruise on my neck in the mirror. Cayleigh is a naughty minx for that.

  Walking into my bathroom, I turn on the shower to ready myself for the day ahead.

  * * *

  The day has been busy. Callan’s almost got all the information I need to proceed with taking down a high-profile politician. Stalking into the house, I shut the door behind me and head up to my bedroom. My tie is loose, and I tug it free, unbutton my shirt, and pull it from the waistband of my trousers.

  Toeing off my shoes, I step into the bathroom and open the cold water tap to splash some on my face. The stress of the day has gotten to me, but if I had to be honest with myself, it’s more about the Irish princess than anything else.

  Grabbing a towel, I dab my face and make my way down to the living room, leaving my shirt unbuttoned. In the corner, I perch against the bar, pouring a hefty shot of Scotch before downing it in one long gulp. My throat burns with fire as it trickles its way down into my chest.

  I have a few moments before Chance arrives, and I have no idea if I even want to play this scene out. After last night, all I want is to feel someone, to take them in my own way. The fantasies I offer, the scenes I gift my submissives are nothing short of what they choose. I delve into their minds, find what it is they most crave, and give it to them in a safe environment.

  With every submissive, I allow myself to get lost in my need. Watching them come apart at my touch, or my words, it satisfies me more than I could’ve imagined.

  They’re all different, unique in their wants and needs, but ultimately, they’re searching for, attempting to quench the thirst that lies dormant within them. And after the first scene, that’s when they come alive.

  Most people are too afraid to admit what they long for. I’ve met submissives who are afraid to be honest with themselves at the pleasure they derive from kneeling, giving up control, or even being handled roughly.

  Society has made sure we’re all afraid of our basic wants. Sexual fantasies are played out behind closed doors because we’re scared of being judged. It’s sad to see it happen, but that’s why I find Seven Sins such an incredible space. It allows those who need the openness to explore without society telling them it’s wrong.

  Closing my eyes, I focus on clearing my mind of the thoughts that seem to invade it. Since yesterday, and till now, I’ve been plagued by what happened. Nobody knows. I haven’t ever found anyone I wanted to share that part of myself with.

  Perhaps it’s the fear of being judged, or maybe it’s the agonizing pain of reliving it to someone. To voice the words that always get stuck in my throat, threatening to choke me.

  Even my father doesn’t know. All he thinks is my younger years were spent as a lazy asshole hiding in
his room. But what he doesn’t know is, his son lost everything because of how nature made him.

  I had no choice who I cared for. I didn’t want to be different from the rest of my classmates, but I was. At that time, in a small town in America, being bisexual was a sin. The pastor would talk about it on a Sunday. He would admonish those emotions that flared when we came of age, and every child in that parish knew it was the work of Satan.

  Chuckling, I pour another steep shot and swallow it down before I settle in the armchair, watching the lights of the city twinkle on from my living room window. I wonder what I should do about my father. I walked out and vowed I’d never go back, but with him getting older, frailer than ever before, I know the time will soon come when I need to return to that hell and bury him.

  Even the thought of seeing his body lowered into a grave doesn’t make me sad. Losing one’s parents should be heartbreaking, but I no longer feel that for him. Once he’s gone, I’ll say goodbye to my past and move on. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I’m about to grab another drink when the buzzer alerts me Chance has arrived.

  Time to play and forget this shit.

  Chapter 14

  Chance

  When the door opens, I’m met with a force of fucking nature.

  Oliver Michaelson is not an ordinary man. He’s a hurricane that rips through every part of you and leaves a wake of destruction in his path. The shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned with the smooth, tanned skin peeking at me, and there’s a smattering of hair on his chest. Allowing my gaze to trail down to his stomach, I take note of his perfect body. You can tell he takes care of himself.

  “Chance.” He breathes my name in a low rumble that reminds me of why I’m here. When he invited me to dinner this evening, I vowed to finally admit what I’m feeling for him, that I’d like more than just a training contract from him. I want to be his, to fully submit to him.

  “Oliver, it’s good to see you.” I smile, offering him a slight nod.

  “Come in.” He steps back, allowing me into his space. The personal space I’d never seen, but as soon as I enter, I know it’s his home. Even though there are modern lines, there’s a dim yellow light that gives the illusion of candlelight. It’s calming.

  He shuts the door behind me, guiding me into the living room furnished in cream-colored sofas, black shag carpet, and a large fireplace, which almost seems out of place with the exposed brick.

  There’s a bar in the far-left corner and a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. We’re perched higher than most of the buildings in the main section of town, and I’m awed at just how beautiful it is.

  “Drink?” Oliver offers from behind me, causing me to pivot and find his steely gaze on me. He’s holding a bottle of Scotch, and even though I can’t see the label, I know it’s expensive. A man like Oliver wouldn’t be drinking some random shit. It would be top shelf.

  “Yes, please.”

  He pours my drink and settles in the armchair beside me. There’s a silence between us, hanging in the air, but it’s not uncomfortable. Oliver glances at me, taking me in, and his roving eyes make me self-conscious.

  “Thank you for coming tonight,” he finally says, his hand trailing the suede of the armchair, his fingertips brushing the material ever so lightly, and I find myself mesmerized by the beautiful intricate patterns he’s making. His hands are strong but gentle, and I want them on me. I want to feel his fingers stroking me.

  “I wanted to spend time with you.”

  “Is that so?” The corner of his mouth quirks. The corner of his eyes crease as he regards me with something akin to affection. “Sorry, I don’t normally do dates, and I wanted to try this with you.”

  “The great Oliver Michaelson dating? Who would’ve thought?” I tease, sipping the alcohol while keeping my gaze on him.

  “You’re different, Chance. I’d like to get to know you. To delve into your mind and find out what makes you tick,” he tells me earnestly. There’s no playing around right now. Oliver’s expression tells me all I need to know. He’s made a choice, and now it’s time for me to decide.

  “Do I get to know what makes you tick?” I question. Bringing the glass to my lips, I watch and wait for the moment he realizes he can’t hide from me. If I’m going to do this, there has to be transparency. I need to know about the man I’m getting into bed with.

  “If you’re a good boy, then yes,” he smirks.

  He fucking smirks.

  An Adonis. There’s nothing more perfect than his wolfish smile. I want to see it every day. More so than anything I’ve wanted before. Yes, the sex is amazing, it’s mind-blowing, but there’s something about seeing him carefree. Not lost in the darkness that sometimes clouds his eyes. I know many things are haunting him, and I plan to pull them to the surface and help him overcome whatever it is bothering him.

  “Don’t try to analyze me, Chance,” he tells me then. “You’ll fail.” He rises to a full height, offering me his hand, which I gladly accept. He leads me into a dining room where the table is set for two. Plates have already been set out, and I wonder if he did all this. “I have a chef who came in to ensure everything is ready.”

  “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I’d have been happy with pizza.” My offered words cause him to chuckle. And that’s the sound love is made of.

  Love.

  I wonder if Oliver will ever allow himself to feel it. To let in a person and show them everything. All the pain, all the heartache, and all the happiness.

  “Sit.” His command is low, a promise of what’s to come.

  Once we’re both settled, he pours a glass of chilled water for himself and me. I know we’re playing a scene tonight. At least, that’s what he said. And I know for a fact he doesn’t like to drink when he’s in control.

  “Do you ever lose control?” The question stills him and causes me to hold my breath. I don’t know why I asked him, but I need to know. I wanted to learn about him, and this is the start.

  “I did, a few times over the years. In a scene, out of a scene. There’s always a time in everyone’s life that control is overrated, or it’s not needed for some reason.”

  I nod, sipping the water, mulling over what he’s said. I don’t recall a time I’d let go of myself and let someone else take me, use me, allowing them the full power of my body.

  “I’ve never hurt anyone . . . I mean.” He smiles. “More than they needed. Chance, you have to understand, as a sadist, I enjoy the pain, doling it out.”

  “Yes, that much is clear. I just never thought of myself as a masochist, or even saw myself submitting to anyone.”

  He cocks his head to the side in awe, as if he didn’t think about it until I said it. “Well, you’re not completely submissive. You’re also dominant,” he explains, gesturing for me to eat. “That’s called a switch.”

  Nodding, I can’t help but moan at the flavors bursting on my tongue. The beef carpaccio is terrific, and I quickly finish the starter portion in front of me. We’re silent as we eat, but I know there are more life lessons to learn tonight.

  “It’s not uncommon for someone to switch at times, or depending on the person you’re with, different parts of your personality take precedence. I can never allow myself to submit. I . . .” His words taper off into a heavy silence. He shakes his head, then meets my inquisitive gaze once more. “I’m not submissive at all. I don’t like allowing myself to be controlled by anyone.”

  “Is there a particular reason why?”

  This causes him a wry smile. Sadness darkens his stormy eyes, and I wonder if he recalls a memory. “Let’s just say, I’ve not always had control of a situation. But when I let it out of my grasp, there was pain. A lot of it.”

  “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t.” The word is growled angrily as he pierces me with a thunderous glare. “Never apologize for something you didn’t do or didn’t have a hand in.” He sets his cutlery down, then meets my gaze.
/>   “Yes, Sir.” I smile, attempting to lighten the mood, and for a moment, I think he’s going to admonish me, but he doesn’t. A mere nod is all I receive before he continues.

  “My teenage years weren’t perfect,” he explains. “There were moments I wished I was dead. My father was never supportive of me, and my mother died when I was eleven, nearing my teenage years. But even though she left me, not by choice, I knew that she saw what my father was doing. Those are things I couldn’t control. I lost a woman I could’ve loved, and my father got angry,” he tells me.

  I watch him swallow his water, then shake his head. I want to say something, to tell him that all parents can be assholes, but I don’t. I allow him a moment to calm. He rises, makes his way through a door, and when he returns moments later, he’s carrying two plates. It seems dinner is served when he places one in front of me and sets the other on his placemat.

  “Tell me about your life.”

  “Uhm, well, I had both parents present all the time while I was growing up, and they were awkwardly supportive.” I can’t help but smile when I recall my mother fussing over me on my first date with a boy from school. We didn’t call it a date, but that’s what it was. I think she was more nervous than I was. “They didn’t outwardly tell everyone about me, but when people asked, they wouldn’t hide the fact that I would date both boys and girls.”

  “And Peyton?”

  “She was the most understanding,” I tell him with a fond smile. “My sister is someone who will accept all your faults, shortcomings, and love you for who you are. But she knew before I told her. When I confessed, she practically leaped into my arms.”