Claimed by Her Web Master (Web Master #3) (15 page)

Feeling his heft over me, the weight of his body as he plunged inside my pussy made me squirm with pleasure underneath him. I needed him, and for better or for worse, I belonged to Quentin Andrews for life.

I
made
one final pass through the cabin, memories haunting me in every room.

In the bedroom, thoughts of sleepless nights when Sophie and I were apart intermingled with visions of some of the romps she and I had together in that bed.

As I closed the bathroom door, I recalled the time Sophie locked herself in there after she’d found out about my deception as BA.

The former dungeon had been converted to a home office. I didn’t think my realtor would appreciate having to sell a home with its own sex and punishment chamber, so I’d repurposed the space. But if those walls could talk they’d probably tell some filthy stories, my favorite being the time I gave Sophie a strand of black pearls and used them as anal beads on her.

Fortunately no one would ever guess the perverted acts that had occurred on the kitchen table. In particular the night I’d made Sophie perform a masturbatory show for me on it while I ate my dinner. Yeah, if they ever wanted to eat off of that table it was better they didn’t know …

And my favorite part of the cabin—the feature I’d miss the most—the fireplace. The image of my beautiful submissive kneeling naked in front of it offering me not only her mouth, but herself … that was a memory that would stay with me forever. It was there, in front of that fire where I went online and answered Sophie’s first inquiry about cybertraining.

It had been a long journey, with lots of ups and downs, but she and I had come through it all, and we were still together.

The only other thing to bid farewell were my memories of being haunted by bad dreams and self-punitive thoughts regarding Sam’s death. I’d moved here after his mother and I split up, and it had been a long journey to find love and family again.

I still missed him. Thought about him every day. Somehow I was learning how to make peace with what happened to Sam. I still felt responsible, but mostly I’d come to believe that wherever Sam was, he forgave me for what happened. He didn’t blame me. He loved me, and wished me that best.

Now it was time for me to move forward, to go on with my life with Sophie. I had another chance to be a father—to Holly this time, and dammit, this time I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

I intended to be the best father I could possibly be.

Sophie said I was a good husband, but there was always room for improvement. I vowed to keep trying to be the best I could be for them both until I drew my last breath.

As I walked out the door, I placed the key under the mat for the realtor. She’d be coming by later to set up the lock box.

I took one last look at the cabin, the place I’d come to hide from the world until I met a girl on the Internet who saved me from myself. Then I got in the car and headed to my new home to my girls.

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Claimed
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Her Web Master
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oming May 31
, A Sexy Romantic Comedy from the international writing duo of Jani Kay and Normandie Alleman.

The sunlight hit my face and I squinted as I stepped outside and drew in a deep breath.

Ah, fresh air.

During the last five years my cage hadn’t been completely indoors, though it might as well have for all the freedom the exercise yard gave me.

The world smells different when you are free.
Cleaner to be sure, and full of possibilities.

Inside, the air was stale. Stagnant. It smelled of piss, punctured lives, and withered dreams.

A minute ago, when I heard those metal bars clank closed behind me for the last time, I vowed I’d never let anyone lock me up again.

Most inmates took the small stipend given to them by the prison and took a bus to their next destination, but I wasn’t most prisoners. I had money, and I intended to use it. I’d arranged for a cab to pick me up. A limo would’ve been ostentatious and might have sent the wrong message, like I wasn’t remorseful for my sins.

I was sensitive to that, even though I’d never committed a fucking crime.

But nobody knew better than me that looks were more important than the truth.
Hell, appearance was everything.

I learned that after I’d been convicted for helping the most notorious thief in the world, my boss, bilk hundreds of people out of their life savings. I hadn’t known a thing about it, but the authorities claimed that my boss, Arnie Hirsh, had taken their money, claimed to invest it, and had basically stolen it for himself.

A red, white, and blue cab pulled up next to the dark grey prison building just a few feet outside the electric fence topped with loops of razor wire.

I slid into the back seat, and the cabbie asked, “Where to?”

“The airport.” No sense going back to New York where I used to live. Everything I owned was in storage. Plus the last time I was in New York, everywhere I went people were ready to tar and feather me. My face had been plastered across every television news station and all over the internet. It was one of the reasons I’d grown a beard while inside. People were less likely to recognize me now, especially on the other side of the country.

A few hours later, as I settled into the comfortable first class seat on the airplane, I took pity—for a moment—on those poor bastards sitting in coach. Was it my imagination or had the airlines made the seats smaller back there? It looked like first class was getting more luxurious. I placed the noise canceling headphones over my ears, reclined my chair to a practically laying down position, and flicked through the new release movie menu for something to distract me from my racing thoughts about both my past and my future. For a few hours I didn’t want to think, I just wanted to sip on some decent scotch and relax after I quenched my thirst with an ice cold beer. Later I’d access the internet to check the latest news. This would be a quick trip.

Glancing around the cabin, there weren’t any women who caught my eye. Not that I was looking for a mile high encounter, but it had been a long five years with nothing but my hand to keep me company. I may have been hard up, but at least I didn’t look it. My clothes were probably a bit dated, but most people weren’t as knowledgeable about fashion as I was. Keyword: was.

Thank god I’d picked up some magazines at the airport. That would help catch me up, and when I got to California I’d go on a shopping spree. Build a new wardrobe from scratch.

I felt like a new man, so I needed new clothes. Hell, I was going to have to re-create my entire life. I might as well look good doing it.

No one from my past life was left, except one old friend who’d been too busy with his soccer career to do much other than send me an encouraging note once in a while. The rest of my so-called friends all took off as soon as the indictment came down, and while I was behind bars, my supporters dwindled. Even my family abandoned me.

My mother’s one and only visit was so “traumatic” that she burst into tears and left after only fifteen minutes. What did she imagine life was like for me in there? Regardless, ever since then, the contact with my parents progressed from infrequent to non-existent. During my stint, I’d been lucky to get an e-card at Christmas or on my birthday, and when I emailed them to tell them I was being released, they didn’t bother to respond.

I tried to not let it bother me. Hell, I was a grown man. I didn’t need mommy and daddy anymore. Fuck, I didn’t need anyone. Thanks to a trust fund bequeathed to me from my maternal grandfather, I could buy a small island and never work another day if I wanted to. And fortunately, I’d been smart enough not to let Hirsh get his filthy paws on it. Okay, that wasn’t completely true.

I gave Hirsh a small investment when he first hired me as a show of loyalty. The fucker didn’t need to know I’d be worth billions when I turned thirty. When the money I gave him disappeared, I barely missed it.

A pretty blonde flight attendant approached. She leaned over and gave me a glimpse of her ample cleavage. “Can I get you anything?” she asked in a sing-song-y voice that was more annoying than cheerful.

You, bending over this tray table and me taking that ass
. An image of her naked flashed through my mind. I was dying to sink my cock into that bubble butt of hers. Shove her panties in her mouth to shut her up. My cock stirred, pressing against my pants.

“A beer, please. Imported.” Damn, five years was too long to go without a woman.

The beer tasted better than I remembered. It went down smooth, and I ordered another one.

After the second one I had to piss. I got up from my seat to make a trip to the lavatory.

While I was taking care of business, I couldn’t believe how incredibly small the airlines restrooms had become. There wasn’t room for a big guy like me to stand up straight in there, much less partake in any mile high action. Two people even fitting in there would be a tight squeeze. Not that I minded getting up close and personal, but I’d crossed mile high fucking off my bucket list years ago. Been there, done that.

I closed the door behind me and as I headed towards my seat, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

The nerdy man seated across the aisle was stuffing something into the seat back in front of my chair.

I took a few long strides and I was upon him, towering over the seated man who was now nervously shifting his eyes from side to side.

“What are you doing?” My voice was sharp. If there was one thing I learned in prison it was not to back down from a confrontation. Pussy out and the jackals will pick their teeth with the bones from your carcass.

“Oh, nothing. Sorry. You seem to have dropped your boarding pass.

I shrugged. Who the fuck cared about a piece of paper on the floor?

“Are you really Foster Cruise?”

My guts fell through to the floor and it wasn’t the turbulence. Not. This. Shit. Again.

All right. I tried to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, but this little prick was wearing on my nerves now. “You’d better keep your hands to yourself, and stay outta my backyard,” I said, pleased with how it came out. Much more menacing than I ever could have managed before prison. Huh—unforseen upsides.

The nerdy guy flinched, curling into himself.

“You got that?” I wanted to growl at him, but I refrained.

“O-o-okay.” The nerd gulped just as the flight attendant rushed over, probably excited to show off some new “conflict resolution” techniques she learned at the latest training seminar.

“Everything all right here, gentlemen?” she asked.

I sat down and buckled my seatbelt. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

“Uh, Miss, can I please talk to you?” The nerd pointed towards the front of the plane. She nodded and glasses-boy got up gingerly eyeing me the whole way as he followed the blonde to the front of the airplane.

I watched them for a second, the nerd whispering to the flight attendant. She said something back I couldn’t overhear, so I put on my headphones and turned my attention back to the television series about zombies that I had just discovered but everyone else in America seemed to be talking about.

Within a few minutes nerd-boy came back to his seat, packed up his things and the flight attendant got him settled in a seat three rows ahead.

What the hell? So the guy recognized me, even with the beard. What did he think I was going to do? Steal his life savings from across the row?

What a dick.

This was exactly what it had been like in New York.

Everywhere I went people talked about me, whispered behind my back, or even publicly chastised me. My favorite was the time I got out of the limo outside the Guggenheim on my way to view an important art opening only to have a bucket of fish guts tossed on me. The fuckers found ways to track my movements and going anywhere became a challenge.

After the fish incident, I mostly stayed home, and had my assistants do all my shopping and errands. I got so tired of being a prisoner in my own home that I started to look forward to going to prison. In fact, I asked my attorney to negotiate for me to go in a week earlier. If my movements had to be that restricted, I at least wanted the time to count.

Now, on this fucking airplane, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, more and more people walking past my seat, glancing down at me then their eyes widening in some combination of recognition and horror. The way one might look at a pedophile.

Suddenly, I was in the cage again. Spectators standing outside talking, whispering, pointing.

I took a deep breath, hiked up the volume, and focused on the zombies in front of me falling apart as they trudged slowly down the street. I could relate.

Fuck. This was going to be a long-ass trip.

* * *

W
hen I arrived
in Los Angeles it was still late afternoon. As the hired car traveled up the coast to Malibu, I started to relax. The left coast was even more beautiful than I remembered. The sapphire blue ocean with its cresting waves and occasional dolphin popping out of the water calmed me. The jagged coastline and sandy beaches called to me. Maybe this was the right choice. This felt like it could be home.

The peace and quiet were just what I needed. A chance to be alone so I could create a brand new life for myself, and preferably one where everyone who ran across me didn’t treat me like a pariah.

My realtor had sent me a packet with detailed information and photos on several different properties. I chose the one that stood out above the rest, and had my attorney take care of the purchase while I was still incarcerated. Then I hired an interior decorator to furnish the whole place, and as the car pulled up to my new address, my stomach did a flip.

The house had a modern vibe with lots of straight lines and windows. The views were incredible, and I felt an excitement building inside me that I hadn’t felt in ages. For countless nights I’d dreamed of the ocean, my new place, and a fresh start. I’d stared at the picture of my Malibu mansion so much that I’d worn a hole in the paper it had been printed on.

I tipped the driver and got out. With no luggage to weight me down, I ran up the driveway, key in hand. I hadn’t seen the interior furnishings yet, I’d told the designer I wanted it to be a surprise. In reality I knew that if I had pictures of the interior of a beautiful house that belonged to me, but that I couldn’t live in, couldn’t touch, couldn’t enjoy while I was trapped in a concrete box—it would be torture. And if I didn’t like something—it could be replaced. After spending over ten million on the property, I’d get what I wanted.

I inserted the key in the lock, turned it and stepped into my new life.

I re-read the headline for the umpteenth time:
Billionaire purchases mansion in Malibu after release from prison.

My hands trembled as I stared at the newspaper clipping. He’d grown a beard and his hair was shorter on the sides, but I’d recognize Foster Cruise anywhere. Eyes hidden behind dark glasses, hands in his pockets, he still looked like the self-assured cocky bastard I’d witnessed in the courtroom.

Reading the short article again, a small smile twisted my lips. California. I’d always wanted to go there and now I would.

My gaze went back to the picture, as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force. The beard suited him. Although it hid the dimple in his left cheek, it accentuated his strong elegant Romanesque nose and dark thick eyebrows. Pity I couldn’t see his steel blue eyes in the picture, but I knew they were sharp and intelligent, almost laser sharp in their focus.

I hated admitting that he was hot, and although I wasn’t normally a fan of facial hair, this man could melt the panties off a nun. He had a mysterious air about him and he looked mighty fine in the tailored navy suit—although it seemed a bit dated—and crisp white shirt that appeared to be his signature trademark.

It didn’t fool me. Looks were deceiving. Simple and elegant yet expensive clothing couldn’t hide that the man was a self-centered hedonist. Yeah, there wasn’t much I didn’t know about him. I’d followed the trial and scoured the internet and newspapers for anything I could find on him since he’d been sent to prison.