Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 60

“Have I… said something wrong?”

My Master takes my hand in his. “No, my Love. You weren’t to know. It… It’s a painful memory for both of us.”

I drop my head in confusion. “I… I wish I’d not asked. I’m sorry, let’s change the subject.”

Will heaves air. “No, it’s alright, Beth. It’s a fair question and you’re bound to have the conversation some time. The fact is, when we were boys, there were three of us who used to hang out together. Richard here, me and Bobby Peters. We…” his eyes go distant, his expression wistful… “We were just three boys together, all convinced we were going to set the world on fire, like you do at that age. Bobby was going to be a rock star. When he played guitar, to me it sounded like a pair of cats making love, but he thought otherwise.”

“What happened to him?”

“Hit and run driver,” says my Master. “It was a hot day. Bobby had only crossed the street to buy a coke. We heard the screech of tires. Not even the squeal of brakes. Just the tires. The driver smashed into him. Threw him across the road.” He falls silent…

… but Will continues… “The ambulance was fast. It arrived within minutes. They got him to a hospital, but he was D.o.A. He never even regained consciousness. Sixteen years old. And he was snuffed out just like that.”

“And the driver?”

“They caught up with him a couple of miles down the road. Along with the inch or so that was left in his whiskey bottle. Turned out he was three times over the limit. Didn’t even know he’d hit someone. When they arrested him, he denied it all the way to the station apparently, but there were too many witnesses, including me and Richard here. He went to prison of course, but that didn't bring Bobby back.”

“And that’s when you knew you wanted to be in the police?”

Will nods slightly, eyelids drooping. “That’s when. It helps to have a good reason to do the job. But it doesn’t help when you’re the one who has to knock at the door and tell someone their kid’s been murdered.”

He blows out his cheeks… “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s enjoy our meal and you can tell me about your suggestions for delivering a service and keeping our beloved mayor off my back.”

A subtle segue…

“So, Beth… I gather your proposal is for a series of satellite stations to Police Central scattered around the City? At sites chosen to give my officers good access to the relevant districts but chosen for purposes of cost reduction and to keep my budget on track. I have that right?”

“That’s right.”

“I think that in principle, there’s a lot to what you suggest. But with something like this, the devil’s always going to be in the detail...”

“Of course, yes...”

My Master nods, Hmmming agreement through a mouthful of sole meunière.

“… So what I’m going to suggest is that I send you details for my ideal scenario on numbers of officers, what they’ll need and where I need them. Let’s aim high. You go through that, come up with some first-draft suggestions and we’ll meet up in a week or so to talk it through. Sound okay?”

“That sounds fine to me, yes.”

He smiles broadly. “Meanwhile, Beth, we’ll meet again later this week at the charity gala. And Grace, my wife will be there too. I’m sure you’ll get along together.” He slides his gaze to my Master. “I made sure we’re on the same table.”

My Master raises brows. Nods. “Good.”

*****

Back home, my skin still steamy from my bath, in a towelling robe, I wander into the bedroom.

My Master is there ahead of me, already in bed, sitting up with the blankets roughly pulled up to his waist, chest and shoulders exposed. Soft music plays in the background. He pats the space beside himself. “Come and join me.” Then, repeating my words to him of only a few days ago, “Be with me.”

“I'll just be a moment, Master.” He smiles, resting his head back, watching as, extracting clips and pins, I finger-comb my hair loose. Despite being pinned up from the water, the steam penetrated and as I shake out long tresses, it tumbles over my shoulders in a damp tangle. Taking my brush from the dressing table, I perch on the edge of the bed, working at the dishevelled mess. The ends have snarled in places, and I work into the knots, trying to tease them apart, then irritably, to tug at them.

My Master watches me for a few seconds then, sliding closer to me, eases the brush from my fingers. “Here, let me do that.” He kisses my cheek, then starts to work on the snarl, easing open the tangle of hair.

The brush tugs short again, the bristles snagging, and he sets it aside, easing in with his fingers, coaxing the knot open, working it loose. “Such beautiful hair,” he murmurs. “Everything about you is beautiful, but your hair especially so.”

“I think it needs trimming. Probably the salt from the sea air.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” He takes the brush again, and now it glides through my locks, long, easy strokes, from scalp to waist. Nuzzling in, he inhales. “You smell good. Your hair holds your scent, you know.” He puts the brush aside… “There, it’s done…” … then rolls arms around me… “Now, get under the covers. Stay warm.”

Slipping off my robe, in the dim warmth of our bed, I lie under the blankets with my Master, enclosed by his embrace. We lie together, not speaking, just being, listening to the music and the drifting words…