Chapter 6: Lydia

They drop me off at my car with a full stomach. Damian, as he insists I call him, stands in the parking lot watching me drive away. I head straight home. Samson needs his walk and I need to call Raul.

I know exactly where I'm going and I know no dossier, no matter how detailed, will have the information. Mr. Brutish Bristles can eat my wet panties and choke on them. I open the door of my apartment and one hundred and fifty pounds of lovable Rottweiler bounces around like a toy poodle. Samson and Raul are my best friends. Both give me so much more than I can ever give them in return. Sam follows me to my bedroom, where I change into sweats and running shoes.

My apartment is small, not in the best area, and the thin walls make it almost unbearable. The couple next door rocks their bed at all hours and I lay awake wondering what life would be like if I had a man in my life on a regular basis. My bedroom is little more than a closet with a double bed that practically touches both side walls.

I stand at the foot of the bed, unzip my boots, remove my leather corset and skirt, and then peel off the wet, red, dental floss that passed for panties. The evidence of my betrayal is in the damp lace, and I toss it on top of the corset. Walking over to the mirror is a mistake because when I look over my shoulder at my ass, a diminishing pink handprint is still visible. I run my fingers over the mark, which has no raised welts, damn him.

I pull on my favorite sweats, hiding the evidence of Mr. Control Freak's punishment. "Come on, monster, I have a Beasty Burger to work off and you need to do your business."

We run five miles through the disreputable neighborhood, taking breaks for Sam's personal needs. I love running in the dark and no one messes with me due to my four-legged bodyguard. The strain to my muscles feels wonderful. When I stop running and begin my mile cool down, I use my cell to call Raul. His mother has a dilapidated cabin she left him when she died. It's over two hundred miles away and we have only gone there once to clean and make sure everything was locked up tight. There is no electricity, no running water, and no way Mr. Delectable Dessert can discover my location.

By the time I return to my apartment, Raul is waiting in front with the cabin key. I jog up to his car and he whistles. "That man is edible. The rumors do him no justice," Raul says, obviously in lust again. Raul is gay and I'm unsurprised Mr. Hot Pants had this effect on him.

"I have no idea which way he swings, so you might have a chance," I tell him even though my heart clenches at the thought Damian Collins could be gay.

"Nope, I would have known if he swings my way. Gaydar and all that," he says with a wink. "You better watch yourself because your voice actually goes dreamy when you don't say his name."

"Bullshit," I lie. What Raul said terrifies me. There is no way I can allow Damian to see my inner weakness.

"Oh, sweetie, you're blushing," he says with a half-smile. Raul knows my secret. Hell, he sets me up on sex dates when I become super bitchy and dominance or my personal array of vibrators isn't doing it for me. I have to play this cool, though. The last thing I need is Raul thinking he can set me up with Mr. Chaotic Cock himself. "Stop, or I'll sick Sam on you and you'll drown in slobber," I respond as a way to change the subject. "I'm taking a quick shower, packing a bag, and then I'm gone for forty-eight hours. Fifty thousand dollars will get us started, Raul. Our club will be small but with our savings and the fifty grand, we can do it."

Raul's smile is something to behold. He's gorgeous and if it's the last thing I do, I'll find him the perfect Dom. "I know baby girl. Good luck," he says with a brief kiss on my cheek after I lean in and give him one.

One hour later, I'm on my way. Normally I would be sleeping now, so I crank the Rolling Stones up high and sing along. I won't win any singing competitions but I know every word to every Stones song ever recorded. When it comes to music, I'm a seventies wannabe. George Thorogood's "Bad To The Bone" plays next and I manage to stay awake. As the drive continues, Samson whines in the back whenever I hit a high note. I continually look in the rearview mirror, making sure no one follows.

Finally, my headlights lead the way through trees, avoiding the thick brush trying to take over the narrow dirt road. It hasn't rained in several weeks and my old Subaru Outback has no difficulty getting through the deep, dry ruts. After the next bump, my lights shine on a small cabin in the distance. Samson will enjoy this. I have two gallons of water, dog food, some canned food for me, and a six-pack of Sterno fuel. My biggest problem will be using the outhouse for the call of nature. Yuk. Good thing I can survive anything for two days.

Samson jumps out of the car as soon as the door opens. He immediately starts sniffing out his territory while I grab my small overnight bag and head to the cabin door. I leave the headlights on so I can see while unlocking the door. The car lights shine into the bare living room. Thank God I brought a book and candles to get me through the isolation. I carry my bag to the single bedroom that at least has a bed. The car light barely makes it around the curve of the door, but I can see enough to place my bag on the foot of the bed.

I turn and let out a blood-curdling scream as large arms shut the bedroom door and grab me in a steel grip, placing a hand over my mouth.

Samson hits the solid door with growls and barking.

A seductive voice whispers warmly in my ear. "I've won, Mistress Lydia. Your flight leaves tomorrow evening. Get some sleep and then get that delectable ass of yours home. Pack a few personal items. I'll provide everything else. The plane tickets are waiting on your kitchen counter. Samson and Raul are both provided for and will be going with you." His hand slowly slides from my mouth and travels down my neck, causing all kinds of trouble with my already overtaxed heartrate.

"You cheated," I say between gasps for air. I do everything I can to ignore the electrical charge of his touch and the smell of his sexy cologne. I usually hate any type of processed smelly shit, but he takes pheromone experimentation to a new level. My skin continues to sizzle where his fingers trail.

"You lost, so take it like a Dom." The laughter in his voice makes me grit my teeth. "Carl will pick you up at the airport in Houston. I'll let you walk me out so your dog doesn't bite my legs off."

I hear what sounds like helicopter blades in the distance. I am so completely fucked.