Mayhem's Desire: Operation Mayhem Read online

  Gold-veined white marble stretched beneath thick columns rivaling ancient Greek temples. A chandelier dripping with crystals refracted the light into a thousand rainbows. Sleek, walnut wainscoting covered every wall. Antique priceless paintings lined the entryway.

  But the effect of the room’s gorgeous interior was completely demolished by the man blocking her path. “Reinhardt.”

  Whitney didn’t waste her time on manners. She moved forward at a brisk walk and brushed past the senator’s bodyguard.

  Without warning, he grabbed her arm, stopping her mid stride. Reinhardt had the face of an old retired boxer—one who’d lost all his matches. He had a thick low jaw and a scar that ran vertically down his left eye, sans eye patch.

  He was intimidating enough to make a grown woman shudder.

  “You know the drill.”

  She jerked her arm free of his firm grip and braced her feet shoulder-width apart. “What exactly do you think I’m hiding under this coat?”

  She couldn’t even squeeze her cell phone into the crease between her breasts because they were pinched so tightly together. Not that Reinhardt ever needed an excuse to search her body—he’d taken an immediate disliking to her the very first time they’d met, almost a year ago now. Never mind the fact that it was the senator who’d suggested this arrangement to her.

  “Averton,” he said in a thick, gravelly voice. For some reason, he refused to call her by her first name. She liked to think it was because then he’d have to actually see her as a human being rather than a thing providing a service, but that assumption probably held as much water as her tea strainer. Reinhardt didn’t have a soul. Or a heart. Or anything other than what she imagined was an incredibly puckered asshole between his weathered cheeks.

  He continued, “Drop the purse and lift your arms. Don’t test me.”

  Whitney eased her vintage Louis Vuitton to the floor next to her six-inch black and red Manolo Blahniks and slowly lifted her arms out from her sides. “Would you prefer that I bend over?”

  His single eye narrowed in his scarred face. He took a step forward, brushing his hands over her body more roughly than was required for him to check for a hidden gun or bomb or whatever the hell else he thought she might possess.

  His hand brushed her thigh and he froze. “Open up.”

  “You really are starting to grow on me, Reinhardt.” She popped open her top button. “Kind of like a fungus growing under a toenail. No matter how much you wish it would go the hell away, you just can’t get rid of it.”

  She finished unbuttoning her coat and held the flaps open wide, not in the least bit ashamed of her half-naked body. She got the feeling Reinhardt didn’t look at people as men or women anyway—everyone was a possible threat to his boss. His gaze raked over her, stopping on the new toy lashed to her thigh—a two-foot crop sporting a knotted tongue guaranteed to inflict maximum pain.

  Whitney deliberately pulled her toy free from its Velcro holster, gripped the handle in one hand and tapped the thin leather on the other. “You want a spanking tonight too?”

  Fueled by a rush of boldness through her veins, Whitney took a step forward and slowly ran the cattail down Reinhardt’s cheek.

  His meaty hand flew up from the side, grabbed her crop, and shoved it away. “Watch it.”

  She smirked but took a measured step away. She might be bold, but she wasn’t insane. The senator’s good graces would protect her only so far. “Well, if you’re ever in need, don’t call me.”

  She strolled past the bodyguard, making her way through the massive posh living room to the closed doors marking the entrance to Sen. Cory Keeling’s bedroom.

  Whitney took a brief second to allow the air conditioning to cool her skin before she snapped the crop back into place and re-buttoned her trench coat. Cory liked an entrance.

  She tilted her neck to the right and the left, working out the tense knots that Reinhardt always put there. Just two more months, and she’d never have to see Reinhardt’s bulldog face again, let alone the bare red ass of Senator Cory Keeling.

  She grabbed the gold levers of the door, cold beneath her hot, sweaty hands, and pulled them open. With her head held high and shoulders squared, she stepped into the opulent bedroom, scanning her surroundings until she found Cory.

  Already stripped of his suit jacket and tie, he sat in a steel-gray button-up and slacks near the empty fireplace, a glass of wine cradled in his hand. “Baby, what took you so long?” He had the smooth, practiced voice of a lifelong politician.

  She wouldn’t lie to herself and say she hadn’t once found him attractive. His salt-and-pepper hair and determined blue eyes would be enough to draw any woman. But that was before he’d made his life-changing proposal to her.

  “Your bodyguard.”

  “He has my best interests in mind,” he said.

  “He’s a jerk.”

  “He’s here for your protection too.” Cory stepped closer, until she could feel his body heat just inches from hers.

  Whitney opened her eyes and dropped her chin, allowing him to study her fully. Cory liked to look, and as long as he didn’t touch, she didn’t care. “Reinhardt wouldn’t throw me out of a burning building. He hates me.”

  In an entirely uncharacteristic move, Cory gently cupped her jaw. “Thinking of you in pain hurts me.”

  She fought to keep her expression neutral, even though her stomach rolled. Two more months. I can do it for that much longer. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

  She stepped back and slid her fingers around the top button of her coat. Cory swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his long, slender throat. He’d once told her that watching her undress was like opening a new Christmas present every single time.

  She popped open two more.

  “Slower.” Lust blasted from his gray gaze as he tracked her every move.

  The first time she’d done this for him, she’d savored the power that came with her role. But that had been then and this was now. The novelty had worn off—and then some—and now she had to fight to make herself crawl into this coat every time.

  Whitney undid the next button and paused. If she continued at this pace, this torture would crawl on for ten minutes. They had one rule: when the coat was on, Cory could do whatever he wanted. When the jacket came off, Whitney took charge.

  He hadn’t moved an inch, but he was staring at her with an intensity that made her insides crawl. She grabbed the next button. Cory eased closer. Another few inches and he could touch her now bared chest.

  Not tonight. Whitney gripped the material tight and ripped her coat open, allowing it to pool on the floor around her feet. He practically salivated.

  Confident in her role, she peeled back the Velcro holster on her hip, took out her crop and cracked it over her open palm. “How do you address me?”

  Cory Keeling dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “I’m honored you deemed to grace this unworthy man with your presence, mistress.”

  The senator’s eyes were fixed firmly on the floor, so Whitney allowed herself an eye roll. Dear God, she’d almost rather have sex with the man instead of this ridiculous role-play.

  But he didn’t require sex for money, which was the only reason she’d considered taking him up on his offer. Cory could get sex from anyone—at any time. He couldn’t ask just anyone to spank him.

  Whitney tested her crop again, enjoying how he jerked in reaction. Given the amount of cash that was fattening up her savings account, she’d spank his ass for another two months, easy.

  You can do it. Think of all the good you’ll do with that money.

  “That’s an extra ten lashes for you slave. And another five because you weren’t prepared. You have one minute.” Whitney snapped her crop again, and the senator jumped to his feet.

  “Yes, Mistress.” He shucked his clothes in less than thirty seconds. He took care of his body—while it wasn’t overly muscular, he didn’t have any excess fat. He was more…narrow wa
s how she would describe him. Not sexy or mouthwatering—but not disgusting either.

  He prostrated himself over the padded bench near the foot of the king-size bed, presenting her with two very pale, slightly hairy globes.

  Never mind. There were different forms of disgusting.

  She crossed the distance in silence, the plush carpet masking her footsteps. She gave no warning—she simply lifted the crop and brought it down hard and fast across his ass.

  The senator yelped.

  “Did you speak?” She kept her voice low, but the threat was clear. They had rules. No touching. No talking.

  Rather than respond, he dropped his head, palmed the floor, and held silent. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing.

  “That will be five more.” In the beginning, she’d been drawn to his natural aura of self-confidence and power, thinking he was the challenge she’d been seeking. Only to realize he wasn’t that challenging after all. Men, it seemed, were men. Whether they wore a football jersey or suit and tie, they all wanted one thing. And that thing was something she possessed in abundance.

  Maybe she’d missed the genius genes the rest of her family had in excess, but she’d struck it rich with a completely different set of assets.

  Smack. Smack. Smack. He jerked with each lash. The owner of the Black Mask, the high-end sex shop, had assured her this crop was guaranteed to burn. Just the way the senator liked it.

  She rained down five more blows in quick succession, barely giving him enough time to breathe between each one. At least she was building up a nicely toned upper body from all the extra exercise.

  “Mistress!”

  Whitney stopped, crop lifted in the air. He wasn’t bleeding or even bruised—there were no visible cuts in his skin, just nice red welts. “Are you safe wording?”

  Sweat covered his pale skin. He trembled but kept his hands planted firmly on the floor. “No, mistress, just requesting permission to beg.”

  Whitney bit back a groan. His begging grated on her nerve. Prostrating himself before her, begging for mercy. It was the ultimate show of weakness. Ironically, though, he was still the boss. And she was still several thousand dollars short of her goal.

  “You may.”

  She brought the whip down with extra speed. A loud crack ripped through the room. The senator jerked, arched his back, and said, “Please, mistress, may I have another?”

  With determination, she paced herself, allowing the senator his kicks while finishing as quickly as she could. Nearly an hour later, sweating and exhausted, she finished and went to the equally luxurious bathroom to straighten her hair and blot her damp makeup with a tissue. It would be a bitch to put that coat back on right now, but she had no intention of sticking around this hotel any longer than was necessary.

  Cory’s face appeared in the mirror behind her, flushed and covered in a thick sheen of moisture. He stared at her with the same vivid blue eyes she’d once thought so attractive. Now, they just seemed…weak.

  “Thank you, Mistress, I needed to work off some tension before tomorrow’s big vote.”

  He’d be leaving his role as head of the Family Core Values Committee, ironically enough, to become the Senate Majority Leader. AKA the most powerful man on the hill minus the President. What she wouldn’t give to have that kind of influence over local and world affairs. She could save so many…WHO wouldn’t hold a candle to her flame.

  “My pleasure.”

  He made to reach for her, and she froze, knowing she couldn’t turn him away if he truly wanted her. Light as a leaf, his smooth fingertips trailed down her arm. “I’m going to miss our sessions over the next week. You sure you don’t want to consider coming with me on my trip tomorrow to California? It’ll only be a few days.”

  Chin down, she looked up at him through her thick, black eyelashes. “I’d love nothing better.” Not. “But Earth-4-One needs my assistance in moving food and water to the villages affected by Hurricane Osana. I can’t leave my job now.”

  He reached for the plush white towel hanging on the wall behind her and she let out a relieved sigh. He hadn’t ever tried to touch her sexually—not beyond a little touchiness before she got her coat off—and she didn’t want him to start. He wrapped the towel around his waist. “I hope the bill I proposed to the senate will pass through quickly. Earth-4-One received over half the grant money. I’ve seen the news enough to know those children need help badly.”

  The tiny muscles down her spine relaxed. When Cory started talking politics, he was well and truly out of the sexual zone. Besides, she could talk about her job all day long. “Thank you. I know how much you’ve helped. As soon as we get the grant, we’ll be able to provide sustainable food sources to those abandoned villages.”

  His hand grazed her cheek. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Whitney allowed herself one small moment to remember why she’d initially found him attractive. He wasn’t out for money and power—he really did want to change people’s lives for the better. Just like she did.

  She studied him more carefully. There were extra lines of fatigue etched around the corners of his eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

  “Haven’t been able to. But I will after the meeting tomorrow. Everything will settle back into routine. I’ll do a tour of my home state and be back in D.C. in a week.”

  Her hand covered the back of his. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Could I entice you to stay for a glass of Merlot? It’s a Duce 1961 vintage.”

  Oh, Merlot—he did know her weakness. Probably tasted like silk and dark chocolate rolled into one. “I really can’t, maybe next time.”

  Cory lifted her hand to his lips. “Come on. I’ll help you with your coat.” They passed into the bedroom and she stopped near the padded bench so she could gather her toy. Cory continued, “And dear God, whoever you purchased that crop from needs to be well rewarded.”

  She smiled as she scooped it up. “I thought you might like it.”

  He held up her coat, and as much as she hated to put on the suffocating material when she was still burning up, she slid her arms into it without protest. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  The senator took a step back and watched with open admiration as she buttoned up. Reinhardt, holding her purse, walked into the room. “Would you like me to escort her to the car?”

  “I can walk myself, thank you. Besides, don’t you have a corner to lurk around?”

  “Darling, he’s here for your protection and mine. Let him escort you to your car so that I know you’re safe.”

  “Of course,” Whitney answered smoothly. Safe and hidden from the public.

  The thought of spending the entire elevator ride down from the penthouse in close quarters with Cory’s asshole bodyguard was as appealing as drinking battery acid. She edged toward the door, wanting to get it over with sooner rather than later. “Reinhardt?”

  He took a practiced step back and held open the door. Whitney blew a kiss over her shoulder to Cory. “See you in two weeks.”

  She grabbed her purse from Reinhardt’s grip and strode purposely from the door.

  “Oh, Reinhardt, here. I forgot this.”

  Whitney glanced over her shoulder to see the bodyguard turning to face his boss. This was exactly the break she needed. She was already at the elevator, so she punched the button—twice for good measure—and someone up above was surely on her side because the doors dinged open. Without waiting, she stepped inside and pressed the button for the basement level. The doors slid shut on Reinhardt’s pissed-off pit bull face.

  He could take the stairs.

  3

  Whitney climbed into her brand-new Mercedes Roadster, a surprise gift from the senator for her birthday, and opened her phone. She quickly tapped in the encrypted security code to access her bank account and stared at the screen, needing a reminder of why she did this.

  There was a lag, followed by the quick—and familiar—shot of fear that something was
wrong, until at last her account pulled up - $480,000. Seeing the amount calmed her somewhat frazzled nerves. The money wouldn’t only change her life—ultimately, if all went to plan, it would change thousands of lives. More.

  There was a loud knock on her window. Her heart jumped into her throat and she dropped her phone. Son-of-a-bitch. Reinhardt’s ugly mug stared at her through the tinted window. She took her precious time retrieving her cell before hitting the automatic window button on the door.

  “You know the rules.” His gravelly voice was like sandpaper on her spinal cord.

  Knowing it would just piss him off more, Whitney gave him a slight sideways smile. “Afraid I’m tampering with your job security, Bruno?”

  He slung an arm over the roof of her car and leaned down, putting his face near hers. “I don’t like you and I don’t trust your kind. If you’re willing to trade your body for money, you’re willing to blab for it too.”

  “My kind?”

  “Yeah, your kind. I don’t know why he’s kept you around so long, but let me remind you of the consequences should you break your NDA and tell anyone about your little meetings with my boss.”

  She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palms to keep from lashing out. “I know exactly what the consequences would be. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Whitney hit the button to close the window, but Reinhardt stuck his meaty hand in and halted the window’s progress. “I’ll ruin you. Your mother and father will find out all about what their precious daughter does on the side. Your reputation will be shredded.”

  Anger rolled in her gut, but she forced herself to smile. “You’re a little late on the mommy and daddy issue. But hey, if you wanna call ‘em, go right ahead. Tell them I said hi.”

  He actually pushed her window down another inch and leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her face. “Don’t threaten me.”

  “What’s your deal? Back off.”

  He’d never been so outright frightening before now. Asshole-ish, yes; physically confrontational, no.

  “I’m warning you, Averton. You open your trap and you’ll regret ever being born.” Reinhardt shoved out of her window and strode away without a backward glance.