The Binding Contract

Prologue

Prologue

2010

IT HAD ONLY BEEN A few days since I signed that contract… but he wanted me to immediately cut ties with my current life to start a new one, despite the consequences: letting down Miss Lindy, and Trixy who’d recommended me, not to mention my boss at the office who’d have preferred a month’s notice instead of a day’s.

Dante’s driver gave me a fright when he arrived to pick me up from the shared house I lived in on a long stretch of road in Islington where it was impossible to get parked. He’d not only stopped right in the middle of the one-way road with his hazard lights on, not bowing to pressure from cars stacking up behind the Phantom – he’d also been wearing those scary chauffeur clothes which made me feel like I’d been recruited for some important job or something. I felt the pressure and all I had to show for my life was a couple of duffel bags filled with raggedy clothes and bits of props I’d picked up from Miss Lindy’s, the domme den where Dante had found me.

Once the journey got underway, I asked the driver, “Where are we going then?”

“Knightsbridge.”

“Where?” I gasped, almost lurching off my seat.

“Mr Sinclair warned me you were… young.” His emphasising my youth seemed to actually be his way of voicing his distaste of our arrangement.

“So, what do I call you then?”

“Sexton,” he said, “Charles Sexton. Sinclair just calls me Sexton.”

“No way?” I giggled. “Sinclair and Sexton… like Batman and Robin, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes and rolled up the privacy wall so I couldn’t bother him anymore. When I noticed there was a couple of chocolate-covered strawberries and a small champagne bottle in the centre console, I didn’t hesitate to dive right in, almost knocking my eye out with the cork. I either didn’t see the complimentary champagne glass or else I didn’t care and drank from the bottle anyway.

WHEN we got to Knightsbridge, I gulped as we rolled up outside the house. The streets were pristine! Label-clad men and women walked small pet dogs around the streets and not one crisp packet blew in the wind.

“Here we are, miss.”

Three stories and terraced, but whoa. It had a shiny blue door and railings and double glazing and everything.

“Feck me,” I mumbled, “feck me.”

“Mr Sinclair,” he said with boredom, “is waiting inside. Go right in.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Did he hate Sinclair? Did he hate me?

“Sorry, do you want a tip?” I asked, figuring I could give him a few hardboiled sweets at best.

“I’m well cared for Miss Patrick,” he said, calling me by my domme name, “like a retired old horse really, fed the best of everything, just never again to do what I was born to do.”

“And what was that, sir?”

He turned and looked over his shoulder, directly into my eyes. “Fight… and be a soldier, miss.”

“My granddad was a fighter,” I said, “put it there, soldier.”

I held out my hand and he shook it.

“Don’t let Sinclair mess you around.”

I winked. “Oh… it’ll definitely be the other way around.”

“Good.”

I left the car, walked up the stairs to the front door, and tapped lightly. Sexton had said it was unlocked, but still.

Dante opened the door swiftly and beckoned with a finger that I step quickly inside. Stood in the hallway and so close to him, I felt invaded by all the various delights he possessed. His oak smell, so deeply man, his height and his athletic build, his blond crown. His devilish eyes. Shaven face.

There was this feeling I always got when I looked into his eyes, like I was looking at a man fifty years old, not someone in his late twenties.

“You’ve met Sexton?” he asked, his British accent impeccable, so husky and with that edge of education.

“Yes, he told me you’re an arse wipe I should steer clear of. He said he’s killed men for you and he doesn’t think he gets paid enough.”

He saw I was ragging him and smiled, shaking his head. “He didn’t say much then?”

“Nope,” I giggled, high on him. His whole. His aura. His presence.

“Do you want to look around?”

“Sure.”

As he showed me the living room, dining room, kitchen, two en-suite bedrooms upstairs, a small gym, study, a spare room… I got to thinking Sexton might have actually killed for Sinclair. How come he was putting a teenager like me up in a house like this? All sorts went through my mind, but the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about was bouncing on all the beds and messing the covers up as soon as he left the place.

After the tour, we convened in the kitchen where he placed a credit card on the table and told me, “You can buy whatever you need but if there’s any indecent spending, I will require a receipt to make sure I’ve not bought illegal weapons or something.”

So, he has a sense of humour, I thought.

“Okay, cool,” I mumbled, wondering if the plastic might self-destruct if I did something really wrong.

He passed me a square bit of paper. “The pin’s here. Memorise it, then burn this on the wood burning stove.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve kitted out the basement but the only key we have is the one currently resting in my jacket pocket.”

“You mean,” I tapped my lip, “I’m not to pry in there… because it’s a little private party palace for the two of us?”

“You’ll be given access, but not yet.” He pursed his lips. “By the way, it’ll be just the same stuff as before. Just consensual play, nothing more. You’re not a prostitute.”

“No,” I mumbled, biting my nails, “just a kept woman.”

He took something else from his pocket. “Here’s a phone. Sexton and myself are programmed in. Please don’t use it to call anyone else. Use a payphone for that, okay?”

A payphone? I couldn’t remember the last time I used one of those. Not that I’d need to use one, anyway…

“Dante?”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Sinclair, remember?”

I lifted my eyes and dared a look into his, so green and glaring, so vexing. “Can I ask one question?”

“You can ask.”

“Why me?”

He stood from the kitchen stool and smiled. “I said you could ask… I didn’t say I’d give an answer.”

He walked to the front door and I followed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow evening. Give you time to settle in.”

“What am I to do?”

“Go buy some clothes, have your hair done. Whatever you want. Don’t worry about anyone unwanted showing up, I went ex-directory on everything. I’ll always give you notice when I’m on my way and all the mail goes to a PO Box, so if anyone knocks on this door but me or Mr Grumpy Drawers, you lock all the doors and windows and call me. Anyone but us knocking is basically a criminal in the making… or an actual criminal.”

Either he was out of touch, or in his neighbourhood, people simply didn’t receive unscheduled visits from the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Latter Day Saints or charity canvassers.

He turned his back to me and paused with his hand on the door latch. For a brief few moments I watched him intently, running my gaze up and down his slender, compact physique. He was surely the fittest guy I’d ever known or would ever know. I imagined slinging my arms around his neck from behind and drinking the scent of the ocean from his hair. Whatever shampoo he used, I could smell it even over his cologne.

“You’re watching me, Cleo.”

“You’re standing there not moving, Sinclair. What else am I meant to do but wait for you to go?”

“I don’t know. Go and order pizza?”

“I can order pizza?”

He turned his head and nodded over his shoulder. “You could do with some proper sustenance.”

I looked at the floor, ashamed. “I know.”

“Just as you are, dear Cleo. You’re fine just as you are.”

He undid the latch and left, taking a piece of my breaking heart with him.

He was a god.

I was simply happy to have him in my life.