Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 1

Inside the Lines.

by Ally Bishop.

To Sir Prystauk, my knight in a s.h.i.+ning white muscle car.

More than I can promise, my love.

Chapter 1.

No Naughty Deed Goes Unpunished.

This isn't my usual client.

Normally, they come to me. It's discreet and makes everyone's life easier. But for certain people, you make exceptions.

In the back of a sleek Lincoln Town Car, I relax into the leather as we enter the tunnel, heading for the famous Ritz Carlton. The car and driver are a courtesy of the client, and while it's not the first time I've had such treatment, I always enjoy it.

Deprived of scenery, I mentally review my gear, ensuring nothing is left to chance. Leather crop, purchased several years ago from a tack shop. Restraints in the form of scarlet cotton rope-silk ties are for movies and books. Entirely too slippery and time consuming. The usual detritus: blindfolds, clamps, rubber whips that range from noisy to pain-inducing. Sultry music, though I also brought a selection of cla.s.sical entries on my iPad.

A quick check in my compact mirror a.s.sures me that the deep red lipstick I've fallen in love with provides the right contrast to my long, jet curls. My suit-pinstripe, skirted-fits my curves like a glove. Beneath, a dark leather and crimson corset meets a matching g-string, finished off with garters and stockings. Red stilettos complete the ensemble. The things I do for clients...

As we surface, I take a calming breath. There's always a bit of nerves right before an introductory scene. This client is new, and while I have a website with a photo gallery and specialties listed, each person's s.e.xual desires are like snowflakes: while similar in appearance to others, each has their own unique intricacies.

Topping-or playing the Dom-requires you to know your bottom, or submissive. You can't push too hard or too far, as you risk injuring not only your client, but also the relations.h.i.+p, that's tenuous at the beginning. At the same time, if you go too light, or G.o.d forbid, too slowly, you lose future profits and referrals.

A balancing act. That's the best way to describe it. Sometimes, I wish I could be a submissive. A friend who enjoys playing the slave once told me that she loves turning inward, focusing on her own interests and pleasures, while the Dom does all the work. G.o.d, I wish I could let someone else run the show. But that's not the way it works. Or rather, not the way I operate.

Traffic in New York City is always brutal this time of day, but the driver gets a few lucky breaks. As he navigates the crowded streets, I go over my notes, replay my client's application video on my phone, and try to gauge his personality and true desires.

Creating-or recreating-someone's fantasies requires imagination and research, but it also relies on innate skills. For this client, I have a pretty good idea of what he wants.

Who am I kidding? I know exactly what he wants. Because in reality, all of my clients want the same thing.

To let go. To be in the moment. To escape life.

Sounds amazing, doesn't it? I envy them in so many ways.

The driver drops me off at the entrance. The Ritz Carlton isn't your average hotel - I probably don't have to tell you that. The lobby defines elegance, with sleek lighting, antique furniture with a modern flair, and a quiet confidence that bespeaks the well-to-do that venture here.

I visit the concierge on duty and receive an envelope from him. The elevator doors snick shut behind me, and I slip behind the crowd, falling against the back wall and closing my eyes. For once, my outfit doesn't draw hushed comments, as besides the skirt that barely covers my a.s.s, I'm pretty low-key in a city of models and movie stars. Okay, maybe the shoes stick out a bit, too.

The elevator is empty by the time I reach the top public floor. Penthouse access requires a special pa.s.skey, and I extract mine from the envelope and slide it into the card reader. Then I wait while the elevator's silken glide ferries me to the penthouse floor.

Stepping onto the lush carpet, I have two doors to choose from. I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland until I remember the room number the client texted me earlier today. With the Pixies' "Where Is My Mind?" forming an earworm in my brain, I knock.

A delicious man opens the door. Thick, dark hair, lightly threaded with silver, strong jaw with an aquiline nose, sultry eyes that take in the length of me. He wears an exquisitely tailored suit that cuts across his impossibly broad shoulders in a mix of elegance and power. When he smiles, even my jaded heart quivers a bit.

"Mistress Hathaway. A pleasure."

I level a gaze at him, knowing that my raven curls and gray eyes captivate my clients. "The pleasure will be mine, Charles. Naughty boys have to be punished."

As a professional Dominatrix, I follow three rules: 1. Never let them disobey you.

2. Never let them touch you.

3. Never have s.e.x with them.

At least, I used to follow them...

Chapter 2.

Caffeinated Confessions.

"Oh, G.o.d. Tell me the coffee is ready."

I grin at my roommate's dramatic entrance, then check the clock. It's 8 a.m. now, and I vaguely heard him crawl in around four this morning. Given his current marathon of one-night stands... "Rough night, eh, Romeo?"

Noah drops his hand from his eyes to scowl at me. "You know f.u.c.king well that I had a client party last night, wench."

"I never know with you. Party one night, orgy the next-"

He groans. "I'm a one woman kinda guy. You're the one with the resume in orgies."

"One woman per night, you mean." With a laugh, I get up and hold out my chair. "Take a load off, and I'll even get you a cuppa."

Sinking into the seat, he slumps. "I take it all back. You are a G.o.ddess."

I refill my own mug and then mix Noah's with lots of half-and-half and sugar. Wuss.

"How was your evening?" he asks as I hand him his favorite extra dark roast that's now nearly white with creamer.

"Better than yours, it appears."

"Really? What can top cleaning up not one, but two vomiting episodes courtesy of a host whose religious friends have no tolerance for alcohol?"

Noah and his sister are co-owners of Elementary, a mystery dinner party company. Their business has exploded over the last year after gaining some celebrity clients, and while they now have a team of coordinators and planners, they both personally handle the more prestigious bookings.

"Hm, let's see: torturing one of the handsomest men in all of Christendom?"

He sticks out his tongue. "Rub it in."

I grab the newspaper off the front walkway and return to the kitchen table. We split up the paper, Noah taking the comics and the sports sections, while I peruse the international and local news. We're both engrossed by the time the front door opens again.

"Tell me there's coffee," comes the voice of Noah's sister, Ella. When she finally appears in the kitchen, she's wearing jeans and a short-sleeve sweater with a suspicious stain on her shoulder. "You know I love my child. I adore her. But someone tell me that she will eventually sleep through the night?" Despite the faint purple smudges under her eyes, Ella is stunning with her long, dark hair wrapped into a sloppy french twist and pale skin. Even after having her daughter Mia, she manages to look dewy and gorgeous.

"I'm told they do, but I wouldn't know from personal experience." I leave my paper spread over the table and head for another cup of coffee.

I return to the table with her favorite mug.

"You are a G.o.ddess," she says as she takes her first sip.

"In case I ever forget that you and Noah are related..."

"What?" they both ask at the same time.

"Yeah, that."

Confused, they stare at me, but I shake my head. "I will get no peace now that y'all are together, so go forth: make crazy money and build your business to monstrous proportions, you nutty capitalists. I'll be in my room until...well, whenever."

I drop a kiss on Ella's head before I take shelter upstairs. I moved in with Noah about eight months ago, not long after Ella moved out to marry the love of her life. It wasn't just a financial decision-I've taken care of myself for years, and Noah had just started to make a good income with Elementary-though affording a place anywhere near New York City isn't easy. Noah and Ella lost their parents in a car crash when they were teens, and as a result, have lived together all of their lives. They even went to college together-that's where I met them. So being alone didn't sit well with him. When I mentioned my lease was ending and I was considering moving to a bigger place, Noah offered me Ella's old room. Their apartment, tucked into the bottom two stories of a Brooklyn brownstone, is s.p.a.cious-for NYC-and has plenty of room for two people. It helped that we were friends already. With the exception of the occasional annoyance over laundry duty or who last changed the toilet paper roll, it's worked out pretty well.

But...

For someone who's always lived on her own terms, even I'm getting tired of putting up with me all the time. I've tried relations.h.i.+ps. I even had a (very) brief live-in thing with a really nice guy a little over a year ago. It never works out. Not for me. And I'm not even sure there's a solution to any of it. I've always been happy being alone. But the last year or so, I've felt this internal pressure to settle down, find that special someone. Lonely, even. And you'd think it would be easier for someone like me: I'm open to men or women, and I'm s.e.xually interested in many different lifestyles and kinks. I thought perhaps living with someone, albeit a roommate, might alleviate some of the loneliness. But it hasn't. Noah's great, but he's like a brother to me. I want a lover and a soulmate.

G.o.d, I sound pathetic even to myself.

So rather than deal with the frustration, I pick up a magazine and lose myself in the latest celebrity gossip and movie reviews.

It's late afternoon when I poke my head in on Noah and Ella in the dining-room-turned-Elementary headquarters. "Did someone say lunch? I could have sworn I heard the shuffling of takeout menus."

Ella glances up from her MacBook. "Oh G.o.d, yes. Food. And I have to pump, anyway."

Ah, the joys of motherhood.

Noah remains tied to his laptop, so I sneak over to take a peek. "What is this? Online dating?"

He immediately slams the lid shut. "Privacy much?"

I prop my hand on my hip. "d.a.m.n. Who would have thought Don Juan of the One Night Stand would be looking for love. What gives, T-bone?"

The nickname both annoys and entertains him, and the two responses war for dominance across his features. "If you must know, I'm doing some research for a friend."

Ella, who's disappeared into the kitchen to use her breast pump, snorts loudly. "If that isn't the oldest excuse in the book, I don't know what is."

Noah runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. "G.o.d save me from meddling women."

"Aw, you wuv us," I say with saccharine in my voice. "You could let us have a quick look. We could probably tell you who is blowing smoke, and who's a good bet."

"I'm good, thanks. I can figure it out on my own."

"Famous last words," Ella adds from the other room.

He shakes his head, but refuses to say more.

"Well, since I stumbled onto your little secret, I'll tell you mine." Even giving the words life makes my stomach flutter.

"Hey! Wait for me, dammit," echoes from the kitchen.

"Let's order. Then you give us the details." Noah reaches for the preponderance of food options tucked behind his computer. We pore over the menus, debate sides and appetizers, negotiate spiciness and subst.i.tutions with all the seriousness of three people planning an itinerary for their once-in-a-lifetime trip to Europe. Once we get our dietary needs squared away and Ella finishes, we settle into the living room to await our food.

Ella collapses on the largest couch and drops her head in my lap. "The floor is yours, gorgeous."

I run my fingers over her scalp, smiling as her eyes close. "Well...I have an idea. At least, it's part of an idea."

Noah swings his legs over the end of the small couch and lets his slippers dangle off his feet. "And?" he prods when I don't continue.

I wear patent leather from head to foot and cane men twice my size. Yet sharing my guts with my best friends makes me nervous. But then, there's more than just this to tell them, isn't there? I've always shared my guts with them, but for once in our friends.h.i.+p, I'm keeping secrets. I immediately extinguish that mode of thinking. I love Ella and Noah dearly, but my morality and ethics about who I sleep with are my own to decide. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

The doorbell buys me time, and Noah grabs the food. With lunch dispensed on the coffee table and utensils in hand, I start to feel a bit calmer.

"So what's the big news?" Ella arches an eyebrow.

"I don't really know how big it is," I say after I take my first bite of lo mein. I inhale a deep breath, then plunge ahead. "So I have an idea of creating an online dating service for kinksters called Kinked. Like a matchmaking setup to help people find others with their fetishes or interests." I blow out a breath. Giving my entrepreneurial dream a voice both excites and terrifies me.

"Ooo," Ella coos.

"Sounds fantastic," Noah agrees. "What's stopping you?"

"Nothing yet, as I'm still just thinking about it. Actually doing it...well, it's going to be expensive, and I need to finish my business plan, find investors.... It's not like what you guys did with Elementary." I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. "I don't have the Noah-and-Ella-Storm-voodoo-magic on my side, so I can't do it gra.s.s-roots-style and create it all on my own. I'd have to have an online component and significant advertising. It has to look cla.s.sy from the start, no exceptions."

"You'll always have the aStorm-magic-voodoo-whatever-you-called-it' on your side," Ella says with a pointed look as she curls a leg under her. "What's the compet.i.tion? Does anything like that already exist?"

I make a face. "G.o.d, yes, and they're awful and cheesy. That's why Kinked has to be different. Better. Elegant."

They both turn thoughtful, with only the sound of our chewing punctuating the silence. We're nearly done with the fried rice when Ella drops her head as though she's come to a decision. "Noah can review your business plan. He's a whiz at those, and I can help you with marketing. I'd also like to invest in your idea. I'm sure Ian will agree."

How is it I've spent months, maybe even a year, flipping this idea over in my head, yet within minutes, Ella has it all planned out? This is why I doubt my ability to do this-for once, I don't know all the rules, and given that I've made a career out of s.e.xual fantasies, maybe I have no business even contemplating it?

Ella's expression suggests she knows she's. .h.i.t a nerve. "Lux, I'm not trying to take over. I'm just excited for you."

"I know. And I love you for it." I squeeze her arm. "Thanks for your vote of confidence. I need to make sure I'm 100% committed to it, as well. This would certainly put a kink in my current schedule, pun intended."

Ella smiles. "Of course. I just think it's a great idea and can't wait for you to get started."