Suited

Prologue

Lucas Alberici's Point of View

The truck was silent. Half of my life was haphazardly taped into boxes he hadn't bothered to label. He hadn't been home. Everything but the furniture—the clothes, books, succulent, and my least favorite vibrator—were piled like building blocks in front of the bedroom door. My collar and cuffs weren't included. I'd checked.

This was never my house. It was his, of course. He never charged me rent for the three nights a week I stayed here. I paid in a different manner. I submitted to him. I always gave him what he wanted. What he craved.

I handled the housework. I ran the errands. I kneeled every Saturday evening at five forty-five and waited patiently for the door of the Den to open ahead of me. For the light to pour in and disappear as the man I trusted myself to arrive to send my mind to other places. To run me ragged. To turn me into putty. I was his pet. His plaything. His muse.

And now it was over. He'd called me while I was at work. That never happened. We spoke outside of our scheduled weekends, but he never interfered with my work. A week from then was supposed to be our renewal day. Our contract would expire but that didn't mean I should have had to leave.

That was no longer the case.

I couldn't fight him on this.

He didn't even sit down with me on the matter. He interrupted my work on my first day in the new branch of my company, run by the CEO's eldest son. It was mortifying. He was kind about it though. Gabriel was. He was reserved and focused and handsome. Compared to the men I'd assisted before in the company, he was rather low maintenance by comparison, especially to his father.

The man drove me crazy but he took care of me. I had a suite in one of the hotels the company partnered with as a residence. I was paid well. I ate well. He made the transition from the training location in Milan to the headquarters in this random state I hadn't heard of before I attended my schooling, Maryland, easier.

Chairman Whitacre was fond of me. I was well trained. I think seeing the fruit of his labor—what his company could do to create perfect conduits of hospitality—made him proud and he deemed me good enough to serve his eldest son who would succeed him upon his retirement.

My dominant—former dominant—Haydn, was not at his house when I retrieved my things. He was likely at his shop. I had the thought to take a detour and interrupt him but I knew better. Part of me thought that we could have worked out this little incident but I knew this was worse than cheating. Cheating wasn't even possible within our arrangement. He wasn't my boyfriend. We weren't exclusive. I could scene or have sex with whoever I wanted.

He was very clear. I was released when I went on work trips. I was in New York for a week. I'd miss our long weekend. Part of me was glad. I adored our dynamic but I really needed time to let go. I needed a different kind of release than scening. I loved how he made me fly and shut down but he was so, so much. Haydn was like a vacuum bed, the air slowly seeping out until I was enveloped in him and nothing else. I loved that intensity but this time I wanted something different.

So I went to a club and there was a very gorgeous man that was nothing like Haydn sat a little ways up at the bar. We had a drink together. He was a little particular at first, going on about his dating history and how he wasn't having much luck in romance. I didn't want romance with him. I wanted to fuck, so I bought him a few more drinks with the money I made working for Sr. Whitacre and I brought that man to a hotel room.

He was willing when we got there and when the clothes came off and I ended up inside of him and it felt good to fuck someone other than Haydn because, even though I was allowed, I always felt guilty afterward. Like I was betraying him somehow. He was my dominant. I wanted to be loyal but this man felt so damn good wrapped around me.