Collateral 2 (Debt Collection) Read online

  Ben shot me an amused look, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed Betty wasn’t the only one who had enjoyed the cocktails and wine a little too much. The noise in the room started to rise as the guests loosened up and became more animated. Some of the men started slipping out of their tuxedo jackets or removing their bow ties altogether.

  When the first dance started, Ben draped his arm over the back of my chair and gently clasped my shoulder. He kissed my temple, and I leaned into him. The familiar woodsy scent of his cologne surrounded me, and I wanted to snuggle in closer and place ticklish kisses along his jaw and neck until he broke and pinned me down for payback. We shared a private glance, one that made it clear that we both wanted to leave early.

  So we did. After three dances, we made our exit, bypassing the crowd of guests still waiting to congratulate Oliver and Lily on our way out of the reception.

  “I’m pretty sure we’re breaking one of Alina’s rules running out of here without talking to the bride and groom.” Ben held my hand as we walked toward the front of the venue.

  “We are,” I agreed. “We’ll have to apologize for being so rude with some flowers and a dinner invite.”

  “To a restaurant, I hope. Because if you cook dinner, we’ll have to apologize again and send an even bigger flower arrangement.”

  “Jerk!” I swatted his chest even as I laughed. He wasn’t wrong. My cooking skills were terrible. Poor Nina had tried for years to teach me the basics, but she had finally given up after choking on a bite of crunchy eggs seasoned with a few errant shards of eggshells.

  “Mr. Beciraj!”

  We both stopped at the sound of someone calling out for him. Ben let go of my hand and slid his arm around my waist, drawing me in close to his side in a protective manner. We turned to see Dr. Chowdhury, a highly sought-after dermatologist, striding toward us. I glanced up at Ben, wondering how the two had crossed paths.

  “Aston,” Dr. Chowdhury greeted with a stiff smile. It wasn’t the easy grin he always had when he walked into the exam room to listen to my latest skin complaint. “Would you mind if I spoke to Ben for a moment?”

  “Of course not.” I stood nearby as Ben and Dr. Chowdhury walked a short distance away for their conversation. Ben’s body language had shifted from his earlier protective tenderness to the aggressive, cold stance that he had when dealing with business. From the looks of it, the doctor was in some kind of trouble. He had a pleading look on his face, and I tried not stare as Ben’s hand sliced through the air in a gesture that seemed to end the conversation. Whatever Ben said to Dr. Chowdhury made the other man swallow nervously before pivoting on his heel and walking quickly back to the reception.

  Ben gently took my arm and led me toward the doors. He clearly wanted to get the hell out of here. I bit back the endless questions I had as we waited for the valet to return with Baby, but as soon as I was buckled into my seat and Ben was next to me behind the wheel, I let loose.

  “What was that about?”

  “A debt.”

  “What kind of debt?”

  “Gambling.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like…how much?” I wondered as I toyed with the clasp of my clutch.

  “Aston,” he warned carefully.

  “What? I’m just curious. I mean, he is my doctor and—”

  “Not anymore,” Ben interrupted with a stern look.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Chowdhury is not your doctor anymore. I don’t want him touching you.”

  “Ben!” I frowned at him. “Don’t be a possessive creep.”

  “Jesus, Aston,” he said with a rough laugh. “That’s not why I don’t want him touching you.”

  “Oh. Well…why then?”

  Ben tapped the side of his nose. “He doesn’t just owe us money for bad bets. He’s got a big fucking tab with his dealer across town. I don’t want that coke addict anywhere near you.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Wondering if there were other doctors I should avoid, I asked, “Are there other doctors you wouldn’t want me to see?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

  “If I give you a list of the ones I see, can you check it?”

  “Yes.”

  Another thought entered my mind. “Were there other people at the wedding you recognized? Other than Lily and the doctor?”

  “There were.”

  “Like…a lot of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than ten?”

  He cracked a smile. “Yes.”

  “Twenty?”

  “No.”

  “All of them gamblers or were some of them from Alina’s?”

  “Yes,” he replied cryptically, the corners of his mouth lifting as he enjoyed teasing me with his non-answer.

  The mention of Alina had me wondering about something else. My mind went back to the question that had developed after realizing that Oliver might have met Lily while she was a call girl. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, but I had to ask anyway.

  “Ben?”

  “Yeah, baby?” He reached across the space between us to hold my hand.

  “Did you ever see my dad at Alina’s?”

  His fingers flexed, and he waited a heartbeat too long to answer.

  “Oh,” I murmured. “Was he…? Did he go there a lot?”

  “Aston.” He sighed and seemed hesitant to continue. “Do you really want to know all of this?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted with a shrug. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  Ben glanced at me, his expression serious and dark. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is exactly how I worried this would go,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Your dad was a good man. He loved you. He was a great father. But he was a man. He had needs. Men like your father—men with money and power—go to Alina because they trust her to be discreet. That discretion should continue after death.”

  Ben was right, of course. It wasn’t my business where my father had sought out companionship. Still, it felt strange to think of my father going to a brothel or hiring a high-end escort. “Do you think he used Alina’s services because he was too busy taking care of me to live the life he wanted?”

  “No.” Ben raised my hand and kissed it. “Don’t even think like that.”

  “But why would he go to see a madam?”

  “He probably wanted something simple and easy. No strings attached,” he added. “He was a busy man. He was used to delegating at work. It probably seemed natural to delegate finding dates to someone like Alina.”

  “I guess,” I said uncertainly. “Maybe.”

  We lapsed into silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. My mind was flooded with questions, and Ben seemed to understand that I needed some time to process my thoughts. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have asked. I wasn’t any happier knowing.

  Sadness took hold as I thought of Dad sharing stolen nights here and there with call girls. Had his doomed and torturous marriage to my mother broken him? Had she soured him on love? Left him cold and unable to love another woman again?

  After Ben parked and killed the engine, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face me. He cupped the back of my neck and gently coaxed me to look at him. “I’m sorry that I upset you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for answering a question I asked.” I leaned forward and touched my forehead to his. “I’m not upset.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He didn’t move. He simply waited, as if expecting me to say what was really bothering me. At first, I didn’t want to voice it. I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to open up that chasm of grief and loss. It had been hard enough not to lose it earlier when I had ventured into Dad’s room for those cufflinks.

  “I miss my dad,” I said finally. I tried to blink back the tears in a futile attempt not to cry. “I miss my dad so much.”

  “I know you
do, baby.” He pulled me as close as he could and kissed my neck. “I wish there was some way to take away that pain, but you have to feel it. You have to accept it. You can’t run from it.”

  I gripped the collar of his jacket and sobbed pitifully. It felt so painfully real sitting there in the front seat of my father’s beloved car, coming straight from the wedding of his best friend. Adding in the new knowledge that my father had been so lonely that he had visited prostitutes made the grief almost unbearable. How had I been so blind to my father’s sadness? To his emptiness? Why hadn’t I been a better daughter?

  “Let’s go inside,” Ben suggested gently. “Get out of these clothes and crawl into bed, huh?”

  I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

  Chapter Nine

  Way to go, asshole.

  Ben couldn’t believe how badly he had fucked up their night. The vibe had been so good between them as they left the wedding. Before that jackass doctor had interrupted, he had been planning all the dirty things he wanted to do to Aston. The things that made her blush furiously and protest even as she encouraged him to keep going. The things that made her come so hard she would stop breathing and arch her back so sharply that he worried it would break.

  Why the fuck didn’t you lie?

  It would have been so much easier to just lie to her about her father. Even after talking to Alina, he had been planning to keep that secret forever, but, in the moment, sitting that close to her, he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of lying to her. He didn’t want anything between them, even if it hurt them both.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the mountain of pillows she insisted her bed needed, the same pillows she would throw on the floor throughout the night. Her sheets were outrageously soft and put his to shame. She hadn’t uttered a peep of complaint the few times they had stayed at his place, but he could tell she hadn’t slept as well there as she did here. Hell, he didn’t sleep well at his place either, not after experiencing her setup.

  A sharp pang of guilt struck him. It was so easy to just stay with her every night, to wake up with her and share their morning. It felt good. It felt like he finally belonged.

  Yet, he wondered if she ever worried that he was taking advantage of her. The disparity in their finances was known to everyone. He would never be able to earn the kind of money she had inherited or the amount of it that she would eventually earn working in the firm. Forever and always, he would be poor compared to her.

  He believed her when she said the differences in their bank accounts didn’t matter. More than once, she had reminded him that she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She wanted a partner. She wanted someone she could trust. She wanted someone who loved her.

  And he did love her. He had from the first moment she had grinned at him while driving like a madwoman in that stolen Camaro. She had stolen his heart that wild night, and as long as she wanted him, he was standing right beside her.

  Looking around her room, he wondered, not for the first time, if he should suggest they find a different place together. Something smaller, easier to maintain. Something they could both afford so he could feel like he was contributing equally to their relationship. Some place that didn’t have all these ghosts and memories for her.

  The door to the bathroom opened, and he glanced over to ask her if she wanted to watch one of the home improvement shows she liked so much, but the question died on his lips. He had expected her to emerge in one of her favorite oversized and well-worn tees, but she was naked. He drew his gaze down her incredible body, letting it linger on the two ties dangling from her right hand.

  Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but she wagged her finger. “Stay.”

  He swallowed hard. “I thought we weren’t…?”

  “You promised me I could drive, remember?” Her lush hips swayed seductively as she crossed the floor and came to stand in front of him. She had loosely braided her hair to the side, and the ends of it draped over her breast, just hiding her nipple.

  “I remember.” He grasped her waist and welcomed her between his widened thighs. Even though he was already hard and aching for her, he still took a moment to check in with her. “Are you sure, Aston? We don’t have to—”

  She touched her perfectly manicured finger to his lips. “I want you.”

  He regarded her for a moment. Her eyes were clear and honest. She wasn’t standing here, naked and willing, out of some sense of duty. She wanted him right now. She needed a good, hard fuck—and he was going to give it to her.

  “Those ties for me or you?” he asked as his hands swept up and down her sides before settling on her hips.

  “You.”

  Heat flared low in his belly as he imagined being tied down while she had her way with him. He had always been the more dominant in bed with her, taking and giving as he pleased. The idea of having to beg her for a taste of her mouth or the feel of her slick pussy taking him deep was enough to make him shudder with anticipation.

  It occurred to him that his excitement at being restrained for her enjoyment stemmed from his deep trust in her. After what they had survived together that first night, he had known she was the sort of ride-or-die girl he had always dreamed of finding. No matter what, she would always have his back and he would always have hers.

  “I’m too big for you to manhandle.” He glanced at the ties in her hand. “Tell me where you want me.”

  She glanced around the room. Her gaze settled on the white leather bench at the foot of her bed. It wasn’t too tall or too low. It was wide and padded enough to be comfortable. For a little while, at least.

  “Okay.” He stood and walked over to the bench. He pulled it away from the bed to give them plenty of room to play. After taking off his shirt, he stepped out of the loose pajama pants that already felt too restricting. Wanting to tease her a little, he asked, “On my stomach or on my back?”

  Her eyes widened. “Um, maybe we try the simple stuff this first time?”

  “Back it is,” he agreed and settled into position. “Arms up? Or down?”

  She teethed her bottom lip. “I want you to be comfortable so we can have fun.”

  “Arms up,” he decided.

  She knelt next to his head and gently pulled his arms down into position. She used a tie to lash each wrist to the legs of the bench. He tested the ties with a short tug and realized she hadn’t secured him tightly enough to hinder his escape. He glanced at her and caught the worry in her expression.

  “Baby, look at me.” He waited until she met his gaze. “You can’t hurt me.”

  “I could,” she said, seemingly on the edge of changing her mind about all of this.

  “You really couldn’t,” he assured her. “I’m a lot sturdier than you. Unless you plan to Annie Wilkes me, we’re fine.”

  She frowned. “Who is Annie Wilkes?”

  “She’s a character in a Stephen King novel. She has a sledgehammer, and she—”

  Aston held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t like scary books or movies,” she reminded him.

  “I know.” Tired of talking, he said, “Get over here and fuck me.”

  “Ben!” Her scandalized smile and blushing face made his cock ache. He loved this side of her, the sweet little socialite who wanted to fuck dirty but still had that ingrained embarrassment that tried to hold her back.

  “Would it be easier for you to use me like your favorite sex toy if I’m blindfolded?”

  “No, but gagging you might help,” she replied with an imperious look.

  “There it is,” he said with a laugh. “Let out your inner domme. Climb on top and wreck me.”

  “You are terrible.” She grinned down at him, bending low to kiss him. “You’re a terrible, naughty, bad boy,” she said, her voice husky and dark. “And I’m going to punish you for it.”

  Ben’s mouth gaped as he stared up at her in shock. He had been teasing about the domme thing, but hearing her talk like that made his d
ick throb. He could picture her in black leather or latex and thigh high boots, wielding a crop or paddle and ordering him around like a dog. There hadn’t ever been anyone he could imagine submitting to, but Aston? He’d crawl across broken glass for the chance to bury his face between her legs.

  Her touches were light and unsure at first, her fingers gliding over his arms and upper chest in a way that made his skin prickle. She grew bolder as she relaxed into the game they were playing. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations her hands evoked as they moved over him, sliding over his jaw and neck and then lower to his stomach and navel.

  When she straddled him, he exhaled a shaky breath. It was harder than he had imagined to sit perfectly still, arms bound above him and unable to reach for her. She seated herself just above his cock, leaving his shaft nestled against the plump softness of her ass. Her pussy was hot and slick for him, the wet heat of her leaving a trail on him as she leaned down to kiss him.

  But at the last second, she skipped his mouth. Her ticklish kisses dotted his face, lingering on his cheeks and chin and jaw. Once, she brushed the corner of his mouth, and he tried to turn and capture hers, but she moved away too quickly. He hissed when her tongue dragged down the surprisingly sensitive swath of his throat. She sucked hard just above his Adam’s apple before moving even lower, nipping and scraping her teeth over his neck.

  His entire body vibrated. She dotted more kisses and love bites along his chest before lifting up her hips and reaching down between their bodies to grasp him. Her soft hand clasped his cock, stroking it so slowly he groaned. Her mouth was on his suddenly, her kiss forceful and rough, completely different than the fleeting pecks from earlier. Her tongue stabbed against his, and she ran her hand up and down his shaft, a little tighter, a little faster.

  She carefully pulled his dick forward, toward his navel, and then lowered her pussy against him. It was the kind of maddening contact that made him want to call an end to their game. He wanted to be inside her, thrusting up into her until his thighs burned, but she wouldn’t let him. She moved forward, dragging the slick heat of her along the underside of his shaft. He was taken back to the frustrating years of teenage fumbling and experimenting. It felt good—so fucking good—but it wasn’t enough.