“You didn’t check the guest list?”
“I’ve been preoccupied,” he admits. And of course he has.
“Just a bunch of donor types,” I answer. “Cora’s friends. Why?”
“Not the Belladonna board?”
My heart melts. Logan’s afraid for me. My self-appointed guardian. “Probably not. Even if she did invite them, it’s fine.”
“I won’t let them bother you,” he vows.
“I know.” I force a smile. “Now come on. One hour, and we can go home. We can get through this.”
He gives an unhappy grunt. “But do we have to?”
“It’s important to Cora. She’s a friend now. So it’s important to me. Just grin and bear it. Or… lie back and think of roses.”
He studies me a moment. “I won’t be thinking of roses,” he says softly. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
He paces in front of me, hands in his pockets. The way he looks at me makes my pussy clench.
“Um, Logan?” I tilt my head towards the door.
“That’s not what you call me,” his deep voice rolls over me. My body quivers, attuning itself to Logan the Master. Just the sound of his commanding voice is enough to prime me.
“This is a scene?”
“It is now.” He circles me, then crouches in front of me. He’s so big, even kneeling before me he’s still taller than me. “Part your legs, baby.”
Yes! “Now?” My voice comes out breathy.
He raises a dark brow.
I slide my legs open. My skirt is so tight, they can’t go far.
“Wider,” he commands and I wriggle to pull the sheath skirt up. Logan watches me fight to obey him. I get the fabric bunched around my hips and push my knees wider.
He plants his hands on my knees, touching me like he owns me. Which he does.
Casually, he slides his right hand up my bare thigh. Eyes locked on mine, he reaches between my legs to stroke the gusset of my panties. I squirm.
“Be still,” he orders. I grab the arm rests of my wheelchair, my knuckles whitening as I fight to obey his commands. My heart thumps like I'm running a race.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” he croons, still caressing me. And suddenly I’m on the edge of orgasm. My pussy is purring, as if all these months of illness, she’s been waiting, desperate for stimulation.
I half twist, rising up in the chair in an automatic attempt to avoid his touch. My arousal is on a hair-trigger. And Logan knows just where to pet me.
“Logan,” I pant.
He stills his hand. No! So close! “That’s not what you call me.”
“Master, Master, please please please—”
“Come, sweetheart.” His finger resumes brushing my pussy, butterfly light. Sensation knifes through me, snapping me in half. I bow over his arm, shaking as pleasure burns white hot.
I can barely whimper as Logan strokes me through the aftershocks, then takes out a crisp white handkerchief, removes my panties and cleans me up.
Dimly, I register him bringing the lacy scrap of my thong to his nose before making it disappear deep in his pockets. Twin red spots burn the tops of my cheeks.
He’s going to make me go out and schmooze with New Olympus’ richest without panties. I press my knees together.
“There,” Logan says. He’s not quite smiling but an air of satisfaction surrounds him like cologne. He presses a button and the elevator resumes it’s smooth ascent. “Now I can grin and bear it.”
Logan
I lurk on the edge of the garden, as far away from the milling crowd as I can get.
I glower like a brooding gargoyle at anyone who comes my way. People see my expression and detour to inflict their small talk on someone else.
I despise these sort of events, but it’s worth it to watch Daphne blossom. She’s lively and smiling in her wheelchair, sitting opposite Cora Ubeli at the very epicenter of the party. The wheelchair might as well be a throne.
She’s so beautiful. Turns my heart. Every so often, she looks my direction and directs a dazzling smile my way.
It makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her away from all these potential vipers. The Ubelis might be good people, but I’d toss any other one of these fuckers off the building with no regrets. I take my station of watch seriously. Nothing will happen to Daphne while she’s away from home.
Home.
It still knocks me on my ass sometimes that I finally have one. Because of her. And I refuse to lose her, to death or any other damn thing.
Down on the flagstone courtyard, Cora Ubeli steps up onto a raised dais to make a speech. She is a striking, glittering woman dripping with jewels. There are many rumors about her rise to power at her husband’s side, but people in Olympus learned early not to gossip about the King of the Underworld’s beautiful new bride fairly early on after a couple of bloody spats.
Over the past decade, she’s only solidified she has a right to her place by his side. She stands like a queen surveying her kingdom from the raised podium, and her voice is rich and welcoming when she begins to speak. Still there’s an undertone of command that goes beyond polite matronly society.
“First of all, I want to thank Dr. Daphne Laurel, without whose research, none of this would be possible.”
There’s a scattering of applause and then Cora continues. She leans into the mic. “I knew I wanted to design a garden—a healing space where people could soak in fresh air and sunlight even while they’re recovering. But it was only through my discussions with Dr. Laurel that I realized we could do something much more special. That we could educate as well as appreciate beauty. The plants here all have medicinal uses.”
“For example, the yew tree,” she points to a tree, “which is used to make a chemotherapy drug. And that’s just one of the plants in this garden that is used to fight cancer. I encourage you to read the signs along the walkway and learn about the life saving properties in these humble flowers and plants. There are some amazing breakthroughs being made every day in some of the diseases that have plagued humanity the longest. Cancer. Autoimmune diseases. Even allergies.”
The crowd smiles and nods along, completely with her.
“This Healing Garden is dedicated to one who lost her life in a battle against one such disease. Dr. Laurel’s mother, Isabella.”
Even from halfway across the space, I can see that Daphne’s eyes are glistening.
And then Mrs. Ubeli calls Daphne up on stage to say a few words. I smile and clap harder than anyone there as my beautiful Daphne rolls up the ramp made especially for her as she ascends the dais beside Cora.
She’s the only one I’m here for. Her and that smile on her face. I’ll be forever grateful to Cora Ubeli for giving her this night. I thought all rich, powerful people were the scum of humanity but the Ubelis might just be one of the few exceptions. Then again, from the rumors I’ve heard, they don’t exactly color inside the lines.
I’m still grinning, about to move closer in spite of my dislike of crowds—Daphne’s voice is quieter than Cora’s and I don’t want to miss a word—when other voices filter in.
Loud, obnoxious voices from behind me. One in particular familiar loud, obnoxious voice.