Salvage Him (Highland Park Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Salvage Him

  Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

  SAM & Associates LLC

  Copyright© Sydney Aaliyah Michelle 2017

  All rights reserved

  Published by SAM & Associates, LLC

  Cover design © Rebecca Berto

  Berto Designs

  Editing by Jenny Sims

  Editing 4 Indies

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other then that in which it is originally published.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead or places, actual events or locales are purely coincidental.

  The characters and names are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  Contents

  Free Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Gratuitious Sex Scene

  Free Book

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

  About the Author

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  Dedication

  To the authors who aren’t afraid to try something new and the adventurous readers who just want a good story.

  One

  Harrison

  The thumping bass hit me in the chest as soon as I entered. The metal sliding doors closed behind me with a whoosh. It reminded me of being hermetically sealed into our underground world. Like we were so dirty, the doors of Crush kept our world from contaminating their world.

  Had life aways been us against them?

  "Good evening, Mr. Crawford," Nina said as she grabbed the collar of my leather jacket and pushed it off my shoulders.

  "Good evening, Nina," I leaned in and whispered in her ear.

  She shivered, smiled, and stepped to the side.

  I did a scene with Nina once. She was beautiful and up for anything, but she tended to forget her place. I preferred to punish first and pleasure second. She desperately wanted her own Dom. I didn't have time to train her; it wasn't my responsibility.

  I rode up in the elevator. The place was crowded and loud tonight, but I recognized most of the men. The club offered a safe and confidential place for Doms and subs to play. The thumping sound was courtesy of a Dom and two subs performing a Shibari demonstration on the stage in the back.

  As I stepped into the club, my shoulders relaxed. I scanned the crowd and spotted my friend, Davis Stewart, by the bar. We referred to him as the Professor. An actual professor, he taught at SMU law school. He was my mentor in the lifestyle.

  I headed in his direction.

  "Hello, Harrison," Davis greeted me in his formal Southern drawl with a handshake and a hug. One of his regular subs knelt at his feet. In here, she was another sub, but in real life, her name was Cassandra Blake, and she was an attorney who handled high profile divorce cases.

  I nodded at the bartender who brought me a beer. I leaned my back against the bar to check out the crowd. I had finished a project today, and I wanted to celebrate. Two years ago, I worked in my father’s office and hated everything about my life. A year later, I celebrated every victory of living my own.

  "You're in a good mood today," Davis said.

  "Life is good." I took a sip and nodded.

  "Today," he said and tipped his signature fedora.

  I grinned as a girl with light blond hair and a sexy smile, caught my eye.

  Her name was Angelina. She was a regular at the club, but she preferred to watch. She smiled before lowering her eyes and continuing in my direction. It was unconventional for a sub to approach a Dom, but at Crush, and here in Dallas, we had our own rules in the BDSM community.

  She stopped in front of me, her eyes downcast, and waited.

  "It seems you have an admirer," Davis said.

  "I don't know. She is a pretty little thing, but I'm looking to try something different tonight," I said.

  "Permission to speak, Sir?" Angelina asked.

  "Please," I mused, admiring her boldness and her perfect tits.

  "I like different." She spoke in a tone that connected straight to a nerve in my cock, and I was hard.

  I downed the rest of my beer, and set it on the bar. I brushed her blond hair off her shoulder and leaned in. "You think you can handle my kind of different?"

  She exhaled and nodded.

  "Look at me and answer." I lifted her chin.

  Her dark brown eyes scanned my face. The corners of her mouth turned up, and she licked her lips.

  Another move that always made my cock heavy.

  Where did girls learn to do that anyway?

  "I can handle it, Sir," she said and continued to stare me down.

  I stepped into her space.

  She gasped and teetered on her sky-high heels.

  I reached around her, placed my hands on her ass, and lifted her in my arms.

  She wrapped her legs around my waist.

  With the club crowding the stage, I had a clear path to the private rooms.

  I drifted down the hall.

  "You are a beautiful woman, Angelina. I want you to be my Angel tonight," I whispered as I tasted her neck.

  "Yes, Sir."

  I nibbled on her ear.

  She moaned.

  My hand covered her mouth.

  "My silent Angel. Once we enter this room, not a word and not a sound." I leaned back.

  "Y-yes, Sir."

  "What's your safe word?" I squeezed her ass.

  "Ah, Red?" she asked with a cute accent.

  "You sure?" Her innocence excited me. I ran my hand down her body.

  She blinked and nodded.

  "Say it again." I slapped her ass.

  She jumped in my arms.

  "Red"

  "Good, Angel. Good girl."

  The club offered eight private rooms for play.

  The attendant nodded to signal my favorite room was available.

  I continued toward the door but didn't enter. I pressed Angel against it and sat her on my thigh.

  Her eyes, full of lust, searched mine with concern and a little fear.

  I didn't like the fear, but it was expected. What else would you feel? It was in her nature to submit, but you alw
ays had that hint of fear when you scened with a new person.

  I had it, too.

  I also believed you couldn't feel that certain connection to someone in a true Dom/sub relationship until the fear was gone. The trust replaced the fear.

  "I promise. I'll take care of you." I grinned and caressed her face.

  She nodded and smiled back.

  I leaned in and gently kissed her.

  My tongue swept over her lips and darted into her mouth.

  She moaned under her breath.

  My fingers found her pussy, slick and bare. I ran my fingers through her folds, imagining her coating my cock in the same manner.

  I brought my hand up and smelled it. It smelled sweet. I licked my fingers.

  She groaned.

  "You want a taste?" I asked.

  Please say yes. Please say yes.

  "Yes, Sir," she panted.

  "Open." I placed my fingers flat on her tongue. "Suck."

  She obeyed without hesitation.

  I kept my fingers in her mouth as I reached behind her and opened the door. Before stepping across the threshold, I stopped.

  "Remember, not a sound unless you have to use your safe word. Nod if you understand."

  She nodded, and we stepped into the room.

  I teased her, tasted her, and spanked her all in relative silence.

  Every time she came, a stifled moan escaped from her lips.

  I punished her for it.

  She didn't mind the punishment.

  "Angel, you did well." I released the restraints on her wrists and ankles.

  She squirmed on the bed and gave me a hopeful smile as she waited for my next command.

  "Thank you for being such a good Angel." I went to the bathroom connected to the room and brought back a washcloth. I pulled her into a seated position to clean her up and dress her.

  She blinked and narrowed her brow. She opened her mouth to speak.

  "Not a sound." I placed a finger on her lips. We hadn't fucked.

  She blinked again and lowered her head with a frown.

  "I told you this was going to be different." I reached out my hand.

  She grimaced as I helped her off the bed.

  I walked Angelina back to the main room. I kissed her on the cheek, patted her on the ass, and nudged her on her way. My cock protested as we watched her walk.

  I rarely fucked when I did a scene, especially at the club. Dominating a woman and watching her come undone in front of me was what turned me on. I could fuck any sub in here, but I didn't. It was a weird rule I had. I wasn't a virgin and did fuck, but not as a Dom. Not yet, anyway.

  I was saving myself for the right sub, for my sub.

  Angelina stood near the front of Crush but took one more look back at me.

  I winked and turned my attention to the private area reserved for my friends and me.

  The stage performance had stopped, and a DJ played bass filled dance music.

  Two guys were in an animated debate. I headed over to the corner to see if I could referee another fight between my best friends Justin and Seth.

  "Gentlemen, please. What has your panties in a bunch this time?" I asked.

  They stopped arguing long enough to greet me with a hug. We had been friends since we were kids. We grew up together in Highland Park.

  If these guys were like brothers to me, they were like twins to each other.

  "I finished the piece for the lobby. I'll deliver it tomorrow." I showed him a photo on my phone.

  I was proud of the maple wood cabinet with its intricate design on the front panels. It symbolized a year of living my life on my terms.

  "Dude. Nice." Justin grinned and took the phone. "Thanks, man."

  "You're welcome. It’s the least I could do after the business you guys have given me over this last year."

  "That's right. It's been a year since Mommy and Daddy cut you off," Seth said.

  "And I'm still alive," I said.

  We laughed.

  My parents didn't cut me off. The guys knew that, too.

  My grandfather founded a real estate development company over forty years ago. My father ran it now. I was expected to follow in his footsteps and take over someday. I knew from a young age that it wasn't the life for me, but I gave it a try. I suppressed every dominant, creative, non-conforming bone in my body and did it. I went to SMU and graduated with an MBA in business in four years. I interned in every department at Crawford Realty. I ended up a real estate broker right out of college. My father and I worked together closed deals right. Made the kind of salary where I didn't need to dip into my trust fund.

  Then a year ago, I walked into his office and gave it all up.

  Last week was the first Sunday dinner when he didn't beg me to come back.

  I settled back into the couch and smiled.

  Life didn't suck.

  Two

  Brooklyn

  Moving sucks.

  We were on our fourth move since Paul and I had married four years ago. And each one of them had been new, interesting, and exciting, but basically, they all sucked. None of them felt like home.

  Paul said it was because my attitude sucked.

  According to the driver who picked me up at the airport, I had twenty minutes to change it.

  It was my attitude that he fell for in the first place. I had been twenty-one years old, sharing a two-room flat in Brooklyn, New York, blocks away from where I grew up. That used to be my whole world.

  On our first date, Paul picked me up in a limo. We drove to Manhattan's newest real estate gem in Tribeca. We rode to the top floor, the penthouse. As a real estate developer, Paul's company built, marketed and sold the forty units that ranged in price from two point three million dollars to ten million. We moved into the penthouse the following week. It sold two months later, and we moved into another, and then another. That was my life for the last four years. I was a placeholder in an apartment that would soon belong to someone else. Even though we lived in Munich, Paris, and Los Angeles, it was never my life.

  Now, we were in Dallas, Texas.

  The driver kept staring at me through the rearview mirror. He hid his surprise when I walked up on him at the airport and told him I was Mrs. McIntyre. His name was O'Connell.

  Sorry to disappoint. I wasn't a kinsman. I was a Brooklyn-born African American woman who had married well.

  "First time in Dallas?" he asked.

  "Yes." I peeked out the window as we zoomed down a six-lane highway. "Are you from here?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said in a heavy Texas drawl.

  I held in a giggle.

  Ma'am, was that a Southern thing? The man could have been my father.

  "Born and raised. Where you from, ma'am?" He rested his arm on the passenger headrest.

  "Brooklyn," I said.

  "You're from Brooklyn, New York?"

  "Yeah ... No. I mean. Yes, but I was saying please, call me Brooklyn, not ma'am." I scooted up in my seat.

  "Sorry." He turned back to me and smirked. "It's a habit." He turned back to the road. "I hope it's not that big of a culture shock for you."

  "Yeah, well, I thought all Texans wore a plaid shirts, jeans, and cowboy hats."

  He wore a black suit and a black hat.

  "I thought all New Yorkers stayed in New York."

  I caught his wink and grin in the rearview mirror.

  I wished that were the case. I missed home.

  We exited off the highway onto another highway.

  "So this here is the Tollway; it's one of three highways that take you from North to South. You got your 75/Central Expressway on the east and 35/Stemmons Freeway on the west. Now don't get that mixed up with 35 West in . . ."

  I tuned him out. I had no clue what he was talking about anyway. I would discover the city for myself. I had found my way around the other cities we called home.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window. It was cool outside. I thought Texas was hot. The
chill on my forehead chased a headache away, but I knew it would be short-lived.

  We exited again, and I opened my eyes. As we took a left at the light, my eyes widened. I sat up in my seat as we entered a neighborhood. Massive homes appeared right off the highway.

  The driver slowed down.

  I took in the ornate doors, beautiful architecture, and immaculate landscapes, one after another. We drove a few minutes down the street, deeper into the beautiful neighborhood with expensive houses on plush green lots.

  "Welcome to Highland Park." The driver motioned with his hand.

  "It's beautiful," I said as a modern white and brown contemporary home caught my eye. It sat next to a white colonial with black shutters on one side and a pale pink Mediterranean house on the other. All three of the homes somehow fit the neighborhood.

  Mr. O'Connell took a left and another right.

  I sat up in the car seat to get a better look. As we passed a massive modern structure with glass windows and doors, my head turned to check out the woodwork. I didn't realize we had pulled into a circular driveway.

  The driver stopped in front of a ten-foot ornate metal gate. Behind the gate stood a gray stone structure. It might have been a Tudor-style home with the high-pitched roof and ornate windows, but someone changed their mind halfway through construction and tried to make it a modern design but with gray stone, dungeon gray.

  The center of the house had symmetrical windows, upstairs and downstairs on either side of the massive black iron door. That's where the symmetry ended. The right side of the house loomed over the front gate. The section on the left sunk into the lot and continued behind the gate out of my eyesight.