Dwelling In Desire Ch 01

Notes from the author:

Greetings all. FYI, this series is a spin-off from my debut series "See Through Me." It can be read separately, but there is a lot of content that stems from it. One thing to be aware of if you do decide to read the "See Through Me" series, is that it features a significant amount of non-consent and reluctance, as well as various genres of kink, most notably humiliation, sadism, masochism, and impregnation. This story however, will be a little less hardcore. More plot driven, fewer sex scenes, at least at first. As my fans will attest, I am very impatient and love hard-core raunchy wrong sex scenes. But I am striving to expand my horizons in the plot department, and this piece will echo that. Generally as a writer, I really enjoy pushing limits, dancing the line between non-con and bdsm, usually lingering on the non-con side. Be warned, this new series will require a lot of build up. Not a quick stroke piece. But I plan to make it awesome in the end. Enjoy and feel free to leave constructive criticism.

--J

Chapter 1

-----

What the fuck was this? I stared aghast at my computer screen.

Curt—

I'm taking an additional week off.

--Joe

What the mother-loving fuck was this? An additional week off? It had been a fucking root canal to get him to take a vacation as it was. Now he was taking an extra week off? Just like that? No explanation?

I sat back in my chair, puzzled, trying to deduce what my business partner and long time friend's reasoning could be and why his message was so brief. At this moment Joe was supposed to be in the middle of his cruise through the Bahamas. What could possibly have caused this random behavior?

What usually caused random unruly behavior? Drugs? No, Joe wasn't into that. He had never really succumbed, in spite of all his exposure to it. I guess when you are too close to the situation, seeing nothing but the havoc it can wreak, the temptation can lose its appeal. It wasn't drugs. A woman. Shit.

My partner and friend of nearly twenty fucking years had found a woman, and she had done something to him. Something all the hookers good money could buy could not. Fuck. I had thought for certain that after Julia, Joe wouldn't ever trust a woman enough to let her get that close.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe he was just enjoying the freedom, and wanted to extend the vacation a bit. I could totally understand that. Except I knew Joe. He was a work addict. Work was his drug of choice. I could relate. It sure as hell beat all the really hard stuff, at home.

Well whatever the hell the reason was, I would need to hold the fort for another week. It meant bumping court dates, meeting dates, and dealing with high maintenance high paying customers. By myself.

Joe had grown more and more agitated in the past several months with the stress of cross-examinations, dealing with the D.A., and exercising every loophole in the book for our highest paying account, the Ruiz family cartel.

I was fine to take care of things in the office for a week without him, but dealing with people...for two weeks? Eeeghhh. I wouldn't say Joe was a "people person", but he sure as hell could handle them better than me. I was too temperamental. Too abrasive, I've been told.

If there was one thing you needed in a court setting where everyone wants to demonize you, it was finesse and the ability to keep one's composure. All whilst staying one step ahead, and manipulating the situation. I could handle some of that, but not all at once. Not nearly as...gracefully...as Joe. Chock it up to years of self inflicted isolation.

I had the background. And the education. I had the most essential tools with which to build cases and formulate solutions. But none of this could substitute for a poker face as solid as Joe's. And I had seen enough of them. It was why we made such a good team.

I sighed and shook my head, walking over to my safe and unlocking it, retrieving the blurry photo I looked at from time to time. It was of my mom and me during her birthday party, conservative though it was in that shoddy South Boston apartment. My brother had taken the photo. She had put a party hat on me, and her lipstick was smudged on my cheek.

The look on my face with her by my side that day was one I was sure I had not worn in decades. She. Was my love. My girl. The one I was doing this for. At least she was now.

I placed the photo back in the rear of the safe, under my Glock 19. I had more impressive pieces at home to be sure, but this guy was lucky.

I was shaken from the nostalgia by Margot on the intercom.

"You have Mister Ruiz on line one," came her cranky voice.

Here we go, I thought with dread.

---

"So, Donovan, we don't cross paths too frequently," Ruiz opened, sipping his whiskey.

"No, we don't," I agreed, sipping my regular soda with twist.

"Why is that?" he asked, his voice just dripping with a time perfected blend of politeness and condescension.

"I think we both know that Joe is the more...refined one. My short temper belongs in the back," I explained as evenly as I could, chuckling as I sipped my drink.

"I see," he mused, staring over at the stage, his eyes glittering in appreciation of the two women dancing.

I had to admit, the girls were fetching, one clearly dominant over the other. It was an artistic dance, seemingly choreographed to convey the essence of the world I had grown to appreciate. The lifestyle.

"I understand you may be concerned over the delay in proceedings," I spoke bluntly. "You needn't worry Ruiz. My colleague is taking a slightly extended holiday. Surely you can understand the occasional need for rest."

"That I can, Donovan, but you see, men like myself rarely rest. Even when we rest, we do not rest. Not truly," he replied, his eyes like the dark night sky, his accent thick.

"Believe me, I understand," I responded with disgruntled empathy. "You and I will never really be at rest until we rest within the earth."

Looking back towards the stage, I joked, "At least in this life, we have one outlet that cannot fail. If only for a quick reprieve."

The dark haired boss threw his head back then and laughed, his drink sloshing about.

"I like you, Donovan! You!" he pointed at me. "Understand."

I smirked at the man and nodded. "Yes, I do."

---

After a nauseating thirty minutes of dryly cryptic conversation, Ruiz and his driver finally left. I was headed for the door after collecting my coat when I heard a familiar voice.

"You weren't even going to say Hello."

I turned and offered the most dashing smile I could manage considering the tense meeting I had just finished.

"Baby I didn't even know you were working today," I drawled, pulling her to me and kissing her cheek.

"You haven't called in a while," she pouted.

Tina was not prone to whining. Far from it. But she was right.

"Are you complaining young lady?" I growled, as I towered over her.

Her eyes went to the floor. "No sir."

"Good," I purred, stroking her cheek. "Things have been busy, and will be busier still for at least a couple weeks. When the case is through I'll give you a call."

Tina and I had been...well, friends with benefits I supposed, for a few years. We both came from similar backgrounds so she understood me on a level Joe never could. She was a sassy young woman from the projects of Chicago. Wild untamed black hair and almond shaped eyes. She was petite, with smaller breasts, but had an ass worth sinking one's teeth into...and I had, many a time.

She'd put herself through college working here at Consent. Joe had introduced me to the high profile club and gotten me a membership just before we started our practice.

Tina's eyes flitted up to mine in challenge.

"See that you do," she grinned slyly. "Believe me, I can always find another Dom. Any. Time. I want."

She was also a bit of a switch. Which is probably why "friends" with benefits was an ongoing label for our relationship.

"Don't let me hold you back baby," I teased. "If the desire becomes too thick for you to stand, there's always Daryl, or Vince, or Enrique, or even Gwen. Surely one of them could satisfy you?"

"Hmm. Perhaps you're right," her eyes drifted over towards the bar where the regulars were having drinks.

I smirked at her petulance. Had I not urgent matters to attend to, I would have taken her home and bent her promptly over my bed before reddening her ass.

Then her eyes met mine again.

"Do call. Mama misses you," she purred, taking my finger deeply into her warm wet mouth before promptly withdrawing it and walking away.

Fuck. Thanks to our little back and forth, I was nearly ready to go. Another really good reason to get Joe back to work. I cursed myself for sending him away to have all the fun. Next time, it would be I.

Hopefully whomever, or whatever, had captured his attention would run its course in the next two weeks. Then again, I had never been an optimist.

---

Well, it was fucking official. I was sick.

After two days of endless paperwork, phone calls, and uncomfortable meetings, I had stumbled out of bed at four in the morning and barely made it to the toilet. Which, thanks to the ridiculously excessive square footage in my new house, was a good thirty feet from my bed.

I don't know why I picked such a huge house. I guess you always want what you didn't have as a kid. It was lavish, huge, and expensive. Characteristics I had coveted my whole life. But it was cold, and empty. Lonely. I had always been alone, and was at peace with it, but a huge empty house emphasized the negatives. And now, as I stared with disgust into the toilet bowl, I felt more alone than ever.

Margot.

Groaning, I dragged myself off of the cold tile floor and back to my oversized bed, one of the few furnishings I had to my name. Sifting through the sheets, I found my phone and dialed Margot.

"Yeah?" she answered, sounding cranky even for her.

Oh shit, it was four in the morning, wasn't it?

"Oh shit, sorry Margot," I apologized.

"Are you sick?" she asked quickly, her voice a mixture of motherly concern and 'it's too fucking early for anything' annoyance.

"Yeah," I rasped. My throat was sore. "Can you bring me the case files from my desk?"

"All of them?"

"Yes Margot, all of them. Oh, and some soup, and medicine, and..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Go back to bed. I'll be at the house at eight."

"Thanks Mar..."

>Click<

I groaned in frustration at my secretary who seemed to be getting too big for her breeches. Then again, I had just called her at four in the fucking morning to ask for soup, hadn't I? No wonder she was pissed.

After rinsing my mouth out with some Listerine, I went back to bed, praying I would feel better when I woke in a few hours.

----

Knock, knock, knock, knock...Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Jesus, what the hell was all the noise? Were the neighbors having work done? I grew increasingly irritated, burying my head in my pillow.

Ding Dong.

Wait...oh. Fuck. Margot.

"Coming," I muttered, knowing full well she couldn't hear me as I dragged myself out of bed and threw on my robe.

Ding Dong. Knock, knock.

"Alright!" I half yelled, half groaned.

After stumbling down the winding staircase, I opened the door to a very cranky looking Margot. But then, what else was new? She was equipped with several bags, which she promptly dumped in my arms.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Donovan," she greeted in a sarcastically sweet tone. "I'm going to go get the case files from my trunk," she called out as she turned away.

"Mmm," I grunted in response, as I turned to lug the bags to the kitchen.

I had just put on a pot of coffee when Margot came in and plopped the files down on the kitchen island. As good a place as any I supposed. I was waiting for the next smart thing she would say, too tired and irritated to initiate conversation myself.

When I heard nothing, I turned around and discovered Margot gazing around the room. The house had an open floor plan and was sparsely furnished at best. It was suiting my purposes.

"Good God Curt," she muttered.

"What happened to Mr. Donovan?" I smirked, despite the head stuffed with cotton sensation I was coming to loathe.

"Curt, this place looks like shit," she cursed.

"Margot, not now," I groaned. The last thing I needed right now was a lecture on how my house looked. "If it bugs you that much, call a cleaning service for me."

"I'm not talking about cleanliness Curt, although that could certainly use some attention as well," she retorted. "I mean look around! You've got a gorgeous new house, and the best you can do is a cheap leather sofa and a cardboard box holding up your X Box?"

Before I could respond, she had moved with purpose back to the formal living room and dining room, which was equally barren. I grudgingly followed her, if for no other reason than to see her to the door.

I found her shaking her head, looking around the empty space.

"Margot, this really isn't the best time."

"I know," she conceded, "But listen, let me have my decorator Betty come and have a look. I'm sure she could get this taken care of for you. We just selected paint colors for my condo and they were perfect!"

I grunted at her, massaging my temples, hoping she would get the message without me having to say anything.

She turned and headed for the door, thank God, but not before declaring, "I'll set her up for Tuesday. Oh, and I scheduled Dr. Greenberg to be here at three this afternoon. Make sure you at least shave for Christ's sake."

Before I could object, she had seen herself out. I was in no mood to discuss something so trivial. Whatever, it was only Thursday. At least I had til Tuesday to get past the worst of this. Greenberg would get me some drugs and I could get back to work.

I sipped my coffee, threw the soups in the fridge, and pulled the immediate files from the box before taking some Tylenol and returning to bed.

---

I set up a card table in my bedroom, since I had no desk yet, and needed some workspace in close proximity to my bed. My desk at the office had always sufficed, but given the situation, I was strongly considering integrating a formal study into one of the spare rooms. Whenever I got some time. Whenever the hell that would be.

Greenberg had advised rest for at least a week, but thanks to Joe's casual little extension on his vacation, the pressure was on me. I couldn't fault the man. He never took vacations unless I outright forced him. And now it was biting me in the ass. I shook my head, wincing at the pain. The drugs were doing their work, but not fast enough for my preference.

I shifted papers around on the flimsy card table for about an hour before giving up and collapsing into bed again.

---

Despite my abundant workload, I had slept through most of the weekend. Monday morning I thrilled at the feeling of a mostly clear head as the hot water beat down on me.

My favorite part of this house, hands down, was the master shower. It had multiple jets and was about five by nine with two tiled benches. It was awesome. Big enough to share, though I hadn't yet had the opportunity.

"Sorry little guy," I muttered as I acknowledged that sad state of affairs.

Which got me to thinking, if I was to...entertain...it really would not be a bad idea to get the place looking nice. If not for my benefit, then for the benefit of a female guest. And ultimately, I supposed, my benefit.

I shook my head as I wrapped the towel around my midriff. I wasn't crazy about the idea of some past-her-prime decorator furnishing my new place, but it would probably be better than nothing. Better than what I had now. I shuddered at the idea of cheesy pink wallpaper and ornate furniture I would be afraid to sit in.

I would just tell the lady to keep it simple, and hope she listened. I hated it when Margot was right, but if it made it easier to...entertain...then I would deal with the temporary frustration.

Resolved not to give the inane topic any more of my brainpower, I threw on some clean pajamas and got back to work.

---

Joe should have arrived back in Chicago yesterday, I groused as I saw the sun set through the blinds. It irked me that he had not even texted to see how things were going. What in God's name was he up to?

I had made a surprising amount of headway today on the case, but I was getting winded. And hungry. Pocketing my phone just in case, I went downstairs to heat up the last of the soups Margot had brought me. I would have to send her for more.

>Ding<

Speak of the devil, I thought, as I looked down at my phone.

Betty will be there tomorrow at 9:00 am. Don't embarrass me.

Betty? Oh yeah, the decorator lady. I groaned in dread. The last thing I wanted right now was to look at wallpaper samples and chintzy fabrics, or whatever this damn project entailed. Whatever. I would give her an hour, and then get back to work. Maybe I would even go in to the office if I felt up to it.

"Mmmm," I hummed as I dug into my soup.

Picking up my phone briefly, I texted Margot back:

No promises Marg. Pick me up more of that potato soup at the store, will you? Thanks. ;)

I chuckled at the vision of the annoyed look on her face.

---

I had just finished shaving when I heard the doorbell ring.

Here we go.

I sighed as I went to get the door, preparing myself for an hour of tedious discussion and haughty female criticism from a Margot-like old bag.

She was right though, dammit. It was for the best.

Grudgingly opening the door, I was slack-jawed at the sight that greeted me.

A stunning young blonde woman was perched on my doorstep. She had a pad and pen, a weathered looking purse, and the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen.

I blinked, and after reminding myself to breathe, I stuttered, "Betty?"

The girl frowned, and I wondered if perhaps this was not her.

"It's Bethany, actually. You're Mr. Donovan, correct?" she asked in a professional voice.

"Yeah," I replied dumbly. "Come on in Bett...uh, Bethany."

She entered, and as I shut the door behind her, I smelled her sweet girly perfume. I bit my lip but composed myself before turning to her.

When I did, I found her slipping her shoes off in the foyer.

"Oh that's hardly necessary!" I laughed.

"Oh, well I hope you don't mind Mr. Donovan. It's become somewhat standard practice for me. I get a lot of people who insist on no shoes, so I just got in the habit of leaving them at the door," she looked down embarrassed.

I followed her eyes downward and was greeted by the smallest most adorable feet I had ever seen, complete with pink painted toenails.

"It's okay, no big deal. Shoes on, shoes off, it doesn't matter to me," I muttered stupidly.

"Thanks," she smiled. "So, Mr. Donovan, what can I help you with?"

"Oh, well uh, I was actually hoping you could tell me. Margot said you could help me, but I don't really know where to begin," I said, turning towards the formal living room off the foyer.

"Well it looks like you need furniture," she said gently. "Did you just move in?"

I felt myself redden in embarrassment.

"I've actually been moved in for about six months now. Just haven't quite settled in I guess. As you can see, the place is pretty much empty. I got a couch but otherwise I haven't really had time to shop for stuff. My last place was much smaller, and I sold it furnished."

"I see," she responded. "So would you just like advice on how to arrange things, or do you want more assistance than that? I can take care of furniture orders, window treatments, wall art, etcetera if you are short of time, which it sounds like you are."