He further spoke with respect and amused affection about “M,” (though Sixx had not seen Margarita since she arrived at the pool party, she’d seen the effects of her taking care of Stellan … and now Sixx).
There was also how attentive he was to Sixx. And how he didn’t hide he found her fascinating. How he listened actively to anything she said, like he wasn’t just interested but absorbing it, breathing it in like it was as essential as oxygen.
Not to mention she simply just loved watching him. He was comfortable and confident in any surroundings—his home, the restaurants he took her to, everywhere (she’d now had three “dates,” if you included when they went to the pit, though two of them were dates where she went home with her date—Stellan liked to cook but he also liked to eat out).
And last, he could make a mean cocktail.
They hadn’t gotten into anything heavy after their Monday morning together. He asked about her day and listened. She asked about his and definitely listened. He read, so she bought some ebooks for her laptop, and she read on opposite ends of the couch to him, their legs tangled. They cooked (or she sipped the cocktails he made her while he cooked, Sixx didn’t cook if she could avoid it, and so far in her life, she’d been able to do that). They took night swims in his pool. They had lots and lots (and lots) of sex (including sex in the pool).
It was awesome.
It made her …
Happy.
But last night, while eating Stellan’s astounding hamburgers (he even made hamburgers extraordinarily, the insides having homemade bacon bits, sautéed mushrooms and onions, and cheese, they were incredible), he’d told her that, “Your weekend of submitting to me, darling, will start Saturday morning, the minute you wake.”
Tomorrow.
It was not lost on her that he’d been guiding her toward what would be happening over the weekend all through the week. He had a commanding personality naturally, but the things he said and expected of her were not entirely about that being simply a part of who he was. Not to mention, he’d tell her straight when he wanted her in her role, when he was slipping them into a modified scene, like he did at Buck &Rider when he took control of ordering for her.
She was not only a Domme who had worked subs; she’d been to a variety of sex clubs seeing other Doms work their subs.
And she’d seen Stellan work his.
But that was in a playroom at the Honey.
He’d told her he’d be dismantling the fully kitted, seriously-the-bomb playroom in his house because the way he’d work her would be “in our home and in our bed.”
Sixx had no idea what that meant.
But it was making her nervous.
For a variety of reasons.
She forced herself not to think about it as she made the trek to Stellan’s house, and then she had to force herself to buck up when she saw the Toyota Camry in the drive as she headed toward the four-car garage where she now parked her baby.
She suspected that Camry belonged to Margarita, and she suspected it had not been lost on Margarita that someone was sleeping with Stellan in his bed considering the fact the half of his closet that hadn’t been filled was now full of leather and designer fabulousness and his clothes hamper had women’s panties in it (as well as other things).
She parked in the garage next to Stellan’s Maserati (when did something like that become part of her life?), took a breath, grabbed her workbag, her camera, and pulled herself out.
She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting, black leather short shorts and an oversized dark gray tank that dipped so low in the front it nearly showed cleavage, these with a pair of simple black T-strap sandals.
And for the first time in her life, she wondered what someone would think of her outfit (this did not count Stellan, she always wondered what he thought of what she wore, at the club, in a playroom, and especially recently—then again, recently, she was in no doubt. He could express a good deal of appreciation just using his eyes).
She hit the button to close up the garage and entered the house through the door that led to a laundry room that would bring many women to tears. The area offered so much counter space, cabinetry and mounted drying racks that even Sixx got excited when she saw it, and laundry was never exciting.
She came into the back hall that led to Stellan’s home office, which was nicer than her boss’s office-office, and bigger than her entire apartment (then again, nearly every room in Stellan’s house was bigger than her apartment; there was a powder room on the lower level that wasn’t, but that was it), a library, a game room and the door to what was very unusual for any home to have in Phoenix—a basement.
Along with a home theater (yup, he had a four-seat home-freaking-theater), a walk-in wine cellar and a lot of storage, Stellan’s vast playroom was down there.
She hit the kitchen with some trepidation because she knew Margarita made the bed every day, dealt with the laundry, and tidied up breakfast dishes as well as kept the entire place spotless, so there was a possibility she could be anywhere, including the kitchen.
And Stellan respected and adored her, and thus Sixx felt the bizarre need for Margarita at least to respect and like Sixx.
She wasn’t even letting herself think about meeting Stellan’s assistant, Susan, and her husband, Harry.
The only good first impression she’d ever cared she’d make was getting the man behind the money who was hiring her for a job to do just that.
She’d never had to make people like her.
She didn’t know how to do it.
And Margarita was a Mexican-American grandmother who had the opportunity to see Sixx’s entire collection of leather, knew she’d moved in and was sleeping out of wedlock with Margarita’s employer (though, Stellan shared, he kept the playroom under lock and key, and Margarita did not have that particular key).
She didn’t think that was a good first impression already.
“Sixx!” Margarita exclaimed when she saw her.
“Hey there, Margarita,” Sixx replied with a nervous, forced smile, seeing Stellan’s kitchen counters were littered with burlap grocery bags in various stages of unpacking.
“I just got back from the grocery,” Margarita declared unnecessarily.
Sixx dropped her camera and workbag on the counter. “Yes, I see.”
Margarita grabbed a package of strawberries and a bag of Bing cherries and headed to the fridge. “Stellan said you’re in all weekend, so I got you covered.”
“That’s cool,” Sixx replied, trying to read anything on her that might be negative, but all she seemed was to be happily buzzing along in her duties. “Can I help?” she asked.
“Nope. I mean, if you want,” Margarita came out of the fridge and shot her a smile, “but you don’t have to.” Her eyes fell on Sixx’s expensive camera and came back to Sixx. “Are you a photographer?”
She shook her head. “Investigator.”
Margarita’s eyes got so big that they made Sixx give her a genuine smile.
“Like, a detective?”
“Sort of. I’m the in-house investigator for a law firm. If they have a case that needs someone to do some digging, I do that digging.”
“Interesting,” Margarita said, like she found it just that and then some.
Sixx’s lips quirked. “It actually is.”
Margarita’s face suddenly fell as her gaze went back to the camera. “Do you,” she turned her eyes again to Sixx, “have to take pictures of unsavory things?”
She nodded. “It’s a bummer but yes. Sometimes. I can’t share what I got snaps of today, it’s all confidential. But at least today’s work wasn’t icky.”
Margarita started chuckling, loading her arms with tortilla chips, boxes of crackers and a bottle of fat olives before heading to the pantry, muttering, “Icky.”
“If you’re down with putting all this away, I need to send these snaps into the office, but seriously, if you need help, I’m in, and the snaps can wait,” Sixx called after her when Margarita disappeared into the large walk-in pantry lined with shelves and cabinets with countertops that she kept stocked with pretty much everything.