Claiming Fifi Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Free Story Offer

  Claiming Fifi

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  A Preview of Her Cocky Doctors

  A Note from Tara

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  Claiming Fifi (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Club Menage

  Tara Crescent

  Text copyright © 2017 Tara Crescent

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thanks to Jim and Miranda.

  Contents

  Free Story Offer

  Claiming Fifi

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  A Preview of Her Cocky Doctors

  A Note from Tara

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  Free Story Offer

  Get a free story when you subscribe to my mailing list!

  Boyfriend by the Hour

  This steamy, romantic story contains a dominant hero who’s pretending to be an escort, and a sassy heroine who’s given up on real relationships.

  Sadie:

  I can’t believe I have the hots for an escort.

  Cole Mitchell is ripped, bearded, sexy and dominant. When he moves next door to me, I find it impossible to resist sampling the wares.

  But Cole’s not a one-woman kind of guy, and I won’t share.

  Cole:

  She thinks I’m an escort. I’m not.

  I thought I’d do anything to sleep with Sadie. Then I realized I want more. I want Sadie. Forever.

  I’m not the escort she thinks I am.

  Now, I just have to make sure she never finds out.

  Claiming Fifi

  I’m damaged. They’re damaged too. The last thing we need… is each other.

  I’m done with dominants. Been there, had one, have the scars to prove it. I'm all about work now, about growing my private investigator business. I have no time for anything else.

  Then a mysterious client hires me to investigate a case of blackmail at Club Menage, and he assigns me a pair of guards. Two men who knew me at my worst: Adrian Lockhart and Brody Payne.

  I’ve always been attracted to them.

  Always imagined what it would feel like to be bent over their knees.

  Always craved their firm touch on my body.

  But I’ve been burned before. Every instinct tells me to leave them alone.

  To turn down the job.

  To walk away and stay safe.

  I should listen to that voice of self-preservation, but I don’t.

  I’m damaged. They’re damaged too.

  One night will ruin us forever.

  Prologue

  Adrian:

  Fifteen years ago…

  There are thirteen of us gathered around the freshly covered pair of graves.

  A baker’s dozen, Lina would have said. Now she’s gone, and all of us here are responsible for her death. Every single one of us.

  “We should have done something.” Rafael’s voice is thick with self-loathing, his face lined with grief. “We saw Stephan and Lina scene together. We knew what they were doing wasn’t safe.”

  Safe, sane, and consensual. Those are the guidelines, but we were each too exhilarated by the discovery that there were others who shared our kinks. Eager to explore every facet of our desires, we’d ignored caution.

  We’d seen the signs. Stephan had a reckless streak. The rest of us were cautious about playing when we drank, but the Californian had laughed at us and called us pussies.

  We should have done something when Lina’s bruises didn’t fade.

  But Stephan and Lina had been friends of ours. We’d made excuses for his behavior. He was taking too many classes, hoping to graduate a year early and head to Silicon Valley. Tech recruiters were constantly calling, wanting to snap up the guy who’d created three successful companies before he’d turned eighteen. He was under a lot of stress.

  And Lina hadn’t seemed afraid of him. She hadn’t asked any of us to intervene.

  But we’d known. Deep down inside, each and every one of us had known that something was wrong.

  It’s too late now. Lina Shleifer is dead. Stephan killed her and then shot himself. The thirteen of us are huddled in a graveyard in Cambridge, Massachusetts, seared by regret.

  There’s nothing we can do to undo the past, but maybe, we can change the future. I stiffen my shoulders with resolve and look up at the gathered men. “If we’re going to keep doing this,” I say, my voice overloud in the quiet space, “we need to be better.”

  “What are you talking about, Adrian?” Brody asks.

  With each word I say, I’m convinced I’m right. “Being a dominant comes with responsibilities. Not just toward our own submissives. We failed Lina when we didn’t intervene. I won’t turn a blind eye again. If I think a submissive is in trouble, I will act.” I kneel on the grass and lay my palm on the tombstone. The engraved words there are both a reproach and a warning.

  Lina Shleifer.

  Born November 18, 1983.

  Died May 20, 2002.

  Never stop smiling.

  Never again. “This is my vow, Lina,” I say softly, my vision blurring and my throat tight with loss. She’d been nineteen when she died. “My promise to you.”

&
nbsp; “Me too.” Brody puts his palm over mine. “For Lina.”

  One by one the others join us.

  Xavier Leforte, runs his thumb over the sparse gravestone, tracing each letter of Lina’s name. As hard as Lina’s death has hit us, it has hit Rafe and Xavier harder, because Layla, their submissive, was Lina’s twin sister.

  Lina’s dead. Layla has ended her relationship with Rafe and Xavier. I called her yesterday, asking if she was going to be at her sister’s funeral. “Why?” she’d replied, her voice bitter. “Will it bring her back?”

  Next month, we graduate. Brody and I have already been recruited by the CIA to join their Special Activities Division. Xavier and Rafael will both head back to Europe, where their titles and vast estates await. Maddox, Kai, Hunter, Nolan, and the others—all of us have plans for the future.

  So did Lina.

  None more important than this promise we make on this warm summer evening. Whatever life brings us, we are united in our shared sorrow, and in our implacable determination to never let it happen again.

  1

  Fiona:

  “As birthdays go, Fiona,” I say out loud, looking down at the large marinara sauce stain on the front of my formerly pristine white shirt with a rueful shake of my head, “This one sucks ass.”

  I lift my hand to catch the attention of the waiter. With my other, I dab at the stain with my napkin, but I only succeed in making matters worse. After a couple of minutes, I give up. There’s a spare shirt back at my office, kept just for emergencies like this one. I’ll change when I get back.

  Let’s face it. I’m not having a good day. This morning, Mrs. Morales told me that a security outfit was moving into my Georgetown office building. As if I need the extra competition. I do well enough with my small private investigator firm, but I’m certainly not growing wealthy by any means, and things are about to get a lot harder.

  Then there’s the other reason for my grouchiness. Today’s my thirtieth birthday, and, well, milestone birthdays suck.

  The young, good-looking server comes up, his eyebrows rising when he sees the stain on my blouse. “Our marinara sauce seems to have gone astray,” he says, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Can I get you something else?”

  “Just the check, please.” His smile is friendly and a little flirtatious, but he’s got to be ten years younger than me. If I flirt back, I’ll definitely be entering cougar territory.

  I pay my bill and stroll back to my office, ignoring the smirks my sauce-splattered blouse draws from almost everyone I pass.

  It’s been two years since I ended things with Raymond Downing. My lover and my dominant. Since then, I’ve dated other men, willing myself to get back on the horse, but every unsatisfying and brief relationship since then has been vanilla.

  I push open the doors to my office building. I pay an arm and a leg for the M-street address, but it’s so worth it. The office suites have exposed brick walls, wood-beam ceilings, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a courtyard in the lobby, and the sound of the fountain in the center, calm and soothing, always improves my mood.

  Then I look up and see two tall, good-looking men walk toward me, lost in conversation.

  My heart stops.

  Because they’re part of the past, one I’ve kept firmly locked away for the last two years. Adrian Lockhart and Brody Payne.

  My pulse racing, I duck behind the fountain, too terrified to face them, yet aware that if someone’s watching me, I’m going to look like the world’s biggest fool. As I watch them walk toward the exit, Adrian’s dark and neatly cropped hair a contrast to Brody’s blond, spiky mess, the years fall away, and the past, the one I thought I’d buried deep in my psyche, comes roaring back to life.

  I've been Raymond Downing’s submissive for two months, and all I want to do is please my master.

  Tonight, Raymond can barely contain his excitement. “I've been trying to meet these guys for a very long time.” He paces back-and-forth in front of the big picture window in his apartment. “If I land a job at Lockhart & Payne, then my father can’t give me grief about how I’m wasting my life.”

  Raymond and his father have a very contentious relationship. His father pays for the apartment that Raymond lives in, but the two of them have screaming arguments about Raymond’s lack of ambition at least once a week. Theodore Downing wants his son to take life seriously and follow in his footsteps. Raymond’s not interested in a career. He prefers to take advantage of his father’s connections and money to party in DC.

  Adrian Lockhart and Brody Payne run a very profitable security firm in DC. They are also active in the lifestyle, and because of that, I want to be on my best behavior. I haven’t been the easiest submissive to train, but tonight, I want my master to be proud of me.

  The corset I’m wearing digs into my flesh. My breasts spill out from the too-tight bodice, my pussy and ass barely covered by fabric. I feel like a cheap hooker, but Raymond was insistent that I wear the outfit he picked out.

  There’s a small part of me, a small, terrified part of me, that wonders if he means to share me with the two men tonight, even though it’s on my hard limits list.

  Raymond stops his pacing and pivots toward me. “I want this evening to go well, Fiona,” he warns. “Don't fuck it up.”

  His tone sends a pang of fear through me. “Yes Sir,” I reply instantly, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. My stomach churns. Don’t fuck what up? My nails dig into my palms as I fight to hold the words back. If I question my master, I’ll earn a beating, and I’m still marked from last night’s display of anger.

  The doorbell rings. “Take your position,” Raymond snaps as he strides toward the entryway.

  Just in time, I sink to my knees. The men enter. My eyes are lowered, so I can’t see their faces, just their expensive handmade shoes. They walk into the apartment, then stop dead as they notice me for the first time. “Who’s this?” one of the men asks, sounding as smooth and dangerous as silk flowing over a sharp knife.

  “My submissive.” Raymond sounds dismissive. “She’ll be waiting on us tonight.”

  “Is that so?” The other man drawls. “I didn’t know you’d taken a new submissive, Downing. Weren’t you with Brittney?”

  “I kicked that worthless bitch to the curb,” Raymond bites out. I know his moods well. Right now, he’s struggling not to lash out at the two men. Inwardly, I wince. If Raymond is this angry already, then nothing I do this evening will please him.

  You promised your submission.

  I had. I just hadn’t expected to be so on edge all the time. Other submissives spoke of tranquility when they submitted, of the trust they shared with their masters, of soaring through sub-space, confident that their dominants would take care of them.

  So far, that hasn’t been my experience at all.

  It would be if you were a better submissive.

  “That’s not the version I heard.” My eyes are still on the floor, so I can’t see the man’s face, but he sounds as cold and hard as ice.

  To my shock, Raymond ignores the provocation. “Fiona, coats,” he snaps.

  As gracefully as I can, I rise to my feet. “Please may I take your coats, Sirs?”

  To my eternal relief, both men hand me their jackets. “We do have business to discuss,” the dark-haired one says. “Shall we get to it?” Their voices fade away as they make their way to the study.

  I'm in charge of serving dinner. As soon as I hang up their cashmere coats, I head toward the kitchen. My head’s still bowed, and I'm not looking where I'm going.

  I run into a broad, hard chest. It’s the dark-haired man again. “I'm so sorry, Sir,” I gasp out. Raymond warned me to be on my best behavior. “Please forgive my carelessness.”

  “Call me Adrian.”

  I can feel the weight of his stare on me. Finally, my nerves reach snapping point, and I look up into his chocolate brown eyes. “May I help you, Sir?” I ask, realizing as soon as the words leave my mouth that he
just told me to call him Adrian.

  My master is right. I'm hopeless.

  If he's irritated by my lapse, he doesn't show it. “Talk to me for a minute,” he says, his gaze etched with concern. “How long have you been with Downing?”

  “Two months.” At the last minute, I remember how he wants to be addressed, but I balk at saying his name aloud.

  “Is he your first dominant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  Shit. He's noticed. “Yes, Adrian.”

  “Fiona.” He sounds troubled. “Submission is a precious gift, and there are men in the world that aren’t worthy of it. Downing is one of them. He’s an abusive bastard.”

  Dominant or not, I’ve heard enough. “I love my master,” I say stiffly.

  “He doesn’t deserve your love,” Adrian replies bluntly. He pulls a business card out of his wallet. “This has my personal cell phone number on the back. If you ever want out of this relationship, please call me. I will make sure you’re safe.”