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  Milan was disappointed and let it show by giving the hag a reproachful look. The ol’ crone had the audacity to return Milan’s look with a sneer, which emphasized her unappealing facial features: pasty pale skin, beady eyes, hooked nose, elongated chin, and lips that were thin, dry, and chapped. The red lipstick that covered her chapped lips resembled chipped paint.

  With her expression twisted in a scowl, Veronique instantly morphed from crude biker bitch to a goth-looking Satan worshiper. Milan felt a chill run over her. The hag gave her the creeps.

  Shrewdly, Milan had insisted that a secret entrance to the building be constructed for abominations such as Veronique and BodySlam, keeping them and all the other fetishists away from the sensitive eyes of her hoity-toity clientele who were upstairs enjoying the posh amenities that Pure Paradise offered.

  “I’m trying to be civilized and offer you a reasonable deal, but this can get ugly.” As ugly as you, she refrained from adding. “If that’s what you prefer.” Milan sighed heavily and closed her eyes, shutting out the image of the vexing and unsightly Mistress Veronique.

  Veronique snorted. “I don’t scare easily.”

  The ugly crone needed an attitude adjustment and a strong dose of discipline. Milan would pay good money to watch BodySlam get this slut in line. Hmm. She’d love to watch that powdery white ass turn a blazing red. “Listen, I was trying to reason with you, but you leave me no choice. I want you to turn over your business records within two days. I’ll be drawing up new contracts for you and BodySlam.” Milan tore the old contracts in half and placed the ripped pages in the shredder.

  “Hey, you can’t do that. Those were valid consultant’s contracts,” Veronique said in a rush of surprise.

  Milan decided that Veronique’s expression of shock was even more unsightly than her perpetual scowl.

  “Those were meaningless words signed by my assistant, who has no authority to speak for me. The next contract you sign with me will be a thick legal document with my signature affixed.”

  Veronique’s scabby red lips tightened. She pushed the chair back and stood. “You’re out of your mind. I don’t have to work for anyone and neither does BodySlam.”

  The woman was butt ugly and Milan would relish having her taken in hand, turned over BodySlam’s knees, and thoroughly reprimanded. Whatever hold Veronique had over that gorgeous modern-day gladiator, she could kiss good-bye. BodySlam would soon belong to Milan. Maxwell Torrance would see to that.

  Milan smirked. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

  With her colorless face twisted in anger, Veronique left the modest, lower-level office.

  And Milan returned to her well-appointed office suite on the top floor.

  Now sitting behind her luxurious desk, she picked up the phone and summoned Sumi. Looking harried, Sumi materialized in moments.

  “You look like shit,” Milan said casually.

  “Thanks,” Sumi muttered with weary sarcasm. “I’ve been interviewing assistants all morning and I’ve narrowed the search down to two candidates.”

  “Are they educated?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Yes, and with great sense of fashion.”

  Milan swirled in her chair, grinning. “And are they highly skilled in cunnilingus?”

  Sumi gave a slight smile. “Yes.”

  “And you know this because…?”

  “I insisted that all the applicants go down on me. That’s why I look like shit. I’m exhausted and my cunt is sore.” She shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for Milan to dismiss her or offer her a seat.

  “You’re always whining. Never satisfied. Why do you think I’m willing to pay two extra salaries? Duh! I’m trying to lessen your load. So can you please try to limit your complaints?” Milan looked at Sumi with mild disdain before cocking her head in curiosity. “Did you have to coerce them or did they suck your pussy eagerly?”

  “Eagerly. They’re both freaks.”

  “How freaky?” Milan raised her brow suspiciously.

  “They were competing with each other. Both tried to lick my snatch clean. After I came twice, I told the two freaks to pleasure each other. They quickly worked their lovely bodies into a sixty-nine position and went at it. The performance was impressive. Both are multi-orgasmic.” Sumi brushed back her hair wearily. “Do you want to meet them?”

  “No, I don’t have time for that today. Tell them they’re hired and that their job training starts tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” Sumi turned to leave.

  “I’m not finished.” She motioned Sumi over. “Sit down. There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  Sumi slid into the chair positioned on the opposite side of Milan’s enormous desk. Donning a serious expression that suggested interest in Milan’s every word, Sumi pulled the chair even closer to the desk. But there was a something in Sumi’s eyes that Milan found disturbing. Was it suppressed rage or was it—God forbid—insanity? Sumi fluttered her lengthy lashes and the weird look was gone. Milan chose to ignore what she’d thought she’d seen, chalking it off as a bout of uncharacteristic guilt for treating her smart and pretty assistant like a sex toy and an unworthy lackey. Oh well, it was her duty to keep her assistant in her place. If she didn’t, who knew what liberties Sumi would take?

  “My vision for Pure Paradise is not being realized.” Milan gave a loud sigh of dissatisfaction.

  Sumi scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s boring.”

  “The salon is running fabulously and with the new couples’ fantasy themes downstairs, what’s lacking?”

  “Excitement. The salon is beautiful, but it’s run of the mill. I promised myself that Pure Paradise would be a cutting-edge salon. Unparalleled by others.” She shook her head. “And it isn’t. It’s just ordinary.”

  In silent contemplation, Sumi sat with her chin resting in her hands. Milan picked up a Pure Paradise brochure and tapped it against her own chin, thinking. “I have an idea!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I want you and your assistants—”

  “My assistants!” Sumi’s doe-shaped eyes sparkled. “You’re giving the new assistants to me?”

  “Yes. I don’t have the patience to deal with two more employees. So I’m putting them in your hands. Their duties will be multifaceted and ever changing. In other words, I want them trained to handle a variety of situations.” Tapping on her slender fingers to count, Milan rattled off a list of responsibilities: meeting with couples during the initial screening process, maintaining the adult website, and drumming up more business. “Once the couples’ theme business picks up downstairs, your assistants will have to schedule sessions and coordinate the flow of heavy traffic. It’s of paramount importance that our clients do not bump into each other. Our freaky clients must be assured that their privacy is protected while indulging their fantasies.”

  Lost in her own thoughts, Sumi blurted, “Can I get a bigger office?”

  “No, your office is large enough. But I’m giving you a hefty salary increase and I’m changing your job title to…” Milan looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Senior marketing executive. How does that sound?”

  Sumi screeched in excited approval.

  “That’s quite a climb for a former secretary who could barely type.”

  Sumi’s expression soured at the insult. “I have other qualifications.”

  “Yes, you have a talented snatch that earned you the privilege of sleeping with the boss.”

  “I don’t know why you feel the need to tarnish our relationship when you know my feelings for you go beyond sex.”

  Milan sucked her teeth. “Our sex life has nothing to do with work. I have to expand this company and I’m hoping I can rely on you to make it happen.” Milan paused, tapping a finger on her desk. “Can I?”

  “Of course, but uh, we didn’t discuss my raise, Milan.”

  “We’ll have to negotiate later. Now, did you listen to one word I said?”


  “Yes, you want me to teach my assistants how to conduct interviews and schedule sessions and run the adult website.” Sumi pushed back her chair, eager to bark orders at her new assistants.

  “I’m not finished. There’s more.”

  Disappointment registered on Sumi’s face. “Yes?” she said with a sigh, settling herself into the chair.

  “I want you and your assistants to comb this city—check out male exotic dancers, male models, go to gyms, and solicit bodybuilders. Take your search anywhere that you think beautiful buff men might convene.”

  Curious, Sumi crinkled her brow. “Because…”

  “Because I have a brilliant idea that will increase business upstairs.”

  “Business is booming upstairs.”

  “Like I said, we’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. I want to offer my upscale clientele an incomparable, ultimate spa experience—a sensual full-body massage that includes nipple kneading, pussy petal parting, finger probing, and clitoral stimulation.”

  Sumi gasped. “Is that legal?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Aren’t you worried that those chiseled men might lure your clients away?”

  Milan shrugged. “Not particularly. I’m going to make Pure Paradise such an appealing pleasure parlor, it would be silly for a patron to risk exposing a lurid encounter outside the safe haven that I provide here. I’ll offer an array of beautiful men of various ethnicities in a soothing clinical environment. Pure Paradise will have something for everyone. Fetishism downstairs and kinky, freaky side orders upstairs.” Milan inhaled and rushed on with exuberance. “For example, the licensed manicurists can do all the nail clipping, cuticle snipping, and the scouring and scraping of dead skin off the soles of the clientele’s feet, but I want a gorgeous man to take over and provide a sensual foot massage that includes toe sucking and foot kissing before he even begins applying the polish to their toenails.”

  Overcome by a rush of sexual excitement, Milan shivered. Her first impulse was to have Sumi do some pussy tricks on her clit, but she changed her mind. Sumi had work to do.

  “I want your assistants to start working on this immediately.” Milan clapped her hands.

  Dismissed, Sumi pushed to her feet and left.

  Maxwell Torrance had returned from his trip to Japan and Milan was not pleased with him. She imagined various forms of punishment that she’d dispense upon her disobedient sex slave and was so excited by a wickedly sexy idea that she released an outpour of liquid warmth that saturated her panty crotch. The sticky secretions flowed abundantly, soaking through the cotton liner and dribbling onto the seat of the chair, demanding immediate attention.

  She stabbed the emergency button, pulled off her panties and let them drop to the floor. She swept every article off her desk, climbed atop it, and spread her long legs wide. With her eyes fixed on the wall clock, she counted the seconds that ticked as she waited for Royce to burst through her office door, panting and with his tongue lolling outside his mouth as he was trained to do.

  CHAPTER 8

  Aside from wearing casual golf apparel, business mogul Maxwell Torrance was never seen in public without his armor: a custom-tailored business suit, an expensive designer tie, high-end shoes, and a luxury leather briefcase.

  But tonight, in keeping with Milan’s orders, he was inexplicably dressed in a brightly-colored, logo-enhanced T-shirt; sneakers; baggy jeans; and a belt with a rhinestone encrusted buckle—clothing that looked as outlandish and foreign on Maxwell as would a Scottish kilt with knee-high ribbed hose.

  Flaunting a black Chanel sheath with a cascade of white pearls and very sexy black satin heels, Milan, on the other hand, was the picture of good taste and high fashion. With her flawless mocha complexion, coiffed hair, and toned, slender body, she resembled a sleek black goddess, while the wealthy Caucasian tycoon looked tacky and crass.

  The oddly paired couple entered Maxwell’s favorite restaurant—a swanky establishment with a strict dress code, where Maxwell was so highly regarded the renowned chef had created a menu just for him.

  “Good evening, Ms. Walden and Mr. Torrance,” the hostess greeted them, eyelids fluttering as she fought to hold back a puzzled look. Finally, she forced a wide, ingratiating smile that assured Maxwell Torrance that his outlandish attire would be overlooked—his immense wealth and prominent status entitled him to dress in any manner that pleased him.

  Milan snickered to herself, wondering if Maxwell could feel the burn of humiliation that was showing on his face.

  “Your table is ready,” the hostess said and then led the couple past a succession of linen-draped tables adorned with flickering candlelight and shimmering white china. The elegantly clad patrons, who were seated at the attractively adorned tables, couldn’t believe their eyes. They gawked and did a series of double takes, then quickly raised crystal goblets to their lips, taking in generous, head-steadying sips of wine.

  Yet, despite looking like a crazy, spiraled-down version of himself, Maxwell made his way to his table with his chin up, seeming the ever-scoffing elitist despite his unattractive and disturbing attire. With their eyes fixed on his peculiar wardrobe choice, the onlookers missed the telltale perspiration beads gathered at his temples, his nervously bobbing Adam’s apple, and the thin collar around his neck.

  The hostess seated Maxwell and Milan. She gave a nervous smile and then quickly departed. Had the hostess been bold enough to openly scrutinize the indecently casual fashion victim, she would have noticed the collar looped around his neck. And if she had dared to ask why he was wearing it, Maxwell would have been obliged to divulge that he, a billionaire and ruthless business tycoon, wore the collar as a symbol of ownership. Prior to their dinner date, Milan had insisted that if anyone inquired about the collar, he was to fess up and admit that he was indeed the property of Milan Walden. Thankfully, for Maxwell’s sake, the hostess hadn’t asked. Nor did the maître d’ when he took their order.

  Milan placed her palm lightly upon his hand, briefly enjoying the color contrast and the symbolism of her mocha-colored hand on top of his pale white skin. “How are you feeling tonight?” The concern in her tone did not match the wicked glimmer in her eyes. When he didn’t respond quickly enough, she pressed down, crushing his palm into the table, grinding it until he winced in pain.

  “I feel awkward,” he admitted miserably.

  She removed her hand. “And…”

  “And I feel vulnerable,” he added quickly.

  “You look ridiculous—like a complete fool. I’m embarrassed to be with you,” she taunted, even though he was dressed in clothing selected by her.

  Face flushed, he lowered his head. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Milan glanced around the ornate dining area. “All eyes are on you,” she reported. “People are so curious, they can’t concentrate on their overpriced cuisine.” She gave a spiteful giggle.

  A waiter appeared, presenting a six-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. Milan nodded; the waiter uncorked and began pouring the wine.

  “Have you been faithful?” Milan did not bother to monitor her tone.

  The waiter paused, curious to hear the billionaire’s response.

  The red color in Maxwell’s cheeks deepened. “Of course I’ve been faithful.”

  Milan swirled the wine around in her glass, sniffed, and then tasted it. “Mmm. Very good,” she said with a smile, though she actually hated the taste of expensive wine.

  The waiter looked at Maxwell. Maxwell didn’t meet his gaze. The waiter cleared his throat. “Mr. Torrance?” he said, obviously uncomfortable as he waited for Maxwell’s approval.

  “I said it’s very good.” Milan sneered in Maxwell’s direction. “His opinion doesn’t matter,” she added tersely, making it clear that she was the central player at the table.

  “Enjoy,” the waiter said, backing away while darting a confused eye at the uncharacteristically docile tycoon.

  “So…” Milan began with a smirk. “You cl
aim you’ve been faithful.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m not referring to dalliances with other women. I know you wouldn’t dream of cheating on me. What I mean is, have you kept your hands to yourself?”

  Lacking understanding, Maxwell frowned.

  “I don’t like that expression,” she admonished. “It’s unbecoming.”

  He quickly lowered his head as if in penance. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I don’t understand the question. Are you asking if I’ve used my hand to grope someone?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m asking.” She clucked her tongue in disgust.

  “I’ve kept my hands to myself and I’ve been faithful,” he said, voice low and miserable.

  “Have you masturbated during my absence?”

  “Yes, I…I’ve relieved myself…”

  “So, you lied. You haven’t kept your hands to yourself. You’ve been fondling your cock without permission.”

  “Mistress, you never expressed any objection to manual release when you’re not around.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said sulkily. “You should have asked permission.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “What’s done is done,” Milan pointed out. “You have to be punished.”

  He scowled down at his unsightly attire. “You’ve humiliated me…disgraced me in front of my friends and business associates. Isn’t this punishment enough?”

  Milan shook her head grimly. “No, Maxwell. It isn’t enough. I have a little business problem and I want you to take care of it.”

  Relief washed over him. “Of course. Anything. Whatever you want, consider it yours,” Maxwell assured her.

  Gesturing excessively with her long, slender hands, her brow furrowed in displeasure, Milan told Maxwell about her meeting with the arrogant Veronique and how the ghoulish woman refused to cooperate with her vision for Pure Paradise.