Chapter Fourteen

Gabriel opened the door of the office suite and announced, "A Mr. Dern is outside and would like a word with you, Sir." While Danielle insisted on his referring to her as Mistress whenever they were alone, Matt only allowed it when they were in the play room, preferring to separate the business relationship from the family one.

No emotion showed on Matt's face as he responded to the unexpected news as if he had been waiting for it....and perhaps he had been.

"Ask him to wait, offer refreshments, and send for my wife, please."

"Done, sir."

This response brought a nearly indiscernible twitch at the corner of Matt's mouth, and a twinkle in his steel gray eyes.

"Of course. Thank you, Gabriel. You are...a valued member of our family."

Gabriel blushed with pride and looked down to avoid letting Matt see the tears forming. It was for naught as his Master spoke, softly.

"It is a necessary pain, Gabriel. It is a part of the process. If you would truly honor us, you must grow as a person and become all that you are capable of"

Gabriel could only nod his head, feeling the truth of his Master's words.

When he had left the Philippines, he had no friends here. He felt as though he had been cast out by his father. Gabriel Vargas was born the son of a rich Filipino industrialist. Though he lived in the man's home until he was seventeen, he never looked upon him as a father. This was reciprocated in that the man rarely seemed to notice that his youngest child even existed.

Anthony Gabriel Vargas Ruiz was born the youngest of seven children. In many ways, he was considered a miracle baby. The doctors believed he would be severely retarded because he had stopped breathing several times during and after his birth. His birth weight was a mere 4 pounds, 3 ounces. He was sickly and required a respirator for days. His doctors were certain that he had suffered brain damage, as their CT and EEG scans showed a diminished amount of mental activity.

His father, Enrique Rodolfo "Ricky" Ruiz had thought that the lack of sex with his wife, Graciela should have guaranteed that fact. His mother had been scrupulous about avoiding sex outside of marriage, and only had one night of sex in the three years preceding Gabriel's birth. That occurrence was the fault of his secretary, who had gotten tired of being fucked by her boss and dumped him while quitting her job and moving out to live with her new fiancé.

Ricky had been furious. After all, he had paid the rent on her apartment, gave her generous gifts, leased her a car, and demanded only sex in return. How dare she refuse him? His mind was unable to fathom that she might feel used, or that she might chafe at being a bird in a gilded cage.

In his anger, Ricky had trashed the apartment while consuming a bottle of Tanduay Rum. By the time his driver got him home, he was a mess.

He stumbled into the bedroom and surprised his wife, whom he had told earlier that he would be spending the night in town, working.

Graciela was a wiry Filipina who knew that her husband was a philandering bastard. As a good Catholic, she still prayed for his soul, as well as the unfortunate women he preyed upon. She had given her husband six healthy children as well as her youth, and she was pragmatic about the fact that she had a nice home, a healthy credit card limit, a small circle of real friends, as well as her wonderful children. Gracie considered it a fair trade and was willing to settle for that as long as the bastard didn't rub her nose in his infidelity, or harm her babies.

That night, as Ricky stumbled about the bedroom cursing, she realized that the words were directed at his latest lover, and she lost it. The oldest children were away at college, but the twins Lilibeth and Malaya (age 13) and little Tala (9) were at home and fast asleep.
The fight was short and violent. As she tried her best to claw out his eyes, before he backhanded her across the mouth. As she fell back on the bed, her nightgown torn open, he felt a sudden stirring in his loins. Here was a focus for his impotent rage, an outlet for the pent-up fury that he felt.

Before she could regain her senses he was ripping her gown and panties to shreds and his large bulk pinned her to the mattress as he forced her legs apart. She had honored her marriage covenant and never sought the affections of any man outside her marriage, but this moment engendered a smoldering resentment of her husband, and all men in general, that she carried until her death from cervical cancer fourteen years later.

At that moment, Danielle Sharp swept into the room. "What's going on, Matt?" She winked at Gabriel with a smirk as she stood in the center of the room, hands on hips and feet apart.

Matt sat behind his desk, leaning back in the chair, fingers steepled under his chin as he gazed at his wife. "Thomas Dern is in the house."

Her deep blue eyes glowed dangerously as the smile left her face and her left eyebrow rose slightly. "Is he now?"

She immediately strode toward the door, but her husband arrested her with a single word.

"Wait"

She turned on him, tossing her glossy auburn hair over her shoulder. Her angry reply was stillborn as their eyes locked. Gabriel watched, spellbound like a mouse watching the cats decide who gets first dibs. He was used to this, the way they seemed to communicate on a subliminal level. Danielle was outwardly fiery and volatile, but that masked her inner self. It was something she used, like a tool. A counterpoint to Matt Sharp's cool and collected force.

Matt Sharp commanded respect while Danielle demanded it. In negotiation, that was one of their strongest tools. She was the wild card, her mood shifting like mercury with her physical and vocal emotions. She could be velvet soft sweetness and turn into a ravaging tigress in an instant. Her husband projected a consistent image. Solid. Restrained. Dependable. His emotions were always buried deep.

"Darling, we need to handle this very carefully."

"Fuck careful. I will personally plow his ass and make him cry like a little girl!"

Matt smiled at his wife, as Gabriel squirmed, remembering some of their more...creative...sessions.

"My dearest angel, as appealing as that suggestion might be, we should perhaps be a little more circumspect."

"Why? That little prick tried to fuck us. I pick and choose to whom I will allow that particular privilege."

"While that may appear to be true, I have heard whispers that this was Brandin's idea, not his agent's."

"Tough shit."

Matt's laughter brought a smile to his wife's face,

"I so love it when I hear that gutter language coming from those delicious high-society lips in that oh-so-proper, Boston accent." Matt rose and came around to take both of his wife's hands in his own.

Holding her gaze, he bent his head forward and punctuated each word with a kiss as he continued,

"just" (dotting the left corner of her mouth)

"such" (dotting the right corner of her mouth)

"delicious" (nibbling her lower lip)

"lips" (sealing his mouth to hers in a lingering kiss)

After 14 years of marriage, Matt Sharp still had an indescribable effect on his wife. He was truly her soul mate. Danielle had had little interest in men, apart from using them as toys, before she had met Matt. At first, she had looked upon him as a conquest. Until then, she had found men, especially the rich and powerful ones, to be weak and fragile little boys who hid behind a facade. She had enjoyed bending them to her will.

Matt Sharp had seemed amused by her amateurish attempts to dominate him. Eventually, he managed to prove himself to be a veritable Rock of Gibraltar for her. Along the way, he had also helped her to find herself as a Domme.

She melted into his kiss.