Sleeping Unruly: Dispelled Lineage, #3

By Lin Lustig and Elle Beauregard

Phillis is his freedom, but he is her cage.

 

Aaron has served his father's crooked business for years after a youthful mistake indebted him to his father's will. Now Aaron uses his strange ability to find others with unusual traits so his father can collect them like pieces in a chess set. Demons born of Aaron's guilt consume him until he finds a way to set them free.

 

Working as a Domme, Phillis knows taking on Aaron is a risk. His psyche is dark and unstable, but he's also the perfect obedient sub with simple needs: give him orders and work him to the edge. But when they both conflate endorphins and emotions, their private lives mingle in a way Phillis has fought against for years to protect her vanilla mask from her flavorful persona.

 

As Aaron grows too attached to his Domme, it's the everyday side of Phillis that he can't get enough of, except he doesn't know how to forgive himself for what he's done, and until he can, he'll only repeat his past and curse Phillis with a fate she doesn't deserve.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lin Lustig
• Release date: Nov 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223971207

Book preview

Prologue

Bo

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The wash of water mixed with the smell of brine as wind cold enough to bypass Bo’s skin stung his bones. Sandy beaches were the worst. This wasn’t his dream afterlife. Some kind of hell? Bullshit. He’d saved his crew, which had to be enough to send him someplace where grit didn’t coat his skin.

The sky was icy blue here, too—exactly how it had been before leaving Earth for an artificial gravity test. Which failed. He flexed his fingers and toes—ghosts still had feeling? But his hell beach had a remarkably west coast shoreline complete with wave-battered rocks, sandy pockets, and a massive driftwood log. 

This was definitely Earth, and he was alive. Impossible. 

The last thing he remembered was the ship rending apart. His suit had been compromised and—where the hell was his suit? He patted himself down, finding only the jumpsuit and underclothes he’d been wearing when the surprise meteor shower claimed his shuttle. 

Waves surged, splashing over an outcropping of stone, startling him with a heavy crash. Standing on the rock was a person facing his direction. What were they doing? They’d get pummeled by the waves and drown—fucking idiot! 

Bo jumped up, wobbling as he waved his arms, but there was something off about the person. The powerful waves passed through them. He stilled. Something else had happened before he woke up on this shore.

A being, nearly human in size and shape, had appeared to him in the vacuum of space without a suit. They had spoken into the void and, defying logic, Bo had heard it. 

What are you? He’d asked.

Yours.

They had grabbed him, passing through the suit to his skin, connecting like an electric current that seized him, scoring his body like a brand. Then he woke up here.

Now the same creature watched him, standing unbothered as spray should have knocked them into the ocean. This being, whatever it was, wasn’t interacting with matter like humans did.

They flickered out of sight, then appeared meters from Bo on the shore. He startled a step back. Regardless of what they were, they brought him here through the atmosphere without resistance or oxygen. This was absurd and every ounce of educated gray matter in his skull refused to accept it.

Yet he was here. And so were they.

Hello, he said, not sure if his voice would carry over the sound of surging water.

The humanoid creature was hard to look at clearly, like a shadow blending with the light, but they shifted their stance, and with it, their appearance. Their human skin was so dark it could have matched the depths of space itself, complete with freckles as pale as stars and hair the shade of the Cat’s Eye Nebula. They stared into him with an iridescence to their eyes. They were perhaps more feminine in physical structure, but human gender might not apply at all. 

You seem safe now. Good. The words didn’t come from their mouth, but they were in Bo’s ears regardless. They moved back toward the water. 

Wait. This creature was fascinating and beautiful in their strange approximation of humanity. Do you have a name?

Alnitak.

He repeated its name, appreciating the familiar sounds. Stay. He reached out, half of him convinced he needed them for his career, the other half squeezing against something he’d never felt before. Alnitak was also the name of a star system in Orion if he was remembering correctly. It made for a beautiful name.

I’ve interfered. It isn’t safe for me to stay.

I’ll keep you safe then. The promise was absurd, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

Alnitak flickered in front of him so close that they collected his hand into their own. Curiously, he wasn’t afraid of their movement this time. Their appearance shifted again, freckles turning dark, hair going black, but their body stayed androgynous with stunning eyes.

Their touch didn’t sear through him this time; by sheer luck he’d forged a connection with this being. If he were really dead, this was the afterlife he wanted—but his pounding heart made him more alive than ever. Alnitak, this entity, was beyond any dream he’d ever had—beyond any research or plans to expand humanity beyond the solar system. Bo knew Alnitak was a part of him now, and he squeezed their hand.

I’ve defied my mandate, but before I go tell me, Bo Corbin, about you. About humans. About Earth. I want to know it all. We haven’t been permitted to interact with your kind in so many of your generations.

That was alarming. You came here before, hundreds of years ago? Alnitak nodded. Why return now? Why did you save my life?

Their stunning eyes softened with their upturned lips. I couldn’t let you die. Not you.

He was taken aback, but a pleased heat crept to his cheeks. Thank you, Alnitak.

Name me like one of your kin. Let me be human for a couple of your days before they notice I’m gone.

Science fiction warned of alien species infiltrating Earth with hostile intent, but they weren’t stories of Alnitak. There was a gleam in their eyes that Bo recognized: a thirst for knowledge and the same spark of wonder he felt when the skies were clear and the stars bright. Their kind had been here before and could easily come again. Protecting Alnitak was worth the risk—and it’s not like the choice was being offered to anyone else, so fuck it.

Okay, Nita. Welcome to my world.

Nita beamed.

Chapter 1

Aaron

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The kink wear gave her away, but she wasn’t how Aaron had pictured her. The Domme played up the classic image: deep brown leather corset, black latex leggings, and blood-red heels that had to be at least three inches tall. Overall, the look was effective, but she was a tiny, lusciously round woman whose cherubic facial features—which he’d seen briefly from across the club—made her look like she’d be more at home with a lap cat rather than a cat o’ nine tails.

He checked the business card again. Persephone, the Adaptive Domme. Curious branding.

Still, he had the uncomfortable sensation of bees under his skin, putting him on edge. If he didn’t find release soon, it would spill into his work, and Bo would remind him—yet again—why Aaron was in his debt.

Deep debt. The lifelong kind.

Lana and Reese might see their dad as nothing more than the cutthroat capitalist he was, but Aaron knew another side of him. Bo was the man who saved him, and so Aaron had been using his strange ability to sense others like them to find links to the woman Bo lost. 

The first time Aaron found another with the same vibrating spark, he accidentally fell in love. Sixteen and a complete rebellious fool—and it got his first love killed. At twenty, he found another halfway across the world... Bo covered up that accident, too. The waking nightmare of his deadly curse never dimmed, and Bo was the only reason Aaron had any direction in life left, but there was a cost.

That’s when the stinging started under his flesh that demanded pain and subjugation. He wanted to be punished, not to exorcise his demons—that wasn’t possible, but to coexist with them. The single minded focus on overwhelming sensation when he was a sub was the only thing that kept him balanced.

The club scene helped. Crimson Clover was coined a lifestyle club—for swingers, kinksters, and anyone of particular tastes. Tonight’s theme was Greek Gods and all around the common area were men and women in fetishized versions of Apollo, Zeus, and even Dionysus. No one attempted a Persephone, and the Domme with the namesake didn’t don spring flowers. Perhaps this was her look as the bringer of death.

Aaron straightened his jacket and swept up his drink while the music changed from loud lyrics to a pulsing beat. The dark corners hid illicit acts while others didn’t try to hide their exhibitionistic desires. As he approached the glossy high-top bar, sets of eyes followed him on his path. He aimed for her—the woman he hoped would tame his needs. The only one who claimed the name Persephone. 

Excuse me, he said over the music. She was facing the bartender with a singular focus, but not flirtatious. At least he didn’t think so.

Persephone set down her drink and turned around. Without answering, she scanned Aaron, her eyes piercing his skin in a way that made his toes curl. Her physicality be damned, this woman knew what she was doing, and he hadn’t even spoken to her yet.

You must be Aaron. You look just like your sister.

He didn’t think so, but he was used to people confusing them as twins. You must be Persephone.

I am. Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter? She nodded at the high-backed, cushioned booths. Unlike a restaurant, or a run-of-the-mill club, these booths had no tables to get in the way of whatever the patrons happened to do while partially hidden.

He stepped aside, already sliding into a submissive position. She wasn’t even his Mistress but the air around her was so competent and powerful he couldn’t help it. 

She noticed with an appraising rise of one eyebrow, and then led the way. 

The booths blocked out enough of the music from the dance floor that he could hear the hopeful spike in his heartbeat. Persephone crossed her legs, the latex hugging her every curve like a lover made of shadow. 

So, Aaron, you’ve done this before?

He nodded, keeping his expression neutral as the incredible release and occasional disappointment of past experiences flitted through his memory in quick succession. A rope tying him to a bed. Sharp teeth and red lips marking his skin. An unsuccessful attempt at public humiliation. Not every Domme was for every person, and he’d sampled a few in the last four years. All the therapy in the world couldn’t undo how fucked up he was, but one staggering release and he’d stay calm for days, able to tackle whatever task Bo set him to without too much thought about what he was actually doing. That part was key with some of the things he did for his father-employer.

I’ve been a sub for a while. I have a contract with my limits detailed—

We’ll get to that, but first I need to know who I’m working with, Persephone said, waving a manicured hand with an air of entitlement that made Aaron’s breath go shallow. Just the mastery of the makeup highlighting her eyes and lengthening her lashes made it hard to look away. Her lips, so dark red they were almost brown, ate away his will. So, Aaron, who are you? Really. 

How the hell did someone even answer a question like that? Who was he? A disaster, for sure. A self-loathing bastard. A killer. Broken.

None of which he could say on what was essentially an interview. Persephone might exude Domme energy like the sun on steroids, but they weren’t in a working relationship. Yet. I’m still figuring that out.

Age?

Twenty-five.

She nodded. Sounds about right. Occupation? No specifics. Simply garnering a baseline.

Was fixer an official title for what he did for Bo? Taking orders, traveling to find others with a lesser version of his extra sensory kick, smoothing over the brutal way Bo ran his company... maybe a solution finder was closer.  I’m a business consultant specializing in problem solving. 

Persephone didn’t take any notes or react other than to look directly into his eyes without blinking. Fuck, it was enough to make him forget his name. She asked him another series of basic questions, some about his interests, some about his limits, all the while she kept a steady expression, edged with a dangerous control. Her choppy short hair suited the sharp power in her voice, and he didn’t dare challenge any of it—already as submissive to her will as he hoped to be for a long time to come.

And what do you do to relax? she asked.

This. He could tell right away that had been the wrong answer. Life hadn’t permitted him hobbies or friends—it was too hazardous to let anyone get too close, and Bo kept him busy. Contracts made relations easier: clear boundaries and keeping a safe distance from anyone he dared like.

Her lips twitched and she uncrossed her legs. I won’t be taking you on.

What? In the years he’d been a sub he’d never been refused. True, he probably had never been with a professional Domme as experienced as she seemed to be, but he hadn’t even interviewed her back yet. There would be a way to change her mind, just like there were always ways to get things done—even unpleasant things. Difference was, he needed this.

Persephone half-smiled, being both apologetic and mirthful. I’m not interested in a client who uses this as their only way to unwind. I work with half a dozen regular clients that have balanced desires and full lives outside of this world. Do you?

Aaron was taken aback. Of course, he didn’t have a life beyond the ever-exhausting exercise of merely surviving. Having a life beyond those things spelled disaster and pain. The same sentiment was something his therapist had needled him with for years, except he couldn’t tell the man that he was the reason two women he’d loved were dead or divulge what he knew about Bo and their family’s strange extra abilities. Therapy was surface, never touching the darkness Aaron breathed.

Adaptive. What does that mean? He spun the question back on her, desperate to keep her talking. The right questions could open any door.

She stared, then her sculpted eyebrows raised as she understood the reference to her branding. My clients’ unusual needs differ drastically from session to session. All good Dommes are capable, but I specialize in reading my clients and knowing what they need before they do.

Then what do I need?

You aren’t my client.

Humor me. He wasn’t used to talking back to his Domme, but as she said, he wasn’t her client. As much as he wanted to sink into his role as a sub around her, this was business. If he was good at one thing, it was getting the outcome he needed. Bo had trained him well.

When Aaron refused to drop his gaze, she relented with a scoff of a sigh. You need total control, and not just in sessions. You don’t just want the play, you need it for something that this lifestyle isn’t meant for. This won’t fix whatever you think is wrong with you, and I’m not going to damage someone’s mental health.

There was no way he was that transparent. And there was definitely no way he was the only one blurring the lines between need and want. 

A trial then, he said. Persephone huffed, but he broke in before she could say anything. I’ll pay you twice your usual rate. Three sessions.

She stilled, consideration in her eyes. I’m not—

I know how to separate sections of my life. And I’m in therapy, so mental health is covered. Had been since he was sixteen, though he didn’t mention it was completely useless since he couldn’t share his real problems. Bo picked the therapist and insisted Aaron go. Even now the therapist reported back to Bo as part of the condition for covering Aaron’s past.

He wanted to work with Persephone. Bad. No wonder Reese had seen what Persephone could be for him. True that he and Reese didn’t talk in depth about this side of his life, but she knew how fucked up he was—maybe even better than he did, since she could see his pain when she looked at him like reading damaged streets on a map. 

They’d always been open with each other, even as kids. He used to cover for her when her trauma-sense made life difficult, and she’d covered his ass more than once when he messed up. Like a couple of months ago when the Domme he’d hired in Lake Tahoe wore spiked heels and ripped through the leather couch at the cabin.

Not for the first time he felt the stab of resentment that both Reese and Lana had developed useful abilities for translating the world around them. If he could see probabilities, he'd have found the connection between them and used it to find Nita. Even after years of studying their ancestry and tracking genetics, the links were coincidental at best. All he could really do was defuse Bo’s outbursts and follow his orders.

Persephone seemed to consider his offer. She brushed her bottom lip with her perfect nails, drawing his eyes in. He imagined her nails leaving marks across his body, claiming him. 

Her brow arched. I do have several non-negotiable rules.

Yes? Anything, Mistress, if it means you’ll work me over.

There will be no kissing, and no personal contact for sex—tools and equipment only. I have certain professional standards that may differ from what you’ve experienced in the past. No personal details beyond what is strictly necessary, and no attachments. This is a contracted arrangement, not a friendship.

A slash of disappointment stung his chest. The no-contact sex was fine as there were plenty of other options and ways to fulfill his sexual desires. Anything even close to friendship was hazardous anyway, but no kissing? The sensation of having his lips bitten and the distraction of soft lips juxtaposed to discomfort elsewhere was a personal favorite, but she would be worth it—he could tell. 

She slid her phone out from under her corset. Can you handle that?

He gave a nod. I can handle that.

Then give me your address and I’ll email you the contract. Make any adjustments you require.

This was it. She was going to work with him. Her, a Domme the quality of which he'd never seen outside of film. No wonder no one here dared take on the persona of Persephone. There was no one who could come close to her graceful power.

He didn’t deserve her, but he needed her. 

Chapter 2

Phillis

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This was the most lucrative mistake she’d ever make. Aaron was bent over his phone, blond hair falling softly over his forehead, reading the contract, but she was certain this was a bad idea. 

At least it was only for three sessions—and he was personal-trainer pretty, so that was fun. Her grandmother always said as a professional she’d need to follow the money first, the client second—assuming safety wasn’t a concern. If Phillis was right, and Aaron wasn’t a fit for her, then she had a built-in out after their three sessions. 

And enough money to cover her medications and out-of-pocket insurance for six months. 

Besides, fit or no fit, he’d be easy to work out. He’d practically begged to be controlled since he walked over, so whatever darkness he was looking to suppress, he was accustomed to this being the way. 

She leaned against the high back of the booth, roaming Aaron’s body with her eyes as he read the contract on his phone. He was classic L.A. Beautiful, fit, blond, desperate—though he wasn’t a budding actor looking for work, he was a high-paid executive with both competence and fragility. Although he could speak for himself and, unexpectedly, get her to agree to a trial, he desired an intensity