I checked my reflection in the lobby’s smoked-glass doors before stepping inside. I was unrecognizable. Not a strand of hair—which I’d swept into an alluring updo—showed from underneath my black scarf, and the huge, mirrored wraparounds—a relic from the 80s that I’d found in my cedar chest alongside my old high school yearbooks—took care of my face, which I’d also powdered bone-white. The only bit of color that stood out against my all-over black attire was the Joan Crawford-style red lips I’d penciled on. If it weren’t for that, I could have passed for a Muslim woman out on a night stroll.
I entered the lobby and was surprised to see the same huge black male security guard I’d seen back at the Beltway Times building yesterday afternoon. I wondered if perhaps he pulled double shifts because he was Rodney Doyle’s own private security detail. I gave him my name; the beefy security guard made no indication that he recognized me. A good sign. Especially since I felt a hint of yesterday afternoon’s arousal starting to build between my legs as I watched him punch Rodney’s number up on his phone with his thick, meaty fingers. He grunted something into the receiver; I couldn’t help but find that grunt erotic.
He motioned towards the elevator. “Come with me, ma’am,” he said.
With pleasure, I thought. I couldn’t help but pick up on his double entendre, intended or not. I was surprised at how naughty I felt. Then again, I could hardly claim to be female if I didn’t find the security guard’s rock-hard frame or his deep, Barry White-style voice sexy. And his heavy-yet-agile body moved like liquid silver through space.
The security guard punched a code in the elevator panel. I watched him do it from behind, relishing the cords that stood out on the back of his thick brown neck as he did so. Maybe in another time and in another place, I could have ended up rolling in the sack with this hunk of flesh, feeling him crush me underneath his massive, muscular weight. But not today. Today, he was just a brown-sugar feast for my eyes.
The guard finished punching numbers and the elevator beeped. “It’ll take you straight up to Mr. Doyle’s penthouse,” he said. He tipped his hat and winked. “Have a good night, ma’am.”
The elevator doors slid shut and the car shot upward so fast that the Chinese balls did a somersault inside my sheath from the change in air pressure. By the time the elevator doors slid back open onto Rodney’s posh penthouse suite, my entire lower half was on fire.
Rodney stood waiting in front of the elevator, a crystal carafe of port in one hand, a brimming highball in the other. He looked tired and frazzled; his shirttail was out and his trousers were wrinkled. A white-cloth table for two set with filet mignon, risotto primavera and iced champagne sat untouched in the foyer; I could tell that the food had already gone cold.
But that hardly mattered. I intended to be Rodney’s main course tonight.
Rodney looked me up and down with a steely gaze, and I could tell he wasn’t at all pleased with my coverall attire. “You’re late,” he snapped.
“Not by much,” I said, and swished past him. “I need to visit the ladies’ room, please.”
“First door on your right,” he said curtly, and guzzled half the contents of his highball. “And hurry up about it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his face with it. “You’re driving me to drink, do you realize that?”
I didn’t answer. I just smiled to myself as I ducked into the bathroom to powder my nose and check my lipstick. I lingered in the stunning all-marble bath for longer than I planned, overwhelmed by the rich beauty of the unusually large bath suite. There was a two-person Jacuzzi tub, a large separate shower with a steam feature and all-over body sprays, and an abundance of luxury bath products. There were his-and-hers Egyptian cotton bathrobes hanging from hooks, and there was an oblong loofah scrubber on the counter. I reached out and ran my finger over its rough, pockmarked surface and stifled a desire to rub the thing back and forth between my legs.
I could foresee Rodney and I having a very wet-and-wild time in here very soon. If my plan worked the way I hoped it would, anyway.
There was a heavy pounding on the door. “Are you about finished in there, Jasmine?” Rodney boomed from the other side. “We have important business to take care of.”
And then some, I thought, and swept out the door, nearly knocking Rodney over in the process. He finished his highball and refilled it with more port. “What the hell are you doing in that ridiculous getup?” he cried. “I distinctly remember telling you to wear your red dress again.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Rodney, you and I need to get something straight right off the bat. I might be a lowly PR staffer with a career on the skids, but I do not take orders from people.” A bit of a lie, given what I’d consented to do with Mistress Violet today, but that was when I was Hyacinth Slaughter at the House of Flowers. Now I was back to being plain old Jasmine Rand—albeit a new and improved Jasmine Rand.
Rodney’s eyebrows raised. “Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.” I felt heat rising in my body and remembered the surge of arousal that had come when Mistress Violet had ordered me to spreadeagle against the wall. I wanted to transfer that intense feeling from my own body into Rodney’s. And the only way I knew to do that was to turn the tables of power onto him. “I’ll have you know that I might be naïve, but I’m not stupid. I know you’ve got a bunch of different plates spinning in the air when it comes to this undercover work you want me to do for you.”
Rodney raised one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. For one thing, I know I’m not the only stringer you’ve got out there looking for dirt. And for another, I know you’re going behind my back at the same time you’re pretending to help me. You had me followed when I went to the House of Flowers today. Isn’t that right?”
Rodney didn’t answer. But I did notice his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down while he gulped. I took that as a yes.
“You sent me to spy on Senator Grayle. But I think you sent somebody else to spy on me, too. Didn’t you?”
Rodney broke his gaze from mine and stared at the floor. He gave a small nod, clearly stunned that I was onto him already. “If you’ll just let me explain—“
I cut him off. “Now Rodney, you and I both know that you’re a ruthless barracuda of a tabloid publisher,” I went on. “And I’m fine with that. Really I am. I wouldn’t have come to you for help in the first place if I didn’t understand that from the get-go. But I think you’ve gone too far. So from here on out, in order for me to keep working with you, I’m going to rewrite the rules of engagement. Starting now.”
With that, I whisked off the sunglasses and scarf, and let the huge overcoat settle to the floor. My size-fourteen body was revealed in all its fleshy glory, covered only in wisps of transparent red lace.
Rodney dropped his highball on the floor, where it shattered. Port splashed everywhere—even up onto my legs and feet. “Jasmine—“ he spluttered. “Oh my God. You look incredible.” He reached out for me, but I put a firm hand on his chest and pushed him away, hard. Even I was surprised at how strong I was.
“Do you want a piece of this, Rodney?” I teased.
He nodded, his sapphire eyes transfixed on my breasts.
I plucked one nipple through the transparent red lace, then the other. Now he was frothing at the mouth. “Because if you do, you’ll have to agree to my terms. Do you want to hear them?”
Rodney sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “Go ahead.”
“All right. Term number one. You will never, ever spy on me or have me followed in secret. If you do, I won’t ever go undercover for you again. Hell, I wouldn’t even speak to you again. As much as I liked what I did over at the House of Flowers today, the fact you didn’t trust me enough to do it by myself really pisses me off.”
Rodney bit his lip. “Jasmine, I only had you followed on your way back from the sex club—something I did for your own personal safety.”
“Why would you
feel a need to do that? I can take care of myself.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Well, Columbia Heights is a bad neighborhood, for one. And second, I didn’t want to run the risk of one of my competitors catching you in the act and running undignified photos of you in tomorrow’s editions.”
I supposed he did have me there. But I still had my principles. “If that’s the real reason you had me followed, why didn’t you just tell me that ahead of time? Or just give me an escort? Why all the secrecy? Is it because you had someone spying on me on the inside of the club, too?”
Rodney flinched. “I didn’t have you followed inside. Daisy did give me a full report of your activities while there, but you knew going in that she works for me. So frankly, I don’t see what the problem is.”
I stamped my foot. “You didn’t need to have me followed at all. You were obviously trying to catch me at something, or keep me from going somewhere. Where the hell did you think I would go?”
Rodney mopped his forehead with his handkerchief again. He was definitely getting hot under the collar. It seemed I’d painted him into a corner. “To be perfectly honest, Jasmine, I had you followed because I wasn’t sure if you’d want to leave the House of Flowers once you got there. I wanted to make sure you came back. I wanted to make sure I’d still have a chance to be with you. That’s all.”
Aha! So he was jealous. Rebecca had been right. But it still left one crucial thing unexplained. “If you weren’t tailing me inside the House of Flowers, then who deleted all those photos off my phone? Those photos were password-protected. Whoever did it had to hack their way into my photo directory.”
Rodney shrugged. “I have no idea. But whoever did had a vested interest in making sure they didn’t get out. I suppose it could have been Senator Grayle—“
“No way,” I said. “He’s so old-fashioned, he doesn’t even know how to dial a cell phone, let alone hack into one.” I paused to think. “Could it have been Daisy?”
Rodney sighed. “I doubt it. Especially since I promised her a cut of any revenues those photos would bring in. That leaves Mistress Violet, but I think that’s even more unlikely, since Mistress Violet loves nothing more than to be photographed while she’s in persona. She considers it good marketing.”
I paced back and forth, making sure to give Rodney a good view of my bare behind. “So that means somebody else is spying on us,” I said. “Who could it be? Do you have any enemies, Rodney?”
He laughed. “Yes. Several thousand, in fact. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
I crossed to him, wrapped one leg around his waist. “Then why don’t we begin right here? You can go over the possible list of suspects while we’re fucking.”
Rodney cupped his sweating palms around the heavy flesh of my heavy buttocks. “That sounds like a fantastic idea,” he said, and kissed me hard. Our tongues wrapped around each other in a slow tango, swishing back and forth to an orchestra only we could hear. When we finally came up for air, he ran his hands over the barely-there red lace covering my breasts and torso and licked his lips. “This is probably the most fabulous teddy I’ve ever seen. Where did you find it?”
I giggled. “In the clearance bin at Victoria’s Secret last winter, marked way down. Apparently there isn’t much of a market for size-fourteen lingerie.”
“That’s something I’ll never understand,” Rodney said, tracing the outline of my erect nipples through the fabric. “Skinny women don’t have any curves. And you need curves to fill out a teddy properly.” He made a move to suck my still-covered nipples, but I stopped him.
“We haven’t discussed the rest of my terms yet,” I said, pushing him out to arm’s length.
Rodney grinned. “Funny, I thought that since I wasn’t spying on you, there wouldn’t have to be any more ‘terms’ between us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “You sent me to the House of Flowers so I could learn something new. And I’m pleased to report that I did learn something new. Something I think you’ll grow to appreciate.”
Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“I saw a dominatrix at work for the first time today. And while I won’t pretend to be as accomplished as Mistress Violet, I think I know a thing or two about how sexy domination can be. So how about it, Doyle? Will you be my Slave tonight?”
“I’ll try anything once,” Rodney replied. “Truthfully, I was kind of hoping you’d want to take things in that direction.”
I mentally put away my tired old Jasmine Rand self and put on the invisible robes of Hyacinth Slaughter, dominatrix-in-training extraordinaire. “Then assume the position, Slave.”
Rodney paused, his expression puzzled. “And exactly what position would that be?”
I felt my cheeks burn. Less than five seconds into my first turn as a dominatrix, and I was already making mistakes. I had to admit that I really had no idea what I was doing. So I decided to improvise.
“Okay, scratch that. First, Slave, you will need to disrobe,” I ordered, doing my best to adopt the deep, booming voice of a dominatrix. The result was a cross between Kathleen Turner and Michael Jackson.
Rodney erupted into laughter. “I think you’ll need to work on your voice a bit, Mistress.”
“Silence, Slave!” I shouted. This time I was able to control my tone a bit better. Now I sounded more like Amy Winehouse on steroids. Which seemed to work fine for Rodney, because he immediately clapped his mouth shut. “Good, Slave,” I barked. “Now you will begin to disrobe.” I cocked my head, put both hands on my ample hips. “Slowly, please. Start with your shirt.”
Rodney’s eyes widened. The sheen of sweat on his forehead got a little brighter, his breath a little heavier. Without breaking eye contact, he began to unbutton his shirt. He made a point to take as much time as possible with each and every buttonhole, turning an otherwise mundane act into a sensual one. By the time he was halfway done, a tent had formed in his pants. A very large, very tall tent.
After almost a full minute, every button was unfastened, and Rodney’s shirt hung open, exposing his thick pecs and washboard abs. His little brown nipples were standing at attention, and his chest shone with a fresh coating of sweat to match his already-glistening face. “What is your next command, Mistress?” he asked, his voice husky and low.
“Take it off.”
He did, one arm at a time in a kind of performance, relishing every moment just like an old-time Chippendales dancer. “Is that to your satisfaction, Mistress?” he asked, timid. Every shred of Rodney Doyle’s die-hard, tabloid-owner, sleazy-barracuda persona had melted away, and had been replaced with a desperate man who quaked with a mixture of fear and desire, a man who at this moment, would live and die just to please me.
I’d never seen such an arousing sight in my life.
“You did well, Slave,” I said. “Now you will continue with your shoes and socks, then your trousers. Take your time,” I ordered. “Make every second as sexy as it can possibly be. Don’t disappoint me.”
Rodney obeyed. He deftly untied one brown Italian wingtip, then the other, treating the shoelaces like tiny, tactile aphrodisiacs in and of themselves. He stepped out of each shoe with a sultry swing of his pelvis, which only emphasized the growing tent at his crotch even more. Then came the socks, which he peeled off with as much raw bestiality as a python shedding skin. I never knew until that moment just how sensual footwear could be. And through it all, Rodney kept his dusky blue eyes locked on mine, searching for my approval. I made no outer indication that he was pleasing me, though. I wanted to push him further and further into his role as my slave. I didn’t plan to stop until I had him literally on his hands and knees, begging for my touch, groveling for the soaked glory of my sex.
Once Rodney figured out that he’d get no outer validation from me for his fetish-inducing foot striptease, he started in on his trousers. He went for the belt buckle first. Unlike last night, he was wearing a simple off-the-rack belt with an ordinary buckle, but
you’d never know it from the length of time he spent unfastening it. He ran his fingertips back and forth, back and forth along the belt’s edges, making the tiniest, wispy sound of skin on leather. Then, licking his lips, he pulled on the loose end of the belt, sliding it between his fingers until it slowly began to unwind itself from the open end of the brass buckle. He flipped the belt end forward, loosening it from the buckle prong, which he plucked with one finger so hard it nearly drew blood. Once the belt was free of the buckle, he swished it out of his trouser loops in one deft, swift motion, then dropped the belt into a coil on the floor.
Unfastening his fly was another matter entirely, since by now the front of his pants might as well have been the big top for Ringling Brothers. He had to flatten his giant erection with one hand in order to work the fly buttons with the other. Once those were free, his giant cock popped through the opening and pointed due north. He’d gone commando again today, of course. The glans was purple and glossy with happy juice, and veins stood out and pulsated all up and down the shaft. Then in a final flourish, Rodney slowly stepped out of one pants leg, then the other. He tossed me the empty trousers, and I caught them with one hand.
He looked up and smiled. “I’m naked now, Mistress.”
“Yes, I see that, Slave. Very nice. Very nice, indeed.”
Rodney took a small bow. “Thank you, Mistress. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that.”
“Not at all, Slave.” Boy, was I enjoying this. The crotch of my teddy was sopping wet; my juices were running so thick they were starting to trickle down my thighs. I’d managed to turn the tables of power in my direction without even knowing how. Maybe Rodney had been right last night when he said I was a “natural.” I slid into the role of nascent dominatrix as easily as a set of silk pajamas.
“Now, Slave, you will enter the bath suite.”
He obeyed, padding softly on his bare feet down the carpeted hall and onto the cool marble floor of the bathroom. Once there he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, looking for further instructions, but I gave none. He took a few more ginger steps, then stopped once he was about halfway between the two-person Jacuzzi and the large enclosed shower. I followed him into the lush room, my eyes scanning the polished marble and shiny chrome fixtures, my mind running with a hundred different possibilities for a wet-n-wild good time in here.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 12
