by Sky Corgan
“Come.” Jack took my hand and led me across the mansion. It reminded me of a mullet, with the front part for business and the back part for pleasure. The first living room seemed to be the area where he would entertain important guests on plush furniture surrounded by priceless art and sculptures. The back living room had a more casual feel. Game tables separated two sitting areas, one in front of an enormous fireplace, and the other in front of a bar.
“It's hard to believe this is a house,” I muttered under my breath.
“Well, it is.” Jack urged me to sit on a bar stool and then walked around to play bartender. “What's your poison?”
My eyes scanned over the selection, an entire wall lined with shelves dedicated to dozens of bottles of liquor, some of which I had never even heard of before. “It seems you have a lot of poisons to choose from.”
“Everything you'd find in a regular bar, you'll find here, plus more.”
“Are you usually the bartender at your parties?”
“No. I usually hire someone else to do it, but I do know how to mix a drink or two.”
“Well what can you make?”
“Margaritas, bloody marys,” he paused, thinking. “Buttery nipples, martinis.”
“Bloody mary. That's what I want. Get to it, stud. Maybe I'll tip you if you don't fuck it up,” I teased.
Jack laughed. “You're so cold.”
He turned and went to work on our drinks, and while he did, I watched him with nervous anticipation, knowing it was only a matter of time before things took a more intimate turn. This was all leading up to one moment, the moment when we crossed the employee/boss boundary into something more, something we could never come back from. My stomach twisted from the thought. After tonight, everything would change. He'd look at me with different eyes, and I'd know I had just been an objective, conquered to move on to the next. Why was I thinking about this? Why did I care? Like Mandy had said, it was only sex. Jack Kemble was too far out of my league for it to be anything else.
Jack turned to me, setting my drink up on the bar. I was surprised at the artful skill with which it had been prepared. The rim of the glass was perfectly salted. A stalk of celery pointed at me, and two olives gazed up like green eyes.
“So what do you want to do now?” Jack came around to climb up on the bar stool beside me with martini in hand.
“Drink,” I replied dryly, taking a long sip of my beverage.
“Besides that. I have a pool table and a movie theater and a bowling ally.”
“That's just ridiculous,” I muttered.
“Well, there's never a lack of something to do, at least.”
“I suppose that's true.”
“When you're done with your drink, I'll give you the grand tour,” he offered.
“Sounds lovely.” If there was any excitement in my voice, it was feigned. I knew the only room that he was really interested in showing me, the infamous dungeon. That's where it would all go down. It was the only room in Jack's mansion that really mattered in our relationship.
When he finished draining our beverages, Jack took our glasses to the sink before offering me his hand. Gingerly, I took it, feeling the heat of his palm. The physical contact sent an electrifying shiver throughout my body. Soon, I would be feeling these same hands all over me, his nimble fingers taking me to new heights. While the sensible part of me dreaded it, my body yearned for it. Yes, Jack Kemble, I want you inside of me. My lips will never speak it though. Never. You will never know if I enjoy the things you to do me.
The tour was every bit as awkward as the rest of the night had been, for me at least. Jack displayed the same confidence he always had, taking me from room to room with a voice full of pride. Between the bowling ally, the gym, the indoor pool, and the theater, I didn't understand why he ever left his mansion.
“Your house is like a self-contained city,” I commented.
“All it lacks is the people,” Jack replied with a smile.
Next were the bedrooms, all ten of them, each one decorated with a different theme.
“And this is your built-in hotel,” I joked. “Have you ever been able to fill all these rooms at the same time?”
He took a deep breath, thinking. “No.”
“Then why have so many?”
“You never know when you're going to have to host a large party of people for an extended period of time.”
“I'd assume the people you'd host would be wealthy enough to afford hotel suites.”
“Yes, but I always like to be hospitable.”
“This is a waste of space,” I muttered. “Unless you're planning on having a butt load of children someday.”
“I'd like a boy and a girl someday,” he admitted.
“When you're so old you can't get it up anymore without Viagra and your wife is some fresh young model,” I said harshly. Stupid, stupid alcohol. It was hard enough for me to hold my tongue when I was sober. When I was drunk, it was even worse. Jack was leading me into the last of the ten rooms. He opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly interrupted. “And this is Jack Kemble's bedroom where no woman ever sleeps.” I pushed past him to go inside. The only reason I could tell it was his was because it was much larger than the other nine had been.
“Where'd you hear that?” Jack's voice rang with annoyance. Apparently, my rudeness was pushing buttons. Maybe I'd get lucky, and he'd ask me to leave.
“I never hear any of the girls in the office talk about it.” I opened his closet door and saw that it was large enough to be a whole other room. One side of the wall was lined with suites, perfectly pressed and waiting to be worn. The other side was casual attire, organized by season and brand name. “Do you do this, or does your butler?” I glanced wickedly over my shoulder at Jack, pulling out clothes hangers and mixing his clothes out of order.
“I don't have a butler,” he said before stepping forward to grab my wrist. “Stop that.”
For a moment, I was afraid. Jack really sounded angry. Being drunk was making me stupid—stupider than normal. In annoyance, he guided me out of the way, so he could put his clothes back in order.
“Hasn't anyone ever told you not to touch what isn't yours?” he grumbled.
“I was just playing, Jack. Lighten up. One of these days you're going to get an aneurism from not getting your way.” I leaned against the door while he finished undoing my dirty work.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. When he was done, he took me by the hand, leading me out of the bedroom as if to make sure I wouldn't mess with anything else. It irritated me a bit, but I didn't try to pull away.
The final door Jack took me to had a keypad next to it. It seemed to be the only door with extra security, and I knew exactly where it led. I had heard stories of this room, knew before I had even come to the mansion that it required a code to go inside. This was the dungeon.
“This room is a bit special,” he warned me.
“I know what this room is,” I said as I watched him enter a number into the key pad. By that time, Jack had released my hand, and I had wrapped my arms around myself. This was the moment I had been waiting for . . . and dreading. I knew what came next.
The key pad beeped before the door soundlessly slid open. A light came on automatically to illuminate the contents inside. Jack gestured for me to walk in before him, but my feet stayed firmly planted.
“Is it what you expected?” he asked, assessing my expression.
“It is,” I admitted, looking across the room to the queen-size bed with handcuffs welded into the frame. It was the only piece of furniture that took on the guise of something normal. Everything else was very obviously built for BDSM. There were manacles hanging from the wall, a Saint Andrews cross in one corner, a custom-made wooden sawhorse in another corner. There was even a stockade.
“You can go inside. I'm not going to close the door behind you and trap you,” Jack told me with a smirk.
“I'd rather not.”
“You
don't like BDSM, or have you not experienced it before? I could teach you some things, if you're interested.”
“I like how you assume I'm some naive virgin.” I rolled my eyes. “I know plenty about BDSM, probably every bit as much as you do.”
“Then this room should be of interest to you. I doubt you've seen a better dungeon before.”
“It's not this room that I don't like. It's what it represents,” I confessed.
“And what's that?” Jack turned to me. His pale blue eyes looked strange, defensive, as if he expected me to insult him further.
Maybe I should just give in, I thought. It's the least I can do for screwing everything else up. Let him tie you down, spank you, whip you, have his way with you. Let him press himself between your thighs, claim your mouth with his. Let him dominate you and pleasure you. It was known Jack Kemble was an incredible lover. Despite my body telling me to go for it though, my feet refused to move, and I was afraid to open my mouth. Instead, I took off down the hall at a fast walk.
“Where are you going?” Jack called to me, hastily closing the door and setting the alarm before giving chase.
My feet carried me as quickly as they could without running, my hands reaching behind my back to unlace the bodice as I went. There was a thick lump in my throat that refused to be swallowed. If we were going to do this, we would do it my way.
By the time I rounded Jack's bedroom door, the bodice was loose enough. I turned to face the door while my hands feebly unzipped the skirt. Jack made it to the doorway, and he stared wide-eyed as the bodice slipped down over the swell of my breasts, freeing them. Stupid body, I thought bitterly, knowing my nipples were betraying every word of rejection I had ever spoken. In truth, they were waiting for those warm hands, the wetness of Jack's mouth, the feel of his skin. My entire body coursed with desire . . . and fear.
When Jack didn't move, I pushed the dress down over my hips, leaving me standing knee deep in petticoat and the stiff bodice. Above, the only thing that could be seen was stockings and underwear and skin. Nervously, I wrapped my arms around myself, cupping my hands over my bare chest, my nipples pressing hard against them. I tried to look sultry, slightly bending one knee and giving Jack my best pouting lustful look.
“I wasn't expecting this,” he confessed. The front of his pants were already becoming tight, and I felt my cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. There was no going back now.
Do something, anything, I silently begged, but Jack didn't move. He simply stared, for once at a loss for words.
Too nervous to stand there like a deer in the headlights any longer, I stepped out of the petticoat, bending over to toss it aside so that it was out of the way. As I did, I let my breasts fall from my hands. They felt especially heavy, but that was probably just the alcohol. My entire body felt heavy from it . . . and hot. I always got hot when I drank.
Turning from Jack, I kicked off my shoes, dropping the sexy pretense until it was time to remove my stockings. One at a time, I slowly rolled them down my thighs, then off of my feet, tossing them on top of my costume. Each second felt like an hour, and I couldn't understand why Jack hadn't moved in yet. I had turned so I couldn't see him coming, half expecting him to walk up behind me and place his hands on my hips, or feel the smooth curve of my ass.
When the stockings were off, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my white silk panties. I was especially slow pulling them down, wanting Jack to appreciate every centimeter of bare skin I exposed to him. They clung between my legs for a moment before I tugged them free, letting them fall the rest of the way to the floor.
Why hasn't he touched me yet? Does he not like what he's seeing? Is Jack even still behind me? I was too afraid to look. Ever since I had begun undressing, all I could hear was the rustling of my clothing and the sound of my own heavy breathing. Everything else had faded away.
Figuring that if Jack was going to make a move, he would have done it already, I pulled back his comforter and crawled beneath the covers. In my peripheral vision, I could see Jack was still there, unwavering. It was as if my body had been the head of Medusa, and I had turned him to stone. It felt strange and uncomfortable that he hadn't done anything—hadn't said anything.
I kept my eyes to the ceiling, avoiding Jack's at all costs. He moved around to the other side of the bed and began taking off his tuxedo jacket. Though I had seen him remove his clothing dozens of times before, this time it was different. Jack's fingers fumbled at his tie, and though he was facing away from me, I could sense nervousness emitting from his body. He paused occasionally, as if he were contemplating something, but then continued all the same, pulling his tie from around his neck, thumbing the buttons on his shirt. The stiff white thing slid over his shoulders, revealing tan flesh, flesh that would soon be moving on top of mine. My stomach fluttered from the thought. Then when his shirt was tossed haphazardly onto the dresser, I heard the deafening sound of his zipper being pulled down. Every one of my senses seemed amplified from the heat of the moment. Wasn't alcohol supposed to have dulled them instead?
Jack stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, though he made no attempt to touch me. As stiff as boards, we laid side by side, both staring up at the ceiling like virgins afraid to take things a step further. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life, but also one of the most exciting. I was naked in bed with wealthy famous ridiculously attractive Jack Kemble. How many women could say that? Unfortunately a lot, though not at that exact moment. For the rest of the night, he was all mine. I just needed the courage to . . .
“You're a strange woman.” He broke me free of my naughty thoughts.
“I know,” was all I could think of to say.
“Good night, Miss Strayer.” Jack clapped his hands twice and the lights turned off, covering us in darkness.
Good night? What did he mean by that? I waited, still as a statue, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and confusion. He would make a move soon, I just knew it. After a few minutes, Jack's hands would be roaming my body. But for as much as I thought about, I never felt it. The only time he moved was to maneuver into a more comfortable position. Shortly afterward, I heard him snoring, and my heart sank into despair.
Silently, the tears began to cascade down my face. Was it disappointment in myself that I was feeling or embarrassment? Maybe I was upset because Jack had rejected me for once. I had plainly offered myself to him, and he had turned me away. My pathetic plan to seduce Jack in his bedroom had failed, and now I looked a fool.
Everything in me wanted to slink out of bed and go home, but I didn't know where my car was, and if I called Mandy to come pick me up, he would probably catch me trying to make my escape. The only option was to lay there and wait for morning to come, to face what had happened and hope I could still salvage some shred of dignity.
Despite my drunkenness, the alcohol did not lull me into restful sleep. My body was too uncomfortable in the strange bed, my mind constantly reeling about the night's events. Every moment awake was far worse than any nightmare my subconscious could have conjured up.
Somehow, I managed to sleep long enough to wake the next morning to an empty bed. I hoped Halloween had just been a bad dream, but when I realized where I was, overwhelming dread filled me. My head felt like seven hells, and my body was sticky with perspiration from sweating out the alcohol. Not to mention the fact that I smelled like a bar. I was even more embarrassed Jack had to wake up next to me like that. At least, I had managed not to vomit on him during the night.
With a spinning head, I sat up to slip back into my costume. Putting on the costume was tedious business, and every move made me feel like I might retch. As soon as I finished lacing my bodice, I stumbled to the bathroom to empty my body of stomach acid and bile. Some princess I made, I thought to myself as I stared at my smeared makeup and mussed up hair in the mirror. I absolutely disgusted myself, and was sure Jack was disgusted with me as well. How could I possibly face him?
Despite my i
llness, I fixed myself up as best I could by washing my face and brushing the tangles out of my hair with Jack's comb, allowing it to cascade over my shoulders in a wavy mess. I was far from attractive, but at least I was presentable. Hopefully, I could make it downstairs without having to throw up again.
It had taken all the effort that I had just to put the dress back on, so I decided to gather my stockings and shoes and walk downstairs barefoot. Some of my bad mood seemed to have carried over from the night before, because I was annoyed with how large the mansion was. If I found a phone before I found Jack, I'd use it to call Mandy and have her come pick me up. With the way I was feeling, I couldn't be bothered to hunt him down.
The aroma of cinnamon helped me find my way to the kitchen. Someone had recently been cooking, though not recently enough. All the counters had been wiped down and the dishes put away, all save one that was sitting on the breakfast bar, piled with scrambled eggs and small sausages and cinnamon toast.
“Hello,” I called out, assuming a chef would emerge from the shadows. No one came though, and the longer I looked at the plate, the more my stomach twisted with hunger.
In search of silverware, I pulled open the drawers and looked through them until I found a fork. Then I pushed myself up onto a bar stool and dug in, greedily stuffing my face full of egg. It was cold but still tasted good.
“You're up,” Jack's voice came from behind me. The sound of it made me want to cringe.
“Mhm.” I swallowed hard, refusing to look at him.
“I thought you'd be hungry, so I had Sergio make you a plate. Was it still warm or did you have to microwave it?”
Thank God I hadn't made a bigger ass of myself by stealing Jack's food too. “It was cold, but I don't care.”
My stomach rumbled in fury as I took too big of a bite, and for a moment, I thought I might vomit everything I had eaten back up.
“Water, juice, milk?” Jack asked as he rounded my field of vision. He looked perfect in a pair of gray pajama pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.
