by Mia Madison
“Aren't you insured?”
“Yeah, of course and it wasn't my fault. But Jeezus you should have seen the car that ran into me - something out of a sci-fi movie. Driven by one of those asshats that thinks he can switch the blame for triple homicide onto an innocent bystander.”
“Like the clients we get in here you mean?”
“I guess. Are you okay, Sierra?”
“Fine. Tired I guess. It was a long night.”
“Can you go check the lighting on the exhibits for me. I've been here hours and I might be missing something.”
“Absolutely of, course. I'm sorry you had to take care of it all.”
I step back out into the gallery and stand in the middle of the large room, now divided up with transparent screens. Patrons will have to wander around each partition for the surprise of the next exhibit. Instead of being able to see the entire space in one glance.
The lighting is low enough to provoke a provocative environment with pin spots highlighting the living sculpture in each exhibit space. At the very back of the room, a larger dais is set up where the artist, Nemo, a recluse living in the mountains of Japan will create a live on-site sculpture for auction. I'm not quite sure how that's going to work. Which part of the artwork will be actually going home with the purchaser, seeing as it's a real person. But Cedric wasn't very forthcoming when I inquired.
“You'll find out soon enough,” he said in that deeply cultured British accent that belies his attitude to Sierra and I as succulent minions he could strip naked every time he crossed our paths.
“Oh.” I round a partition and let out a gasp at one of the exhibits.
I wouldn't consider myself remotely uptight about the human body but the woman in this piece is bent over, curled up on her knees with her arms behind her back. An intricate web of hot pink satin ribbons is threaded in tight knots that tie around her mouth, between her lips and follow the curvature of her spine. The binds wrap around her wrists, tightly tied at her lower back, right where her ass rises then continue further in a woven rope of satin ribbon.
My momentary shock was caused by the intricate weave separating her high butt cheeks and exposing her pussy lips to the soon-to-arrive art lovers.
I gaze upon the piece, trained as I am to explore my personal inner reactions to the artwork. My initial resistance at how the model is curled up all fetal on her knees, gagged and restrained, unable to move the tiniest muscle, gives way to pulsations of heat rising in my core. My pussy is clenching and the image in my mind makes a flush of color as bright as the ribbon binds flare in my cheeks.
It isn't the girl bound in shibari sending thrills of electricity through every limb. It's the sudden memory filling my mind unasked for. Of the guy on the street, the powerful force behind his agile, rippling chest in the exquisite suit. His perfect face, chiseled into an impossibly handsome grin. Too handsome. He knew he was gorgeous enough to feel entitled to push me into going out with him so he wouldn't ram my insurance rates sky high. Just like my boss is pushing me into things I don't want just because he wields some power over my life.
Screw that. There's more to life than beauty, right? Isn’t that what this piece of art is attempting to impart? We are all beautiful under the skin.
No, I'm confusing this exhibition with the previous one where huge naked guys danced on podiums around stripper poles. This piece is more about power and who holds it. And in no uncertain terms, the smugly gorgeous hunk that purposely tried to run me off the road knew he had all the power. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still tries to stick me with an insurance claim just to prove a point.
I walk away from the exhibit, squirming my thighs together as I move, trying to wriggle away the juices pouring from my pussy lips. Maybe I'm starting to regret my haste in refusing his offer of coffee. It's not like I've had a date, other than gym guy in the last, shit, too long to calculate.
My body is desperately throbbing with need for some sexual attention other than my own filthy little fingers. And to trail across the swelling bulge of his hard, um, chest would have been – Jesus, I have to get that idiot out of my head right now.
I thought I was being smart in refusing to be bought off by him. But this exhibit is telling me in no uncertain terms where the balance of power in the human body lies. The woman is bound but she is beyond beautiful in her vulnerability and that gives her power. And sensuality. And - No, forget it. I shouldn't start reading stuff into art just because I need to get off, and soon.
Chapter FOUR
Brand
I laugh loudly at the lewd comment and swill back another mouthful of the excellent single malt scotch. Talisker – the guy has taste even if he is a jackoff.
“You should have joined us last night,” he's saying, trying to convince me to attend one of the frequent parties he organizes. For men with special tastes. Like I need advice or assistance from this goon. He's clearly wealthy but he tries too hard which marks him out as not of the upper echelon of money or class. He still needs to show other men he's a player.
“Next time maybe,” I say, allowing him to top off my tumbler.
The warmth of the amber flame spreads through my chest and calms me slightly. Although I still can't stop thinking about that girl. Standing in the middle of a sea of traffic, dressing me down for trying to run her off the road. Then accusing me of thinking I could buy her just because I'm loaded. If only I could buy the woman I want. But the ones I want are always elusive and the ones who get on their knees for a Tiffany necklace hold no interest. I'm jaded is my problem.
“You'll enjoy tonight,” Cedric insists.
He's dragged me into his office after we crossed paths outside on the street.
“I'm early. I'm just heading to The Morgan for a drink,” I tried to keep going but he was adamant.
“Come in, Dear Boy,” he said, like he was some old major general when he's only forty one to my thirty seven. “I have a fine hundred year-old tucked away in my office.”
That clinched the deal and I allowed him to walk me inside before the opening night party started.
Naturally the sales pitch starts the instant we're glowing from the drinks. You get used to that when you have as much spare dolla as I do. Everyone wants to deprive you of some of it. I put his endless drone on mute in the back of my head and go back to thinking about the redhead in the street. How she ignored the blaring horns of rage as traffic parted to squeeze around us and told me how much I needed to stop being a dickwad.
“You can't buy people just because you're loaded. Women aren't commodities you buy and trade.”
“Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to be sipping a chocolate martini while you lecture me on the state of the derivatives market?” I asked her.
Anything to keep her with me while I figured out the way to claim her. Anything to get a side glance at her stupendous body. So voluptuous it was straining to get free of the bonds of her unbuttoned jacket. The black dress beneath, tight enough to define her curves. Although the sneakers she had on her feet for driving ruined the image, I had no trouble imagining her in a pair of sky high stilettos with multiple straps buckling her slim ankles.
“Are you doing both of them?” I ask, as Cedric describes his two new assistants in vulgar detail.
The jerk is renowned for firing through gallery birds faster than the starting line at Le Mans.
“Not yet. Only one of them. The other little bird flew the coop last night for family reasons. But she'll come around begging me to do her, once she realizes her colleague has already scored an inside track with the boss and there's only room for one assistant during the summer lull.”
“So you play them off against each other.”
“You know how women are.” He waves his hand like an expert in the field. “Always looking for a cat fight.”
“Right.”
Fuck, when can I get away from this ass?
“So promise me tonight won't be a repeat of last time. Because a group of six hundre
d pound dudes, all naked and writhing on each other is a sight I can never unsee.”
“They were celebrating their freedom from the constraints of the flesh,” Cedric says pretentiously. “Like sumo wrestlers.”
Huh?
“Dude, Sumos are highly trained men of steel.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.”
I don't and have zero interest in hearing his lecture.
“Let me get an advance preview,” I say. I'd rather be chatting with the bartender than stuck in here with Cedric.
He tops up our glasses and we move outside into the gallery space. While we'd been having our little chat, the room had taken on the appearance of an underground nightclub. The normally bright lights lowered all the way and only strategic spots illuminating certain parts of the room. I noticed now that the walls had been padded to resemble a playroom and the exhibits were in place.
“Another live show?” I ask.
“Performance art,” he corrects me. “With a difference this time. We'll be auctioning off a live piece.”
“Not a thousand pound Kentucky sumo?”
“No. Nemo is here to tie a woman during the night and she'll be up for bids.”
“The winner gets to keep her?”
“For as long as it takes to untie her.”
He tosses me a slimy grimace.
I turn away from Cedric to gaze on the exhibit before me. The woman on her knees, tied in shibari bonds that hold her gagged and unable to move an inch from her position of supplication. It's an exquisite piece.
“There's a call from Prince Ahib for you, Sir.”
The voice behind me slams into my senses even though I'm was gazing on art. A voice I'll never forget.
“Damn. Got to take this. He's good for a very high bid,” Cedric excuses himself. “Jolie, show Mr Everly around, there's a good girl.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
As Cedric steps out from between us, my eyes lock fast to the molten honey ones and the plastered-on smile slides down her beautiful face. She's not nearly as glad to run into me again as I am.
“Lead on.” I extend an arm out, unfazed by her distaste. Only wishing I could wrap around her waist and drag her into my embrace.
I have a deep urge to feel her body slam into me, her tits crush against my chest as I cover her mouth with mine. Soon. It's an inevitable outcome of the heat flying around us like a flock of starlings at sundown. Swooping and diving from its electric charge.
She steps past me, allowing me a great view of her round ass in the tight black dress, the black heels she's exchanged for the tennis shoes, before I fall in at her side.
The gallery is starting to fill up with patrons arriving for the opening. The movers, shakers and beautiful people are congregating around the bars set up in the corners, needing champagne to unwind before dealing with the exhibits.
We arrive in front of another stunning piece, the woman's limbs tied so her back arches and the binds squeeze the flesh of her breasts through the strapping. Jolie's cheeks color lightly. That same hue that sends me half rabid with the desire to have her as bare and vulnerable as the exhibit.
“Perhaps you'll be fine viewing the show on your own,” she says, ready to abandon me.
“So you don't take orders from your boss?” I ask with a grin.
“Of course I do,” she snips.
“Well, he told you to take care of me. You don’t want to be responsible for Cedric losing one of his best clients.”
She gives me one of her ferocious glares but her mouth is bound.
“Good girl,” I murmur as she moves back to stand by my side in front of the exposed bound woman on her knees and the exotic aroma of her perfume almost drops me to my knees.
“Don't call me that,” she snarls from the side of her mouth.
She swivels her head to glare at me and I'm treated to the blaze of fire in those eyes. More intoxicating than an entire bottle of Cedric's finest hundred year old. More intriguing than a hundred bound and gagged naked girls tied up and left on exhibition stands for wealthy art lovers to drink up. I could stare at this one girl all night. Jolie Jamison is becoming an addiction.
Chapter FIVE
Jolie
I turn away from the rich asshole in a five thousand dollar suit and walk as casually as I can manage. Away from the living statue. My knees are wobbling like granny's famous trifle dessert. My cheeks are hot enough that I'm sure they're berry red. I don't need him to think I'm embarrassed by being in front of a naked woman with him. I just need a moment to compose myself. And to stop my skin from shimmering all over.
This guy is everything I can't bear in a man. Arrogant, entitled, cocky. But he's so damn gorgeous. If there was a secret book of ultimate sexy hot perfection, he'd be on the cover.
“Fancy meeting you twice in one evening,” he rasps right at my ear.
He's half a step behind me, close enough that his jacket brushes lightly against the back of my arm. Too close. Invading the border of my space but not enough that he's being creepy. Just enough. Too close. I feel the heat coming off his chest. It suctions the oxygen out of the large gallery space. So I'm almost panting at air, for chrissake. I can imagine how he'd find it funny. That smug grin turning up at my sudden loss of composure.
“Do you think it's fate?” he murmurs.
“We weren't properly introduced. I'm Jolie Jamison, I'm gallery assistant to Cedric.”
“The new gallery assistant,” he asks, with a flicker of fury.
“Yes.”
How does he know that? He must not have been lying when he said he was one of the gallery's top clients. He must be a serious collector. Damn, is he annoyed to be dumped on the new girl for his tour of the exhibition?
“One of them, that is. There are two of us.”
He's definitely furrowing his perfect brow now, irritated by something I said.
“And was it a good party last night?” he adds, his jaw stiff.
“What?”
I'm tempted to say my private life is hardly any of his business, but, you know – good client. Smile nice, Jolie and remember you're here to make a sale.
“No, well, I didn't go. Sierra went, that's the other new assistant but Cedric gave me a day off to go home and visit my brother.”
“In famous Starry Creek.”
From one instant to the next he relaxes, almost like he's relieved.
“Hardly famous. We're more of a backwater.”
I realize I'm slipping into too much personal information with a guy I was screaming at less than an hour ago. He's so damn easy on the eye. As well as easy to talk to. He has that relaxed nature that comes from having zero problems in his world. Everything dropping into his lap, including women. Clearly expecting to get his hands on whatever he wants, which will not be me. If that's what he's still angling for. This is strictly business. But if I could make my first sale, that would go a long way toward me keeping my job here at Bentley Editions.
“Are we going to do the other half of the introduction?” I say, turning to face him with my hands clasped at my waist.
I feel like a school marm all of a sudden but I need to do something with my hands Turns out, that means digging my nails into my palms to stop from trembling as I hold his confident gaze.
“Sure thing, Starry, I'm Brand Everly,” he says and extends a hand.
I trawl through the Rolodex in my mind to bring up the client from the gallery database. Brand Everly, billionaire bachelor and owner of Brand. A corporation with fingers in tech, marketing and venture capital investment. He's great at everything apparently and cocky enough to name his company after his Christian name. Not even Brand Corp, or Brand investments. Just Brand.
I pull back to retrieve my hand from his grasp but he grips a little tighter and the corners of his mouth turn up as he traps my eyes in his sparking gaze. So over confident it's almost sickly.
“My hand, Mr Everly,” I say firmly, tugging against him again, determined not
to let him get the better of me.
“It's Brand to my friends, Starry,” he says. Still restraining me. Is that what he intends to call me now? Making a joke out of where I'm from.
“Cedric doesn't like us to get too friendly with clients,” I tell him, which is the opposite of the truth. My boss would sell me to the porn devil if it would engender a sale.
Cedric was not exactly pleased that I missed the party he threw for some important clients last night. He also made it clear to Sierra and I that if targets aren’t met this month and next, there'll be no room for two assistants at the gallery and he'll cut back to one.
“On the pittance he pays us, it's not like he couldn't afford to keep us both,” I whispered to Sierra as we sent out invitations from our laptops.
“Well, I intend to keep this job. I've wanted to work here since I graduated and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to stay.”
It didn’t seem like a battle cry so much as a desperate one but I get it. I need this job too. There are a bunch of galleries in the city but far too many people wanting to work creatively. It took ages to land this job and I too intend to hang on to it. I just need to grit my teeth and be nice to this cocksure asshat.
“So, are you a collector of this type of work, Mr Everly?” I stop in front of a hanging piece.
Literally hanging. The model is suspended from the ceiling within a cocoon of tied ribbons, the same intricate knots as the first. Apparently Nero worked through the night on his exhibits while a film crew recorded it all for another piece. I was at home with my family and Sierra went to the party with Cedric. Nero continued through the day, working twenty four hours straight, without sleep to bind his models into their shibari postures.
If we were in an equal environment, if we'd met at a bar say, I'd ask Brand whether he's into this as a voyeur or a participant. But he's a client so I have to remain focused on selling the piece as Cedric never stops telling us.
“I do enjoy it,” he says, following along behind me as we wander through the live models and the photographs on the wall depicting other women bound in the intricate knot bonds. “Do you?” he adds, just when I thought he was docile and behaving like less of an arrogant cock.
