by Angel Payne
Now, as she woke up and found him nowhere in the suite, her perplexity grew. She shivered despite being covered to her knees in the gray battalion T-shirt that she’d permanently confiscated from his wardrobe.
What the hell was going on?
Her frown deepened when her gaze swung over to the dining nook. The table was set with a full breakfast spread. As she got closer, an array of savory smells made her stomach snarl and her interest spike. She openly groaned when pulling off the food covers. All her favorites were here: a Spanish omelet with chorizo and fresh guacamole, a huge bowl of fresh California berries, and Irish steel-cut oatmeal with her favorite toppings.
Propped against the full coffee pot was a notecard, filled out in Ethan’s writing.
Sunshine,
Stretch before breakfast.
And eat all your protein.
There was nothing else on the card. Not his normal little doodle of a sun, not his name or even his initial. Her heart pinged in a wonderful, illicit way as she considered that. She bet if he had included it, the letter wouldn’t be E. It would be S. For Sir. Wherever the man had scooted off this morning, she was certain it had been with a dominant power in his stride. Now she couldn’t wait for him to get back.
That brought back a new urgency to being totally ready when he did.
As she lowered herself into a runner’s stretch, she put the card on the floor and re-read it a dozen times. This was probably the first time she’d seen his authority exercised in print—and she was a little stunned by how deeply it reached into her system, mentally awakening her need for him. It didn’t take long for the direct line between her brain and her body to spark up after that. By the time her muscles were limber, her pussy was warm, and her vagina pulsing.
Dios, she hoped he returned soon.
While she ate, she tried distracting herself with the weather. She laughed a little at the musing. Yep; she’d become more of a Southern Californian than she thought. From Santa Barbara to San Diego, even light showers were enough to lead the six o’clock news, so the blustery day outside the window was a fascinating panorama.
There were times, of course, when she missed Seattle…and home. The melancholy happened more frequently now that “home” meant Ethan. She knew he felt the same about her and LA—at least until last night.
Her arousal faded beneath the weight of new anxiety.
Mierda. Had the events at the party changed his feelings about things…about them? Despite his blatant gesture in having breakfast brought for her, including the note about protein that carried the subliminal message about needing her physical strength for the day, she wondered if this was just a prelude for more serious things he wanted to discuss. Maybe last night had been more of a revelation than what he originally expressed, showing him what a square peg she really was in the perfect round hole of his world. Their confrontation in the backyard had simply put a perfect cap on things, and now he wanted to break it to her. Could she blame him? He’d only be reaching conclusions that had come to her ten hours ago.
She shoveled the rest of her food in, not in the mood to enjoy it anymore. When she was done, she contemplated getting dressed, though she took lazy steps back to the bedroom, hoping Ethan would reappear with a plan that didn’t involve clothes.
Once she turned the corner, her stare fell to the dresser—and the empty valet tray there. Ethan had put his watch there last night, along with the call ticket for the car. Both were missing now.
Her trepidation spiked higher. What the hell? Had he left the hotel completely?
Into the silence that continued as her answer, the phone pealed.
After she told her heart that the coronary was only a false alarm, she hurried to scoop up the phone. “Ummm…hello?”
“Good morning, Ms. Chestain. This is Seth at the valet stand. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. I was just finishing breakfast.”
“Good; good. Mr. Archer thought that would be the case.”
She felt her eyes widen. “So you’ve already spoken to Mr. Archer this morning?”
“Of course; when he had his car brought up. He left about an hour ago and instructed us to have the town car available for your own departure in thirty minutes.”
New discovery: it was completely possible to choke on air. “Th-thirty minutes?”
Poor Seth. She heard him grunt a little, like he’d accidentally stepped into an “accident” from one of the shih tzus carried around the hotel by eccentric biddies. “I trust that’s still an acceptable time?”
“Uhhh, sure.” She rushed into the bathroom with the intent of stripping for a shower as fast as she could. Half a minute had already gone by. Sergeant Archer had reached a new level of sadism in giving her only a half hour to get ready. Didn’t he know she needed at least fifteen minutes just to pick out a decent outfit?
Perhaps he did.
And had handled that little issue, too.
She flipped on the light to the bathroom to find a full outfit on the hook, in decadent red and black, already waiting for her. After assuring Seth she’d be down in a bit, she clicked the phone off and left it behind in order to flip over the note that also dangled from the hangar. Ethan’s writing again filled the card.
Wear only what’s here.
Put your hair up.
The hotel driver knows where you’re meeting me.
Her nerve endings danced as her heart skittered through a few beats. Caramba, this man knew how to climb inside her soul and scoop out its naughtiest needs. To be summoned to meet him, wearing the clothing he’d picked and the hairstyle he’d instructed, made her feel things that most of the world might call weak. But in this moment, in her mind and heart, she felt nothing but wicked…and wanted. For these next few hours, she was going to be his plaything, his property. Simply his.
If she wasn’t on such a tight deadline, she would have cried in gratitude. Maybe Ethan did know her, perhaps better than she knew herself. Knew her, understood her…and accepted her for it.
She couldn’t wait to see him again. And thank him in person…in whatever manner he desired.
* * * * *
An hour later, her goal hadn’t changed. She just wondered if Ethan’s had.
“Estas loco, Archer?” she muttered as she slid down the town car’s window and peered up…then up some more. The storm was still raging, and the rain sluiced down thirty floors’ worth of flawless mirrored windows like a modern age waterfall. At ground level, embedded into a sculpture of chrome and glass, was an emblem that swirled an archery bow into a big letter A. The Archer Systems logo.
The door upon which she was leaning was pulled open. The hotel’s driver stood there, suspending an umbrella for her. As the guy’s gaze settled on her face, he frowned. “Is there a problem, Ms. Chestain?”
Except for the fact that she’d been summoned to a sterile corporate monolith tucked behind two security gates, instead of a discreet dungeon somewhere in the bohemian belly of San Francisco? No “problem” at all.
“I’m sorry, Brandon.” She attempted a smile. “You’re getting soaked because I can’t stop being nervous.”
“It’s okay. Do you have everything you need?”
“I think so.” She glanced inside her little red purse, which perfectly matched the shade of her dress, a simple but stunning D&G design with a fitted V neck and a flowing skirt. Yes, Ethan had picked the clutch for her, as well. He’d even made sure to pre-stock it with a mini tube of lube, which had done all sorts of things to her anticipation level about this “meeting.”
Which now seemed like it was going to be a real meeting. She wondered if she’d needed to bring a pad and paper for taking minutes.
“Way to orchestrate a buzz kill, Sergeant.”
She grumbled it while trying to take a few calming breaths after Brandon walked her to the vestibule of the building’s entrance, then buzzed for the receptionist to receive her. The woman, a curvy redhead who wore a dress that looked auth
entically vintage, gave her a dazzling smile as she opened the door. “Good morning. You must be Ms. Chestain. I’m Ashley. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“It…is?” She couldn’t hide her puzzlement. She’d expected a more glacial greeting from the woman and the building. Instead, Ashley’s demeanor reflected the atmosphere of the lobby, understated yet warm.
Ashley chuckled. “Of course. Please come in. Mr. Archer’s expecting you.” She flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Eagerly, I would also say—although you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Of course not.”
She didn’t get a chance to exchange more than that with the woman, since the elevator dinged as soon as they got to it. “This is the express to the penthouse,” the woman explained. Ava wished that news came as a surprise—or removed even one of the needles assaulting her nerves now. Instead, it added a thousand more.
She didn’t feel any better once the doors opened at the end of the elevator’s bullet-fast climb. Another receptionist, a pixie with short black hair who also introduced herself as Ashley, was just as accommodating as Ashley the First as she led the way to a massive, industrial-style door inset with shards of polished glass. “Go on in,” she instructed. “He’s expecting you.”
The words resounded in her head as she pushed open the door. Did everyone in the damn building know that Ethan was expecting her today? Even, as Lobby Ashley had asserted, “eagerly?”
Ethan turned as soon as she walked in. He stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window next to a sprawling desk that was topped by a stunning slab of gray and black marble. In front of the desk were three ergonomic chairs with gray leather that looked soft enough to sleep in. Eight high-backed versions of the chairs were positioned around a spacious conference table with laptop drop spaces and charging portals for every electronic device on the planet.
All of it was nearly as beautiful as he was.
The deep blue business suit was clearly custom, probably Isaia or Ralph Lauren, and turned his tall, muscled frame into a jaw-dropping business silhouette. His flawless white shirt and cobalt silk tie made his tanned skin stand out, though the contrast was helped by the fact that he’d bypassed his morning shave, giving his jaw more definition with cliffs of scruff. Before she could stop it, her imagination took over, thinking about what those coarse hairs would feel like against her lips as she worked her way along the base of his face in eager nips and kisses…
As her gaze rose to the rest of his face, her fantasy halted. Then shattered.
Lobby Ashley had overstretched with her assessment. He was “eagerly” expecting her? There was nothing “eager” about the smooth smirk that came and went across his lips. And the unflinching concentration in his deep blue gaze? It wasn’t eagerness by the longest shot in the book. Even the angle of his head was defined by serene command.
Once more, her senses downed a shot of pure arousal—with an anxiety chaser. Did this trip to the clouds mean she was about to experience paradise or judgment day?
“Hi there. Welcome to Archer Systems.” His tone was as composed as his stance.
“Thank you,” she murmured. After trying a couple more steps, she stopped. He’d selected a stunning pair of Jimmy Choos for her, but the things weren’t great about supporting knees of jelly.
“You look incredible.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. He said it as if he could’ve been standing there with a spreadsheet in hand, commenting on random numbers. “Thank you,” she repeated, feeling ridiculous. After trying to recover with a shrug, she blurted, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way—”
“Did you wear everything I laid out for you?”
His emphasis on everything left her no doubt about his meaning this time—and had her battling another wave of frustration. The only items left to discuss about her ensemble were the black thigh-high fishnet stockings accompanied by a red and black garter belt. The logical completion pieces for the lingerie, panties and a bra, had both been missing. Despite the burning temptation to level a zinger at him for that, she pulled in a steady breath and replied, “Of course…Sir.”
“Let me see.”
The spreadsheet voice again. His CEO pose continued, too. Keeping her eyes locked on his chest but letting him see her exasperated grimace, she set down her purse and shirked her coat. His utter stillness betrayed how intently he watched each of her moves, causing her sex to pulse and her breasts to tauten. Her stiff nipples pushed at the dress’s soft fabric, more than proclaiming her lack of a bra. So much for having to elaborate on that one.
“Beautiful,” he commented. “What about the rest?”
She let him see her squirm. “I followed your directions, Ethan. I—”
“Then let me see.” He broadened his posture and cleared his throat. “Lift your skirt, Ava, and let me see.”
Spreadsheet voice was gone. Dominant voice had replaced it. Which of course, made every cell in her pussy wetter and hotter as soon as she pulled up her skirt to let him confirm her obedience. “Satisfied?” she snapped.
“Quite. Thank you.”
As she let the fabric fall, her cheeks flamed with heat. Unable to contain her vexation anymore, she slammed her hands to her hips and glared straight at his face. “What the hell is going on, Ethan? Why are we here? And why are you acting like…that?” Because I’m caught between being completely creeped-out and completely turned-on right now, and I’ll crawl out of my skin if a decision isn’t made soon.
He came closer by two measured steps. A shrug actually slid across his shoulders. “I just figured one good wall deserves another.”
She turned her gaze down again. Shook her head. He didn’t elucidate on it, because he didn’t have to. They both knew what he meant. “You went through all this trouble, put me through all this trouble, to talk about my ‘walls?’”
“I yanked us both out of our comfort zones.” He pounded out every word with the confidence of Thor throwing his hammer. “You can’t tear down walls without shaking up the foundations.”
She gulped. He’d hurled the hammer, broken up the concrete, and it all landed in the center of her chest. “Okay, listen. I didn’t intentionally keep you out last night. It was—”
“I know what it was. And for last night, it was okay. Emotional survival isn’t a crime. But this is a new day. And all of this,” —he swept a hand to indicate the scope of the room “—might be a lot of my days, in a few years. I won’t be humping a ruck, hurling out of planes, and sneaking up on the bad guys forever, sunshine. One day, my way of giving back to the world might be from this office. You’re going to have to be okay with that.” He moved close enough to touch her now, and he did. With his hand tugging up on her chin, he uttered, “We’re here to get to the bottom of things and make it okay.”
Ava tried to pull back, at least a little. The potency of his gaze was too much now, going too deep, and recognizing too much of the territory in her soul that it observed. “Fine,” she retorted. “It’s all okay, and I’m okay with it. It’s not even happening yet, so can’t we just move on?”
“No.” His fingers tightened around the tip of her chin. “We can’t.”
“Damn it—”
“Look at me, Ava.” He shocked her by suddenly releasing her. Just as vehemently, he shot away and spread his arms. “Look. At. Me!” His breath pushed in and out of his chest in harsh surges. After a second, he shook his head. “Yeah. Just what I thought. You glare at this suit and tie the same way you once did my uniform and dog tags. Pulling out your pre-set labels about the image, along with the mental walls to stick them on, just like you did in LA back in June.”
“Then stop me.” It was half snarled retaliation, half shouted plea. She jammed her arms down to her sides. “Stop me like you did then. Make me tear off the labels and rip them up. Make me see.” She raised one of her fists, her muscles trembling from resisting the urge to pummel him with it. “You summoned me here, dressed in the clothes you specified, to this buil
ding, to this room you completely control. It doesn’t get any better than this, Archer. You want to shake up my foundations? Make my ‘walls fall’?” She put those two words into mocking air quotes. “Then do it. Sir.”
Wind rushed the window, a wild contrast to the unnerving silence that he returned to her rant. She’d pushed something in the man, though. The midnight shadows that crept into his gaze, along with the tight line that was now his mouth, told her as much.
She supposed she should have been scared, but that shit was hard to scrape up when fury still reigned in her blood. Did he think he’d get her to open up about everything just by dictating her wardrobe, pulling the big, bad CEO card, and teasing about the pleasure she’d get if she was “a good girl?” She was a long way from twelve years old. Sitting in the principal’s office didn’t make her tremble anymore. If he wanted her attention, he was going to have to—
Take control.
Exactly like he did now.
Oh cielos, how he did…
One even step forward. A subtle tilt to his head. A new squaring of his shoulders. Innocuous little moves, yet within a handful of seconds, they lent the outward enforcement of a powerful aura that now flowed off of him like smoke from a rocket on countdown. His entire face smoldered with that same smoke. His stance widened with its latent power. And he lifted one of his hands with its elegant command, curling one finger at her in wordless bidding.
Like that finger was a damn sheep hook, Ava was helpless in his thrall. By the time she stepped within arm’s distance of him again, the mush in her knees had spread upward. Her thighs ached, her sex clenched, her pussy trickled anew. Like a magnet that recognized its polar pull, every inch of her body identified its need for his…every corner of her soul acknowledged its match to his.
“Take off the dress.”
She didn’t argue. She barely hesitated. Her resistance and anger slipped away as easily as the dress, left behind in the crimson puddle at her feet. She dropped her head, taking quiet delight in the low, approving rumble from his chest. The only sound she gave in return was a high sigh as Ethan brushed his knuckles across both her breasts, coaxing their tips to stand up higher for him. Yes. Yes…
