“That’s my girl,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t wimp out. Oh, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked as I fished a silver hoop earring out of my Brazillian thong.
She cleared her throat, and I knew something I wouldn’t like was about to spill through the phone. “He wants you to live with him until the suit is finished.”
I dropped the earring and nearly dropped the phone. “Say that again?”
***
Well Dressed Man International is a business suit brand that my friend’s Lynette and Jake Perkins own, and I’m their creative director for it and Well Dressed Woman International, our partner company. We launched the brands five years ago, and in that time we’ve won awards for our innovative designs. We’ve been profiled for Apparel magazine and our fashions are often found in Vogue.
But as I took the elevator up to our studio and offices, I didn’t feel the usual joy I did when coming to work. Instead I simmered at the thought of having to do business with an egotistical ass like Blaine, but this was about more than just me, and I wouldn’t run away and be completely unprofessional. That just wasn’t my style. Still, asking me to live with him while I designed the suit was completely unacceptable, and I planned on telling him just that. After my meeting with Lynette, I’d march right over to Devereux & Parker and tell him he could have the suit, but he couldn’t have me.
However, when I entered Lynette’s office, I found I wouldn’t have to wait that long. Blaine was sitting in one of the two ergonomic office chairs in front of my friend’s thin, transparent modern desk.
He turned his smoky grey eyes on me, tented his long, thick fingers in front of his square jaw. “Ms. Kitteridge. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I put a hand on my hip, wrinkled my nose, and blurted, “I wish I could say the same.”
Lynette went into ‘smooth the tension and save the deal’ mode. “How about we take some coffee into the studio? I’m sure Katey would like to show you some design samples.”
“No,” I retorted. The man instantly rankled me, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I have something to discuss with Mr. Devereux first.” I turned my focus on him, taking in that sensuous, pouty mouth, large eyes, cheek bones that weren’t too sharp but nicely defined. Steeling my resolve against his immaculate beauty, I continued. “I’ll design your suit, but there’s no way I’m going to live with you.”
Not missing a beat, he slid from the chair like a sinuous snake and flashed an innocent look at Lynette, then at me. “But wouldn’t it make the haute couture so much easier? I can pay you all very well for the time, I assure you.”
He was on his best behavior today, and it was unnerving. The Blaine I had heard about from many a source, jilted and otherwise, was never accommodating or compromising. When you had his kind of money, you didn’t need to be.
I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I’m not living with you under any circumstances.”
Lynette gave me that look that was part begging, part demanding. The woman knew how to persuade. She did what I thought of as her ‘faux pee dance.’ A shifting of hips back and forth that made it seem like she had to go to the bathroom, but really she was stressing the outcome and trying desperately to sway me.
“Fine.” I huffed a defeated breath. “It shouldn’t take long to finish the job. I’ll stay with you until it’s complete.” When he smiled, letting the mask slip so I caught a glimpse of the predator beneath, I laid a firm hand on his equally firm chest and made him keep his distance. “But there will be rules, Mr. Devereux.”
His wolf smile grew wider still, and the mask fell off. He took the hand from his chest and kissed it. “Of course, Ms. Kitteridge.”
***
In the limo, three days later, on the ride to his country estate, he pinned me with those smoky eyes and said, “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Kitty, and yet we’ve never met.”
I stared at his silk Armani tie rather than meeting those too penetrating eyes. “No one calls me Kitty.”
He shrugged. “I do.”
I crossed my arms over the polka-dot bodice of my spring dress. “That, right there, is why I don’t like you.”
He quirked an eyebrow up. “You have a problem with self confidence?”
“No,” I said. “But with dripping arrogance? Yeah, I’ve got a little problem with that.”
He gave me a sideways smirk and chuckled. He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me sweetie, either,” I snapped, brushing his hand away.
He held his palms up in a gesture of surrender that surprised me. “Is this about the hating women thing?”
I felt my face heat, and I covered it with one hand. “Lynette told you that?”
He plucked some ice from a round chest in a mini bar in the back of the limo, plopped it in a glass, and poured amber colored scotch over the clear cubes. All the while, he smirked smugly at me. “You shouldn’t believe rumors and tabloid gossip columnists.” He took a sip.
“Some of those rumors come from very good sources,” I countered, swatting an annoying strand of sable hair from my eyes
“Still, there are three sides to every story,” he said, moving from his seat across to sit by me on the opposite side of the stretch luxury car. “Yours, mine, and the truth.”
He had me there, I thought, as he trailed a finger up my slender arm. “Touche.” Then I plucked the finger away and returned his smarminess with some of my own. “Hey, I thought you were gay?”
He gave me a disapproving look and turned the table on me. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Of course not,” I sputtered. “My brother’s gay, thank you very much. And I love his partner more than him, but that’s another story.”
“No, I’m not gay, and I don’t hate women.” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied my face. I could tell he was reading me, looking for something, and his blatant perusal unsettled me. I could smell a hint of scotch on his breath. “Let me tell you where the misogyny charge comes from. I have a problem with anyone--male or female--who enters a relationship on false pretenses. In short, I don’t like people who marry for money. Gold diggers, if you will, disgust me.”
His lips were inches from mine now, and they were far too kissable for my safety. “Some people don’t marry for love.” I shrugged, then tried to casually put some space between him and I by placing my shoulder purse there and subtly inching back. “Some make deals. To some people, it’s still a contract. A more mutually beneficial one these day, but I get it.”
He wore a scathing expression that made him look like he was smelling really bad cheese. “Would you do such a thing?”
“No, I prefer to be self sufficient, and I work hard to stay that way.” I maintained eye contact, not wanting to back down to his intimidation. “I don’t like to let anyone have too much power over me.”
He nodded and his eyes narrowed further. I felt like a dare passed between us, and he’d just accepted the challenge.
“But everyone’s different,” I continued. “I try not to judge. Who knows why someone chooses to go the route they do. Life can get complicated.”
He kept staring, not wanting to break the eye contact and lose the challenge either. “Yes, I know that all too well.” His words held a cryptic air.
I decided to change the subject. “So, why me?”
“To design the suit?”
I nodded.
The predatory, yet undeniably sexy, smile returned. “Because I plan on seducing you during your stay, Kitty. You see, you may not know me, but I’ve read all about you and your fast climb up the fashion world ladder.” The smooth pad of his thumb glided down my cheek. “I want to take you into my world. The suit you’re going to design is a very special suit, and in order to do it, you’ll need to experience every side of me fully.”
***
Did you enjoy thi
s naughty bdsm fairy tale excerpt? Grab 50 Shades of Fairy Tales Omnibus for even more delightfully dirty stories.
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Surrender To His Command by Leigh Foxlee. You can get all seven volumes of the Surrender Series in our Surrender Boxed Set. Only 99 cents!
Surrender To His Command
(Surrender Series Volume 3)
By Leigh Foxlee
“So your friend owns this place?” My eyes grow wide as I follow him and take everything in.
“Yup. It’s a part of the Surrender Inc. franchise. Ever heard of it?” He opens a door made of dark walnut and stands aside so I can enter.
“No.” I take a cautious step over the threshold. “What’s Surrender Inc.?”
My arms brushes over his chest as I walk by and I feel the fine dusting of hair on his chiseled pecs tickle my skin. My face heats and my body feels electric, but I hope I don’t show the effect he has on me. He’s shirtless today, clad in only a pair of tight fitted leather pants. I try not to stare at his chest too much either.
He stops me with a hand snaked around my shoulder. “It’s a sex club and resort franchise. My buddy only owns the one club, but he knows some of the major shareholders. The richest of rich come to play at the main resort, Sanctuary. Or so I’m told. I’ve never been there.”
I simply nod and swallow hard as my gaze takes in the playroom and its contents.
I don’t know a ton about BDSM, but I know enough from the erotic romance I’ve read, and some of Jeanie’s dirty magazines, to know a spanking bench when I see one. There’s also a rack that reminds me of medieval torture devices. A cross with shackles for wrists and ankles. And stocks. Glass cases line the walls and these are filled with whips, collars, handcuffs. He explains more about the room’s contents as he leads me around.
“Pick your pleasure,” he says, stopping in front of me.
The heat from his body makes the tiny hairs on mine stand on end. I try to breathe normally, act cool. This is just practice after all. Not the real thing.
Still, I stall for time. “Why do you need to practice anyway? How can someone be a failure dominant?” I regret the last sentence the moment it leaves my lips.
He glares at me, purses his lips, then his face becomes an aloof mask, but I can still sense the anger simmering under the surface. “Some of my clients feel I’ve been too soft on them. I need to learn not to hold back. To respond to my submissive’s wants and needs by observing their cues and better communication. Failure is not an option.”
He sounds like Arnold Schwarnehager in a bad sci-fi movie, but I don’t tell him that. I have the good sense to bite my tongue this time. However, I can’t help but ask, “What happens if you do fail?”
He looks annoyed, but he holds the mask of aloof calm, control. “Then I’m out a job, or I go back to tending bar at this place. And this job pays better than the bar tending. So you’re helping me as much as I’m helping you. See?”
The arm around my shoulder slides to my waist, raising tiny goose pimples down my back as it does. I suck air between my teeth.
“Who’s paying my salary then?” I’m curious, but I also still don’t quite trust him.
He can tell, and little wrinkles form at the bridge of his nose as his frown deepens. “My buddy. He’s investing in me. Let’s put it that way. Let’s get started.”
I cast him a dubious look, but his stony face says more questions are not welcome. His elusive buddy makes me suspicious, but I decide if payment is late or anything goes wrong, I’m out of here and out of this job faster than you can say chocolate and peanut butter. I have the weekend off from both my other jobs--wonder of wonders--but I haven’t given my notice yet, just in case things don’t work out. Like I said, never trust a bad boy.
He crosses his nicely defined arms over his chest. “Have you decided?” Pins me with an intimidating stare.
My decision is based on my last assignment for my historical law class. I point to the stocks, hoping they’ll be the least harmful and compromising instrument of torture.
He nods and, taking my hand, leads me to it.
My heart does a double-time beat in my ears. “What am I suppose to do as your practice sub?”
He opens up the polished, pine stocks and gestured for me to get in. “I’m going to read your response and ask you how it feels. What you like and don’t like. What you want more of and what you don’t. We’ll have safe words you can use should you become uncomfortable with anything. Remember the ones I included in the contract?”
Vaguely, I do. We go over them again as I gingerly place my head in the cool bevel at the center of the wood then drape my wrists within the smaller notches. The stocks lower over my neck and I try not to panic as the hinges give a tiny squeak and he snicks the lock shut.
Breathe deep. In and out. Relax, I tell myself.
“And now you’re going to … spank me?” I hate how meek I sound, but I admit the feeling of vulnerability that rushes over me at being bound this way is oddly enjoyable.
He crouches in front of me, takes my chin in his hand, grins as he gazes into my eyes. “You bet I am.”
“So what’re you taking in college?” he asks as he walks toward a wall full of glass cases.
“Law,” I simply say, not trusting my voice to get out much else.
He turns back to me, holding a paddle that reminds me of ping pong games played with my sister. “A lawyer, huh? I might have to spank you twice as hard.”
My cheeks flush with heat at his threat. “Haha. Like I haven’t heard a hundred or more lawyer jokes by now.”
He just gives a sexy grin as he shows me the paddle and then walks behind me. Every click of his boots makes my stomach tighten and my mouth a little drier.
Through my jeans, I feel the surface of the paddle skim over my butt. First one cheek and then he slides it across the other. My stomach grows tighter still and that traitorous thing between my legs tingles with more heat. I bite my bottom lip then clench and unclench my hands.
“You ready, sweetie?” His voice is a sexy drawl that makes my nipples stiffen.
“Ready,” I croak, thinking, as I’ll ever be.
The paddle skims up my back, charging my skin with electric energy as it slides across my thin t-shirt. He slips it down over my sides, down my hips. As he does so, one big leg nudges between mine. Our knees touch and then our thighs rub against each other. My sex screams to be touched. My nipples are aching. I bite my lip harder, wondering when the first whack will happen, when--
Smack!
The paddle whistles through the air before it slams into my ass. A sharp sting radiates out from where it hits, and I cry out “Ouch!” He asks if I’m still comfortable with continuing and I say yes. The pain intrigues me, stirs my darker sexual fantasies I’ve never confessed to anyone. Not Ethan, not one of the bad boys I’ve dated.
He traces the paddle from my inner knee up my thigh and I tense. He promised no sex and no touching naughty bits. I fist my hands, waiting, wondering if he’ll break my rule and what I’ll do then. But just as the paddle sweeps to the mid-thigh of my jeans, he pulls it away and then swirls circles at the base of my spine.
“How’s this feel so far?” he asks, his voice husky enough to do things to me. “Tell me what it’s like for you.”
I take three deep breaths before I dare speak. “It’s … interesting. I expected to hate the pain, be afraid of it, but I don’t and I’m not. I thought the vulnerability would be freaky, but it isn’t. I kind of like it.”
He chuckles low in his throat and the paddle slips down one butt cheek. “Are you turned on?”
I lick my lips, think about my reply. “That’s what you want, right?” Realizing how my question sounds, I quickly add, “For your clients to be turned on, I mean.”
The paddle touches a band of flesh poking out from beneath my t-shirt and I feel like my skin has been seared there.
“That’s what I want.�
� He places his free hand at the small of my back and his heat melts through me.
I have to take my time replying or I know my voice will once more betray me. “Then, yeah.” Swallow. “I can see how this would be a turn on.”
“Good.”
The paddle leaves my butt again and I tense, waiting for what I know will follow. Almost looking forward to it. I squeeze my eyes shut and--
Slap!
It lands even harder this time. It burns and smarts and my panties are so wet now. I have to chase traitorous fantasies of Rider from my mind. Him and I in my apartment. Me tied to my headboard as he kisses and licks his way down my body.
Smack!
This time I gasp in response and my eyes fly open. I never thought pain could be so pleasurable. Oh, it hurts, make no mistake, but somehow the pain, the total surrender of my control to another, also makes me incredibly horny.
And conflicted. I’m a independent woman, and a few of my relationships in the past ended because my partner would try to control me too much. No one tells me what to do and when to do it. One guy even tried to cut me off from my mother, and he was jealous of the time I spent with my family. So controlling, dominant males tend to make me leery. One of the reasons for my swearing off bad boys. But with Rider, like this, I don’t feel threatened. I feel free and way too turned on for my own good!
Suddenly the stocks click open and cool air rushes over my skin as I’m set free. Rider stands beside me, offering me his hand.
“That’s it?” I blurt.
He gives a small laugh. “You want me to spank you more?”
The blush burns from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. “Umm, no! No, of course not. I just wondered if we were finished for today.” I can’t meet his eyes as I get out of the stocks. He’ll see I’m lying about the spanking. I just know it.
“I just want to ask you a couple more things, but other than that, yeah, we’re done.”
“Wow, less than four hours of work for great pay. I finally luck out.”
He stands on the other side of the stocks and I have to brush against him to get by. I feel that undeniable electricity again when we touch. The intense attraction I’m trying so hard to deny.
Bad Boys of BDSM Omnibus No. 1 Page 35
