Platinum (Facets of Passion)

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Steel had invited her to stay, but she saw how his attention kept straying back to the canvases, fingers curling with that itch to pick up a brush. Despite her envy, she would never get in the way of his work.

  He likely stayed up all night, painting in those images of her chained to the wall. The sketched-in charcoal lines alone were haunting and erotic. He’d captured a look in her eye she didn’t recognize. Though the woman in the images was bound, she looked dangerous, like a wild animal barely contained. Step too close and she’d eat you alive.

  Sipping some chamomile tea, she held the delicate cup in her hands and tried to imagine what she’d do if he wanted to show them. They were good—possibly some of his best work so far. It would be a crime to hide them away, but they were also so…revealing.

  Maybe she could ask him to change the titles, blur her face. If he hadn’t been using the titles just to tease and torment her. The things he said to her—they were as much a part of the foreplay as everything else he did to her. It wasn’t easy to discern what he really intended to do. Probably most of it was to see how she’d react.

  She knew in her heart that he wouldn’t show the paintings and sketches of her if she asked him not to.

  The gallery owner in her, though, kept calculating the prices. This work wasn’t just phenomenally good, it was ground-breaking. And accessible. No one who looked at it could fail to be moved—and want to have it. Chalkstone is not the gallery for an artist like Steel. Her words came back to haunt her. But they were still true. She could just imagine the talk if she carried Steel’s outrageously sexual art.

  The bell over the door dinged, surprising her out of her thoughts, and Steel walked in. Her body hummed at the sight of him. She was fast becoming addicted to the pleasure he brought her. Along with the feel of his calloused fingers, the scent of his skin and, oh, that wicked grin he was sending her way.

  “Good morning, Miss Althea.” His tone brought so much more to the simple greeting that she pressed her knees tightly together under the fragile desk.

  “I thought you’d be sleeping still.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Haven’t slept yet. Was going to take you for coffee, maybe. We could call it brunch.”

  “What do you have against brunch anyway?”

  “Not a thing.” He shrugged. “I think I could make an interesting brunch for you. Stay all night with me Saturday night and I’ll feed you a brunch you’ll never forget on Sunday.”

  She bit her lip. Saturday. The Primrose Ball. “I can’t.”

  He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

  “I have…plans.”

  “A date?”

  “No—not like that. A society function.”

  He waited.

  “It’s just a fundraising ball. Command performance.” She laughed, trying to fob it off. But it sounded weak. “You know—boring and stuffy.”

  He glanced out the windows, jaw hard, thoughts dark. “I thought Cheri was opening today?”

  “Oh, she’s running late.”

  Nodding absently, he returned his keen gaze to her and leaned over her little desk, planting his big hands on it so it creaked alarmingly. His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. She wanted to close the distance, taste the warmth of his mouth. Wanted it badly. She flicked a nervous glance at the windows.

  “Not here.”

  He straightened. Tucked his thumbs in his jeans. “No, ma’am,” he drawled an exaggerated accent. “Wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’re fucking the downstairs help, would you?”

  Her mouth fell open at the sting. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. What I don’t understand is what you’re so afraid of. Why you care so much what these people think of you? You’re a grown woman—you can have whatever sex life you want to have.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? I wonder, Althea, I really do.”

  She fiddled with her teacup.

  “You want to unlock the door to my basement, so I don’t have to go ’round back?”

  Flustered, she hopped up and led the way to the alcove where the door led downstairs. She should give him the code. But it would be too obvious right now. Trying to make it up to him, prove he wasn’t the downstairs help. He walked immediately behind her, practically breathing down her neck. She tapped in the password and Steel pressed in close, capturing her and pushing her up against the door. He nipped the bare back of her neck and slid a rough hand up under her silk skirt. Pushing her panties aside, he thrust rough fingers into her sex.

  She was wet for him, of course. Had been since the moment he walked in. He stroked the heating folds and she whimpered.

  “So, this ball.” His voice was hoarse in her ear, his cheek rough against her throat. “Are you taking a date?”

  “Anyone could come in—” She gasped as he pinched her clit. “Cheri will be here any moment.”

  “Answer me.”

  “I—no. I’ll go alone.”

  “You’d rather go solo than be seen with me.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I—” She cried out as he shoved a thumb up inside her, pressing on the sensitive forward wall of her vagina while his fingers flicked over her clit in a dizzying rhythm.

  “What is it like, Miss Althea?”

  She moaned, grinding her forehead against the door. She was going to come if he didn’t stop. “I can’t think.”

  “Good. Now you have just a piece of how crazy you make me.” He pulled his hand away and she yanked her skirt down, spun around to see him licking his fingers.

  “Mmm.” He grinned. “Better than coffee any day.”

  The sexual frustration thrummed through her. “Why do you have to make this complicated?” she hissed at him, surprised by her own vehemence.

  He gave her a mock dubious look. “Complicated? Hell. I’m a simple guy. Where I come from, a guy expects to take his sweetheart to the dance.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart and this isn’t some high school prom! We’re having an affair. Sex. That’s all.”

  “No.” The brown of his eyes chilled into charcoal. “That’s all you’re letting it be. You want to keep me locked up in your basement where I do the dirty things to you that you can’t admit to wanting.”

  “What? You want dates? Rent a tux and have my father grill you about which college you didn’t go to? Should we have parties where our friends mingle? Go out for those champagne brunches you despise so much?” She stopped herself, realizing she was nearly shouting at him.

  He seemed unmoved, regarding her with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Give me a chance. Is that so much to ask?”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. At a loss for any words at all.

  “Good morning!” Cheri burst in the door. “Sorry I’m so late, but wow! Do I have a story to tell you—oh hi there, Steel!”

  “Cheri.” Steel gave her a little nod. “Althea and I were just discussing our arrangement.”

  Althea willed herself not to blush. Unsuccessfully. Fortunately Cheri was all eyes for Steel. “How’s it going? Can I come down and see what you’re working on?”

  Althea opened her mouth, but Steel beat her to it. “No. I don’t like anyone to see my works in progress.”

  “I could model for you.” She made it sound like she knew what being his model entailed, with a suggestive lilt and a flutter of her lashes.

  “No, thanks.”

  Cheri made a little pout. “Just a peek?”

  He gave her an aw-shucks grin and shrugged. “Artistic temperament. You know how we are. Althea—thanks for the information. We can discuss it further, at your convenience.”

  She sent him a quelling stare, trying not to show that she registered the direct hit. “Goodbye.”

  With a
little salute, he closed the door, the thump of his boots fading down the wooden steps. Althea coded in the lock, the snick of it sounding ominous to her. Locked in her basement, indeed. Part of her wished he’d just stay down there.

  “Be still, my heart.” Cheri patted her ample breast. “I’m gonna model for him sooner or later. I hear the experience is out of this world.”

  “How so?” Althea asked, trying to sound casual. Not thinking about her still-sore bottom and now throbbing sex.

  Cheri looked coy and laid a finger on her ripe lips. “Nothing you’d be interested in, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s just say that the men you date are white-wine spritzers, and Steel? He’s pure moonshine. Bad for you, illegal and packs a powerful punch. Believe me—you would run screaming.” Cheri giggled at her own witticisms and sighed, casting a wistful glance at the closed door. “Now, me, I know what a guy like him wants. I just have to get him to see it.”

  “That’s why you invited him here.”

  Cheri fluttered her lashes. “Not just another pretty face. Besides—I knew we needed the cash to keep afloat.”

  “About that—we need to have a conversation.”

  * * *

  When she went down to see him, he was back to working on the satyr, but he heard her descent. Unsmiling, clearly still seething, he set down the delicate tools in his hands and surveyed her. Just his gaze sent heat pouring through her. Pure moonshine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come down tonight.”

  “I wasn’t sure, either.”

  He nodded, his attention straying back to the sculpture.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “Do you want to stay?” he returned, fast and hard. Something dark, almost mean, rode him tonight. Too much mad in me…

  Her heart clenched even as moisture surged hot between her legs. Afraid and entranced. He made her feel like the tiger in the zoo did, he was so raw and compelling. So very, very dangerous. She felt fragile and timid. And fascinated by the claws. “I—I don’t know.”

  He stalked over to her, feral in his masculine grace, carefully staying on his side of the taped line. She tensed as he looked her up and down, mentally stripping her, making his plans.

  “I have to warn you, Miss Althea.” His voice dropped into a drawling growl. “If you step over that line tonight, it’s going to be intense.”

  “It’s always intense,” she whispered through her dry throat.

  He shook his head slowly. “No. I’ve been careful with you. Coaxing you along. But tonight…” He flexed his fingers, just the way he did when they ached to pick up the brush. Or the welder. “Tonight I have a powerful need for you. To rend you open and devour all that precious reserve you cling to. If you cross that line, I’m going to have you in every way imaginable.”

  She took a step back and he laughed, bitterly satisfied.

  “Afraid of me? Maybe you’re smart to be. Run away, princess. Go find yourself a nice boy.”

  “I don’t want a nice boy.”

  “No?” He breathed the word, thumbing open the high collar of the coveralls, lowering the zipper to show his bare chest, the dragon coiling with promise, the ring through his nipple winking in the light. “Then I dare you to cross that line. Prove it.”

  Her heart pounded, beating the thoughts out of her head. Moonshine would do that to you. So she’d heard.

  She stepped over.

  With an incoherent sound, he seized her, crushing her in a ferocious embrace that destroyed any chance of breathing. His mouth fed on hers with crazy hunger, while he pushed her glasses off to fall with a clatter and shoved his hands into her hair, unraveling the careful chignon. He smelled of metal smoke, sweat and musk. She didn’t care. She dug her fingers into the canvas of his coveralls, one of her nails breaking on the coarse fabric as she returned the kiss with equal ferocity, surprising herself with the desperate need driving her.

  Steel grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked it open, the silk tearing, buttons flying away. She gasped and his ravenous mouth fell on the breast he bared with a savage pull at her bra, holding her hard up against him so she couldn’t escape back across the line.

  Even if she wanted to.

  His teeth and lips worked over her breast, tearing her restraint away, and his hand pulled at her skirt, snapping the fragile lace of her panties, fingers finding their way into her secret folds as if they’d never stopped touching her since this morning. And, as if the orgasm he’d started then had never stopped, she came immediately, bucking like a wild thing on his hand and sinking her teeth into the meat of his shoulder.

  While she was still riding the wild wave, he tore himself away from her grip and spun her around, pressing her face-down on the workbench with a strong hand between her shoulder blades. The dry wood scratched at her tender nipples.

  “Grip the edge of the table and hold on,” he growled.

  Still shuddering, she stretched to reach the edge of the table, not easy with him yanking up her narrow skirt, bunching it around her waist. He kicked her ankles tight together, bracing them with his boots on either side.

  And plunged into her.

  She screamed at the pressure, the incredible pleasure of him pushing so hard past her compressed lips, feeling him impossibly large inside her.

  “Don’t you dare move.” He smacked her flank, the sting arrowing straight to her inflamed sex. “Understand me?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, burying her face against the rough wood, clenching her thighs.

  He pounded into her and she gave herself up to it, letting him fill her body and her mind. He smacked her bottom again and she writhed against him, forgetting momentarily about not moving. Coming into her with a hoarse cry of gratification, Steel’s fingers buried into her hips, holding her how he wanted her, while her own continuing climax shredded every thought.

  She was still gasping against the table when he pulled out. Listening to the rustling noises he made, she held very still and wondered what would be next in her ravishment. She thought she’d give him anything he wanted. Down here.

  That was all she could do.

  She flinched, though, when cool metal slipped around her ankle above the strap of her high-heeled sandal, locking with a small, sharp click. He dragged her foot out to the side and cinched it with the ankle cuff to the table.

  “Since you can’t be trusted to hold still,” he muttered, doing the same to her other foot.

  She resisted the urge to apologize, letting her widely splayed legs and sex do it for her. He adjusted her hips on the workbench so the hard edge pressed into her pubis, idly stroking her dripping folds as he did so. Then he wrapped soft rope around her waist, stretching the ends out to secure them over the edges, to the wooden legs, binding her securely in place.

  “Chin up.”

  She lifted her head, hair tumbling messily into her eyes and he came around the bench. He slipped something soft under her chin, bringing her eyes level with his groin. He was naked now, his cock at half-mast, turgid and heavy against his lean thighs.

  He set a velvet box on the bench in front of her and snapped it open. On the black satin rested silver—no, surely they were platinum—bracelets and a space where the anklets had been. No key in sight.

  The bracelets were open-ended, finishing their graceful arcs in small circles at each end. Delicate padlocks rested on the satin too. Taking the bracelets, he fit them snugly around her slender wrists. She remembered all those measurements while she’d clung to the satyr. He padlocked the cuffs, each click of the locks singing through her. He passed a slender chain through them and drew it under the table, securing her there too.

  She went limp, held in place by his bonds, just another medium for him to work, surrendering to the artist.

  He set three more things on the
workbench for her to see. A knife, a sparkling glass phallus and a plain brown leather belt.

  Steel tapped each in turn. “First, I cut your clothes away—the price you pay for failing to strip before you crossed the line. Then this goes up your tight little ass. With it in place, I’m whipping you with this belt. Anything to say?”

  “You’ll owe me a new outfit.”

  Surprised out of his black mood, Steel laughed and pulled the hair out of her eyes. “Honey, I would love to see you in a dress I picked out. I have just the thing in mind.”

  Taking a black leather tie, he secured her hair into a tail at the nape of her neck, then propped one of those cheap full-length mirrors against the pillar in front of her.

  “Just in case you want to watch.” He tapped her nose, like she was a good pet.

  Taking the three things, he moved behind her. She did watch him, sleekly muscled, rough as his hands and the stubble he never seemed to quite shave away. Working briskly, he slid the knife under the silk of her skirt and top, slicing them away. Her bra followed with a quick flick.

  His expression intent, he examined her naked bottom, splayed open for him. Eyes flicking up to catch her gaze in the mirror, he flashed that bad-boy smile at her. “Not so ladylike now, huh, Miss Althea?” He gave her bottom a playful smack, watching her expression, then dipped a finger into her dripping pussy and worked it into her anus. She pressed her lips together, as if she could stop him that way. Of course, she couldn’t and the invasion rippled through her, an irresistible penetration.

  “Oh yeah,” he whispered. “This is going to be very fun. Watching you come apart.”

  Removing his finger, he grabbed a bottle of oil and drizzled it over her upturned bottom. She hissed at the chill of it.

  “Too cold?” He cheerfully rubbed the oil over her skin, working it into all her crevices with equal enthusiasm. “Don’t worry—we’ll heat you up quick enough.”

  He drenched her with more oil, coating her bottom and thighs, sliding his fingers into her passages so that she would have wriggled if she could have. Instead, utter immobility made the desire more overwhelming. She watched him oil the glass phallus, reveling in her inability to stop him. She needed to be unable to stop him.