by Lily Harlem
She stood still for a moment, wondering if she’d hear him moving about, but she didn’t. There was no noise coming from anywhere in the apartment, it was totally silent.
The piano stood grandly in its glass alcove. Imogen pulled out the burgundy-colored velvet stool and twisted it to face the city. She sat and took in the panoramic view. The Chrysler building loomed large, the Empire State larger, and all around were interesting rooftops to study. It was a sight she’d never thought she’d get to sit and admire from somewhere so sumptuous and exclusive.
“Imogen.”
She started slightly at the sound of Kane’s deep voice right behind her.
“I didn’t hear you come back,” she said, forcing herself not to turn. She continued to stare outside, chin tipped.
“I did.” He rested his hand on her left shoulder. “Come back, that is.”
The heat from his palm seeped onto her skin and seemed to slide up her neck. The hairs at her nape tingled.
His wrist was in her peripheral vision. He appeared to be wearing a black jacket and the cuff of a white shirt peeked from beneath it.
He slipped his hand down her chest, not indecently low, his fingers just past her collarbone. It sent tingles of arousal around her body and her breasts shifted upward as she breathed deep.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.
She continued to stare at the window. She could make out his reflection. He was looking down at her, head bent, and she’d been right, he was wearing a suit—a tuxedo complete with a bow tie.
He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
“Thank you,” she managed. “This style dress isn’t something I’d usually wear.”
“I know, which is why I had it made for you.”
“Made for me?”
“Yes. Made. Exactly to order. And the boots too.”
Imogen crossed and uncrossed her legs. The dress shifted, showing an extra inch of thigh. There was nothing she could do about it short of tugging, which she knew would be to no avail.
He pulled in a breath, blew it out. The breeze of air tickled over her head.
“The boots are…” she said.
“Wonderfully kinky,” he finished for her.
“Yes. Kinky.”
There, it was out in the open.
“And look exquisite on you.” He slipped his hand a little lower, until his fingertips rested on the first inch of material of her dress.
The moment was electric yet delicate. As though they were encased in glass that might shatter if either moved too fast or spoke too loud.
“We’re going to a kinky club, aren’t we?” she asked in barely a whisper. “That’s the kind of club you’re setting up, isn’t it?”
“Is that a problem?”
Was that a problem? No, she guessed it wasn’t. She was curious, that’s why it wasn’t a problem. And it certainly put a new spin on their trip. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I just…”
“You’re just worried about being seen in this stunning outfit.”
“Well, it’s not likely I’d see anyone I know, but still, I’d rather my seniors…”
“You worry too much. I have it all organized.” He slipped his other hand around her neck, swept up the column of her throat and cupped her chin. “I’ll take care of you. When you’re with me, I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need to concern yourself with anything.”
Imogen closed her eyes. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She believed him, she really did. Kane was the most competent man she’d ever met. If he said he’d look after her, then he would.
And his hands, hands that he could use as weapons, hands that ruled a business empire, hands that now skimmed her flesh, held her face. She didn’t want him to ever stop touching her.
“You have to believe that,” he went on in a low murmur. “That while you’re mine you will only ever feel good, only ever be treated with the utmost respect and consideration.”
“Yes,” she managed.
His?
He slid his hand lower over her dress to the rise of her breast. “Imogen.” He tilted her head farther up, his fingers pressing gently on her throat. “Do you trust me?”
“I think so.”
For a moment he was quiet, then, “That’s a good start.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek and placed his lips by her ear. “But before we do anything else I need you to wear one more thing.”
Imogen breathed in his cologne, spicy and sexy. Her breasts ached with desire, her abdomen clenched, and her clitoris tingled with need. What else could she possibly wear?
He lifted his touch from her face and chest and carefully released the clasp on her necklace.
She opened her eyes and again studied his reflection as he set it aside, atop the piano.
“In order for us to truly blend in tonight,” he said, “I need you to wear a different adornment on your neck.” He stood directly behind her and plucked something from his pocket.
Imogen couldn’t see what.
But she didn’t wonder for long. He circled her head with his arms and held a thin strip of leather in front of her with a small red metal buckle and several holes. It appeared to be a collar.
“What is it?” she asked, her attention fixated on it.
“It’s a symbol that you belong to me,” he said. “So at the club you won’t get pestered by other Doms.”
She opened her mouth to speak. Questions were piling up on her tongue. A collar? Belong to him? Other Doms?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you have a million things you want to ask me, and yes, I’m probably moving too fast. But this is all quite necessary and we have all night for you to ask me whatever you want to.”
Imogen closed her mouth.
“So may I?” he asked, “Put my collar on you?”
She nodded.
Kane slipped it around her neck. The leather was cool on her skin which had heated where his hand had rested.
He fastened it, not tight, but not loose either.
She swallowed and moved her head slightly, testing the feel of restriction at her throat.
It was strange, constraining but also oddly comforting.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Okay.”
He moved in front of her, his hands at his sides and his feet slightly apart.
She looked up at him.
He tipped his head, as though waiting for her to say more.
“I will know it’s there all night,” she said. “It’s comfortable but…there.”
He smiled, as though she’d said the right thing. “Good. That is how it should feel.”
Imogen got that familiar pleasant glow in her chest. She’d pleased him. Said the right thing. He always rewarded her with a softness in his voice and a genuine smile. It made her want to please him more, in any way she could.
“Stand,” he said. “Let me see you.”
She did as he’d asked and realized as she straightened that she was almost as tall as him in her heels.
He bit on the inside of his cheek and nodded. His gaze slipped down her body, right to her toes then back up again.
Imogen resisted the urge to fiddle with her collar and instead placed her hand on her waist and jutted her hip out.
He chuckled. “Yes, that’s it. I knew you were a natural.”
“A natural slut?”
The humor left his features. A frown plowed over his brow. “Oh no, not a slut, never a slut.”
“What then? Why a dress and boots that would be perfectly suited to Soho?”
He stepped close and took her hand. With his other he opened her fingers so her palm was flat and facing upward. He raised it to his lips and kissed the center. “Imogen, this outfit shows you off as a woman. It doesn’t mean, not in my world, that you’re available; in fact, the collar, as I’ve just explained, means the opposite.” He closed her fingers and wrapped his big hand ov
er hers. “This dress, those boots, they allow you to let your sexuality breathe. Tonight prim suits don’t exist. Tonight there is only space for celebrating female allure and pleasure, which, of course, is the point of all of this.”
“The point?”
He smiled. “I need your help, remember. You’re right, I wish to set up similar clubs but need a female perspective. Your perspective.” He released her and stepped away, glanced at his watch. “Come. We have work to do.”
Imogen turned, watched him retrieve a small black bag from the table, then go to the elevator.
That had put her in her place.
They had work to do.
It was time to go.
His world. Allowing her sexuality to breathe. Female allure.
She steeled herself. That’s why she was here, for work—to help Kane Ward with his next business venture.
She tugged at the collar and spotted her necklace abandoned on the piano.
She was in New York City dressed in kinky gear, and on top of all that, she now looked like his pet.
Damn it. She should probably ask for a raise.
Chapter Six
Kane stopped at a black door with a golden-colored number sixty-nine placed in the center.
He pressed the buzzer.
A small red light came on, indicating someone had responded to his arrival.
“Black River caviar,” Kane said into the speaker.
A click signaled the lock being released.
“Is that a password?” Imogen asked.
“Yes, it changes every night.”
“How do you know what it is tonight?”
“It was given to me when I put our names on the guest list.” He opened the door and warm amber light poured onto the pavement. “After you.”
Imogen stepped inside onto a black carpet. The walls were clad in wooden panels and painted a pale shade of moss-green. Several photographs with glossy black frames were spotlit—each one held an image of a women tied up with intricate knotted rope.
“This way,” Kane said, urging her to walk ahead of him.
Imogen moved farther into the hallway, which turned into a corridor. She was mesmerized by all of the pictures on the walls. She would have liked to stop and stare, enjoy them for a moment, but Kane was pacing behind her, as though keen to get to their destination.
A woman in a tight citrus orange dress appeared holding a clipboard. She had her hair piled on top of her head and like Imogen wore a collar, though hers had a large silver padlock hanging from it. “Ah, Master K, it is so good to see you again.”
Master K?
“Aisha, I trust you are well,” Kane said, stopping at a door with a chrome handle. He rested his hand on it.
“Very.” Aisha examined Imogen through heavily lashed eyes. The kohl she’d applied licked outward to her temple in thin lines. “You’ve brought a guest tonight.”
“Yes. She’s on the list.”
“I know.” Aisha smiled.
Imogen didn’t think the smile went high enough; it was forced, not really there, just a stretching of lips.
“Everything is in your room as requested,” Aisha said, returning her attention to Kane.
“Thank you.” Kane opened the door at his left.
“I guess I’ll see you in there.”
“Yes, though we’re just observing tonight.”
“No playing.” Aisha appeared surprised. “What a waste of a trip.” She shrugged and looked coy, sweeping her tongue over her lips.
Kane scowled. “It is what it is.” His voice was harsh.
“Certainly, Sir.” She dropped her gaze and stared at her feet. Hid the point of her tongue. “I’m sorry if I was impudent.”
Kane said nothing; instead, he reached for Imogen’s hand and steered her into what appeared to be a changing room. He shut the door and placed his bag on a table.
“You know her well?” Imogen asked.
“I’ve done a scene or two with her, that’s all.”
“A scene?” Imogen was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Played, you know…” He unbuttoned his jacket. “No, you don’t know, that was a foolish thing for me to say. I’m sorry.” He paused. “But all will become clear.”
“You’ve slept with her?” For some reason the thought made Imogen feel sick, not that it should, she had no claim on him. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. I have no right to—”
He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook. “I haven’t slept with her, that’s not what being in a scene with someone means. It’s very personal, very intimate, and there is a lot of different dynamics at play, trust being the big one, but there doesn’t have to be sex, and there wasn’t, ever, not with Aisha.” He unzipped his bag. “There will be lots of things you haven’t seen before once we go inside. But I don’t want you to judge or take them all at face value. Beneath the surface of every act there is more going on that can’t be seen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just remember everything is consensual, everyone is an adult, everyone has a safe word.”
Safe word—now she did know what that meant. That was if a spanking or bondage got too much. It meant stop. In the book she’d read, the heroine had a safe word—rainbow dust.
Kane withdrew a red mask from the bag. It was the same shade as the eyelets on her dress and boots.
“Here.” He held it up and the two long ribbons dangled over the cuffs of his shirt. “This will ensure you remain anonymous.”
“A mask?”
“Yes. It is the perfect solution, and trust me, you won’t be the only one wearing a facial covering.” He stepped toward her. “There are many people here who like to keep their nocturnal activities private.” He paused. “Turn.”
Imogen did as he’d asked. Anonymous, that suited her very well. At least until she knew what she’d gotten herself into.
As he gently placed the soft velvet over her face and tied the ribbon at the back of her head, Imogen studied a jacket hanging on a wooden frame. It was black velvet and had three gold stars on the right shoulder. Beneath the stars was an embroidered letter K.
“Is that yours?” she asked.
“The jacket?”
“Yes.”
He secured the knot. “It is.”
“What are the three stars for?”
“It is a symbol of my status here.”
“Which is?” Imogen pressed the mask secure; it had a tiny, flexible piece of metal set within it to mold to the shape of the bridge of her nose.
“You’ll see,” he said.
Imogen turned. “When?”
Kane had applied a mask, like hers, though his was gold, the same as the stitching on the jacket. “Soon.” He tilted his chin and his eyes sparkled from behind thin cutouts.
He looked regal, aloof, mysterious and so damn sexy she was sure her knickers would be soaked just from seeing him like that. The mask highlighted the sensual shape of his lips and the proud angle of his nose.
He removed his tuxedo jacket and replaced it with the velvet one; the bow tie remained in place. He brushed a speck of fluff from the sleeve. “Are you ready?”
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m meant to be ready for, but I’ll give it a go.”
He smiled, just a little. “Good, I knew you would. But please let yourself view the club as a newbie, a virgin if you like.” He lowered his voice. “I want to know what turns you on and what turns you off. That will be essential to our trip and to the future.”
Imogen’s breath shivered from her throat. What turned her on was him but it would hardly be the answer he was looking for if he wanted her opinion on décor for his new clubs.
On top of that she was intrigued to know what was beyond these walls. What scenes she might witness, what kinks Kane might reveal. Would his kinks be hers? Not that she really knew what hers were.
“Yes, okay,” she said. “But I won’t have to try too hard, it likely will all be new to me.”
<
br /> “Yes.” He paused. “So soak it all up because I will want to know, later, back at the hotel, exactly how you feel, about everything.”
There was something in the way he spoke, undercurrents, that made her wonder just how deep he’d delve into her reactions. And how much would she tell him? She’d bet it would be more than just her thoughts on paint color and accessories.
Kane opened the door and they stepped out. The corridor was deserted, but Imogen could hear the distant beat of music and the hum of conversation. She could smell perfume and cologne, all mixed, and on top of that was a musky heat to the air that made her think of being hot and sweaty with a lover.
Kane reached for her hand and led the way.
Imogen glanced at the pictures on the wall. More of the same—bondage with rope weaved as intricate as lace. She was glad Kane wasn’t walking fast; her boots were not designed for speed.
He paused at an archway and slipped his hand around her waist, urging her against his side.
“This is the bar area,” he said. “Though few people indulge in alcohol while they’re here.” He gestured around. “What do you think?”
“It looks very relaxing.”
And it was. Big, soft sofas were set about with low tables between them. The lighting that came from large lamps was muted, casting shadows up the walls and over the furniture. The fabrics were rich jewel colors, the paintwork and carpet black. Several people milled about near the bar, a few sat on the sofas sipping from tall glasses. Everyone was dressed in similar attire to herself and Kane.
He’d been right, she would have stood out if she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of the new dress and boots. She fit right in—well, to look at anyway.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked over the sound of the music.
“I’m okay, unless you want one.”
“No. I drank water after my workout.” He urged her forward. “So shall we go straight into a playroom?”
“If that’s what you want?”
He glanced at his watch. “There should be something going on to satisfy our voyeur plans for the evening.”
They stepped toward the bar.
Kane indicated another doorway at the opposite end that had a chain mail curtain hanging from its frame. “It’s through there.”
