With fingers that no longer trembled, she unfolded and read.
Chapter Eight
He’d simply listed the instructions, like one might make a To Do list or write out a recipe.
Perform each task as you read it. Do not scan ahead. I mean it.
Resisting the overwhelming urge to read the rest, she exerted supreme discipline and read only the next line. When her eyes caught a glimpse of the next instruction, she refolded the note, to hide anything beyond that. Self-restraint only went so far.
Strip. Everything off. Except for your collar and leash, which you had better already be wearing. Do this first.
Abruptly breathless, wondering if he had a camera to check on her, she complied, piling her clothes on top of her shoes, until she stood naked in his cramped foyer.
Use your red lipstick to rouge your nipples.
Of course he’d know she’d have it in her purse, along with everything else she carried. Carefully, she applied the lipstick to her taut nipples, a little shocked by how luridly they glowed against her white skin. Obscene.
In the drawer is a timer and vibrator. Set the timer for five minutes. Hold on to your hook with one hand and use the vibrator on yourself for the full five minutes. Do Not Come.
She opened the drawer and found a tin kitchen timer. And an enormous hot pink, fleshy-looking dildo. She almost laughed, it was so over the top—thick enough she could barely wrap her hand around it. Then it occurred to her he might try to insert it in her and all amusement fled, her breath catching in her chest, bringing her screeching to that point where she couldn’t discern fear from desire.
Her body had no such qualms, the fluid between her legs flowing freely. The challenge would be not to come. Did he really think she needed help getting turned on before seeing him? Setting the timer for five minutes, she stretched onto her toes to grab the hook and flipped the switch on the vibrator. It hummed into instant life, like the motor of a sports car.
One speed. High.
Resolutely, she pushed it onto her clit, her body rushing to orgasm within thirty seconds. Instead of pulling the vibrator away, she kept it there, calling on the state she’d been in the night before, holding off the climax. It helped not to watch herself, her straining body and lurid nipples, the obscenely large dildo. She closed her eyes, concentrating.
The shriek of the timer—like a fire-alarm bell—startled her so much that she dropped the dildo, where it leaped about on the tiled floor like a living thing.
Laughing in truth, relieved that she’d passed at least this test, she bent down to retrieve it and shut the damn thing off.
Put the vibrator on the table. We’ll need it later.
Dammit. He did plan to use it on her. Or just make her wonder about it because surely it would never fit inside her. Her clit throbbed and her thighs were wet. Taking a moment to compose herself, and since she had the purse out anyway, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues and cleaned up a little. Hopefully that wouldn’t be against the rules.
In the closet is a wardrobe bag. Put on everything in it. Your clothes and purse go in the closet.
Now they were off to the races. She unzipped the bag to find a wash of crimson inside. She pulled on the dress, tying the halter-style top behind her neck. The straps parted all the way to her waist, showing her skin and the inner curves of her breasts. The skirt fell to mid-thigh, with black ruffled petticoats to hold it out in a full bell. Black leather boots with high heels zipped up to nearly reach her crotch.
The mask and gloves she’d worn the night before also waited in the bag, though she couldn’t tie the knots on the gloves, so she let the laces dangle free.
No panties. Diabolical bastard.
The next instruction didn’t surprise her much.
Call the number on this card. The driver will take you where you need to go. Take off the collar when you are ready to walk out the door, not a moment sooner.
All dressed up with somewhere, apparently, to go. She turned her cell back on, ignored the stack of voice mails and email notifications for once, and called the number.
“Ms. Tuesday?” A man’s voice answered.
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up in five minutes. Wait for my knock.”
The knock came sooner than that, startling her out of a trance of contemplation. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform tipped his hat. “Good evening, Ms. Tuesday.”
She locked the door, feeling naked without her purse or any of her things. Out of control. The driver opened the door of the sleek black town car and held out a hand. “I’ll hold that key for you.”
Off they went, she without a shred of ID or cash. Human trafficking stories rolled through her mind. She should have left a note in her room, saying who she was going out with. But that would be blinking in the face of Prejean’s escalating challenges. He might be trying to put her off balance—the way he liked her—and it might be working, but she refused to be afraid.
Still, when they pulled up at Le Court des Deux Pendus, she breathed a tiny sigh of relief. And her stomach growled.
The driver opened her door and she swung her boot-clad legs out, thighs pressed together so as not to flash the valet, who hurried forward to greet her.
“Ms. Tuesday? This way, please.”
He handed her off to the maitre d’, who thankfully showed no sign of recognizing her from the day before and led her into a dim office, off to the side of the entryway. Bemused, she waited there, as he asked her to do before closing the door, and surveyed the small space.
Framed certificates from several different culinary institutes hung on the flocked wallpapered walls, including one from Paris, interestingly enough. On his desk sat photographs of a dark-haired couple laughing, a group shot of somewhere around fifty people gathered around a bride, and one of a lovely blonde, sultry and pouting. She’d signed it with a red-lipsticked kiss and a “Yes, sir.”
Annoyance bloomed, breaking her mood. The owner of the dress, perhaps.
Not that it mattered.
The door opened behind her and she set the photograph down, feeling oddly like she’d been prying. Prejean had his back turned, locking the door and shrugging out of a white cook’s coat, then faced her with a warm and delighted smile.
“Good evening, my beautiful Ruby.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long, slow and savoring, making a humming noise in the back of his throat. He smelled of butter, garlic, rosemary and tasted of a hint of red wine. “I thought you might not come.”
“And risk disobeying?” She smiled at him, absurdly pleased to be touching him again.
Something wistful crossed his face and he slid his hands, warm and smooth, over the bare skin of her back. “I’d hoped to be alone with you tonight, but one of the assistant chefs didn’t show.”
She understood that. “Work comes first. Should I go?”
“Absolutely not. I have plans for you. What did you eat for lunch?”
Uh-oh. “I skipped lunch. Bec
ause we were working,” she added before his frown could gather much more. “And I figured the crêpe this morning, plus whatever you’ll insist on feeding me tonight, will be more than enough.”
He smiled at that, mollified. “I will feed you. And you’ll eat what I give you, yes? My way.” His fingers busied themselves with the knot at the nape of her neck, lowering the halter top of the dress.
“Yes, sir.” She was captivated by the flare of intense desire in his gaze.
“Gorgeous.” He said it the way someone commenting on a painting might. Taking a box from the desk, he opened it and showed her. Dangling red jewels hung from silver loops. Not earrings, but nipple clamps like the night before. “Have you been using the cream?”
She nodded and held her breath while he affixed them to her rouged nipples. These were tighter and heavier than the others. Distress wormed into her and, to her embarrassment, she whimpered a little.
Prejean studied her face. “Too much?” He cupped her breasts, not touching her clamped nipples. “You’re so tough in some ways, so sensitive in others. I’ll take them off if you ask me to.”
She pressed her lips on the urge to opt out. Pain is just weakness leaving your body. Already they smarted less. She could handle anything his other girls could.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Bend over the desk on your forearms then and raise your skirt.”
She didn’t really have to raise anything. With the petticoats and short skirt, the low height of the desk, once she bent over everything was on display. She spread her legs widely when he asked her, her pussy throbbing under his gaze.
“Did you wear the plug all day?”
“Yes. Except when I took a bath.”
“How did it make you feel?”
It felt funny to talk about. She had never been much for explaining her feelings.
His hand smacked her butt cheek and she squeaked in surprise.
“Answer me.”
“I felt vulnerable. Full, but also transparent. Like everyone could see through me.”
“I like that—transparent. And did you think of me?”
She had. She’d thought about his hands, his eyes, his stern commands. She wished he’d touch her now, but he didn’t. “Yes, sir. I thought about you all day.”
“I’m happy to hear that. You were on my mind too. All right. You may stand up and retie your dress. Leave the gloves here while you eat.”
She followed his instructions, noticing the hard silhouette of the nipple clamps through the silk. “People will see.”
He shook his head, thumbing the nipple, making it throb. “The restaurant is dark and only a few would look for or recognize that shape. Now—” he grinned, wicked, and stroked the other nipple too, “—if I strung a chain between them, that would show very nicely and all but the most naïve would guess.”
Her mouth went dry. “But you won’t do that.”
“No. But only because you’re not ready to go there.”
“How do you know that?”
“The look on your face, chère. You tell me a great deal without saying a word.” A shout from the kitchens rang through the wall, and aggravation creased the corners of his eyes. “I must be getting back.”
“You seem pretty stressed,” she ventured, not sure why she was going there. It wasn’t like they were friends, and yet...
He raked his hair back from his forehead and smiled, a bit weary. Had he gotten a nap? “It’s been a hell of an evening. I’m looking forward to a bit of stress relief with you later.”
“Why not now?” The impulse had her heart skidding, but the surprise on his face made it worth it. She dropped to her knees and unzipped his pants.
“I didn’t give you permission for this,” he murmured, but his voice wasn’t stern and his hands were in her hair, and he caught his breath when she pulled his erect cock into her mouth with a firm, long suck. “Christ Jesus!” he gasped, which told her all she needed to know.
She drove him hard and fast, showing no mercy, which seemed appropriate. If she could put it on her resume, she would: Gives great blowjobs, swallows. His thighs tensed under her hands and he touched her cheek with gentlemanly warning. No forced deep-throating from him. She ignored his caution and brought him to climax, savoring the way he bucked under her touch, groaning subvocalized grunts of pleasure.
Sometimes it felt good to be the one in control too.
Letting him recover, she sat back and fastidiously wiped the corners of her mouth, enjoying the sight of his slick and softening cock streaked with her red lipstick.
“Aren’t you full of surprises.”
She shrugged and accepted his hand up. The stiff leather of the thigh-high boots didn’t make things easy. “You’re the one worried about my nutrition—just a little shot of protein.”
He narrowed his eyes at her even as he cleaned and tucked himself back in, zipping up. “You’ll have to pay for your impertinence. While you eat, you should think up a suitable punishment. You can tell me later.”
With that he opened the door and signaled the maitre d’, whistling as he walked back into the kitchen. Definitely more relaxed now. It felt odd to walk through the dining room wearing the elaborate mask, until she spotted a few others.
A small table in the corner under draping vines awaited her, lit with candles. A stand held a silver champagne bucket, and the maitre d’ poured a glass for her. The label was French and looked old, not one she recognized. The wine evaporated on her tongue, the sublime effervescence filling her head.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was being courted.
Course after course arrived, thoughtful, perfect presentations of the most succulent food she’d ever tasted, all on small plates. She began to feel like a pampered pet, coaxed into trying just a bit more. A popover, lighter than air, a hint of honey-butter perfuming it. A single oyster on the half shell, presented with a subtle sage breading that reminded her of Thanksgiving. Three sea scallops, sautéed to perfection, sweetly juicy and served each in a pool of its own sauce—one a piquant cilantro, the next a peppered mango and the final one a variation on the barely bitter chocolate he’d served that morning, strangely perfect with the salty counterpoint.
She inhaled the Caesar salad—the dressing exquisite, the anchovies aged in a smoky oil. When the waiter reverently laid the main course before her, a perfectly golden mini-soufflé of crab and nine aged cheeses, she heard a woman at the next table inquire about it, only to be told it was reserved for special customers. A heart carved into the crust, inlaid with a brush of cinnamon, confirmed it.
Prejean finally joined her, as she finished the soufflé. He gave her plate a long look and raised his eyebrows, the gold hoop winking. “Any good?”
“My compliments to the chef,” she purred, thinking about how he’d felt in her mouth.
“Give us a taste, chère.”
She offered her fork, but he shook his head. So she swirled her finger in the remnants and held it out. He sucked her finger into his mouth, hot, holding her gaze and sending prickles of delight through her naked pussy.
“Have you thought of a punishment yet?” he asked, pouring himself the last of the champagne, not commenting on the fact that she’d somehow plowed through most of the bottle on her own. No wonder she felt giddy.
“Nope. That’s your department.”
“Such a rebel. You talk so
brave and then you give in, submitting in the most delicious way. Isn’t that right, my little Ruby?” He pulled her gloves out of his suit jacket pocket, riveting her attention. “Put those on.”
Her blood pulsed, just as it did when the roller-coaster wheels creaked into motion. Buckle your seat belt. She pulled on the gloves, holding the undersides of her wrists up to him, to be tightly laced and knotted. Such an innocent act for anyone to witness. So terribly fraught for her.
The waiter set a plate in front of them and Prejean scooted his chair closer, turning the dessert for best presentation.
“Gingerbread bread pudding with a bourbon glaze. Are you hungry?” He nearly growled the question, his face taking on those stern lines that never failed to set her nerves fluttering. His hand ducked under the tablecloth and moved up under her short skirt, sliding up to find the naked skin above her boot. “Spread your legs and answer me correctly. Or I’ll pull away this tablecloth and show all these fine people what you’re not wearing under here.”
Transfixed, she opened her thighs to him and his fingers slipped into her hot, slick folds, stroking as fast as she’d worked him, sending her screeching up to the edge of climax. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, urgently, desperately wanting to clamp her thighs together.
He smiled in catlike satisfaction and stilled his fingers. But he left them there, lightly touching while he forked up some of the dessert. “Open wide.”
The sensual pleasure of his touch wound with the champagne buzz and the phenomenal blend of ginger, bourbon and hot, melting sweetness. Shrouded in the shadows of the vines, she didn’t care if anyone saw when he leaned in to kiss her, his lips sticky with sugar. She moved her hips under his hand.
“Let me come,” she murmured against his mouth. “Please, sir.”
Ruby Page 8
