Push (Bound #1)

by Olivia R. Keane

  Suddenly there is a hot dart on my breast. The next hot drip of liquid is on my nipple. So hot. An indiscernible moan escapes my lips, and I feel His grin against my neck. Three more drops. I smell a wick burning; I realize it is candle wax being dripped on my body. First it burns and then it tightens, almost deliciously. The mix of different sensations is intoxicating and threatens to send me over the edge into bliss far sooner than I intend to go.

  He moves carefully and deliberately to the other nipple. Ice first and then the hot drip of wax hugging my skin. The wax is holding my body hostage, suspending the release that I so long for with its grip.

  Each maddening drip possesses me more and more. He leaves a trail with it, on the small of my throat, the underside of my breasts, making a line down my stomach. Suddenly the sweet torture stops. There is nothing, only the sound of our heavy breathing filling the space in the room. His finger finds my cleft and plunges deep inside.

  “You are so wet for me, my pet. You like this, don’t you?”

  I am unsure of myself, and I doubt I can find the words, so I just moan, “Yes, Master.”

  His voice is calm, steady, and erotic. “Your body is on fire, my pet, in more ways than one. You love what the wax is doing as you dance between pleasure and pain.”

  Charlie’s phone vibrated off the windowsill, and she barely caught it from slipping into her warm bath where she had been reading the manuscript Declan gave her.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Her voice echoed through the empty bathroom. “Almost seven. Crap. Holy crap!”

  Throwing the manuscript on the floor, Charlie climbed out of the white claw-foot tub in the huge bathroom. One of the perks of living in an older home, giant bathtubs to soak the day’s tension away or read salacious books and drink glasses of red wine in. Charlie adored bubble baths, but it wasn’t something she usually had the time or privacy to indulge in. Fortunately, the house was still empty, and she made time for one. Declan was picking her up at eight this evening for the research field trip he insisted she accompany him on. She grabbed a bite to eat with Natalie after work, but when she got home, she still felt edgy, as though an electrical current was running under her skin, and she couldn’t relax.

  It wasn’t the bathroom atmosphere. She knew what was bothering her. She read the manuscript dutifully, trying to extricate Declan from her thoughts, but the more she read, the more his image, his voice, and that damned sexy smirk danced in her mind. When she picked up Controlled Burn, she figured it offered some watered down version of sex using all those purple prose phrases, and then she would put it down and move on with her evening. Instead, the outside world slipped away as the words tattooed erotic images in her mind. She lost track of time. It was as though she had become the submissive, willing partner, and the Master was Declan. My God, Declan. She shivered as the sensations whispered through her, imagining his masterful domination of her willing body, mind, and soul.

  Damn. There was no time to indulge the fantasy further despite the fact her clenched muscles were in a never-ending Kegel. If she did, she wouldn’t give herself much time to get ready, and disheveled, turned on Charlie wasn’t the look she wanted to go with tonight. No, tonight she would be demure and devastating. She padded her way to the bedroom and dropped her towel. She stroked her fingertips reverently over the ensemble she had laid on the bed before her bath.

  The elegant dress she’d purchased today might have killed her credit card, but it would be worth it. It was midnight black and crafted from an amalgamation of lace, brocade, and appliqué. A pencil, silhouetted dress with lace panels on the sides and sin slithering down the entire length of the front of the dress in the form of dozens of lingerie eye and hook closures.

  ***

  The bell rang as Charlie was slipping on her shoes. She answered the door with confidence, feeling very Joan from Mad Men in her buttoned-up, retro, seductive dress.

  “Come in, please, Mr. Pearse. I will be just a moment,” she offered politely to Declan.

  He was wearing a dark gray charcoal suit. It didn’t matter what he had on, Charlie was sure the man would look smoldering no matter what he wore. His thick dark hair was calling to her, begging her fingers to run through it.

  “Thank you, Ms. Flynn. You look quite stunning this evening.”

  Just breathe, Charlie. You can do this. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

  She gathered her wrap and clutch and walked slowly toward him. She noticed his eyes darken as he looked her over. No matter what reservations she had about possibly being attracted to her boss, the look he gave her, like he was about to devour her, made the dress worth every blessed penny.

  Declan opened the front door. “Shall we?”

  As they walked outside to his warm and waiting car, Charlie decided she was nervous. It was starting to feel a bit too much like a date.

  Declan’s gaze traveled over her body again, and her skin pricked up at the base of her neck. Her breath quickened.

  “Are you well, Ms. Flynn?” His eyes met hers. “You’re quite flushed.”

  “I … I rather like the way you look at me,” Charlie blurted.

  “Tell me why, Charlotte,” he said as they reached his car. He stepped in front of her, his stare holding hers captive.

  “It’s strange really. It feels like a caress and a possession at the same time,” Charlie related quietly.

  Acting every bit the gentleman, Declan opened the door for Charlie. The autumn air was crisp, but Declan had left the car running, and a rush of warmth greeted her as she sat in the passenger’s seat. Before closing the door, Declan pulled the seatbelt across Charlie’s breasts and leaned over to secure it.

  Good God. It’s a good thing I’m seated, or my knees would have given out. His fingertips brushed against her lightly as he secured the seatbelt, cinching her tightly in place. He smelled of spice and tobacco.

  Before withdrawing from the passenger’s side, he whispered, “I like the look of you restrained, Ms. Flynn.”

  Charlie decided it best to pretend she didn’t hear the comment and instead smiled. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Pearse.”

  As they made their way to the gallery, the strains of a familiar voice filled the interior. She recognized that it was Garbage, but the tune was something she had never heard. She listened intently to the words.”

  Charlie fidgeted in her seat, a little uncomfortable with the way things were progressing for the evening.

  “What kind of music do you like?” Declan asked as the car turned onto another road.

  “This is fine,” Charlie lied. The lead singer’s voice was breathy and hypnotic. It was making her more aware of her attraction to Declan.

  Declan pulled up to what looked like an old factory remade into an art space. Bright lights lit the outside, and there were several people gathered near the entrance. A valet took the car when they arrived, and they walked into the building together.

  The space was a bit different than she expected. Instead of being awash in brilliant white, the walls were a blood red, and the flooring dark. It had a gothic feel to it, and the music in the background added to that feeling. A bar to the left of the entrance showcased a variety of liquors and beers; the wait staff served champagne and petite hors d’oeuvres.

  Declan reached for two glasses of champagne from a tray and offered one to Charlie. She watched him as his gaze scanned the room.

  “Ahh, there is Owen.” Declan waved over a hulk of a man wearing a dark suit.

  As he approached, Declan introduced him to Charlie. “Owen, this is Ms. Flynn.”

  Charlie smiled, and he charmingly took her hand and brought it to his lips before decidedly looking her up and down in an overt manner.

  “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Charlie smiled.

  “Pearse, she’s lovely. Is she your new …”

  Declan cut Owen off before he could finish. “Not yet. She works at Pearse as a researcher. We are doing some research for one of the
manuscripts we are acquiring.”

  Charlie looked to Owen, who appeared satisfied with the answer.

  “Well, I have something I would like to discuss with you. Ms. Flynn, do you mind if I steal him away for a moment?”

  Charlie shook her head and began to move toward the exhibit area.

  Declan gripped her elbow and whispered in her ear, “I won’t be long. I am just going to catch up with Owen. I will find you in a few minutes.”

  Charlie began to explore the space. Someone handed her a program, the cover of which simply read, Captive. She traced the raised red lettering and thought back to earlier this evening when she had been reading the manuscript. Thoughts of Declan restraining her danced through her mind. Shaking her head to free the errant thoughts Charlotte ducked into an alcove that was the display area for an artist’s black and white photography.

  It became clear in an instant that this was a showing of work dedicated to the theme of BDSM. Charlie scanned the space, and she noticed paintings, sculpture, digital art, and photography displaying extraordinarily intimate and sometimes painful looking moments.

  In the alcove, a photo drew her attention. Intrigued, Charlie moved forward to get a better look. The black and white photo portrayed a nude woman kneeling on a hardwood floor. Her arms were raised above her head, and her wrists bound by a silk ribbon. The ribbon linked to a chain that seemed to rise vertically right out of the photograph. Her arms were full of tension, as though she were tugging downward, trying to fight her captive state.

  Her back arched so you could see the outline of her rib cage and her smooth stomach. Her only adornments were a diamond belly ring that captured the light from the camera’s flash and a beautiful choker fitting tightly about her long neck. Her thighs were spread apart. Her breasts were ample and her nipples taut. A thick scarf covered her eyes, and she could not see that her captor held a lit candle above her right breast, a drip of hot wax frozen in time, suspended in the air.

  Lost in the space between reality and the fantasy in the photograph made Charlie lightheaded. She stepped backward from it when she collided with someone. A strong hand slid against her waist to stop her in her retreat. She knew in a moment it was Declan. She felt his hot breath against her ear. “Ms. Flynn, you like the idea of this, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Charlie remarked, surprised. “I do. It brings to mind the manuscript you assigned me to read this weekend.”

  The silence between them grew as she stood frozen, Declan’s hand still in place on her waist. And just when she thought she might melt into a puddle of desire on the floor in front of him, Declan spun her around to face him and continued. “You’re right. It does evoke the candle play in the manuscript. It is a rather interesting interpretation. But you would have made a much more suitable subject.”

  Did he just say what I think he said? Charlie couldn’t decide if he was complimenting her or being completely inappropriate.

  “See her arms.” Declan gestured toward the photo. “She is struggling, which indicates weakness. The contrast between desire and shame is intriguing to some, but I much prefer the confidence found in total submission. There is great strength in complete surrender.”

  Deciding it was a compliment, Charlie responded, “Thank you for the kind words, Mr. Pearse, but I am far from being the model type.”

  Declan took a step back from her slowly and with maddening deliberation looked Charlie up and down. The tension between Charlie and Declan crackled as the seemingly innocuous compliment morphed into something much more inappropriate.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Owen’s intrusion was at once well timed and ill timed.

  “No, not at all.” Charlie gathered her composure. “If you’ll excuse me, I am off to run and find the ladies’ room.”

  “Don’t be too long, Ms. Flynn, we haven’t finished our discussion,” Declan reminded her.

  She escaped down the long, dimly lit hallway to the calm quiet of the women’s washroom. It was alight with the warm glow of candles and smelled of sandalwood. It offered her a soothing sanctuary from the tension of her conversation with Declan. As she looked in the mirror at her reflection, she smoothed the skirt of her dress. Her hand traveled slowly to her hemline and trailed up her inner thigh. Charlie glanced at herself in the mirror again and then closed her eyes, conjuring up the vision of Declan and lit candles and naked flesh.

  She stopped, suddenly realizing she didn’t want to give him the slightest satisfaction. Even though it was a fantasy, she felt like she was surrendering to her desires, and it wasn’t what she wanted. It was too soon.

  Charlie returned from her ladies’ room excursion to find Declan still in deep conversation with Owen.

  “Ms. Flynn, I’m glad you’ve returned. I was afraid I would have to send out a search party.” His smirk edged up the corners of his beautiful mouth.

  “Actually, Mr. Pearse, I think I am going to leave if you don’t mind. It is rather late, and I have a manuscript to finish reading.”

  “I’d like you to stay.”

  “Why? I have seen what we came here to see, and I took some notes. I think we’re done.”

  “But, Ms. Flynn, the night is just beginning. The house I purchased is going through closing soon, and I would like to find a piece of art for a particular room. I thought perhaps I could get your opinion on a few pieces so I would have a feminine perspective.”

  “Mr. Pearse,” Charlie paused, trying to rein in her thoughts. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Ms. Flynn, I know exactly who I am. Do you?”

  Frustrated, Charlie responded, “Hmm. Maybe a better question is who the hell do you think I am exactly?”

  “Charlotte, are you attracted to me?”

  “What? Where did that come from?” His words knocked her off center, and she struggled to regain her balance. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Declan licked his lips briefly before inhaling slowly. His eyes darkened, and Charlie knew she had betrayed her feelings.

  “I’m a research assistant for Pearse Publishing. If I may remind you, my job description does not include being your damned interior designer.” Charlie’s voice pulled as taut as a wire.

  Declan appeared perfectly at ease and even amused at the direction the evening had taken.

  Charlie continued. “I did some research on you, Mr. Pearse. Everyone knows you for your stellar work reputation, and you never mix business with pleasure. I don’t see how breaking with that image would make sense for you. A piece of artwork is something intimate, something personal, something you would want somebody special to help you with, not an employee.”

  “You’re right. I am not about to damage my public reputation, but I do want you.”

  Charlie found her mouth dry. She had to swallow before she could speak. “You want me to help you with a piece of art?”

  “Yes. For now.”

  “Why?”

  “I need someone who will be honest with me, instead of just telling me what they think I want to hear. After your display at work the other day, I am sure you will do just that. I have some other people I need to speak with while we are here, so I will leave you to it. I will give you a ride back home when I am ready.”

  Charlie didn’t give him the pleasure of a snappy retort. Instead, she simply turned and walked away. She felt him watching her as she made her way to the cloakroom and out of sight. She gathered her things and headed out into the chilly Pittsburgh night.

  ***

  After Charlotte’s disappearing act, Declan found her where Aaron said she would be. She just had to choose the Altar bar didn’t she? He pushed his way through the crowd. When he finally made it to the bar, he ordered a Jameson and Seven on the rocks. He took a moment to survey the writhing, twisting bodies melt into each other as the music throbbed. And then he saw Charlotte. Glowing in a silver slip of a dress, she had changed somewhere between the exhibit and the bar. She got lost in the music as one song bled into another.
A throng of men surrounded her and the group of women she was dancing with.

  As her body moved hypnotically, Declan wondered if she knew what it would mean for him to devour her. Did Charlotte realize he was going to be as explicit as his promise sounded? He thought of his head between her thighs; his arms wrapped around her hips, holding her open while he tasted her sweetness. He licked his lips as he watched her. She smiled as if she knew he was watching her.

  Her hips moved to the beat while her skirt slipped farther up her thighs. Most men didn’t appreciate the value of perfectly pale skin, but Declan did, and Charlotte had the most exquisite skin. He knew she was dancing for him, that she knew he was watching. That tiny dress. Her messy caramel hair and those innocent brown eyes; those eyes made him want to do bad things to her while she watched.

  “I see you’ve spotted Charlie and Mikki.” Aaron stood next to Declan at the edge of the dance floor.

  “Mmm?” Declan murmured, careful not to react in any way. “How much has she had to drink?”

  “Not sure. Maybe one. She’s been nursing some rum concoction since she arrived.”

  Charlotte shoved her way up to the bar. Her cheeks burned, and her hair was damp from dancing.

  “Excuse me!” she yelled trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey!” she called, pounding on the bar.

  “He seems to be doing his best to ignore you, isn’t he, Ms. Flynn?” Charlotte blinked as Declan pressed closer to her. “You never shout at the bartender, Charlotte. It’s impolite.”

  The bartender returned and looked at Declan expectantly. Declan raised his voice, but it was so deep it carried effortlessly. “Evan, two Jameson and Sevens, please.” Declan turned to Charlotte wearing a smile that could stoke embers into flames.

  “How dare you order for me, Mr. Pearse!” Charlie shouted. “I thought I made it clear, I’m your employee and not your charge to boss around at your whim.” She seethed. “Besides, what if I wanted something else to drink?”