by Christa Wick
Jake stopped the sweet torture, cooed softly at me as the chair slowly returned to its original position. The weight and the balls continued to tease me, little ripples of the earthquake that had rocked me to my very core echoing in my bones.
"Breathe, love," Jake coaxed as he twisted down to remove the weight.
I tried, but I could only inhale, not exhale.
"Shh..." he soothed and helped my pussy rid itself of the balls by gently tugging on the cord. The first one popped free and I found I could breathe out a little. Another ball, another breath, the tension in my lungs and cunt easing in increasingly larger increments until the first and biggest ball was released.
Bending over me, Jake peppered small kisses against my face as his strong hand massaged my cunt, manipulating the insanely sensitive flesh until I shuddered with a fresh orgasm. The ties came off after that, first the one at my throat, then my legs and then my arms. This time, when he helped me stand and ordered me to wrap my arms around his shoulders, I didn't think to disobey him as I had in Chicago.
We moved, my soft flesh, moist with effort and desire, slid against his hard muscles. I realized he was leading me to a door at the side of the stage. It opened onto a narrow corridor with more doors. He took me inside a room and sat me on a couch. He gave me water to drink while he ran a cool, damp towel over my body.
I drank, exhausted but with my arousal slowly returning as his mouth joined his hands. Sucking and licking at my breasts, he wiped gently at my cunt, taming the swollen and heated flesh even as fresh need threatened to erupt from the simple care he provided.
Biting gently at my throat, he growled. "Don't doubt that I want to fuck you silly right now, baby."
His mouth swept up, covered mine and then his tongue invaded with strong, forceful sweeps as he squeezed my mound and pinched at my engorged clit. When he broke this kiss, I looked at him, my gaze begging for more.
He shook his head. "I have to go back, love."
Pulling away from me, he moved to the corner. Someone had brought the dress down, the one with the heavy red velvet skirt and the gold and silver bodice and shawl. Returning to the couch, he carried it with him.
"I wanted you to leave looking like a queen."
Nodding, I forced myself to stand and allowed him to dress me. Finding a fresh washcloth, he cleaned the streaked mascara from my face, kissing me tenderly as he did so.
"Do you really have to go?" I asked. This version of Jake, so sweet and gentle, had my knees buckling and my heart rapidly melting.
Dropping the washcloth, he wrapped his arms around me, kept me standing when I would otherwise have crumbled to a fine ash.
"Yes," he answered. "We have Austin where we need him and the way you gave yourself over, submitted so completely to pleasure, you cracked open every checkbook in the house."
Right...
The whole performance had been about selling memberships and gaining access to overseas locations. Not about me and certainly not about "us."
Nodding my understanding, I extricated myself from his loose embrace. The show was over and now, dressed like a queen or not, he was sending me away, upstairs to the room we would share until he needed me -- my body, my pleasure and my obedience -- on stage once more.
"Are you okay, Alexa?" He cupped my cheek, his gaze pinched as he studied my face.
Swallowing the truth, I nodded, let him kiss me good-bye then watched him walk away.
********************
Drained, I wanted nothing more than a second, long relaxing soak in the suite's gigantic tub without intruding thoughts of Jake Morgan Kehoe. I exited the dressing room to find a man in a three-piece suit with a small headset over his left ear and a bulge in his jacket.
I recognized him from one of the files Marjolein had emailed me. Part of the Kehoe security team, it was his job to ensure my safety at the clubs when Jake couldn't be with me. It seemed like a ridiculous precaution until I remembered the intensity of some of the faces I had seen in the audience. Not all of the men had been accompanied and even among those who had, competition could easily turn into a blood sport with the rich.
Trying not to frown, I nodded at my guard. "Mishka, is it?"
He bowed with a certain military formality that matched his closely shaven head. "Mikhail Nazarov, but, yes, Mishka."
He straightened, the stern expression relaxing into an easygoing grin. "All the Teddy bears in Moscow are Mishkas. Do you know this?"
Shaking my head, I laughed. This man was no Teddy bear, but the ridiculous notion that he had something in common with them and the mischief sparkling in his eyes relaxed me more than the idea of the bath that waited for me upstairs.
"Alright, Mishka." I lifted both hands, each pointing the opposite direction down the hall. "I understand that I'm supposed to return to the suite now, so lead the way."
He offered me his arm. I hesitated for a moment, feeling like it would be disrespectful of Jake to let this formidable man lead me through the club. Then I remembered Jake was done with me for the night, my purpose fulfilled. Plus it was unlikely Mishka would break protocol -- not with his boss's property.
I wrapped my hand around as much of his thick bicep as I could cover. We started to move forward, but then my gaze dropped and my escort locked up.
"A woman like you doesn't leave with her head down," he admonished, his accent thickening enough that I knew he was Russian by birth as well as by name. "She walks out, chin up, back straight...like a goddess."
A lump formed instantly in my throat. I swallowed it down. Without looking at him, I lifted my chin, pushed my shoulders back, and straightened my spine.
Satisfied, Mishka started the long procession, down the hall, through a side door that brought us out next to the stage, through the crowd of people who less than half an hour before had watched me writhing and moaning for their entertainment. We entered a second, larger room filled with a dozen small scenes between dominants and their submissives.
Those who noticed me turned to watch me pass. My cheeks began to blister but I kept my head up and my pace steady. We reached the elevators. The first two served the suites below the top floor. We entered the third, which only served the four VIP suites on the top floor.
Mishka swiped his access card then moved in front of me to stare sternly at anyone who continued to show an interest in my departure. The doors closed and the elevator lifted with a small bounce. Relaxing against the wall, I studied my guard's back. His posture remained rigid. When we were still three floors from the top, one hand moved toward the bulge I had noticed earlier while the other poised over the button that would force the elevator doors shut if we ran into trouble.
"You don't really think that's necessary?" I asked, my voice shaky with a mix of amusement and a sort of contagious apprehension from how stiff he remained.
"You never want to break with good habits, they keep you alive," he answered as the doors slid open. He waited for a moment, silent, then stepped forward until he stood on the threshold. Leaning into the hall, he checked in both directions then exited the elevator, his hand moving to block the doors before they could begin sliding shut.
I stepped into the hall and let him lead me to the door of my suite. I pulled out my pass card, but he beat me to it, swiping his own and bidding me to stay in place -- half in the suite, half in the hall -- while he checked the first room.
"And bad habits?" I asked after he gave the all clear and I realized I wasn't quite ready to be alone. "What about those?"
Shaping his answer, he offered a wry smile and a lift of his thick brows. "They make you easy to track, easy to ambush."
"Good to know," I joked, my heart still hammering in my chest from all the cloak and dagger of the last few minutes. "So I guess that means you don't have any bad habits."
It was more a statement than a question, but he chose to answer anyway. His gaze swept down the bodice of my expensive dress, over the curve of my hips and up again to my eyes. I noted the subtle
flare of his nostrils and a faint but sensual flush of his skin before he gave me another one of his very formal bows, his heels clicking lightly together to finish with a flourish.
"I have very bad habits, Miss Hunt." Sucking the corner of his lower lip in, he gave a hard, dismissive shake of his head. "Very bad habits, indeed. The kind that would get me fired if you were so inclined to indulge them."
With a sharp turn, he headed toward the suite's front door and disappeared into the hall. I waited, flustered and disbelieving for a second, then snuck up to the door and pressed one of the buttons on the security panel next to it. The monitor came to life, showing me a picture of the hall. If I had any doubt that my rustling skirt had given me away to his trained senses, Mishka confirmed it a second later as he raised one finger toward the camera and gave it a shake, mirth dancing along his face in the shape of a broad grin.
Caught, I retreated into the bedroom, grabbed the fluffy pink and white robe that had filled one of the boxes and locked myself in the bathroom.
Buried beneath bubbles, I managed to make it all the way through my bath without thinking about Jake. It wasn't until I stood up, awkwardly poised as I prepared to step from the tub and caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror, that all the usual doubt crept in.
Naively, I had been thinking outside of the engagements -- to all the hours in between when Jake and I might be together, enjoying one another's company and bodies without an audience. I could accept that, bound and climaxing on a stage in a place like the Century Club, men, even men as powerful as Jake, might find me desirable. But his behavior the day before in my apartment and again on the plane had me thinking there could be something more.
Approaching the mirror atop the vanity, I studied my reflection, searched for some scrap of appeal that had nothing to do with vulnerability. That, I realized, was why he wanted me on stage. After the initial negotiations in Jake's office, I had visited more than one site focused on submissive women. Rather, sites filled with professionals pretending to be submissives. Jake's clientele were jaded. He wanted to give them genuine.
With my tattoos, piercings, weight and crummy past, I was as real as real gets.
But I wasn't fool enough to think that made me desirable to Jake offstage.
Fighting the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks, I abandoned any idea of primping for his return with fresh makeup and carefully styled hair. Instead, I wrapped the oversized, fluffy robe he had procured around my fluffy, oversized body and headed into the bedroom.
"You're finished--" I started before realizing my mistake. The back turned from me was a little more narrow, the hair a little longer and sleeker.
It was the wrong Kehoe brother sitting on my bed, and I didn't think I would like the purpose of his visit.
Dylan turned, his movement slow but no less alarming. I thought about Mishka in the hall but doubted his orders included keeping out the CEO of the company that paid him.
"He's not your golden ticket."
For a second, confusion reigned supreme in my thoughts. I had been thinking about Mishka, there for my safety, and not Jake, the object of Dylan's concern. Not that I really cared about the reason for Dylan's visit. He could be selling cupcakes or Girl Scout cookies and I would still want him gone...out...far, far away.
I knew the tone he used and the dangerous glitter in his eyes that accompanied the words.
I started toward the bedroom door, but he reached it before I could. I took a step back, mentally calculating how many steps to the bathroom.
His face crinkled. "You won't run, Miss Hunt, because I'm not going to hurt you."
The crinkle deepened and he tilted his head, studying me for a second before he continued.
"Not physically, anyway."
Oh, sure, way to get me to calm down, dickweed.
"Jake sprung you on me at the last minute, had me thinking other opening plans were ready..."
Forcing myself to maintain what I hoped was a neutral expression, I listened without replying. Things would only be worse if I let him know that he had frightened me. I had enough reasons to believe that Dylan was as much a dominant as his brother, but no reason to believe he was a gentle dom, one who sought pleasure for his submissive. He could be the kind of man who liked to burn anthills with a magnifying glass and pluck the wings off butterflies.
"I didn't have time to investigate your background--"
My neutral masked slipped and he saw it. His expression widened and, for the first time since I discovered him in the room, he smiled.
Like a dickweed hyena...
"So, you are hiding something." His arms folded across his broad chest. His hot glare singed my flesh, but I kept quiet. My entire expression might have been giving away my secrets, but my tongue would not betray me.
"It would be so much easier -- on you -- if you would just tell me." His hands dropped to his hips, his posture relaxing until he looked almost friendly.
I knew different. Dylan didn't want me around his brother or his company. He was no ally.
"I know the money's an issue, but I'm willing to part with every last cent promised you to keep my interests protected."
He took a step forward, I grabbed along the dresser next to me, my hands seizing on the first heavy object I found.
A hairbrush...
A choking laugh escaped me.
Apparently I was the only one who found my planned defense funny.
"I said I wouldn't hurt you, Miss Hunt."
"Physically," I reminded him.
He nodded, his hand absently searching for the door handle behind him. "Yes, physically. I'm thoroughly committed to destroying you otherwise if you insist on staying. There isn't a rock I won't turn over to expose whatever it is you're hiding."
Dropping the brush onto the dresser, I pushed past him, grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. I pointed in the direction of the hall.
"You won't find it here, Mr. Kehoe," I said through clenched teeth. When he remained rooted, I extended my arm as if I could sweep him out of my life, or at least out of my bedroom. "And you have a hell of a lot of rocks to turn over before you do find it. I suggest you get started."
Slowly, he moved past me, his expression altering with each step. For one brief second, I thought I glimpsed the tiniest amount of respect, but the next foot forward washed it away and then he was out the suite's front door, nodding at Mishka as the man hovered in the hall.
I didn't want to answer the questions I saw lurking in the guard's gaze, so I slammed the bedroom door then dragged a heavy chair and propped it underneath the handle. Plopping on the bed and burying my face against the plush mattress, I promised myself that I wouldn't fall asleep.
I didn't want Jake to return and find his access to our bedroom barred. I didn't know how much time I would have left with him, but I suspected the days would be even fewer if he learned about his brother's visit.
I just had to calm down...
And stay awake.
Easy, right?
********************
"Alexa!"
Hearing the rough bark of Jake's voice and an open palm hitting against the door, I clawed my way out of sleep. Cursing my complete lack of control, I gained my feet and stumbled toward the door. The handle rattled impatiently and then everything went silent.
"Wait!" I cried out, certain Jake was about to tackle the barrier between us.
"Let me in," he ordered, the tone causing me to hesitate another second.
"Now, Alexa."
His frustration oozed around the edges of the door. But I didn't hear any anger. I forced my muscles to obey me long enough to drag the chair half a foot from the door. Jake barreled through, his worried gaze scanning the room before he seized my shoulders.
Still holding me, he twisted to look back at Mishka.
"I'll be in the hall if you need me," the guard said, his gaze on me and not his employer.
Ignoring Jake's growl, I nodded. With Mishka returning t
o his post in the hall, I curled my hands around my lover's wrists but didn't try to remove myself from his grip.
"I didn't bar the door against you," I soothed. Telling Jake about Dylan's visit seemed unavoidable, but I would worry about the fallout later.
"You barred it against Dylan." His gaze bore into me, cutting away little chunks of my confidence as it traveled over me from head to toe.
"He didn't touch me," I assured him. "Not in any way."
"He wouldn't," Jake bit out. "What did he say?"
Okay...
I moved to push his hands from my shoulders, but he wouldn't permit my escape. He dropped them to my waist and cinched me closer.
"Answer me, Alexa. What did my brother say to you?"
"That you forced me on the company." I started slowly, his entire reaction confusing me. If he was certain Dylan wouldn't touch me in anger or arousal, why had he been ready to break the door down? And since he knew Dylan was my reason for blocking entrance into the bedroom, why had he looked around the room as if searching for someone, or something?
"And?" he asked, angling his head to get a better look at me.
I didn't care if he wanted to watch my expression. I had no intention of lying to him and I didn't want to see his face as I elaborated on my conversation with his brother.
"He wants me gone." I answered flatly.
I started shaking. I couldn't stop that particular reaction, but I promised myself I would not cry. Experience told me how this conversation would end. I had already asked one person in my life who pretended to care for me to choose between my safety and someone they loved. That person's choice had been swift, complete, and devastating.
I had known Jake a little more than week and I likely meant absolutely nothing to him. Unlike the last time, I wasn't even family. I didn't have a chance against Dylan Kehoe.
Jake relaxed against me. His hands traveled up my spine. His fingers threaded through my hair. Cupping the back of my head, he forced me to look up at him.
"He won't bother you again," he promised then kissed me. Slow and light at first, but then his tongue demanded that I open to him. I started to sag, my knees choosing that moment to abandon me.
