Fierce (Not Quite a Billionaire)

by Rosalind James

  It had been almost a week since I’d last made love with Hemi, and I’d...well, you could say I’d missed him. He’d been right, too. I did share a bed with Karen, and it was a very small apartment, and a tub in the kitchen wasn’t much privacy at all. And sometimes, that caught up with me. Times like this.

  I reached for the bar of delicately perfumed soap, slid it slowly over my shoulders, my arms, and then, delaying the moment, because I wanted to savor this, down my breasts. Over one nipple, which hardened at the contact and asked for more. Just that easily, just that quickly, because every inch of my body was sensitized these days. Hemi’s and my once-a-week restriction, instead of calming those feelings, had only intensified them. At times, when my defenses were down, it felt as if I were nothing but anticipation, nothing but need, nothing but a body waiting and yearning to be touched.

  And since tonight was my night, just for me...I obliged myself. I slid my hand up, down, around both breasts, played with them without shame, closed my eyes, and pretended it was Hemi’s hand. Hemi’s mouth.

  It felt so good, I got bolder. My soapy hand crept downward, slicked across my skin as I thought about him. His hard body, heavy with muscle, the ferocious display of all that tattoo over the dips and bulges of forearms, biceps and triceps and shoulders, the hard slab of pectoral. The final spiral culminating in a flat brown nipple, and how he’d draw in his breath when I licked him there. What happened when I closed my teeth gently over it, giving him back a little bit of what he gave me. The way he looked when he was over me, how his arms felt when I had my hands wrapped around his heavy biceps, holding on for dear life as his muscles flexed under my fingers. The intensity of his expression then, like this was all there was, like being inside my body was everything he needed.

  The way he’d looked, especially, the last time we’d been together, when he’d been holding me over him, letting me rock him sweet and easy. And then, when he’d had enough, had rolled so he was on top of me. When he’d murmured in my ear that this was an easy night, but that next time...next time, he had other plans.

  I shivered at the memory, and the soap was slick between my fingers, and my fingers were slick, too, because next time was here. The anticipation alone was so good, and I had all the time in the world to indulge in it. No rush tonight to finish, to be quiet, to get done. I could take it slowly, could linger over every sensitive spot, could experiment and tease and build the anticipation into a sweet, delicious ache before I allowed myself to satisfy it. Hemi wouldn’t be back for another hour, and I couldn’t wait an hour.

  I had my back against the tiled wall, my eyes closed, and I was panting a little now. So close, but wanting to hold back, to make myself wait for it. And then I heard the shower curtain being yanked back with a rasp of rings, and my eyes flew open.

  He was still dressed. White shirt, black slacks, hard gaze.

  “You did get started without me,” he told me. “Now, did I say you could do that? But since you did...you’d better go on. Show me some more. You need to warm me up, get me in the right frame of mind to teach you something new. Because tonight? Tonight, you’re going to find out what happens to naughty girls who touch themselves in the shower.”

  I’d cut my dinner meeting short yet again, and that wasn’t like me. Lack of discipline wasn’t something I tolerated, least of all in myself. And yet I’d found myself doing it all the same. I’d thought about Hope being in my suite when I got there, and I hadn’t been able to wait.

  I hadn’t been counting on what I found, but that didn’t mean I was disappointed. Not exactly.

  She was staring at me, those big blue-green eyes wide with shock, her soft pink mouth open a bit. Her hair lying wet around her shoulders, water cascading over the gentle swell of her pretty little breasts, down the curve of her hips. No coy smile on that face, not ever. Nothing but pink color rising in her cheeks, a trace of alarm in her eyes.

  “Tell you what,” I told her. “I’ll leave for a minute, give you some privacy to get back in the mood. But when I come back...you’d better be ready to show me again.”

  “Or what?” she asked, and her shoulders had gone back, her head up, challenge evident in every line of that innocent face and tight little body.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, “I think you know the answer to that. In fact, I may just do it anyway. Call it a preemptive lesson.”

  I could see her throat move as she swallowed, and I smiled at her. “Two minutes,” I said softly. “And I’ll be back.”

  It took me less time than that to get naked and ready, to be standing outside the tub again and looking at her. To see that she hadn’t started.

  “You know you’re just making it harder on yourself, don’t you?” I asked.

  That saucy tilt of her head again. “Who says I don’t want it hard?”

  I was the one swallowing now, and she saw it. She got her back up against the tile again, took the soap in her hand, and started over. And this time, she was looking me in the eye.

  Her hand moved over one breast, then the other. Stroking. Teasing. And the other...the other was sliding over her flat little belly. Holding a bar of soap, playing with it. Giving me a teasing glimpse of playing, probing fingers, of a bar of hotel soap going places it hadn’t been intended for. In and out in a mesmerizing rhythm while her knuckles applied the pressure she needed, and she was breathing harder now. The other hand stayed at her breast, teasing that hard pink point.

  “Look at how clean I am for you, Hemi,” she told me. “Do you want this?”

  “Yeh,” I said through a mouth that had gone dry. She was getting closer, I could tell. Breathing harder, her hand moving faster.

  “Then,” she said, “why don’t you come and take it?”

  No choice at all. I stepped into the tub, reached around her, and turned off the water. It was steamy in the bathroom already, and it was about to get steamier.

  “Turn around,” I told her. “Hands on the faucet.”

  Her mouth opened again, from shock this time. And then, because she was Hope...she turned around and did it. I heard her faint whimper as I wrapped the ribbon around her wrists and tied it off, and then I’d picked up the soap and was taking the path her own hands had traveled. Not as gently, not as slowly. Harder, more demanding, because that was what she needed right now, and just like that, she leaned over farther, rested the crown of her head against the tile, and backed into me, and I needed to be there. Right now.

  It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t slow, and it wasn’t easy. The blood was roaring in my head, and I had one hand around her hips, holding her in place for me, the other one around her, stroking her fast. I was moving hard, and she was giving it right back, giving me everything she had.

  I needed to get her there, needed to feel her interior muscles clenching tight around me. I needed her to take me in. I needed her to take me over.

  And that’s exactly what I got.

  Breaking The Rules

  Hemi had to leave me the next morning for his meeting, but luckily, not too early. I packed again, because he’d told me he was taking me somewhere else tonight. And then I took a walk through San Francisco.

  It was barely chilly by New York standards, even though it was November. A fresh breeze made me glad of my coat and scarf, but the sky was blue, the scudding clouds white, and my spirits rose along with the wind. I walked down the hill, under the Lion Gate on Grant Street, and into Chinatown, where I bought Karen a short cotton robe with a huge embroidered Chinese character on the back that the shopkeeper told me meant “double happiness,” and bought myself two bars of sandalwood soap while I was at it. It might not be up to Hemi’s standard as far as dollars spent per item, but it made me happy.

  I ate dumplings from a tiny storefront, looked at barbecued ducks hanging by their necks and sidewalk displays of unidentifiable produce, watched elderly Chinese women haggling in Cantonese over them with equally insistent merchants, and then kept walking. Onto Telegraph Hill, up sidewalks so steep t
hat they had ridges cut into them for steps, until I stood beneath Coit Tower, looked out over the city and the bay, gray today under a cloudy November sky, and felt...happy. Doubly happy.

  I’d always wanted to go somewhere, to see something, and had known it was impossible. Now, in the space of a month, I’d been to both Paris and San Francisco. Maybe, just maybe, some dreams came true after all. Because Hemi had given me this, and I thought he guessed what it meant to me.

  If only I could have given it to Karen, too. Hemi had been pretty...pretty adorable at the museum with Karen the weekend before, discussing physics and biology with her, smiling when she got snarky. He was always sweet to Karen, in fact, but of course, that didn’t mean anything other than that he had a soft side, and I already knew that.

  The thought of Karen distracted me for a minute. She’d insisted that she was “fine” when I’d called a while earlier, but she hadn’t sounded quite fine. The dance, or another headache?

  I’d find out more tomorrow, I decided. For now, I was in San Francisco, so I walked back down the hill, strolled down Columbus Avenue, heard a ding, and laughed out loud at a text from Hemi.

  You do that to me & then you’re late? We play by my rules.

  I texted back,

  You think? Sometimes even a big shot has to wait for it. Five minutes.

  And smiled again at how I was pushing his buttons. At being able to turn the tables on him a little, and how much I was enjoying it. Especially today.

  I’d awoken this morning to find him still asleep. Lying on his back, the white sheet pushed all the way down to his waist, one muscular arm flung over his head. I loved to look at him, at the powerful sculpture that was his body, the fierce, proud lines of his warrior’s face. And now, for once, I could look my fill, because he was helpless. And that was quite a change.

  The shower hadn’t been the end of it the night before. He’d seemed to have some point to make, and he’d taken his sweet time making it. He’d had me moaning, begging him to finish, to put me out of the delicious misery he’d kept me in for what had felt like hours, until every nerve in my body had been stimulated to its aching maximum, until I’d been shaking with need, panting with frustrated desire.

  But that had been last night, and this was a whole new day, the first morning of the rest of my life, and I was a strong woman who needed to see just how far she could push a strong man. So I got out of bed, stole around to his side of it, and picked up the silk ties he’d used the night before.

  I paused all the same when I’d laid the tie gently over his outflung wrist. Could I really do this? Could I take the consequences?

  Yes. I could. I could take anything he gave me. He’d never do anything to me I didn’t want, and I knew it. So I did it. I tied Hemi Te Mana to his own bed and had my wicked way with him, and I could have sworn he loved it. He certainly hadn’t complained, not after the first couple minutes.

  When he’d finally gotten out of bed to get ready for his meeting with the Bombshells, I’d rolled over, laid on my stomach with my ankles crossed in the air and my chin propped on my hands, and said, “You know that was just to make sure you’re still thinking about me, right?”

  He’d scowled down at me. “You’re pretty saucy for a girl who’s just asked to get schooled.”

  “Hmph.” I’d waggled my toes. “Promises, promises.”

  That had earned me a slap on the bottom that made me jump. “Call it a down payment,” he’d said, then walked into the bathroom, turned and grinned at me, and shut the door, and I’d laughed out loud.

  So, yes. Double happiness indeed. His hard side, and his soft side. I was very much afraid that I was beginning to love them both.

  I was going to have to take a much harder line with Hope.

  I set down my phone on the white tablecloth and wiped the smile off my face. She thought she could do whatever she wanted with me and get away with it, and that wasn’t going to work.

  The problem was, she was just too hard to resist. She’d looked so mischievous, so pleased with herself this morning, and I hadn’t had the heart to tell her no. That was why I’d allowed it, after that first stunned moment when I’d awoken to find her tying my right wrist to the bed, and had discovered that she’d already tied the left.

  To tell the truth, after I’d got over my initial discomfort, it had felt pretty bloody good. She wasn’t an expert yet, but she was definitely showing promise. And then there was that payback I knew she was waiting for, which would be all the sweeter now. That would be happening tonight, and that wasn’t a bad thought at all.

  So I’d indulge her a bit more. No harm in that. This was her introduction to sex, after all. And if my brain shied away from the thought of her going on to somebody else...well, I’d never been much chop at sharing. Time enough to think about that later, when we were ready to move on.

  I was standing up, then, because I’d seen her at the entrance. Having a word with the hostess, then catching sight of me, her smile blooming, her face seeming, as always, lit from within. And something happening in my chest that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

  She reached the table, pulled my head down, and gave me a quick, soft kiss on the mouth. “Hi.” She smiled into my eyes. “Did you miss me? Because I missed you. Never mind. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

  She sat, and I sat with her and tried to keep up. “Pardon?”

  “You were with the Brunette Bombshells. By the way—please tell me they’re not twins.”

  “Sorry. They’re twins. Pretty good businesswomen as well.”

  “You just hold that thought, buddy,” she said, and I had to smile again.

  Once we’d placed our orders, she asked, “So the meeting went all right, then? Are you all done?”

  “All done,” I promised. “Rest of the weekend’s yours. And I have some news for you. Some news you’ll like.”

  “Really? Me personally?” She sat up a little straighter. “Tell.”

  “They’ve got a lingerie company, the sisters. Shades of V.”

  “Ooh. Nice. So that was research in Paris. I should have known you were multitasking. And you’re going to take it over, right?”

  “Shh. Secret.” Which I shouldn’t be telling her, yet I was doing it anyway. She’d got me too relaxed. “But, yeh. I am, assuming it all goes to plan. But they’ve got some conditions they’d like me to agree to, and, mm, I’m thinking I may. Not really enforceable, but...I think I may agree all the same.” I pulled out my tablet, scrolled through, and handed it to her. “Their latest campaign. What d’you reckon?”

  “Oh.” She was smiling, scrolling through the shots. “Oh, yes. I like it.”

  “Thought you might. So what do you think the conditions are?”

  “That you have to keep using models with different body types,” she said promptly. “Oh, Hemi. What a good idea. And I think women will buy more. I really do. It’s...it’s insulting to think we’re all the same. Women aren’t stupid. We want the models to be beautiful, sure, to have beautiful bodies, but aren’t there all kinds of beautiful bodies? Like...like men. Like you. You’re big, and I love that, in case I haven’t mentioned it.”

  “No,” I said gravely. “I don’t think you have. But cheers for that. It’ll be something to cling to.”

  She stuck out her tongue at me. Yes, she did, and I laughed. “But, say...Nathan,” she went on. “He’s great-looking, too. The guy I was with that night, my coworker? Different body type, not nearly as...as bulky as you, but would I like to see both of you model underwear? Sure I would.”

  My mouth may have opened for a moment, and I snapped it shut and said, “Not the best way to make your point.”

  She ignored that completely. “And lots of other guys, who are maybe in between you two. As long as they have nice muscles and good faces, why do they all have to look the same? They don’t. Women can appreciate them all. So why do female models have to all be tall and skinny with big breasts? Especially if that’s supposed
to appeal to the customers. To other women. And those really skeletal women, the ones you used in Paris? They aren’t even that beautiful. If you guys think they’re aspirational, you’re wrong. I don’t want to look like that. I don’t think many healthy women do.”

  “Good,” I said, doing my best not to think about all the blokes Hope would like to see modeling underwear. She’d gone from 0 to 60 in a few weeks flat, seemed to me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. “Because I don’t want you to look like that, either. And you’ll notice my restraint. How I’m not telling you how many women I’d enjoy seeing in their lingerie.”

  “Well, because I already know how many you have seen,” she said. “Not like that’s news to me.”

  She seemed totally unaffected by that idea, and I couldn’t have said why that bothered me so much. I didn’t tolerate clingy women. I preferred them detached, wanted them to know the ropes and understand the rules as well as I did. They didn’t complicate my life, and I didn’t complicate theirs. An arrangement that worked perfectly well for both of us. Here Hope was doing exactly what I wanted, and it was driving me mad.

  “Good,” I said, trying to remember what we’d been talking about. “It’s an experiment, but what’s life without risk, eh.”

  “And if the experiment works?”

  “Then maybe I’ll look into making some other changes as well. If it looks like it could be profitable, if we could position it well.”

  “Body positive,” she suggested. “Socially conscious.”

  “That’s it. And anyway,” I found myself saying, “I’m Maori. The women I grew up with are tall. Strong. Curvy. ‘Body positive’ works for me. It’s why I’m a designer. Women’s shapes are beautiful. I enjoy...decorating them. So why not show that?”

  “Mm.” She had a faraway look in her eyes now. “You know what would be awesome?”