BY THE HOUR, ATLANTA, Book 1

by LaBrecque, Jennifer

  She had decisions to make. The first was whether she opened the package or returned it to the sender. If she sent it back, it was tantamount to pulling the plug on the affair. The package had become part of the game.

  She could open the package and satisfy her curiosity and still cancel the upcoming assignation. Then it would be done and she wouldn’t be losing sleep wondering what was in it. She wouldn’t be so laser-focused on one particular hour and a half out of an entire week that it seemed to be the only part of her life that mattered.

  She was obsessed. With him. With them. With the game.

  But, if she stopped things, would the obsession end? Or would the obsession remain but the outlet would have gone away? What would she do then?

  She pushed away from the door. Reaching in her purse, Arden pulled out the small zippered cosmetic bag. Inside was the tie. She unzipped the bag, withdrew the length of silk and brought it to her face. His cologne, the scent of her and him—of them—enveloped her. Longing gripped through her. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t not go.

  She sank into her chair, looping the tie around her neck, and reached for the package. Why had she even wasted her time with an internal debate? She would open the package. She would go.

  Arden made quick work of the wrapping, tossing it aside in her haste. Two clips linked by a delicate chain rested in a white satin-lined box. It took her a second or two to realize what they were. In some ways she was naïve, sheltered. It was the first time she’d encountered nipple clips.

  Instant turn on.

  Instant arousal.

  Her breath quickened, and her entire body felt tight with an ache she feared only he could assuage. He had tapped into a part of her she hadn’t acknowledged.

  Her hands shaking with an adrenalin rush, she pulled the single piece of paper out of the envelope.

  Thursday. Same time. Rearrange your schedule. I want you then.

  Rearrange her schedule? He wanted her then? Who did he think he was? How did he know that she didn’t have something really important planned?

  Her excitement outweighed her annoyance at his high-handedness. In fact, his high-handedness turned her on as well.

  She clicked on her electronic organizer and scrolled to her Thursday appointments. A quick email rescheduled the meeting.

  Three and a half days seemed like forever.

  * * *

  Monday morning Georgina listened half-heartedly as Celeste recounted her latest on-line dating debacle. They’d all pegged her as a serial dater. Honest to God, the blonde hadn’t bought her own dinner in months. Which was fine, but Georgina would find it exhausting—all the getting to know you chitchat online and then those “first date” conversations…over and over.

  Celeste typically kept between four and five guys going at a time. And the amazing thing was they all knew about one another. Talk about organizational skills to keep them all straight.

  “Have you heard a word I said?” Celeste asked with a laugh.

  “Of course. You said you found out that the new guy, Matt, who was chatting you up had a prison record.”

  Celeste was somewhat mollified but still peered at her closely. “Something wrong? You just haven’t been yourself.”

  She couldn’t seem to shake the doldrums that had settled over her after the incident with Kennedy and George.

  “You know how it is,” she shrugged. “Sometimes you’re in a funk for no particular reason.” Except your estranged husband is behaving erratically and you’re very much attracted to another man.

  “We need a girl’s night out to shake off your funk.”

  The elevator’s muted ding heralded its opening. The Monday morning cross dresser who preferred room 808 and his…or was it her…date stepped out. Lila Carmichael, the name she registered under, had her arm threaded through her date’s and waved her free hand at Celeste and Georgina as she clacked across the marble floor in size-fifteen stilettos. “Ta, ladies.”

  All the staff knew “Lila” was a member of the mayor’s office and a deacon in his prominent church while his garden-club, choir-singing wife was clueless as to her husband’s predilection for wearing hosiery and heels. It was a good thing discretion was tantamount at Eleven.

  “That man dresses better than most women I know,” Celeste said as the front door closed behind Lila and her beau.

  “I liked last week’s outfit better, but I know what you mean.” She infinitely preferred chatting about the hotel guests rather than fielding Celeste’s personal questions.

  Celeste, like a dog with a conversational bone, returned to making plans to go out. “Now, back to that girl’s night out…c’mon. It’ll be fun. Let’s check the schedule so Donatella and Cheryl can come too.”

  Georgina hesitated. The other night had been such a disaster with Kennedy; what if there was a repeat when she went out with Celeste? But wasn’t that the reason she’d left because she didn’t want to be held hostage to George’s chaos or allow her life to be ruled by it? And if she sat home alone, afraid to go out for fear of setting him off, wasn’t she still allowing his disease to dictate her life?

  “You know it’ll be fun.” Celeste resorted to wheedle mode. “George will let you out of the house.”

  Perhaps it was talking to Kennedy the other night or the fact that if she went, there could be a repeat of the madness, but regardless she drew a deep breath and came clean. “George and I are separated. I moved out a couple of months ago.”

  Celeste pursed her lips in momentary surprise. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Celeste offered a very Gallic shrug, compliments of her French parents, “No problem. So, we’re definitely going. I’ll find out when Donnie and Cheryl are free.”

  Free. It was an interesting word. There were so many standards of and nuances to freedom. Georgina had left to be free of chaos, but it had followed her. And was her heart free? A part of her was still firmly bound to her husband. She caught a glimpse of Kennedy across the way—tall, dark, and incredibly handsome—and her heart thudded faster against her ribs…and against her better judgment.

  Life was altogether complicated enough without her further complicating it with Kennedy…but was denying her attraction going to change anything?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Arden slipped into the now-familiar room. She’d been in an aroused sexual state for three days. She’d never experienced anything like this before. It was almost as if she’d been slipped a drug, yet there had been no drug, simply the gift from him. It sat tucked in her travel case now.

  She glanced around the area with the sofa and the coffee table. No instructional envelope awaited her as it had last week. She crossed the room to the bedroom. Still no envelope.

  She would have to improvise. How would he want her when he arrived? How did she want to be when he arrived?

  She stepped into the bathroom and undressed. She had become so accustomed to his instructions and was momentarily at a loss.

  She was already turned on, but she’d do what further turned her on. This might be the last time they met and if so, she’d do as she pleased…until he arrived and took over.

  She stripped down to panties that were barely a breath of lace. She pulled on a heavy silk robe which had been designed to look like a kimono. She affixed the clips to her nipples, which were already at rigid attention. Of course she’d tried them on at home but the sensations were intensified a thousand-fold here. She double-checked her hair and make-up. She turned off the bathroom light and padded barefooted back into the bedroom. She knelt down by the bed and fixed the blindfold in place. She assumed something very close to yoga’s child pose. Her feet were tucked beneath her, her forehead rested on the floor. Her arms were by her side.

  A few short minutes later, the door opened and he crossed to the bedroom. He stopped short of the door.

  “Is your blindfold in place?”

  “Yes.”

  Two more steps and he stopped aga
in. “Very nice. I’m pleased.”

  A wet warmth rushed her sex.

  “Then I’m pleased.” And she was.

  “Did you like your gift?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Did it please you?”

  “Yes, very much.” She hesitated and then continued, “I’ve always wanted something like that but never bought it.”

  “It pleases me very much to know I’m your first. Have you ever worn the kimono-robe for another man?”

  “No.”

  “Good. From now on, never wear for me anything you’ve ever worn for someone else.”

  The first thing she registered was the “from now on” which meant they’d be doing this at least a few more times. She liked that he wanted things specific to him, to them. She understood that. She felt the same way. “Has any other woman worn your tie, the blindfold, or these clips?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’ll keep things specific to you, and I ask that you do the same for me.”

  “Are you making demands?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m making a request.”

  “I’ll grant your request. Are you wearing the clips?”

  “Yes, beneath the robe.”

  “Stand. Here, take my hands.”

  It was odd. As intimate as they had been with one another, she had never put her hands in his. There was an errant eroticism in being palm to palm.

  “I’m going to undress you.”

  Her heart thudded in excitement and anticipation, but she didn’t say anything. He wasn’t asking permission. He was telling her.

  She felt the brush of his hands against her collarbones as he skimmed his hands down the front of the robe to the sash holding it in place. Cooler air brushed against her nakedness. He slid the robe back on both sides until it was slightly behind her shoulders. “Let it fall behind you.”

  Doing as he instructed, she was very much aware that it thrust her adorned breasts forward. “Beautiful,” he said. “Just beautiful.”

  His breath feathered against her skin as he leaned forward and then his wet tongue teased against the erect nipple poking out from the clip. Her knees nearly gave way at the pleasure that ripped through her. He did the same to the other side, and her pussy quivered a response.

  She dropped her head back, reveling in the feel of his mouth on her, of the clips fastened about her taunt points. She moaned.

  “A little tighter,” he said. His fingers moved against her breasts and the clamps tightened to a point verging on painful, but stimulating pleasure still outweighed discomfort. He tugged on the chain, straining the clamps against her tips and she liked it. Another surge of wet between her thighs. She gasped.

  “Is that too much?”

  “No. I like it.”

  “We’ll have a safe word. Give me a word that can’t be misconstrued and has nothing to do with what we’re doing.”

  “I have just the word—Jell-O.” She found herself babbling with a case of nervousness. “I hate Jell-O. I have ever since I was a kid. The consistency, the jiggle—it just grosses me out.” She shuddered. “It’s a good word to represent when things go too far, because I draw the line at eating the stuff.”

  He laughed. Not just the murmur of low amusement she’d heard from him previously, but a real laugh. It took her by surprise.

  “What?” she said.

  “Jell-O it is then. You’re pretty passionate about the stuff. That’s more than you’ve said the entire time we’ve met.”

  His voice held a teasing note, and an answering smile curved her lips. The mood had shifted, lost its intensity. It was in part a relief and in part a disappointment. She wasn’t surprised something so special had become something mundane in a flash. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. And it’s the most you’ve said outside of issuing orders.”

  “That’s because we have so little time here and it’s necessary to make the most of it, which doesn’t leave a whole lot of room or time for chitchat. And I haven’t had the impression that it was chitchat you wanted. Isn’t this what you want?”

  He tapped against the chain linking the clips so that they tugged sharply on her nipples. It was as if he’d flipped a switch. Any hint of mundane evaporated with that touch.

  “Yes.”

  “You like it when I’m in control?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t require an explanation, and she didn’t offer one. She made decisions every day. She supported herself and ran a department. But this, this was like indulging a secret fantasy side that only came out in this room between the two of them. “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Kneel in front of me.” She did, the carpet plush against her knees.

  “Unzip my pants.”

  Each command was followed by a tug on her chain.

  “Take my cock out.”

  It pulsed long and hot and hard in her hand. She inhaled his aroma.

  “You want to suck it, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ask my permission.”

  “May I please suck your cock?”

  “Yes.” He stopped her as she started to take him in her mouth. “Do a good job and I’ll tug on your chain. The harder you suck, the harder I pull.”

  The feel and taste of him in her mouth was exquisite and arousing and incredibly erotic. The increasing pull against her nipples. She was so wet. She felt as if she couldn’t get enough of him, as if she could devour him, absorb him. The tension on her breasts mingled pleasure and pain. She notched higher and higher and took him deeper and deeper in her mouth. Being on her knees between his outspread legs…sucking him off…the reward of the pain…her need erupting in little moans from the core of her and vibrating around his cock. Nothing else mattered. Her entire existence centered on giving and receiving pleasure. It was life and intent distilled down to this exquisite deluge of pleasure and pain and giving and taking. She dug her fingers into his thighs as she felt herself start to come. She sucked him desperately…moaning, wanting, needing him to come with her…needing him to lose his edge of control the way she had abandoned hers. Wanting him to come in her mouth, to taste him completely, to absorb his essence.

  Yes…she felt his body shudder…felt the squirt of hot cum in the back of her throat as her orgasm shuddered through her and drenched her pussy. She cried out, his thick cock muffling the sound.

  Satisfied, weak, she slid him in and out of her mouth, milking him. Then she released him and bent forward, resting her arms and head on the floor. She was spent.

  Silence reigned for a moment and then he spoke. “Stand up.”

  She stood, her legs threatening not to hold her weight. It had been that intense. “We’re going to the bed.”

  He led her by the chain attached to her clips. Her legs wobbled unsteadily. Arden collapsed onto the mattress.

  He laughed. “Oh, no, darling. There’s no rest for the wicked.” He landed a stinging slap against her ass, “Back up on your knees.”

  “But I’m exhausted.”

  “Arden…” His voice held a warning note.

  She wanted him to spank her. “No.”

  “You don’t say no to me.”

  She taunted him. “No.”

  He slapped her right buttock.

  “No.”

  Another smack landed on her left buttock. “No.”

  Again. “Do I need to get my belt?”

  She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. Her pussy throbbing from her stinging cheeks and aching nipples, she got to her knees.

  “Climb up to the headboard.”

  She hesitated and heard the rustle of his pants. He was getting his belt. She moved.

  “Now back a little. Spread your legs.”

  The cool air rushed against her swollen vulva and the wet slickness coating them. She didn’t know what to expect. The element of uncertainty along with the blindfold notched her tighter inside.

  His warm breath gusted against her exposed pussy. He teased
the tip of his tongue along her sensitive channel. She screamed and surged at the near-electric contact. He grasped her hips firmly in his hands, his fingers biting into her flesh. He held her in place. “You’ll come when I tell you to come.” He stroked his tongue along her swollen wet lips and she shuddered. “When you think you’re ready, ask my permission. Take it for as long as you can.”

  He licked and probed and teased and taunted until she thought she would lose her mind or surely collapse. She asked more than once for her release, and he denied her. Arden was shaking, her legs weak, her fingers gripping the headboard as she pleaded. “Please…may I please come?“Yes.” He latched onto the nubbin of her clit and sucked, sending her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, over her, dragging her down, lifting her up—a raging storm.

  Spent…absolutely, utterly spent…she collapsed onto the mattress next to him.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her against his side.

  He pulled the cover up over them and tucked her against him, wrapping one arm around her waist.

  “How do you feel?” he said.

  She murmured something indecipherable. She didn’t “feel” anything. She simply was…and she was sublime.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Arden felt him stir. She didn’t know how long it had been. It could have been minutes…or hours…except they didn’t have the room for hours so it couldn’t have been too long.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes.” He tugged on the chain, and she had a Pavlovian response of instant wet.

  “Ummm.”

  “You like that don’t you?” He tugged again. “Are you wet?”

  “Yes.”