He released it, and the mattress shifted as he rolled out of bed. He pulled the covers back, leaving her exposed. “Show me. Spread your legs and show me your pretty pussy.”
There was a time she would’ve been self-conscious and maybe with any other man she would be, but she did as instructed and dropped her legs open. Cool air rushed against her slick wetness.
“Play with yourself.”
She hesitated at that. She masturbated in private and she’d touched herself for him, but this was different. She was totally exposed.
He leaned over the bed and tightened the clips. She bit her lips to keep from crying out. It hurt, but in a good way. Then he tugged again. “Play with your pussy for me while I watch.”
What had he done to her? What had she become? She’d just had two orgasms, and she was turned on again. She reached between her legs and dipped her finger into her honeyed channel. She shuddered as she touched the sensitive skin.
“That’s it. Play with it. Smack it.”
She lightly popped her palm against her wet cunt. The sensation arced through her, bringing her back up off of the mattress. “Spank your pussy.”
She got into a rhythm of light slaps against her vagina and then rubbing, teasing, inserting her fingers. It was different masturbating while he watched…it was hot.
Her breath came in short, hard pants, her juices coated her fingers. She was so close….
“Come for me.”
She was climbing the peak, “Yes,” she gasped.
He pulled on the chain. Oh…God…it felt so…she rubbed harder, faster, he pulled more, stretching her nipples, pleasure and pain mingling, becoming one. She gushed against her hand as spasm after spasm wracked.
And while it had felt good to her, she was suddenly desperate to know she’d given him what he wanted. “Did I please you?”
“You pleased me.” He bent and lapped between her splayed legs. She shuddered, her sex so sensitive she could hardly stand it. “I’ve developed a taste for you.”
She wanted to beg him not to go, but on the other hand he couldn’t leave soon enough. She bit back the question of when they would get together again. They would. And it was part of the game that he called the shots and set the time and expected her to accommodate his needs.
She heard the rustle of his clothes. He was dressing.
“Will you tell me your name?” she said.
The only answer was the slide of his zipper and the creak of his shoes as he stepped into them. She heard his approach, but she was still shocked and surprised when he casually fondled her dripping cunt, slipping two fingers inside her.
Pulling out his fingers, he deliberately smeared her juices over her lips. He pressed a swift hard kiss to her lips. “You can call me Master.”
He straightened and crossed the room. He paused at the bedroom door. “Aren’t you going to bid me goodbye?”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, what?”
“Goodbye…Master.” She said it self-consciously. It felt awkward, but arousing.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said. His footsteps echoed against the tile. The door closed behind him.
She didn’t reach up and pull off the blindfold as she had every time before. She pulled up the covers and burrowed into the soft sheets. She had to get up and get dressed…soon. But for now she needed to recover. Her body was still throbbing and humming from their activity. She thought about his casual, yet possessive cupping of her sex and a new wave of arousal washed over her.
I’ll see you soon…it couldn’t be soon enough.
* * *
“How do you feel?” Celeste said.
Georgina shook her head. “I don’t know. Confused. Sad. Relieved.”
She’d finally gave her attorney the go ahead to file the papers she’d drawn up a month ago. George would be served soon. His meltdown had made up her mind and galvanized her into action. The longer she delayed, the longer he’d hold out hope for a reconciliation. “It’s just all sort of surreal.”
“That’s why going out tonight is a good idea,” Celeste said. “It’ll ground you.”
“I really think it’s best if I stay in with Lulu. I’m not going to be very good company.” She wanted to turn the air conditioning down to icy, wrap up in her ancient purple chenille robe, and drown her melancholy in a jar of extra crunchy peanut butter.
“Just come out for a little bit. If you’re not having a good time, then you go home. It’s that easy. At least give it a try. You’ll have fun with me and Donnie and Cheryl.”
Georgina waffled. There were times when a person might say no, all the time wanting to be talked into it. Sometimes a “no” simply invited persuasion. This wasn’t one of those times. Dressing up, a loud bar scene would simply leave her feeling more isolated and alone—the only thing worse than being home alone was being alone in a crowd. She wasn’t up for it. Georgina shook her head. “I’m going to take a rain check.”
“If you change your mind—”
“I’ll call or text if I decide to come out and catch up with you guys.” It wouldn’t happen.
“Okay then.”
Three hours, one bubble bath, half a jar of peanut butter, and several text messages later, Georgina was on the couch in her comfy robe, under a throw.
Celeste’s latest text had been to let Georgina know that Kennedy and his friend Detroit had shown up. Georgina knew that Celeste hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just chatty, general information. Nonetheless, Georgina’s pulse rate had rocketed and a good measure of guilt had washed over her, which was altogether ridiculous because absolutely nothing had happened between her and Kennedy. They were simply friends. And it was possible to find a man sexy and attractive without it meaning any more than that. Lots of men were sexy and attractive. Kato, the head chef at Eleven, was flat-out hot. None of it meant anything.
Admittedly she didn’t lie in bed and fantasize about Kato. She didn’t tingle when he said hello, and she didn’t feel all tight inside just being around him. But all of the above applied to Kennedy and then some. So, she had a crush on the man. She didn’t plan to advertise it, and she didn’t plan to act on it. She was still a married woman. A married woman with divorce papers pending, but a married woman nonetheless.
She dipped her spoon into the peanut butter jar again but stopped midway to her mouth when a knock sounded on her door. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she clutched her robe with one hand. Had George gone off the deep end again? Should she pretend not to be home? Call 911? Let him in?
She peered through the peephole and her knees nearly buckled with relief. Kennedy, not George, stood on the other side of the closed door. Celeste must have sent him to get her.
She cracked the door but didn’t open it all the way. “I’m not interested in going out.”
“I heard. I came to keep you company.”
“I’m not good company tonight.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. May I come in?”
She wanted to tell him no, she really did, but it wasn’t in her. She wasn’t rude or harsh by nature, and he was just so damn nice and polite. “Give me a minute to change.”
“Gina, I don’t care what you’re wearing, just let me in. Standing around out here isn’t in my best interest. I’m a black man hanging around outside a closed door. One of your neighbors is likely to call the police.”
“But you’re well-dressed.”
“That doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. I’m still a black man in a white neighborhood.”
Of course. She should have realized that. She glanced down at her attire, took a deep breath, and opened the door. “Come on in then.”
He walked in and did a double take. A teasing grin bloomed on his face and lit his eyes. “Damn, girl, that’s some outfit.”
She giggled and shrugged, her mood immediately lifting with his smile and his nonsense. “You can always step back outside and wait on me to change.”
“Nah. It’s cool.”
“Have a seat,” she said.
He eyed the chair where Tallulah was curled up. Lulu treated him to her best baleful glare. Kennedy sat on the other end of the couch.
“Dinner?” he said nodding to the jar of peanut butter she still had clutched in one hand.
“Yep. And this is the dining room.” She’d left the kitchen table with George. Buying another one had seemed an unnecessary expense considering it was just her and the cat at mealtimes. Except now. She held the jar out in his direction, “Want some? I can even get you a fresh spoon.”
Kennedy laughed and the sound resonated through her, ending on a shiver down her spine. “I’ll pass. I’m more of a wings and ribs kind of man. I don’t suppose you have any in the fridge.”
Georgina grinned. “Fresh out. But there’s a barbecue joint down the street on your way out.”
“They deliver?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mind if I order some in? Am I keeping you from doing something?”
Let’s see, she’d just been eating herself into an even deeper state of misery and while it was best to keep her distance from this nice, altogether-too-handsome man it was infinitely better with him here than without him here. And while she’d thought the purple robe was a curse, it was probably a blessing in disguise. He’d now seen her at her worst which was just as well. They were friends and co-workers. No doubt the club he’d just left had been brimming with hot available chicks and none of them had been wearing ragged purple chenille with Hello Kitty socks.
“Gina,” he prompted, pulling her out of her musings, “is it okay if I have an order delivered?”
“Sure.”
“You want anything?”
“Maybe some wings would be good. Medium to hot. Extra crispy.”
“A dozen?”
She hesitated. She shouldn’t. But then again there were a lot of things she shouldn’t do. She shouldn’t be sitting around in her bathrobe with Kennedy, but she was. What the hell? “Sure. A dozen sounds good. And extra bleu cheese.”
He grinned. “Okay.”
She gave him the name of the barbecue house and while he was placing the order on the phone, she wandered back into the kitchen to put away the peanut butter. She checked the fridge. She had four beers left out of a six-pack. She wasn’t a big drinker, but she’d had pizza last week. It was one of those foods that called for a cold beer. Wings fell into the same category.
He was off the phone when she returned to the other room. “Half an hour,” he said.
“I’ve got some beer in the fridge if you don’t mind domestic.”
“Good deal.”
“I’m going to step into the bedroom and change.”
He wrapped his hand around her wrist. There was something incredibly erotic about his big dark hand encircling her paler slender wrist. She swallowed hard.
“Don’t,” he said. “You were chillin’, and I barged in.”
She pointedly glanced down at the ratty robe and the socks. She was almost a caricature.
“I don’t care what you’re wearing,” he said. “I just came by to check on you and hang out for a while. Change if you’re uncomfortable but don’t change for me.”
Screw it. She’d keep on the robe. If she changed now it would look like she was changing for him. Plus, it was kind of insurance. What man wouldn’t keep his distance with a get-up like this?
“Mind if I turn on the television?”
She supposed she didn’t have to worry about him making himself comfortable—he’d ordered in dinner and now was asking permission to handle the remote. She laughed to herself—not that there had been any question about it, but he definitely was a man. “Sure. Go for it.”
“Any preferences?”
“Not really. I’m not big on romantic comedies right now, but I think that’s probably not an issue for you.”
He grinned, and her heart fluttered in her chest. “Uh… no.”
“So, what happened to your friend Detroit?” At his look of surprise she said, “Celeste was texting me.”
“He’s my cousin. D was having a good time at the club, so he stayed.”
“And you wouldn’t rather be at the club?”
“Let’s get it straight, Gina. Within reason, I do what I want, when I want. If I wanted to be at the club, I’d be at the club.”
She swallowed, in some serious danger of losing herself in his dark eyes. “Okay.”
Wings, beer, an Eddie Murphy comedy, and plenty of laughs later, Kennedy stood and stretched. “I better roll out.”
She had begun to wonder if he was going to ask to stay the night as he’d definitely made himself at home so far. Which, of course, wasn’t an option.
“It’s been fun,” she said. And it had. He was so easy to be around. If things had been different…but they weren’t, and if he knew who she was…what she was.
“Thank you for the pleasure of your company.” It could’ve sounded like he was being a smartass, but it simply sounded sincere.
“I’m going to hit the bed,” she said, and then immediately wished she’d thought before she spoke because the words hung between them with a provocation she’d never intended.
“I’m going to opt for a cold shower and then do the same,” he said with a rueful grin as he opened the door. “Night, Gina, sweet dreams.”
Her response of “Sweet dreams” was swallowed by the closing of the door behind him.
He’d said he always did what he wanted when he wanted, but now he was heading home for a cold shower, which only meant one thing. How did it all equate? It didn’t matter because some things couldn’t be changed. And while she was clear on that, Georgina was torn in a way she’d never been torn before.
It was dangerous to want things you simply could never have.
CHAPTER NINE
Arden wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. It had been a helluva day at work. Her team had presented proposals to clients back-to-back. As team leader, it had fallen to her to spearhead the presentations and field questions.
And all of that aside, no package had arrived today. That was what really had her so restless and disgruntled. He had always sent her a package the Monday after their assignation. Yet, today had come and gone. As Jilly, the department’s young intern, would put it, Arden was tripping out.
She forced herself not to text Janice and ask if he’d been at work today or out sick. If he was there, was he pushing a deadline? But Janice had been tripping out the last time they met for dinner so Arden could hardly call her when Arden was tripping without Janice super-tripping, and Arden just didn’t need it.
Her cell phone rang. She walked over to where she’d left it on the table and checked. She didn’t recognize the number. Her heart began to thump in her chest. Had Janice given him her number?
She clicked the button and answered. She was so expecting to hear his voice; she was quite nonplused when a different male voice said, “Hello. Arden?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time. This is Greg.”
She wanted to howl in frustration. And who the hell was Greg and what the hell did he want? “Greg?”
“Greg Stanton. We met today. I sat in on your presentation at Kilmer, Kline, and Lorimer.”
Seriously? Whatever question he might have had from the presentation today couldn’t wait? However, she managed to mask her annoyance as she slipped into professional mode. “Of course. Greg. How are you?”
He laughed. “Better before you didn’t remember me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not that way at all. I was expecting another call. You just took me by surprise.”
She’d been so fixated on a man who had no name that she hadn’t processed Greg Stanton. Under normal circumstances she would’ve immediately known who he was. Tall, lean, intelligent, handsome in a rather geeky kind of way, and she’d just met with him today. She felt a bit like an idiot.
“I hope it’s a
good surprise.”
“Yes, it’s a very good surprise.” She shifted gears. “How can I help you?”
“This is a social call. I was calling to invite you to dinner tomorrow night, if you’re available.”
There was a whole lot more in that “if you’re available” than simply her schedule for a Tuesday evening. He was asking if she was involved with someone else. Turning him down hovered on the tip of her tongue and then she reconsidered. Was she involved with the man with no name? Sexually, yes. Emotionally…that was the scary part. She thought about him far too often, far too much. It wasn’t a relationship—she couldn’t call him when she needed a sounding board, they didn’t go to dinner and a movie, they didn’t tell one another about their day—they fucked, plain and simple. Had she gotten a package today? No. And Greg wasn’t inviting her to jump into bed with him tomorrow night. He was asking her to go out to eat. One had nothing to do with the other.
“Okay, I know I called too late, but a guy can always hope he gets a lucky break.”
Arden laughed. There was something very charming about being considered Greg’s lucky break. She decided. “Dinner would be nice.”
“Excellent. Seven-thirty?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Shall I pick you up at your place around seven-ten?”
“I’ll just meet you at the restaurant.” That came from her days of Internet dating. You never told them where you lived, at least not until a couple of dates into it, and you met them in a public place the first couple of times so that if the date went south you could leave in your own vehicle. It also avoided the to-kiss-or-not-to-kiss awkwardness when they got back to her place. Another bonus was sidestepping the “would you like to come in for a bit” issue. Nope. Meeting for a date was much neater and cleaner. “Where did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking Maison du Philippe.”
“Lovely.”
“Very good. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
It came out a good bit like the confirmation for a business meeting, but that was okay. The man had gone to the trouble to call her up, and he was taking her out to one of the most elegant eateries in the city.
BY THE HOUR, ATLANTA, Book 1 Page 7
