by Christa Wick
Marjolein's voice dropped lower. “Knowing Mr. Kehoe, he’s trying to …uhm, pardon the word, but mind fuck you for better contract terms.”
She chose that moment to point over my shoulder to a small table next to a loveseat. Bottles of Veen had been left to chill in a bucket of ice. My stomach tried to crawl backward out of the room, but my feet stayed firmly planted.
"He will be late, of course," she continued whispering. "That's all part of the mind fuck. Good luck, Alexa."
Marjolein retreated, closing the doors behind her. The layout of the room coaxed me to one side of the half circle of cards. I grabbed a bottle of Veen from the side table on my way, rolling my eyes at the obviousness of it being the only refreshment offered. Removing the cap, I took a sip as my eyes landed on the first image on the table.
Me with Freddie. The inept dominatrix and her borrowed slave.
My expression in the photo looked like someone had forced me to handle a highly poisonous snake instead of Freddie's leash. The second picture was more of the same. I lifted my bottle of Veen in a salute, sensing that Dylan Kehoe had strategically placed everything in the room to produce a certain psychological impact on me.
I noted the point of first set of images readily enough. I wasn't cut out to be a domme.
Tell me something I don't know.
I guessed what was on the other side of the horseshoe, but I didn't immediately turn to look at the selected shots. I went print by print in the order he had placed them. The last picture would undoubtedly be one of my surrender, my orgasm stamped on my face.
Unexpected shots at the bar greeted me at the midpoint. Jake held my head back, his hand wrapped in my hair. Even with the low light, I could see the hard poke of my nipples against the corset's tight fabric. More than that, I saw my expression. I had completely surrendered by the time Wells had taken the picture, I just hadn't known it at the time.
The last ten images had my body temperature rising as I grew damp between my legs. The set started with Jake removing my corset, followed by his caress of each breast before he placed the nipple clamps, moved on to the first slap of the wand against my thighs and then the glazed look in my eyes before he was even half finished heating my flesh. I noted the way his body contorted to shield me from the crowd when he unsnapped the bottom panel on my panties and how he continued shielding me as he manipulated my pussy with his fingers. Most striking was the fact that he had closed his eyes while he suckled feeling back into my breasts after removing the clamps.
Layered over each picture was the sensual slack to my expression and the way my eyes looked at a spot beyond me, someplace no one else in the room could see but me.
"You didn't realize how lost you were in the moment until now, did you?"
I stiffened at the familiar, and unexpected, voice. Forcing my muscles from their sudden paralysis, I turned to find Jake Morgan less than a foot away. An expensive silk suit had replaced the football leggings of last night, but he still dripped masculine appeal.
"Mr. Morgan," I started, spitting the words out so I wouldn't find myself stuttering at him. "I was expecting Mr. Kehoe."
Extending his hand, he smiled. "That's what you have, Alexa. Jake Michael Morgan Kehoe, second son born to the third of my father's four wives."
I shook my head at him. I wasn't some kind of football nut and had only read a few articles about Jake that morning despite my attempt not to. Most had covered the accident, but I knew well enough that the media would have noted a rich, famous father.
"I don't lie," he started, then an amending smile flickered across his face. "Not to you. My parent's prenuptial agreement made it too expensive for my father to raise me beyond the discreet and very occasional weekend."
He closed his hand around my wrist and led me to the beginning of the photos where a thick stack of papers attached to a clipboard had appeared, no doubt brought into the room by him while I was absorbed in the prints documenting the prior evening's surrender.
"Not that I would have seen him more if he'd had full custody," Jake continued as he grabbed the papers and steered me toward the couch. "My father preferred to let boarding schools raise Dylan and Riona. I doubt my fate would have been any different."
We stopped at the sofa. I knew he wanted me to sit down, but I couldn't stop from thinking about the couch on the stage, which led my thoughts directly to the cross and what he'd done to me in front of all those people.
What I let him do to me.
"There are a lot of terms to go over, Miss Hunt." He applied gentle pressure to the small of my back. "Too many for us to stand through."
His formal use of my last name surprised me, throwing me off balance long enough for his hand to coax me onto the cushion. He settled next to me.
"Before we can talk, you need to sign this nondisclosure agreement stating you will not discuss the business plans were about to go over with anyone."
Separating all but the top three papers from the clipboard, he handed it to me along with a pen. I stared numbly at the items he had placed into my hands.
He cleared his throat then gave me a few more seconds before saying anything. "Read it, Alexa. Or are you going to walk away from a million dollars without even knowing what we want you to do?"
Problem was, I already had an idea of what he wanted me to do. More of the night before, at his beck and call, without a chance to say "no" or use my safe word.
Awfully full of yourself, Alexa.
The voice surfaced painfully in my memory. My mother, incredulous that any man would want me at fat and fourteen when he had her, had been married to her the last six years. I swallowed roughly, the lump that had formed in my throat at those forgotten words staying firmly lodged. My mother had been wrong then, but I couldn't be so sure the echo of her disdain was wrong in that meeting room.
I mean -- Jake Morgan was a Kehoe. Forget about the football salary he hadn't collected in the last six years or the fame that had once perched upon his shoulders. Forget the body and the stern good looks. Money alone would get him any woman he wanted.
So who the hell was I to think he wanted me?
Alexa Marie Hunt -- that's who. Just some oversized, dime-a-dozen nobody on a niche site.
"You didn't read it, baby doll," he said as I finished scrawling my name on the last line of the third page. "We're not discussing things until you read every last word."
Huffing, I flipped back to the first page and began reading. Clearly, he didn't do business like Rick, where reading was optional but signing wasn't. I looked over the nature of the discussion we were to have -- KITG development plans, the clothing line and brand boutiques, and so on. Finished, I passed the clipboard back to him and he signed on the witness line.
"KITG," he started to explain, his fingers rifling through the remaining pages. "Well, no way to say it other than we plan to take BDSM mainstream -- at luxury prices, of course."
Removing the coversheet to the papers he held, he passed me some twenty drawings and photographs. Clothes, accessories, kinky furniture and different interior spaces, none of them looking like the club I had auditioned at the night before, but the decor's intent left no doubt in my mind.
"We already own hotels in the world's richest cities," he explained as he retrieved the images. "Rome, Venice, Berlin, Dublin, Zurich, Monaco -- you name it. If it has more than its share of millionaires, we already have a presence."
I nodded, my mind reeling from the scope and sheer audacity of the project. Many of the cities he'd just named were in very conservative countries. I had no idea why he was telling me this when I would be doing nothing more than modeling the clothes. In terms of cost and risk, the Wicked Threads line had to be a rather small part of a very ambitious plan.
"Each of the hotels will have its own Century Club," he continued. "In addition to the ads in which you'll be wearing items from Riona's clothing line, you'll serve as an official hostess -- particularly for all the grand openings during the year."
&nb
sp; I had avoided looking at Jake during the whole of his pitch until he said the word "hostess." My head jerked in his direction as I sought confirmation of the real meaning behind everything he had just said.
The jewel-like eyes glittered at me and last night's smile, the one brimming with too much confidence for one man to rightfully possess, resurfaced.
"You'll engage only with me," he said before offering a short growl. "No one else regardless of where you are or whether you think you're officially off the clock."
My gaze widened at the implication. Was he really telling me that I was going to be his personal submissive for a year and that I couldn't take a lover during that time?
"Six engagements a month -- minimum." He continued bulldozing through the terms, his smile broadening but never reaching his eyes. "Twelve consecutive months, one million dollars in compensation."
I started to shake my head, my hands finding the cushion so I could push up and off the couch. His fingers curled loosely around my wrist but it was his gaze that held me down.
"You still have your safe word," he continued once he realized I wasn't resisting his hold on me. "The entire contract is prorated by engagement..."
He paused as my lips parted in shock. It wasn't so much what he was saying it, but the seemingly casual way he laid out the terms of my servitude. This, apparently, was how the wealthy negotiated with their whores.
His gaze narrowed and he leaned back to study me. Despite my not having moved a muscle since he captured my wrist, his grip tightened.
Could he actually see the gears of outrage turning in my head?
"Use your safe word or otherwise decide to terminate the contract, you keep what you have already earned provided you abide by the second non-disclosure agreement you'll need to sign." His jaw tensed and his mouth flattened, but he released my arm. When he spoke a few seconds later, his tone had gentled. "Outside of the salary, there are other benefits--"
I rolled my eyes then closed them, my head shaking hard enough that I could feel my heavy curls bouncing against my shoulders. Was he really about to suggest that his dominating me -- with or without an audience -- was a benefit?
"I don't care what you think you saw in those pictures," I started hotly, my eyes flying open to bore into the back of his skull.
Like a snake striking, he had his hand around the back of my neck before I could even start the second half of my protest. His face pushed forward until only an inch or two remained between our heads, the close distance making my eyes want to cross when I tried to stare him down.
"I was talking about travel, wardrobe, and the fact that you'll be living in the hotels at no cost," he corrected before his mouth twitched. "But, if we're really being honest, Alexa--"
"By all means," I snapped at him. "You said you wouldn't lie to me."
I finished with a twitch of my nose and a jump of my eyebrows lest my sarcasm go unappreciated.
A deep, continuing roll of displeased sound vibrated from him. Taking a handful of hair, he forced my head back, arching my neck and exposing its flesh to his lips. I felt the wet whisper of his tongue against my throat and then his hot breath blew into my ear.
"If we're really being honest," he repeated, "then, yes, I am one of the benefits. And I know what I saw on your face last night and in the pictures. I know what I felt when you made my fingers all slick and hot."
He bit softly, just below the curve of my jaw, as his hand surfed over the fabric covering my thighs. I felt my resolve weaken as a bonfire flared deep inside my gut. I had to get out before I agreed and lost more than just a year's time to this man.
I was in danger of losing myself -- who I was at a core level.
"Maybe the other models you auditioned are willing to prostitute--"
His hand left my hair to cup my face, forcing me to meet his steady gaze. "There was only your audition, Alexa. No other model was asked because I don't want another woman."
I opened my mouth, uncertain how to reply to that bit of crazy.
He had no intention of letting me interrupt him.
"I'm a Jake, not a john, baby." Releasing my chin, he wrapped both of his hands around my head. "A john doesn't forego his satisfaction, especially for something he desires so badly his cock is still hard the day after."
A hot rush of air was my only response before his mouth covered mine. I got lost in the kiss, stopped trying to track his hands until he had my skirt halfway up my thighs. I jerked away, scrambling to contain his touch. Nimble fingers dipped under the fabric to seize my thigh and squeeze.
"Look at me, Alexa."
No, damn it, just no.
I would not allow him to pull me into that trap again.
Unable to secure my compliance with that simple order, Jake lowered his lips to my throat. When I tried to push back, his fingers skimmed deeper beneath the skirt. He stroked one tip against the gusset of my panties then chuckled.
"That means nothing!" I bit out.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Try another lie because that one just won't work.
I was wet, my flesh burning hot. But I would not let my body override my brain -- again.
Jake retreated, saying nothing as I refused to look at him. With my peripheral vision, I could tell he had pulled back to the armrest on the opposite side of the couch, his body deceptively relaxed as he observed me.
"I have no intention of forcing you," he rasped. His finger bounced lazily in the direction of the double doors. "You're free to leave if that's what you really want."
I huffed, revealing the truth to him -- and me. I honestly wasn't sure what I wanted. I only knew this was too much too soon. Jake waited with all the patience of a true predator while I spent several long minutes arguing with myself inside my head.
"What is holding you back, Alexa?" he asked. Slowly reaching toward my arm, he stroked the spot where my half sleeve of tattoos ended right before my elbow. "You're not concerned with what other people think of you."
That earned another huff. Thinking that anyone with a poor opinion of me or my behavior should go fuck off only went so far. Life had taught me that, if enough people held that opinion, my safety and freedom were imperiled. That it was harder to lock up a twenty-four year old woman in a mental ward than a fourteen-year-old girl didn't lessen my fear of the consequences.
Jake leaned forward, his head tilted down so he could study my face. "So you are at least a little concerned?"
Not wanting to look at him, I averted my eyes, my gaze locking on the double doors.
"You don't think I can shield you from all that?"
The protective quality of his tone plucked at my doubts. I knew a man as wealthy as Jake with the power of KITG behind him could protect me as long as he wanted to. After that? I was fair game to any nutcase or moral censor -- traits that seemed to go hand in hand.
"It will always be my responsibility to protect you, Alexa. Even after..." His voice broke and he slid onto the floor in front of me. "Even after the contract is over. You don't have to worry about that."
I wondered if he had ever said something similar to the dead socialite, Linsey King. The question must have lived in my gaze because he pulled a little further away to stare at me. His lips mashed together for a few seconds and then he gave his head a tilted shake.
"Fine, you're not ready for this." He stood and began collecting the prints on the table. "But the clubs will start opening soon and I don't have time for you to become ready. The company will just go with Plan B for the project."
My heart started to thump a little harder against the back of my sternum. "You mean you'll get another model."
His brows pinched and he stopped collecting the prints to stare at me. He inhaled slowly then shook his head. "No, I'll get another master. Each club will open with the house master and his submissive instead of us."
Us...
The word repeated inside my skull as Jake returned to collecting the images from their easels. He had cleared the line of Freddie and me and
had moved into the curve with the pictures of the two of us at the bar. His position gave me a clear line of view of the captures from the second half of the audition. My cheeks flushed at the reminder and some of the dread squeezing at my chest dropped to twist sensually at my gut.
Jake reached the first photo of us on the stage. I must have made some little noise because his hand froze as he pinched one corner to lift it. Even with my gaze riveted to the image, I knew Jake watched me.
"Baby, you don't look like a woman who isn't ready for this," he said, releasing his grip on the paper. He put down the stack he had already gathered then slid gracefully across the surface of the table separating us to land, once more, at my feet.
Jake's sigh pulled my attention fully back to him.
He wrapped a hand around each ankle then stared at me. Cautiously, his touch slid up my legs, stopping mid-calf when he reached the hem of my skirt. He kissed one knee through the cloth, his hot breath penetrating the fabric. He pushed a little higher, lifting the bottom edge of the skirt until my knees were exposed.
I focused on breathing. Whatever happened next, I hadn't signed the contract and didn't have to. If I let him touch me more intimately, gave myself at least a few minutes to explore how I felt, it wouldn't automatically mean I was his for the year.
I could say "no" at any time, leave at any time.
His lips touched the bare skin of each knee while his hands coaxed the skirt to the mid-point on my thighs. His gentle spreading of my legs brought the fabric even higher, giving him a peek at the soft pink material of my panties.
"So innocent, baby," he observed. One knuckle skimmed against the inside of my thigh until the flat of his finger reached the bottom panel of my underwear.
I drew a quick breath, my chest expanding at the same time my thighs instinctively tried to bar Jake's access. His thumb joined the mix, pressing against the fabric as the tip of his index finger smoothed upward to find my quickly swelling clit.
As I choked another breath in, my thighs slowly relaxed under the path of velvety kisses he plowed up my leg. Beneath the skirt, his hands took possession of the sides of my panties. Stopping the kisses, he looked up at me, his gaze darkened by need.
