“That’s my girl,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t wimp out. Oh, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked as I fished a silver hoop earring out of my Brazillian thong.
She cleared her throat, and I knew something I wouldn’t like was about to spill through the phone. “He wants you to live with him until the suit is finished.”
I dropped the earring and nearly dropped the phone. “Say that again?”
***
Well Dressed Man International is a business suit brand that my friend’s Lynette and Jake Perkins own, and I’m their creative director for it and Well Dressed Woman International, our partner company. We launched the brands five years ago, and in that time we’ve won awards for our innovative designs. We’ve been profiled for Apparel magazine and our fashions are often found in Vogue.
But as I took the elevator up to our studio and offices, I didn’t feel the usual joy I did when coming to work. Instead I simmered at the thought of having to do business with an egotistical ass like Blaine, but this was about more than just me, and I wouldn’t run away and be completely unprofessional. That just wasn’t my style. Still, asking me to live with him while I designed the suit was completely unacceptable, and I planned on telling him just that. After my meeting with Lynette, I’d march right over to Devereux & Parker and tell him he could have the suit, but he couldn’t have me.
However, when I entered Lynette’s office, I found I wouldn’t have to wait that long. Blaine was sitting in one of the two ergonomic office chairs in front of my friend’s thin, transparent modern desk.
He turned his smoky grey eyes on me, tented his long, thick fingers in front of his square jaw. “Ms. Kitteridge. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I put a hand on my hip, wrinkled my nose, and blurted, “I wish I could say the same.”
Lynette went into ‘smooth the tension and save the deal’ mode. “How about we take some coffee into the studio? I’m sure Katey would like to show you some design samples.”
“No,” I retorted. The man instantly rankled me, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I have something to discuss with Mr. Devereux first.” I turned my focus on him, taking in that sensuous, pouty mouth, large eyes, cheek bones that weren’t too sharp but nicely defined. Steeling my resolve against his immaculate beauty, I continued. “I’ll design your suit, but there’s no way I’m going to live with you.”
Not missing a beat, he slid from the chair like a sinuous snake and flashed an innocent look at Lynette, then at me. “But wouldn’t it make the haute couture so much easier? I can pay you all very well for the time, I assure you.”
He was on his best behavior today, and it was unnerving. The Blaine I had heard about from many a source, jilted and otherwise, was never accommodating or compromising. When you had his kind of money, you didn’t need to be.
I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I’m not living with you under any circumstances.”
Lynette gave me that look that was part begging, part demanding. The woman knew how to persuade. She did what I thought of as her ‘faux pee dance.’ A shifting of hips back and forth that made it seem like she had to go to the bathroom, but really she was stressing the outcome and trying desperately to sway me.
“Fine.” I huffed a defeated breath. “It shouldn’t take long to finish the job. I’ll stay with you until it’s complete.” When he smiled, letting the mask slip so I caught a glimpse of the predator beneath, I laid a firm hand on his equally firm chest and made him keep his distance. “But there will be rules, Mr. Devereux.”
His wolf smile grew wider still, and the mask fell off. He took the hand from his chest and kissed it. “Of course, Ms. Kitteridge.”
***
In the limo, three days later, on the ride to his country estate, he pinned me with those smoky eyes and said, “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Kitty, and yet we’ve never met.”
I stared at his silk Armani tie rather than meeting those too penetrating eyes. “No one calls me Kitty.”
He shrugged. “I do.”
I crossed my arms over the polka-dot bodice of my spring dress. “That, right there, is why I don’t like you.”
He quirked an eyebrow up. “You have a problem with self confidence?”
“No,” I said. “But with dripping arrogance? Yeah, I’ve got a little problem with that.”
He gave me a sideways smirk and chuckled. He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me sweetie, either,” I snapped, brushing his hand away.
He held his palms up in a gesture of surrender that surprised me. “Is this about the hating women thing?”
I felt my face heat, and I covered it with one hand. “Lynette told you that?”
He plucked some ice from a round chest in a mini bar in the back of the limo, plopped it in a glass, and poured amber colored scotch over the clear cubes. All the while, he smirked smugly at me. “You shouldn’t believe rumors and tabloid gossip columnists.” He took a sip.
“Some of those rumors come from very good sources,” I countered, swatting an annoying strand of sable hair from my eyes
“Still, there are three sides to every story,” he said, moving from his seat across to sit by me on the opposite side of the stretch luxury car. “Yours, mine, and the truth.”
He had me there, I thought, as he trailed a finger up my slender arm. “Touche.” Then I plucked the finger away and returned his smarminess with some of my own. “Hey, I thought you were gay?”
He gave me a disapproving look and turned the table on me. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Of course not,” I sputtered. “My brother’s gay, thank you very much. And I love his partner more than him, but that’s another story.”
“No, I’m not gay, and I don’t hate women.” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied my face. I could tell he was reading me, looking for something, and his blatant perusal unsettled me. I could smell a hint of scotch on his breath. “Let me tell you where the misogyny charge comes from. I have a problem with anyone--male or female--who enters a relationship on false pretenses. In short, I don’t like people who marry for money. Gold diggers, if you will, disgust me.”
His lips were inches from mine now, and they were far too kissable for my safety. “Some people don’t marry for love.” I shrugged, then tried to casually put some space between him and I by placing my shoulder purse there and subtly inching back. “Some make deals. To some people, it’s still a contract. A more mutually beneficial one these day, but I get it.”
He wore a scathing expression that made him look like he was smelling really bad cheese. “Would you do such a thing?”
“No, I prefer to be self sufficient, and I work hard to stay that way.” I maintained eye contact, not wanting to back down to his intimidation. “I don’t like to let anyone have too much power over me.”
He nodded and his eyes narrowed further. I felt like a dare passed between us, and he’d just accepted the challenge.
“But everyone’s different,” I continued. “I try not to judge. Who knows why someone chooses to go the route they do. Life can get complicated.”
He kept staring, not wanting to break the eye contact and lose the challenge either. “Yes, I know that all too well.” His words held a cryptic air.
I decided to change the subject. “So, why me?”
“To design the suit?”
I nodded.
The predatory, yet undeniably sexy, smile returned. “Because I plan on seducing you during your stay, Kitty. You see, you may not know me, but I’ve read all about you and your fast climb up the fashion world ladder.” The smooth pad of his thumb glided down my cheek. “I want to take you into my world. The suit you’re going to design is a very special suit, and in order to do it, you’ll need to experience every side of me fully.”
I clutched my purse until my knuckles ached, but my face wor
e a mask of cool composure. “I thought I said there would be rules.” I removed the finger he now stroked down my clavicle.
The lethal smile inched higher. “Rules are meant to be broken, Kitty.”
***
“Pearls,” he said, after he’d whisked me into the expansive foyer of his palatial home. “These will be my first instrument of pleasurable torment. I heard about this trick from an old friend, Ian Sterling, a member of the Dollhouse Society. Ever heard of the place?”
He held open a red mahogany jewelry box that spilled over with iridescent, milky pearls.
I looked at him in confusion. “No, can’t say I have.”
He fingered the gleaming necklaces. “It’s a gentleman’s society of sorts.” Then he reached for my wrist, but I expertly slipped out of his reach. “Aren’t you curious about how I plan on torturing you with pearls?”
I put my hands on my hips, flashed him a frowned that turned my cupid bow lips down. “I came here to design a suit. Sex was not part of the contract.”
His patent smugness was back as he said, “How fortunate I have a new contract that fixes that.”
I swept my sable hair back from my face and raised a well-shaped eyebrow at him. He slipped a sheaf of papers out of the lapel of his pinstriped suit and handed it to me. I hesitated, continuing to give him a dubious up-and-down for a moment longer before I assessed this new deal.
I scanned an itinerary of bondage and domination, with a little sadism and masochism thrown in for spice, or so Blaine claimed. He studied me as I asked questions and scrutinized the proposed contract. I knew he was looking for a blush, a sign of a shy girl intimidated by his offer. Well, he’d get none of that. I’d learned long ago how to use my beauty to my advantage, and my sexuality. If he thought this was the first time a man had proposed wild sexual liaisons to me, he was wrong.
Before my parents moved back to America with me and my brother when I turned fifteen, to continue expanding my father’s textiles business, I was Ms. Junior Mexico. Dad met our mother in Mexico--a savvy businesswoman ahead of her time who’d worked her way into Mexican politics and met my father then.
I almost went into modeling, but I decided, like my father, I would work with material, only instead of shipping and distributing, I would shape and design. And in my travels with my family, and my brief time on the beauty circuit then moving into fashion design, my beauty had netted me an ardent admirer or two with kinky inclinations. Plus my father had been a no bullshit type Texan who taught me young how to deal with a snake. So it doesn’t make me bat and eyelash, but it does rankle me when the proposition comes from a man I loathe being in the same room with.
“Surrender Inc.?” I scanned the contract a final time and pointed to the name of the club where many of these ‘play dates’ were supposed to happen.
He placed a large hand in the center of my back as he drew nearer. “That’s the exclusive sex club I belong to.”
His warmth spread through me, and it went deeper, burned hotter, with the weight of his words. Mostly, I was titillated by this idea, this proposition, but because it was issued by Blaine Devereux, my kneejerk reaction was to say no, stomp my polka dot stiletto in the toe of his Gucci, and walk away. But that was pride talking, and, like my father always said, ‘Katey, pride goes before a fall.’
Plus there was Well Dressed Man and my career to think about. So I stared him straight in the eyes and said, “As soon as you transfer some money into my account, you’ve got a deal.” Then I held my hand out for him to shake.
His eyebrows shot up and I momentarily wiped that smirk off his face, replacing it with surprise. “Excuse me?”
I was the one smirking this time. “Our original deal said you’d pay me and Well Dressed Man half our commission fee up front, and so does this one, correct?” I folded my arms over my breast, and noticed him staring at my small, pert wares. I cleared my throat and his fox grin, along with air of unyielding confidence, returned.
“Yes, it did,” he confirmed, then he flipped open a slim, black laptop he’d brought in when he brought me the jewelry box full of pearls. These now rested at the foot of a curved, marble staircase, waiting to be used in the first of our games.
“I’ll do an instant transfer right now,” he said, jutting his dimpled chin at me.
“Good,” I said, giving him a haughty nod.
The money was in my account seconds later. I checked via my Blackberry, swallowing hard at the confirmation and hoping he wouldn’t notice.
But he took my hand, actually wagged a golden-brown eyebrow at me, and said, “Are you ready to begin, Kitty?”
“When exactly are we going to take your measurements for the suit?” I asked, still curious about the piece I’d be designing.
“First, I’d like to indulge you in the reason you’ll be designing the suit. Experience does wonders for inspiration.” He kissed my hand again, and this time he took the tip of my pinkie into his mouth and suckled it, swirled his tongue around its tip. He repeated this seductive process with the ring finger.
I steeled my nerves, tried to think about cold showers and taxes to stave off my reaction to his touch. “I have loads of experience, thanks.”
“Oh, so you’ve played with a master before?” His hands snaked around my hip and cupped my butt, drawing me close against his rock hard hip.
I flashed my best feline smile. “Mr. Devereux, who says you’re the master?”
He gave my butt cheek a firm slap at this and chuckled. “The contract states this will be a switch situation, but, today, my dear, you’ll be the submissive.” He captured my chin and then my lips, kissing my ravenously and quickly. I barely had time to react before I melted under his skilled lips and tongue, a tug of teeth here and there. I moaned in disappointment when he broke away from me. “Now, let me show you the playroom.”
Less than thirty minutes later, I found myself naked atop a massive bed with ruby satin sheets and wrought iron rails lining its head and foot boards. This was section one of the massive playroom that spanned the entire basement of Blaine’s mansion. He hadn’t shown me the other sections yet, but he said there’d be plenty of time for that, to which I retorted, “No, there won’t.”
Trying not to re-fan the flames of my anger, which instantly ignited when I was within two feet of this man, I focused instead on him emerging from a pair of mirrored doors that led to his dressing room / bondage closet, or so he’d called it.
“This is the kind of suit you’ll be making me,” he said as he walked closer to the bed, clad in a shiny latex body suit that left most of his muscled arms and well muscled legs revealed.
So I’d been hired to make a sex suit. I wondered what Lynette would say about adding this job to our portfolio now.
“What? You’re not getting naked, too?” I said, and regretted my words not long after they left my pink glossed lips.
His face stiffened, becoming a tight frown of intense discomfort. “I never let anyone see me naked.” He opened the red mahogany jewelry box and began selecting strings of pearls.
This definitely had me curious. I tilted my head at him. “Never?”
“No,” he said gruffly, splaying a large hand in the center of my back and pushing me down so my cheek pressed into the cool sheets. “Never.”
“A playboy like you doesn’t shed his clothes?” I yelped when he wound the pearls too tightly around my wrists. “I don’t believe it. And watch it.”
“Sorry.” His voice still sounded gravelly, but I was surprised by the apology. “We’ll have safe words.” And then he gave me these safe words, to be used if play should ever grow too rough for my liking. But he made sure the subject of his nakedness didn’t come up again. I was baffled, because under the latex molded to his physique he appeared to be all rippling brawn, a flat stomach, and thick legs corded with muscles. Why would someone as confident as Blaine Devereux fear being naked?
As he went back to his treasure chest for more pearls, I was already formulati
ng a plan. He’d get his sex suit all right, and I’d make him some bondage gear he would never forget.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he urged me to flip over, so he could trail cool, smooth pearls over my breasts, tickling my nipples with their perfect roundness.
“Seducing you, as promised,” he said, now lightly sweeping the precious, milky spheres down the curve of my ribs, over the flat plane of my stomach.
My smooth, olive skin shone under the soft, globed chandelier overhead. As I watched him trail the pearls lower, I thought how beautiful the strings of expensive gems looked against my flesh. He traced the triangle between my legs, brushed the beads over the trimmed hair and my clitoral hood, but he didn’t part my thighs to tease me further. I moaned in disappointment when he took the pearls away from my throbbing sex, easing them down over my legs like glittering, globular snakes. I shivered when they wriggled over my ticklish knees.
When he reached my ankles, he twined the string of gems around them until both were tightly bound together. Then he looked deep into my eyes, and his grey gaze seemed to swirl like ethereal clouds. The intensity of desire in his eyes made my pussy throb harder, my nipples tingle, and I realized then I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
I didn’t like that realization, but a deal was a deal.
He placed a hand on my stomach and one at my hip, then gently flipped me over. Admittedly, I wasn’t at all comfortable with giving him this much control, but I consoled myself with the thought I’d be control in one of these play sessions, too, and then I’d have my revenge.
My ankles were gently drawn up, then he connected the pearls encircling them to the beads at my wrists. Trapped in this arched position, I was now completely vulnerable to him.
With my cheek pressed into the satiny softness beneath me, I watched him draw another long string of gems from his treasure chest. He returned to me, then stroked the fine jewelry across my shoulder blades, down my back, and then over my ass. With his big fingers, he splayed my cheeks and slipped the pearls between them. They touched my wet slit, stirring the fire there higher, making me wiggle in my shackles and try to raise my hungry cunt up to take more sensation.
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