He nodded. "I know how anxious you are about your career. I'll put the fear of the devil into my men about breathing a word of this to anyone. They're all easygoing single guys. They'll have a blast. The reputation of GudRelashuns.com is safe. Your job is safe. I give you my word."
"Your word?" she echoed. "But—Mr. Almatto, I still don't really understand why you'd ask me...."
He looked innocent. "Come now, Ms. Fontina, is it that strange to ask you to provide a titillating service to my staff, no pun intended?"
"Well, yes. It feels...I don't know, personal."
"To be honest, Ms. Fontina, it is personal. You've been making me a bit...shall we say, distracted, and, frankly, after meeting you in person, I'm pissed off I can't have you. Maybe I consider this payback."
"But I didn't—I had no idea you were stalking me—"
"How could you? Such is the virtual world." He smiled at her, and the look struck her as unfriendly. He doesn't like his attraction to me. I'm an inconvenience.
Twenty thousand freaking dollars. She recalled that this man was mega-wealthy. He'd said he didn't do relationships. She could well believe it, when his looks could furnish him all the sex he wanted even without his overstuffed pocketbook.
"Let's just say it would satisfy me to see you in this position today. Twenty thousand dollars, Ms. Fontina. For baring your breasts to me and my staff for sixty minutes, give or take. Will you do it?" His smile was irresistible, and he knew it.
He probably expects me to refuse.
Only if Charli refused, she'd be forced to return with her tail between her legs, and she could kiss her promotion good-bye.
"How could I trust you to live up to your side of it?" she asked slowly.
"You couldn't," he said instantly. "Trusting me would be foolish, knowing me as briefly as you have. However, I happen to be a man of my word."
She shook her head slowly, not in denial, but in puzzlement. Something about this man seemed sincere.
Serial killers seem sincere, too, Charli.
"Okay, I have to know. Does your decision about our proposal hinge on my, um, performing? Because if so, that's a clear case of sexual harass-"
He laughed. "No. I have no objection to putting in a good word for your, shall we say, proactive attitude. But I fully intend to accept your proposal regardless of what you do. Even if nobody showed up today, I'd have accepted it. It's fucking creative. You came up with the concept, didn't you?"
She nodded. As her gaze dropped in confusion, it glanced off his slacks, and she sucked in a breath. The front of his pants was tented hugely by his very blunt and obvious erection.
"Yeah, I find it annoying," he sighed, as if in answer to something she said—only she hadn't said anything. His fingers moved and abruptly Charli felt a pinch on her nipple. She gasped and stepped back at the dart of pain and exquisite pleasure.
"W-what is?" she stammered.
"That you're such a good girl. If you were a player like me, we'd have been in bed months ago and it would be all done with by now."
How flattering. And arrogant. But probably true. Her chin went up. "If I do this, wouldn't that make me a bad girl by definition?"
"I certainly hope so," he said, smiling. With that, he slid off the table and walked back around to his chair, even as the door clicked open loudly and the room was suddenly filling again with people.
Men people.
She stared at them as they re-seated themselves. She had the wild urge to giggle. Her nervousness before was as nothing to now. She couldn't meet Draken's eyes.
Jesus.
Twenty thousand dollars.
She was a typical underpaid grunt. That kind of money would give her breathing room to find a new job if this career track fell through. Money to invest in promoting her comics. She could move to a nicer apartment, perhaps.
Or it could all be a cruel trick. He could be laughing inside at her gullibility.
She tried to assess his sincerity. His expression as he returned her stare was unreadable. She didn't totally get it, but right then she believed him. Every word, every promise, every explanation.
It made her angry. He wanted her to strip off her clothes in front of his staff? What kind of guy wanted the woman he was attracted to to do that? She thought it was a pretty hostile move. It was like a punishment of her for just being. And she'd done nothing wrong.
She should leave.
But she knew she wouldn't. This was happening.
She was going to take off half her clothes for this group of gorgeous men.
And they had no clue.
She cleared her throat and shut her eyes. Her fingers were trembling as they rose to the lapels of her suit jacket and painstakingly began to slide it off her shoulders.
Draken's voice rang out. "Hey, dudes, heads up. We're changing things up a bit. What's about to go down stays in this room. No phone pics, no tweets, no statuses, no tattling. Anybody have a problem with that, talk to me now."
Grins broke out on the men's faces. Charli's fingers froze, aware of a shift in the atmosphere.
"Oh, shit," a blond guy said. "Draken's up to something."
"Just a bit of amusement," Draken drawled. "All right, everybody, sit back, relax, and most of all...pay attention. Help Ms. Fontina out. As we all can see, she's extremely nervous, presenting to us today. She really needs our help to unwind."
As we all can see? So she was that obvious? Anxiously her gaze flew to Draken. He looked back steadily. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.
The smart thing was to leave. Even allowing herself to consider his proposal was humiliating to a degree. If she continued...
No. She was fine. She'd done nothing wrong. Her chin lifted. She would do this, and she wouldn't be ashamed of her ill-fitting business suit or the her average looks. He'd asked for it, so...with resolve, Charli dropped her jacket onto a chair back.
Then she sucked it in and began to unbutton her blouse.
Suddenly you could hear a pin drop in the room.
"Ms. Fontina, we're getting bored, here," Draken said into the silence, his eyes narrowed. "Please resume your pitch."
She stiffened as it dawned on her he expected her to continue her spiel while she was stripping—if you could call this prosaic unbuttoning stripping.
She swallowed. "Um. Right, okay. To recap what I was saying before the break..." She began haltingly to speak, her voice soft now, as her fingers clumsily worked the buttons. Focusing on intelligent speech when she was conscious of her shirt parting, of her newly exposed bra, was torture.
There were a couple of smothered laughs. Her words faltered. She froze with the material half off her shoulders.
Oh, damn, her bra. It was a sturdy, black, lace-free number that, despite the sexy color, was made for support rather than provocation. Inwardly she cringed. She had a few nice-looking bras in the back of her drawer. Why had she not worn any of them today? Her face felt like it could melt ice.
"I didn't quite hear your last statement, Ms. Fontina," Draken said innocently. "John, did you catch that?"
"Nope," said a cheerful voice.
"Project your voice, please," someone else called.
And suddenly everyone was talking, "encouraging" her, and Charli could feel the amusement in the room. Oddly, it didn't seem malicious. These guys weren't actively trying to make her miserable, she sensed. They were just enjoying themselves, watching a sexy show. A few loosened their ties; one jabbed his neighbor with his elbow and chuckled. They were having a good time.
The only one who seemed at all tense was herself. Well, and Draken, surprisingly. His lips were pressed flat.
Yeah, she thought, he really hadn't thought she'd do it.
He probably hadn't bet on her doing it to show him she could.
Charli stared straight at him, forcing herself to go on—with talking, with taking off her blouse. Her hands shook badly, and she was embarrassed to hear the stammering nonsense that poured from her mouth.
> And to realize that if her nipples were saluting before, now they were clapping and shouting, Look here! This bra is pathetic! It hides nothing!
Yup, in the fluorescent lighting of the room, all these guys could clearly see her nipples poking out.
Don't think about it. Think about your promotion. Think about your raise. Think about twenty thousand.
A swish of movement alerted her. A dark guy with a neck tattoo wearing a bright green suit was raising his hand, like a student in a classroom.
"Y-yes?" she said, her fingers hovering at the front clasp of her bra.
"What kind of timeline are we talking about here? Are you thinking this will go down before or after Thanksgiving?" he asked blandly, and others immediately echoed him, nodding.
"B-before," she mumbled, trying to smile confidently. "This shouldn't intrude on anyone's holiday celebration."
The man smirked. Oh, God. This was mortifying. Here they were, treating this like a straight business presentation, and here she was, baring her body for them. Her fingers worked the clasp as she doggedly continued with her pitch. Now she could hardly look at any of them.
She stopped talking as she felt weight of her breasts settle. Now they hung freely behind the loosened bra. Her breasts were shaped like melons, with the nipples pointing more southward than out. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Hers were not, she knew, a stripper's breasts. They were not perky. They were...heavy. And they had freckles all over them.
The low murmur of voices in the room ceased. Everyone was staring at her breasts. She knew it, even without looking. Her eyes closed.
"Ms. Fontina?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Almatto."
"That's a fuck ugly bra. Throw it here."
Laughter exploded in the room. Charli blinked rapidly, then glared daggers at him. His returning look was amused, challenging.
She hurled the bra at him, and he caught it, bunched it up, and put it in his pocket.
Now there was nothing hiding her breasts, not so much as a scrap of fabric.
Her hands itched to cover herself. She refused to let them. She squared her shoulders.
Twenty thousand dollars.
But I'll still cram that smug smirk of his up his tight ass if he insults my clothes again.
"Not everyone can afford satin and lace for daily wear," she said quietly, surprising herself. She surprised him, too. His nostrils flared and he shifted in his seat.
But his expression became stern. "I'm afraid we don't have time for chit-chat, Ms. Fontina. We're trying to get some business out of the way before the holiday. Why don't you continue with your proposal? And make us hungry for it. We're expecting a hard sell today."
More laughter at the double entendres. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she made herself look straight into each pair of masculine eyes, while avoiding Draken's. Some were lustful, some were admiring, some were amused. All of them were friendly, and none of them were derisive, thank God. She lifted her chin.
Okay. So your breasts are on display for a group of hot business executives who apparently have no objection to getting an impromptu strip show. They probably think this whole presentation is bogus, that you're a true professional showgirl. They probably think you get off on baring your breasts for a room full of strange men. And why wouldn't they? Your nipples are obviously rock-hard. At least they have no idea that your pussy is drenched with juice.
She refused to look at the man who was responsible for that.
"Ah, right," she said, nodding. "Yes, we're shooting for mid-October..."
Now that she'd accomplished getting her upper half naked, Charli relaxed a little. Not completely—there was no forgetting she was strutting around the room topless. But it got surprisingly easy to focus on her pitch, so easy that whenever someone interrupted and asked a question and broke her concentration, she was startled and blushed.
She got interrupted a lot.
At one point, Draken reminded her of her PowerPoint presentation, and as she walked over to set it up, she could feel her breasts swaying.
"Half an hour to go," he announced. "Matthew, get some coffee, will you?"
A guy rose and took orders around the room, then turned to Charli. "You want anything, Ms. Fontina?"
She shook her head shyly.
"Ms. Fontina wants a cup of ice," Draken said.
"Ice water?'
"No, just ice. She's still a bit nervous. We need to help her chill."
There was a ripple of laughter in the room, and Charli didn't think his joke was funny. She swallowed, fighting the urge to cover her breasts, to turn away.
She plugged on, though, with her presentation, until the door opened again a few minutes later and Matthew returned with a tray.
"Thanks, Matthew. Ms. Fontina, since we're stopped, I—we—" Draken gestured to the others—"can't help noticing that your nipples are beaded. Are you cold?"
Chapter 3
Charli stiffened and stared at him, appalled. "Um. No." Her face was blazing.
"She looks hot to me," somebody offered.
"Really hot," somebody else said.
Draken gestured. "Come here, please, Ms. Fontina. Yes—just step around."
It was like it was someone else's feet taking her around the table to Draken. Charli certainly didn't will it. She tripped once and looked up quickly, as if daring anybody to laugh at her. But though there were smothered smiles, nobody made a sound. But she saw where their gazes were fixed, and again, had to fight not to shield her breasts.
Twenty thousand dollars.
"Yeah," said Draken. And his voice was husky now. "The rest of your body might feel hot, but your nipples look pretty chilled to me. Are you sure they're warm? Ms. Fontina? Are you listening?"
"N-no," she said stiffly. "I mean yes. I mean no, not chilled."
He smiled slowly. "Then that must mean they're uncomfortably warm. This should feel good. Hold still now, Ms. Fontina."
She watched, horrified, as he scooped up a piece of ice from the glass on the tray and brought it up to rub one of her nipples.
She jerked and cried, "Oh!" Rigidly she stood there, drop-jawed, as Draken scraped both her nipples with the ice, sending shards of frozen heat through her directly to her core.
"You're right," Draken said thoughtfully. "Now they're shriveling with cold and I see you're flinching. We don't want that, do we? Let me warm them up for you."
He ran his palms under her breasts, then hoisted the undersides until they overflowed his large hands and graphically squeezed the bulging flesh.
She made a muffled sound.
"What was that, Ms. Fontina?" he said politely.
"N-nothing."
"Mm, was it raining outside, by the way? I heard there was a forty percent chance of thunderstorms today." He started drawing on the nipples, pulling them, elongating them to an exaggerated length.
He was asking her the question. She shook her head wordlessly.
Aside from Draken's soft voice, there was dead silence. Around her, she sensed some of the men loosening their collars and shifting in their seats. She had no idea what to do. Yank away? Stop him? She wanted to. But it wasn't. Happening.
She was stuck in a horrible limbo between pleasure and depravity. Letting everyone see what Draken Almatto was doing—just allowing it—was mortifying. These people had to know from the way her hips were twitching what was happening to her. And that was before the whimpers escaping her throat made her sound like a trapped kitten.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to derail your speech, Ms. Fontina," Draken murmured, tugging hard on both nipples. "Please go on."
"Wh-what?" she said foggily.
"With your proposal," the blond guy said from off to the side, his voice deep. "Get on with it, babe."
Draken shot him a laser-sharp look. "Jude, please treat Ms. Fontina as you'd like to be treated if you were giving a formal presentation to an important client."
Charli bit down on a yelp of shocked pleasure as he gave he
r nipples a firm twist.
"Specifically, she would appreciate being addressed by her name," Draken went on.
"Oh—right," the guy said hastily. "If you don't mind, Ms. Fontina, go on with what you were saying."
"Yes, please, Ms. Fontina," someone else chimed in. "We're definitely keen to hear more."
Suddenly all the guys seemed earnest and supportive.
She gave a mental snort. While I stand here pretending your boss isn't tormenting my nipples in front of you, making me wet my panties.
"Ms. Fontina? Is there a problem?" Draken said softly.
"No," she swallowed. "No."
She drew courage from the depths of her reserves. This public handling of her was not in their agreement. But Charli was terrible at making spontaneous decisions; it was one reason she wasn't sure if she was true management material. Already her day had changed course too radically; now she felt vested in finishing the hour out. She would walk away from Draken Almatto and never see him again, and hopefully none of these other men, too, but at least she'd be twenty thousand richer.
"Go on," Draken reminded her. "You were cataloging the terms. If you could just do us the courtesy of repeating that last part..."
Charli took a deep breath, then began blathering on. It was like she was divided into three parts. One part was all business. Another part was getting wetter and wetter between her thighs and causing her blood to rage like fire through her body as her nipples were tugged firmly, painfully, deliciously, and unrelentingly by Draken while she talked. A third part was trying not to focus on the men watching her interestedly and failing.
"Your breasts should be sufficiently warm now," he interrupted her, and with one more squeeze, she was abruptly released. He gestured for her to go around the table again. She did so as if in a dream. When she glanced back at him, he was lounging back in his chair, his eyes intently focused on her.
She tripped over her own feet halfway there.
"You really want—me to go on?" she choked out.
"Well, let's see." He looked around. "Is everyone still awake? Can you hold on for a few more minutes, guys? I know presentations can be tedious stuff."
Her Alpha Lover: A Draken and Charli Boxed Set Page 2
