“You’re incredible,” he whispered. “Let me get another condom.” He pulled out, and she pouted playfully, because she’d been enjoying herself.
With a quick movement he’d sheathed himself again, and as Marc hovered above her, she spread her legs wide for him.
“Green to go?” he asked. “I’ll stop again if you need me to. My balls might fall off,” he teased, “but I will.”
“I know. Thank you for that.”
He slid inside her, wrapping his arms around her body, pulling her close, and she held on tightly as he rode her, hitting her G-spot with each thrust.
“Are we okay?” he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. God, she loved those eyes of his.
“Perfect.”
“Then come for me, Lauren.” He picked up the pace, fucking her hard, until her moans of pleasure got louder and louder, she could barely contain herself. Holy fuck.
“I’m coming,” she gasped, and his cock pulsated inside of her as his own come hit the condom. She squeezed his length with her pussy, milking out every last drop.
“Wow,” he said, kissing her sweetly, reverently. “That was amazing.” He paused. “How about for you?”
“Amazing,” she agreed. “I’m glad we finished what we started.”
“Me too.” He hugged her close. “We’re finished for tonight, but we have a whole week ahead of us.”
A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine at his words. If she could submit to anyone, it would be Marc. She’d safeworded, and he’d stopped. That helped more than he would ever know.
“Submission isn’t just for the bedroom this weekend, Lauren,” he said. “Tomorrow at Trevor and Elisabeth’s wedding, you will be submissive to me. Do you understand?”
Oh my God. Being submissive in public. Could she do it? She was so used to bossing everyone around, and teasing the bejeezus out of Marc.
“I won’t know how to behave,” she said.
“Be yourself. I don’t want to change you. Just be yourself and obey whatever I tell you to do, and obey respectfully.”
“That seems like cruel and unusual punishment,” she joked. Sort of joking. Not really.
“No, cruel and unusual punishment will be the game we play after the wedding reception,” he teased. From the glint in his eye, it was more of a promise than a threat.
“Looking forward to it.”
“I’d like you to wear a dress tomorrow, as my date.”
“Marc—I don’t even own a dress. I literally wear the pants. You know that.”
He laughed at her pun, but shook his head. “Then you can go out tomorrow before the wedding and buy yourself something very feminine and demure.”
“Demure? Are you kidding? You’re talking to the girl who wears latex for a living.”
“I think it will help put you in the right mind-set. It doesn’t have to be frumpy, I just don’t want you wearing your usual black or red low-cut corset-y stuff. Tiff will join you to make sure you pick out something suitable.”
Lauren huffed. She’d Dommed his lesbian secretary at WhipperSnapper a few times, and Tiff seemed to be both slightly terrified and slightly in awe of her at the same time, which Lauren loved. And now Tiff was going to be in charge of picking out her clothes?
Hell, she really was playing the sub this week.
“I’m so getting back at you for this,” she muttered.
“What was that?” Marc raised his eyebrows.
“Um . . . yes, sir.” She grinned and Marc kissed her.
“You’re lucky you’re my slave for the week and not Roman’s. He’d make you sleep on the floor.”
“So I’ve heard from various girls. He’s a sadist.”
“Yup. In a good way, I suppose. We’ve both got sadistic streaks in us . . . but I want you by my side tonight, in my bed.”
“If you were my submissive, you’d be at the end of the bed like a dog,” she said mildly.
“Roll over.”
What? Lauren rolled over and yelped when his hand spanked her ass, hard, over and over again. It stung, hurt like a bitch, and yet she could feel herself getting wet from it, needing it even as she tried to roll away from his hard hand.
“That’s happening every time you try to top me,” he warned. “And I don’t care if we’re in public when it happens. Which reminds me . . . under that dress tomorrow, you will not be wearing panties.”
Chapter Four
Lauren stared at the Black AmEx in her hand. An unlimited budget to go buy herself a “demure” dress for the wedding that evening.
Marc’s secretary Tiff walked briskly at Lauren’s side. “How cool is this? Where should we go first?”
“I have no idea. Where do rich people go to buy dresses?” Lauren asked.
“Wherever the heck they want,” she replied.
Ah. True, but weird.
“Nordstrom?”
“Think bigger.” Tiff grinned at her, the same grin she gave Lauren after Lauren had tied her to the Saint Andrew’s Cross and publicly flogged her at WhipperSnapper last year.
“This is ridiculous. I have no idea where to go if I’m not buying jeans or something kinky. Can you even picture me in the type of dress Marc wants me to wear?”
Tiff looked her up and down appraisingly. “Yes.”
“Fine. You lead the way.” Oh my God, had those words really just come out of her mouth? Telling another sub to lead her? She really was losing her game.
Lauren followed the petite girl down Fifth Avenue, until Tiff gasped and grabbed her hand. “Here.”
They stepped inside, and suddenly Lauren envisioned the scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts was laughed out of the store.
Well, the Black AmEx would shut them up. Maybe she should show it to them first.
“Good morning, ladies, may I help you?” a coiffed lady asked, walking toward them. The store was empty, with only a few dresses and bags hung artfully on the walls. It didn’t look like a place to shop, it looked like a museum.
Tiff stepped forward, sliding the card from Lauren’s hand into the saleslady’s hand. Hmm. Tiff probably had the same Pretty Woman scene in her head as well. “Marc Wilde requests his date wear a beautiful but demure dress for the Brooks-Anderson wedding this evening.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “Lucky girl. Let’s see what we can do.” She looked at Lauren, and Lauren could imagine that her inner thought process went something along the lines of None of these dresses will fit this woman.
But the smile remained, and she said, “We alter dresses on the spot for a tailored fit, have no fear.”
“You read minds?” Lauren joked.
“It’s my job,” the woman replied, and picked a dress off the wall, one that was clearly a size two. “These are samples, but I have something in the back that might work that’s similar. Any special requests?”
“Well—”
Tiff interrupted Lauren. “No black, no red, no white, beautiful without showing too much skin. Or . . . décolletage.”
“But not frumpy,” Lauren added. Fuck.
“We don’t make frumpy clothes,” the woman said. “I’m Charlotte, by the way. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll find you something fabulous.”
She came out of the back room ten minutes later with an armful of dresses. They all still looked way too small for Lauren.
One was lovely though, she had to admit. It called to her. Pale blue, which always worked well with her red hair, and the way it crossed over one shoulder would cover her chest completely while leaving the other shoulder bare, something that would probably be sexy in its own way.
“Don’t try zipping up,” Charlotte warned. “Just put it on, and it if works we can take the same fabric from another dress and add it to the back to make it fit and have it ready by the time you come back from shoe-shopping.”<
br />
“So I need to buy two dresses to fit myself into one? Awesome.” Her biting tone didn’t sound appropriately grateful or submissive-like, so she softened it with a smile. “Well, if Marc wants to spend . . . how much is that dress, anyway?”
Tiff shook her head. Apparently if you needed to ask you couldn’t afford it. “It doesn’t matter, it’s Marc. He made enough money to buy this whole store while he was drinking his coffee this morning. Just try it on.”
Lauren stepped into the decadent dressing room, not surprised when both Tiff and Charlotte joined her.
“You’ll need a strapless bra and some Spanx,” Charlotte announced and left to go get them, apparently.
“I’ve never felt too big before. This is just embarrassing,” Lauren muttered to Tiff.
“Oh stop. You know you’re gorgeous. Everyone loves your curves. The dresses on the wall are made for wire hangers, not people, you know that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah. That’s why runway models are so skinny. They wear the dresses like hangers to showcase the dress, not the person. But you . . . you’ll shine in whatever we choose.”
“That’s sweet,” Lauren said, and she meant it. Maybe Tiff had a bit of a crush on her. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d topped someone and had them sexually attracted to her after. But Marc . . . he’d been attracted to her all this time, or so he said. The thought thrilled her.
“Knock, knock,” Charlotte said cheerily, and entered without actually knocking. She had a large undergarment in her arms and some strapless bras that had definitely not been on the walls in the store.
Oh. Fuck. “One more request,” Lauren said, feeling her face flush. “I won’t be wearing underwear, so the Spanx might not work.”
Charlotte’s cheeks reddened. “Let’s try this with just the bra, then, and this piece that will fit under your breasts, over your stomach and hips, but leave your . . . um, private areas unrestrained.”
Okay then. Lauren put on the undergarments, surprised to see the tight spandex material worked almost as well as a corset at tightening and smoothing her waistline.
“Go on, let’s try on the dress,” Charlotte encouraged. No doubt she wanted the sale, since something told Lauren the dress was going to cost upwards of four figures, maybe five. And she’d be buying two of them.
Lauren stepped into the long, flowing dress, and heard a seam rip. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she said. Did Marc have any idea how humiliating this would be for her? Was that why he wanted her to do it?
No. Marc wasn’t like that.
He just wanted her to look pretty but in something different from what she’d have chosen herself. If she’d been going to the wedding on her own, she’d be wearing something long but black (or red—he knew her so well), with a deep neckline and a halter top. Something that she could buy off the rack in her own size, with other women shopping around her. And the dress would cost a hundred, not a few (or more?) thousand dollars.
“Don’t worry, honey, happens all the time. It’s just a seam, easily fixable.” Charlotte smiled and helped her pull the dress up and over her shoulder. The entire back of the dress was open, so Charlotte stood behind her at the full-length mirror and held the back of the dress against her skin with her cool hands.
And—from the front at least—the dress was stunning. Even with her most notorious asset—her tits—completely covered, having her one pale shoulder peeking out added just a hint of allure, while the pale blue material brought out the blue in her eyes and made her red hair seem to shine as if the sunlight had settled on it.
“Yes,” Tiff and Charlotte said in unison.
Lauren laughed. “First try! Let’s do it. So how will the back look when it’s been tailored?”
“It will look like it was meant to look, perfect,” Charlotte promised. “Let me just get some material and pin this for the seamstress so she’ll have the basics, and then you can come back in a few hours for a final fitting.” She turned to Tiff. “Hold this in place.”
Tiff eagerly took Charlotte’s place behind Lauren, pressing the material against her skin to keep it from falling off. “No marks,” she murmured. “I’m shocked.”
Lauren gave her the evil eye, staring her down through the mirror, until Tiff coughed. “Sorry, Mistress Lauren.”
She sighed. “It’s okay. I’m not Mistress Lauren this week, I suppose. I imagine I’ll get my marks tonight, if it goes better than last night did.”
“Why?” Tiff asked, obviously happy to be in on the details. “What happened last night?”
“We had a hard time remembering who was supposed to be on top, so . . . not much, scene-wise.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
“It was still quite the interesting experience, for both of us. I don’t think either of us have done it without toys and bondage for a long time.” Lauren laughed. “Don’t say anything to Marc, please.”
“I won’t say a word,” Tiff said. “You can tell me anything. I’m Marc’s secretary, but I’m not his sub. And you can obviously use a sounding board right now if you can’t talk to Marc about it.”
Huh. So true. Marc was her sounding board, as Tiff called it, and he was the one she would have gone to to share the juicy details of her sexcapades if they hadn’t . . . well, been with him. They loved to one-up each other, teasing each other with stories of their triumphs.
But last night, Marc had clearly won. The fact that she was standing in half of a dress, spending his money at his command, proved it.
“Knock, knock,” Charlotte sang again, and came in with plain white linen, which she quickly pinned to the back of the dress. With the linen in place, she stepped back, so Lauren could see what she looked like.
“Demure, yet beautiful,” Tiff said. “We’ll take it.”
“You’ll have to take two, as you know,” Charlotte smiled.
“Ring ’em up,” Lauren said. “Don’t even tell me the price. I’ll faint.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. Ma’am. Lauren loved hearing that, even from a saleslady. Would she ever be able to give up hearing that, for a chance to be with Marc?
“Just for a week,” she whispered to herself in the mirror.
“Pardon?” Charlotte asked.
“Nothing.”
Tiff helped her out of the dress, and Lauren flashed her her naked breasts with a smirk. “You must be enjoying this part of your job.”
“If you were anyone else, I’d tell you not to flatter yourself,” Tiff said. “But it’s you, so . . . um, yeah. Hell yeah.”
They giggled and Lauren quickly pulled her own clothing back on. High-waisted dark jeans and low-cut black tank top and boots.
“I suppose we need shoes now,” Lauren said as they went back out front. She tried to sign the AmEx slip without looking at the numbers, though she couldn’t help but notice her assumption that the two dresses would cost thousands had been an underestimation, to say the least.
“That includes the tailoring and state and local taxes,” Charlotte said, clearly noticing her raised eyebrows.
Lauren shrugged in a way she hoped appeared nonchalant. “Hopefully Mr. Wilde drank a lot of coffee this morning, then.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Charlotte asked as they were walking out the door to hunt down some shoes. “Don’t try to match the blue with the shoes. Go silver, or go nude. No ankle straps because they’ll shorten the look of your legs. Perhaps some open-toed stilettos.”
Tiff nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” She pulled out her phone and texted someone. “We have an appointment for a mani-pedi in two hours, so we better find those shoes now.”
“My nails are already done,” Lauren said, admiring the dark burgundy polish.
“Your nails scream gothic Domme,” Tiff said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally hot, but t
onight you need a French manicure and pedicure. Beautiful but demure, remember?”
And submissive. Right.
Marc sat with Roman and Trevor in Trevor’s den, or his “man-cave” as his house manager Adele always referred to it. They still had about an hour before the wedding ceremony and reception, which would take place there, at Trevor’s enormous Westchester estate.
Outside, the staff had created a beautiful tented reception hall, decorated with more flowers and tiny white lights than Marc had ever seen before, and dozens of round tables with ice-sculpture centerpieces.
The ceremony would take place at sunset, and the rows of white chairs and floral arrangements, along with hanging Chinese lanterns, created a fairy-tale effect.
“Elisabeth really outdid herself with all the wedding planning,” Marc said, sipping his scotch on the rocks. “The place looks amazing.”
“Guests are already arriving,” Trevor said, a hint of nervousness in his usually commanding voice. “Should I be out there?”
“Nah, we’re already in our penguin suits, and you’re not supposed to see the bride in her dress anyway. Adele won’t let you be late to your own wedding.”
“No, she’s running this wedding like it’s the Olympics. She and Elisabeth have been planning this for months. Now the girls are upstairs with Julian getting ready,” Trevor said with a smile.
Julian, Elisabeth’s on-call hair and makeup stylist, was a genius. Marc thought it was cool of Trevor to let Lauren join the rest of the bridal party upstairs as they got beautified, or whatever the heck they did.
“Where’s your date, man?” Marc asked Roman.
“I decided not to bring anyone.” He shrugged, a piece of his long hair slipping out of his short ponytail, hanging in his face. At least he’d shaved for the occasion.
“We talked about this,” Marc muttered.
“I hired an escort to take, fucked her, and then decided I’d rather have her waiting for me naked at my place for when this thing is over rather than having her glomming for a picture on Page Six.”
Trevor nodded in empathy. “Makes sense.”
Enamored Page 5
