by Evelyn Adams
“Ready?” I asked, pressing my hand to the small of her back and guiding her in front of me.
“Always,” she said, confidently striding forward away from my touch and leaving me no choice but to follow her.
NO PANTIES. ERIK sent me clothing. In my size, of course, and if I was feeling charitable, I’d have to admit what he’d chosen fit my taste. I wasn’t feeling charitable because he’d also commanded I show up for our date wearing nothing but the clothes he’d chosen and the shoes I’d worn to the deposition. No hose, no panties. Nothing else.
It made me crazy. I’d shaved—I usually did as part of my work uniform—but for some reason, I felt more naked than if I’d been wearing a G-string. I think it was the contrast between the demure pencil skirt that hit below my knee and the smooth skin between my legs. It was like I had some kind of naughty secret and it made me way too aware, almost to the point of obsession of my bare sex. I’d been wet since I slipped into the expensive lace bra and sheer blouse that practically screamed classy sex, and so distracted I hadn’t been able to sit down while I waited for Erik. I’d hovered around the window, watching for his car, only bringing myself to move when he finally pulled up.
The pup crack had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but when he called me kitten again, I had to do something. I hated to admit it, but he knew some things about dominance and submission that I didn’t. I was willing—hell, eager even—to learn more, but the pet thing had to go. Calling me kitten seemed like a step down a road I wasn’t willing to travel. I was never going to wear a collar or a leash for anyone.
That didn’t mean there weren’t a lot of things I was willing to do with Erik. Starting with kissing and ending up hopefully with him as naked as I felt.
Except he didn’t kiss me. He backed me up against the wall so I had no choice but to breathe in the spicy scent of his aftershave and feel the heat coming off his body in waves. He held his lips a fraction of an inch away from mine until I thought I might lose my mind with wanting the bastard. And then he moved away without closing the deal. He planted his hand on my back and tried to steer me like we were some kind of old married couple on our way to dinner at the country club.
That was a lie. There wasn’t a single old married people thing about the way his palm burned through the thin silk of the blouse he’d chosen for me. Combined with the overwhelming awareness of my bare sex and the residual ache of the kiss that never happened, it was too much. I hurried down the steps and away from his touch, grateful when the driver opened the door to the car parked at my curb.
The feeling evaporated the second he slid in beside me, taking up too much room in the expansive backseat. Seriously, it was like the Tardis—bigger on the inside, and it didn’t matter a bit, there was still too much Erik everywhere I looked, from the amber Scotch waiting next to a pair of cut crystal rocks glasses to the scent of rich leather advertising money and power. And that didn’t count the man sitting next to me, his muscular thigh brushing against mine, reminding me of what I didn’t have on under my skirt.
I watched him from my side of the seat, waiting to see what new kind of mindfuckery he’d pull next. It was a little like being trapped in an enclosed space with a tiger who may or may not be hungry. I couldn’t read him. I didn’t have any trouble messing with him, ignoring for the moment the fact that it often backfired. But I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking and he rarely reacted the way I expected. I felt head blind, and I didn’t like it. Or maybe I did. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“What’s on the menu today? No blindfolds? What are we doing? Handcuffs? Floggers? Assorted pastry?” I said, determined to keep poking until I got some kind of reaction I could work with.
“You’ll see when we get there.” He relaxed into the seat, appearing completely comfortable in his domain.
He wasn’t squirming because his thighs were slick and he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do about it. There wasn’t a single thing about his posture that hinted at the kind of conflict I felt.
“Tell me about your day, Alexandra.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yours? I’m not allowed to work, remember?” Needling him about the cease-and-desist wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be.
“I assumed you were more than just your work.”
Well, hell, I’d walked into that one.
“You had my apartment cleaned and saw last night’s bath. I figured that got you up to speed.”
“Your bath may have derailed a deal I’ve been working on for months. I was walking into dinner with a potential client when I got your photo.”
I resisted the urge to sorry/not sorry him. Admitting my picture had an effect on him was a rare kind of candor for him. I didn’t want to wreck it.
“I spent the evening imagining it was my fingers inside you instead of yours. My cock was so hard for you I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.”
His words made me shift in my seat, my arousal already slick on my thighs. Knowing a picture of me had that kind of effect on a man like Erik was heady stuff. I glanced up and caught him watching, his piercing, dark gaze pinned on me in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what I was thinking. He grinned like a big cat who had his prey clearly in his sights, and he was just waiting for me to make a move before he pounced.
“You asked for the photo,” I said, hoping I pulled off the careful what you wish for attitude and knowing before his grin widened, I’d failed.
“Yes, I did.”
The car had taken us across the city to I-10. Asking him where we were going was useless, but that didn’t mean I was helpless. I still had weapons at my disposal, and if I played it right, I might be able to do something about the ache between my thighs. Bare minimum, I could stop feeling so out of control.
“I’m trying to do everything you tell me to,” I said with as much innocence as I could muster.
He snorted in disbelief the second the words were out of my mouth and then swallowed the sound when my leg landed on his lap. I’d hiked up my skirt and spread my legs, baring myself to him. The cool air on my exposed sex made me feel even more naked and for a moment, I was unsure of myself. Like I might have poked a sleeping bear or something. In my experience, this was the point where most men lost the ability to think clearly. Erik already said my photo had that effect on him, and I could feel the long, hard length of his cock against my bare calf, but he wasn’t making any move to touch me and aside from his initial attempt to swallow his laughter, he seemed determined not to respond.
An image of Winston Churchill and that “going through hell” quote popped into my head and I had to fight to keep from slamming my legs closed. If I did that, all I’d have accomplished was embarrassing myself. Failure was not an option. Tipping my hips forward, I slid my foot up until the point of my heel dug into Erik’s thigh. Not hard enough to hurt him—I didn’t think he was into that—just hard enough to demand his attention. He lifted my foot, slid off my shoe and rested the sole of my foot against his thigh with nothing more than a friendly pat. Fuck.
“I’m not going to touch you, Alexandra,” he said with the same tone I imagined he used with his secretary or the barista who made his morning coffee. There was no heat or admonition, nothing but a statement of fact.
“I thought you weren’t into orgasm denial,” I said, feeling like the sand was shifted out from underneath me. I slid my bare foot closer to the outline of his cock, clearly visible through the charcoal-gray fabric of his dress slacks. The man had spectacular taste in clothes.
“You’re welcome to make yourself come if you need to. We can certainly count this as you letting me know.” He waved a hand toward me, and I felt the air move over my exposed sex. “I’m just not going to participate.”
In that moment, I hated him a little bit. I might have hated him a lot if it hadn’t been my idea to show him all my stuff, and if I hadn’t felt his cock twitch against my toes and seen the way his jaw tightened, as if he we
re trying hard to stay still. He wanted me. He didn’t have to say it for me to be sure, and if he was having this much trouble with the idea of me masturbating in front of him, the reality was bound to be about a thousand times better. At least I hoped so.
At this point, my choice was to definitely wallow in embarrassment and self-pity now or maybe feel it later. The maybe came with a maybe not and in this case, I was willing to take the chance. Plus orgasms.
“If you’re sure,” I said, keeping my gaze locked on his jaw as I slid my fingers over my aching clit.
I WAS GOING TO BREAK my teeth if I clenched my jaw any tighter. Every time I thought I had a handle on things, Alex managed to turn them upside down on me. I was sure my apparent disinterest would be enough to stop her. Although, in retrospect, I had no idea why I’d come to that conclusion. The woman hadn’t backed away from a single challenge I issued. I should have known she’d double down on masturbating in front of me.
I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want her. My cock was so hard it ached in a way it hadn’t since the blue ball days of my adolescence. She’d call me on my bullshit if I tried to deny it. That didn’t mean I’d cave. If anything, it made my resolve stronger. There was no way in hell I’d touch her now. Not when she was back to using her sexuality as a weapon against me. Which left me two obvious choices. I could use every skill I’d gained in the courtroom to hide my emotions or I could give in to what I felt and get myself off next to her. Unzip my fly, take my cock in my hand and stroke from balls to head until I came with her.
Aside from the obvious appeal of orgasming and not having to fight the ongoing distraction for the next couple of hours, there was the additional benefit of throwing Alexandra further off her game. She was good—very good—at the sex-for-power thing but I didn’t think even she could hide her body’s reaction to me stroking one out in front of her. It would be mutual pleasure.
That thought decided it for me. I didn’t want side-by-side pleasure. I wanted us to create something together, something bigger, more powerful than anything we could do on our own. Regardless of how hard—no fucking pun intended—it would make the next couple of hours for me. Reluctantly surrendering to delayed gratification, I shifted in the leather seat so I could turn to face her.
Cupping her foot gently, I moved it away from my cock, but instead of setting it to the side, I held it, not caressing it but simply resting one palm on her arch and the other on the top of her foot. Caging her. My gaze deliberately moved up her leg to the juncture of her thighs and her fingers, slick with her arousal, playing over her clit. She slipped a slender finger through her bare folds and rocked her hips as her pale-pink fingertip pressed into her opening.
It was mesmerizing. I could watch for hours, learning her rhythms, learning the way she liked to touch herself, pleasure herself. But I knew without seeing her face this was a performance and the way she touched herself had more to do with manipulating me than it did with pleasing herself. I wouldn’t learn anything I wanted to know from that.
My gaze trailed up her body over the gentle swell of her breasts covered in lace and the sheerest silk. The hard points of her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, and I could tell she was genuinely aroused. But when my gaze found her face, I also knew I’d been right about her performing. Instead of eyes hooded with desire and a face flushed with passion, her expression was shrewd. Calculating. I pinned her with my gaze, commanding her attention, and waited.
Her shoulders stilled, and I knew without looking that she’d stopped stroking her clit. As I watched, her expression shifted from confusion to frustration. It was as if without an audience, she didn’t know what to do. Like she’d be okay with me watching her fuck her pussy with her hand, but looking in her eyes when she came was somehow too intimate. It was perfect.
“We’ll arrive in a few minutes, Alexandra. If you still want to come.” I threw the words out as if it didn’t matter one way or another, but I kept my gaze hooked on hers. This was where it could go wrong. If she decided to deny herself rather than give me an authentic glimpse at her pleasure, then this whole thing would be nothing more than a useless power struggle between us that cemented us each more firmly in our own camps instead of drawing us closer together. “I know I want you to,” I said, offering her something genuine and hoping she’d reciprocate.
Her expression shifted again—the woman was a gorgeous chameleon, wearing her emotions on her face—and there was uncertainty in her dark eyes.
“For me, please,” I said, giving her a way to justify what she wanted without losing face. I added the please because now that we’d started this dance, I didn’t think I could bear for it to end without seeing her come, watching her surrender to her body’s pleasure.
She nodded and then she started to move. Hard and fast or smooth and slow—I had no idea. There wasn’t a force strong enough on the earth to make me look away from her eyes while she touched herself. As I watched, her cheeks colored and her lips parted, but it was to make space for her shallow breaths, not an attempt to draw me in. Or at least not solely an attempt to draw me in. I didn’t doubt that my witness added to her arousal. I kept her foot caged between my hands, not caressing, more providing a physical reminder of my presence while she touched herself.
Her breathing came faster and I felt her foot flex against my palm but she didn’t close her eyes. Not until the very last moment when her climax rolled over her. Her back arched and her body tightened like a bow string, the muscles of her calf bunching against my thigh. Her lips formed a perfect O as she breathed through her climax and her face and body went slack. When she opened her eyes again, it was as if I was seeing her for the first time, as if in that brief, unguarded second I caught a glimpse of her soul. It was more addictive than any drug, and I didn’t know how long I’d be able to wait for my next hit.
I reached for her hand and it took me a few seconds to realize the car stopped. I’d been so lost in her pleasure, I had no idea how long we’d been sitting there. My driver had been with me long enough to know not to open the door until I signaled we were ready. Leaning toward her, I brought her fingers to my mouth and sucked them clean, tasting her slightly salty, tangy essence. Her chest hitched as her breath caught and I didn’t have to tell her how much I wanted her. She knew.
“Thank you,” I said, needing to be clear her sharing herself mattered more to me than any quick fuck.
She nodded, her eyes so wide and bright, still so open in the dimly lit car that for a moment I considered asking the driver to take us straight to my place, but I didn’t trust myself to hold back when we were really alone. To me, dominance had always been about using the power my partner trusted me with for the pleasure of both of us. Alexandra would feel more pleasure, deeper pleasure when she really let go and trusted someone else to hold her. That meant not letting her fall into old patterns of performing for power. Which meant—for now at least—no sex. Until I could be sure I could be alone with her and not give in to the aching need to cover her with my body and fill her with my cock, we’d have to stick to sharing other only slightly less pleasurable things together.
“Come on, beautiful,” I said, straightening her skirt for her. “We’re late for tea.”
I SAT ON the low bench, grateful this wasn’t one of those tea places where you had to sit on the floor. My skirt would have made it impossible and after what happened in the back of Erik’s car, I didn’t trust my legs to support me if I gave in to their urge to crumple. Hell, I was so shaky, I’d needed his help to get into the shop. This time when he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me, it had been a necessity and not for show. It took every bit of my self-control to keep from leaning back against him, letting his body curve around me and support me. I still wanted that—to give in to his strength for just a few moments. To surrender to him.
It was insane. I’d been in lots more vulnerable positions with clients before. But I didn’t come with them. I faked, very convincingly if I must say so mys
elf, but letting go enough to actually orgasm? That was something I did in the safety of my own space, deep inside my own fantasies.
Erik pushed me to reveal more of myself than I ever intended, and I felt more vulnerable getting myself off with him next to me than I’d ever felt during sex. There’d been a moment after I climaxed when it felt like we connected on a deeper level, even though he barely touched me. And then he slid my fingers into his hot mouth, and any satisfaction I’d been feeling got burned away by how much I wanted him. It felt like going from zero to sixty in a flash of his dark eyes, as if my orgasm never happened, and I was thrown right back neck-deep into wanting him. Except this time nothing would make the feeling go away but him. Which was damned inconvenient, given how much energy I’d been expending trying to convince both of us that he didn’t matter to me.
“Have you ever made tea using a Gaiwan before?” The diminutive man who appeared part Asian, part something else, and every bit of eighty years old sat in the chair opposite us and waited for my answer.
I thought of about a half dozen smart-ass Lipton comments but found I didn’t want to say any of them. The tea shop was small—on scale with its proprietor—and smelled delicious, spicy, smoky, and herbal all at the same time. Glass apothecary jars holding dozens of kinds of teas lined the walls and I wanted to know what was in each of them. I was too curious to try to mask it with snark.
“No, sir. I’m not sure what a Gaiwan is, but I know I haven’t used one.”
“Good, good. You’re going to love this. It’s a completely different taste. Do you prefer green tea or black?”
