by Jani Kay
I pulled at the collar of my shirt. It irked me that getting to the ivory tower by merit alone was nearly impossible and that I had to resort to such measures as pretending I was remotely interested in her.
There was also Samantha. I frowned. Sidestepping The Brat tonight at her daddy’s party was going to be as tricky as avoiding her mother. She kind of thought she owned me already because I'd screwed her. Next thing, she’d assume I was going to fucking marry her. Big mistake.
As a kid I’d already decided that I never wanted what happened to my old man to happen to me. I was never getting married. Nor was I having kids.
Not in this lifetime.
I didn’t have the time for a wife, or the inclination to be stuck with one person for the rest of my life. Variety was what I enjoyed—every new pussy a challenge. Risk had its rewards, and nowhere was it more adrenaline-spiking than when it came to bedding some of the most beautiful women in high society.
Five minutes later, I pulled up outside a three-story apartment block, surprised at its neatness, in spite of being in a rather suspect neighborhood. I checked my hair in the mirror—yep, still looking good. Somewhat apprehensive at leaving the Red Beast in the street, I hoped Miss Bennett was ready and waiting.
Deciding to wait on the sidewalk so that I could keep an eye on my beauty, I pulled my phone from my pocket. I'd slaved fucking hours to afford her, working my ass off night after night until she became mine. There was nothing I loved more than her purr—if the car were a woman, I'd have a constant hard-on for her. I wasn’t risking some jealous fucker keying the side of my car or worse, stealing her in the time it would take me to go up to fetch Miss Bennett.
Scrolling through my contacts list, I found Brooklyn Bennett’s number and dialed. It rang for some time before she answered. Christ, I hoped she was ready—Old Man Williams was short-tempered, and I didn’t need to attract his displeasure. Sometimes I actually felt sorry for his wife—he wasn’t an easy man to please.
Before the phone rang out, a female voice answered. It didn’t sound like Brooklyn, although the accent was also Australian.
"Brooklyn’s phone. Can I help you?" she said breathlessly.
"Hey, Brooklyn’s phone. Tyler Sinclair. I'm waiting downstairs. Can you please ask her to meet me here?"
"Um . . . you’re not being a gentleman and coming upstairs to fetch her?"
"Well . . . uh, this neighborhood is sketchy, and I can't leave my car. Please ask her to come down. We need to leave."
She sighed into the phone, "Okay. But . . . you make sure you see her to the door when you bring her home, or there will be hell. I don’t want to read about it in the papers in the morning."
"Okay. Deal. Send her down." I leaned against the car, arms and legs crossed, thrumming my fingers on my biceps. I hated waiting for anything. Five minutes ticked by and still nothing. I pulled at the collar of my shirt, heat rising in my body.
What was Brooklyn doing? Images of her busy dressing flashed through my mind. Pulling stockings up and fastening them to a suspender belt, her tits peeling over the cups of her bra as she leaned forward. And her ass . . . silky skin covered by lace. My dick twitched. I imagined her fingers sweeping across her smooth pussy, dipping into her warmth and massaging her clit while she bit into her bottom lip.
Humming softly, I imagined the noises she’d make when she orgasmed, her raspy voice moaning and growing louder as she neared her ultimate moment of pleasure, calling out my name on a wispy breath as her body shuddered.
I wiped over my brow, my face warm from the images in my head—her licking over parched lips, eyes closed and with an orgasmic afterglow covering her skin. I bet she was beautiful when she came. And if she wore her glasses, that’d be even sexier. Uncomfortable, my throbbing dick tenting my pants, I shifted my weight from one leg to the other.
What I wouldn’t give to watch her while she pleasured herself. When she was done, it would be my turn—I’d love to fuck Ms. Bennett while she wore nothing other than her glasses and a suspender belt, her tits bouncing in my face.
Maybe I should’ve gone up to find out what was going on. Yeah, maybe—
Jolted from my thoughts by a ringing phone, I checked the screen. Brooklyn Bennett. Fuck. I reached down and adjusted my cock in the tightened pants. I scowled as I answered, unable to settle my erection.
"Yes? We’re running late. This better be damn good." If she hadn’t left me standing there all this time, I wouldn’t have this fucking problem. Her raspy voice was the same as the one I imagined moments ago. I suppressed a groan as I massaged my cock with the heel of my palm, willing it to go down.
"I'm not coming. Sorry. If you leave now you should be on time."
What? Nobody said "no" to Tyler Sinclair. My dick went limp in ten seconds flat.
"Unless you’re bleeding from an accident or something similar, get your ass down here. I'm not a patient man."
"Did you not hear what I just said? I'm not coming," she huffed. The raspy sexy voice had made way for an exasperated tone.
Was this a fucking challenge?
I gritted my teeth. The clock was ticking. I didn’t have time for this bullshit. "Don’t test me, woman. And don’t make me come up those stairs to drag you down with me. I drove out here to get you, so you’re coming."
Unless she looked hideous and this was her way to spare me the embarrassment.
Her friend’s voice spoke in my ear. "Hang on. Since you won’t come up, guess I'll have to push her out the door." I heard her curse under her breath. "She’s shy. Be fucking nice to her or I’ll have to come for your balls. Got me, Mr. Deb . . . Sinclair?" I swear she growled. Jesus. I didn’t want to be on her bad side. The Bull Terrier would rip me to shreds.
Shy? She couldn’t be referring to the woman I’d had in my office the past few days—she was confident and assured in the way people were when they knew they were good at what they did.
"Of course." I moved toward the stairwell. If she wasn’t coming down, I was going up to find out what this was all about.
"You owe me."
The call ended and I waited at the bottom of the stairs. This was doing my fucking head in. Exactly why I never wanted a permanent woman in my life. Too much fucking trouble. I’d never understand them.
Shaking my head, I adjusted my cufflinks. Bull Terrier’s words replayed through my mind. If it were true that Brooklyn was shy, I was being a dick to not go up to her door.
Flashes of my mother’s words played in my head: Always act like a gentleman, Tyler. Girls like that. I could just imagine Mom’s frown if she saw me standing there. Taking two stairs at a time, I bolted up toward the first floor.
It was too late. Halfway up, as I reached the landing and rounded the corner to the second flight of steps, I only had enough time to register long gleaming legs in fuck-me heels before screeching to a halt.
Dewy lips quivered as she kept her eyes down, watching her steps, unaware that we were about to collide. My heart pumped my blood thick and fast through my veins and I sucked in a sharp breath.
I had a split second to take her in before she heard me. Brooklyn was a vision of perfection. Without her glasses, she wore just the right amount of makeup to enhance her loveliness. Her hair, stacked high on top of her head with loose tendrils around her face, was like a fucking halo.
She was breathtakingly beautiful.
My jaw dropped. Holy fuck.
Golden Girl.
"Brooklyn."
Her head shot up, her baby blues wide as they collided with mine. She missed the second last step and lost her balance, hurling forward straight into my arms. I grabbed hold of her, smiling as her perfume hit my nostrils.
She was even more beautiful up close.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
14 - Brooklyn
Cassidy had outdone herself. She hadn’t allowed me to look into the mirror while she did my makeup and hair. When she finally was happy with her handiwork, she helped me into my dres
s and shoes, and then pulled me to the long mirror inside the cupboard door. I hardly recognized myself. Where were my freckles? And my hair—oh God, my hair . . . it was smooth and elegantly stacked on top of my head. I looked like a freaking movie-star in the gold-sequined dress, my skin glowing.
"You look a million dollars, honey. Mr. Debonair is in for a surprise, all right. Not a date . . . my ass," she huffed as she placed her dangling diamond earrings in my palm. "Put these on. They’ll finish the look off perfectly."
I stared into the mirror. Holy baby Jesus. I never thought I could look like this . . . So grown-up. Elegant. Sophisticated.
It was while I hugged her that I freaked out. I'd be caught out as a fraud. How was I going to make it through an entire evening without giving myself away? In spite of the beautiful and expensive dress, it was still the poor girl inside.
Cass ranted at me when I refused to answer my phone, and threatened bodily harm if I didn’t go down to meet the man waiting not so patiently. As much as I protested, doubly hard she pushed. I was totally out of my comfort zone, with no backup plan. My throat closed as Cassidy pecked a kiss on my cheek and closed the apartment door behind me, locking it.
My heart raced. This is it.
Because of sweaty palms and my aversion to germs, I avoided touching the railing, clinging to my purse and watching my feet instead so I wouldn’t break my neck on my way down. These damn shoes—for the ridiculous price I’d paid they were by far the most uncomfortable ones I’d worn. But also the prettiest. My legs looked as if they went on for miles, all thanks to Italian designer flair.
Unaware that Tyler Sinclair stood on the landing of the staircase, his husky voice drifted toward me. "Brooklyn." All it took was one word for my heart to leap out of my throat—not only because I wasn’t expecting anyone there, but also because of the way he said my name. The word was loaded . . . sexy as sin. Hearing him use my name for the first time twisted my stomach into a tight knot.
My head jerked up from my feet into his stunned eyes, both of us completely derailed. The world stood still for a long moment—it was only us on the planet.
In reality a matter of seconds had passed before I stumbled into his waiting arms. He pressed me against his hard chest.
"I’ve got you," he said, his tone clear and confident, his voice sending a delicious shiver up my spine.
"Oh God," I whimpered, breathing in his scent, resting my head against him while I gathered myself. I hadn’t even made it to his car, and already I was making a fool of myself. As much as I wanted to learn and experience new things, I also knew when I was out of my depth.
Mr. Debonair did his name justice. He looked gorgeous in a black evening suit and bowtie—suave and elegant and . . . debonair.
"You look amazing," he said, pulling back slightly but not letting go of me. His smile reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners as he scrutinized my face.
"Thank you," I whispered, struggling to find my voice. For some reason, butterflies had taken over my stomach and his nearness messed with my brain. "You look great too."
He stepped away and offered his arm. Our eyes remained locked as I hooked in, grateful for the stability he offered, unable to keep a smile from spreading across my face. His shoulders relaxed as he patted my hand and then gave it a light squeeze as we made our way down, one step at a time, completely unhurried.
I gasped when my gaze fell on the red car standing under the pool of light from the street lamp. I'd never imagined I'd sit my ass in the seat of one of those. Tyler chuckled—clearly he got a kick out of my reaction to his mode of transport. Damn, I wanted to be as good as he was at what he did for a living. If he could afford a car like this, the man was raking it in.
"Like my baby?" he purred, his voice like velvet. He opened the door for me, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"It's okay. A little low for me," I said, acting cool and calm as I bent down to get in. He didn’t need to know just how much I was in absolute awe. "I never imagined that Tyler Sinclair needed a chick magnet to draw women."
His face was priceless—I bet no other female had ever said that to him. He rounded the car, the grin gone, and started the engine. The car roared to life, sending a spike of adrenaline through my body. I clutched the seat as Tyler pulled away from the curb. He put his foot down as he shifted through the gears, then accelerated as we got to the open road. My heart rate was off the charts, my stomach churning, yet I loved every frightening second.
"Relax. You look frightened to death." He laughed as we rounded a corner at a speed most cars would choke at. He placed his hand on my knee, giving it a light squeeze. I blinked up at him, my mouth forming a silent O before I leaned back in the seat and pretended it was the most natural thing in the world for his hand to be there. But underneath my worldly façade, my brain scrambled to make sense of it all.
From under my lashes I stole sideway glances of his handsome face. He was in his element, clearly loving the brute force of the machine as he took it through its paces.
All too soon, he exited the expressway and drove toward the river, passing one mansion larger and more impressive than the other. This time I kept my mouth closed, pressing my lips together as I stared wide-eyed at our surroundings of conspicuous wealth, sinking deeper and deeper into the leather seat. He stopped the car in front of gigantic gates, idling the engine as he turned to me. "I have a little test for you, Miss Bennett."
My eyebrows rose to my hairline. A test? I swallowed hard, waiting for him to continue. His hand slid up my thigh and disappeared under my dress. Holy shit. I sucked in a breath as his fingers stroked over the lace of my panties.
I had to fight the impulse to squeeze my thighs together. God, I was getting wet, and he hadn’t even touched me there. I wasn’t sure if I should slap his hand away or open my legs and beg for more. I did neither.
"Take these off," he ordered. He removed his hand and sat back, watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. My heartbeat accelerated faster than his car.
What the hell kind of test was this?
"Why?" I breathed, cemented in the seat, my mouth dry.
"Because I said so, Miss Bennett. That’s all the reason you need." A slight smile twisted at the corners of his mouth. He held out his hand, palm up, waiting for me to place my expensive panties in them.
I didn’t move.
"Need help?" he growled. His eyebrows knit together as he stared at me. "Are you going to do it, or shall I?"
If he was trying to intimidate or scare me, it worked. But at the same time I was turned on beyond belief. I gave in to the temptation to squeeze my thighs together to calm the dull ache that had settled there.
"No. Not happening." I crossed my arms and glared at him.
His eyes widened, amusement and something else . . . respect shining back at me. He pursed his lips, stifling a grin or whatever else was making his lips twitch. I turned my head and stared at the guard waiting for us to enter through the gate.
"Those belong to me, Brooklyn. Don’t deny me." His voice was soft, yet threatening. He cupped my chin and turned my face back to his.
"What do you mean? I bought them with the company credit card. They aren’t yours."
"Oh yes, they are. Everything you’re wearing belongs to me."
I smirked. "So after I take off the panties and deposit them in your hand, you want the rest too?"
He shook his head, chuckling softly. It unnerved me more than if he were angry and aggressive. "Not right now. I’ll save that for later. First you must to pass this test. I need your submission. Give it to me."
"What part of no do you not understand? This test is ridiculous."
"By the end of this night you won’t be saying ‘no’, Miss Bennett. You’ll be wanting to take it all off and handing it to me, including your body."
"Really? Well you can have your dress, and everything else back tomorrow morning. Excluding my body."
"Before this night is over, I will own your body. In fact, y
ou will be begging for me to delight you."
"Wow, some inflated ego you have. You can buy a dress and all the rest, Mr. Sinclair, but you can't buy me. My body isn’t for sale. And I’m fussy about who I delight . . . or allow to delight me."
He gripped both my wrists with one hand and pulled me toward him, his minty breath heavy and warm in the small, enclosed space.
"I want you, Brooklyn. You will be mine. I will own you. Tonight."
"Is that right?" My heart was beating so fast, whooshing in my ears, that I was sure he could hear it too.
His finger ran up my arm, over my shoulder, down my breast, over my nipple, then to the other side. God, I hated my body. My nipples were rock-hard, responding to his touch in ways I didn’t want them to.
"Yes. You will belong to me. No other man will touch what is mine. I plan to explore every inch of this sumptuous body."
A car pulled up behind us and honked its horn. "Time to go inside. But you will stay close to me at all times. You will wait until I am ready to claim what I want. I will own your pussy—it will be mine."
He let go of me and shifted the red demon into first gear. The guard stood patiently at the open gate, waiting for us to go through. How much had he seen? Warmth spread up my chest and over my cheeks.
"I love when you blush. But tonight I’m going to make you flushed all over . . . make you squirm and scream my name. It's a promise. And I can't wait to do it."
The car roared as he pulled it into the impressive estate, lost in a sea of similar vehicles, all outward symbols of the power of their owners. Was I just a game to Tyler Sinclair? A conquest to add to his power-hungry agenda?
In spite of the warm, balmy evening I shivered as I climbed out of the car.
Did I want Tyler to own me? A part of me was excited—thrilled that he wanted me. Yet there was a part of me that couldn’t help but be afraid. In order for Mr. Debonair to own me, it would mean that I had to submit to him. Was I ready for that?
As for his test—had I failed?
