I have a business dealing that’s taking my time.
Have dinner, and then prepare yourself for me.
Tonight, you’re mine.
-Liam
Randolph inclines his head, waiting patiently as I clutch the paper to my chest. “Ma’am, would you like the tour? At least to get to the kitchen, and perhaps the living room?”
I nod and follow as he sees me to the kitchen. “Dinner will be served whenever you are ready. This way, please.” He then shows me the living room, although it seems more like a comfy movie theater, considering the size of the television screen and the leather reclining couch. Finally, he escorts me to the master bedroom, setting my bag on a side table. “Mr. Blackstone asked that you make yourself at home and he’ll be here shortly. Pick up any house phone and dial *0 to reach me in my quarters if you need anything, Ms. Hunnington.”
I nod. “Thank you, Randolph.”
And then I’m alone in Liam’s bedroom. The huge bed, covered with a fluffy grey comforter, fills my vision, and my blood races through my veins. Is this the night? With a soft smile, I shimmy and bounce on the bed, letting out a squeal of excitement.
Chapter 9
Liam
“And so, gentlemen,” Melvin says up front, finally coming to the end of his presentation, “we should look at investing in these markets, particularly these specific companies, to insure ourselves against the predicted upcoming trade war.”
I try not to roll my eyes. The board, all freaked out over rumors of tariffs and counter-tariffs and more, had insisted on this meeting. Melvin’s been talking for what feels like forever, happy as a clam in mud to have the floor. He’s shown us charts, graphs, and even a spreadsheet that was so convoluted I think he was the only one who knew what it actually said.
Still, it’s a shame he’s not the greatest at actually presenting it because his numbers are pretty on point, even if I still disagree with what we should actually do with them. “Thank you, Melvin. I know the board appreciates your hard work to bring these figures forward.” He preens a bit, his smile stretching across his thin face as he makes eye contact with anyone still looking at him. As I expected, though, most of the suits around the table have their eyes locked on me, checking my response to Melvin’s presentation. “I think we’re all concerned about the possibility of tariffs and what the fallout could be, but they’re all conjecture at this point. I have to believe, and history has shown, that we’re not going to end up in a worst-case scenario situation like Melvin has forecast.”
Melvin interrupts me, arguing, “But predicting the market is what I do. Something Morgan has always entrusted to me.”
His tone is harsh, more sneering than I usually expect from him, and I realize I’ve touched a rather sensitive nerve. Framing my words carefully, both for the board and for Melvin, who has been a useful source, I say, “And you are an excellent analyst. Your team is integral in evaluating possible opportunities and pitfalls.” It’s the best ego soother I’m going to offer, because I quickly deliver the cutting blow. “But ultimately, it’s up to the board to dictate what we do with the analysis you provide. In this situation, I feel strongly that staying our current course of action is in Morgan’s best interest. We can continue to reevaluate as the tariff situation evolves, but I don’t currently feel the need to preventatively safeguard assets because the sky might be falling some time in the future if X, Y, and Z occur.”
Melvin is turning a slightly ruddy color and his eyes might as well be shooting daggers. Oddly enough, I can respect that. He’s a passionate and intelligent man who wants what he thinks is best for Morgan and is willing to fight for it. I just happen to disagree with what that choice should be. “It’s an ongoing situation and we’ll take that into consideration, but the assets you recommend reallocating to safer markets would then earn approximately six percent, right?”
Through gritted teeth, he corrects me. “Six point four percent.”
“Exactly. Six point four. Where they currently sit, they’re earning upward of twelve,” I say, speaking to the board members. “Or, Melvin, what’s the exact percentage, currently?” It’s an attempt to get him to see reason, but barring that, having him speak the words that will seal the board’s agreement with me is a power play.
Melvin turns to look at the spreadsheet behind him, something I know he doesn’t need to do since he has these numbers memorized backward and forward. “Twelve point one percent.”
“So, leaving them, even if it’s only for a short time while we watch the tariff news, puts us in a stronger financial position. If our current investments decline, they’re not likely to drop almost fifty percent overnight, and even if they did, we would’ve made more during the time at the higher return rate to offset that, and the loss would be deductible on taxes.” I finish my sales pitch with a smile, softening the strike to Melvin and his presentation.
The board members nod and murmur their agreement, and I’m done with this conversation, ready to get home to Arianna. “So, I think we’ll stay the course for now, with close follow-up by Melvin’s group.” I eye him for agreement, and he nods tightly. “I think we can call that an evening, people. Have a good weekend.”
I get up from the table, forcing myself not to run from the room in my hurry to get to Arianna’s sweet pussy. Melvin stops me with a hand on my arm, though. I look down, not liking his nerve. “Sir, I really think if you look through the projections, you’ll see that I’m right.”
I sigh inside. I have to give the man credit. He’s persistent, which is a good thing, but my gut says he’s not correct. It’s just too soon. “I’ll go back over them, but my gut says to stay the course. Sometimes, the smarter move isn’t the safer move. We need big risks to get big reward, and honestly, this isn’t even that big of a risk. Surely, you see that? But we’ll keep a close eye, continue evaluating. I’ll need you to do that, Melvin. Can you handle that?”
His eyes narrow in confusion. “Your gut? You’re risking Morgan based on your gut?” At my silence, he shakes his head, blinking rapidly, and schools his face. “Okay, Mr. Blackstone. It’s your call. I’ll keep an eye on it and report back to the board if there are any changes.”
I can feel that it’s a submission on his part, but not one given willingly. Pretty sure this bridge is burned and that I won’t be getting any further intel from him, I go ahead and throw kerosene on the raging inferno Melvin is hiding behind his blank face and bespectacled stare. “To me. If there are changes, report them to me. I’ll deal with the board.” I don’t bother asking if he understands. It’s a direct order so he’d best get with the program. I don’t require my employees to be yes-men. In fact, I appreciate and respect general discourse about company direction. It’s a team effort and that’s why there is a board who votes on decisions. But someone has to take the ultimate responsibility for those calls, good or bad, and that someone is me. Morgan hired me because I take calculated gambles, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Melvin nods, though his cheeks are splotchy with redness. “Of course, sir.” His retreat down the hallway is swift, not quite a stomp, but even from behind, I can see the anger in his stride.
Jacob approaches slowly, whistling as he follows my sightline. “You shit in his cereal after already pissing in his Cheerios? That’s a cold-blooded dick move, even for you, Liam.”
I turn, smirking at his irreverence. No one else talks to me like that, and I’m glad to have Jacob to call me out, even if it’s not warranted this time. “No, he’ll be fine. Though I wouldn’t expect him to rat on board happenings again.” I shrug. “All right, I’m out for the weekend. Only call if the building’s on fire.”
Jacob grins. “Gotcha. Real quick while we walk . . .” We head down the hallway from the conference room to my office, Jacob rattling as we go like usual, and I nod along as he confirms the things he’s already done in my name to handle business. “Last but not least, Helen from the magazine emailed during the meeting. She’s a go for Ariann
a being in the photos. Apparently, she was as big of a hit with them as she was with you.” He gives me a healthy dose of side-eye, but I choose to ignore it. He’s made his stance clear, and we’re mostly just avoiding the elephant in the room.
“Also, Helen was struck with a last-minute stroke of brilliance.” He rolls his eyes before continuing. “She’s throwing a cover reveal party for you on her yacht, down by the coast. Next weekend.”
I stare at Jacob. “Next weekend? What the hell’s with the last-minute shit?”
He laughs. “I knew you’d say that. It’s called spontaneity, man. Look it up. And your calendar was shockingly clear that day, although I would’ve switched it up for something like this. You don’t exactly want to piss off Helen because, let’s be real, her get-togethers are networking extravaganzas and PR godsends. Plus, she’s running it like a pop-up party, some fancy food truck chef taking over the kitchen to make lamb pops or some shit. And you want to hear the best part?” I can tell by the gleeful look in his eyes that the ‘best part’ is going to suck big time. “It’s a costume party! Well, more like cosplay, I guess. Modern movie, game, and comic characters strongly encouraged.”
I was right. His idea of good news is my version of hell. I don’t remember the last time I dressed up in a costume. Maybe when I was eight or nine for a Halloween party? Unless . . . wait . . .does a toga party in college count? Probably, so it’s been ten years at least. But Jacob’s right. This isn’t a party I can miss, especially if it’s to reveal the cover with me on it. Jacob keeps trying to convince me as we walk into my office. “Helen is apparently a not-so-secret eccentric and loves to play dress-up. It could be worse! She had a Marie Antoinette themed party once, complete with powdered wigs. Another time, she apparently celebrated a particular movie opening with a Latex and Lingerie party. Wish we could’ve gone to that one.” He wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
I sigh. “Okay, costume party next weekend. I’ll get Randolph to pick up . . . something. Maybe I should go as Gordon Gekko after all?” Jacob shakes his head sharply, and I let the idea of an easy suit and suspenders costume go.
“I need to give Helen’s people a head count. Who are you thinking? We need to make an appearance as Morgan, show support and all that.” He holds his tablet, ready for me to dictate a guest list.
By next weekend, Arianna will be fully mine and ready to give Morgan a long-time shot. A great way to cap off her return to college, too.
“Me, Arianna, you, and a date, if you’d like. The board members and spouses. Anyone else you can think of?”
Jacob hums. “VPs?”
I consider for a moment, mentally tallying up the various VPs over each department and division. “No, I think that might be overwhelming. That’s at least twenty more people, plus spouses. I want to be able to speak with the other people there to network, not be forced into speaking with staff I can see on Monday.” He nods, letting me know he agrees with my assessment, and I grab my briefcase, shutting down my computer. “I’m out.
“Where are you going with a rocket up your ass?” Jacob asks. “I’ve never seen you beat me out the door before.”
“Today’s a day for first times,” I reply, grinning, but he doesn’t get the double meaning. “And I’m going home.”
* * *
The Ferrari is a pleasure to drive, and I’m home in a jiffy. It still feels like too long since I last saw Arianna, though it’s only been a few hours. When I pull up, I feel the thrum of the engine rumbling as the glass garage doors open for me. They aren’t really glass, of course—they’re laminate—but I do love the irony of living in a ‘glass house’, considering the number of stones I throw around the business world.
Randolph is waiting for me in the back hall as I come in from the garage, his hands behind his back and his face stern. “Mr. Blackstone, welcome home.”
“Is she upstairs?” I ask, handing Randolph the keys.
“She is. After a light dinner, she said she was fine waiting for you alone. Will there be anything else tonight, sir?” His voice is even, practiced neutrality.
“No, that’s everything. Thanks, Randolph,” I say hurriedly, barely restraining myself from running up the stairs to my doll.
Randolph clears his throat, “Sir? If I may . . .” I look to him, seeing his request to speak freely in his eyes. I dip my chin, giving permission. “Forgive me if I am out of line, but there is something special about her. She seems strong, but also . . . fragile? Do be careful.”
I don’t like his insinuation that I’m some gruff asshole, but it’s closer to the truth than I’d like to admit and he knows it. But I’m not sharing my feelings with Randolph, even if we have worked together for years. We’re close, but it’s a decidedly more professional relationship than I have with Jacob. I nod, letting him know I hear him. “Thank you, Randolph. I appreciate that, and I know that she’s special.”
Even the words on my tongue feel inadequate. It’s only been a short time, but spending hours on end together, discussing business but also our pasts, and sharing our thoughts has been like a microcosm of rapid get-to-know-you speed-dating. Tonight is special, whether I get inside her body or not, because I’m already in her mind and she’s inside mine. The mere fact that she came to my house is a step in the direction I’ve been pulling her toward all along.
I head upstairs, finding Arianna in the main living room, looking out through the tall windows to the treed area behind my property. She’s changed, and my heart pauses in my chest as I take her glorious form in. The white silk robe she’s put on both hides and hugs her form, and her long legs stick out the bottom, seemingly going for miles to her cute little bare feet.
The robe is slightly see-through, and what I can see underneath stops my heart again. I can’t see the details, but the faint outlines of what she’s wearing have my cock rock hard in my pants.
She hasn’t heard me come in and I don’t want to startle her, so I clear my throat before I speak. “Like what you see?”
Arianna spins around, her mouth going wide with shock as she sees me. “Y–you have a beautiful place.”
I cross the heavily carpeted floor of the living room, nothing in my vision but her. “It’s nothing compared to the sight before me right this instant.”
She recovers quickly from the surprise of my arrival, heat in her eyes as she traces my body the same way I’m looking her up and down. “You like the outfit?” she asks breathily. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s playing the part of the sultry vixen or because she’s turned on at seeing me. I hope it’s the latter. I don’t want some faux version of what Arianna thinks is sexy tonight. I want her, real and authentic, and perfectly who she is. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her robe is slightly open in front, and I can see just how daring her outfit is . . . and there’s nothing but pure honesty in my voice when I reply. “I fucking love it.”
She reaches out toward me, and I take her hand, leading her in a slow spin so I can see her from every angle. When she’s facing me again, she looks up. “You look dark and handsome. Maybe a little dangerous.”
I grin ferally. “You have no idea how dangerous I am, doll. But I’m going to show you.” I reach down to grab the tie holding her robe closed, slowly pulling the bow undone like she’s a gift. A present just for me. Her robe falls open, and I memorize every inch of the pretty picture she paints before me, dark waves of her hair swept over one shoulder, white robe framing her luscious curves, tits high on her chest in white lacy cups that let her rosy nipples peek through, and her pretty pussy hidden behind a scrap of white lace. She’s angelic, pure . . . and she’s going to give that to me. She’ll be mine to spoil . . . but not ruin.
I pull her flush against my body, allowing her to feel what she does to me. Our bodies feel like they’re merging, and I grind against her. “Fuck, Arianna. You have no idea what you do to me, doll.”
“Pretty sure I can feel exactly what you think of me,” Arianna says lightly as I let go of h
er belt to slide her robe off her shoulders. It puddles at her feet the same way my body is threatening to do.
Not yet. Instead, I run my fingers along the edges of her lace cups, tracing up her neck to run my thumb across her lips, which she kisses gently. I growl, cupping her head and entwining my fingers in her hair.
Unable to resist a moment longer, I take her mouth in a kiss, devouring her while wishing I could be soft and slow. But we’ve been working each other up all week and my restraint is woefully weak now that she’s here and so willing.
She kisses me back, and I let my hand drop to her ass, squeezing a handful tightly and rubbing against her. My cock begs to be set free from the confines of my slacks, to gain access to her sweet innocence, so close but yet so far away.
Ari moans, and I try to guide her back toward the couch, but she resists my steps a little, putting her hands on my chest but not pushing me away. “Slow down, Liam. I . . .”
I gaze into her eyes, seeing the lust burning bright there. I know she wants me, wants this just as desperately as I do. “Doll, we’ve been waiting, slowly driving each other mad with touches here and rubs there. You had my cock down your throat just yesterday, and I know that hot little pussy is weeping with the need to come. Isn’t it, Ari? Are you wet for me, ready to be stuffed full of my cock, to ride me until you come and coat me in your sweetness?” One thing I’ve learned this week is that Ari likes it when I talk dirty to her, damn-near comes from the filthy words alone without a touch, so I’m expecting her to shudder with need like usual.
What I’m not expecting are the words she whispers. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
Chapter 10
Arianna
Leather and Lace Page 9
