by Sky Corgan
My lungs inhaled all the aromas of polished floors, fruity champagne, and burning wax as I stood in the doorway. The ballroom was absolutely massive, reminding me of something out of a movie. Dozens of women in lavish gowns glided across the white marble tile as they danced with their dates. On one side of the room was a long buffet table piled artfully with hors d'oeuvres. Sectioned off in the corner appeared to be an entire orchestra providing music the attendees danced so brilliantly to. Off to the side were several sets of doors that led outside, which seemed miles away from where I was standing. And then there was the infamous staircase that had been mentioned in my Romeo's letter. He was not there though, and for that I was thankful.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself into the room. You'll walk to the back, to gaze out on the balcony, make a pass down the hors d'oeuvre table, drink a flute of champagne, and go home. This is not the place for you, I told myself. You do not belong here.
Eyes were upon me as I crossed the room. I felt like a peasant in the midst of royalty, a black sheep that had wandered into the wrong flock. Women scoffed at me and serving men avoided me. With each step, I felt farther out of place, and it took everything in me not to turn around and run the other way. One foot in front of the other.
Finally, I made it to the other side and out onto an elongated porch. I could hear people talking and laughing above me on the balcony. Those around me went silent at my approach, whispering their disapproval. I knew it was time to turn around, but I couldn't force myself to do it . . . not without running and crying like a mess. Why had I come here? Whatever magical moment I was seeking was not to be found. My confidence had faded, and I was now just a scared child among strangers. The curiosity was strangling the cat.
For a moment, I wondered if I could walk around the building instead of going back inside. That would just make me look more suspicious though. I had to gather up the courage to go through the ballroom again, somehow.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to ignore the whispers at my back. Turn around. One foot in front of the other, I told myself, but I was paralyzed with irrational fear. Maybe if I hadn’t drunk as much, this would have been easier. As it was, my emotions were so out of balance I was on the verge of bawling. I needed to get it together before I could go back through the building.
After a few minutes of gathering my courage, I took a deep breath and turned around. A wall of tuxedo stood before me, and I let out a short gasp as the man in front of me grabbed me by the forearms. It must be a bouncer or a guard preparing to throw me out, I thought immediately. But then my eyes darted up to the ones behind the mask. They were pale blue, like a soft winter sky, familiar.
“This wasn't the type of dress I had in mind,” he muttered, obviously displeased.
“Mister Kemble.”
Jack shushed me. “This is an anonymous party, remember.” More likely than not, he just didn't want anyone to know he knew me. After a long sigh, his lips quirked into a smile. “I didn't think you'd come.”
“I didn't think I'd come either,” I admitted.
“Well, now that you're here, would you care to dance?”
I was surprised. “You would really dance with me looking like this?”
“I would dance with you if you came wearing a suit and tie.”
My mind went back to the ballroom, thinking of how amazing all the ladies looked in their gorgeous gowns, sweeping across the floor effortlessly. It would not be the same for me. Aside from looking like a slut, I was too drunk to be steady, and I didn't want to embarrass Jack any further. Even if he said the event was anonymous, the masks didn't hide much.
“Let's just go,” I replied. “It's late anyway.”
“But you just got here. You really want to go home?” He sounded upset, and I instantly felt guilty for showing up at all.
“Yes.” I avoided his gaze.
He sighed, “Alright. Let's go.”
With Jack at my side, the walk through the ballroom was a little less nerve-wracking. I kept my eyes to the floor, avoiding the awkward stares. Once outside, he sent the valet for his car. When I asked about mine, Jack shushed me. “The least you can do is come over to my place for a while.”
“I'd really just like to go home and go to bed.”
“You can spend the night.”
I frowned at what that meant. Then again, I had pretty much surrendered myself to him by showing up. “What about my car?”
“I'll have someone pick it up and drive it over to my place.”
“You know I can drive it myself.”
“I'm surprised you even made it here in one piece. I know you're drunk.”
Can he smell it on my breath? Of course, he can. It's not like I just had one or two. “I could stand to drink more,” I grumbled, not wanting to remember the night.
“We can do that. Just tell me where you'd like to go.”
“Do you have anything to drink at your place?”
Jack grinned. “I think I can come up with something.”
The limo pulled around, and the valet opened the door for us to step inside. As soon as we were both seated, Jack poured me a glass of champagne. It was a welcome coolness to my dry lips.
He removed his mask and smirked at me while I chugged down the glass. “You were thirsty.”
“It's been a night.”
“It's not over yet.”
That's what I'm afraid of.
After a long silent drive, we pulled up through a set of wrought-iron gates. The mansion loomed before us, a monster of red brick, larger than any one person would ever need. I tried not to look too impressed. After all, Jack was sickeningly wealthy. It would be stupid to expect anything less.
“So this is your castle,” I joked as he helped me out of the limo.
“I prefer to just call it home,” he replied nonchalantly.
My eyes darted around curiously, taking everything in, or at least what I could see through the darkness of night. It seemed like every lamp in the two-story structure was on, casting light down on the small perfectly manicured front yard and walkway below. Shrubs hugged the side of the mansion, surrounding it like a short wall of greenery. Vines climbed up the red brick in places, giving it a romantic feel, though I knew the things that went on inside were far from romantic.
As Jack opened the door for me, I walked into what felt like yet another movie set. The entryway was more expansive than any that I had ever seen, and the floors and furnishings within were immaculately clean. I couldn't imagine how many people it took to keep up with it all, the cars and the yard and the mansion with its ridiculous number of rooms.
“Come.” Jack took my hand and led me across the mansion. It reminded me of a mullet, with the front part for business and the back part for pleasure. The first living room seemed to be the area where he would entertain important guests on plush furniture surrounded by priceless art and sculptures. The back living room had a more casual feel. Game tables separated two sitting areas, one in front of an enormous fireplace, and the other in front of a bar.
“It's hard to believe this is a house,” I muttered under my breath.
“Well, it is.” Jack urged me to sit on a bar stool and then walked around to play bartender. “What's your poison?”
My eyes scanned over the selection, an entire wall lined with shelves dedicated to dozens of bottles of liquor, some of which I had never even heard of before. “It seems you have a lot of poisons to choose from.”
“Everything you'd find in a regular bar, you'll find here, plus more.”
“Are you usually the bartender at your parties?”
“No. I usually hire someone else to do it, but I do know how to mix a drink or two.”
“Well what can you make?”
“Margaritas, bloody marys,” he paused, thinking. “Buttery nipples, martinis.”
“Bloody mary. That's what I want. Get to it, stud. Maybe I'll tip you if you don't fuck it up,” I teased.
Jack laughed. “You'
re so cold.”
He turned and went to work on our drinks, and while he did, I watched him with nervous anticipation, knowing it was only a matter of time before things took a more intimate turn. This was all leading up to one moment, the moment when we crossed the employee/boss boundary into something more, something we could never come back from. My stomach twisted from the thought. After tonight, everything would change. He'd look at me with different eyes, and I'd know I had just been an objective, conquered to move on to the next. Why was I thinking about this? Why did I care? Like Mandy had said, it was only sex. Jack Kemble was too far out of my league for it to be anything else.
Jack turned to me, setting my drink up on the bar. I was surprised at the artful skill with which it had been prepared. The rim of the glass was perfectly salted. A stalk of celery pointed at me, and two olives gazed up like green eyes.
“So what do you want to do now?” Jack came around to climb up on the bar stool beside me with martini in hand.
“Drink,” I replied dryly, taking a long sip of my beverage.
“Besides that. I have a pool table and a movie theater and a bowling ally.”
“That's just ridiculous,” I muttered.
“Well, there's never a lack of something to do, at least.”
“I suppose that's true.”
“When you're done with your drink, I'll give you the grand tour,” he offered.
“Sounds lovely.” If there was any excitement in my voice, it was feigned. I knew the only room that he was really interested in showing me, the infamous dungeon. That's where it would all go down. It was the only room in Jack's mansion that really mattered in our relationship.
When we finished draining our beverages, Jack took our glasses to the sink before offering me his hand. Gingerly, I took it, feeling the heat of his palm. The physical contact sent an electrifying shiver throughout my body. Soon, I would be feeling these same hands all over me, his nimble fingers taking me to new heights. While the sensible part of me dreaded it, my body yearned for it. Yes, Jack Kemble, I want you inside of me. My lips will never speak it though. Never. You will never know if I enjoy the things you to do me.
The tour was every bit as awkward as the rest of the night had been, for me at least. Jack displayed the same confidence he always had, taking me from room to room with a voice full of pride. Between the bowling ally, the gym, the indoor pool, and the theater, I didn't understand why he ever left his mansion.
“Your house is like a self-contained city,” I commented.
“All it lacks is the people,” Jack replied with a smile.
Next were the bedrooms, all ten of them, each one decorated with a different theme.
“And this is your built-in hotel,” I joked. “Have you ever been able to fill all these rooms at the same time?”
He took a deep breath, thinking. “No.”
“Then why have so many?”
“You never know when you're going to have to host a large party of people for an extended period of time.”
“I'd assume the people you'd host would be wealthy enough to afford hotel suites.”
“Yes, but I always like to be hospitable.”
“This is a waste of space,” I muttered. “Unless you're planning on having a butt load of children someday.”
“I'd like a boy and a girl someday,” he admitted.
“When you're so old you can't get it up anymore without Viagra and your wife is some fresh young model,” I said harshly. Stupid, stupid alcohol. It was hard enough for me to hold my tongue when I was sober. When I was drunk, it was even worse. Jack was leading me into the last of the ten rooms. He opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly interrupted. “And this is Jack Kemble's bedroom where no woman ever sleeps.” I pushed past him to go inside. The only reason I could tell it was his was because it was much larger than the other nine had been.
“Where'd you hear that?” Jack's voice rang with annoyance. Apparently, my rudeness was pushing buttons. Maybe I'd get lucky, and he'd ask me to leave.
“I never hear any of the girls in the office talk about it.” I opened his closet door and saw that it was large enough to be a whole other room. One side of the wall was lined with suites, perfectly pressed and waiting to be worn. The other side was casual attire, organized by season and brand name. “Do you do this, or does your butler?” I glanced wickedly over my shoulder at Jack, pulling out clothes hangers and mixing his clothes out of order.
“I don't have a butler,” he said before stepping forward to grab my wrist. “Stop that.”
For a moment, I was afraid. Jack really sounded angry. Being drunk was making me stupid—stupider than normal. In annoyance, he guided me out of the way, so he could put his clothes back in order.
“Hasn't anyone ever told you not to touch what isn't yours?” he grumbled.
“I was just playing, Jack. Lighten up. One of these days you're going to get an aneurism from not getting your way.” I leaned against the door while he finished undoing my dirty work.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. When he was done, he took me by the hand, leading me out of the bedroom as if to make sure I wouldn't mess with anything else. It irritated me a bit, but I didn't try to pull away.
The final door Jack took me to had a keypad next to it. It seemed to be the only door with extra security, and I knew exactly where it led. I had heard stories of this room, knew before I had even come to the mansion that it required a code to go inside. This was the dungeon.
“This room is a bit special,” he warned me.
“I know what this room is,” I said as I watched him enter a number into the key pad. By that time, Jack had released my hand, and I had wrapped my arms around myself. This was the moment I had been waiting for . . . and dreading. I knew what came next.
The key pad beeped before the door soundlessly slid open. A light came on automatically to illuminate the contents inside. Jack gestured for me to walk in before him, but my feet stayed firmly planted.
“Is it what you expected?” he asked, assessing my expression.
“It is,” I admitted, looking across the room to the queen-size bed with handcuffs welded into the frame. It was the only piece of furniture that took on the guise of something normal. Everything else was very obviously built for BDSM. There were manacles hanging from the wall, a Saint Andrews cross in one corner, a custom-made wooden sawhorse in another corner. There was even a stockade.
“You can go inside. I'm not going to close the door behind you and trap you,” Jack told me with a smirk.
“I'd rather not.”
“You don't like BDSM, or have you not experienced it before? I could teach you some things, if you're interested.”
“I like how you assume I'm some naive virgin.” I rolled my eyes. “I know plenty about BDSM, probably every bit as much as you do.”
“Then this room should be of interest to you. I doubt you've seen a better dungeon before.”
“It's not this room that I don't like. It's what it represents,” I confessed.
“And what's that?” Jack turned to me. His pale blue eyes looked strange, defensive, as if he expected me to insult him further.
Maybe I should just give in, I thought. It's the least I can do for screwing everything else up. Let him tie you down, spank you, whip you, have his way with you. Let him press himself between your thighs, claim your mouth with his. Let him dominate you and pleasure you. It was known Jack Kemble was an incredible lover. Despite my body telling me to go for it though, my feet refused to move, and I was afraid to open my mouth. Instead, I took off down the hall at a fast walk.
“Where are you going?” Jack called to me, hastily closing the door and setting the alarm before giving chase.
My feet carried me as quickly as they could without running, my hands reaching behind my back to unlace the bodice as I went. There was a thick lump in my throat that refused to be swallowed. If we were going to do this, we would do it my way.
&nb
sp; By the time I rounded Jack's bedroom door, the bodice was loose enough. I turned to face the door while my hands feebly unzipped the skirt. Jack made it to the doorway, and he stared wide-eyed as the bodice slipped down over the swell of my breasts, freeing them. Stupid body, I thought bitterly, knowing my nipples were betraying every word of rejection I had ever spoken. In truth, they were waiting for those warm hands, the wetness of Jack's mouth, the feel of his skin. My entire body coursed with desire . . . and fear.
When Jack didn't move, I pushed the dress down over my hips, leaving me standing knee deep in petticoat and the stiff bodice. Above, the only thing that could be seen was stockings and underwear and skin. Nervously, I wrapped my arms around myself, cupping my hands over my bare chest, my nipples pressing hard against them. I tried to look sultry, slightly bending one knee and giving Jack my best pouting lustful look.
“I wasn't expecting this,” he confessed. The front of his pants were already becoming tight, and I felt my cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. There was no going back now.
Do something, anything, I silently begged, but Jack didn't move. He simply stared, for once at a loss for words.
Too nervous to stand there like a deer in the headlights any longer, I stepped out of the petticoat, bending over to toss it aside so that it was out of the way. As I did, I let my breasts fall from my hands. They felt especially heavy, but that was probably just the alcohol. My entire body felt heavy from it . . . and hot. I always got hot when I drank.
Turning from Jack, I kicked off my shoes, dropping the sexy pretense until it was time to remove my stockings. One at a time, I slowly rolled them down my thighs, then off of my feet, tossing them on top of my costume. Each second felt like an hour, and I couldn't understand why Jack hadn't moved in yet. I had turned so I couldn't see him coming, half expecting him to walk up behind me and place his hands on my hips, or feel the smooth curve of my ass.
When the stockings were off, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my white silk panties. I was especially slow pulling them down, wanting Jack to appreciate every centimeter of bare skin I exposed to him. They clung between my legs for a moment before I tugged them free, letting them fall the rest of the way to the floor.
