“Did you hear that? The red Manolos should be that size. If not, anything red.” He clicked off and studied her. The predator savoring its prey. “Do you need to use the facilities?”
“No.” She wasn’t sure she could walk that far, weak as her legs felt.
A woman came into the room, silver-haired and formal. How much did she know about what Black did, that he kept women’s shoes to be delivered to his office for female visitors? She set the shoes on his desk. “Anything else, Mr. Black?”
“No,” he replied, watching Tina, not her. “Close the door on your way out.”
The door closed with a click and he smiled at the sound, a twist of his mouth both cruel and teasing. Picking up the shoes, he came around the desk and, with a lift of his brows at her flinch, settled at her feet.
“No hose, good,” he commented, sliding his big hands over her calf. Pulling off the heels she’d worn, and setting them aside, he slid on the very high crimson heels, working carefully and seeming to enjoy it. “Perfect fit.” He grinned at her, that odd combination of lethal charm and sexual intent. “Like Cinderella.”
“I don’t think this is how the fairytale went,” she answered, breath brittle in her lungs.
“This will be better.”
He stood and she half-expected him to pull her to her feet, but he braced himself on the arms of her chair and lowered his mouth toward her, slowly, so slowly that she thought she might scream with the tension. He paused a breath away, stayed there. Waiting for her to close the distance, she realized. Waiting for her to prove her compliance.
She touched her lips to his, tentative, feeling like she might be the one testing him. He answered the question almost tenderly, returning the kiss with the same pressure, which was barely at all. So odd to experience a man’s mouth again after so long. Even with such light contact, he kissed nothing like Noah had. If she could even remember. Before him it had been high school boys, too hard, too hesitant, too sloppy.
But Ryan—wow. As he took control of the kiss, coaxing her into opening up, letting him touch the tip of his tongue inside her mouth, his scent and taste filling her senses, his expertise became clear. He didn’t touch her, still braced on the arms of the chair, but she’d lifted her hands to his shoulders, aware of the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, the crisp brush of his lapel, and his sensual lips stroking hers.
Something in her unfurled, making her sigh at the almost-pain of it, as if her heart were breaking in reverse. How long since she’d touched a man so intimately? Or anyone besides her nieces? Since a man had kissed her like she tasted delicious. A soft moan arose out of her depths and he made a sound in return, of agreement, and deepened the kiss so she had to tip her head back until it hit the high wooden edge of the chair. He pursued, the kiss going from gently sensual to fiercely sexual.
Rather than frightening her, the increasing demand released some of her nerves, much as he’d promised. As if the power of the kiss broke through her barriers, the careful shell of numbness she’d wrapped herself in. Her personal blanket fort against the world. For the moment, all that mattered was the connection of the kiss and she gave herself up to it, sinking into the swirling desire that boomed through her blood.
This would be okay. It could work. She clung to his shoulders, arching her back, aching now to be touched. Maybe he’d change his mind and open her dress, fondle her breasts and maybe throw her to the floor or bend her over the desk. More the usual thing.
But he ended the kiss.
Not abruptly, but a gradual lessening of intensity. Decreasing the speed and pressure, an airplane banking, going into final descent. He backed it out the way he’d gone in, slowly withdrawing until their lips just brushed, a nearly chaste farewell before he drew back completely, looking down at her upturned face with slumberous silver eyes, full of leashed hunger.
Standing and adjusting his jacket, he touched her on the cheek, then sat behind his desk. Giving her the go-ahead with a negligent gesture that belied the heat in his gaze, he waited. “Time to show me what I bought,” he said in a soft tone, both expectant and taunting.
Rattled, both by that devastating kiss and the prospect of stripping for him, she eased to her feet, oddly grateful for the distraction of having to concentrate on balancing in the sky-high heels. Then she steeled her spine and fumbled with the ties of the wrap dress, glad at least that it would be easy to remove. Opening it, she looked anywhere but at him. She didn’t need to as his eyes raked her as viscerally as claws. Unsure where else to put it, she dropped the dress on the chair, then undid the clasp of her bra, easing the straps down her arms, inadvertently glancing at him. He’d turned his chair slightly sideways, a man at his leisure, watching her with obvious pleasure and perhaps a hint of amusement at her hesitation.
Blowing out a breath, she dropped the bra on the chair and stripped off her panties, too, fast, before she lost her nerve. Then stood there, uncertain what to do next.
“Walk to the door and back,” he told her, smooth and calm.
It had been a while since she’d walked in heels so high, but she found the rhythm after a few steps, acutely conscious of her naked bottom swaying and his rapacious gaze on her. She’d thought her legs weak from nerves, but as she walked, moisture slicked her thighs. That kiss, it must have been. Not this. This putting herself on display. I want to see what I’ve bought. She shuddered at the possibility that it was this part that aroused her so. When she turned to walk back, seeing him in his suit behind the desk, fingers steepled, watching her every move, she felt owned.
And was oddly transported by the sensation.
“Come to the desk, set your palms on the blotter and lean over,” he ordered.
She complied, feeling her heavy breasts hang down, nipples aching as he savored the view.
He sat there a long while, then rose and walked behind her. Her ears went hot from the raging of her heart.
“Spread your legs.”
Her arms shook as she did, feeling torn between weeping and begging him to...what? She didn’t know. Thoughts fragmenting at the loss of control, she couldn’t seem to muster any reaction but this state of heightened, unnamable and keenly edged emotion. You’re in the position of power. Her own words echoed in her head. Until this moment, she hadn’t understood how profound that statement could be.
“You’re wet, Celestina,” he said and she nearly moaned at the realization that he could see it, that he stood behind her, studying her open sex. “Most gratifying. Stand up and face me.”
She did, moving slowly, taking her time before meeting his gaze, finding him watching her with interest. “You’re very beautiful. Now kneel down.”
He leaned back against the desk, his erection obvious in the clean line of his perfectly tailored trousers, and she knelt at his feet, part of her standing back astonished at what she was about to do, but most of her cruising on the tide of helpless desire. Better to lose herself in that.
“Proceed,” he whispered, face set in almost harsh lines, his voice rough.
Fingers trembling, she undid the clasp and lowered his zipper. Then freed his cock from the black silk boxers beneath, gratified at the hitch of his breath. Her own little bit of power. He was as big as his hands and with the same thick brutality, veins standing out and the head dark and knoblike. Glad she’d bargained not to swallow, as she’d have had trouble with his girth, she licked him. He groaned, knuckles whitening with his grip on the desk, but he didn’t grab her head as Noah had done from time to time.
Instead he let her find her rhythm, taking in the broad head, hot against her tongue, wrapping her mouth around him and relaxing to draw him deeper, digging her hands into his muscular thighs for purchase. He smelled of spicy soap and she found herself strangely exulting in the moment, thrilled in an unreasonable way to be kneeling naked at his feet while this powerful man moved in her mouth,
hips flexing and breath going to harsh grunts.
He touched her cheek and she looked up into his fierce expression, releasing him and then unable to tear her gaze away as he fisted his cock in his big hand and stroked it in rapid pumps, far rougher than she’d handled him. Veins bulged at his temples as they had on his shaft, and his jaw flexed as, his avid gaze fixed on her breasts, he pointed his cock at them.
The semen hit her skin and she gasped at the sensation, both shocked and further aroused by it. Rapt by the shifting expressions on his face, she watched him go from that brutal ferocity to a relieved, nearly peaceful smile. A different man than she’d seen so far. He finished milking himself, then pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. A gentleman’s gesture, as if she weren’t the bought woman at his feet.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked.
Chapter Eight
She looked so incredulous he was hard-pressed not to laugh. God how he loved piercing that regal poise and putting her off-balance. She’d be a brilliant lover, responding so ardently to the mild games they’d played so far. Not to mention the way she’d kissed him back—with real need, with passion and vulnerability and he had no intention of letting her pretend otherwise.
She seemed to realize she was still holding on to his thighs and let go, brushing her hair back from her face and briefly glancing at her naked breasts, holding the handkerchief as if unwilling to clean herself while he watched. He’d have to change into another suit before he went into his afternoon meetings, which he’d do with great pleasure, recalling how she looked in this moment, all flustered, lips wet from sucking his cock, nipples hard and dark in the centers of her spectacular tits.
He wanted to touch them, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. Everything from here would be in their contract, captured by the tablet program so she’d have to see that she opted in. He couldn’t wait to see what she picked first. Because she would. She was all in and they both knew it.
“There’s a bathroom through there, if you’d like to clean up and dress in private.”
Not meeting his eyes, she nodded and rose, picking up her pile of clothes and reaching to pull off the heels. A pity, as she’d looked beyond gorgeous in them. But he’d keep to the terms. Once she disappeared, closing the door behind her, he cleaned himself with wipes from his desk drawer, tucking his cock away and replaying the scene in his mind with relish. Celestina had shattered his expectations in every way. He’d loved every moment and it gratified him that she had also, whether she was ready to admit to that or not. It had worked out well, that she’d agreed to a scenario that left her unfulfilled. She likely thought she was protecting herself, but that would play into his favor. Good for her to want him, to be restless and needy. He could use that to keep her coming back for more.
She emerged, cool and composed again in that sinfully clingy dress that emphasized her lush curves. Giving him an uncertain glance, she raised her chin. “I think I should probably go.”
“After lunch.” He held out a hand to her, amused that she regarded it with suspicion.
“What is with you and lunch?”
“My favorite meal of the day.”
She finally took his hand, tentative, as if she hadn’t just stripped for him, knelt and taken his cock between her lush lips. “Nobody likes lunch best. Brunch maybe, but lunch is what you grab at your desk or suggest for a business meeting because you can kill two birds with one stone.”
Keeping her hand, he unlocked the desk drawer and withdrew his tablet and hers, which was wrapped in gold foil with an elegant bow. Bringing them, he led her out to one of the patios overlooking the water. “My contention is that you are doing it wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
Ah, that arch pride. Her regal nature—reviving again as she pulled her composure around her like a cloak—appealed to him as much as her hot mouth and voluptuous figure.
“Lunch,” he clarified, with an extra smile to let her know he’d seen through her, enjoying how a faint rose was still kissing the arches of her high cheekbones. She had an amazing blush, a lovely tell that betrayed the emotions she didn’t otherwise reveal. Leading her down the cliffside walk, he studied her as she took in the setup. As he’d arranged, a table waited for them on one of the patios set into the steep hillside, one of the several along the stone steps that eventually led to the beach. A bottle of white wine sat in ice, and silver domes covered the plates. A bright triangle of canvas had been arranged to cut the offshore breeze instead of catching it, and would give them shade. They’d serve themselves as Celestina would no doubt be more comfortable without eavesdroppers.
He held the chair out for her and she sat, taking an immediate sip of her ice water.
“You see, the Europeans have it all over us with lunch,” he continued, pretending not to notice her continued state of arousal, savoring it surreptitiously. “They eat in the early afternoon and can spend hours at it, drinking wine, savoring the food and company.” He removed the stopper from the uncorked wine.
“I don’t want wine,” she protested.
“Because you have an important appointment in an hour?”
“Well, no, of course not, but—” She sighed when he poured and pressed her lips together on the rest.
“Breakfast—” he made sure not to smile at her capitulation, lest she take it the wrong way “—may be the most important meal of the day, but that’s about fueling the body. We’re not awake enough to enjoy it. At least, I’m not.” He held up his glass, waiting for her to lift hers. “What shall we toast to—new beginnings?”
She eyed him darkly. “To paying tuition.”
“An excellent reason to celebrate,” he agreed. Let her pretend that she had felt nothing, didn’t still seethe with the need he’d instilled in her. That worked for him. “Would you like some bread? House made. Now, dinner or supper—most people pick that, but without really thinking about it. Did you know people in more rural or agrarian regions are more likely to say ‘supper’ whereas urbanites will say ‘dinner’? And the rural folks often say dinner for what you and I call lunch.”
“I did not know that,” she replied, applying butter to her roll with a neutral expression, but a lilt of suppressed laughter gave her away.
“Most people don’t, which is exactly my point.”
“You have a point?” Her eyes sparkled with irritation and amusement as she glanced at him. Good. Better.
“I do. For people who work with their bodies, supper is the snack before they retire. Whereas lunch—or their dinner—is the hearty meal that sustains them through the day. Same for the Europeans, which includes your ancestors, if I’m not mistaken. Spanish?”
“Close. Most of my family is Catalan.”
“Ah. Very much part of the Mediterranean lifestyle. They enjoy a long, leisurely and hearty midday meal, then have a light supper later in the evening. Again, when one is tired from the day and ready to wind down.” He reached over and took the dome from her plate, did the same with his own, and set them aside. “Lunch is meant to be savored and enjoyed at the peak of alertness.”
She divided her bemused stare between the plate and him. “I can’t possibly eat this much.”
“You have to, to soak up the wine.” The crust of the seafood cassoulet broke under his fork, steaming fragrantly with the fresh whitefish, scallops and squid. “The sauce you can soak up with the bread.”
Shaking her head, she sampled her salad, trying to look unimpressed at the delicate citrus taste of his chef’s special dressing. “And to think last night I ate mac and cheese.”
“Tell me it was at least real cheese and not the powdered variety.”
“Generic, even.” Celestina gave him her own cheeky smile, relaxing more. “You, my friend, are a snob.”
Ridiculous that her calling him a friend got to him so much. Finding his w
ay through her maze of prickly defenses wasn’t easy, but the small victories were oh-so rewarding.
“I prefer to think of it as having excellent taste. Part of the point of being able to afford the best is actually enjoying it.”
“A theme with you.”
“Very true.” Catching the thought behind her expression—he began to read her better now—he allowed her to see the satisfaction in his smile. “I’m very pleased with my most recent expensive acquisition.”
Flags of color brightened her cheeks and she closed her mouth over some retort.
Quiet for a moment, she ate more of her cassoulet, using the bread to catch the gravy, and then sipped her wine with obvious pleasure. When she relaxed into it, more of her sensual side showed through. The trick seemed to be getting her to relent enough to do so.
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for more today,” she said, much too casually, though she had to know the sally reopened negotiations.
His blood quickened, both at the promise of wrangling the deal and at the confirmation that she had wanted more. “Why—did you have a fantasy of what else I might do to you?”
She shook her hair, probably hoping it would cover her expression, likely regretting she’d brought that up. But then she met his gaze squarely. “That’s what we’re discussing here, isn’t it? The kinkier, the more valuable, you said. Not my fantasies, but yours.”
“But you enjoyed today,” he countered.
Meeting his gaze squarely, she glared at him. “Does that matter?”
Considering her, he turned his wineglass, admiring how the color glowed like late afternoon light. “I don’t know if it matters, but I like seeing you come apart, lose yourself in the moment and become aroused by being in my power. I want more.”
That got to her. She sipped her wine, poked at her food with her fork. “Like what?”
“Whatever kink you’ll agree to.”
“Like...” she took a breath “...spankings?”
“A spanking barely qualifies as kink in this day and age.”
Under Contract Page 7
