Under Contract

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Ryan!” She took his hands and leaned in gracefully for his cheek kiss, accepting it with far more suave confidence than Tina had ever mustered. Though, at least theoretically, he wasn’t using the opportunity to whisper diabolically arousing suggestions to her. Likely that trick of his would ruin any chance Tina would ever be able to receive those social kisses with aplomb. She’d forever think of him.

  “Sarah, this is Celestina Sala.” Ryan set his hand at the small of her back as he introduced her. “Celestina, Sarah Prescott—our hostess for the evening.”

  Sarah’s slim, cool hand barely touched hers, though her crystal-blue eyes raked her thoroughly. Hadn’t expected Ryan to bring a date and didn’t like it. “Love the dress,” she said. “So...dramatic.”

  “Celestina is a landscape designer,” Ryan informed her. “Her work does have a certain drama. I think you’re familiar—the series of pools at my downtown offices?”

  “Ah yes. Pity we have no water for them.” She laughed, not kindly.

  “And what do you do?” Tina asked, as she would not have normally.

  Sarah waved an airy hand. “I lunch. I shop. I throw parties. I’d be a total parasite if not for my charitable work.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and slid her arm possessively through Ryan’s, snugging up to him enough that her elegantly slim breast pressed into his arm. “Ryan is one of my best benefactors. I’d be lost without him.”

  Tina smiled easily, finding an odd sense of freedom from the woman’s needling. Had she been Ryan’s actual date, she might have been uncomfortably jealous or threatened by all that Sara insinuated. But the woman couldn’t know how much Ryan had paid her to be there, to wear his chains and participate in his secret sex games. It added another level to the prickly, tedious social interactions, and she suddenly understood more of why he enjoyed this subterfuge.

  She toyed with the torque, catching Ryan’s keen-eyed glance. “I can just imagine. Ryan’s an incredibly generous man.”

  Sarah narrowed her pretty eyes and opened her mouth, but Ryan smoothly cut her off. “Would you care for a drink, Celestina? I see the bar over there. We won’t monopolize our hostess.”

  Just as smoothly, he extracted himself from the woman’s grip and guided Tina toward the bar. “Well played,” he said for her ears alone.

  “She’d like to have you, I believe.”

  “Oh yes—she’s made that more than clear. I, however, am not interested in being had.”

  “Because you like to be the one doing the having,” Tina said, before she processed how bold it would sound. He drew a certain frankness out of her that she’d have to be careful of.

  Ryan slipped his hand up to the back of her neck, brushing his fingers under the jacket collar to touch the torque, eyes caressing her face with appreciative desire. “See how well you understand me? That, and for a number of other reasons. Shall I describe them in more detail?”

  “No.” But her nipples, though it seemed impossible, hardened further and she had trouble drawing a deep breath. The corset, far too tight. “I don’t think I can take much more.”

  “Oh, my pet. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what you can take. What would you like to drink?”

  “I’ll stick with wine.”

  She only sipped as they mingled, Ryan’s heady effect on her enough to keep her somewhat buzzed. People kissed up to him endlessly, a behavior he deflected politely, occasionally dismissively, turning conversation to her and her work. He touched her often, socially correct yet intimate reminders that they both knew what was going on under her clothes, keeping her on such a sexual simmer that she forgot to be nervous. Didn’t realize he talked her up to potential clients until several people expressed interest in vague, but definitely possible future projects.

  “Thank you,” she told him quietly, as they moved to another conversation. “I didn’t expect you to drum up clients for me.”

  He slid an arm around her waist and brushed her cheek with a kiss, warning her. “Only as a landscape designer, however,” he said into her ear. “I shall be the only client for your other services.”

  She couldn’t help the shiver of response and he laughed, soft and warm. “On that note, I believe we can safely say our goodbyes. And there are things I want to do to you yet, before we must part for the night.”

  That was enough to put her into a haze of mingled dread and anticipation, so that she barely registered the farewells. With the exception of Sarah, who was not at all happy to see them leave, gazing after Ryan with such a wounded expression that Tina suspected the woman might have it worse for him than her social flirtation suggested. Something in the way she’d dismissed the shallowness of her own life elicited Tina’s sympathy. She couldn’t be that, a woman with nothing to do all day. The car met them at the curb and Ryan held the door for her, handing her in. Once inside he checked the time.

  “By my count, I have about thirty minutes until we reach the house, which gives us plenty of time to find out how much more you can take within the current parameters. Let’s see how deeply we can scratch your surface.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In a state of near panic, she processed his words, frantically trying to recall what all the parameters had been. The apprehension made no sense, because she trusted him to abide by his promises. And yet a sense of acute vulnerability sent her brain spinning, counter-intuitively expressing itself in an elevated state of arousal. Everything in her—physical and emotional—ratcheted up to a new alert level, making her hypersensitive to the least bit of stimulation.

  “Better fix your skirt,” he said with a meaningful smile that made her face go hot.

  Somehow that seemed too much. “I don’t think I—”

  “Do as I say, Celestina.” He said it with a note of warning, but gently enough that it contained the reminder that she could use a safeword. She might feel trapped with him, at his command in the back of this fancy car, to be enjoyed as he did the wine and other luxuries, but it was fundamentally an illusion.

  There’s nothing real to fear. It’s all part of the trip.

  And yet, it didn’t feel that way. Some profound part of her whispered that she’d been captured and was in terrible danger, but that only added to her heightened state. Pinned by his demanding gaze, his face taking on that contained violence of the fighter, she gathered the skirt up, fumbling a bit as the chains tightened, then set her bottom on the seat. The skimpy panties covered so little that she might as well have been naked, the smooth leather a cool reminder against her skin.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now remove the jacket.”

  Trembling a little, she did, placing it in the hand he held out. If he told her to take off anything else, would she? But she hadn’t opted in for that. No nudity. She was pretty sure not even a loophole could change that. Next time—hard to think of what that would bring—she would study his “parameters” more and firmly fix in her mind where the boundaries lay, what they included or excluded. Never mind the damn loopholes. He had a way of making her forget, of wanting to offer more than she’d opted into when her brain wasn’t drunk on the sensual haze he created, when he wasn’t there to give those casual orders she seemed unable to resist.

  He set the jacket behind him and arranged the chains so they draped forward over her breasts, his gaze intent. “You are gorgeous in my chains. I very much look forward to when you agree to wearing nothing but.”

  She searched for breath to reply. “I might never do that.”

  His eyes, shadowed in the dim light, traveled up to hers, and he cupped her breasts, squeezing enough that the nipple rings tightened, making her gasp. “Your choice, of course. But I think you will. I think you like this as much as I do. Maybe even crave it. Are you wet for me again, Celestina?”

  She didn’t want to answer that, not while he watched her, hands massaging her br
easts, making her want to beg him to release her from the corset, to make her as naked as he’d described. He stared her down, however, and she had to look away, down to his grip on her, the golden chains glinting. A mesmerizingly erotic sight.

  “Yes.” It felt like a confession.

  “Good.” He murmured. “Good,” not that he was pleased, but to praise that she’d told him. “So here’s another loophole. You agreed that I can touch you over your clothes and on any exposed skin. I’d like to point out that your panties count as clothes. You’re going to part your thighs so I can touch you over them.”

  Her pussy spasmed as if he already had. Impossible to allow that. “Ryan...” Her voice broke on his name and his hands moved over her breasts, up to her throat and collarbones, stroking with obvious pleasure.

  “I love how you say my name like that,” he confided. “That pleading sound. Beg as much as you like, but it won’t save you.” He tugged on her chains. “Do as I say.”

  With a low sound, half sighed breath, half moan of despair, she obeyed, not quite believing she was, parting her legs, the red silk whispering over her skin, the fabric riding to just over her knees.

  “Wider.” He kept one hand wrapped in the chains, tugging her hands up to the level of her breasts, and set the other on her knee, just under the hem. She couldn’t tear her gaze from it, those blunt fingers that would touch her so intimately. Feeling a bit faint, she opened wider, her thighs separating so that air hit the soaked crotch of her panties. His hand disappeared under her skirt, out of sight, but maintaining contact with her skin, tracing along her inner thigh.

  She nearly clamped her thighs closed, trembling with the effort to keep them open. The bracelets bit into her wrists, and she realized she’d tugged against the chains he was using to keep her hands high and out of the way.

  “You’re more than wet, my dear,” he observed, finding the damp skin near her crotch. “I’d say you’re slick with arousal and have been for hours. But it’s escalating now, isn’t it? You’re panting. Very close to begging for more. Spread wider for me.”

  With an incoherent sound, she complied, tensing as his hand moved invisibly up, her breasts aching with need, suddenly desperate for him to touch her there. Very close to begging for more. Yes. His fingers brushed up, rounding over the top of her thigh, a ripple under the silk, tracing the thin strap at her hip, then in to the center, caressing the lace confection stretched taut over her mound, moving inevitably down. Her skirt had ridden higher with the movement of his hand, the tops of the stockings coming into view, fancifully erotic.

  “I’m curious.” He stroked the silk and lace just above where her nether lips parted. “When we texted and I asked you to touch yourself—did you make yourself come?”

  More words, seeking to open up her private moments as resolutely as he’d ordered her to open her thighs. “No,” she whispered.

  “No? I’m surprised. Look at me.”

  She dragged her gaze up to his, feeling unutterably shy with his fingers hovering so near her clit, knowing he felt the heat and moisture there, how much she wanted and dreaded more. He studied her face and she let her head fall back against the seat, giving up what little resistance she’d mustered. Who was she kidding? She’d let him do whatever he wanted to at this point.

  “Why didn’t you? You said you were wet.”

  “I don’t know. I had things to do—pick from the menu, input the measurements. All of that.”

  He pressed his fingers more firmly against her and she strained not to lift her hips, to writhe shamefully. “Is that the real reason? Too busy to rub one out?”

  “It’s not like that for women.” Though she felt close now, as if the bite of the bracelets, the strength of his grip, and the exposure of having her thighs wide because he commanded it released some fundamental inhibition. That, rather than her usual striving to climax, she wouldn’t be able to restrain it.

  “Isn’t it? Tell me what it’s like.” The note of demand in his voice penetrated her. At the same time his fingers pushed down, bracketing her clit, the tips pressing against her vulva. The thin silk was so wet she might as well be naked. The sensation panicked her and she reflexively closed her thighs around his hand, tugging on the chains that held hers fast, whimpering. “Look at me, Celestina,” he urged and she did, not realizing she’d torn her gaze away.

  He met her eyes for several long moments, then began rocking his hand against her, her closed thighs making no difference now that he had his fingers buried in her intimate folds. “Tell me what it’s like,” he insisted.

  “Not easy.” Her hips moved with the rhythm of his hand, the burning arousal circling up.

  “Have you ever orgasmed? Don’t look away or I’ll impose a punishment.”

  Making a helpless sound, she wound her fingers around the chains in his grip, holding on, face burning at how he touched her, how she responded and that he watched her so intently. “Please don’t,” she gasped.

  “Don’t what? Ask you probing questions?” He flexed his fingers, pushing the silk inside her, an intense invasion that made her thighs relax apart. “Punish you? Touch you like this? You know how to make it stop if you really want to.”

  “I can’t talk while you’re doing that.”

  “You seem to be doing fine. Answer my questions.”

  “I’ve had orgasms.” Only twice with Noah, before he declared it too much work for too little reward, and she’d agreed with a sense of reprieve. Reaching for those orgasms he’d so diligently attempted to deliver had begun to feel like training for a marathon. It had been a relief to them both to stop trying for it. Before that, there had been unexpected ones that snuck up on her in the backseats of cars after very long make-out sessions. No rhyme or reason to them.

  “It sounds like you can count them on one hand.” He changed his grip on the chains, moving her wrists so the bracelets scraped against her breasts, right over her hypersensitive clamped nipples. She groaned and ground her pussy against his hand, losing herself in the need. So close. “Is that right, Celestina?”

  Groping for what he’d asked her, she stared at him, his pale gray eyes glowing like moonlight in the soft gleam of the car interior. “It takes me a long time. I don’t know why.”

  “The why doesn’t matter. I’m going to make this both easier and harder. You are forbidden to climax. By my hand, your own or anyone else’s, until I decide otherwise.”

  Yet still he touched her, the hard edge of the bracelets apparent through the layers of cloth that compressed and chafed her, catching the metal rings of the clamps, his fingers buried between her legs, one pushing the silk inside her aching channel and his thumb on her clit. Suddenly, an orgasm seemed inevitable, as if by forbidding it, he’d triggered some contrary part of her into insisting on the climax that usually eluded her. She shuddered with the first tremors of one. “I can’t stop it,” she panted.

  “You can. And you will. Or the next scenario will be only punishments for you to choose from. Don’t do it.”

  That thought only made her wilder. She’d only glanced at those sections, daunted and scandalized. Spankings, whippings, belts—in various positions, bound and not. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  He bent closer, lightening the pressure of his fingers, holding her chained wrists still and brushing her cheek with his lips. “I would love to, Celestina. The thought of you under my power that way fills me with excitement. You could love it, too. I intend to see to it that you do.”

  Groaning, she arched her hips, pressing hard against his fingers, the orgasm close. “Don’t do it, Celestina,” he ordered. Then he drew his hand away and used it to hold her thighs open as his mouth took hers, kissing her hard and deep. Unable to muster the will to resist, the threat of climax receding, she relaxed under it, savoring the skill of his clever mouth and the sensual sweep of it, carrying her past
thought.

  When he pulled away, she blinked at him, caught in his web and without will, waiting for whatever he’d do to her next. With a smile he stroked her cheek. “We’re home.”

  With surprise, she looked to the lights of the house. He opened the car door and held out a hand for her. Still dazed, she took it and let him lead her up the steps, still holding her hand. Mrs. Matthews opened the doors and welcomed them in. With a flush of shame, Tina realized Ryan carried her jacket over his arm, and the chains were clearly in evidence, draped over her bosom.

  He turned to her. “I know you need to get home. Would you prefer that I or Mrs. Matthews help you out of the corset?”

  Knowing her face flamed red, and also aware she’d never be able to undo the knots herself, she stared at the tips of her gorgeous shoes. “If you would loosen them, yes,” she muttered.

  “Of course. As you were, Mrs. Matthews.”

  He escorted her up the stairs with a hand on her back. Had he done this on purpose, a new level of exposure? She risked a glance at him and found him observing her as always. Oh yes. Yes he had.

  Once in the room, with the door closed, she turned on him. “That wasn’t in the rules, letting her see that.”

  He nudged her closer to the bed. “Lift your hands over your head.”

  Confused, she seized the bedpost as she had before and he moved them higher, looping the bracelets over a hook there. It put her on tiptoe and she strained against them, discovering she couldn’t easily unhook herself.

  Ryan ran his hands down her arms, over her breasts in front and down the boning defining her waist. “Discreet restraint, remember. Mrs. Matthews is very discreet. She’s also aware of my more eclectic activities and is quite experienced in assisting.” He unzipped her dress just to the waist and began unknotting the laces.