Under Contract

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Of course. I’ll make sure that’s explicitly part of the options from now on.”

  “Okay.” She pressed a hand to her jittery stomach. “I’m nervous.”

  “What would help?”

  “Can we—make out a little?” She laughed self-consciously when he smiled. “Being in the backseat of a car with you reminds me of being a teenager again. Oh, but you have to get back to work, never mind.”

  “Not so fast.” He checked his phone, glanced out the window. “How about I have the driver drop me at the office and then bring you back to your car? That gives us a little time. About fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”

  She’d caught the time on his phone. “That’s fine. Either way, you’re already late.”

  “It’s good to be the boss.” He gave her a cocky grin and the driver his instructions. “What are my limits—how much can I touch you?”

  Oh, wow. A giddy thrill ran through her at the prospect. If she planned to have sex with him the next night, this might be the time to work up to that a bit. “As much as you want, short of intercourse?” she ventured.

  “Done. Take off your dress. I want to see what I’m touching.” Deftly he slid the zipper down her back and slipped the neckline down her shoulders before she’d quite processed his intention. So observant of permission, but once he obtained it, he took all leeway to the limits. Zero to sixty, as he did with all things. Something to remember, she scolded herself, as he coaxed her to lift her hips so he could slide the dress off her legs and set it behind him.

  “I won a bet with myself,” he commented, filling his hands with her as he studied her, clad only in black lace lingerie. “Come here.” He didn’t wait for her to move, but lifted her onto his lap and took her mouth in a kiss so swiftly devastating she never had a chance to ask what the bet had been.

  * * *

  Once again, his technique had worked. Making the decision that she would not shake free of him had taken the potential breakup lunch to this impromptu session with a mostly naked, delightfully hot Celestina moaning on his lap, all velvet skin and lush curves undulating in unspoken need. Along with the promise that she’d turn herself over to him entirely.

  She looked incredible. Her full breasts strained against the black lace bra, round and taut. When he flicked the clasp open and it fell away, they remained high for their size. And Celestina gasped in such gratifying surprise at the feel of his hands on her naked skin, her nipples hard points against his palms, her mouth yielding so sweetly. She moved urgently against him, the dip of her waist enticing him to trace her curves lower, over her voluptuous hips, to squeeze one round globe of her ass.

  With her hands running through his hair, she rubbed against him like a cat starved for affection and he gave it to her, touching her everywhere, worshipping her with his hands and mouth while indulging himself in sating at least the need to feel her against him. She parted her thighs eagerly for him and he found her as wet as he’d expected, drinking in her moan as he cupped her through her panties. She trembled and pressed her ripe mound into his hand, but he had no intention of letting her come.

  Much as she believed she craved punishment, it would go much easier on her with more sexual tension built up. He broke the kiss and moved his hand back up to her breast, loving how she overflowed his palm—and how she protested that he’d stopped. “It appears traffic was light for once,” he told her as she blinked at him, dark eyes blurry with desire. “I should go in. Here.”

  He helped her wriggle into the sheath dress and zipped it up. “Wait,” she said, her mind clearing. “My bra?”

  Loving the way her brow creased in consternation, he pocketed it. “I thought I’d keep it, a souvenir to get me through a dull afternoon.” Unable to keep his hands off her, he massaged her breasts through the light crepe, rolling her nipples so her head dropped back on a moan. “I’ll put my hand in my pocket and remember how this felt, how you shuddered and moaned for me. And you, when your naked nipples brush against your dress, you’ll remember this, too.”

  With reluctance he let her go, consoling himself with the thought of the following night. “One more thing, Celestina?” He waited for her to focus on him, suspicion entering her eyes. “The rule stands. No orgasms. I want to be clear on this. Not until I say so, and that won’t happen until we’re together again. Understand?”

  She set her mouth, gloriously stubborn. “I still don’t think I agreed to that rule.”

  “Agree to it now.” He held her gaze, then wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist, to remind her of her admission that she wanted to be in his power. “I’m very serious. Promise me.”

  The gesture worked, or the note of command in his voice. She responded to both as sensuously as she did to his kisses and caresses. Amazing she hadn’t explored her darker sexual nature before this. He wanted to believe she’d waited for him. A lovely delusion to indulge in.

  Narrowing her eyes with sharp intelligence despite the extremity of her response, she looked at his hand on her wrist and back to his face, searching for something. “That’s part of it? You taking control of that part of things?”

  “Yes. For both of us.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “All right. I don’t like it, but I understand why it works. I promise.”

  “Say the words.”

  God how he loved to rattle her. She raised her chin, however, and held his gaze. “I promise not to have an orgasm until you say I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But it better be good when it does happen,” she added, a flash of her imperious self. So distant from the woman who’d almost timidly explained that she rarely came at all.

  “Ah, Celestina.” He brushed her hair back from her jaw and cupped it, holding her there for a sweet, hot kiss. “I plan to deliver on that.”

  He amused himself through the afternoon by first selecting all she’d allowed him to do to her in the car and transferring the appropriate funds. Then he tweaked the punishments, lending half an ear to his CFO’s deadly dull assessment of cost-cutting measures he had no interest in implementing. His mama would have called the man meaner than a striped snake and just plain cheap to boot. He constantly asked to revisit the employee benefits he considered too generous. If he wasn’t so savagely good at negotiating the labyrinth of California corporate taxes—Ryan drew the line at being more generous than he had to with that spendthrift government—he’d likely let the man go.

  Funny to have his mama’s voice come back just then. Celestina’s influence, with her probing questions about the past.

  Shaking it off—no good in going there—he played with the tablet while pretending, as he did every quarter, to dutifully consider the numbers before delivering the decision he’d made before he walked in the room. Not many people realized how key that was. He always knew his decision before any meeting started. If they could convince him otherwise, good on them. But the burden of proof rested on the person on the other side. As his CFO had yet to convince him of the need and continued to focus on the exact numbers, Ryan easily gave the lion’s share of his attention to refining potential scenarios for the following evening. Just an extra spin that he might appear to be taking notes or running calculations on his tablet, as did the rest of his executive team.

  Or, as they appeared to. How many of them did unrelated tasks? Judging by the studiously smooth faces ranging down the long table, most of them. They all knew him well and likely knew he wouldn’t budge on this. He wouldn’t hesitate to fire someone who didn’t work hard for him, but while they did, he rewarded his employees lavishly.

  No one should have to struggle to make a good living in such a wealthy society. It burned his gut that anyone thought they should. They didn’t know what abject poverty felt like, what people like his mama had suffered. Maybe he should discreetly search for a new CFO. Surely knowledge of the tax laws
and regulations could come with a more generous spirit. Poverty led only to misery, which people then cruelly shared with their supposed loved ones.

  Once again shoving down those old memories that kept wanting to nudge into his thoughts long after Celestina had asked about them, he focused on making the details of her choices clear. In retrospect, he couldn’t quite believe he’d answered her so honestly. He could have lied, as he usually did, since no one needed to know the dreary, very private details of his infelicitous youth. Reporters who asked about his rise from blue-collar kid to wealthy CEO always bought his story. Of course, it matched the truth on the surface well enough. You never knew what went on behind people’s front doors. If he’d learned nothing else from life, he knew that.

  Realizing everyone had turned polite faces to him, he pretended to finalize a figure, then swiped the tablet off and gave the decision he’d made before he walked in the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tina had registered the new deposit—and the attendant list of services rendered, which was what they were, even if Ryan didn’t title it that way—with emotions so mixed she couldn’t quite pick a predominant one. A hint of shame mixed in with the ever-simmering broth of her newly discovered rage, heavily flavored with the desire that accompanied the reminder of those magical minutes in the car. But soured with a sense of betrayal. Finally, a slap of pragmatic reality chilled it all. An excellent reminder, this, that everything she and Ryan did together, including lunch, came down to their business arrangement.

  Itemized, recorded and paid for.

  A very real problem for her that she kept forgetting it. That with his hands and mouth on her, with his penetrating insights and avid gaze, and those speeches that turned her inside out, though he affected her more than any man she’d ever known, theirs was not a romance by any stretch. He’d been clear about it from the beginning and it would be her own damn fault if she let herself feel more than that. Being solicitous, charming and seductive came naturally to Ryan—tools he wielded as competently as he used his business savvy. For him, the ardent interlude that afternoon had been enjoyable—extremely so, by the dollar value he placed on it—but he hadn’t been swept up in emotion. Not like she’d let herself be. He’d said that when he first proposed their bargain, that it would be a way for him to have the sex he desired without the mess of a romantic relationship.

  She’d been an idiot to, even for a few daydreamy hours, romanticize it even a little. Deciding to cling to the emotions stirred by the cold slap of reality wakeup call, she set aside all her other responses as unreasonable. Like a dog that had been kicked and starved, she’d responded to the first hint of solicitude. Like millions of idiot girls before her, she’d mistaken sex for affection. Even in the face of clear, codified information that it was not and never would be.

  Sitting herself down, she paid some bills, to cement the realization for herself. Ryan might speak insightfully about her subconscious needs and why she wanted what she did, but all of that came secondary to her real reason for all of it. She would thank him for reminding her of that, except she had no intention of ever mentioning it.

  As it was, she’d made a tidy sum for the day’s work and enjoyed doing it. She hadn’t had a man’s hands on her skin like that for a long time, and Ryan took her under his spell so swiftly all she’d wanted was for him to touch her even more. Clearly he liked her well enough to pay handsomely for the privilege, so that would be enough.

  Josie and Carly, too, made it all worthwhile. Over the moon with their evening of what had once been common treats and now felt like luxuries, wild with glee at hip new haircuts and clothes, they delighted her. They even stopped bickering for the most part. Tina spent way more on clothes than she’d intended, but the spree made them so happy. The twins deserved some happiness.

  Judging by the initial sum for all she’d recklessly opted into, she’d have plenty of money to work with for the next week. All that remained was to sign off and send. Ryan had sent his ritual good-night and good-morning, which she had politely returned. Over a late lunch at the food court, since the pancake breakfast had lasted them well into the afternoon, she brought up the girls staying with a friend that night.

  Carly immediately texted the news to their best friends while Josie chewed on a French fry and studied her thoughtfully. “I thought you didn’t like it when we did overnights.”

  “At Caitlyn’s house, no. But at Leticia’s or Madison’s, that’s fine.”

  “What’s wrong with Caitlyn’s house?” Carly demanded, as if they hadn’t had this argument a hundred times already.

  “Not enough supervision and no more discussion.”

  “You’re so mean, Antina,” Carly reflexively complained, but stopped when Josie kicked her. “Except thanks for all the clothes and hair and stuff.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Josie still stared with narrowed eyes, then pointed a French fry at her. “You have a date.”

  Carly gasped theatrically. “She does? Who with? Do we know him?”

  Dammit. Should she call it a work thing? Except Ryan wanted to meet the girls and would no doubt get his way eventually, if they continued on for very long, given how lousy she’d proven to be so far at refusing him. And he’d insist on being known as her boyfriend, regardless of the reality, he’d made that clear. Might as well bite the bullet.

  “Yes, I have a date. His name is Ryan and no, you don’t know him.”

  “Are you doing an overnight?” Josie asked cannily.

  “No.” She told the lie easily enough. The last thing she needed was the girls sneaking back with their friends to take advantage of an empty house and total lack of supervision. Not to mention being a bad role model. “But I might be out late and I don’t want you two home alone.”

  “What if everyone is busy?” Josie persisted.

  “They’re not.” Carly waved her phone. “Madison wants us to come over. Caitlyn and Leticia are coming, too. Party!”

  Just to be on the safe side, Tina got out her own phone to text Madison’s mom and confirm that she knew about it and would be home. Fortunately—or not, now that Tina’s nerves were gearing up again—Madison’s mom cheerfully confirmed. Tina thanked her and said she’d send some cash with the girls to treat everyone, something she’d never had much room to do before.

  She waited until the twins had ensconced themselves in yet another dressing room to get out the tablet and send her final choices to Ryan, confirming that she’d be over later. As always, he messaged her back immediately.

  I shall make the appropriate preparations.

  So odd that such a formal reply gave her a flutter. And aroused her, which happened easily as the frenzy of desire he’d brought her to the afternoon before had barely subsided below a low sizzle. Even during that flash of anger when she saw he’d paid her. She’d been hard-pressed not to touch herself at all, and would have, if her promise hadn’t constrained her. If she’d started though, she might be unable to stop herself. Every time that pulse of need riffed through her system, which happened frequently, and how she’d been forbidden to do anything about it, she thought of him.

  All part of his diabolical plan, no doubt.

  After she dropped off the twins at Madison’s, forcing herself to chat naturally with Lisa, Madison’s very high society mother who waved off any need for more treats, saying their pantry overflowed with more than a hundred people could eat in a year, Tina went home and primped for the evening. Ryan would provide her outfit, described in the program simply as “penitent slave girl,” giving her a salacious thrill as she selected it, so she dressed in casual clothes that would be the sort of thing she’d wear for Sunday morning at home, should she pull it close to the girls’ return.

  With her hair and makeup done, she surveyed herself one last time, locked up the house and went to face what the night would br
ing.

  He must have been watching for her—or, more likely, he had some sort of alarm that notified the house when someone approached the gates, so they could be remotely opened—because he came down the steps as she pulled up, opening the car door for her as soon as she killed the engine. When he helped her out of the car, instead of his polite cheek-buss, he drew her into an embrace and a deep kiss that sent her head swimming. Nearly vibrating with contained energy that matched her own mounting tension, he fed on her lips with a hunger that communicated how much he wanted what lay ahead.

  He finally seemed to have enough, because he released her and leaned his forehead against hers. “Hi,” he said.

  It made her laugh, dissipating the nerves the kiss hadn’t. She pressed a hand to her stomach and smiled at him. “That’s better.”

  He framed her face with his hands, searching her eyes in the fading sunset light. “Nervous?”

  “I want to do what we agreed on.”

  His eyes lit with that cruel silvery fire, and his face took on that almost grim aspect of consuming desire. “All right, then.” His smooth voice had gone slightly hoarse. “Once we go inside, then we’re under terms of the contract. But you can always use your safeword, at any time, for any reason.”

  She shivered. Anticipation, dread, excitement, fear and arousal rising to a keen edge that made all the colors seem richer, details sharper. “Okay.”

  He took her hand, led her up the steps and opened the door. Locked it behind them.

  “You’ll find your costume in your same room. Take everything off and put on only what I’ve set out for you.” Showing her to an open door across the hall, to a sort of library she hadn’t been in before, he said, “I’ll be waiting for you in here. Take your time. When you’re ready, come in and kneel in front of me. I’ll take it from there.”

  “Okay,” she repeated, unable to think of much else with the high whine in her head.