He inclined his head. “You don’t give me a reason to do it, and I won’t. And Cleo, I will expect you to come to me every day after rehearsal so we can discuss the role and work on your emoting.”
He’d already said he wasn’t going to spank her. He’d never so much as indicated interest in even kissing her. But still, hearing him say, “come to me every day” had her mind racing ahead to a place where they were grappling together, frantic, mouths meeting, his hands on her ass, his lips hot on her neck, his voice promising her a tantalizing mixture of pleasure and pain.
“Yes.” All she could do was agree.
* * *
“So? What did he say?” Laska bent to tie her laces into a fast double knot. “Did he rage and threaten you? We were taking bets.”
“Taking bets?” Cleo’s voice rose with mock indignation. “Dude, that’s messed up. I was in there getting a new asshole created, and you were all treating me like the Las Vegas strip? What bets?”
“So, I,” Laska grabbed her water bottle and took a sip, “thought he’d yell at you, make you cry, except you don’t cry, but he’d get all upset, then he’d build you up. You know, the military model. Wreck, then rebuild.”
“Nice.” Cleo grabbed one ankle to stretch out her quad, and took a glance down the dirt path into the forest preserve. “What did other people think, might I ask?”
“Well, Chelsea said, uh, that you should be fired for your attitude and that he should blacklist you so nobody else will hire you, blah blah blah.” Laska flapped her hand like a duck’s beak. “Her usual charming banter. And Martin said you two would totally have angry sex and then become BFFs.”
“None of you are correct, so that means I collect all the wagers!” Cleo smiled triumphantly at her friend, then took off into a jog. “Come on, Slowy McSlowPoke. It’s a run, not a pub crawl.” But the thought of having sex with Axel brought back a flurry of butterflies, the kind she’d felt in his office, staring at his lips, his arms, his face. She shivered. “He’s not interested in me that way, Laska. Anyway, he’s just going to give me extra mentoring so I can really get into the part.”
Laska caught up easily. “He never does that for his actors. That’s why Martin thinks he’s going to fuck you into the role.” She giggled. “I have to admit, being fucked into anything by Axel Masters doesn’t seem like the biggest hardship in the world.”
“First World Problems,” agreed Cleo, trying to make it into a joke, although she agreed a hundred percent. The more she tried not to think about Axel’s body, the more she thought about Axel’s body. At this point, she was worried it might burn into the backs of her retinas, like a TV screen that stayed on one image for too long.
“Remember what you said when you broke up with Lance? That you needed someone who made sex a priority? I bet Axel would do that.” Laska waggled her eyebrows at Cleo. “Axel practically exudes sex.”
“So he does,” Cleo agreed. Breaking up with her ex had been the right thing; his tepid approach to intimacy had grown old. Even though he was a decent guy, there was no breathtaking passion between them, and they both deserved more. He’d been cute and fun to talk to, but Lance had never made her heart beat faster, her entire body thrum with tension and desire—not the way she felt even being in the same room with Axel.
“So what did you and Axel talk about, anyway?” Laska picked up the pace into a run, and Cleo matched her stride. The dirt felt good beneath her feet; the sun was warm between the dappled tree shadows, and the air was fresh.
“Not that much,” she said. “I mean, he was upset, so yeah, he lectured. Then he just told me more about the role and the character so I could get into it more. So, yeah. Like that. We’re having a truce now. No more fighting.”
She was starting to get to the point where talking made her breathless, so she fell silent.
“Cool,” said Laska, and then the two didn’t talk again for another ten minutes until they reached the first unofficial runner’s rest stop—a clearing in the path near a small stream with the beaver dam, and stopped for a water break.
“Busy today,” said Laska between pants, bending down to stretch out her hamstrings.
Cleo scanned the area. There was the South Evanston running club, a group of senior citizens that met weekly to do a leisurely stroll down the popular forest path. In addition, a few other joggers were scattered around the area; a pair of friends chatted together near the flat-topped boulders, and a solitary man stretched his calves while bobbing his head to silent music from his earbuds. Nice ass, she thought, admiring his physique, thinking he looked vaguely familiar. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Good weather means everyone wants to get into shape.”
Laska’s phone sounded off and she cursed as she grabbed it. “Crap. It’s work.” She put the phone to her ear. “Cath? Okay, I can be there in about an hour. Yeah, tell them I’m coming as soon as I can. I’ll meet Larson in the ER, okay?” She took a sip of water, then turned to Cleo. “One of our patients just went into labor, and Cath is stuck in traffic behind a fatality. I gotta go.”
“Okay, Doctor. See you later.” Cleo waved, but Laska was already heading back toward the parking lot, going fast, and soon she was out of sight around a bend in the dirt path.
Cleo pulled at her glossy new running pants; they were tighter than she’d expected. Still, she liked the way they felt, and she liked the way they looked, too. Feeling sexy made running more fun, in a way. Maybe it was just the fact that feeling good about her body made her want to take care of it even more, but it was one of those positive feedback loops, like Axel had mentioned. When she felt good about herself, she ran stronger and faster, and enjoyed it more.
She missed Laska, but sometimes running alone was perfect for contemplation. And it’s not like she’d be isolated. She and Laska chose this trail precisely because, heavily used as it was, it was one of the safest and prettiest places to run.
“Okay, girl, I guess it’s just me and you,” she said, giving herself a pat on the butt, allowing her fingers to stop for just a second on the smooth fabric. She couldn’t help but think about how it would feel to have Axel’s hand be the one who did the patting. She glanced around, then patted her butt again, a little harder, imagining—
She jumped when she heard his voice. “Need a hand with that?”
Chapter Three
Startled, she whirled around to find him behind her, a bemused grin on his face. He was the guy with the nice ass and the earbuds, the one she’d admired from behind. “Axel.” Her face flushed hot. “I, hi.”
“After all,” he continued, “we were talking about something similar last week. I hate to see a woman need to take matters into her own hands.” He smirked at her, then put his hands up. “I’m kidding.” But something in his face seemed serious, despite the smirk.
“I’m good,” said Cleo, feeling her face burn. “Just jogging.”
He nodded. “Beautiful day for it. I’ve never seen you here before. First time on this trail?” He raised an eyebrow. Cleo tried not to stare at his arms, showcased to perfection by the tight runner’s T. Or his strong quads. Fuck, he was sexy. The bulge in his shorts was large—she forced her eyes to his face.
“No. I usually run earlier.” She gestured up the path, where the Evanston seniors were taking off in a ragged bunch of twos and threes, thick white sneakers sparkling like snow, as big as boats on their feet. “Otherwise it gets crowded.”
“Run together?” he suggested. “We can take the other route.” He pointed to the path at the fork. “It’s a longer circle back to the stream here, but it’s smooth. You game?”
The word ‘game’ made her think of their game talk from the other day, and she swallowed, forcing a pleasant smile onto her face. “Sure, if you think you can keep up,” she challenged. “I’m pretty fast.”
It was no idle threat. She’d been a sprinter in high school and college, and had done well in state competitions. Axel looked like he was in excellent shape, but she was lean and used to spr
inting. If he did mostly distance, she could probably outpace him. And she was itching to show him who was boss right now.
“Oh, if I can keep up?” he rejoined. “Trust me, Cleo, that’s not going to be a problem.” And just the way he said it made her think of dirty bedroom activities, not because of anything in his tone, not really, but because of her own overactive imagination.
Or was he flirting? Fuck, it was hard to tell. And when you were a theater person and had recently had a very open conversation with your director about sex and spanking, everything seemed mixed up.
“Care to make it interesting?” she challenged.
He stopped and looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face, and then he smiled. “How interesting are we talking?” he said, his voice lower than before. He stepped in just an inch, not too far into her personal space, but still: It was something.
Now that he was engaged, she felt nervous. “Um, loser buys the winner a coffee at next rehearsal?” she suggested weakly.
He laughed. “I thought you said interesting, Cleo. Try again.” His voice held a hint of command, under the humor.
“Well, what would you suggest?” she complained in a teasing voice, not ready to voice her desires.
“What would I suggest…” he mused, but didn’t answer. There was a pause. A bird called out, a brilliant display of sound, and Cleo could almost see the tones in the air, bright reds and yellows, clattering over each other before tumbling into a waterfall.
“What would the character in the play suggest?” asked Cleo. “Since you’re supposed to be inspiring me, and all.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh, you want to go there?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“I didn’t say I want to go there personally,” she corrected. “I’m just curious. What would a kinky person offer as a reward?”
“Why don’t you take a guess?” he said smoothly. “You’re getting into the character, Cleo. What would Anna say to her husband in this situation? Roleplay it with me. Good practice for you.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I know so.” His voice was light but intense. “One of the best ways to practice in real time. Works like magic to get into a character’s head. That is, if you can handle it.”
“I can handle anything I want.” The tone in her voice didn’t match the crazy adrenaline surging through her body. She wanted him: There, she’d admitted it to herself outright. She wanted his mouth on her neck, his voice in her ear, his tongue between her thighs. She wanted his sexy, easy dominance. She sucked in a breath. “Fine, I can roleplay if you can.”
“Then go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was low and they were alone now, and the scent of his sweat and cologne drifted over to her on the slight breeze.
She felt intoxicated from his proximity, from his piercing eyes, from the sexuality emanating from him. She wanted him to pull her into his arms, ravage her mouth. She wanted him to put his hands on her boldly, to touch her over and then under the tight pants, to put his fingers on and into her without asking, because he knew without words when she wanted it. And another thing she wanted? To turn that cocky confidence in his eyes to something more feral; to the unfettered desire surging through her.
She swallowed hard. “I think the character, Anna, she’d say something like this.” She cleared her throat and stepped in a little closer. “If you win, you can spank me. Right here in the woods. You can take me over your lap on that…” she glanced around, then pointed, “fallen log, and peel down my tight stretchy pants. I’m not wearing underwear, you know, so I’d be totally bare. Then you could spank me until you thought I’d learned my lesson about… uh… challenging you to… uh… races.”
She smirked at him, then felt a sense of burgeoning pride at the way his eyes flared and his body tensed.
He bent down to whisper into her ear. “I’ll take that bet. If I win, I’ll take you into my arms and strip you down and spank your pretty ass. But it won’t be for challenging me to a race.”
“It… it won’t?” she stammered, unable to focus on anything but the crazy sensation, the tingles in her ear and cheek from his lips.
“Oh, no. I’d spank you for being sassy with me. For having such a cocky attitude. For getting me worked up in the woods like this, where anyone could see,” he whispered. “For teasing, when you don’t mean to deliver. That’s why I’d spank you.”
“Mmm…” she said, drifting closer to his lips. “But what if I lose and then say I changed my mind and said no, I don’t want to be spanked, after all?”
“See, that’s the thing,” he murmured, running one finger down her neck. “A woman who makes that kind of a bet usually wants to keep it. And she begs for it, if I don’t deliver.” He wrapped his hand around her neck, not hard, just a touch, before letting go.
“But spankings hurt,” she argued, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They do,” he agreed. “And this one would hurt so good, in just the right way. You’d get so hot and turned on over my lap that you’d be ready to do anything, promise me anything, just to get me to stop the spanking and fuck you.”
“And would you do it?” she breathed.
“That depends,” he replied, “on whether or not I wanted to make you wait for it. Sometimes, sitting on a nice sore ass all day and waiting is the most potent aphrodisiac you’ll ever feel in your entire life. And even if the spanking was hard and made you cry, the residual sting and tingle build up that anticipation to a fever pitch. You want to see for yourself?”
Instead of replying, Cleo turned on her heel and started racing down the path. She ran as fast as she could, feeling her legs pump, strong and fast. Adrenaline gave her speed, and she could feel her body working in tune with the world around her.
Without warning, she felt air on her heels and there he was, pacing her, stride for stride. She pushed herself into overdrive, shooting forward through the air. Her form perfected with each footfall, the knowledge from years of expert coaching kicking in: Hands flat; not curled; arms pumping hard but evenly, slicing the air; elbows reaching back until her shoulders felt the burn, then forward until her armpits strained. Her quads, exploding in turn, pistons; landing on the balls of her feet and tilting forward into the future.
Yet still he paced her, effortlessly, and she heard him laugh as she pushed even harder. Now she was working at full capacity, and she couldn’t hold this pace for long; this was her all-out sprint, faster than her four-hundred-meter dash. This would be her final burst to the finish, giving it everything. His laughter died away and all she heard now was his labored breathing mixing with hers, and the dull pounding of both of their feet on the packed ground, small scratching noises that barely indicated their power and speed.
Her lungs burned and it was glorious; this was her body working to its full potential, and even in the midst of this race she caught glimpses of the forest around her: A patch of green leaves speckled with sunlight; one perfect red cardinal on a branch, fat, slightly fluffy, yellow eye peering at her; a patch of verdant moss on a thick oak root, probably soft enough to use as a pillow. Flashes of brilliance that matched the joy in her soul that came from pure physical exertion.
It was inevitable that she’d win; she’d get there first, and it was with a sense of utter disbelief that she felt him pull ahead, millimeter by millimeter, then saw him race past her as if she were strolling.
She gave a strangled cry and tried to push harder, but the thing was done; she had no more to give, and no matter how she forced her legs she wasn’t able to catch him. When she finally entered the second clearing a full ten seconds behind him, he was leaning against a tree, panting. He saw her and paced toward her, predatory.
She came to an abrupt stop and bent over, hands on her thighs, gasping for breath as her chest heaved. It was the feeling she knew, and yet each time it was fresh, taking her by surprise and shock, that utter inability to get enough air for a split second; the feeling that you’d never get air, yo
ur body would never catch up to your racing heart. And then, a second later, when it caught up: relief. And then you forgot instantly about air at all, once it was back in your lungs, and focused instead on your legs, your feet, the sweat on your brow.
When she was able, she stood, paced back and forth to let her heart rate calm, feeling the instant she got close enough to a steady state. “I left my water bottle back at the other clearing,” she said, the image hitting her suddenly: The sweating blue BPA-free plastic, sitting on a patch of packed earth.
He handed her the one from his pack. “Here.” When she hesitated, he smiled. “I’m disease-free, Cleo. And no colds. You can drink it.”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I—I didn’t think that,” she started. Grateful, though, for his words as well as the water, she took it and drank. “Thank you.” It was intimate, drinking from the bottle his lips had touched. “I’m disease-free as well,” she said, handing the bottle back. “So no need to bleach or fire-bomb it.”
He laughed. “Good to know.”
Cleo sank onto a large flat rock, one of several that had been grouped together for seating. “Good race, Axel. I didn’t know you were so fast.”
“I had a hard time beating you,” he said, his voice impressed. “I didn’t expect that. You’re fast.”
She shook her head. “Not fast enough, though.” Now that she had her breath again, she felt the pull of attraction. He had never looked sexier to her than right now: His hair messy and sweaty, his muscles standing out from the exertion, his chest rising and falling.
Was he going to hold her to that crazy promise? But she’d only been teasing, playing; saying what the character would say. It was ad-hoc impromptu acting, and that’s all it was. Nothing more. Right?
Axel sat on the rock beside her. “You used to run.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded. “I won a few championship races in college. Wasn’t fast enough to qualify for nationals, but I had a good run of it. Ha-ha, pun intended. I still love it. The feeling of going all out, pushing your body to the max, you know? There’s nothing like it.”
His Firm Direction Page 4
