He slowly withdraws his one finger only to plunge it back inside with a second. My heart is racing as tension builds inside my stomach. I fight the urge to let my head fall back and my eyes drift shut, my body overcome with sensations that are totally foreign to me.
“I’ll be watching you when you come on me for the first time. And you will be coming on me. And after you do, I’ll roll you onto your stomach and I’ll come all over that perfect, round ass of yours. And there won’t be anything you can do about it. Because this weekend, you’re mine,” he declares, his fingers sliding in and out of me, winding me up like a pocket watch. “To do whatever I want with. Whatever. I. Want. Do you understand?”
Faster, his fingers move inside me as he awaits my answer. My brain is scrambled, nearly every thought and nerve centered on what he’s doing to me.
And then he stops, his fingers at rest deep within me.
“Say it,” he orders.
“Yes,” I say automatically, not really caring what I’m agreeing to.
“Yes what?”
I struggle to think. My breath is trapped behind my ribs. “Yes, I’m yours.”
“You will not tell me no.”
I pant as my body sucks at his fingers, a silent plea for him to continue. “I will not tell you no.”
Slowly, he eases his fingers out, leaving me with an empty feeling of frustration. “Good,” he says, bringing his hands out of the water to lather up again.
With expert attention, he treats my legs and feet to the same tender attentions he did to my arms and hands, never once acting as though he’s bothered by what just happened. Or nearly happened.
When he pulls the plug to let the water out, I’m forced to admit to myself that I failed miserably. Not only did I enjoy the bath, but I’m disappointed that it’s over, that he didn’t continue. And that’s a first for me.
Hope rises again, mingling with that frustrated feeling, leaving me achy and distracted as Alec pulls me to my feet. Reaching behind him to grab a towel, he begins to pat me dry as his eyes rove my body. He seems thoughtful when his gaze moves back to my face. “Leave your hair up for tonight,” he says of the sexy, messy pile of red tangles atop my head.
I nod absently as Alec helps me from the tub. He bends to brush his lips over mine before he walks toward the door and grabs my bag from the corner. He carries it back and sets it near the vanity that graces part of one wall in the bathroom. “I’ll see if your clothes are here while you get ready.”
He stares into my eyes for a few seconds before he turns casually around and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Alec
I glance over at Samantha, sitting primly in the passenger seat of the car. I brought the Mercedes tonight. I drive it so seldom, people are less likely to recognize it. Not that I’m well-known anyway, but still, I’m cautious. This kind of thing could ruin a man.
I wonder what Samantha is thinking. She hasn’t said a word since she came down the stairs wearing the dress I took up to her.
She’s quite the vision in the sheath. Every curve is perfectly delineated in nearly-sheer black silk. She didn’t mention the discreet zipper in the back of the dress that begins at her ankles and travels all the way to the base of her spine, just like I didn’t mention that I could see her hard ni**les when she stepped into the light.
Her deep red hair is still up, albeit in a sleek twist now, and her lips are stained a rich crimson. I’d love to see that color smeared around my c**k as I thrust it into her mouth while she’s bound and helpless on her knees in front of me. But I doubt that will happen tonight. In all likelihood, her hands will remain free for the remainder of the weekend. That is, unless she lets Laura Drake out of the bag. Then all bets are off.
The thought of that, of being with a woman like that again, makes me hard as a rock behind my zipper. It also makes me uneasy. I learned my lesson with Alyssa. Or at least I thought I had.
I shift in my seat. From the corner of my eye, I see Samantha glance at me. I turn to capture her gaze.
“Are you nervous?”
“Should I be?” she replies.
“A week ago, I would’ve said yes. But now…”
She doesn’t respond, just looks away. I see her fiddle nervously with the domino in her lap. I’m sure she’s curious about it. Or maybe she’s not. My estimation of her responses is skewed; she’s a bit more of a mystery than I’d originally thought. But there’s nothing I like more than unraveling a mystery. Except, of course, unraveling a tightly-wound woman.
When we arrive at the deceptively blasé building, I’m a little more sexually…jacked up than usual. For the last couple of years, I’ve come here only to watch, to feed my addiction just enough to keep it under control. I haven’t participated in a long time. But tonight…tonight is different.
I’ve got the sweetly naive Samantha sitting beside me, dressed in something I could really take advantage of, something that gives me easy access should she decide she’d like to take a room of our own. But also in the seat next to me I’ve got Laura Drake. She writes about sexual exploits that fascinate me. And inflame me.
The question is: Who will accompany me inside tonight? Who will show up to dominate the beautiful redhead on my arm? Both excite me, just in totally different ways, and the anticipation is like rocket fuel to an already raging fire. It’s been too long.
After I park and cut the engine, I get out and walk around to let Samantha out of the car. I reach for the domino between her fingers. I put it into place. She adjusts it slightly and then looks up to meet my eyes. There’s anxiety in them, as well as in the smile she gives me. It tells me that Samantha Jansen is with me right now. Laura Drake is nowhere to be found. It makes me wonder if she’ll ever make an appearance or if she is more of a fictional person than I realize.
After I slide my own domino into place, I take Samantha’s hand and place it on the inside of my arm as we walk to the front of the building.
Like many others, this house, loaded with all the Southern architectural charm that Charleston is known for, was long ago converted into a business. Beyond the wide steps and charming veranda lie a restaurant and bar areas that occupy the entire lower level. It’s neither known to nor frequented by the general public. Only established and thoroughly vetted members are permitted through the subtly secured front doors. While it appears we are able to walk right in, I happen to know there are cameras on us, as well as the eyes of several seemingly casual observers who are actually high-end bouncers. They are in place to ensure that the “club” remains exclusive and discreet.