by Emma Roberts
"Then why did you do it?"
"I am here on behalf of my employer, Jace McCarthy, the CEO of McCarthy Manufacturing. Are you familiar with the name?"
Oh boy, was I ever! He was one of the few men in New York -- maybe even the whole world -- who was wealthier than my father. He'd taken his father's already thriving company and turned it into a billion-dollar dream machine before he'd even hit thirty. He was something of a legend in the circles I ran with. Everyone either wanted to be him or wanted to be with him.
But no one really knew what Jace McCarthy did beyond his work. Most of my father's associates liked to rub elbows at fancy parties, meet each other at the Met, or compete to see who could spend the most on lavish parties. But Jace didn't even piss away his time on the golf course, which seemed to be every rich man’s favorite pastime.
"And what does Jace McCarthy want with me?"
Alexa gave me a searching look, as though she was wondering exactly the same thing. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. Did she see all of the trips to the salon that it took to keep my hair perfectly coiffed? Or was she paying more attention to the subtle fear in my eyes that was praying for someone to notice just how screwed I was?
She looked like a perceptive lady. I was willing to bet it was the latter. I hoped she didn’t pass it on to her boss. Fear was not sexy at all. If he thought I was desperate, he’d run for the hills, just like most people did.
She reached into her bag after a minute and produced a crisp, white envelope. She held it gingerly between two fingers as she handed it to me.
"I have been instructed to pay for whatever meal you were having today and to offer you this."
I took the envelope from her with a mounting sense of excitement. Jace McCarthy never mingled. He never went out. If you looked up reclusive in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of his too-handsome face plastered onto the page right next to the definition. But he'd thought it worthwhile enough to contact me personally, even if it was through an intermediary.
The stationary inside the envelope was thick, heavy, and expensive. I recognized the brand from the grueling lectures my mother had given me on the rare occasions she stayed at home. Most of the time, Irene Farbridge had more important things to do than spend time with her only daughter.
"You are cordially invited to a dinner party this evening at eight o'clock sharp," I read aloud. "Formal attire is expected. This party is exclusive, so please RSVP at your earliest convenience. Tardiness will not be accepted."
Below the scrawling script was a number that I could call or text to confirm. Excitement danced a jig through my veins. A dinner party with Jace McCarthy. My day was starting to look up. And he obviously wasn't averse to spending an obscene amount of money to get my attention. I could probably work this whole thing to my advantage.
"Is this a company number?" I asked Alexa.
She pursed her lips unhappily. "No. It's his personal number. I've told him to be careful who he gives it out to."
She clearly thought I was going to hand it out like condoms at a frat party. Not a fucking chance. There was no way I was going to screw this up by crossing Jace. This could be my ticket out of the dire financial straits I'd found myself in. I would probably have accepted his invitation even if I weren't in trouble. The sort of prestige that came with this invitation wasn't something I'd ignore under any circumstance.
I entered the number into my phone and then quickly sent a text: Hey, this is Whitney. I'll be there tonight at eight. Thanks for the invite. I pressed send.
Alexa finished off her own glass of Dom Pérignon and stood. "My work here is done. Good luck, Miss Farbridge. You'll need it."
The look in her eyes clearly said she pitied me, but after what I'd just read, I couldn't find it in myself to be angry with her. I leaned back in my chair and sipped the champagne. It tasted sweeter when I had this evening to look forward to. Alexa disappeared into the crowd a moment later. Her concern was sweet but misplaced.
I had an inkling of what Jace McCarthy might want from me. If he wanted a hot, dirty fuck in one of his backrooms, I'd give it to him. I'd do whatever the hell he wanted. I only needed to keep him on a string for about a month and a half -- until my brother's birthday passed. Then I could move on like I always did. I didn't usually date men of his caliber, and it might be nice to have a sugar daddy for a change.
A smile spread slowly over my face. If I played my cards right, I'd have a respectable date and a spectacular gift by the time Brandon's birthday party rolled around.
I lifted my glass, toasting no one, and then finished off the champagne. It bubbled all the way down, tickling my insides. I rubbed my thighs together in anticipation of what was to come. I just needed to get him alone.
Watch out, Jace. I'm coming for you. You don't stand a chance.
2
Jace
A red BMW pulled into the drive at a quarter to eight. Damn. I'd been half-hoping she'd be late.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. The urge to seize her the moment she walked in the door was strong, and it frightened me a little. I hadn't wanted a woman like this since April. Never before had a woman pulled my inner sadist to the fore quite so strongly.
I was waiting by the wide bay window in the den. It took agonizing minutes for James to show her inside. She seemed to be conversing animatedly with the young man, which made me want to grind my teeth. Such possessiveness was inappropriate on my part until we worked out an agreement, but I couldn't help it. She was mine.
The tap of her heels in the hall sent spikes of anticipation through me Goddamn. I felt like a teenage boy again, oversensitive and ready to cum at the slightest provocation. I got a firmer grip on the arm of my chair and did my best to marshal my expression before she entered the room.
The door opened behind me, and I turned slightly in my chair. Whitney leaned casually against one of the intricately carved oak doors. She traced the design on one of them idly.
"Nice wood you've got," she said in a tone that implied she meant to be seductive. I groaned. That had been possibly the worst come on I'd ever heard. She would really need to improve her dirty talk if we were going to proceed. Despite my brain's objections to her comment, though, my cock twitched with interest.
She stepped farther into the room, and the rest of my body yearned toward her as well. The royal blue dress she wore begged to be ripped off of her. It was a tasteful length, to my disappointment. I was looking for any excuse to punish her. Though the fact that she could follow the rules she'd been given did bode well for our future ventures together.
I got a peek of one creamy leg through the slit in her dress. It ran all the way to mid-thigh. If I pushed the fabric up, I could place soft kisses and bites on her hip or give her a light swat on the ass. Her hips would buck very becomingly toward me, and I could continue the exploration between those creamy thighs. I wanted to see if she tasted as good as she looked.
It would be so easy to slide the sheath of fabric off of her body. And once she was bare, I'd wind my fingers into her carefully arranged hair and pull it until she whimpered for me. I could almost feel the hot rush of her breath against my face. Her knees would go weak, and it would be a simple matter to push her into a kneeling position so that I could--
I squeezed my eyes shut and fought the urge to curse. My erection was straining against my very expensive trousers, and it wouldn't do to stain them. If I wasn't careful, I was going to get off on just thinking about what I could do to Whitney Farbridge.
I summoned all of the fortitude I had and gestured to the chair next to mine. I was gratified when my voice came out sounding almost bored. "Take a seat, Miss Farbridge."
She sauntered into the room, the over-exaggerated sway of her hips clearly meant to tantalize. She'd pay for all of this teasing later if everything went well.
"Brandy?" I offered, gesturing to the glass bottle next to me. She shook her head.
"No thank you. I don't care for it."
&
nbsp; "Do you have a preferred drink? I can have the kitchen staff prepare it for you."
She shrugged. "I'd like a Manhattan if you have what you need to make it."
At a gesture from me, James, who'd been lurking near the door, hurried off to inform the kitchen staff of Miss Farbridge's order.
Whitney glanced around the room surreptitiously. "Where is everyone? I know I arrived early, but I expected somebody to be here."
"No one else is coming. This is a very exclusive party. A party for two, in fact."
For the first time since she'd entered the room, her confidence seemed to waver just a bit. "It's just me and you here? No one else is coming?"
"It's just you and I."
Whitney's pretty pink tongue darted out to wet her already glossed lips, and I nearly groaned with the intensity of my need. We weren't going to make it to dinner at this point. I was going to attack her like some kind of untamed beast and drive her to the plush rug before the fire. Would she welcome that kind of roughness? I couldn't tell.
I'd found that a lot of women wanted a bit of pain with their pleasure. But was she the sort of woman who could take what I wanted to give her?
"You know," she began in a would-be teasing tone. "If you wanted to fuck, there are less creepy ways."
A surprised burst of laughter forced its way from me. I wasn't used to someone being so blunt with me. It was refreshing, in a way.
Her face scrunched up in irritation. "Why are you laughing at me? That's what you brought me here for, right? A fuck?"
I took a drink of my brandy and gave her a level look. "Yes, Miss Farbridge, a fuck. But not an ordinary fuck. I don't want this to be a one-and-done, so if that's what you want, you can walk right back out those doors."
Whitney stared at me, those wide baby-blues showing nothing of what she was thinking. It was infuriating. I used to be able to read April like an open book, but I didn't know Whitney well enough yet to read her cues. Well, besides the obvious ones. The curvature of her spine and the subtle rubbing of her thighs told me she wanted what I was selling. At least, what she thought I was selling.
I was gratified to see that she was aroused with relatively little effort on my part. That meant she would be responsive, and I couldn't wait to test just how responsive her tight little body could be to my ministrations.
James interrupted what was quickly shaping up to be a staring match between us when he crossed to Whitney's chair and offered her a glass.
"Your drink, Miss Farbridge."
She pursed her lips. "Enough of this 'Miss Farbridge' stuff. You're making me sound like my mother. Call me Whitney, please."
James didn't dignify that with a reply. Whitney raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. She let out a contented sigh. "Excellent. Your bartender really knows what he's doing."
"I aim to have the best of everything."
"Doesn't explain why you want me then," she shot back, crossing her legs primly. The slit opened wider, revealing the majority of one leg. By the end of the night, I was going to feel every inch of her supple skin.
I gave her a wolfish smile. "Are you sure you want to know why I brought you here? It might scare you."
Whitney's chin jerked up a fraction, and she seemed offended by the very idea. "I don't get scared, McCarthy."
"It's Jace. Get familiar with my name. You'll be screaming it later."
A breathy sound escaped her at those words, and it was all I could do not to seize her around the waist and crush her to my chest. I had a feeling that when we finally reached the bed, things were going to be explosive. Her nipples strained at the fabric of her dress. I wanted a taste of them.
"You're arrogant, aren't you?"
"It's not arrogance if you can deliver."
Whitney took a deep draft of her drink, remaining quiet for a minute. Quite a feat, to be sure, if her behavior on the yacht was any indication. She swilled the dark red liquid in her glass for a moment and then glanced back up at me.
“Like I said, Jace. I don’t get scared. Give it to me.”
My lips twitched once in amusement. “All in good time. We still have dinner first.”
She rolled her eyes at me. My grip on my chair tightened until the leather creaked. I’d not laid out the rules yet, so I couldn’t punish her for the transgression. But any more of that in the future, and I was going to be sure she received a paddling for blatant disrespect.
"Ugh. Enough innuendo. What's so special about this fuck?"
This was it. The moment of truth. "I want you to submit to me. Completely. Totally. I will demand your complete capitulation to my demands. I will have you anywhere I want, any time I want, and however I want."
Whitney cracked a smile then, which threw me completely off guard. This was usually the part of the discussion where the normal, vanilla women decided to head for the door. In this age of equality, most self-respecting women didn't like the fetters I'd put on them. The literal ones or the figurative ones. Most women could take a little vanilla sex with a spanking, but they hated the power dynamic I was suggesting.
“You want to go all Secretary on me, huh?”
A flash of warm approval washed through me before I could stop it. “Someone’s been watching good BDSM media. If you’d said Fifty Shades, I might have had to spank you.” I took another drink. “To answer your question, yes, bondage will be a part of it. But what I’m asking goes beyond that. I want a total power exchange.”
“A what?”
“Total power exchange. I decide what you do. Who you see. What you eat and how much. What you wear or don’t wear. And most of all, I dictate your behavior when we’re seen in public.”
Whitney’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. Ah, there was the trepidation I’d been expecting. "What makes you think I want that?"
I set my drink aside and stood, striding over to her. Almost without thought, I seized her chin and yanked her gaze up to meet mine. Her eyes were like blue fire, shining with defiance. I shivered with desire that I tried to repress. She could still say no.
"Because you so desperately want someone to control you."
She jerked her chin down and out of my grasp. Her lips curled in anger, and for an instant, I was sure she'd throw the remainder of her drink into my face. She'd really be in for it then. It was somewhat disappointing that she managed to school that particular impulse and set it aside. She stood, pushing herself closer to me so that we stood chest to chest. She was trying to stare me down. It wasn't going to work. I was at least six inches taller than her and at least twice as wide.
"Go ahead," I said, leaning forward until our lips nearly touched. Without her conscious permission, her eyes flicked to my mouth, and her body went soft and supple as she thought, just for an instant, what it would be like to kiss me. "Try to deny it."
Her silence was an answer in and of itself.
I took a step back. She nearly whimpered when she was denied contact. Her hands fisted impotently at her sides like she might try to pull me back.
"Fine," she huffed. "Whatever. I'll go for it."
"Is that really an honest answer, or are you concerned that if you don't play along, I won't help you out of the hole you've dug for yourself? You overdrew your accounts again this afternoon."
We were close enough that I could practically hear the uneven thump her heart gave at that. Her face went slack with surprise, and her full mouth popped open.
"You-- How did you know that? I-- Are you stalking me?"
"Tch. As if I'd have to stoop to that. Your financial difficulties aren't exactly a state secret, Whitney. I will help you acquire a gift for your brother, whether or not you agree to be my submissive."
"So if I say no, I still get what I came for? That doesn't sound like shrewd business sense to me."
"Your answer, Whitney. Yes or no?"
She chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a second before giving me a speculative once over. "What are the rules if I say yes?"
"We wi
ll go over those at a later date. Tonight, we'll just be having sex with light bondage. No frills, no rules. I just want to be inside of you."
I traced her navel lightly with a finger before trailing it lightly down until I reached the slit in her dress. I parted the material with one finger. She let out a breathy sound of surprise when I skimmed my finger over the lace of her panties. She was soaked already.
It would be so easy to lay her out on the rug before the fire and bury myself in her tight, wet heat. She'd welcome my thick length. She was coiled tight, like a spring. She'd come with fairly little provocation in this state.
I let the material fall back into place as the bell chimed in the other room. Whitney whimpered once more at the loss.
James poked his head into the den cautiously. The staff knew not to enter rooms unannounced when I had a woman over. It saved everyone some embarrassment. Unless Miss Farbridge was into voyeurism. Now that would be interesting.
"Dinner is served, sir."
I nodded. "We'll be in momentarily."
James retreated, and Whitney's eyes refocused. But they hadn't lost their slightly glazed look of pleasure.
"Is that what you want me to call you?" she asked. "Sir? Or is it master?"
I smirked. "When we're in public, maybe. Here, you will call me...Daddy."
3
Whitney
My pussy clenched with unmet desire every few seconds or so. I rubbed my thighs together and nearly whined when I was unable to get the friction I needed. I was pretty sure I'd be punished by the tall, dark, and unreasonably attractive sadist if I tried to take care of myself at the dinner table. I may not have always been the best at following directions, but I knew that wasn't generally considered appropriate dinner etiquette.
How the hell was he able to do this to me? I'd had about six boyfriends since graduating high school, and not a single one of them had been able to even get a tingle out of me. In my life, sex had always been a commodity to be traded for expensive jewelry and trips to foreign countries, or for the attention I craved like candy. It was never something I sought out on my own. I'd learned all of the tricks I needed to make a man cum quickly, and I could fake it like the best porn star. No one seemed to care as long as they got theirs.