The Assignment

by Jade A. Waters

  “Drive up here. We’ll leave them your car.”

  Once the valet drove away, we stood there watching one another on the pier-styled landing of the hotel.

  Dean took my hand and laced his fingers in mine. “The restaurant is across the pier.” He pointed with his other hand. “I figured we could start there...” He squeezed my fingers.

  “Sounds lovely,” I said.

  “How was your day?” He ushered me toward the restaurant.

  I was torn in different directions. I loved the demeanor of this charming, casual man who’d jumped in my car and assisted with the valet, but inside, everything prickled. “It was good. Long, and somewhat tense at the end, but good.”

  We’d reached the restaurant at this point, and Dean shifted a hand to the small of my back while pulling open the door. The touch was hot and firm, nudging me ahead with an authority that spread tingles down my hips.

  “Table for two?” the hostess asked.

  “Yes, please. Reservation for Sova.”

  “Ah, yes.” She gestured toward the window. Dean spread his fingers, each pad lighting my nerves, and I inhaled as he led me behind the hostess to our seats. Once she laid the menus on the table, she shared the specials and asked if we’d like a drink.

  “Champagne or cocktail?” Dean asked.

  “Cocktail is fine. Something sweet.”

  The hostess grinned. “We have a mango-tini that’s delicious!”

  “I’ll take that,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll try the Cuban, please. I’ve heard it’s legendary.”

  As our hostess ran off, Dean and I smiled at one another.

  “This place is lively,” I said. The vibrant décor boasted big, flamboyant pieces of art against brightly colored walls, and a steel drum band played in the main room, the notes of their current tune wafting around and adding to the ambiance. “I love it. How’d you find it?”

  “The hotel clerk said their food is delicious, and I’d heard of them before. Creole-Cajun fare.”

  Neither of us paid much attention to the menu during our conversation, though our server returned swiftly with our drinks and asked what we’d like to order.

  Dean politely asked her for a few more minutes, then turned his heavy, pensive eyes on me. Across the table, I felt his presence in the weight of those eyes alone. “I’ve been thinking of you all week.”

  “I’ve been doing the same,” I said. There wasn’t a point to filtering myself anymore. This man was like a magnet. Despite the delectable scent of Cajun food filling the space, I concentrated on the smell of him—the rich, irresistible scent of man.

  “I’ve had so many thoughts of you, of what we can do together.” Dean slid his hand across the table surface and twined his fingers with mine. “I suppose I should take it slow, though. I don’t want to scare you away.”

  Our waitress returned while I tried to respond. She grinned at our hands before peering between both of our faces. “More time for you both?”

  “Please,” Dean said.

  She left as soon as she’d come.

  For the next half hour, we chattered about common things and took occasional glances at our menus. I learned he had three brothers in the Bay Area, and that his youngest one, Dylan, apprenticed at Sova Associates. Dean’s details of his childhood were wishy-washy, but I picked up that his parents had been gone a lot, working too hard to make too little, and that Dean had spent his youth trying to earn his own money helping out the local fishermen. This was how he met Niko Witte, a man thirty years his senior, and an obvious father figure from whom he’d gleaned a passion for the sea and a fascination with architecture.

  When Dean spoke of Niko, his entire face lit up. He told me of their travels after he’d left school—a three-year journey that had started along the Chesapeake and carried them through the Southern Bahamas and down to the Dominican Republic. Apparently, it was Niko who’d put him through college upon their return, but Dean didn’t delve much into this before asking about my childhood.

  I was still too awestruck by his romantic tales and the brightness of his eyes when he spoke, so while I told him a few details of my mushy married parents and my lovable half-brother, Ryan, Dean continued to tug me as if on a string. He made my body sing with want and wonder and crept me forward until our elbows rested against each other’s and our fingers laced together once more.

  When the waitress came back for a third time, we gave her our order before Dean stroked the back of my hand.

  “Did I tell you how amazing our suite is?” he asked. Playful and energized, he made me chuckle.

  “You did.”

  “Do you want to see it?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. We have time before our dinner arrives. I promise I won’t hold you captive for too long.”

  He summoned our waitress and smiled at me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Dean explained we’d be running next door, and she cast me another grin that assured she knew what we were headed off to do.

  “We’ll be back in a few minutes. Thank you so much,” he said. He reached his hand out for mine. I let him draw me from my chair, staring into his eyes with a question of what was to come.

  As if I didn’t know.

  “Ready?” Dean asked.

  “I am.”

  He didn’t lead me through the restaurant; he held my hand at my back and maneuvered me in front of him as though he wanted me on display. Maybe I imagined it, but in his measured pace it struck me how many eyes zoomed in on us. When we passed the band, the music blaring and entrancing, Dean leaned into my ear.

  “You’re the loveliest woman in this place, you know.”

  The words were electric, as was his hand around mine. I considered myself pretty, not beautiful, but in the way he spoke and moved me, I’d never felt more confident, appreciated.

  Desired.

  “Thank you.”

  We left the loud scene of the restaurant and walked across the pier. The sun had set during our conversation, and while the bay slapped rhythmically against the piles supporting the deck, the only light came from the lampposts above, now brightening the slats beneath our feet. It was a short crossing that spanned forever as Dean held me tight to his side without saying anything.

  When we got to the hotel lobby, he escorted me to the elevator doors. He pushed the button to take us up to our suite, his gaze heavy. A bellhop stood at the end of the hall, smiling until the intensity of Dean’s and my quiet pose forced his head away.

  My breath echoed in my ears, and I wondered if Dean could feel my heart drumming while the elevator doors parted. He spoke in a voice so hushed I had to crane forward to hear him.

  “The last part of your assignment was by far the best.”

  “Was it?”

  “Oh, yes. And I must see those beautiful thighs, live. Now.”

  He released me and I gulped, backing slowly against the wall.

  Dean ran his fingers through his hair, pondering the floor buttons. After buzzing the fourth floor and waiting for the door to close, he turned back to me. “Show me.”

  Time froze. The temperature in the elevator car rose. Dean lowered his eyes from my face to my thighs. He rested his arm on the elevator rail, gripping it with fingers that warmed my blood and made me eager.

  Willing.

  I grabbed my skirt midway down. Dean was still. As the fabric skimmed up my legs, I trembled.

  I wanted more than anything for him to touch me.

  Up, up, up... I lifted the hem to reveal skin that ached for his hold. Dean kept his eyes on my legs. The elevator whirred in the background, ticking past the second floor, then the third.

  We had one floor to go.

  I gathered the skirt up around my hips, the fabric rustling ov
er my sex and making me aware of how erotic the simple act of flashing my thighs felt.

  “Jesus,” Dean said.

  The elevator shuddered into place, and he pounced.

  We had one minute—one blissful minute in which he threw himself against me on the elevator wall, his hand closing around my thigh. His fingers crept up my skin and grazed the edge of my panties, and his chest molded over mine, so muscular and solid. He tilted his head down, his lips hovering above mine, denying me.

  “I cannot wait to be inside you.”

  The doors opened and Dean stepped back. I fell forward, astounded by the unexpected heat he’d already snatched away.

  An elderly man stood on the fourth-floor landing, eyeing the two of us in the elevator as he waited for us to clear the way.

  “Good evening, sir,” Dean said.

  “Evening.”

  He grasped my hand, and we left the man behind. As we weaved down the walkway from the elevator corridor to our suite, Dean’s breathing sounded ragged, tormented. I followed him, my head spinning. We arrived at a door set at the end of a hall, and Dean swished around in his pocket until he found the key card, then swiped it over the lock panel and threw the door wide.

  “Get in,” he said.

  I saw little of the suite once Dean pressed himself to my back. Every inch of him met me, his chest broad and hot against my shoulders. The stiff ridge of his cock dug into my ass, and he yanked me close.

  “We only have a few minutes, but I can’t wait much longer for you.” He hissed the words against my cheek before nibbling on the shell of my ear. I gasped, and he curled his hands around my hips, digging his fingers into the bone until I bent forward and lodged my ass into his pelvis. My breath fell in whimpers I couldn’t control.

  “Dean...”

  “You...” he murmured.

  “I—”

  “No words.” He spun me around, drawing me in to him, letting me feel the length of his body and astonishing me with how fast he moved. I pressed against his pelvis, captivated by this man who somehow spoke to every cell within me, and wrapped me in his embrace. “I know we have to get back to dinner, but I have to kiss you first. For real.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Dean lowered his lips to mine.

  For a minute, I was lost. The world spun in deranged circles when his lips plundered mine, his hands warm on my back, then encircling my waist. I opened my mouth, and his tongue tangled with mine, a trace of mint still lingering from his drink. He dominated the kiss and made me moan. And yet I met him, kissing him with the hunger I’d dreamed of all week, breathing in the hint of amber on his skin.

  Dean caressed my ass and tugged me closer. He molded me against him as though he wanted us to merge into one being, and the entire time, his tongue worked with mine—dancing, sweet and untamed.

  So hot.

  “Maya...” He backed away.

  “Shit,” I said.

  Dean smoothed his hands over his chest. His suit was rumpled, his pants bulging at his crotch to reveal his size. A surge of desire overpowered me. Dean said, “We don’t have long. Take a peek around. I need to calm down before we go back.”

  I stood there speechless.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not done with you,” he said.

  Dean took both my hands into his after I toured the room, pulling me close for a gentle kiss. He nibbled on my lip with a heavy breath.

  “We should get back. We have so much to talk about.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I was open to discussing anything and everything.

  And definitely doing much more than talking.

  Chapter Five

  For the next hour, Dean and I pretended we hadn’t just had the exchange in our suite. We shared casual and warm conversation, and while I admired the sexual pull he had working for him, I also liked the way he thought. He explained more about Sova Associates, from writing project proposals and drawing stairs to visiting hardware showrooms. I found it all fascinating, and when he asked me about social work, he struck me as genuinely intrigued. I’d never had someone quite this interested and invested, and it made it easier to want him more.

  Though we’d ordered and been nothing short of polite throughout our meal, we were so enraptured with our conversation that our waitress’s approach continued to surprise us. Dean and I thrived in our own little bubble of magic, and—sexual tension aside—we were engaged and loving it. We didn’t notice her filling our glasses or offering us more drinks. When she asked if we’d like dessert, I tore my gaze from Dean’s to read the menu she offered.

  After we ordered dessert and port, Dean brought up the elephant in the room.

  “What did you think of the assignment?”

  I crossed one leg over the other and rested a hand on the tabletop. He traced his finger back and forth along mine, then up to my wrist. He hesitated there for a minute, swinging his fingertip across the width—right where I foresaw him binding me if we did go that route. “I thought it was different. Clever, actually.”

  “How did it make you feel?” His eyes were intense, as if he could see inside my head and wanted to read every thought I had before making me share them aloud.

  I shifted, loving the way his fingertip caressed and promised in his simple graze. “Sexy and naughty. Powerful.” I raised an eyebrow. “Aroused.”

  “Good. Your choices, your pictures...they were superb.” He gathered my hand into his, and trailed the fingers of his other hand over my palm. “I get the feeling you’re more open than most.”

  “Maybe,” I said, engrossed in his movements. “Have you given an assignment before?”

  “Oh, God no.” Dean spread my hand open in his palm to run his fingertip along my skin. The touch sent tingles through my limbs, making me keenly aware of the thin lace of my panties.

  “No?”

  “No. I haven’t tried this before.”

  “I thought you had. Alex implied you had.”

  Dean closed my hand in his. The waitress returned, silent when she placed our port and the slice of cheesecake we’d ordered on our table.

  “Thank you,” Dean said, but neither of us moved.

  She scurried away.

  “Alex has an interesting view of my sex life, that’s for sure. I’ve done bits and pieces of this, but not fully. I’ve played with rope a little, and I’ve tried this...” his forehead crinkled as he chose the appropriate word, “...dynamic. I stress very little, though. I’ve never found anyone who’s been into it, and until I met you, I hadn’t felt the pull.”

  I swallowed hard, my skin on fire while he ran his fingers up my forearm, lingering on my inner elbow. “Why me?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t explain it. You don’t scream ‘submissive.’ You strike me as the type of woman who’d smack me for suggesting it.” His fingertip swung back and forth, a pendulum of sensation riling me up in the strangest way. “But there’s an audaciousness in you. I have it, too. It’s what makes this so interesting.”

  I’d been curious about this since Charlie had first raised the cuffs in front of my eyes, though this was nothing like what we’d done. That was a distant memory I’d promised myself to shelve. But this...this was something far more intriguing. Evocative. I shifted in my seat. How long had Dean been into it? “What got you into this?”

  “That’s a story for another day.”

  “But I want to know.”

  “You will. In time.” His distant tone made me jerk slightly, but Dean caressed my arm still. “It’s nothing bad. You tell me. Why does it appeal to you?” He played coy, but I was too tantalized to ask why.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do. Tell me.” He raised my palm to his lips, kissing it. Subtly, he flicked his tongue over my skin.
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br />   I lowered my eyes. “I like being overwhelmed, I guess. There’s something about the idea of being tested and tormented—”

  “Of surrendering.”

  I didn’t speak.

  “Compliance,” he said.

  Yes. That word made me tremble. I tapped my fingers on the table. “In a way, yes. Following instructions to...” I kept my eyes down. Why did I admit this? Hadn’t I buried this? “To lose control, but safely.”

  “Yes—knowing you’re wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then. Let me be honest with you... I want to see you, touch you, feel you and subject you to a series of taboo pleasures.” He nipped my skin and my head popped up, his seriousness captivating. “I want to learn how you react, and push you further. What do you think?”

  I choked on my words, a blaze of intoxicating excitement tearing through me. “I think, for having not done this much, you sure know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve done my research.”

  “Oh, have you?” I teased.

  His lips turned into the most brilliant smile and he gave a short chuckle. He leaned the slightest bit forward, his expression seizing my heart before he knocked me off my seat. “Are you wet right now?”

  I gasped. I couldn’t answer.

  And yet I did. “Yes.”

  His eyes shone. “Excellent.”

  The band switched songs, and everyone clapped—except us, my hand against Dean’s lips as he nibbled on me with that devil of a grin across his face.

  “So what is this?” I asked. He began to massage my forearm and I struggled to understand. All I could think about were his hands on me, his lips everywhere. “What do you want?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He lowered my hand and cut a piece of cheesecake before stretching it across the table. It hovered between us, waiting for me to accept.

  I took the bite. Dean kept his eyes on my mouth. The candle on our table spread dark shadows across his face, all the way up to his whisper of a scar.

  “I’d like to explore with you. Do we need specifics?”

  “I’m not sure. I still don’t know what I’m signing up for.”