She rubbed her palms together. “No. Things have been good. J is like an angel now.” She peered out the window, a hint of a smile crossing her face and her cheeks turning pink. “Maybe it’s way out of line for me to say this, but I always feel really comfortable talking to you, Maya. So we’ve been good. Real good, if you get my drift.” Carrie winked. While I’d never shared any of my personal life with her or the similarities in my life to hers, I believed she was seeking a parental figure and in some ways, our check-ins met this need.
“I won’t write that down, but I’m glad to hear it,” I said, keeping my demeanor as reserved as possible.
She giggled. “It’s kind of...explosive. All positive, though.” She fondled her wrist, and I watched her movement, looking for any new marks I might have missed.
I wondered for a second if she and J were playing in the way they had previously.
Exploring.
I swallowed back the distracting thought of Dean that popped in my head and nodded at Carrie, then asked her a few more questions about her home environment. Overall, she did seem well. When she gathered up her belongings and shook my hand, she swore she’d be back in two weeks with more good news.
As always, I hoped she was right.
* * *
“I swear, he’s like a little roller boy pro!” Maddie said, setting down her fork. “He rolled all over that rink like he owned it. I think I might have a mini speed skater on my hands!”
“Ha! That’s fabulous. I bet it was adorable to watch.”
Maddie beamed with pride. “It was. I took a bunch of pictures of him with Henry.” She fished her phone from her purse and pulled them up, and the two of us scrolled through them over our half-finished meals. Even in the image of him falling down among a crowd of other skaters, Timothy looked thrilled with his new adventure.
“That’s so fun, Maddie.”
“I love that kid.” She tucked away her phone. “He was even a trooper at the birthday party we took him to Sunday for a couple of twins in his kindergarten class. Oh my God. They were utter hellions. I can’t imagine what it’s like for their parents.”
“Yikes.”
“Pretty much.” She took another bite of her meal and nodded toward me. “Okay, enough about my kid. Fess up. I’m on eggshells, here. Tell me about your date!”
Now it was my turn to beam. “Well...we started with this wonderful dinner on the pier, in Jack London Square. He booked a room at the Waterside.”
“Okay. I’m hooked already.”
I giggled before I launched into the full tale, and by the time I’d told all of it to Maddie, we’d almost finished our lunch hour and she’d forgotten the rest of the food on her plate.
I didn’t tell her everything—I’d skipped the power dynamic, and the soothing way I’d spent Saturday morning under his care—but some key details needed to be shared.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Hot damn. I was right.”
This meal was on me, so when our waiter was en route to return my card, I pointed at Maddie’s plate and indicated she’d need a box to take lunch back with her.
“About? Oh, the artist thing?” I asked her.
“Yes indeed. Wow. Crazy sex against a hotel window.” Maddie whistled. “Somehow I think there’s more you’re not telling me.”
“That would be accurate,” I said. I thanked our waiter when he put a box next to Maddie’s plate, and when he walked away, I leaned toward her. “A lady has to have some secrets.”
Maddie snorted. “You little exhibitionist. If you have secrets with a man who sounds as hot as you described that are spicier than what you already shared,” she said, pinching my arm, “then I’m definitely living vicariously through you from here forward. Holy crap.”
I splayed my hands in an aloof shrug. “I do what I can.”
“Ha.” Maddie scooped her food into the box. “I had a few public moments of my own back in the day. God, I must sound like a married old prude now, don’t I? But truth be told, there are sections of Paris that have seen far more of my ass than was reasonable.”
I took a swig of my seltzer water. “Whoa. We did it in a window overlooking the estuary. I mean, there was the square, but it was unlikely anyone would see us.” That was what I kept telling myself, anyway. “You were in public? Like, ass out in full view?”
“Oh yeah.” Maddie closed up the box and we left the restaurant in a lazy stroll. Both of us needed a break from work; after Carrie had left our appointment, Maddie had required security to ward off a client’s abuser following an intake assessment. The event had tinged the office with more tension than normal, which made the kiss of fresh air beneath the hot sun exactly what we’d needed.
I eyed the reminiscent expression on her face. “You can’t say shit like that without explaining it, you know.”
“Yes, yes. It happened a handful of times. Sébastien, oh, Sébastien...oh la la.” She grinned. “Have I told you how lucky I am that Henry loves my past as much as he loves me?”
“Come on! Go back to sections of Paris! Don’t try to change the subject.”
Maddie snickered. “Yeah. Sébastien liked it dirty, and he liked it wherever. I was a nude model, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t have a problem with being naked in public. Passage Dauphine was the best. Ah, memories.” She sang her last word and gave a sort of shimmy when she skipped ahead. “Right up against a wall.”
“Maddie!” With all my makeout sessions in dance clubs and cars, and all the men I’d been with, none had tried anything as visible in public as that. The heat rose to my neck and anticipation rolled through me.
What would that be like?
“No judgment, window woman,” Maddie said.
“There’s no judgment! I don’t know if I could do it.”
She turned to face me. We were less than two hundred feet from the office, and when she took my hands into hers and stopped with a serious expression on her face, I almost tripped on her feet. “It’s exhilarating. Freeing. And you, my dear,” she said, tapping my nose, “you might well like it. Maybe the dark and sexy Dean is into that sort of thing.”
Before I could speak, Maddie tugged me the last few steps to the office. We both needed to push through the rest of a brutal Monday, but despite the paperwork and stress, I couldn’t help pondering Dean’s interests.
Nor could I stop wondering what he’d offer as the next assignment.
Chapter Eight
Friday night, I flashed back to Dean’s and my conversation for what had to be the twentieth time that week.
The next assignment involves a few steps. The first is wearing something elegant and gorgeous. I’ll pick you up at your house, if that’s all right, to take you out to dinner—somewhere sophisticated and your choice. But that’s all I’ll share so far, lovely.
Each time I’d remembered it, the sound of his words sent tingles down my limbs. And while I stood there in my bathroom, mascara brush in hand, I couldn’t stop the flood of heat that whipped around in my belly. I tried to use it to fuel me as I leaned closer to the mirror and spread the makeup over my lashes, but I jerked in surprise when my phone chimed with a text.
Twenty minutes, sexy.
I gulped.
Three words, and I was enthralled to see him. Charming, handsome, incredibly seductive him.
“Crap,” I mumbled.
I focused and finished my makeup, then pulled my dress from the closet. The faint brush of silk over my skin electrified me, as if Dean’s impending arrival alone had already awakened my body, and channeled all my wild thoughts and secret urges to the surface. I smoothed the fabric over my hips, looking at the black halter dress with a smile. It dipped low in the back and clung to my curves, and I hoped he’d like my pick.
I hustled to pair the dress with diamond earrings and bla
ck heels, and left my hair spilling down the exposed flesh of my back. I’d just made it into my living room when Dean knocked on the door, and once I opened it, he stepped back with a lusty inhalation, raking his gaze over my dress with a swing of his head.
“You read my mind. This is exactly what I’d hoped for.” Quietly, he stood watching me. It took him a beat to reach out, and when he did, he grasped my hand and held it above my head, twirling me around with a whistle. “You’re positively stunning.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I expected him to whisk me away, but Dean encircled my waist and enveloped me in his arms for a wickedly entrancing kiss. He smelled like aftershave and him—manly and sexy. I could imagine inhaling that scent for an eternity as I sank into him. His tongue mingled with mine, and my body molded instinctually to the firm build of his torso, but he pulled away with a grin that melted my heart.
“Time for the next step.” He didn’t refer to the assignment again, only led me to his car and closed the door after I climbed into my seat. His gaze was heavy on me as he came to his side of the cab, where he started up the engine to take us to the restaurant. “To Chez Rose,” he said.
“Have you been?”
“Nope. Have you?”
I shook my head. “Never. But I’ve been dying to go. They have live piano there, which I love.”
“That’s right. You play.” He cast me a smile and looked back to the road. “I played a little guitar growing up.”
“Did you? Do you still?”
“Nope. I was never very good. Dylan plays beautifully, though.”
“Nice. My brother plays, too. Dylan is your youngest brother, right?”
“Yep,” he said. He put on his turn signal to merge onto the freeway. The look on his face was a mix of brotherly pride and seriousness.
“Are you and your brothers all close?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m closest with Dylan even though we’re the furthest apart. I looked out for him a lot when we were kids. Luka is a bit of a rebel, but we’ll bond over anything alcoholic.” Dean winked when I laughed. “Evan and I are the most alike. We both love to sail and were the caretakers for the younger boys. We’re both stubborn, too. Evan ditched home right after I did. I guess neither of us could sit by and watch how hard it was for our parents.”
“That’s tough. Were you close with them?”
Dean thought a minute, the rumbling of the car forming the only noise between us in the cab. “Not then, no. I just knew they needed help raising us boys. Later I was, though. Niko pushed us to talk more after we got back from our trip.”
“Why didn’t you talk?”
“So many questions,” Dean said, grinning my way. He slipped his fingers into my hair and brushed it back from my face, the light touch of his skin against my ear calling me out, raising the heat in my blood. “I want to know more about you. Tell me about you and the piano. Did you perform a lot?”
“Playing aloof, hmm?” Dean didn’t answer, so I continued. “Yes, I performed a ton. There were lots of concerts and performances up into my teens.”
“Why’d you stop?”
I thought about my years in college, distracted with courses, and later, the chaos that was my relationship with Charlie. I’d kept playing on a little keyboard all through those years, but for the most part, my practice had tapered off while I’d tried to balance my studies and his moods. I could only imagine how he would have reacted if I’d tried to play in a performance.
Looking for attention, are you?
“I got preoccupied with other things,” I said. “I slowed down for a while in college, but picked it up again later. What about you? Any other instruments?”
“Besides my crappy guitar stint? Heck no.”
I chuckled, and for the rest of the drive and throughout our dinner, we kept sharing—though Dean encouraged me to do most of the talking. The whole time, he listened with that same smile on his face, asking a few questions as though there wasn’t a charge in the air, a pure electricity spinning around us while we took casual, tender grazes of one another’s hands. Like our first date, the servers steered clear save for occasional check-ins and offers of more dishes or wine, but neither Dean nor I paid much attention. We were absorbed in one another, tied by an invisible current of lust.
When the lavish spread of our dinner was nearly over—Dean having ordered the roasted quail, while I’d preferred the truffle braised chicken—and against the backdrop of beautiful piano music that had me swaying in my seat, Dean lowered his wine glass and spread his fingers out on the table. They were strong fingers that designed buildings and helped him sail, but I got caught up envisioning all the other things those fingers and hands could do while the pianist’s tune came to a close.
Dean said, “Are you ready for the next part of your assignment?”
I set down my glass. Yes, I was. This man was spoiling me, doting on me, smiling at me like I was the only woman in the room, in the entire world. “I am.”
A flicker of appreciation crossed Dean’s face. The ridge of his jaw tensed, then softened, and his lips turned up mischievously. “Some steps will happen here, and the rest when we leave.”
“What’s first?”
Dean shifted in his chair and took my hand into his. He caressed my fingers and palm before peering into my eyes. His were shadowed in the candlelight, but their beautiful depths had nothing to do with the light. “Are you wearing panties?”
“Of course I am.” Though in truth, the dress had required finesse in this regard. I’d tried on three pairs after my shower to find one that would both match my bra and remain inconspicuous beneath the silk fabric.
“Good. We’re going to play.” Dean dragged his fingertips more forcefully over my flesh, and then he turned his hands palm up. “Put both your feet on the floor.”
He must have guessed by the tilt of my body that I sat with one thigh crossed over my knee. I lowered my top leg to the floor, pressing my knees and ankles together.
“Now put your hands in mine.”
I did.
Dean caressed both of my hands now. He spread them apart on the tabletop before pausing his strokes. “Are you game?”
“Yes.” My voice wavered. His words were intoxicating, entrancing. My body responded with his questions alone.
Dean raised an eyebrow. “The next part requires you comply, Maya.” He paused. “Do you accept?”
It sounded silly to my ears, and yet my heart thrummed in valiant bursts of anticipation. “You’re lucky I’m so open,” I said.
“Ah, that’s how I want you—open.” Beneath the table, Dean slid his feet between mine and shoved them apart, jerking my knees open under the skirt of my dress. “Do you accept?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I gasped. He gave my fingers a squeeze. Under the table, I trembled. I wore pants most days, and even then I kept my knees together and my legs crossed. Dean’s feet remained against my insteps, preventing me from closing my knees unless I picked up my feet.
“I’ll ask you how you feel tonight, and I expect you to tell me. I want to know every thought, every feeling.”
His transition from a sweet, tender man into this dominating version fascinated me. How did he read this want in me? And how did he make this need burn in me? “Why do you want to know?”
Dean smirked. “Because it turns me on.”
My nipples became stiff, painful tips confined within my bra.
“Like now,” he said, caressing my palms. “The idea of it, the thought of you telling me how you feel while you’re sitting here open like this... It’s made me hard.”
I shivered. My knees had a will of their own; they attempted to dip together in some sort of display of modesty, but I commanded them to stay like this.
Like he wanted me.
“
So how do you feel?”
I swallowed. “Excited and open. And very wet.”
Dean inhaled. “I can’t wait to taste you. To bury my cock in you.”
My shoulders heaved. The bluntness of his words as we sat there in public with servers running around us and offering more drinks was exhilarating.
And damn hot.
“I want that, too.”
“Good. And it will be soon. For now...are you ready for the next step?”
“Okay.” I felt weak with expectation. My clit had become painfully swollen, and the air sneaking past my open thighs wasn’t dulling the sensation. Not at all.
“Take all this excitement with you to the ladies room. There, you will touch yourself in a stall.”
My body tightened.
Dean kneaded my palms with this thumbs. “You will put these sexy hands all over you, bringing yourself to climax.”
The hair lifted on my neck. I pitched forward in my chair, absorbing you will, every part of me wanting to be put off.
And yet I wasn’t. I pined for what he said, for what I was already willing to do, but I shook my head. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Unless you truly object to this idea.”
An eternity passed while I mulled over his words. He wanted me to touch myself in a public restroom, at a fancy restaurant?
“Well?”
Did I really not like this idea? Or was it that it sounded crazy?
Somehow, his ideas had the power to weave themselves into my skin and command me. And I loved it.
“I will,” I breathed. Saying those two words sent another chill through me.
“Good...but there’s more.”
What was he doing to me? Blood swirled through my hips, and I hoped I hadn’t become a sticky mess soaking through my dress in this chair. That would be embarrassing.
More embarrassing than the potential to get caught touching myself in the bathroom?
“You will stop yourself before you come. I want you high on endorphins with your body tingling in hunger and need. But... I don’t want you to wash any of your scent off your hands before you come back to dance.”
The Assignment Page 10