I watch Adrian spear an olive on a toothpick and chew it thoughtfully. I haven't mentioned that I'm going to the party; I keep telling myself it's not important, but I know that's not the reason why.
We're still talking about a workshop we sat through earlier, with one of the rare male romance authors who will actually show his face at these events and own up to his gender. Most of the women swooned over him, but I found his viewpoints on the genre to be pretty off-base.
"I mean, seriously, I'm so sick of hearing that thing about how 'women can just get sex whenever they want.'" I polish off my wine and grab the bottle. "It's not even close to true."
"You have to admit he has a point," Adrian says. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it literally, but the average woman can go out and find casual sex much more easily than the average man. Are you really suggesting that's not the case?"
I just snort. "Yeah. Right. I'm pretty sure he could go out and have sex any time he wants, too. It's just not the sex he'd prefer to have, with the person he'd prefer to have it with. And that's an experience all of us are familiar with." I glance over my drink, at Adrian's stormy eyes. "Except you, of course."
He laughs a little, shaking his head. "You have a lot of strange ideas about my life."
"Please. Are you telling me you can't get any woman you want, any time you want?" I'm rolling my eyes, aware that I'm being hyperbolic and also maybe a little bit too revealing of my personal feelings about Adrian and his tight abs. Oh, well. It's too late to turn back now.
He quirks an eyebrow and I realize, too late, that I'm about to regret having this conversation. "All right, then," he says smoothly. "You and me. Right now. Let's go."
I'm blushing so deep red, I can practically feel it glowing off of my skin. "That doesn't count!" I insist.
"Why not?" As he takes a swallow of his whiskey, I notice the playful glint in his eyes. I'm just not quite sure what it means. "Because it's you?"
"Because you're not trying."
His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Do you want me to try?"
"God, no," I mutter, into the rim of my glass. "Don't embarrass yourself."
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch someone waving at me. It's Izzy, I realize, letting me know the party is about to get started. I take another sip of my drink and stand up.
"Well, I'm supposed to go hang out with Izzy from the signing," I tell him, but I can already tell he's not buying it. The back of my neck starts to get hot, and I take a deep breath. "So, I'll see you in the morning, bright and early. We can go over the panel stuff."
"Hang out with Izzy?" he echoes. "This wouldn't happen to be at the topless man mixer, would it?"
"I dunno." I shrug, even as my face turns bright red. "What mixer?"
His fingers are drumming on the table.
"Fine." I roll my eyes. "I'm going to the damn mixer. With the cover models. Everybody is going to be there, it seems stupid to miss out on it."
Adrian's face twists with irritation. "Do I need to remind you that you're here working for me? This isn't for fun."
"So are you forbidding me to go? Are you gonna hold back my paycheck?" I fold my arms across my chest. "I could just lock myself in my room for the rest of the conference, or better - I could tell everyone…"
"Are you threatening me?" His eyes darken.
"No," I tell him, lightly. "Just reminding you of the possibilities."
With that, I walk out. He can spend the night with Kara if he wants to. Me, I'm going to have some fun.
Chapter Eight
I'm doing a damn good job of pacing myself, if I do say so.
There are three hot cowboys, a hot firefighter, a hot soldier, and a hot rockstar. Basically everyone in the room is drooling to get pictures with them, but I can't imagine what I'd do with something like that. Still, I want to keep my wits about me. Much as I hate to admit it, Adrian was right about that. I can't get too drunk while I'm here, or I might forget who I'm supposed to be.
"So you're Natalie McBride, huh?" One of the cowboys sidles up to me. I feel like I'm dying a little more inside every time I answer in the affirmative to that question, but I've got no choice.
"Yep!" I say, cheerfully. "Having a good time?"
He nods. "My wife loves your books. So, you know." He grins meaningfully. "Thanks."
Oh, boy. "Hey, that's great. You want me to sign a book for her? I've got a couple copies in my bag."
"That would be great!" He enthuses. "Man, she's gonna love this. Thanks. You can make it out to Linda."
Hot cowboy's definitely getting lucky when he goes home. I can't imagine someone who looks like him has a lot of issues with that, but he's holding that book like it's the holy grail.
Word's started to spread, apparently, and suddenly the hot soldier sidles over and asks for a picture with me. Izzy shows up out of nowhere, her eyes getting like saucers when she realizes what's going on.
"Holy crap," she mutters, as a few of the other guys wander over. "I was just gonna ask how you're doing. Obviously, just fine."
The music is getting louder, and the rockstar asks me if I want to dance. At first I laugh, thinking he's fucking around, but then I realize that he's not.
I'm barely tipsy, and my panties and I have struck an uneasy truce. This is probably a bad idea. But I let him grab my hand and pull me to an empty part of the floor, because getting the kind of attention I want from Adrian from a stranger instead isn't ideal, but it's something.
People are snapping pictures and video, and giggling, and there's no way even Adrian's PR machine can keep a lid on this. I don't think he wants my face attached to Natalie McBride in any public, permanent way, but it's way too late for that now.
I'm spinning around the room, and I can feel some lightness in my chest, finally. So what if Adrian's probably with Kara right now, doing God knows what? I've got a damn male model putting his hands all over me, and that's not a phrase I ever thought I'd say.
Shaking and shimmying, I can't believe the panties have stayed in place. It's almost like they know. Finally, we've come to an understanding.
As that thought flies through my head, I feel something slip.
And fall.
All the way.
I stumble backwards, staring down at my panties around my ankles, kicking them free as if that helps any. Like it's better if they're not attached to me. Like nobody's gonna remember where those damn panties in the middle of the floor came from.
"WARDROBE MALFUNCTION!" someone shrieks, spilling her drink as she makes a dramatic gesture. My face is burning, and I'm just staring at the offending garment, trying to figure out what the fuck to do.
"Don't worry." Izzy's voice is in my ear. "Nobody's even gonna remember this tomorrow."
A nice sentiment, but she's not quite right.
Out of nowhere, a sleek, be-suited figure leans forward and snatches my panties off the ground. My mouth freezes halfway open, a noise of protest dying in my throat when I realize it's Adrian.
And he's glaring at me.
"Natalie," he says, with forced calmness. "You've got an early panel tomorrow. Time to get some shut-eye, don't you think?"
Now, all eyes have turned from me to him. I should be grateful, but instead, I'm just super fucking pissed that he thinks it's okay to talk to me like I'm a child.
"We have to go over your talking points," he says, laying his hand on my shoulder and steering me towards the door. "Come on."
"Sorry, everyone," I mutter over my shoulder. From the sounds of it, the party's moving on without me. And not even Izzy has the courage to drag me out of Adrian's grip to say a proper goodbye.
He's totally silent on the way back to our adjoining rooms. Once we get to his door, he has to stab the key in several times before the light goes green, and he curses softly before it finally gives.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he demands, as the door clicks behind us. I whirl to face him.
"Having a good time!" I snap. "Last time I checked, that wa
sn't forbidden on our contract."
"Really?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my panties, holding them up at my eye level. "This is your idea of having a good time?"
They've come partially unfurled in his hand, and I want to rip them away. I want to beg and plead with him to please stop touching my underwear, because it's making my heart beat so fast I'm pretty sure I'm going to cardiac arrest.
"It was an accident," I half-whisper, my face burning. "They've been slipping down all day. I just wanted…"
His lip twitches, like he wants to sneer at me.
"What do you think you're doing, exactly?" he advances on me, stopping just a few inches away. Still holding a fistful of my panties. "You know those men are just trying to drum up business. They don't care about you."
"So what?" I challenge him, feeling bold now, the alcohol still coursing through my veins. "You think all those high-class whores who ride your dick are really fascinated by you as a person?"
It's a low blow, and judging by the look on his face, not even close to accurate.
"Were you going to fuck one of them?" he demands.
Of course I wasn't. But for his benefit, I just shrug.
His nostrils flare. With his eyes still burning into mine, I try to figure it out. Try to understand why he's so angry.
What unspoken rule of author conduct I've broken.
But no. That's not the problem, is it?
He's bristling all over, and I can practically smell the testosterone. He saw me giggling with those hot, ripped guys and he was jealous.
Oh, this is too good.
My insides are molten jello. My heart's beating so fast I feel like it'll break free, and I realize, oh shit, I like that he's jealous.
I want him to be jealous.
He's still holding my panties.
"Give those back," I tell him, softly. "Please."
His eyes are very dark. His lips, inches from mine.
"No," he whispers.
I smell the whiskey on his breath. He's probably been in the hotel bar this whole time, nursing his hurt ego. Imagining all the naughty things I've been getting up to at the party.
Oh, this is rich. I feel giddy. Alive.
Aroused.
Licking my lips, I make a move for the panties, but he feints to the side. Holding them above his head, he steps back from me.
There's a hint of a wicked smile, but it's not quite coming to life.
"Give," I insist, going after him, but he's a little too quick for me. He slides out of reach, prowling around the bed to the far corner.
Instead of chasing him, I take the shortest distance between two points. Which naturally means crawling across the bed to reach him.
His eyes narrow, and he takes in a sharp breath as I traverse the mattress. When I reach the other side, I make a lunge for him, but he dodges expertly and I land on the floor in a heap.
"Shit." He's kneeling on the floor next to me, brushing the hair from my eyes as I squirm. "Are you okay?"
Adrian's eyes fill with concern, and I make a small noise, scrunching my face up in mock pain.
"Shit," he says again, forgetting about the panties. Lowering his hand within reach.
Swift as a striking snake, I grab the panties and jump to my feet. With another curse, he goes after me, stumbling over a pair of his own shoes, but still reaching the connecting door at the exact same moment I do. Blocking it with his body.
"Bitch," he growls.
I grin, holding the panties behind my back.
"This door's locked, remember?" he points out, with a wicked glint in his eyes.
Oh, fuck.
We both run for the main door, but he beats me again, flattening against it and smirking his triumph.
"You're not getting out of this room with those," he informs me, slightly breathless.
"Why?" I'm laughing. It's impossible not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, even as my body aches to pounce on him and fuck him senseless.
"Because I said so." He's smirking. "Because what I say goes."
Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He's using a Dirk line on me.
That rat bastard.
"I don't remember Dirk stealing panties," I tell him, ignoring the slick wetness between my thighs. So very noticeable, now that my panties are in my hand instead of where they belong.
"It was cut from the final draft." He stands up straighter, leaning towards me. His hand snaking around my body. I pretend like I don't notice what he's doing, but of course I do.
At the last moment, I take a step back. He's left briefly unbalanced, but recovers quickly.
"Just give them to me," he says, in that persuasive tone I've heard him use with his peers. "They're mine, anyway. I paid for them."
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," I tell him, stepping backwards again.
"That's not even close to true," he says.
I take another step, and I realize I'm very close to the wall. In a moment, I'll be caged in.
"Give," he whispers.
"No," I whisper back, flattening against the wall. My hands, and the panties, are still behind my back.
"You know what happens when you tell a man like me 'no?'"
It's not a Dirk line, but it should be. My whole body is thrumming with anticipation, and I don't even spare a thought for why the fuck he's suddenly so interested in me.
And my panties.
"I'm guessing…" My voice sounds husky, dripping sex, and I can't control it. "…punishment?"
"That's right." His lips curve into a smile that makes me quiver. "Tell me, Meghan - did anybody give you your birthday spanking this year?"
My heart's jackhammering in my chest. Dirk gave Amanda a birthday spanking once, and she did so enjoy it. Me? I've never been spanked, to my memory. Not for any reason, punishment or otherwise. But I've thought about it.
Oh yeah, I've thought about it.
"One more chance." He raises a finger, in indicate the number. But all I can think about is that finger sinking inside me.
Shit, I am too far gone.
"Give me a million more chances," I tell him. "You still can't have them. They're mine."
With a snarl, he grabs my arm and yanks me forward. During our little game, I almost forgot how easily he could overpower me. Dragging me over to the sofa by the TV, he sits down, knees splayed, finally letting go of me. He pats his thigh, looking up at me with an expression that allows no refusal.
I swallow hard.
"Like this?" I whisper.
It seems so intimate. I'd rather he bend me over a table, even if that's a significantly less flattering position.
"Like this." His eyes are like tempered steel. "Come on. You had your chance."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I drape myself across his lap. I can feel him, hard as a rock, twitching against my belly. God, I just want him to fuck me.
I've still got my panties clutched in my hand, but for the moment, he seems to have forgotten about them. He pulls my skirt up over my waist, and I'm trembling. What if the reality of how I look under my clothes doesn't live up to his fantasy?
Judging by the sharp intake of breath, I haven't disappointed him. His fingers caress gently, but only for a moment.
At the first smack of his palm, I cry out. I can't help it. The feeling is so intense, so perfect, and my core quivers and aches. I've never been so turned on in my life.
"Shh," he whispers. He grabs the panties, but I don't let go. "Do I have to gag you with these?"
I shake my head.
He spanks me again, and again, and again. I squirm and whimper, staying as quiet as I can, and I dimly hear him groan and curse as I unwittingly rub my body against his cock.
Six. I count six. He still owes me twenty more.
How on earth will I survive? I already feel like I'm about to explode in a cloud of lust.
Growling, he shoves his hand between my legs, dipping his fingers into my wetness. I buck and moan, my body lovi
ng the intrusion.
"Fuck," he hisses. "Get up."
I manage to stand, on shaky legs. Staring at him, cheeks burning, my skirt lazily falling down to cover me. He's jumping to his feet a moment later, fumbling with his zipper. I watch him take it out - I didn't get a good look in the pool. It's exactly as long and thick as it felt, curving upwards slightly, glistening with precum. My mouth is watering.
"I can't wait." His eyes rake over me, drinking me in. "You'll get the rest of your punishment with my cock inside you."
Voice stolen, I nod, bending over and grabbing the back of the sofa. He makes a soft noise of approval at the view, and I hear him cursing and fumbling with a condom wrapper.
A moment later he's at my entrance, bluntly pushing inside. I let out a ragged moan, arching my back and inviting him deeper. He waits until he's buried to the hilt and smacks me again, the reverberations making me clench.
"Fuck," he whispers, his fingers gripping my soft flesh.
I'm drunk on him, but I still have enough presence of mind to laugh.
"Think you can last nineteen more strokes?" I tease him, breathlessly.
Adrian growls, spanking me again. "I can last as long as it takes," he promises, rocking his hips against mine, a slow, subtle rhythm, before he pulls out and slams all the way in again. I cry out, forgetting to be mindful of the other guests. "As long as it takes to fuck the smart-ass out of you."
I can't help it. I'm still laughing.
"Impressive." My voice catches when he smacks me again, jolting my whole body with pleasure.
"You're damn right."
I don't count, but I'm pretty sure he does it. The first part, anyway. Actually fucking the smart-ass out of me would be quite an accomplishment.
Every breath is either a gasp or a moan. Our encounter in the pool was pretty damn explosive, considering the limitations, but this is in another level. It's absolutely unreal. My brain loses the capacity for rational thought, and I start to clench around him, my body arching with pleasure.
His Secretary: Undone Page 9