He leads me silently yet protectively back to my place of work. I am bereft. Shocked and somewhere through the illicit thrill, humiliation threatens to sting the high. I glance up at his face which gives nothing away. Did that offer him no pleasure? I am suddenly self-conscious and shy. Shouldn’t I have given him pleasure too? Surely if I’d turned him on, wouldn’t he have demanded it? Too many questions, too many insecurities. I need to get a hold of myself. After all, it is exactly what I do every day.
He is going to leave without a word. Damn it. I will not plead for anything. I forbid it of myself.
Just as I turn to leave, he pulls me to him and presses his substantial hard on into my side.
My heart leaps as he lifts my chin to his smiling face.
“Look what you do to me, you naughty, naughty girl.”
Now I recognise him. Now I know.
*****
When I’m back behind my desk and Shirley, my PA, is out searching for another skirt, I run my fingers down the diary entries for Friday. Yes, yes it is him. I go to my drawer and take out my finest kid gloves I save just for him and hold them to my nose. The scent of our previous meeting fills my mind and I see him tied and bound over my velvet gym horse. His arse cheeks burning and red with the spanking I’ve just administered with these very gloves. His face is always obscured by a mask. A peculiar kink as all my other clients trust my discretion. My body buzzes at the idea of seeing him again. Though this new development makes me wonder what we will do next time we meet.
So, my Mr Friday is a switch.
Who knew?
The Next Big Thing
Lucy Felthouse
Chapter One
Heart pounding and palms clammy, Catriona forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and walked into the bookshop. It was bedlam. She’d never seen a bookshop so busy in her life.
She paused just inside the door. What the fuck was she doing? If someone saw her, recognised her—
She shook her head sharply and clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her flesh, the nipping pain bringing her back to her senses.
No one would recognise her, she reminded herself, because no one knew who she was. Well, people knew who she was—but not in relation to the reason she was here.
Taking a deep breath and attempting to behave like a normal person, she continued through the shop, trying to figure out where she needed to be. Not that she even needed to be here at all. It was insanity that had drawn her out of her Thames-side apartment and into the bowels of the Tube, and finally into the huge Piccadilly bookstore.
What else but insanity would make a person head into central London to buy a copy of a book on the same day it came out? Especially when one already had a large box of copies of said book stuffed into the bottom of one’s wardrobe. Complimentary author copies, according to the note from the publisher.
Maybe it was curiosity, she thought, as she joined the back of the queue snaking across the ground floor of the shop. Nobody nearby was holding a copy of the book yet, so she assumed that somewhere between here and the till there was a stack of the paperbacks, ready to be picked up and paid for. And presumably read. Christ.
Surreptitiously, Catriona pinched the back of her hand. Wincing, she figured she had to get her head around this situation, and fast. It was only going to get bigger and crazier—or so the publisher’s marketing team, a bunch of young, attractive and scarily glamorous people, had told her.
She’d already seen plenty of evidence of their expenditure on the way over—billboards, bus shelters, ads on the Underground; all displaying huge versions of her book cover, proclaiming it a bestseller, quoting stellar reviews and even lauding it “the next big thing” and “the next Fifty Shades of Grey.” One strap line even said “Who needs Christian Grey when you’ve got Eliza Dickinson?”
It was the fact that her book had even been compared to the first big thing that she couldn’t quite grasp.
The Fifty Shades phenomenon had spawned merchandise, sex toys and even a film. But it was just a one-off, wasn’t it? Something that couldn’t be replicated, shouldn’t be replicated.
Catriona certainly hadn’t set out to write a book to appeal to the same readership. All she’d done was take out her real life frustrations—both sexual and otherwise—on the keyboard of her laptop. The rest had simply been a freak of nature.
How could it appeal to the same readership, anyway? Her characters were the complete opposite of E.L. James’—her lead female, Eliza, was a dominatrix, and Leon her willing sub. Or he was by the end of the book, anyway.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Her book was out, today, and what happened next was completely out of her hands. She should just relax and go with the flow. Though she still couldn’t get over the fact that people were not only buying her book—they were queuing to buy it. Patiently, too, despite the glacial speed at which they were moving forward. Did they only have one till open, or something?
People had joined the line behind her as she’d been ruminating, and she shuffled around slightly so she could see how many more were waiting. Shit—there were loads! She couldn’t even see the end of the queue.
Her surprise must have shown on her face, because the man behind her let out a chuckle. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “All these people waiting to buy a book when we could have purchased online—probably cheaper—and had it delivered directly to our doors. Or in a single click, have it appear on our eReaders.”
Catriona hadn’t even thought of that. So, not only were people here, in the bookstore—and presumably stores all over the country, too—they were buying online, loading up eReaders... all for her little book!
“Uh, yes,” she replied, before the man thought she was rude, or a mute. “It is, but I like to buy from bookshops wherever possible—you know, give them my support. The supermarkets and the internet get enough of my money as it is.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. “That’s wonderful. An idea I shall subscribe to, as well, as long as you don’t mind me stealing it. I’d hate to see high streets robbed of bookshops. Still, in this case scenario, I have to admit I’m surprised to see so much interest in an unknown debut novelist.”
“Nobody’s more surprised than me,” she shot back before she could stop herself. “But then, it’s not every day a book is claimed to be the next Fifty Shades of Grey.”
Shrugging, the man said, “Marketing hype. I didn’t even like Fifty Shades. Only time will tell when it comes to this book, though. The proof is in the pudding and all that. I’ll make my mind up when I’ve read it. It was the blurb that intrigued me, not all the publicity waffle and the ads smacking me in the face every hundred yards.”
“Oh?” Surprise seemed to be her default setting for the day. “You’re buying it for yourself, then?”
He grinned. “Yes. No point in lying now, is there? What can I say—the, uh, subject matter floats my boat.”
“Really?” The guy grew more intriguing by the second. And now she came to think about it, he was hot, too. Tall, just a touch wider than athletic, dark cropped hair, a couple of days’ worth of scruff, and browny-green eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. An image of him, naked and blindfolded and on his knees before her popped into Catriona’s mind, but he spoke before she could explore it any further.
“Yes, really.” A faint flush coloured his cheeks, and a responding burst of heat hit Catriona, only much lower down. He was adorable. “Sorry if that was too much information, but I figured since you’re here, that maybe we had that, uh, interest in common. But then, you never said you were buying it for yourself...” He tailed off, ran a hand through his hair and looked chagrined. “Sorry.”
“No,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm, “it’s okay. No need to apologise. You’re right—we do... I mean, I am buying it for myself.” Damn, now she was the one blushing. “I’m just not used to people being so honest about this kind of thing, especially to total strangers.”
Catriona took the proffered hand and shook it, trying not to think about how it would feel caressing her naked skin. “I’m Catriona. So, what—now we’re not total strangers any more, then it’s okay to overshare?”
Elijah smiled again, the gesture making the glint in his eyes even more apparent. “Something like that. I dunno—you tell me. Want to overshare with me?”
It wasn’t the most romantic of proposals, but for some reason it appealed massively. Was it him, the weird situation, or the fact he’d expressed an interest in femdom? Possibly all of the above. That; and she’d never told a soul about her inclinations, had merely kept them all bottled up until they’d eventually exploded all over her laptop screen and led to this most surreal of moments.
“Yeah, all right,” she said, her voice indicating a confidence she didn’t really feel. “But not here. Are you free... after? You know, when we’ve eventually reached the front of this queue?”
“Maybe we never will,” Elijah said, grinning wickedly. “Maybe there are no books, no till at the front of this queue—we could all be being led to our doom, through some magical door into another dimension, or pushed into a rabbit hole and landed in a fantastical world. Just lemmings, dropping off the edge, one after the other.”
Catriona snorted, then cringed as she realised how unattractive it must have been. “Are you stoned? Or drunk?”
With a fingertip, Elijah drew an X across his chest. “Sober as a judge, m’lady. Cross my heart. Just got a bit of a wacky imagination, is all.”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “That so?” That could certainly come in handy. “So, do you have a sensible answer to my question? Are you free after we’ve achieved our goal here—assuming, of course, we don’t end up in another dimension, or in Wonderland?”
Elijah nodded. “I can be. I was going to rush home and dive straight between the covers of the next big thing, but I get the feeling that you’re offering me something much more enticing.”
She couldn’t figure out if he was being playful, arrogant, presumptuous or what, but she couldn’t find it in herself to scold him. Though she was confident that she’d have no problem ordering him about if they were behind closed doors. And was even more confident that he’d obey. “Yes,” she eventually said, “you’re absolutely correct. The bloody book can wait—I definitely think that I can offer something more enticing. Irresistible, one might say.”
Chapter Two
After that comment, the queue couldn’t move quickly enough for Catriona. What had started out as a bizarre morning was becoming steadily more so. In fact, she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if they did end up in Wonderland; White Rabbit, Mad Hatter and magic potions and cakes galore.
In spite of the strangeness, there was something about the frisson, the flirtation between her and Elijah that made her think it could lead to something more. A rightness, perhaps? A feeling that their chance meeting was somehow meant to be? It was naff, and she’d never been much of a romantic or a believer in fate, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out more about this hottie who had an interest in female domination.
An hour and a half—and a great deal more increasingly bonkers conversation— later, the two of them emerged onto the street, clutching carrier bags.
“So,” Elijah said, offering her his arm in a very gentlemanly fashion, “where to?”
Bed, she wanted to say, or anywhere I can get you naked and make you kneel.
Her actual words were, “A coffee shop? Or a pub?”
With a nod, Elijah said, “I know a great place. You okay to walk a while?” He glanced down at her feet.
Catriona smirked. She wore stupidly high heels every day for work and was used to pounding London pavements in them, but today, she wore flats. “I think I’ll manage.”
Realising his mistake, Elijah gave a wry grin and led them away from the bookstore and to the nearest pedestrian crossing. “All right. Excellent.”
They continued on in a comfortable silence. Perhaps they’d exhausted their stores of small talk in the bookshop, after they’d flirted wildly and then decided they were going to spend more time together.
Before long, they were settled into a corner booth in a Soho pub—she with a small glass of wine, he with a half pint of beer.
Picking up his glass, Elijah held it towards Catriona. “Cheers.”
Frowning, Catriona asked, “What are we toasting?” She clinked her glass against his anyway. “Cheers.”
“Uh... buying the same book? I don’t bloody know.”
“How about a serendipitous meeting?”
Elijah smiled. “Yes, I like that. I sure as hell can’t spell it, and I probably can’t even say it, but it fits.”
Taking a sip of his beer and putting it back down on the table, he said, “This is a little backward, but I feel like I don’t know much about you. Or at least not the basic stuff, anyway. We’ve got some things in common, clearly,” he patted the carrier bag containing his copy of her book, “but where do you live? What do you do for a living?”
Swallowing the gulp of wine she’d just taken, Catriona fought to control her racing pulse. He was just being polite, asking the normal questions anyone would after first meeting someone, but there was a not-inconsiderable amount of paranoia lurking in her brain. What if she outed herself as the author of the bloody book he’d just bought?
Giving a tight smile, she gritted her teeth and pulled in a deep breath. Get a fucking grip, Catriona. Unless he can read minds, he hasn’t got a clue.
“Southbank way—an apartment overlooking the river.” She caught his raised eyebrows before carrying on. “I work in the City. I’m an investment banker.”
Looking suitably impressed, Elijah replied, “Wow. I sensed you were smart, but you’re obviously way out of my league. Should I just leave now?”
He made to stand up, but she grabbed his hand and yanked him back to the seat, laughing. “Shut up, and tell me what you do, then. And where you live.”
Elijah shook his head. “I’m too embarrassed, now. Am I allowed to make something up?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “No. Just spit it out. I’m no snob. Just someone that got lucky.”
“Hmm... I’m sure a certain amount of hard work was involved. And why aren’t you working today? I thought you bankers worked silly hours during the week?”
“Even bankers are entitled to days off,” she replied dryly. “Now stop avoiding the subject.”
Spreading his hands wide, he then placed them flat on the table. “Well, you asked for it. I live in Southwark, so not too far away from you—though in a regular flat, not an apartment overlooking the river. I’m a theatre manager.”
“And what’s wrong with that? I thought you were going to say you worked for the Inland Revenue or something.”
Elijah let out a hiss. “Oh no, nothing as bad as that! But it’s a world away from your work, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. But my colleagues are mostly a bunch of pig-headed, arrogant, self-obsessed wankers who have little to no interests outside of work. They work hard and play hard, but try and have a conversation with them that doesn’t involve money or banking of some description and they don’t have much to say at all. Dull, dull, dull.”
Pursing his lips, Elijah paused to take another sip of his beer before replying. “Okay, I get it. So, you’re far from a typical banker. But you enjoy your work?”
“I do, actually. Fortunately it’s very involved so I can get stuck in and for the most part ignore the idiots around me. But it can be very... frustrating at times.”
“So what do you do for fun? Besides reading.” He indicated her own carrier bag.
“Not nearly enough, to tell the truth. In some respects I’m just like my colleagues—I work, then go home, eat and veg in front of the television. So I suppose I shouldn’t slag them off so much.” She sighed. “I
’m just as dull and boring as them.”
“No,” Elijah said, his tone confident. “There’s nothing dull and boring about you, Catriona. Just because you don’t party every night or get plastered and spill out of pubs, doesn’t make you boring. Most people with busy jobs don’t have the energy to do much after a long work day. I certainly don’t. So what do you do on days you’re not working?”
She’d twisted her fingers together on the table, and was staring at them as she fidgeted. “Visit my parents, see my friends, go to museums... I’m somewhat of a history buff.”
“And there’s no, um, man in your life?”
She couldn’t prevent the heat that came to her cheeks as she met his gaze, then shook her head. “No, not at the moment. I’ve had boyfriends, but nothing serious. Most of them can’t handle the hours I work, the responsibilities I have...”
“And the fact that you earn more than them?”
“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, though he looked far from contrite. “I don’t mean to be rude, so please don’t take it the wrong way. What I mean is... many men can’t handle a woman more successful than them, with a better career, earning more money, going places. A powerful woman.”
Fuck, he was intuitive. That pretty much described every arsehole she’d dated in the past five years. But... “Hey, doesn’t that describe you, too?”
“How so?” A line appeared between his eyebrows.
“You were embarrassed to tell me where you live, what you do for a living.”
He shook his head. “No, not really. I just wanted to see what your reaction would be. You said you’re not a snob, and you’re not. So maybe it’s time to try something a little... different?”
“What do you suggest?”
The glint in his eye, which was quickly becoming one of her favourite things about him, was back with a vengeance. “Well, to be blunt... me.”
Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires Page 16