by Ivy Layne
The guest bath was all white marble, with a huge shower, garden tub, and a long marble counter highlighting the wide, deep custom glass sink in a delicate sky blue. The towels neatly hung beside the shower were the same blue as was the frame around the mirror over the counter. It was lovely and feminine without being so girly a male guest would feel out of place. I loved it. The tub beckoned, but I had a feeling if I got in, I'd be in danger of passing out. The longer I stood there, the more I knew exactly what I wanted. A long, hot shower and a nap.
Poking around, I discovered a thick robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The linen closet held more towels, a hair dryer and a basket of unopened toiletries. Grabbing what I needed, I headed for the shower, shedding clothes as I went. Bliss. Enveloped by hot steam, I tilted my head back into the spray, letting the water wash it all away. For the first time since I'd heard John and his father arguing about my 'obligations' to the family, I felt safe.
It was stupid. I knew Jacob little better than I'd known John before we married, and look how that had turned out. I'd thought I was marrying a nice guy who was getting ready to go into business with his father. I'd actually married the only legitimate member of the biggest criminal family in central Georgia. Jacob had done business with them. Why was I so sure he was any better?
I didn't have an answer. As I washed my hair and shaved my legs, I pushed the thoughts from my mind. I'd had two goals—to secure my mother's care and get away from Big John. Jacob had taken care of both. I wasn't going to question it. For now, I was going to stick with my post blow-job epiphany. Enjoy what I could, and get through the rest. And stop being afraid.
CHAPTER THREE
JACOB
* * *
I walked back into the reception area of my office, triumph swelling in my chest. In a million years, I'd never imagined I'd get my hands on Abigail Jordan. And now she was mine. Completely mine. Stopping at Rachel's desk, I waited a moment for her to finish her call. She met my eyes with the cool, bland expression I loved. I was sure she was curious, but Rachel was the consummate professional. She might be dying to know who Abigail was, but she'd never ask. Perfect, especially considering what I was about to tell her to do.
"Almost lunch time?" I asked, knowing she went to lunch at noon every day like clockwork.
"Yes, sir. Would you like me to pick up something for you?"
"No, I'll order in. But I'd like you to leave a little early and pick up a few things for my guest." Always prepared, Rachel picked up a pen and pulled a notepad in front of her, ready for my list.
"A laptop. Enough clothes for a few days. Casual, but not boring. You can guess her size?"
"Yes. And I can find a few things that will work even if I'm off. What about shoes?"
"She won't need shoes." I waited, sure I'd catch a hint of prurient interest in Rachel's expression, but her eyes remained alert yet impenetrable. She was good. I grinned at her, too pleased with the world just then to get annoyed that I couldn't ruffle Rachel's composure. I was used to it, and she knew me too well to let me put her off her game.
"Is that it?" she asked, her pen still poised above the paper.
"Anything else you think she might want until she has time to get online and order a few things for herself. Don't worry about hurrying back. You have a light afternoon."
Despite my offer to take her time, I knew Rachel would be back at her desk not long after one o'clock. Most assistants would take advantage, lingering over lunch and stretching out the shopping list to eat up the afternoon. Not Rachel. Her honesty and reliability were just two of the reasons she'd worked for me for over a decade.
Closing my office door behind me, I scanned the papers on my desk. Earlier that morning, the real estate deal I'd been putting together had captured every ounce of my attention. Now I couldn't summon my former enthusiasm. Abigail Jordan was in my penthouse. More than that, she was mine. Mine. I'd told her she would be my pet, and she hadn't even flinched.
I could hardly believe I'd dared to make the proposal. There wasn't much I wouldn't dare, but making a pet of Abigail Jordan? The possibility had never crossed my mind. The fantasy, absolutely. But the reality? Not once. If I hadn't seen the faint tremble in her hands, I never would have imagined she'd agree. For a woman as composed as Abigail, that tremble had said it all. That and the scuffs on her shoes. The idea of her running from her home in the dark of night sent a rush of anger coursing through me. I wasn't offering her a return to the life she deserved, but at least I could keep her safe. I had no doubt she'd been telling the truth about Big John's plans for her.
Her husband had been a decent enough guy for a man raised in a den of snakes. I knew John had been proud of Abigail even if he hadn't loved her. Big John was another story. While John had been the public face of the family, educated and somewhat refined, Big John was their leader. His interests were far more dangerous than his son's. He'd want Abigail back. I wondered if Big John would guess where she was.
My decree that Abigail stay in the penthouse had been mostly for her safety, though I wouldn't deny that a dark part of me loved the idea of Abigail as my prisoner, tucked away in my home, her entire existence focused on me. My needs. My pleasure. Everything that was her, living just for me. A seductive image, even though it was an illusion.
Abigail's entire existence was focused on her mother. She'd sacrificed herself for her mother when she'd married John, and now she was doing it again. Only this time, she'd lost the dignity of marriage. She'd enslaved herself for a woman who, to be entirely honest, probably didn't even recognize her anymore. She'd fucked up her life, no question, but at least her motivation was noble.
I liked Abigail even more for her reasons, even though I knew I should feel pity, not admiration. It didn't matter. I'd always been a bastard. What kind of man would blackmail a woman like Abigail into servitude? Not a good one. I had more than enough money to help her out of her problem without feeling a pinch. And while Big John could cause some difficulty, I had the power to handle him. But this would be so much more fun.
If Abigail had balked at the blow-job, I might have written her a check and sent her on her way. I had no interest in coercing reluctant women. I liked control, but only when the woman wanted it as much as I did. But Abigail hadn't balked. She'd hesitated for a second, then handled my cock like she'd been dreaming of sucking me off for the past four years. About as long as I'd been dreaming of feeling her mouth on me.
I'd never forgotten my first glimpse of Abigail Jordan. I'd been at a gallery showing, bored to tears, dragged there by one of my failed attempts at dating. The woman with me had been intelligent, gorgeous, and dull as hell. She'd even managed to be boring in bed. I couldn't remember her name, but she'd lasted long enough to drag me to the opening of an unknown post-modern sculptor.
Not my style. I'd been sipping awful wine and scanning the room when the door had swung open, letting in a swirl of frosty winter air, a goddess at its center, sparkling with the snowflakes that had just begun to fall. She'd worn a navy dress, long sleeved with a simple wide neckline that bared a hint of creamy shoulder, exposing no cleavage and very little leg.
Diamonds had flashed at her ears, around her neck, and on the ring finger of her left hand. I still remembered the shock of disappointment that hit me when I spotted her ring. I'd barely noticed John on her arm, but that was John. The affable good old boy, handsome enough, smart enough, but never more than that. Beside his wife, John had disappeared.
It hadn't taken me long to realize that was the point. I'd often wondered just how much of her situation Abigail understood. John had wanted a wife to lend him legitimacy. She gave him an excuse to mingle with the people he'd need to bribe, or forcefully convince, as part of doing business. And with Abigail around, no one paid attention to John.
It wasn't that she was loud or bold. Every time I'd seen her, even that morning when she was wound tight with nerves, Abigail had been calm. Serene. A perfect lady. She could hold an intelligent c
onversation on economics or world events and had a knack for making those around her comfortable. I'd seen her introduce people in just the right combination to spark a party into something memorable, then step back to let them run the show. More than once, she'd sought out a newcomer to their circles and drawn him or her out, making sure they found their place.
In truth, she really wasn't my type. Too cool and refined. The things I liked from a woman were too dark, too demanding, for someone like Abigail. But still, she'd drawn me. The few times we'd spoken at length, her dry sense of humor had startled a laugh out of me when I'd least expected it. And she had a look in her eye when she smiled that suggested she might be more than she seemed.
Her body didn't hurt either. Abigail dressed with elegant restraint, sexy but never obvious. Again, not my type. But a body like hers couldn't hide under sedate linen and appropriate hem lengths. She had long legs, round tits, a firm ass, and thick, silky, dark hair I'd always wanted to pull down from the complicated twists she favored for formal events. She wasn't skinny, like so many of the women in our social set. From what I'd seen, she enjoyed eating, and it showed in her figure.
I'd seen other women sneer at her curves, but more often, I'd spotted the admiring glances of men as they lingered on her ass or her discreet cleavage. I'd caught Abigail looking at me more than once, a heated longing in her warm brown eyes. She'd always looked away, her cheeks flushed, careful not to get near me for the rest of the night. She'd wanted me, but she hadn't been the type to cheat. If she had been, she wouldn't have been Abigail.
I didn't fuck married women as a rule. If a man wanted simplicity in his lovers, he didn't get in the middle of a marriage. That was the definition of messy. I'd put her out of my mind and relegated Abigail Jordan to an occasional fantasy, a source of entertainment during otherwise boring social events. I couldn't get my brain around the idea that she was a few floors above me, waiting for me to come home. Ready and willing to do anything I wanted. Remembering the heat of her eager, sucking mouth on my cock, I gave into temptation and opened my laptop.
Flipping through the open windows, I pulled up the security controls for my penthouse. I should probably feel guilty for not telling her that every inch of the place was under surveillance. Then again, it wasn't her business if it was. I wouldn't do anything with the recordings that would embarrass her. No one else would see them. The cameras had been installed for security after a break-in. So far, I hadn't used them for anything other than their intended purpose. But I had to see.
What was she doing? Exploring the penthouse? Rifling through my underwear drawer? Trying to crack my safe so she could take off with a wad of cash without having to work for it? The last wasn't her style, but desperation drove people to do things they'd never consider otherwise. Like enslaving themselves to virtual strangers. All the same, I doubted she was packing a pillowcase with my mother's silver. Shifting from one camera to the next, I was surprised to find her tying the belt to a white robe, exiting her en-suite bathroom.
A minute or two earlier, and I'd have seen her naked, wet from the shower, her body slowly emerging from the steam. I groaned at the mental image, my cock swelling at the thought of a naked, slippery Abigail. She'd sucked my cock, but I hadn't touched more than her face. With that robe tied tight, it looked like I wouldn't get to see more until later.
I ignored the pulse of my erection as I watched Abigail walk to the bedroom door and turn off the light. After a second, the camera switched to night vision. Though the picture was a little grainy and shaded with gray, it was surprisingly clear. I should have turned the cameras off and gone back to work. There was a deal to put together for my meeting tomorrow, and Abigail was just going to take the nap I'd suggested. Only my pet for an hour, and already, she was following orders. The sense of satisfaction was absurd, but very real. Forcing myself to focus on my papers, I left open the camera focused on her bed, just to remind myself that she was real.
It wasn't until I went to pull up a spreadsheet on my laptop that I realized she wasn't asleep. The last time I'd checked the monitor, just before I'd gone back to work, I'd seen her tuck herself beneath the white duvet and had assumed she'd be out cold in no time. She'd done a good job with her makeup, but she hadn't been able to hide the signs of her exhaustion. I wouldn't have been sleeping either if I'd been a woman alone with Big John. Setting my papers aside, forgetting the spreadsheet, I watched Abigail twist and turn under the heavy duvet.
I almost expected it when she tossed the cover off, kicking it to the end of the bed. She rolled over, tucking her head into her pillow as she stretched, then relaxed. The robe fell open over her hip, giving me a tantalizing view of long, pale legs and the beginning of the curve of her ass. For a minute, she didn't move, and I thought she'd finally fallen asleep.
She shifted again, her jerky movements betraying her frustration. Her chest heaved in a sigh before she raised one hand and rested it on her chest. She bit her lower lip once, her open eyes flashing like a cat's in the night vision of the camera. Before I registered what she was thinking, her other hand dropped to the tie on her robe. Finally, I understood.
Abigail was too aroused to sleep. She'd gotten off on sucking me. If she'd dared to touch herself, I was sure she would have come along with me. But she hadn't had the nerve, and her hands had been too busy with my cock. Selfish bastard that I was, I hadn't taken care of her before I'd left her alone. Her first day as my pet, and she was about to break the rules, big time. Not her fault when I hadn't explained what it meant to be mine. That wouldn't save her from her punishment.
My own hands drifting down to free my hard cock, I watched, my breath held, as she untied the robe. If I'd been there, I would have spread it wide. Abigail only opened the thick terry cloth enough to cover her breast with her hand. Her other hand slid between her legs. Wiggling a little, she spread her legs further, giving the camera, and me, a direct view of her pussy, glistening with moisture in the dim light.
CHAPTER FOUR
ABIGAIL
* * *
I couldn't remember the last time I'd made myself come. Married to John, sex was never about me. He'd tried, in the beginning. I don't know if he was inexperienced or he just didn't get it, but he never managed to make it good for me. Fortunately, I knew how to take care of myself. But the last few months, since John had died, I hadn't exactly been feeling sexy. Now, lying in this bed in Jacob's guest room, my own hands on my body felt foreign. Exciting.
I knew, instinctively, that Jacob would not approve. But I was tired and restless and very, very aroused. Who knew when he'd be home? And even when he got back, what was to say he'd take care of me? This arrangement wasn't about my needs. It might have reminded me of my marriage to John if Jacob hadn't been a completely different man. Based on my reaction to sucking his cock, I already knew I'd find more pleasure in this arrangement with Jacob than I ever had with John. That was great, but right now, I needed to come.
Cupping one breast with my right hand, I let my left slide down my torso and drop between my legs. I was wet. I couldn't believe how wet I was, even after taking a shower. Letting my mind drift, I wondered what Jacob would do with me when he got home. Would he want me to suck him again? Or would he realize the fantasies I've had for years and fuck me until I couldn't walk? I dipped one finger deeper between my legs, spreading the slick moisture up to my clit. Just a quick one. Jacob would never have to know.
Pressing and sliding my fingers over my slippery clit, I squeezed my breast, pinching my nipple hard, the way I imagined Jacob would do it. The need inside me grew, my arousal a demand I had to answer. Giving in completely, I closed my eyes and imagined exactly what I wanted Jacob to do to me. He would come home from work tired and distracted to find me lying here, naked in his bed. In my mind, this might be the guest room, but it was still his bed. Everything in this penthouse belonged to Jacob, myself included.
He would see me here, my body exposed, my eyes hot and my pussy wet. He would come to the
edge of the bed and begin stripping off his clothes. First, his dark suit jacket, then his silk tie and his crisp white shirt. He'd undo the shirt buttons and shrug it off, baring his torso to my greedy gaze. And finally, his hands would go to his belt. A flick of the leather. A button. A zipper. The shove of two hands on fabric, and he would be naked. I had to imagine his naked body, but I knew his cock already. It would be thick and hard, reaching for me. My pussy clenched at the thought of Jacob's cock forcing its way into me.
He would grab me by my ankles and drag me to the edge of the bed, spreading my legs wide. It might've been a fantasy, but I could feel the demand as his eyes raked my body. One second more, and he would drop to his knees at the end of the bed, fitting his cock to my pussy. He'd have to work to get inside me. It'd been months since I'd had sex, and then only with John, who was nowhere near Jacob's size. My fingers squeezed my nipple and my clit at the same time, sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure arcing through my body.
I'd never much been into virgin and conqueror fantasies, but in my imagination, fucking Jacob would be like getting fucked for the first time. There would be that painful stretch as he made room for himself inside my body. I knew it would hurt, and I didn't care. I wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted him to fill me up and fuck me until I lost myself in it.
At the thought of his strong body moving over me, his cock thrusting hard, the need in my body tightened. It wasn't enough. I didn't want my hands. I wanted Jacob. But for now, this would have to do. Driving two fingers into my pussy, I ground my palm down against my clit, pressing in tight circles that pulled my rising pleasure and need into a tension that had to shatter before it cracked me in half.