Adrianna's Undies

by Lacey Alexander

She rolled her eyes. “So now I have to be docile too? Not sure I have that in me, Locke.”

  “Well, I’d trust you to do your best. Think of it as being a sex slave for a night.”

  Another eye roll. “Charming.”

  He chuckled. But then got more serious. “You amuse me, but that attitude will have to go. And I’m serious about that. Your job, on the appointed night, is to please me however I wish, and that begins with a pleasant and servile attitude.”

  She hated that she was at once repelled and slightly turned-on by his suddenly commanding tone. But the repelled part won out. “When did you turn into a pig, Tristan?”

  The jab affected him not at all. “Sticks and stones, Adrianna. All that matters to me is that I get you the way I want you for one night. Either that or I proceed with the takeover—something, I might add, that I’m very skilled at. What’s it gonna be?”

  The truth was, now Adrianna was more than irritated, more than just angry—she was starting to get a little nervous. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been nervous. But she was also good at keeping walls up, so she strove to appear just as austere and unflappable as she had so far. “Tell me, Tristan, exactly what sort of degradations did you have in mind? Whips and chains? Cheerleading uniforms and pompoms? Will I have to bark like a dog?”

  His eyes darkened and she could see he enjoyed toying with her. “I’m not sure—depends upon my mood. But those are all interesting ideas. Look at it this way,” he said with a wink, “it’ll be a fun surprise.”

  “Fun for you.”

  “That’s the idea. Although, just so you know, I’m not into degrading you or any other woman.”

  “Hmm, could’ve fooled me. Everything about this is degrading.”

  He still looked so sure, so unstoppable. “It’s all in how you look at it, and you’ve never been very open-minded. Maybe this will change that. So, Miss CEO, do we have a deal? One night of fucking—my way—and I’m gone from your life. Who knows—relax a little and you might even enjoy it. And just to be clear, you are allowed to take pleasure from it. You just have to take the particular pleasure I want to give you. So, once and for all, I need an answer. Do we have an agreement? You give yourself to me, body and soul, for one night—and I’ll ride peacefully off into the sunset and back to L.A. with no one the wiser.”

  Body—okay, she could handle that. But her soul she’d keep to herself.

  As for agreeing to this arrangement, she had no real assurance he would keep his end of the deal and back off once their night together was over, but Tristan had always been the trustworthy sort, and despite everything that seemed so morally slippery about him right now, she supposed she still believed he was a man who would keep his word. She supposed she sort of had to believe it.

  Even so, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say yes. So she simply nodded. Succinctly.

  After which a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth. At the moment, he looked like the devil himself. “Good. How’s Saturday?”

  Chapter Two

  Tristan relaxed on a lounge chair soaking up the sun among the large stone vases and manicured trees that turned the Bellagio’s pool into an Italianate paradise. He was here on business—mostly—and it might have been more convenient to stay someplace off the Strip, but he’d also come here for fun and games, it seemed, so maybe it made sense to immerse himself back into Vegas full force. And the Bellagio, he’d discovered, combined Italian sophistication and Vegas fanfare in a pleasantly intoxicating way.

  If he wasn’t mistaken—and he didn’t think he was—two young women across the pool were giving him the eye. Both were attractive, in their twenties, and they wore barely there bikinis that left little to his imagination. And under normal circumstances, he would probably make a move—send them a couple of umbrella drinks, or take the more direct approach of just walking over and saying hello.

  But circumstances weren’t normal right now. He’d just seen Adrianna this morning, for the first time since college. And at the moment, she was occupying his thoughts too much to spare many on other women, no matter how young and pretty.

  God, it had been strange to see her after so long. And she’d been fucking gorgeous. Her raven hair remained long and silky, although now accented by soft waves and curls. Almost too soft for her personality, and yet…maybe that was a clue. That something more resided beneath her sexy but severe exterior, something just a little bit soft.

  Her body was no longer that of a girl’s, but a woman’s, ripe with curves that had become more defined over the years. He’d instantly ached to see her ample breasts, and even through her suit, the woman clearly possessed an ass that wouldn’t quit.

  And thinking about asses—well, he should feel like one for blackmailing her. But he didn’t. Adrianna was a tough nut to crack, always had been—getting through to her, changing her opinion on something or even getting her to be open-minded, was not a task easily accomplished. It required blackmail.

  He liked that she knew him well enough, even all these years later, to know there’d be a catch. And he’d known good and well she wouldn’t like it, would be offended. But in the end, she’d conceded. Submitted. He’d thought better of pointing that out, but definitely felt it was a step in the right direction.

  Even in their youth, she’d been so opposed to the very idea of letting anyone control her that he knew to gain any real foothold with her now, he would have to take control. In a way she might not like. At first, anyway.

  His mind traveled back to his years at UNLV. He and Adrianna had fucked like animals—in the dorms, in the desert, anyplace they could find. They’d been so fascinated by sex that they’d both tried to control it, both yearned to do it their own way. They’d made it work—the sex had been good enough to overcome those struggles—but Tristan had discovered he loved Adrianna more than she loved him when she’d flatly refused to come to L.A. with him for no good reason he could find.

  She’d fallen back on her burgeoning business—but she’d been mere months into it at the time, and moving to L.A. would have actually helped with early expansion, not hindered it. Neither of them had had ties in Vegas—they’d both grown up in the east and had only come out west for school. Leaving would have been easy. But she hadn’t wanted to, and so she hadn’t. And he’d been pretty damn heartbroken for a while, until he’d gotten over her by discovering there were plenty of sexy women in L.A. to keep him busy.

  But he’d followed Adrianna’s career—loosely at times, more closely at others.

  And now here he was, watching the scantily clad girls around him at the pool with appreciation, but he had his old lover—his first real lover—on the brain and was looking forward to Saturday night more than he could have anticipated.

  * * * * *

  Adrianna had more acquaintances than friends, but she’d been glad she’d gotten together with a few of them to celebrate her birthday over dinner and drinks—God knew she’d needed something to distract her thoughts from Tristan Locke suddenly appearing in her office and tricking her into kinky sex.

  Actually, the idea of Tristan and the idea of kinky sex were perfectly amenable, but it was the tricking part that bothered her, not to mention that the kink was of a variety she knew she couldn’t possibly enjoy.

  Now it was Saturday night and she was pulling her Jag up under the expansive awning at the front doors of the Bellagio—he’d insisted she meet him here. They were going out to dinner before the kinky sex, he’d told her. Then they’d come back to his room.

  “Welcome to the Bellagio. Checking in?” asked the handsome young man who opened her car door. All around them other cars and taxis came and went while luggage passed by on large carts and the hustle-and-bustle aura of the Strip permeated the air.

  “No, just meeting someone—but the car may be here overnight.”

  The young man nodded and winked before giving her a claim ticket as she plucked up a small overnight bag from the passenger seat containing a few bathroom
items and a change of clothes for the morning. Her heart beat too fast as she walked toward the regal front doors, not from embarrassment of any kind—but…was she actually nervous? Again? Because of Tristan?

  Damn it, she supposed she was. It happened so seldom that it was difficult to recognize. But this was Tristan, not just any other man. This was Tristan, the only guy she’d ever loved, the only guy she’d ever—briefly—believed she might have a future with.

  She’d been so young then, impetuous and naïve compared to now. She’d thought it would satisfy her to live a normal life—marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. But somewhere along the way, she’d changed her mind. Maybe when he’d started talking about L.A., asking her go with him. She’d been surprised by how vehemently the notion repelled her. She’d realized she wanted to do her own thing, be her own woman. And she’d never looked back. Until now.

  She really had loved him once upon a time. The chemistry they’d shared, the utter passion that had passed between them, had nearly set the sheets on fire.

  And now…now he’d come to her threatening to steal her company if she didn’t submit to him sexually.

  How utterly barbaric. Not to mention archaic.

  And yet she’d agreed.

  She wasn’t sure why. She could have taken legal action. At the very least, she could have reported him to his higher-ups—if he even had higher-ups.

  But perhaps she was also…curious. To see his body again. To fuck him again. To look into those dark, green eyes while he was inside her again.

  Was he the boy who’d once loved her? Or was he now truly, wholly the arrogant, dominant man she’d met in her office the other day? Maybe some long forgotten part of her had wanted to find out.

  And…one night of sex, no matter how distasteful it might turn out to be, seemed…well, bearable—if it meant saving her company from a hostile takeover. Again, there were no assurances he would keep his word, but in that way, she trusted him.

  Finding a house phone, she dialed the room number he’d given her.

  “Hello,” he answered.

  Despite herself, merely hearing his deep voice—deeper than in their youth—sent a frisson of heat racing down her spine. “It’s me,” she said. Other than the conversation in her office, they’d not talked in fifteen years, but she still knew he’d know who “me” was.

  “Come on up.”

  She blinked, surprised. “I thought we were going out.”

  “We are. But first you’re coming up.”

  “Why?” Now her heart beat a little faster—more nervousness.

  “Because I said so.”

  Adrianna didn’t reply. She wasn’t mentally prepared for sex yet. She’d planned to get that way over dinner. She’d decided that if he somehow seemed more like his old self and if, therefore, the sex didn’t feel so…threatening, she’d be open-minded about it. But if, over dinner, he’d seemed like the same controlling asshole who’d come to her office, she would shut off her brain, consider it nothing more than an unpleasant task to be accomplished, then get through it without feeling anything and call it a day—or a night. That had been the plan. But now he’d summoned her to his room, and so far, he seemed more asshole than old self.

  “I’m starving,” she lied. “If we’re going out anyway, what’s the point of me coming up to your room?”

  On the other end of the line, she heard him making a tsking noise. “Adrianna, Adrianna, Adrianna,” he scolded softly. “Did you forget our agreement? You do what I say tonight, without question. Starting now. Come to my room.”

  Her inclination was to argue. She detested taking orders from men, especially arrogant ones. But if she argued even once more, he could bring the game to an end and declare her the loser. She couldn’t risk that.

  “You’ll need a key card to access my floor, which I’ve left for you at the concierge desk,” he said then hung up the phone.

  Her chest tightened. No, he wasn’t going to be his old self. He was going to treat her as if…well, as if he were the master and she was the slave, just as he’d told her. Any hope she’d held out for anything else had been silly. Now she just had to do this, just get through it, and hope she could keep on biting her tongue every time she wanted to protest.

  As she got the key card from the concierge, who also supplied “Mr. Locke’s” room number, then started toward the elevators, she did her best to power down her emotions, to stop…feeling…anything. Except purpose. Get through this and he’s gone, your company is no longer threatened and you can forget all about it. She only hoped the experience of forcing herself to be submissive wouldn’t completely crush her already-waning interest in sex.

  Five minutes later, she found herself in the exact last place she’d ever expected—knocking on Tristan’s door.

  He opened it wearing an expensive-looking black suit with a charcoal gray shirt and a black silk tie. Dominant executive chic, she supposed. Every dark hair was in place and his chin sported just a hint of stubble, something she didn’t remember from their college days. His eyes twinkled as he said, simply, “Good girl.” About coming up, she supposed, following her first direct order.

  She didn’t reply, merely walked into the room, which, it turned out, was a suite. Done in warm colors, it felt at once comfortable but luxurious. The head of the large bed sat against a tall, dark wall, from which floor-to-ceiling windows extended at an angle on each side so that, effectively, one would feel surrounded by the lights of Las Vegas Boulevard while in bed.

  Of course, it was hard to concentrate on the bed while her “master in Armani” looked her over from head to toe. She’d worn a midnight blue wrap dress with a beaded neckline, a functional yet attractive garment that showed off her body without being overtly sexy, and she’d not bothered to straighten or curl her long, dark hair, so it fell in soft ripples down her back. She had plenty of clothes that were sexy, but she just hadn’t wanted to start the evening out with Tristan that way—it would have felt too much like pandering to him. And she’d had no intention of going to any trouble for him, hence not doing anything to her hair. He might make her submit to him tonight—but it was his game, not hers.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  She let out a huff of breath at the unexpected command—which she probably should have expected. But damn it, even coming up on the elevator, she’d hoped maybe the action wasn’t going to start quite yet. Or that maybe at least the sex would be…well, different than he’d hinted at, more romantic and less “master and slave”. Not that she’d cared about romance, but seeing him again did take her back to the one time in her adult life when she’d experienced true romance, true caring for a man.

  But she’d been correct in her thinking after he’d first summoned her to his room—it was not to be.

  So, as he stood watching from probably ten feet away, she did as he instructed. Untying the thin bow at one hip, she let the dress fall open, then off her shoulders and onto the floor. She stood before him in a matching demi-bra and panty set of cream lace trimmed in blue ribbon, atop a pair of navy stiletto pumps. The panties were actually a thong, and though she didn’t usually feel her thongs, at this moment, she grew aware of the thin strip of fabric lining the valley of her ass as her cunt pulsed lightly under Tristan’s scrutiny. Indeed, his gaze made her skin sizzle against her will.

  “Nice underwear.”

  “One of my recent designs.”

  “From the Lavish Lace collection,” he said, surprising her. “Now take it off.”

  Her stomach contracted. “Already?”

  “Already.”

  Damn it, why did she keep letting herself be surprised by him? “But I thought you liked lingerie.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly—but then his expression hardened again. “I do. But take it off. Now.”

  She wanted to argue some more. You used to like to go slower, to peel it off me, bit by bit. And aren’t we eating? I’m hungry. I expected dinner. You said we were going out. Y
et again she bit her tongue. It wasn’t easy, but she had to. Her corporation depended on it.

  So instead of answering, she reached behind her and delicately unhooked her bra. As it loosened around her, she realized how sensitized her breasts had become—damn him and his lusty, sparkling eyes. The soft flesh tingled just from the slide of the lace against her skin, and she could feel her nipples tightening into stiff peaks as she drew the bra away, letting it drop.

  A glance down revealed she was correct—the tips of her breasts had constricted into hard pink buds—and his eyes on her made her burn even hotter inside.

  “Keep going,” he prodded.

  She didn’t hesitate, her unwitting arousal beginning to override her hunger at the moment. Slipping her thumbs into the elastic at her hips, she pushed the scant thong down to her thighs, after which it dropped to her ankles. She stepped free from it, careful not to catch her heels in the lace, then stood before him, entirely naked now.

  She wanted to ask him questions. Do you like what you see? Do you like the way I keep my pussy shaved? She hadn’t yet adopted that habit in college. Do you want to lick it?

  She kept her mouth shut, however, through sheer will. And suffered another bout of anger because she had to keep her mouth shut, and because it had been so undeniably arousing to reveal herself to this man who insisted on bossing her.

  “You’re body is fucking beautiful, baby,” he said then, his voice deep and laced with raw sex. His eyes roamed her freely until they came back to stop at her chest. “Those are bigger than I remember. Did you get…”

  “Implants? No.” She knew her breasts were among her best features. “I just…filled out a bit in my twenties.”

  “In all the right places.”

  Despite herself, the compliment pleased her. She worked out, had spa treatments, and she’d even had a bit of cellulite removed from her ass—but the reality was, although her 34DDs stood at firm attention, over time her hips had gotten a smidge too wide for her taste and her tummy was not as flat as it had once been.