We talked, mostly about work and how things were going there. It was a safe topic, one that wasn't too personal for friendly chatter, nothing that would push us into real "getting to know you" territory.
Unfortunately, some personal details were unavoidable. There were pictures on the wall, of his daughter I presumed. I tried not to look at those.
He must have known that I’d been rattled by his demeanor in my apartment the night before, because near the end of the meal he said, "Sophie, I want to apologize if I've... crossed any boundaries with you. Last night I wasn't myself."
"It's okay. I just... you said something." I stopped myself. "Maybe this isn't the right time to talk about it."
He smiled sadly. "I've learned my lesson when it comes to relationships. If there's anything you can't talk about, that's likely the thing you should be talking about."
"I bow to your painful experience," I said, trying to make light of the situation and feeling it fall flat between us. So clearly, joking about his divorce was a bad choice. "When you were... high on Klonopin last night, you said that you missed me, and you weren't talking about the trip."
He nodded, and he didn't meet my eyes. It was a defense mechanism, I realized, and my stomach dropped. When he answered, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet and serious, without any hint of the playful teasing I was used to. "I wish things had happened differently between us. As I've gotten to know you over these past few weeks, I can't help but think that we missed an amazing opportunity with each other."
"Or not." I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin. "I don't think I'm a fully formed person yet, imagine me six years ago."
"True. And perhaps we wouldn't be sitting here now." He regarded me with his unreadable half-smile that I will probably never figure out.
My heart was racing, and for entirely different reasons than my earlier excitement. This was heavier than I'd imagined the night would be. I was caught between being afraid of what I was feeling and being afraid of what he was feeling. The lack of control was unsettling.
He reached across the table and took my hand in his. I felt like I might get up and bolt, until he linked our little fingers together in the classic pinkie-swear pose. "Let's make a pact. No matter what happens with our current arrangement, we remain on friendly terms. I don't ever want to go six years without seeing you again."
There was that sneaky knot in my chest again, the one I never realized was there until it eased slightly at something he said or did. "I can live with that."
There was a long moment between us, one that had begun in comfortable silence then ended with an awkward clearing of the throat on Neil's part.
The mood needed a reset button. "So, any big after dinner plans?" I slipped my shoe off under the table and ran my silk-covered toes up his ankle.
He raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I have to give you your present."
I pushed back my plate. "I am always ready for presents."
* * * *
We didn’t clear the table before he led me to the master bedroom. He turned up the dimmer switch, bathing the walls in a soft golden glow from the inset lights.
"Wow." His bedroom that was arguably as large as my apartment.
Huge windows displayed a spectacular view of Central Park. One wall was entirely dominated by dark wood shelving. This was clearly where all the books that didn't have matching leather bound covers lived, and in the middle of them was the biggest bed I'd ever seen in my entire life.
"Some headboard." I whistled to signify how impressed I was as I walked toward the shelves. I spied a biography of John Adams beside a copy of Hugo's Les Miserables. They both had creases in their spines.
I may have felt a swoon coming on.
"I told you I read," he said defensively as he moved through the seating area in front of the marble fireplace. It was definitely a smaller hearth than the one in the living room, but still... the man had a fireplace in his bedroom. And couches and chairs that I was pretty sure were antiques. He disappeared through a door that was the same dark wood as everything else in the room, and called for me to follow him.
It was a walk-in closet. Wait, strike that. It was an honest-to-god dressing room. Suit jackets and shirts hung in order of color and texture. There were drawers everywhere, cedar-lined, judging by the crisp scent in the air. Illuminated glass shelves displayed watches and cufflinks that each probably cost more than a year of my salary. Further back was a collection of shoes that cemented my opinion of Neil as some kind of male Carrie Bradshaw, and a doorway that led to the master bath. The floor in here was herringbone patterned wood parquet, but forced air vents heated it at foot level. For bare feet.
Okay, the guy I was having sex with was rich enough that he had special heaters for walking barefoot in his closet. I may have been in over my head.
A nearly full-length trifold mirror was built in between the jackets and pants, and lit from above with can lights. He stopped me from going any further, and sat down in the delicate white wing chair in front of it. No shit, he really had room for an honest-to-god chair in his closet.
My closet was just a pipe that wasn’t supposed to bear weight.
"Why don't you take that dress off?" he suggested, settling back and resting one ankle atop his opposite knee.
"I thought I was getting a present," I reminded him.
"You will. I'd like mine first." He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled the tips of his fingers. "It's not a request. Take off the dress."
A shiver raced down my spine. God, I loved following instructions.
I reached behind me for the zipper, conscious that he could see my every movement in the reflection behind me. Because of this, I posed my hand, reaching under the zipper as though I were plucking a berry, and slowly drew it down. The room was so quiet that I could hear every tooth part and the whisper of the tulle as I pushed the fabric from my shoulders. I gave a little wriggle, and the dress fell free, revealing my black lace overlay corset.
"Who did you wear that for?" he asked, his deep voice warning that there was only one right answer.
"For you, Sir." My breasts swelled over the top of the corset as I took a deep breath.
"And you didn't wear any panties? Was that also for me?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Tell me why." He fixed me with his intense green gaze, almost predatory.
I wet my lips, my pulse pounding between my legs, my pussy flooding with every beat. "Because... I wanted to make it easy for you. I wanted you to be able to touch me."
"You don't have to make it easy for me." He looked my body up and down, and it was like a physical caress. "If I wanted you, I could have you. We both know that."
"Yes, Sir." He would find no argument from me. Not when I felt like this; all I wanted was to please him. "Any time. Anywhere."
I could say that, and mean it with my entire soul, without fear of reproach. We could surrender ourselves to each other when it was a game. He could give himself wholly to me, through his control, and I would own him as much as he owned me.
"Come here." He crooked a finger at me, and I obeyed easily, walking toward him until he held up a hand to stop me. "That's far enough."
He reached out with two fingers and traced the neatly trimmed line of hair on my mound, down my slit, parting me, skimming over my already inflamed flesh. "Tell me again... when can I have this?"
"Any time, Sir." I took a breath, knowing my request would be denied before I even uttered it. "Now, Sir."
He took his hand away. Just like I knew he would. He stood, putting his arms around me to gently turn me, until I faced our reflections in the mirror. He held my gaze in the glass, one hand splayed possessively across my stomach over the corset. With his other hand he stroked my hair back from my bare shoulder, his touch lingering on my skin. He reached into the corset, his fingers kneading my breast beneath the satin lining, pulling my nipple free to peek above the black lace. "You are perfection, Sophie."
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I whimpered as he circled my nipple with his thumb. He swirled it over the peak, further puckering my skin and raising gooseflesh on my arms.
"I think you're ready for your presents now," he murmured against my neck. "Take this off. Leave the stockings and heels. I'll be right back."
He left me in the closet, moving off to somewhere in the bedroom. I unhooked the front of the corset and let it fall, frowning at the red indentations it had left on my skin. Ah well, if it didn't bother him to leave red marks on my ass, it wouldn't bother him to see my clothes leaving them everywhere else. I snickered at that, and from the doorway Neil asked, "What's so funny?"
"Nothing." I shrugged. "Just giddy with anticipation."
He raised an eyebrow at me, his gaze dropping to my exposed breasts for a moment before he held up my present. Or, presents, plural, since he held an item in each hand. In his left, a broad, leather-covered paddle about the size of a small cutting board; in his right, an open jewelry box holding two long, tweezer-like clamps with delicate black beads dangling from them.
"Oh." I took a deep breath at the sight. I'd heard about stuff like this before, and seen it on the internet in some very enlightening videos, but I never really thought I would get a chance to try it out. I'd never been entirely sure that my previous partners wouldn't make fun of me for expressing an interest.
Now, here was a partner who not only wouldn't laugh, but who'd taken the initiative to make one of my fantasies a reality. Even though he couldn't have possibly known.
He set the box and paddle on the shelf below his suit jackets. "You're not running away, that's encouraging."
"I wouldn't leave right now if this place were on fire." I pressed my thighs together. "Please, Neil."
"Turn around." His voice was suddenly gruff, and that only made me hotter. "What are you to call me?"
"Sir," I purred, unable to stop the giddy smile that broke across my face.
I gave a sideways glance to the mirror and saw him smiling to himself, too, as he pulled the clamps from their black velvet bed. "Can I trust you to keep your eyes open?"
I shivered. "Yes, Sir."
"If you keep your eyes open, I will let you come before we leave this room. If you close them, I'll make you wait a very, very long time. Do you understand?"
"What about blinking, Sir?"
He swatted my behind lightly. "Obviously blinking is allowed. But I want you to see yourself coming, Sophie."
"Oh." My chest jerked with my sudden breath.
He lifted one of the nipple clamps and slid the ring down to adjust the tension. Though the clamps were open as wide as they could go, they still dug firmly into my nipple when he pushed them into place. The tightness was immediate and intense, but he slowly slid the ring toward my nipple, one tiny push at a time. "Tell me when it's too much."
I was sorely tempted to say "when!" and call the whole thing off, but once the initial shock of the new sensation wore off, I found myself wondering with a sort of perverted curiosity how much I could take. I groaned as the tension grew, felt my eyes fluttering closed, but then I remembered his warning, and what he'd promised.
The deep, burning pinch grew too uncomfortable, and I gasped, "too much," before he released some of the tension, just a bit. Then, with the same careful attention, he repeated the process on the other side. When I looked in the mirror, I saw my nipples, dark red between the black pinchers of the clamps, and felt the motion of the dangling jewels in my swollen, aching breasts.
He lifted the jewels of one clip with his index finger. "Do you like them?"
I nodded. The sensations they caused were so keen and bizarre. While they did hurt, it wasn't an unbearable pain, and the tips of my nipples, caught between the long, slender teeth of the clamps, were already more eager, pleading to be touched. When he let go of the jewel, the swinging motion of even that slight weight seemed to shudder through my whole body. He spread his hand and touched me lightly with just the fleshy pads below his fingers, slowly brushing back and forth over my aching nipple. Even that gentle caress seemed like lightning through me.
He lifted my breasts in his hands, bent his head to flick his tongue over the throbbing points constrained by the clamps. I gasped at the amplified feeling, the familiar pull that made my cunt grasp helplessly. But all too soon, he let me go, to stand there full and heavy and aching as he looked me over.
"Would you like to come now, Sophie?" he asked, cupping my cheek and tilting my head up to look into my eyes.
"Yes, please, Sir." Was that my voice, all needy and tremulous? Could that really be me?
He pulled me against him, his soft sweater like briars against my oversensitive breasts. I imagined them swelling, filling, growing ripe like peaches straining at their own skin. He stepped back and pulled his sweater over his head, and I wanted him to embrace me again, to bring our naked skin together. Instead, he dropped to his knees before me, reminding me, "Keep your eyes open, or I'll stop."
Parting me with his thumbs, he leaned forward and swiped his tongue over my straining clit. A long moan of relief tore from my throat, and my eyes began to slide closed, but I stopped myself, fixing my gaze on our reflection. On his big hand grasping my thigh through the stretched black silk of my stocking. On his tongue curling out to taste me, his lower lip dragging over my engorged flesh as he sucked my clit into his mouth.
He drove me crazy tapping with his tongue one moment, licking in long, steady strokes the next. He growled against me, his fingers sinking into my thigh as he jerked my leg over his shoulder. I couldn’t move away from him, not without falling on my ass; I had to trust him to hold me up, because I couldn’t do it myself at the moment.
I stared, transfixed at the image in the mirror. There was the man who so overwhelmed me with his sexual power that I would do anything he asked. His hands and mouth were on me, giving me pleasure because it pleased him, because in that moment I was the center of his world. He wanted me. He wanted to control me, to possess me, to make me surrender to him completely and take all that he had to offer. Yet at the same time he was kneeling before me, worshipping me, as enslaved to me as I was to him.
And that was when I realized. I had fallen for him completely.
It was my relief at finally acknowledging it that triggered my climax, and I sank my fingers into his hair, holding him to me, holding on for dear life as my cunt spasmed and my nipples throbbed. He held me up with his arms wrapped around my thighs, and I braced myself with my hands on his shoulders, never letting my eyes drift closed for a moment, taking in every detail the mirror could show me.
Neil looked up, and I looked down at him, my heart squeezing in the vise grip of his gorgeous green eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm..." I took a breath and reached for one of the clamps, sliding the ring down and slipping it off.
"No-" he warned, moving to stop me, but it was too late. The blood rushed back into my sensitive tissue, and it seemed to have brought its friend the knife gang with it. I grasped my breast and winced in pain, trying to ignore the fact that he was plainly trying to cover up his shocked amusement at the situation.
"Oh, Sophie, I'm so sorry, I should have warned you before," he covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes squinted shut from laughter.
"You should have warned me that my tits were going to die?" I whined plaintively, but I laughed, because he was laughing and I knew this would probably seem funny an hour from now. "Shut up," I giggled in pain.
"Here." He brushed my hand away and bent his head to my other breast, slowly sliding the ring on the clamp back a little bit at a time. As the tension eased, he lowered his mouth over my tortured flesh, laving me with his tongue until I was gasping. It still hurt like a bastard, but it was an amazingly good pain, lessened remarkably under the gentle suction of his mouth. When the rubberized tips of the clamps released my nipple, it didn't feel nearly as bad as it had with the other one.
"There," he said, lifting his head to brush his lips across
mine. "All better?"
The tenderness in his voice, in the way his hand skimmed up and down my arm, felt like a fist to my ribs.
"Y-yeah," I managed, my pulse skipping erratically.
I was fine. Better than fine. I was in love with my boss.
And I was totally fucked.
Chapter Fourteen
There are times when it's appropriate to do the big relationship confrontation moment.
When you're lying across your boss's lap, naked except for high heels and thigh highs, getting your arms tied together with jute rope... that's not the right time.
It had taken me all of five seconds to decide what I was going to do with this whole being in love with Neil thing. I was going to ignore it. Not because I thought I could make it all go magically away, but because there was no need to rush into anything. He'd made it clear to me that our arrangement was monogamous, and he wasn't in the market for an actual dating relationship. There was no ticking clock on our attraction, so the pressure was off, more or less.
Besides, in love with someone or not, I had sincerely meant it when I'd told him that I wasn't ready to share my life with anyone. I liked spending time with Neil, but I also liked having my own space, autonomy to make my own decisions, and freedom to come and go as I pleased. In a real relationship, you had to take the other person's time and the investment of their feelings into consideration. I didn’t think I could do that right now. Besides, I wasn't sure where Neil stood on the relationship front anymore.
Instead of running out of his apartment screaming in terror from my emotions, I decided I'd stay, and have a damned good time with him.
"This should keep your hands out of the way," he explained as he looped and layered the rope to make a kind of braided sleeve around my forearms. I was positioned with my hands at the opposite elbows, my arms bent Barbie-style behind my back. He continued, pausing occasionally in his speech as he concentrated on the rope, "There is a danger... of an inexperienced participant reaching a hand back rather than using the safe word. The last thing I'd want is to accidentally… swat your poor fingers."
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