“So, I’m guessing you haven’t sucked a lot of cock, huh?”
Flushing, she shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t like it very much.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Has anyone ever taught you?”
Her prim boarding school teacher flashed through her head, with her favorite pointer, only detailing a schematic of a cock on a giant chalkboard instead of sentence structure. “Ah—no. Not really a part of the standard education around here.”
Steel lifted her chin, smoothing a thumb over her lower lip. “No, princess. I meant in bed and I get the answer is no. Guys are so stupid that way. They don’t get that it isn’t easy.”
“It isn’t easy?” she echoed faintly.
“No. Dan Savage even wrote in his column how fellatio is far more strenuous than cunnilingus. Any fool can lick a pussy. Cock-sucking has to be learned.”
“You read Dan Savage?”
Steel raised an eyebrow and set to arranging his tools. “I can read. And the dude gives good advice.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t give it a thought, darlin’. Now I have seven minutes to demonstrate. Go sit on your stool. In fact, you can put your shoes and jacket back on. Were you wearing stockings or pantyhose?”
“Hose.”
He shook his head in mock regret. “If you’d been wearing stockings, I would have let you put those on. As it is you’ll have to put them in your purse. I know you don’t want to be late. Go get dressed—quick. Then on your stool, knees wide, hands behind your neck.”
She hurried to obey, wondering at the surge of excitement. With only four minutes left, she was in position, calling for him. He strode over, eyes raking her. “Such a lady—and so very naughty.”
He knelt down, pressing her spread thighs farther apart, and parted the folds of her sex. “Now see? You’re just like a flower, all sweet and slick and open. All I have to do is—” he swept a tongue up her folds in a long, hot streak that had her gasping. “Easy as licking up ice cream.”
He licked at her more while she writhed. “You can lick long or short.” He demonstrated. “Or suck.” With that he pulled her clit between his lips, sucking hard, then flicking it with the tip of his tongue. “But that about covers it.”
He stood up, sliding a long finger into her open vulva, thumbed her clit and stroked her throat with his other hand. “No gagging or stretching. Easy in comparison. Make sense?”
She nodded, shuddering under his hand, the climax rising.
“Better get going, princess.”
She stared at him blankly as he withdrew his hand and wiped it on a towel. He nodded at the timer, which flashed multiple zeroes.
“Places to go, people to see.” He flashed that wicked grin. “Maybe you’ll think of me though.”
She nearly groaned in frustration, glancing at her watch. Dammit. She slid off the stool and wrestled her skirt back down, brushing at the wrinkles. No time to change it either. She stopped in her taped-in box to shimmy into her panties, not that they’d make much difference. In fact the pressure of the lace against her aroused flesh nearly undid her. The hose she stuffed into her purse, aware she was still doing as Steel had suggested.
“What are your plans for later, princess?”
She froze, one foot on the step, hand on the rail. “I haven’t decided.”
“You know where to find me if you do.”
She started up.
“If you do come down, it doesn’t matter what you wear—you won’t be wearing it long.”
She nodded and kept going, though the thought throbbed through her.
“And Althea?”
She looked back. He held the metal phallus in his hands, turning it over suggestively.
“Think of me.”
* * *
As if she had any choice, clipping down the street as fast as she could in the narrow skirt, the arousal still riding her hard. It didn’t help to see that he’d planned the encounter, just to keep her on edge. Likely to ensure she’d come to see him tonight. Let him continue to debauch her.
Just for that, maybe she wouldn’t. A little time to clear her head of his influence would likely be wise.
Abby had grabbed a shaded porch table at Cru Café and was already drinking wine in the midday warmth. She glanced at her watch. “You’re never late—what gives?”
“Just one of those mornings, you know!”
Abby narrowed her thickly lashed eyes. “You’re blushing. And your skirt is wrinkled.”
“Oh! Is it awful?” Althea brushed at it.
“No. It’s fine. Just not your usual.” Abby sipped her wine. “I know Boreandon didn’t muss you up.”
“I broke up with him, actually.” Althea glanced at the specials and set the menu aside. “Yesterday.”
Abby squealed and several people turned to look. “Please tell me you’re doing the hottie artist!”
“Shh.” Althea tried to frown at her friend, glad that a horse-drawn carriage full of boisterous tourists rattled by just then, the Clydesdale bobbing his head with cheer at heading into his home stable. A smile twitched her lips as the image of exactly what she’d just been doing with the hottie artist flashed through her head. Her cheeks heated more. “It’s just a little fling.”
“Hallelujah,” Abby breathed, then raised her glass “Cheers, girl. I’m so glad to see you live a little.”
“I live just fine.” Her voice sounded testy to herself though.
“Yeah, if you’re ninety.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Abby?”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Abby blew out a breath. “Maybe this isn’t the right time, but I’ve worried about you. Sometimes I think you might be…depressed.”
“I’m not. I’m just fine. Not everyone wants to ‘live large.’”
“Okay, fair enough, but you changed, Thea. When you gave up your art and took over the gallery, you seemed like you lost something. Then with the financial…issues.” Abby shrugged. “I’m saying this wrong. I’m just—really glad to see you doing something for you.”
The waiter brought truffled mussels and Althea focused on hers, aware that tears were pricking the edges of her eyes. First Steel quizzed her about art and now, after years of not mentioning it, Abby brought it up.
“So, are you bringing him to the Primrose Ball on Saturday?”
She choked on the peppery sauce and groped for her water glass. Damn damn and damn! She’d totally forgotten about the charity event hosted by her own parents that, ironically enough, raised money to bring art education to underserved children. She could just see herself walking in with the grown-up version of one of those kids. The scandal of the season, no doubt.
“No. I don’t think so.” She closed her eyes against the image of her parents’ expressions. “It would not be his scene.”
“Why not? I’m sure he knows not to fart in public.”
“Abby—don’t be gross.”
Abby widened her lushly brown eyes innocently and toyed with her wineglass. “What?”
“It’s not like that between us.” The image of his coarse hands spreading her sex while he demonstrated how easy it was to lick her rocketed through her mind. She could just imagine him discussing his latest work with the Winthorpes. Right now? I have a commission to create an anatomically correct satyr. And Althea here is learning to cock-suck on it. She’s becoming quite proficient.
“By that blush I can see what it’s like.”
“Yes—not a dating thing.”
“What kind of a thing then?”
“I’m…experimenting.”
Abby poked the tines of her fork in the fried goat cheese on her salad. “You’re not letting him…push you around, are you?”
“I don’t think he
beats women, if that’s what you mean,” Althea told her drily.
“Not that. Just, since we talked last week, I asked around and I heard he’s got certain…predilections.”
“Five minutes ago you were all excited for me to ‘do the hottie artist’ I think were your exact words.”
“I know, I know.” She licked the fork, sighed and set it down. “I heard some stuff is all. I don’t know that it’s true, but now, with the way you’re acting, I wonder.”
“What stuff?”
Abby glanced around for eavesdroppers and leaned over the table, whispering, “S and M stuff!”
A furious, embarrassed heat rose up her throat, choking her.
Abby stared in genuine shock. “You’re doing that? Whips and chains, like that?”
“Hush, Abby!” Althea hissed, wishing she could crawl under the table. “Not like that!” Not exactly.
“Thea.” Abby looked grave. “I want you to promise me you’ll be very, very careful.”
“I’m a big girl.”
“Yes. But you also have a tendency to let people push you around.”
“Like you do?”
“I know I do it to you. I love you and I try not to. Not everyone thinks that way. You let that Cherry girl take advantage of you. I don’t want to see you end up some guy’s puppet.”
Althea dipped her thin garlic toast in the white wine sauce, refusing to look at Abby. She couldn’t explain why she loved it when Steel took her over, why being made to do things gave her such a rush. But it did. She didn’t want to stop.
“I’m not a pushover.”
“Not always, but you don’t always stand up for yourself, either.”
“Well, I am now. It’s been less than a day. And I don’t think what I’m doing is unhealthy.”
“Okay then.” Abby laid her hand over Althea’s, stilling the furious stabbing, the brown skin warm against her own startling white. “Just promise me you’ll keep perspective. You talk to me. Anytime.”
Althea turned her hand over and laced her fingers with Abby’s. “I will. I promise—I’m having fun. He’s…different and exciting. I think this is good for me. And when it’s over, I’ll think about what kind of man I really want.”
Abby raised her glass a second time. “Cheers then, honey. Cheers.”
Chapter Eight
She ran the rest of her errands in a daze, her thoughts sinking into carnal ruminations and imaginations of Steel and his various lurid promises and then pinging to Abby’s concern.
I don’t want to see you end up some guy’s puppet.
Her mother was like that—cool, lovely and accommodating on her husband’s authoritative arm. She gave way graciously, every time, like a lady should, and she’d taught Althea to do the same. It simply wasn’t good manners to be difficult. As for Cheri—well, Althea knew she let the shop girl get away with a great deal. But the gallery job didn’t pay all that well, and it just usually wasn’t that big of a deal to let her have some slack now and then. Besides, it was so much easier just to go along. It made everyone happy. Some things just weren’t worth fighting for.
But what went on between her and Steel—that was different.
Exactly how, she wasn’t sure. She did know, however, that she was determined to follow this through. She’d let him do whatever he wished to her until his wicked satyr was complete and he went on his way.
Even when her accountant went over the numbers with her, showing the damming evidence of looming failure despite the infusion of Steel’s cash, her mind went more to what he might be doing just then. And what he meant by saying it didn’t matter what she wore. Did he just mean she’d be naked? Or would she be wearing something…else?
“I suggest getting a loan from your father, then, to keep the gallery afloat until things change,” Stan was saying.
Oh, hells no.
Althea shook her head, all sexy thoughts dissolving in the face of hard reality. She adjusted her glasses on her nose and peered at the columns of numbers. People could use bigger fonts—it would be so much easier for her eyes to focus on. But they never thought of it and she didn’t like to complain.
“The gallery is my responsibility. My failure. I’ll start liquidating. Maybe I can eke out enough to live on for a few months.” Her heart fluttered at the thought. She’d have to sell the building and move. Her parents would want her to move back into the family historic landmark on East Bay Street—a lovely mansion, as gracious and perfectly behaved as her mother. She’d have to give the cats away if she did that. No. She’d find a shop-girl job and a cheapie apartment outside town rather than that.
“Thea—lots of shops in town have been hard hit by the downturn. You just have to weather it. This is your dream.”
“No, it’s just a living and I’ll find another.” She shrugged, as if her heart weren’t breaking for a second time. Maybe she wasn’t meant to have anything to do with art. The gallery had been a consolation prize, the business she bought with her trust fund money when she left art school. Surely she could come up with a Plan C. She gathered up the papers. “Thank you for working so hard on this. It’s good to have hard numbers on what I need to extricate myself from this mess.”
Stan pulled off his own glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like the new lingo much, but if you can, think outside the box, Althea. Miracles don’t happen unless you pray for them.”
She stood, picked up her purse and turned to go. Turned back. “I’m not much for miracles, Stan, but I do believe God helps those who help themselves. Along those lines—from now on, I’d be obliged if you’d put these reports in a bigger font, so I can see for myself what they say.”
Stan blinked at her. “I’m sorry, Thea. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t,” she replied with a sweet smile. “But now you will. Have a lovely afternoon.”
Back at the gallery, she sat her desk for a bit, carefully filing the papers and making some notes on how she’d stage the liquidation. The cleaning crew had been in and the place smelled comfortingly of lemon oil and sunshine. She listed dealers who might be willing to buy the pricier stuff at a discounted rate. With a twist of grim pleasure, she decided to cut her worst diva artist client first. No sense in drawing out the drama on that one. Steel’s metal beat pounded under her feet, alluring, promising mindless lust. An escape only, not a solution to her problems.
For the rest, she’d start with a special, then progressively greater cuts in price, before she declared a full Going Out of Business sale. Tacky, her mother’s disapproving voice whispered. Her gaze fell on the marble sculpture she loved. Maybe she’d donate one or two pieces to local museums or the Junior League’s current pet charity and claim the tax credits. She made a note to ask Stan.
Finally, she felt she’d devoted herself to business enough. The sense of desperation gnawed at her heart so that she felt like curling up in a corner and weeping. She went upstairs, played with Artemisia and Tassi for a bit, then undressed and tossed her clothes in the hamper for the dry cleaner. No, she should start hand-washing what she could, to start her new life of genteel poverty.
At least Steel could be counted on not to sneer at her for it.
Anticipation warmed and dampened her as she pulled on a pale rose silk robe, so she’d have something to wear back upstairs. She left her glasses on the dresser.
With a sense of fatalistic calm, she descended her stairs, then coded in the alarm that kept her personal beast confined to his dungeon. At the bottom of his steps, she waited in her taped-in box to be told what to do.
The satyr gleamed under the spotlights, its rampant cock now coated with a shiny layer of brass. That would feel smoother on her tongue as she tried to swallow more of it. Her face heated that she now thought so easily of what Steel would have her do with it. Would he have it penet
rate her in other ways? Most likely. The thought shivered through her.
“Hi.” Steel came around the corner, startling her out of her prurient speculations. “Finished your errands? Did you have a good day?”
“Nothing I care to talk about, really.”
A tremor undermined her cool tone, but she returned his scrutiny with a defiant stare. He studied her, a flicker of concern in his warm brown eyes, as he wiped his hands on a paint rag. He wore paint-splattered ripped jeans and a black undershirt, equally stained. Seeming to make a decision, he nodded. “Good enough. Hang up your robe. Put on the things in that bag and come see this when you’re ready.”
He disappeared back around the corner and she examined the shopping bag from the high-end lingerie store. She pulled out a negligee of black lace and sheer nothing, along with a g-string and very high-heeled silver platform sandals. With a sigh for the black that would overwhelm her coloring, she pulled on the panties and gown. If you could call it that. Though it swept to her ankles, the black lace parted all the way to the neckline in a vee-shape—covering nothing of her front. The lace barely scraped over her nipples and would fall away with the least movement. She decided against the slutty heels.
Carrying the shoes by the straps, she went around the corner to find Steel had set up several canvases, with more lights. His eyes swept up and down her, pausing at her bare feet.
“You look beyond lovely, princess—but you didn’t put on the shoes.” His voice, though soft, carried a note that made her nipples harden and a shiver of trepidation to ripple through her sex.
“The heels are too much,” she found herself stammering. “I can’t walk gracefully in them.”
“Then you will practice. After I punish you for disobeying.”
Her mouth went dry. “Pu…punish me?”
His grin turned wolfish and he tossed down the paintbrush he’d been using. “I didn’t hope you’d give me an excuse to spank your lovely white ass this soon, but I’m delighted that you did. Tell me, princess, did you disobey on purpose so I would?”
Platinum (Facets of Passion) Page 8