Degrees of Control

by Eve Dangerfield

  She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t drink, I don’t eat meat and aside from the koalas, Outback Steakhouse is the least Australian thing I’ve seen in my life. If I had to choose the exact opposite of what I like, I’d say it would be Outback Steakhouse.”

  James scowled. He didn’t like the way Blue-Eyes stared at him, not pissed but amused. The women he hooked up with didn’t talk like her. Or turn down the chance to go to moderately priced steak restaurants with him. Hell, Pink Hair was the biggest hippy going around and she looked about ready to fuck him on a pile of dead zebras.

  “Most women wouldn’t just come out and say that, Miss Charlotte.”

  She grinned at him, her blue eyes shining.

  “It’s Charlie and subtlety is not one of my strong points. Besides, I’m kind of confused, Sophia told me you don’t date.”

  He was going to be having words with his cousin. He dated. He took girls out for dinner and then he fucked them. That was the very definition of dating. And there was no way in hell he was addressing Blue-Eyes like she was some salty sea dog. She was Charlotte, end of discussion. “You’re very…direct.”

  She shrugged and sipped her tea in an attempt to hide her face. “You must be able to tell I’m nervous.”

  The dominant instinct inside him flickered. She was undoubtedly interested in buying what he was trying to sell, but she was laughing him off like she wasn’t still flushing at the sight of him. James gritted his teeth. Come hell or high water they were going on a date. Leaning forward, he gave her his best grin, the one that photographers always asked for, the one that made women get on their knees and suck his cock. “Why do I make you nervous, darlin’?”

  Charlotte stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Are you fishing?”

  James almost choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “For a compliment. Are you fishing for a compliment? I can’t actually be the first person to tell you you’re attractive. Didn’t you model?”

  James felt like someone had hit him with a phone book. This girl with her fuck-me eyes and her smart mouth was giving him whiplash. Right, gloves off. He gave her a great big smile. “That why you picked me on Saturday night, darlin’? ’Cause I’m handsome?”

  Charlotte looked at him, her face so red she was in danger of spontaneous combustion. “Sophia told you about that?”

  In one sentence he’d managed to suck all the mischievousness out of her. That was interesting. “Sophia did tell me that, sweetheart, and I’m flattered to say the least. Even if I didn’t hold up my end of the deal.”

  Charlotte looked around the restaurant as though the people were already drawing perverted conclusions from their conversation. “Um—okay, whatever bodily harm Sophia threatened you with, please just ignore it? You don’t have to, uh—finish the job or anything.”

  Was that why she kept turning him down? She thought Sophia was forcing his hand? James laughed out loud. His cousin wished she had that kind of control over him.

  “I’m not here ’cause Sophia wants me to be, darlin’. You’ve been in my head since Saturday. Can’t stop thinking about what you told me in that bathroom. I thought you might want to go on a little date with me first, but if you just want me to finish the job…?”

  Blood bloomed on her cheeks and James wondered what panties she had on under that gym getup. Something soft and pink maybe? Sweet and deceptively sexy like the girl who wore them.

  “James—I’m not saying I’m not attracted to you, because obviously I am. I just don’t think us getting together again is a good idea. Sophia and the wedding and all…”

  It didn’t seem possible but she blushed harder, the flush spreading down to her collarbones. God, why wouldn’t this girl just go out with him already?

  Charlotte stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to get to class.”

  “You taking yoga?”

  “I’m teaching yoga. I’m a yoga teacher.”

  James kept a straight face. He’d think about the sexual implications of this later. “I’ll walk you, sweetheart. It’s dark out.”

  “My studio is five hundred meters away.”

  “I don’t know how far that is but I’ll walk you anyway.”

  “Americans.” Charlotte sighed and James took that for a yes. Abandoning his coffee, he threw a couple of notes on the table and followed her toward the door.

  It was cool outside. Even in summer, Minneapolis nights were almost always cool. It was enough to make him long for Texas. Almost. He observed the girl walking beside him. She was short, like fucking minuscule. The streetlights made her skin look almost gold and her eyes were as deep and blue as the Pacific. He sighed. Charlotte was pretty, but there were millions of pretty girls. What he needed was to get her underneath him so he could get over this inconvenient infatuation for Sophia’s hippy friend. He walked a little closer to her.

  “You like teaching yoga, darlin’?”

  “Sure, nobody can beat me at Twister anymore.”

  When she wasn’t discussing fucking, Blue-Eyes clearly had confidence—buckets of it. Made him wonder how he’d gotten a hold of her in the first place.

  You didn’t “get a hold of her,” asshole, she picked you out like a criminal in a lineup.

  What he needed was an angle. Charlotte’s building had to be close, and if she went in there without agreeing to a date, sniffing around her again was tantamount to stalking. He needed to act quickly.

  There was an angle he could play. It was risky but she’d picked him because she wanted a mean guy to give her what she wanted. Chances were she’d want it again. Taking a deep breath, he seized her hand. She stared at his touch but didn’t pull away. Her eyes went as big as hubcaps. Good, very good.

  Ignoring how delicate her wrist felt, he tugged her into the nearby alleyway and pushed her against the wall. The tight material of her gym clothes felt almost as good as that silk dress, better maybe, now that he wasn’t half drunk. Charlotte blinked up at him, her wide lips trembling.

  “Is this one of those things where you’re only interested because I keep turning you down? If so—”

  James brought his mouth down on those soft lips and kissed her hard, the way a teenager kissed his first crush. For all her talk she responded eagerly, wrapping her legs around his waist. This was exactly what he remembered, drowning in the honey taste, wanting to consume every inch of her slight body. Make her beg. He felt his dick swell, and with a wrench of willpower he hadn’t known he possessed, forced himself to withdraw from her mouth. Making sure she was safely angled against the wall, he brushed her thick hair away and began kissing his way down her neck. When he spoke his voice was low, steel wrapped in a conversational tone.

  “I’ve been thinking about you for a little while now, sweetheart. Wondering what put that nervous look on your face when you and I first saw each other.” He paused to lick her pulse point, feeling her shudder against him. “Then I saw you today, your hair all brushed back, big blue eyes blinking up at me, and I realized…you’re the girl men make love to.”

  He sank his teeth into her neck. She tasted like strawberries. “But that’s not what you like, is it, sweetheart? Being petted and pandered to?” She was writhing against him as though trying to force herself back through the brick. James ran a knuckle down her chest, lightly tracing over her breasts. “I asked you a question, darlin’. Do you get off on bad men being mean to you?”

  Charlotte replied in a whisper so soft he could barely hear it. “Yes.”

  James pulled back, staring into her eyes. “I bet you’re too shy to ask for what you want. Makes you all confused, doesn’t it, darlin’? Wanting to save the world and have a man spank your ass raw? Was I the first guy to push you that way? Make you feel those things?”

  She gave an almost undetectable nod, and James wanted to pound his chest like a Neanderthal. There was nothing, nothing, sweeter than breaking in a girl who was new to kink and he was going to be that man for Charlotte. Come hell, come
high water. He bit her neck again, pressed their hips together so she knew he meant business.

  “You want me to be that guy for you, sweetheart? That bad man that takes away all your guilt? Fine. Come by my place tomorrow night and everything you’ve imagined is gonna pale in comparison.” He bit the side of her neck once more, savoring her smell, her taste, before lowering her to the ground. His dick protested but she had somewhere to be and he wasn’t going to stop her no matter how good it would feel to fuck something so sweet in a dirty alleyway.

  Charlotte stood tentatively like a newborn foal. He leaned against the wall and examined her body. His cock was jammed against his fly but he resisted adjusting himself. The way she looked at him was too good to interrupt, like he was the most terrifying thing she’d ever wanted inside her.

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  “I’ll text you my address.”

  “You don’t have my number.”

  He produced her business card between his fingers like a magician doing a trick.

  “Charlotte Bell, private yoga instructor.” You know, they have these cards just lyin’ around that café? I’m thinking about getting a private lesson. What do you say, Blue-Eyes?” He laughed at the indignant look on her face.

  “It’s a general work line. Everyone at the studio uses it.”

  “Well then, your work line must receive a lot of dirty shit from men who see you in that yoga getup and wanna know what’s beneath it.”

  Charlotte tugged at her jade-green tank top. “And how are these perverts supposed to know my name?”

  “They’d make it their business to know, darlin’. Just like I did.”

  She gave him a smirking smile he liked way too much, and he bent his head and took another long pull off those lips.

  So good, it would feel so good to take her up against the wall, bury yourself inside that tight little pussy…

  James stepped back with a groan. He had to get away from Charlotte’s mouth. If she wasn’t going home with him tonight, he might as well spare himself the discomfort. “I’m gonna go, darlin.’ You’ll hear from me, don’t wait too long to reply.”

  Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “How? You still don’t have my number.”

  God, her skepticism was cute. James pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed Dial. Music blasted from Charlotte’s pocket and she pulled out her cell, her face a particularly pretty shade of red.

  “Well played, mysterious guy trying to get in my pants.”

  James laughed. “I’ve been in your pants, darlin’, I just intend to be there again.”

  Soaking up her nervous smile, James turned and walked away without looking back. Submissive little peaches like Charlotte Bell liked delayed gratification almost as much as they liked the flat of his hand against their tight, little yoga-teaching asses. He’d be fucking her. No doubt about it.

  Chapter 5

  Charlie reached under her pencil skirt and tried to discreetly adjust her stockings. A dark-haired man eyed her legs, nodding in approval. God, she wished she’d worn garters. Turns out “self-suspending” was more of a suggestion than a fact. She stuck her tongue out at the man and returned her gaze to the window. She’d borrowed her current attire from Holly, the yoga studio’s receptionist. They were a similar height and size, but with two notable exceptions—her breasts refused to be contained in the thin white silk of Holly’s blouse. Normally she would have strapped them down, but wearing a beige bra to a tryst seemed like sexual suicide, so she’d opted to go braless, pushing the otherwise demure outfit into porno-librarian territory.

  Hopefully I won’t be wearing it for long.

  The thought caused excitement to flicker across her stomach, and her inner muscles pulsed as though they had a mind of their own. The rumbling vibrations of the bus seat weren’t exactly helping either. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about how hot he is. Don’t think about the way he kissed you. Just focus on not sweating.

  There was an entire realm of things more likely to happen than James tracking her down at Ruby’s. For example Elvis could be alive. Rain could fall up. The world could stop eating meat. All of that seemed more likely than Sophia’s achingly handsome cousin coming after her and demanding a second shot at her pussy.

  So when the object of her many frenzied vibrator sessions walked into the café, looking impossibly gorgeous in a slate gray suit, she put it down to coincidence. Perhaps he’d gotten lost on his way to a cigar store. But no, James had swaggered over with a grin that made her limbs liquefy, and it was all Charlie could do not to let her jaw hang.

  From that point there was already a ninety percent chance she was going to fuck him. She’d put on a pretty good show of acting like she might not, rejecting his pity date and refusing to play coy like she had at Sophia’s party. But really it was a done deal. James Hunter was the most bossy, arrogant, downright dangerous man she’d ever met and he’d come looking for her. Of course she was going to screw him.

  The bus pulled up at the curb and Charlie trotted off. She gave the driver a big smile which she hoped distracted from her too-prominent nipples. It was the same stop she took to visit Sophia, a nice area dotted with manicured hedges and trendy tapas bars. When you considered the graffiti-strewn dump she was renting, it was practically Paris. Charlie set a brisk pace for James’ house and within seconds her outfit was driving her crazy. The stockings created endless static under her business skirt and the pumps dug into her heels. She wasn’t dressed for power-walking the snobbier neighborhoods of Minneapolis. She wasn’t dressed for walking anywhere. If it was up to her she’d be wearing runners, leggings and two sports bras. But that wasn’t up to her.

  “Wear stockings with heels and silk,” James had texted her. “I like you in silk.”

  The things we do for people we desperately want to shag.

  Dictating what she wore exuded control before the night had even begun. Charlie didn’t have any experience in the world of masochism but she didn’t hesitate to do what he asked. If she was only going to dive once, she wasn’t afraid to go deep.

  Night was falling and all around her Charlie saw people settling in for a comfortable Wednesday evening, lovers cooking dinner, friends sharing wine. Looking through their windows she felt like a spy. A secret agent infiltrating a privileged area with devious intentions. She counted the ornate numbers on the houses she passed until she was standing in front of 149. James’ apartment. Her heart lurched in her chest.

  Walking had given her the illusion of control but now that she was here Charlie was more nervous than she could ever recall being. She rang the bell and waited. Seconds ticked by and she fidgeted with her skirt.

  If the neighbors see you, start praying loudly. That way, they’ll think you’re a religious whacko and not a prostitute.

  The doorknob rattled and with a jolt of horror Charlie realized he was home, he was going to open the door, and she looked like a slutty secretary. Why in hell hadn’t she worn a bra? Blues music filtered into the air as the door swung back to reveal James, shirtless and barefoot, wearing a pair of black jeans.

  Oh God. Oh God.

  “Handsome” was entirely the wrong word to describe him. There was nothing soft about his looks, nothing approachable. From his switchblade cheekbones to his dark hazel eyes, everything said “back off,” and if his face wasn’t intimidating enough, James had tattoos, a coat of arms on his right pectoral muscle and an angry-looking stallion rearing itself on his rib cage.

  Charlie felt her lips part. You’re going to touch this man, you’re going to fuck him. “Hey,” she croaked.

  He stared at her, his gaze lingering on her silk-covered breasts, her surely flushed throat. Charlie felt like an object, a pretty thing being presented for his approval. Why that made her pussy clench, she couldn’t say. A slow smirk spread across his face. “Come on in,” he drawled.

  She followed him down a short hallway. His apartment was exactly where one would expect a financially upstan
ding straight man to live; stylish in a bland, careless kind of way. There were no posters of naked women or visible BDSM equipment, but that was unsurprising. Whatever James was, “obvious” didn’t factor into it.

  He led her to a dimly-lit room she assumed was his lounge, judging by the cinema-sized flat screen. The music was playing from an expensive-looking stereo in the corner. James strode toward a mahogany cabinet in the corner. “Where’d you park?”

  “I walked here.”

  He frowned as though she’d confessed to riding the horse on his ribs. “Why?”

  Charlie gave him a small thumbs-up. “Because of the environment.” James stared at her, stony-faced. Oh, Bell, what are you doing? “I don’t have a car. Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Americans drive on the wrong side of the road.”

  The corners of James’ mouth loosened somewhat and he resumed fiddling with the contents of the cabinet. “I’d have given you a ride if I’d known.”

  “It’s fine, I like walking.” It’s what I was walking toward that made me sweat like a criminal.

  Scratching sounds came from somewhere past the kitchen. Charlie turned toward the noise. “What’s that?”

  “Dog.”

  She almost asked if his previous sexual partner was being held captive in a laundry bag, but kept her mouth shut. Abduction jokes weren’t a great icebreaker. “So—um, you like dogs?” No, Charlie, he keeps one around to help with the rent.

  James turned around with a tumbler of what Charlie assumed was whiskey. He didn’t dignify her blathering with an answer, just leaned against his cabinet like something out of an Armani campaign and fixed her with his X-ray stare. “You mean everything you said to me before you came here tonight, darlin’?”

  Charlie nodded. It had been so easy to arrange this meeting by text and imagine herself behaving with dignity. Unlike reality where she kept ranting about dogs and giving James the thumbs-up. In her defense, he hadn’t asked if she wanted a drink or invited her to sit down. She had no idea what to do aside from stand awkwardly in his lounge room.