by Carter, Ivy
Suddenly, my throat is closing and my heart is pounding. I’m beginning to panic.
I clear my throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.”
He stands as I do, and I’m terrified he’ll see that I’m freaking out. He’ll see that everything I’m doing and pretending to be is completely fake—a pathetic charade.
Get out of here. Quick, before you pass out or start screaming like a lunatic.
I turn on shaky legs and hobble my way to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone, convinced my inexperience is graffitied across my forehead in pulsing neon. I am transparent. Pathetic.
My skin burns like it’s on fire. And my heart is still pounding so rapidly that I wonder if I’m not about to have a heart attack.
A young waitress sashays by carrying a bouquet of helium balloons. I know from reading the reviews what’s inside them—a rhubarb, anise, strawberry, and sugar-dusted fennel desert rumored to bring critics to their knees. Odds are good this night won’t last long enough for dessert. I’m fucking up again. Bad.
Inside the restroom, I lean up against the counter and stare at my reflection. So surreal. Like looking at a mirage, the perfectly made-up image of myself juxtaposed against the chaos churning in my stomach.
My cell buzzes once, twice. I pull it out of my purse and scroll through a series of texts from my partners.
Forrest: Any news?
Forrest: You’ve decided to ditch the project and run away together, haven’t you?
God, if only Forrest knew how true I want that to be. Which is ridiculous. Duke Kingston lives in a different world, a world I could never fit in. He’s rich, polished and exudes sex, like a caged panther ready to strike. I’m just…
Me.
I create a group message, including Jake even though he hasn’t texted me yet.
Then I type: At ALINEA!!! Hit the backspace button and type instead: At the restaurant.
Forrest’s immediate response: And?
Me: Too soon to tell.
Forrest: Just remember. The product works! It’s all about the product!
But is it all about the product?
I feel like the MicroTracker is the last thing Duke Kingston wants to talk about tonight. This dinner is not a pitch meeting. Unless the product being pitched is…me.
Fuck. Now I feel my throat constricting again and my breathing feels shallow.
I shut off the phone and jam it into my bag, frustrated by my inability to keep it together. There’s more at stake here than my ego. Everything we’ve worked for... I have no choice but to salvage this meeting.
I glance at my reflection again, relieved to see some of the color coming back to my cheeks.
For a moment there I was looking positively ashen.
I splash cold water on my face and dab it with paper towel. Breathe in. Out.
You’ve got this.
I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and square my shoulders.
The panic attack seems to have subsided and I tell myself that I’m going to keep it together from now on.
Remember, Duke Kingston’s just a normal man. He’s not that special.
I just wished I believed that.
Chapter 6
I fling open the bathroom door, confident and calm. I can do this. My chin lifts, spine stiffens. I turn into the hall and—
WHOP!
I slam right into Duke’s rock-hard chest. Disoriented, I glance up to find him staring at me with an expression that makes my knees buckle. His voice is coarse and heady. “Come,” he commands, and wraps his large hand around my wrist. With a tug, he draws me toward him and my body comes to life.
Duke drags me through an exit door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and slams me up against a shelving unit. The metal digs into my back but I’m too shocked to cry out. His hands wrap around my wrists and in one smooth motion, I’m pinned against the unit. He leans in close, the earthy scent of his cologne hovering under my nose.
“You’re driving me insane,” he says, gruffly.
The tone of his voice slides under my skin and in an instant, I’m wet. My head starts to spin. “Mr. Kingston, I—”
His mouth drifts along my throat and up my jawline. “This dress.” His groan shudders across my skin. “What did you think would happen.”
Not this. God, not this. Not even in my most intimate fantasies could I have imagined this.
“I’m not like that,” I say, humiliated. Scared. My voice has about as much strength as a muted squeak. “I just wanted you to give the product another chance.”
Duke pushes his groin up against me, his cock, thick and hard, presses against my bare thigh. He tightens his grip on my wrists. “This isn’t what you want?”
This is exactly what I want, I think, but can’t bring myself to admit out loud.
My body aches with longing, with the need to feel his hands on me.
His lips graze my ear lobe. A small whimper escapes from somewhere deep in my throat. My chest heaves.
“Tell me you want me.”
My throat clogs up.
“Say it,” he says, now with more force.
His tongue flicks behind my ear and I feel myself go weak. Yes, God yes. “I want you,” I manage to rasp out.
Duke’s mouth crashes into mine. He parts my lips with his tongue. I open up to him, eager, desperate.
Hold back, Hailey. The rational part of my brain tries to reason with me. It’s no use. Common sense is cast aside. It’s like I’m trapped under some kind of spell. Completely lost.
He pulls back, and I’m shocked by the sudden sense of loss.
“Do you want more?” he says.
I nod.
Mischief dances behind his pupils. “What do you want more, Hailey? This—or for me to listen to your pitch? Choose. You only get one or the other.”
God help me, the choice isn’t even close. My panties are soaked. I’m quivering under his touch. A selfish need to be ravished by this man pushes aside my guilt, ignores the incessant tap, tap, tap of on my conscience. Since the moment I laid eyes on Duke Kingston, I’ve thought of little else.
“You,” I say, breathless. “I choose you. More of you.”
His mouth plunders mine.
Our tongues tangle while his body grinds against me. I’m desperate to touch him, to run my hands over the rigid lines of his muscles. His grip on my wrists tightens.
I close my eyes, submitting to his dominance. My body aches so badly I can hardly breathe. He lets go of my wrists, but before I can capitalize on my freedom, he grabs a chord of rope from the shelf behind me and uses it to tie them behind my back.
He does it so quickly and efficiently that you’d think he was a magician.
I can’t believe I just asked for this.
I’m being tied up by Duke Kingston instead of sitting at the table and pitching my product to him.
This is insane.
The vulnerability of being tied up like this should make me uncomfortable. It doesn’t. My heart skips with anticipation.
He pulls tight on the rope around my wrists. It’s rough, industrial, and has already begun to scratch at my skin.
“Don’t move,” he says.
His hands, now free, skim the side of my hips.
I arch my back, giving in to his touch. He traces the V of my cleavage and then slides one finger under each side of the dress. When his thumbs graze the tips of my hard nipples, I suck in a sharp gasp. Sweet Jesus, I’m melting.
He expertly moves my dress aside to expose my full breasts, and cups them in his hands. His head dips toward me. When his tongue flicks across my skin, I let out a heavy sigh. I pull toward him, wanting more. I’m hot, ready to catch fire.
Duke takes one nipple between his lips and begins to suck. My pussy clenches. I writhe under the pressure and cry out when his teeth scrape at my flesh. He bites harder. Sucks. Takes another bite.
“More,” I whimper.
Duke slides his hand up and under my dress and
hooks his fingers around the waistband of my panties. With one tug, he tears them off, leaving me exposed and wet. Holy shit, I’m wet.
The rope rubs against my wrists and I’m sure there will be a mark, but I don’t want him to stop.
His hand hovers dangerously close to my pussy. I thrust toward him. The first swipe of his finger along my slit makes me cry out.
It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough.
My orgasm builds even before he finally touches my clit. I feel a surge and then it crashes over me, sending ripples of pleasure up through my spine. I turn my head away from him and a deep moan erupts from inside my chest.
Holy. Shit.
And that’s when it hits me— a rush of humiliation and shame that bears down on me like a freight train.
Duke quickly yanks on the rope to untie me, his eyes never leaving mine, mouth glistening. I rub at my wrists and avert my gaze to the floor where my torn panties lay at my feet. I adjust my dress and crouch to retrieve my underwear, a whirl of emotion churning in my unsettled stomach.
“I’ll meet you out front,” he says.
The lack of tenderness in his voice guts me. After a moment of trying to compose myself, I follow him out of the storage room. After what just happened, I can’t imagine finishing our meal, and I’m trying to work up an excuse when I realize I won’t have to. Duke has already paid for dinner and is escorting me out to the waiting limousine.
“Mr. Kingston, I—”
He shakes his head as if to silence me. I climb into the car and he closes the door. I’m alone, confused. My chest heaves with unspent tears.
I stare out the window at the front of the restaurant door as the car pulls away from the curb.
Duke is already gone.
My phone buzzes another text.
I can’t bear the thought of checking it—I have no words, no excuses, to offer Forest or Jake. I’ve blown it. Without even realizing what was happening, I fucked up our second chance. They will never forgive me.
How will I ever forgive myself?
I take out my phone with a sigh. But when I look at the screen, my stomach does a small flip. The text isn’t from my business partners at all—it’s from Duke.
I’m interested. Bring your partners to my offices tomorrow. 8 a.m. sharp.
Chapter 7
Duke’s interested.
I stare at the text message for thirty seconds before I hit send, trapped in some kind of trance. I can’t believe it. After a completely humiliating evening, I never thought we’d see Duke Kingston again. But he’s interested.
My mind flashes to the restaurant, the storage room, Duke’s mouth on my skin. I rub my wrists, tracing the fine lines left behind from the rope. I’ve never been tied up like that before. I should be petrified but I’m not, because the truth is, being tied up like that made me feel confident.
Sexy as fuck. If even for a few minutes.
I hit send and wait for a reply text.
Forrest: What did he think of the marketing plan?
Good question. I can’t confess that we didn’t even talk about the MicroTracker—they’ll kill me. I respond: He wasn’t specific.
Another quick text from Forrest. This is excellent, Hailey. Good work!
I wonder briefly why Jake hasn’t texted at all, consider that he may still be upset about being excluded from this pitch meeting. But then I decide not to worry about Jake and his histrionics.
The last thing I’m going to think about is the juvenile antics of one of my partners after the night I’ve had.
But still, despite my resolve, I can’t help but feel a twinge of humiliation at the thought of what Jake and Forrest would say if they knew I’d chosen an orgasm at the hands of Duke Kingston over pitching our product—our baby, that we slaved over for years.
I swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged in the back of my throat: Big day tomorrow. Going to catch some sleep, I text.
Which turns out to be another lie. I bury myself under the covers, enveloped in the safety of my childhood blankets. I toss and turn. Try to count sheep. It’s pointless. Every time I close my eyes, I’m drawn back to the restaurant. I see Duke staring at me, as if trying to imprint his own brand on my skin.
Damn it.
I shuffle up on the bed and lean against the headboard, staring out the window toward downtown where a few of the tallest buildings stand in stark relief. The Kingston Industries logo shimmers against the black sky in the distance.
Is Duke at work? At home? Is he thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him?
Yeah, right. After my record-breaking fast orgasm, he’s probably out with one of the many more experienced women sure to be at his beck and call. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
But dear God, those hands of his.
Thinking about them makes my nipples hard. I draw the blankets up to cover them, but it doesn’t help. I lay back and run my hands across my tank top, skimming the material with a light touch. My fingers slide the tank up over my breasts. Cool air feathers across my skin.
I roll over onto my side and yank my tank back into position. In need of distraction, I scroll through my texts until I land on the one from Duke. I’m interested. A low moan purses between my lips. Me too, Duke. Me too.
Would he respond if I texted him?
My fingers hover over the buttons.
Common sense takes over and I chuck my cell across the room. I grab my book from the night stand and try to read. The words just blur together until they’re indecipherable, and in their image, Duke’s image hovers, like some kind of ghost from my inexperienced past.
I’m such a fool. I slam the book shut and shove it off the bed.
2:30 a.m.
We’re scheduled to see Duke in less than six hours. I’m struck by the sudden panic of being unprepared. I climb out of bed and begin rooting through my closet, discarding a number of items instantly. Too young, too boring, too unprofessional. My gaze drops to the black dress and torn panties in a heap on the floor. I’m right back in the restaurant.
I crawl back into bed and try counting backwards from one hundred. It only lulls me back into memory and before long, my thoughts get derailed. My hands slide along the curve of my hip, and across my stomach. I massage my breasts, the back of my neck, allowing myself to fantasize that I am in Duke’s strong arms. I imagine him on top of me, our skin touching, his grip tight on my hips as he thrusts into me.
My pussy throbs. I slide my fingers between my damp lips and begin stroking myself. I’m panting, completely giving in to my imagination. I think about Duke’s mouth closing around my hard nipples. I grow wetter as my finger slides up and down my slit.
The orgasm builds fast. My body goes hot and sensitive, and my momentum gains speed as I finger myself. I rub my clit in a rapid circular motion while the other hand pinches and pulls at my nipple. The friction intensifies. My breath comes in ragged gasps.
I slide one finger inside.
Fuck me.
It takes a second for me to find my rhythm but when I do, my body starts to tingle. I feel a surge crest in my pussy and then cry out as a wave of pleasure crashes over me. I buck against the mattress until the sensation slowly fades and press my fingers against my swollen clit.
I’m just drifting off to sleep when a soft knock at my door snaps my awake. I reach under the bed and grab my baseball bat and tip toe to the door, adjusting my shorts and tank to cover exposed skin. Another knock.
“Who is it?”
“Delivery.”
My eyebrows knit together. “From where?” Or maybe more importantly, from who? “Leave it outside the door.”
The man clears his throat. “Uh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Mr. Kingston insists that you sign for it.”
My pulse spikes. Duke? I hold the bat close to my side and open the door just enough to see into the hall. A young man peers at me from behind a bouquet of pink helium balloons imprinted with ALINEA’s logo. In his other hand, he holds a box of f
ine Swiss chocolates.
I sign for the delivery, sure my grin is so wide the delivery guy can see every single one of my teeth, and close the door. Leaning against it, I open the small card attached to one of the balloons.
No girl should ever go without dessert.
Chapter 8
Eight hundred thousand dollars.
That’s the amount of money Duke Kingston has offered to buy us out of our company. It’s more money than I’ve dreamed of—a drop in the bucket for a billionaire, to be sure—and yet, something doesn’t sit right.
Duke levels me with a look of cool annoyance. “Is there a problem?”
Heat crawls up the side of my neck. I’m sure he can see through me, somehow knows that I fell asleep thinking about him fucking me. I lick my lips and force myself to look away from his scrutiny. “The potential for this product is enormous.”
“It’s a generous offer,” he counters.
Not if he knew the scope of the project. The trouble is, he didn’t listen to our revised pitch, and that’s not something I’m willing to admit to Jake and Forrest. “It’s state of the art technology.”
The mogul tilts his head. “It’s inadequate.”
His silver tie shimmers in the sunlight that streams through the boardroom windows. The heat is stifling. I use a folded piece of paper to fan myself, but it’s pointless. Being in the same room as Duke turns me so claustrophobic I can scarcely breathe.
“It has room for improvement,” Forrest says.
Duke lifts his gaze. “It’s a complete…”
“Failure?” I cut in, throwing his words back at him.
His stare penetrates me, putting me in my place. “Yes.”
I refuse to weaken. “Then why offer eight hundred thousand dollars?”
Forrest kicks me under the table. I know he’s keen to take the money and run. But eight hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, even for a man like Duke Kingston, and there must be something about the product that intrigues him enough to want to buy us out. That leaves us with room for negotiation.
As long as I don’t blow it.