“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, “but we’ll have to talk about it some other time. Let’s meet up for coffee tomorrow morning, how’s that?”
He sighed again. He was quite the little drama queen when he wanted to be. “Fine. I’ll call you.”
Phew! That was easy! I was home free. I had time to make some finishing touches on my appearance before I left for my tryst. I was brushing my hair when the phone rang.
“My driver will be there to collect you in precisely five minutes,” said a sexy baritone with a velvety English accent. The rich, seductive lilt in his voice made me warm and tingly all over. It amazed me what this man could do to me by simply talking.
“Your driver? I thought you wanted me to walk up to your place.”
“What made you think that?”
“You gave me a card with your home address and told me to meet you there.”
A confused silence met my ears. “Well, you won’t have to. My driver is on his way.”
Huh. He was forgetful. Typical writer. And he had a driver? Who did he think he was, Donald Trump? “All right,” I replied.
“You’re wearing everything you found in the bag?”
“Yes.”
“Any problems with the items?”
“I had a difficult time putting on the dress. It’s very tight.”
“It’s supposed to be tight. It’s to accentuate that gorgeous body of yours. I can’t wait to see you in it.”
I shivered at his words.
“When my driver drops you off,” he continued, “use the side door to my house, not the front one. The side door’s for my cleaning staff and now it’s yours to use as well.”
I was about to ask him what he’d meant when I heard a loud click and the line going dead. He hung up on me. I stared at the receiver in my hand, puzzled. What a strange man. What a strange, fascinating man.
Grabbing my handbag, I dashed over to the mirror for a final inspection. “I think you’re going to like what you see, Mr. Seton,” I said seductively to the mirror. I, too, couldn’t wait for him to see me in the apparel he had chosen for me. I looked like a cheap slut—felt like one too. The more I studied my reflection, the more I thought that I did slutty superbly well. I was glad Seton had decided to send over his driver. It was best not to walk down the streets wearing this in case the cops stopped me and hauled me off to jail, confusing me for a streetwalker.
A shiny black Mercedes stood at the curb when I left my house. Seton’s driver had arrived. Taking a deep breath, I sauntered over to the car, my heels clicking loudly against the pavement. My legs wobbled a little when I crossed over to the cobblestones at the curb. I smiled at the driver, who gave me a quick once-over. A surprised look flitted across his leathery face. I blushed furiously as he opened the back door for me.
And away we go, I thought as we headed to Seton’s house, where I would embark upon the beginning of what I hoped would be a very stimulating evening.
Chapter Three
Seton’s residence was within the town square’s limit. It was a beautiful colonial house several streets above Smith College. His driver—a beefy, olive-skinned man in his late forties named George—dropped me off at the entrance and instructed me to use the side door. I rolled my eyes. What was the deal about the side door? Well, I definitely intended to find out.
The side door opened before I knocked. Seton had removed his jacket and tie. His shirtsleeves were pushed up to his elbows, the top buttons on his shirt were undone, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled. He looked relaxed, and very appealing. His gaze skimmed my leather dress, a glint of lustful approval flickering in his eyes.
“Just in time,” he said. “Do come in.”
I walked into the house, my heels clicking in the marble-tiled floor, Seton close behind me. He pressed a hand against my back, his fingers seeming to burn against my spine, and I fought the urge to quiver at his smoldering touch. I tried to walk sexily and seductively to get in the mood for the illicit fantasy role play—if that’s what it was—but the seven inch heels made my knees almost buckle, and I felt like a total idiot. I glanced at Seton over my shoulder and saw amusement flit across his face. He’d seen my sorry-ass attempt at sexiness.
I tore my gaze away from his and tried to walk as normally as possible—a difficult chore in itself. The dress was hurting me around the waist and it was very difficult to breathe or walk in it. The super high heels made things worse.
My discomfort must’ve been obvious to Seton because he said, “Don’t worry. You won’t be wearing it for very long.” His voice was little more than a throaty purr. The sensual promise in his words lit tiny fires within me, making me momentarily forget about my discomfort.
We crossed over a long corridor and arrived in a rather large, luxurious kitchen full of titanium appliances and cherry wood furniture. There were no pictures on the walls, no personal items on the counters, or indeed anything that would make the place look like it had been lived in. It had the kind of minimalist look that most bachelors seem to go for nowadays, but the lack of homely details didn’t minimize its splendor. It was beautiful—masculine and elegant, just like its owner.
Seton moved around the kitchen with ease. He pored both of us a glass of red wine and, carrying two ready-made plates full of spaghetti and meat sauce, walked to the large, round kitchen table set for two.
“The salad is in the fridge. Get it for me,” he asked me. More like ordered me.
Not for the first time, I was taken aback by his imperious nature, but I did as he asked. Carrying the large bowl of salad to the table, I sat down and asked him what had been on my mind since arriving at the house.
“Why were you so adamant about me knocking on the side door instead of the front one?”
He gave me a quick sidelong glance as he picked up two wooden spoons and stirred the salad. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be asking you if it were.”
He nodded, his face expressionless, and served salad into two large plates. “Very well. I am new in this neighborhood and wish to maintain a low profile. I don’t want my neighbors to see that I’ve welcomed a whore into my house.”
My body stiffened. I stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. Not wanting to believe I’d heard him correctly.
Seton cast me an amused glance, his mouth curving into a devilish smile. His words had been a dare—a blatant attempt to provoke a reaction—and the bastard succeeded. Suddenly angry, I leaped out of my chair and made to leave the house.
“Sit down, Marjorie!” he shouted.
His voice startled me. I didn’t know why his unpredictable nature disconcerted me so much, or why it turned me on just as much, but it did, and I hated myself for feeling a spark of arousal instead of outrage at that moment. But I refused to obey him like I’d done before. I spun back to him and shot him a glare.
“I’m not staying here if you’re going to insult me,” I bit out. “I’m not a whore.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I am not!”
“You’re my whore,” he stated darkly.
“I am nobody’s whore! I thought I made that clear to you.”
He tightened his jaw and glared at the set up table in front of him. “You know more or less what I want from you, but if you want me to put it into very simple terms, then I shall.” He stirred the lettuce violently in the salad bowl and continued. “I may well sign with Bookends AtoZ, but in exchange I’ve asked for your sexual favors. But you already know that, and the fact that you’re here, dressed like that, means that you’ve agreed to do it, or at least you’re about to, after hearing my full proposal. So, yes, Miss Fordham, tonight, you are a whore. Or rather, you are my whore.” His gaze met mine and the coldness there made me shudder. “You’ve tried my patience for the second and last time today. You’re here to obey orders. If you’re as offended as you say then you’re free to leave. Otherwise stop with this nonsense and sit down.”
I sat back at the table, defeated.
Seton grinned, pleased. “That’s my girl.”
We ate our dinner in silence. I only spoke to compliment him on the dish and to ask if he’d cooked it himself. He nodded without looking at me and we continued to eat without saying a word.
We were finishing our coffees and dessert—chocolate mousse—when Seton’s lustful eyes feasted upon me for the second time that night. His eyes swept through my dress and lingered on my breasts, his pupils dazzling with sexual admiration.
“You look so fucking sexy dressed like that,” he drawled seductively. “And your hair…I’m glad you’ve left it loose. You really look like a whore. I can’t wait to have you, my pet.”
I felt my cheeks flaming red. I said nothing and took a sip of coffee, facing the other way.
“Look at me, Marjorie,” he said.
I turned shy eyes to him, not wanting to show how his inspection of me was turning me on, but unable to conceal my reaction altogether.
“I want you to listen to my full proposal.” He finished his coffee, then looked at me with blank, unreadable eyes. “I haven’t made up my mind over whether to write for Bookends AtoZ or do what my agent says and sign with a New York publisher. No doubt that a bidding war would ensue over me, but I’m not interested in that at the moment. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not accustomed to being told what to do, and I don’t let others influence me on my decisions. It is something my agent has learned to tolerate about me, and it is something you’ve encountered and shall continue to encounter with me. I will let you court me for as long as I work on my new book. You will also do things for me, sexual things, while you court me. As I said before, it amuses me to see how far you would go just to get me to write for you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but one look into the uncompromising green depths of his eyes made me close it again.
He went on. “For as long as it takes, you will do everything I tell you to do, you will wear everything I demand of you, no ifs or buts. You will receive messages from me, which will instruct you on what to do. These messages will come at any given time, whenever I feel like using you. I don’t care how uncomfortable wearing the garments or obeying my orders may be to you. You will obey orders at all times.” He cleared his throat. “I practice bondage and I’m quite domineering, which means that I may choose to do to you what I like during unexpected moments. If my demands become unbearable, you are, of course, entitled to cease our agreement by using a Safe Word. You ever heard of a Safe Word?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded.
“Good. You may choose whichever Safe Word you like, but more on that at another time. I have thought of experimenting with you tonight just to see if you’ll be comfortable with our arrangement—that’s why I had you dress up like a whore. I wanted to see not only if you’d do it, but if you’d feel comfortable enough to go along with playing the role of being my tart.” His green gaze roamed slowly over my leather-clad body, a dimpled smile curving his luscious lips. “I’d say that, aside from that ridiculous display of indignation earlier, you are doing quite well thus far.”
His words made me blush, and aroused me beyond belief. My pussy pulsed just listening to Seton’s velvety tones as he described the terms and conditions of our “agreement.” Well, well. So he was a Dom. He was precisely what I had longed for. I smiled inwardly, so happy I felt like leaping up and dancing. I couldn’t wait to spend the night with this gorgeous Dom who wanted me. And I wanted him. Now.
As if reading my thoughts, Seton flashed me a wolfish grin and said, “Shall we move to the sitting room?”
I’d rather move to your bedroom.
I cleared my throat and nodded. I could wait a little while longer to jump his bones. The night was still young.
Seton watched me as I tottered along uncomfortably in my heels. He had the look of a buyer at a slave market. Under normal circumstances, the lascivious look on his face would have offended me, but now it just aroused me.
He opened a room to reveal a foyer with a large staircase, the room’s subdued lighting casting a faint glow across the hallway. When we crossed over to the sitting room, I stopped and gasped.
His walls had top to bottom built-in cherry wood bookshelves filled with every book imaginable. Seton had quite an impressive library—everything from Dickens to Hemingway, from Plato to Nietzsche, from Leo Tolstoy to Boris Pasternak, from the Marquis de Sade to Pauline Reage and Anais Nin. His collection was every bibliophile’s wet dream.
Everything else was pretty simplistic. There were the usual bachelor-like furnishings—a large sectional sofa in black leather, a matching reading chair, and a cherry wood coffee table with nothing on it but a large silver plate. There was a medium-sized flat-screen television in one corner and a big wooden desk with nothing but a laptop in the opposite corner. It was almost as if Seton had wanted all of the attention to go to the shelves. Well, he had succeeded beautifully in that regard.
I was staring at the shelves, wide-eyed, when Seton said, “Like it?”
I turned my gaze to him and noticed that his green eyes had a smiling expression in them. “Yes, it’s…it’s remarkable!” I enthused. “It’s like being at a high-class library. Have you read them all?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have the shelves built in when you moved in?”
Seton nodded as he stared lovingly at his bookshelves. “I have thousands of books, most of which are still in the basement. There was no room for all of them on the shelves. Some time in future, I shall hire builders to make a study large enough to fit all of my remaining books.”
Some time in the future—or “in future,” as he said it—sounded as if he’d planned on staying in Northampton indefinitely. The thought of having Seton in such close proximity on a permanent basis made me feel slightly uneasy. When our agreement came to an end, and he had chosen a publisher, we would continue to run into each other around town. And that would be awkward, especially if he signed with another publisher. Ah, well. I would cross that bridge when I came to it.
I was scanning the titles when suddenly I was in his arms, his hands snaking their way around my waist, his hard chest pressed against mine. I gasped at the sudden movement. The hardness of his erection pressed invitingly against my hip. Desire stirred swiftly to life, and I pressed myself against him, wriggling my hips against his erection. A strangled groan escaped from his lips.
“How very naughty of you, Miss Fordham,” he said in a teasing voice. “I’m quite shocked. What could have caused this transformation?”
You. It was hard not to be anything but naughty with a man that sexy pressed against me.
His beautiful, long-lashed eyes focused on my mouth just moments before his lips brushed mine, teasing and feather-light, until he possessed them altogether.
It was an intense, passionate, but above all commanding kiss—the sort of kiss that left no room for me to take the lead, for he was the one guiding it, claiming it, controlling it. His tongue probed in, licking my lips, then sliding in. Tiny sparks of heat coursed through me. I pressed my body harder against his and surrendered to his heady ministrations.
As he kis
sed me, one of his hands moved to the front of my tight leather dress and slowly unzipped it down to my waist. His lips left mine and, looking at me with half-closed eyes, lowered the two halves of my dress, exposing my breasts.
Seton stepped back and stared. His gaze flickered hungrily over my chest while he cupped one breast, his thumb running a lazy circle across the nipple. Both my nipples puckered to life. I gasped and arched my body toward him. He gave me a sensual little smile, his eyes darkening with passion.
I closed my eyes and moaned when he lowered his head and, teasingly, tantalizingly, kissed the area between my breasts. Then he awakened every part of my body using those sensuous lips of his, alternating between brushing my neck and shoulder blades with hot, feather-light kisses, and tracing my jaw and the back of my ears with the tip of his tongue. I moaned his name as he traced a hot path down to my breasts.
“Sir,” he said hoarsely.
I opened my eyes and looked down at him. “Excuse me?”
“Sir. I will be your master from here on in, and when you address me, you will call me ‘Sir.’ Is that clear?”
I nodded, dazed. The harshness in his tone didn’t kill off the spell he’d put me under. In fact, it fueled me, making me want him all the more.
When the form of address was settled, he abandoned the tantalizing kisses and roughly closed his mouth over one nipple. I let out a surprised gasp, curling my fingers around his wavy dark hair. He laved at my nipple and sucked it into his mouth as his hand played with my other nub, making my skin heat up with desire. Then he cupped both breasts, lightly squeezing them together, and swept his tongue from one hard nub to the other. Biting my bottom lip, I thrust my breasts forward and closed my eyes, allowing the sensations to take hold.
Seton pulled away from my breasts as abruptly as he had gone to them. I opened my eyes and gave him a please-don’t-stop look. He chuckled throatily and teased my lips with his own. “I’m going to have so much fun with you, my pet,” he said softly.
Then, as if remembering something, he swept his gaze down to my breasts and frowned. “Where are the nipple clamps?”
The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel Page 3