Wrapped Around Your Finger

by Fallon Blake

  He picked up the first of several chrysanthemums. “In Japan, fugu is traditionally sliced paper thin and plated in a chrysanthemum pattern before it’s served. It’s the imperial emblem there, but in Europe, where it’s used for funerals, it’s known as the death flower. Apropos for a delicacy that could potentially kill you, don’t you think?”

  Her expressive eyes widened a bit.

  “Not to worry though.” He winked at her. “I trained for years and had to go through some very extensive testing before they would give me my license.”

  “Wow, school in Japan. I bet that was an experience.”

  “After studying at the California Culinary Academy, yes.” He placed the first flower at the hollow of her throat. For a brief second he wondered what that slender column would look like with a collar around it. He needed to employ some force to get his thoughts under control or it would be damn near impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Continuing to add chrysanthemums, he placed the largest blue one at the apex of her thighs and she flinched with a small gasp.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding frustrated. “I’ll try to stay still.”

  The submissive downcast of her eyes combined with the self-deprecating tone in her voice woke something in him that had been dormant for a while. It was the same something that had stirred when she’d called him Sir earlier. His need to dominate. He could just imagine what this beauty would be like trembling under his control. After that little display—something she probably hadn’t even been aware of—he knew he had to have her.

  The world of dominance and submission had always appealed to him. He couldn’t remember when it had started or why. He’d embraced it long ago, exploring the scene in Japan and here in Miami. He’d never played with a sub he’d wanted to keep, and never anything outside a scene or play party. None had ever appealed to him beyond that. Of course the demands of his job didn’t help matters. Working his ass off had done wonders for his career. For his love life…not so much.

  He placed an oyster shell over each of her pale nipples, admiring the full curve of her breasts. She had a natural hourglass figure. He loved that she wasn’t starvation thin with a pair of silicone tits. Her curvy, feminine body was exactly the type that made him want to do very bad things. He was not a sadist, but he did take pleasure in more subtle forms of torment. Something told him that this woman would respond in ways that would have him craving more and more.

  He stood back and admired his work. It was even better than he’d imagined. A modern pinup girl lavished with white and blue flowers. “It’s not every day I have such a lovely model for my food presentation,” he said, smiling at her.

  Her pale skin blushed a deep rose and she gave an exasperated sigh. “If she would only stop blushing,” she muttered.

  He leaned down to tuck one last blue chrysanthemum behind her ear. “That small display of vulnerability is one of the things that make her so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’m going to clean and prepare the fugu in a moment. Just relax until then. You’ll do fine,” he assured her before he pushed the empty cart back into the kitchen.

  This evening was supposed to have been the culminating moment of his culinary career. But it felt hollow. Yes, it was a tremendous achievement. No other chef had been honored with permission to import and prepare live fugu. Regulations were extremely strict. It had been a long, uphill battle. He’d been so young and ambitious when he’d set that goal. Not to mention narcissistic. Now that he’d reached it, he realized how little it really meant to him. It would no doubt skyrocket his career and he’d have the kind of notoriety he’d once dreamed about. But it was getting damn lonely at the top.

  He pulled the ponzu sauce he’d made earlier from the reach-in cooler. He took a quick taste to make sure it was still up to his standard after chilling. It was not quite right and needed a bit more flavor. Kind of like your life.

  Chapter Two

  I’ve reduced myself to a human plate. She should feel some sort of moral feministic outrage over the entire thing. She just couldn’t find where she’d buried it. It must be somewhere under the huge throbbing amount of sexual tension. Good God, Chef Faust had nearly driven her insane. Here she had a job to do and all she could think was don’t stop touching me. Each time he placed a flower, the sensitivity of her skin increased. It was just a brush here and there, a contrast of strong fingers and delicate petals, but so very erotic. When he finished, her pussy was wet and her entire body ached for more.

  If she had guessed that this would turn her on so much, she’d have skipped this assignment. Now she had to lie here for an hour and a half before she could even think about relief. It was a damn good thing she had fresh batteries at home. Her vibrator would get a serious work out later.

  Chef Faust returned and went straight to work at the sushi station. She could hear the sounds of the knife against the cutting board. It wasn’t every day she had the chance to witness a chef of Banner Faust’s caliber preparing food and she couldn’t see a damn thing. She swept her culinary curiosity aside and closed her eyes, trying to still her mind. Working herself into a frustrated and tense state wouldn’t help her. She needed to loosen up. She took a few slow, deep breaths and felt the muscles in her body ease a bit. Her senses began to sharpen as she relaxed.

  The hum of the crowd became a strange comfort as she listened to bits and pieces of conversations. A man with a smooth tenor drove home the finer points of his legal case with two others. The raspy, smoke-roughened voice of an older women flirted with someone who must have been one of the wait staff. Dishes clanked together and a cork popped as a bottle was opened.

  “How are we doing, Indigo?” Chef Faust inquired. His words reverberated through her like a low rumble of thunder. It was a completely harmless question, but he had the kind of voice that had been made for talking dirty.

  She could feel the dampness between her thighs and silently thanked the powers that be for the large blue flower covering her nether region. This was ridiculous. It was obscene that she was this aroused. He’d barely touched her and they were in a room full of people.

  Funny, her body didn’t seem to care about any of that.

  She didn’t trust her voice to keep her heightened sexual state a secret so when she opened her eyes, she merely smiled and nodded.

  When he leaned over to place the first green banana leaf covered in a beautiful arrangement of fugu, his scent invaded her nose. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of soap and the barest hint of spices he’d been using to cook with.

  His brow raised in question.

  Damn. He’d just caught her sniffing him. “I…um…the fugu…it doesn’t have much of a smell.” Quick thinking there, Indie.

  “Very observant of you. Fugu is rather delicate in aroma and flavor,” he offered, but the amused grin he gave her told her he knew exactly what she’d just done.

  After he finished placing the last of the banana leaves across her stomach, he stood back and assessed his work.

  “Does it meet with your approval?” she asked him in a small voice.

  His gaze captured hers and her eyes widened. The amount of heat visible in his eyes took her by complete surprise. He wanted her.

  “Oh yes,” he answered, his gaze still locked on hers. “I’d like you to do something for me.”

  “Sir?” She could think of a million things at that moment and not one of them had anything to do with modeling sashimi.

  “I’d like you to be my submissive for the next three days. I want to know you inside and out, make you come in more ways than you can count, and own every inch of that beautiful body of yours. You don’t have to answer me now. Just think about it and let me know at the end of your shift.”

  Forcefully she exhaled, releasing the breath she’d held as she watched him walk away. Holy shit. Had he really just said that? How in the hell could he drop a bomb like that and expect her to just lie there?

  Submissive. She turned the word over in her
mind. He wanted her to be his submissive for three days. She knew about BDSM. A few of the friends she had at the agency were involved in the lifestyle. They’d tried to get her to go to play parties, even invited her to one of the local dungeons. But she had absolutely no desire to troll the clubs in search of a Dom. Secretly she got off on the idea of being controlled and dominated, but never had the guts to explore it in reality. Instead, she filed it away as fantasy and kept her cravings well fed with every erotic BDSM book she could get her hands on.

  Banner Faust wanted to make her kinky fantasies a reality, not to mention give her more orgasms than she could count. Was there a downside to this? She barely knew him so there was a possibility she could find herself tied down and at the mercy of some psycho. She didn’t think that was the case, but risk was all part of the appeal, wasn’t it?

  She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed the first couple approach her table.

  “Fugu, do we dare?” the man taunted.

  “She’s so very still. You don’t suppose she ate the fugu and she’s paralyzed do you?” the woman murmured in a teasing tone.

  Indie sneaked a look at the first diners. Oh God.

  “Indigo Hartley,” Matt said with a smirk.

  Why me?

  Of course. Since this event held an element of danger her dickhead, adrenaline junky ex-boyfriend Matt would be a guest. She’d fallen for him a few years ago. She had a serious weak spot for guys with tattoos and piercings in interesting places. It had been fun for a while, but that wore thin when she realized how selfish and manipulative he was beneath the gorgeous exterior. When she’d caught him cheating, he’d actually convinced her it wouldn’t happen again. But it had, and more than once. Her luck with men just plain sucked.

  “You’re looking…healthy.” He plucked the first paper-thin morsels of fish from her abdomen.

  And Matt just couldn’t resist making a veiled insult about her weight. The fucker. He used to tell her that she could have a real modeling career—if she’d just lose twenty pounds. He’d always been such a supportive guy. Even still, it bothered her to see him. Sort of the way a really nasty scar would itch and throb from time to time although it had completely healed. She knew it wasn’t because she missed him. Not really. It was more the idea of him she missed.

  “Good evening, Matthew.” Indie gave him her best plastic smile.

  “Getting a little bolder with your modeling assignments I see. Maybe you’ve warmed up a little since the last time we got together. You know, Amber here is into threesomes,” Matt said.

  Good to see that he was still a Class A asshole. “Um, tempting, but no thanks.”

  “You’ll come back,” Matt whispered as he ran the edge of a chopstick along the curve of Indie’s breast. “You always do.”

  Indie fought to keep her face blank and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind. She really did, but this was a job and making a scene while working a high-profile event wouldn’t be a good move on her part. Avoidance had always been her best tactic whenever Matt had wanted to ooze his way back into her life, but it was damn hard to do that when she was confined to a table.

  Like magic, Banner suddenly appeared at her side. His mouth was set in a grim line and he looked far from happy. He folded his arms over his chest as he glowered at Matt. “Chopsticks can be a bit tricky can’t they?”

  Matt looked confused. “What?”

  “I figured you must be having trouble using your chopsticks, right? Because I just can’t imagine you would be stupid enough to harass my model.”

  Indie pursed her lips to hide her smile and kept silent. Her heart skipped a beat over the fact he’d been watching closely enough to have noticed Matt and his wandering chopstick. That Banner would address the situation in such a direct manner told her a lot about his character. She was just the hired help and Matt was a paying customer. It was rare to find someone in this business who would risk offending an influential patron for the sake of a temporary employee. Obviously there was much more to Banner Faust than flash and fame.

  The slick smile that spread across Matt’s face made Indie want to vomit.

  “Oh Indie and I know each other rather well, wouldn’t you say, lover?” Matt shot her a look of warning.

  Banner glanced at her and mouthed your call. She could have kissed him.

  “Actually, no, I’d say you don’t know me at all, Matt. And if you touch me with that chopstick again, I’m going to shove it up your ass. Sideways.” Indie kept her voice saccharine sweet.

  Amber blanched. Matt, on the other hand, looked as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sour milk. “As crass as always.”

  “I’m terribly sorry. Matt is very clumsy sometimes. I’ll make sure he keeps his chopsticks to himself,” Amber said as she dragged Matt away from Indie’s table.

  Indie watched them go, pitying the poor girl. She knew firsthand what Amber was in for.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Banner said.

  “Don’t be, I’m used to it,” she told him casually.

  “No, I can’t accept that. You should never compromise who you are because someone chooses to cross the line, no matter who they are. Value yourself more than that. Understood?”

  “Perfectly,” she said and felt her lips curl into a soft smile.

  “That’s my girl. Now if anyone else touches you or makes an inappropriate comment, please call one of the staff over and we’ll handle it. Also, if you discreetly want to tell them to fuck off, you have my permission. But try to refrain from shoving chopsticks into unpleasant orifices. It would be an insurance nightmare for me,” he told her.

  She laughed. “Yes sir.”

  She caught a hint of something in his expression, but he quickly shuttered it away before she could figure out what it was. Would she get a better glimpse of what went on in that head of his if she agreed to his proposition? She suddenly needed to know—the man, the chef…the dominant. The last part made her throb with needy anticipation.

  “Chef Faust?” she asked. God, even she could hear the eagerness in her voice.

  He answered her with a knowing smile. “Come to my office when your shift is over. We have a few things to talk about.”

  She bit her lip and let her gaze linger on that tight ass of his as he walked away. Lance was so right about the eye candy. This was going to be a very long night.

  * * * * *

  Banner heard a soft knock on his office door. “Come in.”

  Indie stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. The vulnerable girl he’d so carefully decorated had transformed into a sex kitten. The black halter top she wore shoved her cleavage front and center and her tight faded blue jeans flaunted her every curve.

  “Indigo, please have a seat,” he said gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

  She sat down and crossed one spiked heel over the other. At first glance she seemed confident, in control and he would have believed it had she not had her bag clutched against her middle as if it were a life preserver.

  “First, put your bag on the floor at your feet,” he said with soft authority.

  She looked confused but did as he requested.

  “Now ease back into the chair, relax your shoulders and take a deep breath.” He waited for her to comply before he continued. She did and he could see the tension leave her as she exhaled. “That’s my girl. Better?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m a little nervous,” she murmured then pursed her cherry red lips.

  “I’d be worried if you weren’t. Before we begin, you want to tell me about what happened this evening?” he asked, watching carefully for her reaction. The sheer audacity of that prick fondling Indigo in plain view made Banner’s blood turn to ice in his veins. Already he was possessive of her and she wasn’t even his yet. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Instinctively, he’d marched over to protect her, but she’d done a damn good job of showing him that she could handle
it just fine on her own.

  She grimaced and let out a deep sigh. “Matt is my ex. It didn’t end well,” she stated, not going any further.

  “I’m sorry.” Matt must have been a real piece of work. It appeared that it still bothered her on some level, but Banner wouldn’t press her about it. Not right now anyway.

  “Yeah, me too. I’m sorry it took me so long to see what an asshole he was. Well, still is.” She paused, probing him with her violet stare. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why me? You could have anyone you want.”

  “What you really want to know is why I chose you over one of the other models, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed skeptically as she looked at him. “That’s part of it.”

  She was intelligent and a little suspicious. Had she blindly accepted his proposal, he’d have known immediately he’d pegged her all wrong. If he wanted a real shot at making her his submissive, he’d have to play this nice and easy at first, which was exactly why he’d told her three days. Three days made it seem casual, as if it were nothing serious. But he had a very distinct feeling that this would be anything but casual between them.

  “It’s not because I thought you might be easier, so erase that thought if it’s there. Aside from you being the most beautiful woman in the room, it’s rare to find a natural submissive who isn’t a doormat. I have a few days off since it’s the end of the season and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with. It’s as simple as that, Indigo. Now let’s talk about your limits.”

  Her brow creased. “Um, I don’t know what my limits are.”

  Either she was into hardcore BDSM and had no real limits or she’d yet to have them tested. He’d bet his share of the restaurant it was the latter. She didn’t strike him as a pain-hungry submissive. He’d played with a few who fell into that category and heavy pain play wasn’t his kink. “Don’t know or don’t have any?” he inquired.