by Lilac James
Oh God, when had she turned into such a slut? Still, she wondered what Mr. X had in mind for tonight. Her breath hitched.
“Bessie? Are you all right?”
She looked up at the unwelcome intrusion. Anne gazed down at her with concern. “You looked like you couldn’t get your breath. Are you all right?”
No, she was having a heart attack. A vagina attack. A clit attack. And no, she was not going to say that. “I’m fine, Anne. Thank you for asking. It just seems a little warm in here, doesn’t it?”
Anne clutched her sweater tighter. “No. I’m freezing. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, of course I’m fine, Anne. Don’t worry.” She heaved a sigh of relief when Anne went on. The last thing she needed today was anyone hanging over her and observing her too closely. Controlling the flashbacks to last night just wasn’t on the agenda for today. The whole evening had been too life-altering, and—
“Hello, Bessie. Is my son in?”
Bessie jumped and dropped the letter she’d been folding. “Oh. Mrs. Ferguson.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.”
“No problem.” She glanced at the phone. “He’s on another line. I can—”
“Don’t bother him. I can just wait here until he’s free. I’m happy to have the chance to catch up with you, Bessie. We haven’t talked in some time. What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Pretty much the same old, same old, Mrs. Ferguson.” Plus having intimate interludes with a complete stranger, and fantasies about boffing your son. “I went to the Art Nouveau exhibit at the museum last Saturday. It’s wonderful.” Please God, get her off the subject of what I’ve been doing. “Have you seen it?”
“Indeed I have. I’m on the museum board, you know, and I helped get it together. I’m so glad you liked it.” Mrs. Ferguson chattered on about whiplash curves and Lalique and Mucha until Bessie saw the light go out for Reece’s phone line.
“He’s off the phone now.” She buzzed him. “Your mother’s here to see you.” She turned to Mrs. F. and smiled. “Of course he’ll see you now.”
“Thank you, Bessie. I wanted to tell you, I’m so grateful for you. You’re such a good girl. I know I never have to worry about Reece with you taking care of him.”
When Mrs. Ferguson disappeared into her son’s office, Bessie put her head down on her desk. How could she get over the certainty that someone like Mrs. F. could take one look at her and know what she’d been doing? She was so not designed to live a double life.
“Bessie? Are you all right?”
What was this—Monitor Bessie Day? “Hello, Edwin. Yes, I’m fine. Just resting my eyes for a moment.” When had she developed this talent for fibbing? “How are you?”
“Busy, of course,” Edwin said importantly. “This business with Mr. Hendricks has caused a lot of trouble.” He eyed her, head tilted to one side, as though she personally had caused the problem. “That’s what happens when people—ah, get involved—with each other in the workplace. Thank goodness you’d never do anything like that.”
“Of course not,” Bessie agreed. You could leave now. “Um, did you want something?”
“Yes. I have to…” Edwin talked on until Bessie finally figured out what he needed. She handed him the file and watched with relief when he left.
Of course she’d never do anything like um, get involved with her boss. She shouldn’t even be having those hot thoughts about him, but Mr. X seemed to have spring-loaded her libido to the “go” position.
She really wouldn’t. Would she?
* * * *
Bessie walked through the door of Milady’s Pleasure that night almost melting with an explosive mixture of anticipation and terror. What would he do? What if she didn’t like it? What if he didn’t like her? What if—Get a grip, Bessie. He’s a guy. You’re a female. From what you’ve overheard in the ladies’ room, that’s all it takes.
After work, she’d rushed to buy a new outfit. The strapless gold sequined dress wrapped her like a second skin and skimmed her knees, making her legs look impossibly long. The sandals, an exact, glittering match, had the highest heels she could imagine. With the possibility of another half mask, she’d gotten a wig to cover the nonsiren-ish dull brown of her hair. For the evening, she sported a sassy, spiky do in a rich chestnut color that complimented the sparkly dress.
Maurice’s eyes widened when he saw her. “Fabulous,” he murmured before leading her to the parlor and handing her the cup of tea she’d come to expect.
“I can’t fool you, can I, Maurice?”
“Of course not. I am very experienced in these matters.”
Experienced. Just the word was enough to send a few shivers through the core of her. She sat and sipped the tea. Did Maurice do this for everyone? Or was she the only terrified virgin who had ever walked through the door? Did she even want to know?
Did she want to stop dithering and experience…whatever?
Yes.
“Is Mr. X here yet, Maurice?”
“Yes, my dear. He’s been here for some time, making sure the room is properly set up for you. I will go check if he’s ready.”
Numbly, she nodded. And finished her tea in one gulp. She was royally tired of flip-flopping from frightened virgin to eager lust-bunny. No more nerves. Bring it on, baby.
That was better. Just saying the words calmed her, and when Maurice returned she was on her feet and ready to go.
He produced another masquerade mask, this one a confection of gold with feathers the same color as her hair for the evening. She slipped it on and nodded at him. “Ready. And thank you so much for the mask. It’s perfect.”
When he opened the door to yet another room, one she hadn’t seen before, she walked in with a confident stride.
Mr. X stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, leaning against a contraption of boards, a combination of sawhorse and A-frame. He held something that almost looked like a cheerleader’s pom-pom. When he swished it back and forth, long fringes on one end whispered through the air.
She stopped. Puzzled over the scene in front of her.
“Come in,” he said.
She lifted her gaze to his. Heat burned there. Heat, and anticipation. She walked across the room to him. With the towering heels, she was tall enough to reach his mouth for a kiss that told him she couldn’t be more ready.
“Ever been flogged?” he murmured, tossing the whatever-it-was aside and unzipping her dress.
Surprise almost had her speaking out loud but she caught herself in time and spoke in a near whisper she used to disguise her voice. “Flogged? Not in a million years.” Even as she said it, a tingle started low in her belly.
“Why are your eyes saying yes?”
Because… “Well…maybe.”
”And if I tie you up?”
She swallowed. ”T-tie me up?”
His smile broadened, and he nodded but waited silently for her answer.
She imagined those strong hands holding her in place. Wrapping her with—rope? Silken cord? She’d be completely at his mercy. She smiled back at him. He could do whatever he wanted.
So far, what he’d wanted had been what she wanted. She nodded. “Yes.”
He stripped the dress away, leaving her in nothing but the ivory silk thong she’d been unable to resist in the store. His look said he couldn’t resist her.
She stood straight, breathing deeply to lift her breasts to his gaze.
The gray of his eyes deepened as he looked at her. His gaze touched her like a feather, making her skin prickle. And then he raised his hands to cover her breasts.
She leaned into his touch, her nipples pressing into his palms, begging for more.
He gave more, running his fingers around her areolae, teasing the thrusting nipples, never quite touching where she needed him. He bent and dropped a quick kiss on each nipple. When he straightened, he took one of her hands and slipped a rope around it, raised it, and while she stil
l mourned the loss of his mouth at her breast, tied her to a loop in the frame. “All right?”
She tugged lightly, but the binding was secure, and there was no give or wobble in the frame to which she was tied.
He kissed her, an openmouthed blast of lust that made her decision.
“All right,” she repeated when he raised his head.
He wore a devil mask that hid the upper part of his face but did nothing to conceal the wicked smile that curved his mouth.
She wanted that mouth on her again.
As if he’d read her thought, he bound her other hand to the frame, then bent and feasted on her breasts.
She’d always thought that sounded weird and cannibalistic when she’d read the phrase in novels, but it was completely right for the moment. He licked and sucked and stroked and nibbled until she squirmed with desire. His tongue, that magic tongue, traced each breast, each nipple, and she thrust her hips toward him, wanting all this and more.
He pulled back and laughed, a soft flick of sound that barely caught her attention. “Patience. We will get to that. But first…”
Her eyes widened when he picked up the pom-pom thing. “What…?”
“It’s a flogger, Ms. Mystery.” He paused, waiting with tilted head.
“Am I supposed to give you permission?”
He nodded.
“It’s going to hurt.”
“Not at all, at first.” He swished the flogger against his own leg. “Later, you won’t mind. Remember, you have a safe word. All you have to do is whisper it, and I’ll stop.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He made it sound like a vow. And a temptation.
She believed him. She couldn’t resist. Chocolate. All she had to do was say, “chocolate.” Her mouth went dry. Her gaze riveted to his for a long, long moment. Almost without volition, she nodded slowly. A tingle of forbidden excitement shivered over her skin.
It didn’t hurt. At first he trailed the flogger over her—neck, breast, belly—a soft whisper of touch that tantalized until her skin anticipated the next touch with eagerness. Until all of her, even her skin, throbbed with yearning.
He began a figure-eight pattern of strokes that shocked her skin with jolts of desire. She moaned, wordlessly begging for more.
He shifted then, flicking the lashes in light swipes that stroked across her arms, her legs, her sides. The fringes curled around to her back, and he moved lower, harder. The jolts centered on her butt, and excitement pooled between her legs. He moved to stand behind her, whipping harder now, and she arched to give him more access to her buttocks.
Her skin felt like fire when he stopped, a wonderful, pleasure-filled fire that made her want to feel him against her, his cock stretching and filling her while his hands gripped that sensitized skin.
Again, it was as if he read her mind. He untied her wrists, and she leaned against him, weak with the need to feel him. He kissed her, a long, long melding of mouths and tongues. His hands went to her breasts, her belly, stroked through her red bush to part her folds and test her readiness. The pleased hiss of his breath told her what would come next.
He led her to a complicated arrangement of chains and ropes and wide straps, some kind of swing maybe? Bizarre, but she felt no hint of apprehension when he began tying her into the contraption. When he finished, she half sat, half lay on a swing with her knees bent and widely spread.
"All right?" When she nodded, he kissed her, which was very much all right. "I’m going to tie your hands, too. But you have work to do first."
He stood before her, wickedly handsome and shirtless. The devil mask concealed much of his face, but accentuated the wicked sparkle in his dark eyes. Dark hair sprinkled his chest and arrowed intriguingly downward to disappear into his pants. She now knew what lay beneath and couldn’t wait for him to undress.
He smiled at her, a conqueror’s smile that said she was completely at his mercy. Yes, take me. She wriggled, trying to move the swing closer to him.
He laughed. “Such impatience,” he murmured and unfastened his belt. Drew down the zipper of his pants.
Her gaze was glued to what was to come.
He popped the button and eased the fabric over his erection.
She wet her suddenly dry lips and swallowed a moan. He couldn’t have been more beautiful. More compelling. She’d seen pictures…all men didn’t have such powerful erections, such large balls. His penis thrust upward, surging out of the dark hair between his legs, begging for her touch.
He dropped the pants and stepped out of the pool of fabric.
“Almost ready,” he murmured. At her puzzled look, he handed her the small foil packet of a condom.
She looked from the condom to his cock, and the depth of her inexperience struck her dumb. She had no idea how to proceed.
He smiled. “I’ll show you.” He tore the package open and demonstrated how to position the condom, caging her hands inside his, so that she helped.
“Just one more thing,” he said when it was in place. He lifted one of her arms and placed his mouth on the tender skin at the inside of her elbow. When she began to squirm, wanting more, he tied the arm above her head. He repeated the action with the other arm. She was absolutely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to her. Her only defense would be “chocolate.”
“Now I’m ready,” he said and positioned himself at her wet, yearning opening. Her eyes closed as the tip of his penis nudged just a fraction into her, setting off a fireworks display behind her eyelids.
He didn’t move, and she opened her eyes to look at him. What she could see of his expression suggested pain. The torture of being still? When he began to shake, he pressed into her, slowly stretching and filling her until the pleasure brought tears to her eyes.
He reached for her butt, pulling her even closer. She flexed and tried to push against him, but her movement only made the swing move.
“Yes,” he whispered and pushed into her to accentuate its movement. She was pushed away from him until he’d almost withdrawn from her body, then the swing slammed her back against him.
“Oh, yes. More.” The words tore from her without thought.
He gave her more. The smack of flesh on flesh, the slap of his balls against her, and then the solid thump of them as they drew up when he got close… She moaned as everything gathered inside her to that point of ecstasy that was their joining. She felt herself contracting around him, his hands pulling her roughly against him, welding them together as she went over the edge into an orgasm that seemed to last forever.
* * * *
Great holy shit. He’d never even imagined sex could be like this. He wanted to stand there forever, just stay inside her until he recovered enough to do it all again, but his legs were so weak from the mother of all orgasms he figured he’d better untie her before he collapsed.
She crumpled against him once he’d loosened the cat’s cradle he’d tied her in, and he half carried her to the bed in the corner. He crawled onto the bed beside her. She put her head on his shoulder and one arm over his chest, just as though they were lovers instead of casual fucks, and he thought about worrying. Instead, all he could think was, what the ever-loving, bloody hell is a woman with this amount of juice doing in a place like this?
He wanted more.
He wanted to know who she was.
He didn’t dare see her outside of this place.
But he had to know. “Tell me your name,” he whispered. “I can’t keep calling you Ms. Mystery.”
She didn’t answer for so long he thought she’d gone to sleep. Finally she murmured, “Bex. My name is Bex,” and burrowed her face into his shoulder and cried until she fell asleep.
He smoothed a hand down her side and pulled her closer. Poor girl. She’d had quite an introduction to sex, going from virgin to what they’d done tonight in just four evenings. He was far from being a virgin, and the intensity of the evening had left him a little shaken.
She sighed in
her sleep and snuggled closer. He dropped a kiss on her head. With any luck, he’d see her again. Just to make sure she was okay with what they’d done, of course.
And what they might do next?
He’d take just a few minutes to relax with her before he got up and dressed, even though getting out of Milady’s Pleasure before she saw him unmasked was life-and-death essential.
He woke with a start and looked at his watch. Almost three. Jeez. He eased away from her, noticing as he did that her wig—damn it, he’d thought that hair was real—had slipped a bit. One dull brown strand had slipped out, and he didn’t blame her for the deception. He couldn’t imagine any woman putting up with such an ugly color. Not today, when about a hundred and ten women out of a hundred colored their hair.
She didn’t stir as he pulled on his clothes. Thankfully he slipped silently out of the room and went to find Lafcadio.
* * * *
Reece arrived at the office before anyone else Monday morning. That night wouldn’t let go of his mind. He was supposed to be well past the time in his life when a casual sexual encounter kept him from concentrating on work. But damn if he wasn’t a mess this morning. He’d better get a grip on himself and think about day business instead of night business.
The remnants of yesterday’s coffee remained in the executive kitchen. It smelled awful, but he nuked a cup and took it back to his office. Tasted awful too, but he belted it down while he read over the Hendricks file once again. He’d finally gotten Joe’s agreement to filing charges against Lasky and Hendricks, and he’d done that yesterday. He really hoped the police were on the ball and made the arrest before the media learned anything.
Voices outside his office heralded the beginning of the business day, but no one interrupted him. He really did not want to see Bessie this morning. Every time he looked at her anymore, he got a hard-on, which brought on a dose of guilt. Joe would hang him out to dry. His mom would not be pleased to know the things he thought about doing to her precious company good girl.
And what did it say about him that he kept thinking about boning his admin when he didn’t even find her attractive? Lighten up. It says you’re a normal guy. Right. Still, it bothered him.