The Bet

by Lucinda Betts

  “Funny. ‘Optimistic’ didn’t cross my mind.”

  “You haven’t even begun to know yourself yet.” He put the bra in his pocket. “So, how does it feel to be braless?”

  Reluctantly, she considered. The unfamiliar tug of gravity made her feel voluptuous. With a cup size that vacillated between A and B, ‘voluptuous’ wasn’t a usual description for her. But she also felt naked, available to him.

  “So how do you feel?”

  She opted for the simple answer. “Bigger.”

  “And your nipples?” His tone was suggestive, making her aware of the fabric’s texture brushing against them.

  The context suddenly became sexual. “They’re making me wet.”

  His hand dropped smoothly to the tip of her breast. Roughly, he caressed her. Even through the fabric, the temptation drew her. It felt sumptuous, opulent. Her nipple drew tight and eager.

  She could almost imagine leaning back and letting him do what he wanted to her. And loving it.

  “Hot,” he murmured.

  That was one way to describe it.

  The cab pulled to a stop.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The West Village. I thought we’d walk around a bit. Enjoy the spring night.”

  She stood on the curb while he paid the driver. The cool air between her hot thighs felt erotic, or maybe it was the press of her breasts against her dress. Her nipples were tight, no ice necessary. Couldn’t everyone tell she was nearly naked?

  “With an ass like yours, I’ve never noticed how great your breasts are. They look like they’d fit in wineglasses.”

  “I—I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “What about ‘thank you?’ ”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s a start.” They began to stroll down the sidewalk. He’d taken her hand in his, and they probably looked like a normal couple to the people enjoying the outdoor bistros. “Now, give me a compliment. It has to be true.”

  “Umm . . .” She thought about his ass, and his eyes, about how good he was at his job. She thought about his wicked humor.

  “Is it so hard to come up with one?”

  “Yes.”

  Phillip looked at her, and she relented with the truth. “You asked for one.”

  He looked so relieved she had to laugh.

  “What was the first that came to your mind?” he asked.

  “I love looking at your ass, too. Do you know how many men have really ugly butts in suit pants? Not you.”

  “And you didn’t go with that one because . . . ?”

  She grinned, looking at his crotch, “I thought it might go to your head.”

  “Ah, Zoe,” he pulled her closer and put his arm around her waist. “You’ve already gone to my head.”

  She stopped and looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I might not answer, but you can try.”

  “This is going to sound trite or blasé, but will you still respect me in the morning?”

  “Lauterborn, you’re as good as I am at our job. Hell, you’re better. Nothing we do tonight will take that away from you. I will respect you in the morning,” he enunciated the words very carefully. “And on Monday and until you get promoted out of my universe. And even then I’ll still respect you.”

  “But—”

  Glee lit up his face. “Now I get to spank you.”

  Horrorstruck, she realized what she’d said. “That’s not fair! I didn’t mean it. I won’t say it again.”

  They started walking again. “Too late.” His grin was impish, and he lowered his hand to the curve of her ass. He caressed it, promisingly, and it made her adrenaline course. But a small part of Zoe’s brain found an appropriate ground for objection.

  “No pain. Remember that part?”

  “I won’t hurt you . . . much. Don’t object again,” he warned in a good-humored tone. “I don’t want to spend the entire evening with a paddle. There are so many other ways to have fun.” His smile had turned wicked.

  “No pain,” she repeated, as much to comfort herself as to remind him.

  “No pain,” he agreed, pulling her tightly against him.

  The warmth from his body comforted her.

  As they walked past a small alley, he said, “This is just right.”

  “What is?”

  He steered her toward the shadows and backed her against the wall. He caressed the side of her face with his hand. “So, you’re standing in a dark alley with me, and you’re not wearing anything under your dress. Are your feeling fearless yet?”

  Before she could answer, he touched her top lip with his tongue, then eased across her bottom lip. She gasped and shivered but didn’t move away. “I’m not afraid.”

  He pressed his lips fully against hers. She tentatively returned the kiss. His lips did not disappoint. They were hot and skilled, tender and moist. Under his, hers grew warmer and bolder.

  He withdrew for a moment, just long enough to look closely at her face. Apparently he liked what he saw because he immediately took her lips again, harder and more possessively this time.

  He touched her mouth with his tongue again, teasing and questing, until she shyly parted her lips, and she felt the intimacy of his tongue for the first time. Her hunger grew, and she returned his kisses with growing passion.

  Then he took her wrists in his hand and held her arms above her head. She was completely at his mercy. As he pressed his hard-on against her, she moaned in pleasure. He moved his lips over her neck and up near her ear. His hand likewise roamed. The heat of it seared through her skin as he moved over her hip, up her stomach and to her breast.

  “Still fearless?” he asked huskily.

  She sighed and pressed against him.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want more?”

  Fire raced through her veins. She couldn’t remember responding like this before. She hadn’t known it’d been possible. “I want more.”

  Still pinning her arms above her, he brought his face to her breast. Pulling down her dress, he captured a tight nipple between his teeth and softly bit. His tongue circled it with hot, wet flicks, then slowed for an unhurried sampling swirl. She arched her back in pleasure, and he grabbed her breast with his free hand. He lifted it toward him, sucking harder and kneading, and a mewling sound escaped her. His teeth closed in another almost-bite, another flick of his skillful tongue.

  She’d never felt as hungry for anything as she felt for him at that moment.

  He pulled away and she moaned in dismay. “You like it, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His lips closed briefly to suck and then opened again for another whirling attack.

  She realized she was whimpering in pleasure and tried to stop.

  His hand left her breast and traveled down her leg.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Under her dress, his hand touched her bare thigh and she sharply gasped. She couldn’t believe the searing heat. His hand inched higher and higher, and her heart pounded in her ears. So close.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, again. His fingers caressed her labia with a feather-light touch, nanometers from her clit. She thought she might die from desire, and she flexed her hips toward him.

  “No. Please. I want more.” Burning, she shifted to push herself against his hand, craving the relief of his touch.

  He pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a flame. “I’m running the show tonight, Zoe—not you.”

  He released her arms, and he kissed her neck and ear as she groaned in consternation.

  “I’m flattered that you want me and you trust me, but you must obey me. When I tell you that you can press against me, then you can. Or, if you really want something, you can ask. Nicely.”

  Zoe said, without any real fire, “You bastard.”

  “Maybe I’ll relent, and maybe I won’t.”

  “You’re cruel,” she said, collap
sing limply into his arms.

  “I’ll make it up to you.” The warmth of his stroking hands soothed her.

  “This is mortifying.”

  “No, it’s not.” He petted her head and back. “You have to trust me.”

  She muttered something unintelligible, disgusted.

  “Zoe?” he asked, his lips nuzzling her neck.

  “What?”

  “You’re really hot.”

  “You’re still a merciless man, Kingdom.”

  5

  A half-moon hung over them as they walked through the streets. Bass thumped out of clubs, reverberating through Phillip’s shoes. At a quieter club with a purple and yellow sign, he said, “Henrietta’s. Let’s go in.”

  He paid the cover and escorted Zoe to the bar. “A beer—whatever’s on tap—and a strawberry daiquiri,” he said to the bartender.

  “I didn’t know you liked daiquiris, Phillip,” she said wryly, apparently still miffed at being denied. Phillip felt like the luckiest man in the world—the way she responded to him took his breath away. But even Phillip knew he could ratchet up her desire—by forbidding it.

  “Pink suits you, even when you’re annoyed.”

  “Who’s annoyed? I just don’t drink daiquiris.”

  “Don’t you like rum? Strawberries?”

  “Anything that comes with an umbrella is too . . .”

  “Feminine?”

  She laughed, and he knew he had her pegged.

  “Froufrou,” she corrected.

  “Not everything feminine is froufrou.”

  “For example?”

  “Like your hair, for instance.” Phillip reached over and pulled it out of its loose bun. It fell around her face. “Blond silk,” he noted. “I should have done that in the restaurant,” he said appreciatively. He ran his fingers through it, and she shivered. “Looking at you this way, I can’t decide whether you look like Rachel Hunter or Heidi Klum.”

  The bartender, a thick woman, brought them their drinks. With a knowing grin, she gave the beer to Zoe and the daiquiri to Phillip. “Keep him in line, girlfriend,” she said after she collected the cash.

  Tolerantly, Phillip switched the drinks back with a grin.

  As Zoe sipped the strawberry concoction, which tasted surprisingly good, she looked around the bar. The music was less frenetic than the other clubs they’d passed, and a few people danced. They were all women. In fact, Phillip was one of only three men in the place.

  He watched her face, waiting for the implication to sink in. His wicked smile let her know he’d picked this place with her in mind. “Yup,” he said quietly to her, “it’s a girl bar. Now go dance.”

  “With you.” The pleading look almost made him relent.

  “I’m flattered you’d ask.” But you’re going alone, his tone implied.

  “Please?”

  “They won’t bite. I want to watch. Consider it payback. I know you watched me last weekend.” He touched her long hair.

  She didn’t deny it, and she answered, “Give me my bra back.”

  “No way. And I’m giving the orders.”

  “My underwear? Please?”

  “No. Go.”

  “God, can I at least put my hair back up?” she asked desperately.

  “Nope.”

  “But it’s like I’m ready for bed.”

  “I’m getting you ready to bed,” he agreed.

  “I mean, it’s like I’m in my pajamas!”

  “You said ‘but,’ Zoe. I should count that when I spank you.”

  “She went to the dance floor.

  Oh my God, he was a lucky man.

  The music had a great beat, and she liked to dance—or she had liked to dance when she was younger. After a song or two, she warmed to the idea, and her hips and heels easily found the rhythm. Women danced with each other and floated away. Some, like her, danced by themselves. Occasionally a man braved the dance floor, usually with a woman. But Phillip stayed by the bar, watching her with an intimidating intensity.

  A slender, graceful woman with long dark hair danced with her for a while. They provided good foils for each other, her long dark hair giving the perfect counterpoint to Zoe’s blond. Zoe lost herself trying to complement the other woman’s movements. One song melted into another before Zoe realized they were monopolizing the dance floor. How could she have let such a simple pleasure escape her life?

  After the exertion of several more songs, Zoe excused herself. She was thirsty.

  As she walked toward Phillip, she saw desire in his eyes. Suddenly, she felt very, very sexy. With her eyes half closed, she let her hips, loose from dancing, sway with each stride.

  Zoe sipped the strawberry concoction through the straw, savoring the icy chips. Acutely aware of Phillip’s attention, she was too shy to meet his eye.

  Phillip said in a husky voice. “I had no idea you could dance like that.”

  “It’s been a long time,” she admitted. “High school, maybe?”

  “My God, I wish I’d known you in high school.” He groaned and said, “Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t know you then.”

  “I’m glad you’re the tortured one for a change,” she said with a half smile.

  “You could really torment me, if you set your mind to it.”

  “You’d deserve it,” she said, meaning it.

  “Stand in front of me and look at the dance floor.”

  She did.

  “Give me your hand.” With her back toward him, she reached behind herself.

  He took her hand and put it on his hard-on. It was huge and hot and shockingly hard. She gasped in surprise—and brazenly moved in closer to him. She’d get some revenge.

  “This is what you do to me,” he said, his voice thick.

  His blatant desire sent a jolt right between her thighs. For the first time since she signed the napkin, the night seemed rich with potential and promise. With the music’s rhythm still in her blood, she began to move to the beat.

  Remembering the alley, she didn’t dare take matters too much into her own hands. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked over her shoulder, coyly.

  “No.” His reply was clipped. Zoe knew he was focused on controlling himself, and her confidence grew.

  Teasing him, Zoe made sure her ass bumped his thighs with each throb through the sound system. Then she released him and turned toward him, bobbing gently to the bass. She could feel her breasts bouncing on the counter beat, and arousal tightened low in her belly.

  “Keep dancing for me,” Phillip said, his voice a velvet drawl.

  She took a step away so he could see her better. In a private show just for him, she swung her hips to the beat and thrust her pelvis a little bit. She was in the groove and hit each move just right.

  “My God,” he murmured, “the way you push it.” His smoldering look gave her confidence, made her glow. He rested his hands on her waist, and with every bop of her hips Zoe became increasingly aware of her every curve. She danced to provoke him—twisting to bring his thumb closer to her breast, turning to run his hand over her flat stomach, moving so his fingertips floated over her ass.

  He stood and began to dance with her. He didn’t overpower her. Instead, he brushed against her, teasing back and inviting. A caress here. A stroke there. She seductively turned, and his lightest touch told her that she had his complete attention.

  The music slowed, and he took her into his arms. He didn’t press against her, but she grew extremely aware of his presence. His hooded eyes had darkened, and they never left her. She knew if she touched him between his legs, she’d find him rock hard, and she felt powerful. Electricity sparked between them. When her breast touched his chest, her nipples instantly hardened, and her desire for him became almost palpable.

  “We’re going,” he almost groaned.

  Zoe didn’t object.

  They were breathing hard when they left the club, not just from physical exertion. Phillip led them around a corner toward Washington Sq
uare Park. A fountain spouted sparkling water toward the sky. A vast garden of daffodils surrounded the fountain with a yellow so bright she could see them in the moonlight.

  “Beautiful,” Zoe remarked.

  “Yes. Let’s walk around it.” He set a slow, leisurely pace. Night shrouded the park in mystery. The dog run, usually roiling with canine life and yuppy owners, stood gray and empty, and she saw none of the usual clean-cut NYU students playing frisbee or hanging out.

  Zoe caught a whiff of marijuana as they passed several couples sitting on iron benches. Most were making out. Zoe saw someone giving head to someone else, and she quickly looked away, trying not to feel scandalized. Phillip slowed the pace further, and her heart began to pound. She jumped nearly out of her skin when a car alarm went off right behind her. The bright lights of Broadway seemed miles rather than steps away.

  “Here,” he said finally, leading them to an empty bench. “Let’s catch our breath.”

  That sounded innocent enough. Zoe sat, and he moved in next to her. The cold iron of the bench quickly permeated her dress and chilled her heat. She shifted back to avoid it. “Are you cold?” he asked, moving closer still.

  “If you’d’ve asked me yesterday, the answer might have been different,” she said with a brave grin.

  “You were never cold—you just needed . . .”

  “What? You?” She challenged.

  “A firm hand. Show me your breast.”

  She bridled, but then checked herself. Maybe he’d forget the spanking thing if she were obedient from here on out. Subduing her embarrassment, she pulled the front of her dress until her breast was bared to the cool night air.

  And to his mouth. He leaned over and licked it. She could feel his hot breath on the wet, sensitive skin. The sensations bewitched her senses.

  “Hold it for me, Zoe. Hold your breast.”

  Shutting out all other thoughts—like that someone might see them, that good girls don’t hold their own breasts or make out in parks—she cupped her breast and offered it to him.